CHAPTER III. DEATH,

Waikato Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2203, 21 August 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER 111. DEATH,

About a week after this interview, as Amy continued Kteudily to improve, George went to Oldcs'-tle for a day. He had vancih business to transact at his office for one thing, and for another he wished to see Mr Portland, !«nd to hear personally if any reliable information had been acquired regarding his cousin's marriasre wi*h Poggy. The Vicar had become exceedingly irritable and uuear«y of late on this point. Among the country people it was generally believed to be true, and he was continually being annoyed by condolences on the subject ; while old Richardson, it was understood, had placed his daughter's case in the hands of a local attorney of HOme ability, and was only waiting for the expected birth of her child to commence proceedings to establish her claims. Several letters had passed between the Vicar and Mr Portland during the last fortnight, but Mr Manners had not been communicative as to their contents to George, and after some consideration he therefore determined to see the old lawyer himself, and hear his real opinion on the subject. He was received at the Oldcastle station with great enthusiasm by Mr Hindmarch, who expected him, and wrung his hand as he alighted with intense cordiality. 4My dear fellow — my dear Manner?,' said Luke, ' I am glad, I am really glad to see you again.' Mr Hindmarch addressed George as if he had just been rescued from some great danger into which he had precipitated him, and indeed this was the view of the case as represented in Mr Hindmarch's own mind. 4 Well, Hindmarch/ said George, cheerfully, shaking his hand, ' how are you ?' He had got a sort of kindly feeling towards his partner now, for he had been so little with him lately that their antagonistic qualities hail not clashed. * Pretty well, lately, answered Mr Hindmarch. ' But I cm tell you that affair upset me, thoroughly. As I wrote to you I was shocked, utterly shocked, when I read of that unfortunate man's death. I felt that I had been to blrime, and yet «f tpr all I wjs not ; but btill I am shocked ' ' I do not wonder at that,' said George, gravely. ' Who would ever have thought of such a thing ?' answered Lukn. * Well, I declare, one never knows the mischief one may do. But how is she ?' * Mrs Clayton is better,' said George, shortly, and then changed tho conversation. He did not care to talk about it, though Luke Hindmarch did. In fact, Mr Rindtnareh had made quite a market in the society of Oldcastle out of his connection with this affair, and had become a sort of lion lately from it having been known that he had sent the unfortunate Clayton on his fatal errand. How often had he told the story ! How, with judicious hints, had he carefully betiayed what he called his ' little affair' with the 'late unfortunate Captain's wife.' He had made himself out a hundred times the hero of the tale, and hail inferred that Captain Clayton had shot himself and his wife in his jealous rage. There were Pome clever wags of his acquaintance who certainly did not believe all this, who had their laugh at Luke over their pipes and toddy. But still, on the whole, it had made him of some consequence ; and ho knew it, and talked about it on every available occasion. But George did not know thi«, so he was pleasant to his partner, and only changed the conversation because it was not his nature to talk much of things which concerned his tendered feelings. He found everything at the office in a satisfactory condition. Whatever Hindmarch was, he certainly most undoubtedly was a clever, pushing, fortunate man of business. No trouble deterred him. No fine scruples stood in his way ; so Luke made money, and men thought well of him because he did. 1 If your governor corner into the title all right, Manners,' he said to George, for he never lost an opportunity, ' you won't be for sticking to this, I suppose ; and I was going to make a proposal to yon concerning leaving the capital untouched in the business ; you see— ' 4 My dear fellow, my father has not yet come into the title,' interrupted George, ' and it will be time enough, surely, to talk about our future arrangements when he does ; and that reminds me I am going now tj sue Mr Portland on this business.' 'I'll walk along with you, then,' said Luke, with alacrity, taking up his hat also ; aril so the two started together, Hindmarch, we may be sure, giving George a good deal of conversation and ail vice as they went. They paited at the old lawyer's office, and George went ups.t»ir3, and after .i short dflay waa ushered into the presence of the rich man. 