THE SQUIRE'S STORY (CONCLUSION)
"And so it came about that I returned to the old country, and, out of
mere politeness, discovered old Colonel Rawson's address, and called one
afternoon. I was ushered into the drawing-room, where sat a lady, whom I
at once recognised as my beloved Edith.
"'Harold!' she cried, as she sprang forward.
"I looked at her left hand. There was no ring on the third finger!
"It was, as you, my son, may have suspected, all a mistake (how costly a
one you have yet to learn) on my part. The Edith Rawson who had married
was not even any relative of my Edith.
"Within three months, though, the latter was a bride.
"In the midst of all my happiness there was one troubling thought that
disturbed me more than anyone knew.
"The prophecy contained in the parchment was coming true!
"I mean that prosperity had been promised me for the five-and-twenty
years that would elapse before the child which, according to the message
sent me in so mysterious a fashion, had then just been born should reach
what was evidently considered by his people his majority. Had I not
experienced that prosperity in receiving the unexpected legacy and
winning for my wife the woman whom I had believed to have proved false
to me? But I felt that twenty-five years was a long time. It was no use
worrying about a possible calamity in the distant future. And so I
forgot the weird prophecy and my connection with India, and settled down
to the four years of bliss that were my portion before you, my son, were
born, and my darling, in giving you birth, sacrificed her own dear life.
"That was not prosperity, you will say; and I agree to a certain extent.
But if she had not died perhaps I might, and then--if there was anything
in the prophecy--the doom of the girl Lilla might have fallen upon her
instead of upon me. But to proceed with my actual narrative.
"It was nearly four years after my Edith's death when I received a
letter bearing an Indian stamp and a blurred postmark that I was unable
to decipher. It was addressed to me at the War Office, with instructions
to be forwarded, in a shaky handwriting--the work, probably, of an old
man; and the sheet contained in the dirty, thin envelope bore the
single word--'Remember!'
"My feelings on receiving this epistle from a world that I had come to
hope was dead to me were indescribable. I had learned from Sir Bromley
some years before that the police believed Lilla was dead, since another
queen had been appointed for the district over which my enchantress had
held nominal sway, and thus I had put less belief in the prophecy
contained in the parchment letter; but now, with the knowledge that my
existence had not been forgotten by the Thugs, a great fear for my life
came upon me.
"It was impossible for me to change my name, as my friends would have
required some explanation of my conduct, and such explanation I should
not feel inclined to give. One thing I could do--I could become a
civilian, and give up all connection with the army. This I accordingly
did. I took the Manse at Northden, in Yorkshire, managed to persuade
people to call me and address me as Squire instead of Major Carrington,
dropped the latter title altogether, and as my friends died or were lost
sight of, I found as years went by that my connection with the Indian
Army or any other army was unknown, or, at any rate, forgotten. The name
Carrington I knew was no rare one, and I accordingly hoped that I
should never be recognised as the Major Carrington who had visited the
Madras opium den, and fallen a victim to the charms of the queen of the
Thugs.
"Eight years passed after the receipt of the letter from India; then one
day I caught sight of a paragraph in the agony column of the
_Telegraph_, which caused me to shudder and dream of all manner of
horrible things for months. The paragraph consisted only of a couple of
words, and, I found, it had appeared for a week in every London paper.
"This was it--'Carrington, remember!'
"For fear of revealing my identity I took no steps to inquire at the
offices of the newspapers whence the instructions for the insertion of
the message had come. I should probably have done myself no good by
making such inquiries.
"I knew well what those harmless-looking words meant. Sixteen years had
passed since I had found the parchment in the deserted roadway. Only
nine remained.
"From that day forward I have had no real peace of mind. Perhaps I have
appeared harsh to you, my boy. Have I not had cause enough to make me
irritable? I have made a point of never mentioning your mother to you,
for several reasons. In the first place, it would be most painful for
me to do so. In the second, you might have discovered that Miss Edith
Rawson (had I told you your mother's maiden name) had married a Major
Carrington. An explanation would then have been necessary, and I had no
wish to burden you with the secret which has ruined my life.
"The third message from across the seas reached me a few months ago, and
was the cause of all the precautions I adopted. It was, as before, a
paragraph in the agony column of the leading London newspapers, and
ran--'Carrington, the bhuttote (strangler) left Madras to-day.'
"Possibly, those who had heard the queer name were puzzled by the
message. You will understand how plain it was to me. It meant that my
doom was sealed; that from that day forward I was in the position of a
hunted criminal--to be hunted down by a more tireless, more terrible
sleuth-hound than any that Scotland Yard possesses.
"The rest you know, or most of it. How the son of 'Lilla' found me out I
cannot say. As I have stated, the marvellous powers possessed by these
Thugs are terrible, beyond the realisation of the ordinary European.
That he has done so you know. Now you know, too, why I would tell you
nothing about my secret, why I would not assist you in your
investigations, why I would not allow a detective to enter my house.
What good would a hundred detectives do when this creature is so
determined to slay me at any cost? The attack on the moor is known to
you. It is but a few hours since that happened. I am writing these words
in the full anticipation of their being perused by you, my son, within a
few days, though I have requested that this book shall not be opened
until after my death. Thank God, I have never been coward enough to take
my life, and lay you open to the attack of the avenger. If you have ever
wondered whether my secret in any respect concerned your dear mother or
your birth, set your mind at rest, and do not despise
"YOUR LOVING FATHER."