LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2232, 28 May 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTEEY OF LORD BRACKENBURY: A NOVEL. BY AMELIA B. EDWABDB. Author of “Barbara’s History,” ’‘Debenham’a Vow," &o. ( Concluded .) CHAPTER IV. GOOD BYE, LANCELOT. Lancelot’s mind was full of troubled thoughts, as he rode over to Singleton on the Wednesday morning. As yet, following Mr Marrablea’ connoel and the promptings of hia own good Jaenao, ho had told Winifred none of theso things ; but he now began to feel that it would not be easy to preserve silence much longer. Let it only bo ascertained that this Mr Compton who waj spending hia money pretty freely at Macclesfield, and the mysterious claimant, were one and the same, he too must see the man with his own eyes. But how should ho go to Macclesfield without assigning some reason for the expedition ? _ Would it not be bettor to tell all to hia wife, and to toll it at once, before rumours should reach her from without ? He never saw Winifred open a letter now, or taka up a newspaper, without an uneasy its possible contents. Arrived at Marrablea and Blake s office, ho found tho two Fawcetts already drawn up m order of battle. Old Clarke now survived only in the name of the firm ; Francis Fawcett had become a middle-aged man ; but Fawcett senior, thanks to his « toupee,’ bis hair-dye, and hia teeth, looked hardly any older than when he paid his memorable visit to Langtrey Grange. If his figure and complexion betrayed, perchance, a too self-indulgent habit of llfo, hia hand, at all events, was as wellshaped, and his smile as conspicuous, as ever. A black big stood beside him on the table. From this bag, after due preliminaries, he brought oat some five or six bundles of letters and papers. ‘We have the honor,' he said, in his florid way, ‘to submit to you, gentlemen, on the part of your eliont. Lord Brackenbury. . .’ ‘I bog your pardon,’ Mr Marrablea Interrupted, promptly, * I protest against that application of our client’s name and title.’ Mr Fawcett coughed, and smiled significantly. We have the honor to submit to you, gentleman, firstly a packet of letters from hia lordship’s brother, the Honourable Lancelot Brackenbury, now present ; secondly, a packet of letters from tho lady who was then Mias Winifred Savage; thirdly, a packet of business letters from the late Mr Joseph Mellor, who was at that time his lordship’s steward and agent; fourthly, a packet of miicellaneous correspondence (including a letter, gentlemen, from yourselves, signed Marrablea and Blake) and fifthly, a parcel of hotel bills duly receipted, beginning with the Lord Warden Hotel, Dover, from whioh point his lordship started, and ending with bills contracted at the Hotel Feder, Genoa, where he was staying when he made his famous purchase of the diamonds. Lastly—and these documents are of great importance—various papers connected with the sale and purchase of the said diamonds ; namely, the Avvooati More’s formal receipt for the sum of £31,000 sterling, the original inventory of the jewels, and a list of tho stones when unset and classified according to size and weight. This lost list is in hta lordship’s own handwriting. We have also a mass of private memoranda, small bills, and the like; as well as a cigarette-case which your client will probably recognise.’ Lancelot did recognise it, instantly—a little Russian-leather case mounted in silver, whioh he had himself given to his brother not long before they parted. Ho then took np the first packet, consisting of his own letters, opened them one by one, scrutinised dates ana postmarks, and passed them on in silence to Mr Marrablea. Next he examined the papers relating to the diamonds, tho hotel bills, and so on; but Winifred’a letters he put on one side unopened. ‘I presume you admit the authenticity ofjStheao documents ?’ said Fawcett, senior. Mr Marrables, as if unwilling to commit himself .to an opinion, replied by a little deprecatory gesture of the hand ; but Lancelot answered at once.

‘I believe them to be perfectly genuine,’ ho said. ‘ I can answer for my own letters, and for my wife’s handwriting on the envelopes of these others,’ ‘ Yon will permit mo to look at the letter which professes to be from ourselves ?’ said Mr Marrab’.ea. ‘ Humph ! —written on our office paper, I see; It looks very like the real thing.’ * It is the real thing, Mr Marrables,’ sail John Fawcett.

