TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.
CHAPTER ll—Continued. "I think," ho said grimly, "that only ;i fool locks the stable 'after the ho-rse i; gone. I.think that Sir Beinard had probably excellent reason when he cut Derek Willoughby olf without a shilling. And I think the writer of this probably knows that. Only an idiot runs a risk he can just a; " well avoid. I shall take the will to my banker to-day. "The best thing you can do. l ain with you so far, anyhow. And if I w<?i*c you I vrould keep tho letter. Very possibly " He was interrupted; the door opened'. '-and'a from his room with a telegram. Severance, opening 't up with a changed and startied face. * "No need to take it, he said, oir Bernard died at five o'clock this morning."
CHAPTER 111
For a time the telegram announcing the death of Sir Bernard Wflloughby, entirely eclipsed in Severance's mind the mysterious letter or warning. The hurry of his departure —for the message begged him to go at once to Redbourne—'the knowledge of the entire, almost incredible change which had come into his life—hardly the less difficult to realiso; because -t had been expected —were alone sum-, cient to absorb his thoughts. _ Moorfield, far more eager and -excited than his friend, helped him with the necessary preparations and packing and went with him to the railway Station. Not until the last moment, when their hands were clasped in farewell, did he say, with a laugh, as he pointed to the dispatch box by his friend's side: "Look after it, well, old chap! With due deference to you, I incline to the idea that your anonymous letter is anonymous bosh. All the same, keep your eye on it!"-.- •. «, - , The train was off, and Severance lxad.no.time for a-reply. Alone in the j he. lobktxl a?; tile receptacle in which lie had placed the will j of Sir Bernard Willoughby —the docu- j ment which was to change him from a j poor main to, a rich pne, which was to j alter all the' complexion and current j of his life. Small fear that would ] neglect to guard it. Greedy for money . he was not, but ambitious, proud, i smarting under the consciousness of power crushed for want of opportunity, 'he had loathed his- poverty. "I suppose I was right to take Moorfield'is advice and bring the will down with me," he said, half aloud. "The lawyer —what is his name? —Bethel 1, will most likely have a duplicate, but that's not certain, and there may be some points about which I shall want to consult him. He's evidently the family business man, and perhaps it won't do to take the family business out of his hands. Otherwise I should have turned it over to Tom. Yes, it's just as-well that I brought it, and —hang it all —who is likely to take care of it if I can't? Confound the letter! It may be a sheer hoax, after all." He laughed. "Possibly Derek 1 Willoughby has a turn of humour'. He will be at Redbourne, doubtless. -Wonder if he knows that he-is disinherited? Most probably, I- should say. From what I have gjathered.pf ithe old man's character, Sir Bernard, wasn't in the habit of mincing matters either in speech or deed, once his temper was up. If Derek don't know, I stand the chance of a loving greeting from him. I don't blame him so far. What sort of a fellow is he, I wonder ? What are they all like? All? ■ Ah, I shall see her! Certainly I shall!' I never thought of that !" He laughed. He was half amused, and half astonished, to find that his sudden recollection of Clare Throckmorton had filled him with the same emotion as his friend's mention of her name on the night. The thought of her absorbed him again. Poor girl, Sir Bernard's death ■ must have been a shock: to her I. No doubt he had been fond of her, and sho was as tender hearted and impressionable • asmost young gi»ls were", and as all ought to be. He sat staring out of the window, but saw nothing of the rich summer landscape t'hiat was flying past. He was contemplating a picture of his own invention and colouring—a graceful, black robed figure i girlish and slight, with head pensively drooping and head turned away—turned awiay because of the very excellent reason that he did not wish to invent features and complexion for Clare Throckmorton. Probably she was grieving over the dead man who had befriended her. Was she poor? Did the will provide for her? He roused himself, and put his hand on the dispatch box at his side. "Odd that I never looked. With the exception of myself, I couldn't tell of anyone whom the wall mentions —is she provided for, I wonder? Is Willoughby utterly disinherited?,,. I . ; might look now. Why-not ? raised the dispatch box to his 1 knee j and felt for his keys. In the act he stopped, and returned the box to its former position. "No, better not!" he said, decisively. "Safer to leave it where it is. Hope the poor little girl has something, though. I'll ask Bethell. Wo are partly cousins, I suppose, by the { way."
Glebeshire is not much more than an hour's run from town, and it was still early in the July afternoon when Severance reached Bassingford, the nearest station to Redbourne. A car-
(OUR NEW SERIAL.)
