THE SQUIRE LEARNS THE TRUTH.
THE return of the £10 note, which at first surprised and somewhat
perplexed Mr. Manwaring, had the after effect of confirming his belief
in his son’s guilt. “Had he not been well off for money,” he argued,
“he would never have refused the sum I so liberally gave him.” A
week, however, had scarcely elapsed since Wilfred’s banishment, when
the Squire received a letter from Messrs. Prodgers and Sharpin, in
which they informed him that they had made arrangements for his son’s
apprenticeship at Yeovil, in Somersetshire, in conformity with his
instructions, and would be glad to know when they might expect the
young gentleman in town, as he was now several days overdue.
This unexpected letter disturbed the Squire not a little, as he had
never in the least degree contemplated that any son of his would
venture to disobey his commands. A brisk exchange of telegrams ensued,
and Mr. Manwaring learned that beyond a doubt his son had disappeared.
Inquiries were made through the police, but no intelligence as to his
whereabouts was forthcoming. At last it was discovered that a young man
named Thomas Brown, whose personal appearance was said to correspond
with that of Wilfred, had taken a deck passage to Melbourne, Australia,
on board the Trans-Atlantic Company’s steamer _Windsor Castle_,
and had already gone on board, and sailed from Gravesend.
The news that his son had actually started for the Antipodes had a
curious effect upon the old man’s mind. At first he was disposed to be
glad that he was so well and easily rid of the Disgrace of the Family,
but yet, somehow, the intelligence filled his mind with doubt and fear.
When he took measures to apprentice his son in some remote place in a
Southern County, he probably, in his heart of hearts, desired him to be
where, at some future and undefined time, he could ascertain that he
was alive and well; but now that he was gone altogether beyond his ken,
he began to doubt whether, after all, he had not been too precipitate.
Some kind of natural affection may perhaps have begun to assert
itself; but at any rate the Squire could not prevent the entrance of
misgivings into his mind. The very fact that his son had dared to
take an independent course, and one which was contrary to his express
commands, suggested the question whether he was so undoubtedly guilty
of the crime imputed to him as he had himself concluded him to be. What
if, after all, that was the case? The Rector was right; he ought to
have demanded and jealously sifted the evidence which incriminated a
Manwaring, and cast so great a slur upon the Family. He would see Mr.
Elthorne again; he would command the attendance of Dr. Massenger.
Harassed by such conflicting views and miserable doubts as these, Mr.
Manwaring was sitting one morning in his study, when he was aroused
by the sound of wheels on the gravel outside. A violent ring at the
door-bell ensued, and then the sound of an altercation was heard in the
hall. Something extraordinary had evidently occurred, and at last Mr.
Manwaring, unable to bear the suspense any longer, opened the door and
looked out. Immediately he caught sight of the fat, burly form of Dr.
Massenger, who was evidently labouring under great excitement, and
vainly endeavouring to pass Pinfold, who, having received strict orders
to deny everyone access to his master, was holding the visitor at bay.
The Squire was struck by the coincidence of Dr. Messenger’s arrival
at the very time when he was meditating the sending of a telegram to
desire his presence, and uneasily led the way back into the library.
The Doctor had indeed come upon no light errand. He had come to tell
the wretched father that his son Wilfred’s character was altogether
cleared, and his innocence established beyond a doubt; and, in
addition, that the real culprit was no other than the Honourable
Augustus Cubleigh.
The distress of the Squire on the receipt of this intelligence
was extreme, and at first he almost seemed to be taking leave of
his senses. He would listen to no extenuation of, or excuses for,
the miserable part Dr. Massenger had played in the matter, and he
overwhelmed that learned person with the most cutting reproaches, which
the private tutor could not but feel to be richly deserved. Deep down
in the Doctor’s nature, howsoever much it was overlaid by pomposity
and the propensity to truckling and tuft-hunting, there was a vein of
honesty and some sense of justice, and the man who had so large a
share in wrecking a young life could not find it in his heart to resent
or reply to the abuse which was heaped upon him by the unhappy father.
At length he took his leave, and Mr. Manwaring was left alone to regret
the irremediable past, and to brood over a crime which could never be
repaired.
Now, too late, his eyes were opened. He himself it was, not his son,
who was the “Disgrace of the Family.” He it was, not his son, who had
sullied the Family Honour, by giving ear to baseless and idle reports
that a Manwaring was a common thief. He it was, who, instead of
jealously guarding the honour of one who bore his name, had, without
inquiry, let himself be the dupe of a Germanised nobody, and had made
his own son the victim of a mere _parvenu_, whose grandfather was
a money-lender on a second floor in a small street off the Strand. Yes,
Wilfred was innocent; his soul was as white as snow; and, driven from
his home, Wilfred had disappeared!