‘ And the packet of miscellaneous correspondence ? —no, thank you. I don’t desire to examine it. I am only wondering if it contains a loiter from Sir Reginald Barker to Lord Brackenbury—in reference to the solo of a carriage horse ? An idle question perhaps !’ ‘I—I believe there is some such letter,’ aaid Fawcett, unable to conceal his astonishment.

Even Lancelot wondered how Mr Marrables should know what was in the packet. ‘And those miniatures of his mother and brother, when the late Lord Braokenbury always took with him when he travelled—you can, of course, produce these also ?’ The Fawcetts looked at each other—hesitated—admitted that they had nothing of the kind.

. ‘You are quite sure, Frank, that his lordship did not mention the miniatures?’ suggested the uncle. Then Francis Fawcett seemed to search hia memory. He could not bo sure—he would not venture to say positively ; yet he fancied that something of the kind had been named, ‘ And now.’ said Mr Marrables, with the air of a man who was earning to the point —‘and now, gentleman, supposing your * documentary evidence’ to be bona fide, there arises another and a very serious question. Namely, how did your, client obtain possession of these papers ?’ ‘Ho did not ‘obtain,’ he ‘ retained’possession of them, Mr Marrables,’ said the elder Fawcett, severely. Mr Marrables smiled. ‘ Let us treat this matter seriously,’ he said. * You cannot, as men of business, suppose that my ollent, or any other sane person, would accept the mere authenticity of any number of documents as evidence of personal identity? Your client, gentlemen, is neither a bill nor a letter. He is not receipted; ho has not been through the post.’ t We wish to treat this matter seriously, Mr Marrables. It is not we who treat it with levity,’ replied the younger Fawcett. ‘ We are quite aware that more conclusive testimony is necessary; and here It is.’ With this ho brought out some sheets of folded foolscap and laid it on the table. The signed declaration of Abraham Stanway of Burfield Moor. Abraham Stanway testifies to recognising his lordship, and to being reminded by his lordship of various circumstances which he had himself forgotten till they wero brought back to bis memory, I need not go Into details—you can read them for yourself. The signed declaration of Isaao Plant, who has also recognised his former landlord. The signed declaration of ”cth Plant, son of the above, to the same effect. The signed declaration of Zachary and Keziah Myott; also to the aamo effect. All these witnesses are prepared to substantiate their testimony upon oath. ’ ‘ls it Iposalble,’ said Mr Marrables. * Really this is interesting. Your own tenants, my dear Lord Brackenbury—your own respected and respectable tenants !’

Do you object to the witnesses, Mr Mar rabies ?’

• Oh, dear no ! Quite the contrary—l am charmed. And does this complete the case.

• Not quite. We have yet to submit to your client’s consideration his lordship’s account of his life and travels during the

past seventeen years taken down from hi* lordship’s own ‘ viva voce ’ statement ; to gether with various letters and papers relating to the period of bis residence in San Francisco and elsewhere. Wo shall be happy to leave you copies of these, for your client’s perusal at leisure.’ ‘ Don’t you think now (to be candid, Mr Fawcett, that it would save us all a great deal of trouble if your client would kindly consent to an interview, and tell his story for himself ?’