'Well, Mr George,' he said, holding out his hand, ' welcome home.' 4 You see I have come back, Mr Portland,' saiil George, with an uneasy little laugh. 'I thought you would — I thought you would ; anil you lu\e gone through sonic troubled water, too, since you came.' 4 Yes.' 4 1 read the Vicar's evidence,' continued Mr Portland, 4 and I think that miserable man did the only wise action of his life when he ended it. 4 There can be no iloubt his mind was affected".' 4 Probably \ drink and other lad propensities, which it is said he freely indulged in, are not conducive to, or indicative of reason.' 'It was a miserable end to a miserable life,' said George, with some feeling, ami he cast down his oyps as he .spoke. ' I met tho yomiL' lady, who Iwul tho niistoituno to be Ms wife, at tho Vicarage,' said Mr Portland, * when you ueie in Russia. She is a charming girl. I admire that class ot women most, 1 think. 1 hope she is getting well V ' What class ?' asked George, with a smile ; and then ho added, ' but you saw some one else also, did you not, Mr Portland, tvhen you were down ? You saw, I hear, the unfortunate fisher girl who claims to be poor Hugh's wife.' 'Yes, Mr George,' said Mr Portland, gravely, ' yes.' ' .She is beautiful enough, at any rate. I think I have never seen .a face as perfect as hers.' 'Itis a perfect face. And her reason ?' George shook his head. 4 She is like some broken instrument/ said Mr Portland. ' Poor Ophelia ! all her 4 sweet bells jangled out of tune, and harsh." 4lt is a pitiable sight— may God forgive poor Hugh tho evil ho has done.' * How iar did it extend, I womlev X

said Mr Portland, with an odd inflection in his voice. ' You mean did he marry her ?' said George, openly. •Itis on this subject I have come to you, Mr Portland. I want to know if you hay« had any reliable information ?' 'The Vicar then has not shown you I my letter V said Mr Portland, gently I closing his eyes. • No ; but he has become very impatient and irritable on the subject lately What have you heard, Mr Portland ? I think I have some right to know.' ' You are th« direct heir if your father assumes the title,' said Mr Portland ; 'therefore l think you have the fullest right. ' Yes, Mr George, I proposed to your father that you should be taken into our confidence and consultation— on tiiia subject.' • And he did not wish it ?' 1 He said young men were often foolish and quixotic' 'But, Mr Portland, there seems to mo to be no scope here for quixotism or folly ; there seems but one course open to us — to enJeavour to learn if Hugh did marry this poor girl or not? In the event of him having done so, and his child being born alive, why surely— even my father ' It would be very difficult for them to prove the marriage, Mr George.' • How so ?' 'The nnfortunate girl is mad for one thing, and therefore can give no reliable evidence —and for another, they are poor people, and such cases cost money.' 4 You mean in case ny father opposed them? But if we believe ho married her — if we can really get any evidence as to that, I for one will see no wrong done to her or the child. Poor Hugh tor years was like a brother to me, and I will certainly try to protect those he has left behind me now.' 1 The question is, would Hugh wish such a connexion or marriage ever to be acknowledged ?' 'Mr Portland,' said George with some energy, ' Hugh was of the world, worldly; ho trifled with and broke this poor woman's heart ; but now — if it is permitted to the dead to see the events of carth — do yon think he would care whether his heir's mother was a fisher girl or a countess ?' 1 You are going into profound too questions for me to follow you, Mr George,' answered the old lawyer with a smile, and a slight deprecating wave of his hand, •We will, if you please, leave the feelings of the dead to themselves, and consider those of the living. It is natural your father should not like to be disturbed in his inheritance— by such uncertain claims as these.' 'But if they aie just?' said George, hotly. 'The eonerous fire of youth— the geneious h're of youth,' said Mr Portland shaking his white he.nl. 'Ah, Mr George, we grow colder as we giow old. You remind me of my old tnend Sir Hugh, the late lad's father — not of your own — not of your own.' ' But even my father ' ' No doubt wishes do to riirlit. But, MiGeorge there are many considerations and opposing interests in this world ; for instance, the Vicar may not believe in this girl's, or rather her father' * assertions ;'he may say, not unnaturally, why is thi.s only mootpd now, when there is no one to deny it ? It must be proved before I admit the idea : and Kujfh by all accounts, was not a likely man to make such a .sacrifice.' 