By CARL SWERDNA, Author of "A Mere Ceremony."
riage was in waiting, for he had wire dtho tiinb of his arrival, and he entered it, amusedly conscious of being respectfully and curiously examined by the stout coachman on the box and the thin footman, erect and vigilant by tho door. These wore two of his many new retainers, he guessed. He smiled to think of his one clerk and tho frowsy, shrill voiced caretaker, and the grimy maid of all work at his chambers. The almost incredible change in his fortunes was making itself tangibly felt already. The coachman and the footman, taking mental notes, were of opinion that a cooler looking gentleman than the new master of Redbourne neither )?ad seen. was.no trace of emotion of any kmd in that strong, composed face, set in its usual, darkbrowed gravity; the coachman indulged in a discreet whisper to hi; 3 comrade as the carriage presently turend in at the lodge gates at Redbourne.
"We've lost one Tartar," the coachman huskily remarked, "but I'm mistaken if we don't find that we've caught another here, Thomas, and one that u'd very likely give the ok 1 one points at that!" Severance, as the carriage rolled up the short, straight drive from the entrance gates, looked with interest and curiosity at the darkened mansion. It was his own. Seen now for the first time Redbourne was not picturesque —a large, square building, somewhat squat in its general effect, with fiafc | windows for the most part, a terrace walk running along its western front and side, a sloping, terrace garden, and a solitary, massive tower shooting up abruptly from one corner, looking not unlike a tall, stiff feather set in a cap. Blinds or shutters appeared at all the windows, and from one corner a faint wreath of blue smoke appeared in the blue air. The long, melancholy howl of a dog broke the hushed silence. Severance, as he alighted from the carriage, was- conscious of. a curious j sense,of depression an>d;dyil, curious 1 because he had knowji so well' . that I this was a house of mourning and of I death. He was not specially imJ nressionable, he had no sense of grief, but the strange weight was there. 'One half of the great, double hall door had been opened as the. carriage stopped, and he mounted the steps, and enterd a large hall which stretched away, vague and shadowy. Alter the bright light he could hardly make out the outline of a staircase and two small, shrouded windows at its further end. As the \doov was closed again the unseen dog once moTC raised its long, doleful howl. He saw no one but the servant who had admitted him. Listening to the long-drawn, woeful sound —a sympathetic fondness for animals was a strong trait in his character —Severance looked next at the main, feeling that lie understood it;
"Sir Bernard's dog?" he asked. "Yes, sir. It was his constant companion. We can't quiet it or get it away from the door of the room. 1 ' "Poor brute! Mr Bethell is here, I believe?" <r Yes, sir. He is in the library. This way, if you please." The butler lefl the way across the hall at a soft, decorous pace which harmonised with his soft voice and his plump, decorous figure. Entering the room to which he was conducted, Severance found himself in the presence of the man who had first made known to him his change of fortune. •He had not, as in the case of the still unseen Clare Throckmorton, formed any fancy picture of Mr Bethell, the lawyer, but the impression made upon him by the small, thin, gray-haired, ruddy-cheeked man who who rose to meet him was a pleasant one. Voioe and manner were both subdued from what was plainly •an habitual brisk cheeriness. Honestly and plainly grieving for the dead master of Redbourne, Mr Bethell was yet tactful enough to greet the new one in precisely the right key, obviously anticipating no expression of '"'grief upon his side. Severance was quick to appreciate the good sense and good feeling which set him at ease in a confessedly awkward moment. Twenty wills could not at'first suffice to re-
move his uneasy sense of being something very like, an interloper. His response was as cordial as the other man's advance, as cordial as it would have been cold with a different man. Before half a dozen words were exchanged the two were on friendly terms, each conscious of a mutual attraction in the other. Possibly Mr Bethel approved of Bern ard Severance as a man to be trusted. "I am glad that you were able to leave town immediately, Mr Severance," he said. "I have been for many years a sort of confidential friend in the house as well as its lawyer, I may perhaps tell you, a'nd I was of opinion that on all accounts your presenoe here was desirable." "No doubt you are perfectly right. I am glad you sent for me," Severance said. "As for my being able to leave town at once, I had fortunately nothing pressing that required attention, and was able to leave my affairs in the hands of a friend." (To he continued.)
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Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10401, 23 August 1911, Page 2
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1,796TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING. Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10401, 23 August 1911, Page 2
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