‘ No, sir—l do not,’ replied the elder man, half angrily. ‘We have already explained that his lordship objects to meet hia brother under the present altered and painful circumstances. There is no need, sir, to go over that ground again.’ ‘But we deny that tho circumstances arc painful, Mr Fawcett. It may be disagree able to your client to want money, but wo beg to assure that, were he the person you represent him to bo, nothing would give us more pleasure than to satisfy hia demands.’ ‘He should have four times twenty-five thousand pounds,’ said Lancelot, speaking for the second time. « you hear that, gentleman ? A hundred thousand pounds is a large sum. Your client has but te present himself in person (and to convince ua of his identity), and a hundred thousand pounds are at his diaposal.’ There was a momentary silence. Then Francis Fawcett spoke. < I will freely confess, Mr Marrablei, that lam somewhat of your opinion. I wish our client could be prevailed upon to meet hia brother; but wheu a man has been supplanted in his dearest affections.’ _. . . • Lancelot half rose from his chair, but Mr Marrablea checked him with a gesture, ‘ I am delighted,’ ho said, ‘ that Mr Francis Fawcett takes so business-like a view of the matter. And, such being tho ca7e, I cannot doubt that these gentlemen will be pleased to learn that their client has consented to give us tho pleasure of hia company,’ Whereupon Mr Marrablea rapped the table with a ruler, and there entered Mr Blake, followed, very slowly and reluctantly, by a sandy-haired, showily-dressed man of perhaps forty five or forty seven years of age. ‘My dear Lord Brackenbury, said Mr Marrablea, “I have the pleasure of presenting to you Messrs Fawcett and Clarke’s mysterious client This is Mr Compton, alias Outhbart Lord Brackenbury, alias Samuel J Fronting, who was your brothers valet.’

* Tou are sure you have all you want, Fronting ?’ * Quito sure, my lord.’ * There is nothing I can do for you in any way ?’ 4 You—you have done too much already, my lord. More than I deserve,’ There is humility in the words; bnt the man’s mann r is even more hnmble. He stands shuffling his feet and nervously clasping and unclasping hia hands ; the picture of self-abasement. Lord Brackenbury looks at him with almost compassion. * Well, you have acted the part of a great scoundrel, Fronting,’ he says; but it is open to you to do batter in the future.’ ‘ I wish to do bettor, my lord.’

*lt rests with yourself. You have tho world once more before yon. And it is not as if you were going back to California or the States, In Canada, you will find yourself among new scenes and new people. You can make a fresh start it you choose. ’

‘ Indeed, my lord, I will.’ They are standing on the deck of an Allan Line steamer bound for Quebec. It is almost dark ; and the smoke and noise and confusion of Liverpool and tho Mersey are around them.

* Well, It yon want help or advice, you are to write to Mr Blake ; but to attempt to deceive us in any way will be useless and impossible. There goes the bell—so good-bye to you.’ ‘ Good bye, my lord, I'm—l’m truly grateful for your goodness—and . . . .’ • And what ? Make haste—they are going to remove the gangway.’ ‘And please, my lord, if yon approved, I’d write to Lattice by and by, when I was settled ; and if she oared to come out and bring tho boy ”, . . Lord Brackenbury hesitates—then shakes his head.

‘No,’ he says, sternly. ‘The woman has suffered enough ; and the lad has never seen you. Leave them in peace.’ With this ho goes ashore; and the gangway is withdrawn; and presently the * Proserpine’ is under way. Four hours later. Lord Brackenbury is once more standing on the deck of a big steamer ; and this time he is there as a passenger. The vessel la a Cnnarder bound for the Medlterannean and Adriatic seas, and he has taken his passage direct for Bari. He is going home, and without having seen his brother’s face. Looking back at the fast-receding lights of the great city, ho tells himself that this last is the hardest sacrifice of all, * Good-bye, Lancelot I ’ The night is dark, and there are none to see his tears. THE END. TOM CONLAN’S TRYST. Concluded .) With her gray eyes somewhat dimmed, Mary kissed her mistress, and then restored her hand to Tom’s hearty clasp ; 4 I spake the words now,’ she said : ‘ I gie to thee my plighted troth. My faith an’ truth an’ my right han’, — That if you’ll marry nae ither woman, Then I will marry nae ither man.’ * There’s it’s for yon. Now yours to me !’ Tom plighted his faith to her with earnestness. * Dinna break it 1 ’ cried she gaily ; 4 dinna e slipping awa’ before the wedding-day. He’s plenty to say anent my promise, Mrs MoGarvoy, but maybe it’s himsel’ will rue an’ be off to America,’ and she glanced laughingly, but withja well-satisfied expression, in the young farmer’s handsome face. Tom did not smile at her banter, he seemed too thoroughly in earnest to jest. ‘ I strange very much that you’d be that foolitoh, Mary. I’ll bo wi’ you, as sure as that day dawns.’ During their conversation the funeral service had been performed, and the boats had all set out from the pier. The rough country ponies had been unfastened from the rings In the wall, and, a man and women upon each, were being ridden homeward as fast as their double burden would admit, for the piercing wind had fallen, and the heavy clouds were falling down in snow.