4 Yet, Miss Williams— Mrs Clayton, I mean — believes it,' said George quickly. ' Husrh spoke to her shortly before his death, with great bitterness, about some woman having- claims on him which he did not care to avow. I, for one ' Mr George, pardon me, but I ant an old man and a young one. Do not be precipitate, even in your words. Wait, at all events, till the child is born, and then sec what they can prove. It may be, you know, that we shall have no rea-on to enter into this case. If anything 1 happens to the child, the mo-t this young 1 woman, or her family could look for, would be a suitable provision, and this, I am sure, neither you nor your father would hesitate a moment about.' ' No, indeed.' ' You look dissatisfied still,' said Mr Poitland, with his urbane smile. ' But, my younyr fiiend, do not let us quarrel. It will be time enough to decide on your attitude by-and bye. You would n<«t. I am uurp, willingly oppose your father V ' If I believe it to be justice ' • Wait till we find that it is so,' replied Mr Portland, aud then by a ."light, almost imperceptible movement, lig gave George to understand that for the present he considered the conversation waseuded ; and with some dissatisfaction and distrust in his heart, George took up hi.s hat aud went away. He returned to Narbroujrh by the same traiu which he had travelled in three weeks ag-o, with such different and agonised feelings in his heart. The stationmaster on the platform knew him again as he went to take his «eat. The stationmaster had found out all about who the gentlemen was who had rushed so wildly in and lost the train the niijht of the .suicide ami attempted murder at N irbrough Viraraire. He knew this was young Mr Manner*, and that the gentleman bad been 100 late to interfere between the mad husband and the h.iplcs*. wife. There had beer. many stories eitculated in the town about th^irv ; some of which neither Geonro nor ]\[ts Clayton would have felt graceful for if they" had known them But tht-y tli<l not, ;»n,l George never even noticed that the station-master was eyeing 1 him curiously while he stood uvitinjj for the train. It was a dark, wet ni^ht when ho reached Narbrouyh, and he was plodding somewhat wearily along- the road, he was overtaken by Dr Ruthyeu. who was riding the .same way. 'Is th if you, Mr Georjrc ?' said the doctor, pulli'iy up the moment after he had p is^-c '■ I im, and looking back 'In that case I nc oil <,'.> no further,' ' Won't yon come do«n to the. vicarasro and have something 1 , Doctor V answered Geoige. ' It's a dreary enough night. Have you been to the village r' ' Ay, and was going to the Vicar with my news. You may call you father Sii Arthur when you go in, Mr George; theio's nothing to prevent it. now .' ' What I Is the child ' ' Tue child itnd the mother bith,' answered the doctor. ' Poor IVjjltv is #ono from her troubles A dead child j ■ was bom about ;m hour ,i»o, ,md --hi' nuv.-r litt'tl hir he id again ' 'Pour gill, pool gul,' said Gfoi^c much ! atVtctfd. 'She's best, at iv>t," s.mi flip doctoi, also with ;i stiange huskinc>s in his yon c ' Poor lass, she's, bettor in hei gi.ivt- than | in a madhouse, and nothuiy would bail) I comi'o'tcd her now on eaith 1 She loved him so much Y ' Ay — too well. Too much love is al> i-l thin":, Mr George, and mostly iriv« n where it\s not deserved. Ptv^y lived t-ut, for you cousin, and tho shock of thus sudden death destroyed her reason. Ay, I've watched her many a time, poor lass, Waitmy for him among 1 tho links, when she nt ver saw mo — but fche't* besl away — she's bust away,' ' 4 Was she not sensible at tho end '' • She never spoko— but «he looked just about the last as if sho remembered her misery. Perhaps the Lord was merciful when He clouded her mind till then. But good night, Mr Georgp ; and give my le spects t<> your Vat 1 i ' • And you wou't co;uo mi'