The wretched old man saw it all now. Too late, too late! It was the
white innocence of his boy’s soul, it was his chivalrous sense of
honour, that could not brook falsehood and injustice; it was the
delicate sensitiveness of the true Gentleman which had led the youth
to revolt against the search for stolen goods amongst his property. It
was an indignant protest against a shameful charge, which, when once he
was repulsed, led him rather to suffer in silence than to condescend
to reply or to defend himself. It was the overpowering weight of that
cunningly devised and malignantly arranged circumstantial evidence
which seemed to establish his guilt, which fell upon his soul with such
crushing weight that he despaired of proving his innocence, and so felt
he must let that alone for ever.
Later in the day the Squire visited Wilfred’s room, which had been kept
locked up since his exile. Sure never did a youth’s bed-chamber speak
more eloquently of the pure and noble nature of its possessor than that.
His books, his many books, how well chosen they were! Long lines of the
great English poets adorned the shelves. Chaucer, Shakspere, Spenser,
Wordsworth, Byron, Keats, Tennyson, Longfellow, Browning--all who
had sung nobly and sung well--had there a place; but not a volume of
the slimy and effeminate effusions of the fleshly school, or of the
grovelling and un-English adulators of French infidels, anarchists,
and petroleuses. The unapproachable novels of Sir Walter Scott, and
the works of Dickens, Charles Kingsley, and Hawthorne, seemed, from
the care bestowed upon their bindings, to be the especial favourites
of their owner; and the _Religio Medici_ and _Hydriotaphia_
of Sir Thomas Browne, _The Compleat Angler_ of Izaak Walton,
the _Icon Basilike_ with its quaint frontispiece, Miss Burney’s
_Evelina_, and the _Vicar of Wakefield_, showed that Wilfred
Manwaring was not unappreciative of the older masters of English
literature--“stars in the elder darkness of our loved fatherland.”
Natural Science, too, held a large place in the boy’s collection, and
works on Geology, Natural History, Topography, Antiquities, and History
were largely represented. In one corner was a cabinet of fossils
collected by the owner, in another a collection of local antiquities.
On the walls, amongst the photographs and prints which erewhile had
adorned his snug study at Eton, were hung ancient pikes and swords,
which of old time had done good service for king or parliament in the
hands of stout Lancashire gentry and yeomen; and over the fireplace was
the great Golden Eagle which Wilfred had shot on Stanwick Edge, the
last vacation he spent at home--a trophy he was even prouder of than of
the numerous silver cups he had won at the athletic sports at school.
These, and other like objects, all of which testified to the manly,
innocent, and noble nature of their former owner--household gods loved
and prized by their once possessor--the old man moved among, and saw
as if in a dream. Too late his eyes were opened to the treasure he
had neglected, and to the treasure he had lost. In his banished son
burned as knightly and as chivalrous a soul as had ever ennobled any of
his ancestors, and the Squire felt now, that in the contemplation and
worship of the Dead Past and of the Dead he had neglected the Living,
and had sacrificed the all-important latter to the little-important
former. Then he thought of his young wife, who had just time, ere her
pure soul took flight, to kiss and bless the Babe, whom, almost grown
to man’s estate, he had himself disinherited and cast out in shame and
poverty. And this thought softened him, and anon he sent for Evelyn
to come to him in the lost boy’s room, and there, amidst all his
belongings, he told her of the certainty of her brother’s innocence.
Hearing this, Evelyn shed tears of joy, not because her Wilfred was
innocent--that she _knew_ already--but because his good name was
vindicated; and then she shed tears of sorrow because he was she knew
not where, and at any rate far out of reach of the news that would be
as balm to his wounded soul.
On the day following, two letters of importance as regards this history
were received at the Manor. The first of these was addressed to Mr.
Manwaring, and was written by Lord Guttleborough. His lordship, who
was the head of the great Banking firm which bore his family name, and
a man of almost fabulous wealth, amidst the grief and shame which he
felt on account of the crime of his son and heir, had thought of, and
had felt deeply for, the father and son whom his own son had injured
so deeply. He wrote accordingly to express the sorrow he felt for
both; and in entreating Mr. Manwaring’s forgiveness, he hinted in the
most delicate manner, that if from his position or influence he could
in any way, or at any time, be of use in promoting the welfare of his
son, he would esteem it a privilege to use them in his behalf. Lord
Guttleborough’s letter was essentially that of a gentleman, and, spite
of his old contempt for _parvenus_, the Squire, in his softened
mood, recognised it as such, and felt proportionately grateful.
The other letter was addressed to Wilfred; and after the Squire had
opened and read it, and re-read it countless times, he gave it to
Evelyn for perusal. When, in the course of events, it again came into
her hands, she preserved it amongst her choicest treasures. As it
contained an account of several circumstances which I should otherwise
have to recount in my own words, I will quote it at length in the next
chapter.