4 Come to dinner wi’ na, we’ll fiix the day, an’ notice his reverence, Father Dan,’ said Mrs Garvey. So Tom dined at Tamney, and before long everything was arranged. The wedding was to take place on the fol'owing Wednesday. The snow was falling thickly, when Tom tore himself away, and, much against the advice of his friends, set out for the ferry. Ho declared that they had no reason to fear tor him, that ho knew the way well, and must certainly get home that evening, as he would have little enough time to prepare for his bride’s fitting reception. The snow was several feet in depth next morning, but notwithstanding outward gloom and cold, the preparations went on rnorrily, Mrs McGarvey hired a fiddler ; she unhooked her finest flitch of bacon from the beam before the kitoheu fire ; she ordered a piece of beef, and she sent her son to a shebeen house to bespeak a huge jar of poteen. Wednesday morning arrived, and found a blithe stir in the farm house. The boys and girls, friends of the bride, who were to accompany her to the chapel, were there in their Sunday dress. They had come singing and joking over the crisp snow, now so frozen as to afford pleasant walking ; and as they looked round at Mrs MoGarvey’s bountiful preparations, and complimented Mary upon her drees and good looks, they began to wonder that the bridegroom did not appear, for the bridal train could not sot oat for Massmount until he came. So great had been the bustle all the morning that Mrs MoQarvey had forgotten to milk the oows at the usual hour; she now repaired to the cow-honse, with her gown tuoked up, and carrying the plggin and milk can. Poor Mary, a little annoyed by the remarks of the young pooplo, found out her whereabouts, and followed her.

• I cannot help stranging that Tom’s not here yet,' was her mistress’ greeting. ‘Ay, that’s what they’re all saying,’ re-

plied the bride, letting a tear fall upon the fine white ribbons of her new bonnet ‘Dinna tak’ on, dear,' said Mrs McGarvey, observing the signal of distress, ‘ dinna tak’ on. for he’ll be here in a wee minute surely.’ • There he is, coming to the byre,’ cried Mary In a very different tone. ‘ Where dear,’ asked the mistress, looking up, bewildered. ‘Why, there—there in the doorway. ‘ I dinna sec him ; there’s nobody there, Idary, darlin’.’ ‘No, for he’s just gone awa’ to tho house, an’ he didno speak to me,’ said Mary, halfpuzzled, half angry. * If that’s the way wi’ Tom, there’s plenty of ither boys wad be proud— ’ ‘Whisht dear,’interrupted Mrs McGarvey, ‘ we’ll gae into the house an’ hoar what he has to say for himsel.’ Mary stood in tho lively kitchen like one utterly lost in painful bewilderment, ‘What is it, jewelll’ asked her mistress.

‘ Wbat ails you, Mary ?’ cried tho guests, crowding round her. * Tom was in thou corner amang ye all when I came in ; what gars him hide frao me ? I can tell him I’ll no tak’ it too weel,’ said Mary, wrapping her arms in her new shawl, since she had no apron to twist.

‘ Tom ? Why, girl, he didna come In at all at all. Tou can search if you piesze, but we’ll hold you Tom isna in this house,’ replied the young people with one voioe. ‘ There again I’ cried she, * There, standing at the dresser.’