1 Not, to-night. I'm about done up, that's the truth — thanks to you all the Mmß ;' and the doctor held out his hand, ami turned his horse's and rode away, and George walked slowly home. He found the Vicar sitting- in his study enjoying his pipe, while his stepmother camf smiling to the door to welcome him. ' We thought you would come home by this train, Georgie, ' she <-aid. ' Your dinner is ready, dear : and after you've had it, I've got something pretty to show you.' ' Indeed, mother ; and what may that be?' ' I trot leave from the doctor, this morning, lo have Amy up for half an hour to-day ; and we havp put off till you would be hark But what's the matter, Georgie ? You look so grave. Nothing has happened J hope \' As Mr* Mamms «nid this, the Vicar glanced quickly up ;it his son's face. F.tthfi. yon nre Sir Arthur Manners now,' said George, with <.ome emotion in his voice. ' poor Peggy and the child are gone ' 4 What, de;id " mcd the Vicar, starting to his feefc. You don't me in it— dead George '*' Then Ge<>rge told his story, and with many exclamation* of pitvnn'd sympathy, Mrs Manners -tood by pnd heard it. •Both gone she' said, 'both gone!' and n tear stood in her bright blue eyes, * Poor I-iss !' said the new Sir Arthur, and for a. momont he turned aw<y his head. 'It was for your sake, my lad, I was anxious' lie said the next minute holding out his hand to George, with something like moisture in hi-> twinkling eye, « for yours and the rc-t of them — and Portland has made me very uneasy lately.' ' You beljeve there was a marriage, then V ' The laws in Scotland are so lax, George, on this point, it is almost impossible to decide what is a marriage there, I think — Portland has pent a clerk to the villiage where Hugh and Peggy lived for a week ' ' And she passed there as his wife r' *So they said, so they said ; but it is useless to flisenss it now.' 1 But thit alone constitutes a marriage, in Scotland, father, I believe,' answered Goorire. ' For the sake of poor Hugh and his dead wife, then, do not let us dispute it now ' * Well, well— it-b est kept quiet. js nt n t have It your Own way, if you like, and Clod bles>. you and keep you, my dear.' he added, iroing tin and giving" his wife a hearty Uhs. • Ir. was for your sjke and the children's T'\e been s<> anxious, pot mv n« 11 ; and the Vieir prohihly believed, wlipu h" said this, that he Wh spe tking th" tint h Thete is no tk cd to write a long end to \\x\-* Imiilt stnry. The Yi< ,ti — the now Sir Arrhnr— fflt a vcrv pioud and "1 t t^d man for thp iii -t few divs, after h< and his family hid taken do^c^kiii of X.iibroutrh H ill. 'I'lion he qmi'tlv sfttlcd down utto his usuil 'on't'Tiri-d and solf-indulgt'nt fr '.me of m.nd. ' After all.' lie « ould sny, sententiouslv, lookincr (•omplarctitly out, from his staMv home at the bro id acres which now called hit'i owner, 'there aie {roubles in every position of life — if we peunit them to be so.' But we have sp t >n how the Vicar is not quite such i philosopher -is ho prides himself on btiiiir. and that when the shoo really pinched him he could cry out as well as his neisrhbouis. L'ldy M inners is s () like the simple Mrs Manners of old. that there is no necessity to de>cnbe her, or her placid wav of life. She has but one < ai<\ but one anxiety, she says; which is the delu- ite bloom o"n the lovely check of th > c hild-like Milhcent Manners. But hor irood fiiend the doctor tells her th it her httle daughter is outgrowing he delicacy, and that she will live to bo wh it poor Sir Hugh often prophesied, the In Ho of the Mannerses. And the weddt ;3 pair r The pair whoso hents had been wedded so lonir, and who after a brief mimruinsr for the unfortunate Hugh CLivton, were wedded by the laws of God and man. \\ hat .shall we tell of them r Arp theie s jine thino[> too sacred, roo mysterious, too subtle, to be «poken or wntten of. Surely then the happy love between man and woman is one of these Oorgr's f,i<-c giew softer, and Atny\ hiitihter and fuller, as months passed by, and the-etuo trod on life's | j Mirnpy tn^-fthoi — eiossmg its rough j pi icpsj pnlliii"; thuuigh its thorns and briirs (tor who does not meet, them r), h uid m-h Hid, m-l witli love to sweeten theii tiou'.-les Thcv mingle with their fellow tr-nvH-Ms, exr-hanging fiiendly gieetingi and kmdly deeds ; joining them in the.r men van kings, and syrnpathisinir ]n their soirows. But where their happiest hours are spent, where their truest joys aie found, is in a quiet little spot lying cio-e to the heatherdecked moots, of which one day G°orge will bc(,ome po-^ovir and which' beats for them tlie scored name of liome Sometimes prattling in love's sweet whispers, Amy will talk to George of ' poor Coiism Hugh," telling him how gleams of a higher and better nature would pass ;it times through. th<> mocking cynicism and sdlish baldness of his heart. Telling him how, if Hugh had led a diftt lent life, b'\"n sin rosmdrd by different cireunist iik es and iiiflu<-n< ps, he might !uiv- hot u 'inoi" liKv you, George — more like you ' 'Child, h'v.v f mlish ymi am,' Oeorire would an>\\ei, loo\ing fnndly down a! the swoef tI- c i il-oi l-o Iro his ; but we liny lie sme thettn-lu rliif.iy ])lcas.'d lmn, and f hat it sound- d pleas mt to his ears, from the lips of Ins fur wifo. Tin l s]).

Thorn wlio would in ike us feel nm-t feel t)iiMi)seh(H Churchill. We read that it a iwnt party in China the "\ Rvrov boimv. r<l a piano .did lud it played hv a n.»ti"l . 'int.Mr <if the classic Wa^nenan sclion] ittii dinner, n-.x surprise fnr his ir>ic>t- It wi- eft'ec-the. l~p to rh it tnno tho ( hine- • urnc-t-. had Mattered tlienwh c«. th it their nn n in»ti \unent> were c ipahle of making the woi-t music in the world. Sm 151!) w alii w ed liis son to join .1 dinner paity when In 1 was quite \<>un<.r The father was defining wii it wit was, when the boy mtci ruptcd him, m\ intr he c<m!d £i\e a bert n dohnitinji "Well whtt i> it, Torn ' '" Tliat u lnoh sji u k!(>s and cuts,'' rppbrd (ix 1 -''i: '" Tii"ii." observed Shciidin. "is\,m li t\ c sp (i l v liml, vuii cm now cvt 1 ' uid pour r<un lost the leniamder of 'us dmvi '• \n Ci. It-st Mis 11,I 1 , w.is a cliai tiling \\ rlli HI '"slid l"> In his sf>L(ind Wife .1 fe\V (h\s 1-0 'I'hen. s.i'm^r „,, ,!_r| v ] O(1 ] y - oU li.i li< <\ li" li " r -'ii d t.i -iv. "\ <m nivist t st i.-i me. in\ d. ai : l>ut \t i-, .mly natsual 1h il I slimild 111 mi p tm h m a ( tunes ' '<>h In t v .p..l, U 'i,,. ' u d Mis \\ 1 , l>, I.' li > 1 1 1 f p"Ui*i d w i\ " I as»Mn vii no < < 1,11 -n't hci iji IUI uimi' tlnn I do ' \' \\\\ 1 tui > did you tret homo ftom J^e.-hbl.sr nu-'.t J ..■',"•' " \t thn-j in thiMii"! mti'jf " •' \\\akiMiin:,Mo;,i \\itc. no d.nibt 1 '" " V«-> T« 1.1 Th vt s ni\ u-uil luck, \ .hi knm\ "What did \oii mv '"' '' 1 dtdn t siv auvthi'itr. Thcn'w isn't uiytiling left tn siy .ift, 1 -he had finished ! ' Sin Wsi 1 1 u Si oi i. wpI m£r on one occasion to ;) \onnu r 111 in who had just obtained a sitnihnn tl-i- x ><n\ .idin 1 " — "}«••- war 1 of 1 piopenMtv v Inch easily bfvt«i \iiit Ime m uhil -\ inn n call il iwcJluisr. L't\(iui niottib'. li-i'a^e. Do instantly wliitfM'i is to b> ii ni\ ,md take your lecre.itsou .iftei bv mes , ne\rr befoie it. ' " Did not the si^bt of tlie boundless blue sea, bt uiiil; on its bosuui white-winped fleets of oininpice, fill yon with emotion v " he aslcfd. '" W«," replied the fair Ameri- ( m " f"< ,iulh'^ if- dul bnf after 1 titnp it clHn'fc 'i' ! nip with anj thing; ; it burtei emptit'ct me '"