All followed the direction of her eyes, but saw nothing. Fear laid his chilly hand upon the company, and there was a dead silence until Mary drew a long breath, and sobbed : ‘ He’s gone now; the blessed saints preserve ns I Something has happened to Tom.’ So saying she sank upon the oreeple in the chimney-corner, and cried bitterly. A message was sent to the priest to tell him that there could be no wedding that day, and then the neighbors consulted what was to bo done next. They were much frightened, but did not like to lose the good dinner, and it would be a sin to leave the jar of poteen undrank, to they decided on staying to console the bride. Just then steps came to the door, and Tom’s father and nno’e appeared. They came to ask if anything had been heard ot Tom, for they had not seen him since the Sunday morning when he set out for chapel, saying he meant to spend the day at Mrs MoGarvoy’s. They had not felt uneasy until Tuesday, thinking that he had probably been prevailed upon to remain at Tam’ney until the snow should cease to fall; but when Tuesday dawned brightly, and the ground was frozen hard, they began to wonder at his non-arrival.

The whole assembly spoke together, relating the events above described, and poor Mary continued to weep, ‘ He’s met wi’ an unfair death—my son’s no more,’ said tho father, ‘Come Dan,’to his brother, *we maun raise the oounthry an’ mak’ a search for him, God comfort you an’ me baitb, my las?.’ And laying his horny hand on the poor girl’s head, he departed with dejected steps. The dinner was eaten, and the whiskey drunk, and the guests, in a merry condition, went off to a neighbour’s barn, taking the fiddler with them. Mary put on her working dress, and helped her mistress to wash the dishes.

Daring the rest of tho week, Tom appeared to her once or twice a day; he never remained very long, not more than a minute or two, and continued to be invisible to others. The boatmen declared he bad rowed him across More is Ferry on Sunday evening, and had watched him oUmb the mountain road, and disappear over the crest of the hill; but there all trace of him was lost, and inquiry was alike in vain.

On Saturday, however, a rapid thaw set in, and in a lonely part of the road where the snow had drifted, Tom’s body was found. Whether ho had succumbed to sadden illness, or feeling weary had sat down to rest and had been overtaken with drow sinesa, weald never now be known. He had a decent wake and funeral, and was buried in Msssmount with much keening and cry of plover, and clanging of the boll, and it was hoped that hia poor soul would now have rest.

But Mary pined away. Still in the glow of the evening fireside, in the byre and in the field be came to her, and her only. She put on her cloak one day, and went to consult his reverence. Father Dan.

‘ Does the apparition look angrily at you, my poor girl ? ’ asked the good priest, when he had listened attentively to her story.

* Na, na, yonr reverence, Tom conldna look an pry at me ; but whiles be looks doll like, an’ whiles in a troubled way.’ ‘There’s something on his mind that’s keeping bim from bis rest, Mary ; it might be that it's the promise he made yon that’s troubling him. If you take my advice you’li release bim from his troth. Here, take this book with a morsel of the blessed bread wrapped in the cover, and the next time you see him, hold the book oat to him, and ask him to tell you what’s on his mind. If he catches hold of the book, he’ll speak ; but anyway yon will s»e him no more.’ Mary took Father Dan’s advice. The next time Tom appeared, she held out the book, and said : ‘ Tom, dear, for the love of God tell me what’s keeping you frae your rest ? ’ The spectre moved slowly backward while she continued to hold out the book, and his eyes were fixed anxiously upon her face. * You conldna keep the promise, Tom, dear,’ she faltered, trembling with agitation * I wish yon could get to your rest! I release you frae yonr troth. ’ As she said the words a smile seemed to brighten Tom’s face, and while she gazsd upon him the appearance gradually faded, and was seen no more. But Mary drooped eni pined, and died within the year. There came a day in bleak November, when the Tamney women meeting one another asked ! 4 Have you hoard that Mrs McGarvey’s Mary has just got to her rest ? ’ ' Ay, neighbor, Ood send she has made a gude change the day I ’