"Hist! hist!" cried a small voice, as Chandos Winslow was walking along in the cool of the early morning, with Lockwood on one side and Faber on the other, towards the nearest place to Winslow Abbey where post-horses were to be obtained. They were in the wood, clothing the side of the hill through which he had passed on the preceding evening; and though the path was wide, and the trees far apart, with no underwood, he looked about in vain for the body whence the sounds proceeded. Still, however, the voice cried, "Hist! hist!" and in a minute after, a boy slid down the boll of one of the large trees, and, running forward, sprang affectionately into Chandos's arms.
"Why, Tim, my little man, you here?" cried the young gentleman. "How came you to be playing truant so far from Northferry?"
"I am not playing truant," replied the boy. "My mother took me; because she said that it should be me who served you, and good old General Tracy. She wants to see you very much; but would not go away. You will find her on there; but I must go up the tree again to look out."
"Is she before the cottage, a quarter of a mile on?" asked Chandos.
"No, no!" said the boy. "Go forward till you see a straw on the branches, on the left; then you will come to two others, and then to three. Whistle where the three straws are, and she'll come. Good bye, good bye!" and running away again, he climbed up the tree like a squirrel.
"He's a nice lad," said Lockwood: "'tis a pity!"--but he leftthe whatunexplained, and the party walked on, looking carefully on the left for the signs which the boy had mentioned. The first straw, however, must have escaped their notice; for they came to the two, without having perceived it; and the three were found not far on. But Chandos had no occasion to give the signal; for he had hardly seen the place, when Sally Stanley was before him. She looked worn and ill; but her large, dark eyes had lost none of their wild lustre; and she exclaimed as soon as she beheld him, "Ah! you have come: I knew you would come. Fate would have it so. And you too, Lockwood: you are a hard man; but you do not mean ill. But, who is this white-faced thing? and what is he fit for?"
She looked full at Faber as she spoke; but Lockwood took upon him to reply, saying, "Ay, my good girl, I'm not so hard, perhaps, as you think: you made me savage with your strange ways. After all, you were right in the main; and if you had not stopped me, I should have spoilt all: but you should have told me what you were about; for how could I tell? However, I am sorry for what I said. I did not mean to act so harshly, and was sorry for it before I had gone half a mile."
"Enough, enough," answered the woman: "we all do things we are sorry for;--I have done many. But you should have stayed to listen, and I would have told you all."
"You had plenty of time to tell me before that," answered Lockwood, who did not like any one to have the last word with him. "But we were both a bit wrong; you for keeping me, when you had no right, without any explanation; and I for hitting you upon a sore place, without sufficient cause: so let us forget and forgive."
"So be it!" answered Sally Stanly. "You have no trust or faith; but that is your nature."
"How the devil should I have trust or faith in a set of gipsey ragamuffins, who take me by the throat, and make a prisoner of me, without why or wherefore?" exclaimed Lockwood. "I am a plain man, and will listen to reason, when it is given me; but I don't like force; and will resist it to my dying day, my lass: so don't meddle with me any more; or if you do, tell me why."
"Do not let us lose time in recurring to the past," said Chandos. "Your son tells me, Sally, that you wish to speak with me; and to say truth, I wish much to speak with you: but it must be alone. Tell me now, what you are about here, if it be not a secret; for, to say truth, I have some suspicions that I--or rather those I love are interested therein."
"I am about that, in which you must help," said the woman. "I was sure you would come; and yet, like a fool, I doubted, and had up our own people to do the work if you did not arrive. But they are rude hands; and though we have our own rules, they may be rough with the man. They will not peach--they will not give him up; but they might break his bones, or worse. You two shall do it; but you must promise to observe our laws, and not betray him."
"I really do not clearly comprehend you," said Chandos. "Before I make any promise, I must know fully what it implies."
"Stay, stay: I will go and talk to the men," said Sally Stanley; and without waiting for reply, she darted in amongst the trees. She was absent about ten minutes; and from time to time, Chandos could hear the murmur of speaking voices. Neither he nor his companions uttered a word; for they had thoughts in plenty; but they did not listen; and Lockwood whistled a tune in an under tone, as if to pass the time. He did not know that he was whistling. At length, Sally Stanley returned, and standing in the midst of the three, she said, "First and foremost, you must all promise me that this man shall go free, if he does what is right, and restores what he has taken wrongfully."
"You speak ever in riddles," replied Chandos. "I know not of whom you speak."
"Never mind," answered the woman: "it is a rule with us, not to betray any one to that which you call justice--which no one should know better than yourself, is always injustice. You must promise, that whoever and whatever he is, you will not give him up to the vile instruments of your bad laws. You may use the threat to frighten him; but you must do no more. I have a certain power over those who are round me; for I know more than they do; I see further than they do, far as they can see. But that power has a boundary, and they will resist. If you do not promise, and keep your promise, you will repent it."
"I always keep my promise, when it is given," answered Chandos; "but I tell you fairly, that if this man be, as I suspect, the person who has so basely defrauded Mr. Tracy, he shall not escape out of England without restoring the property he has attempted to carry off."
"Then, do your worst," said Sally Stanley, with a laugh; "Go and take him, if you can! I tell you, Chandos Winslow, that it will require more skill and power than you possess even to speak with him. One more such word as you have spoken, and I hold my tongue for ever on the means of catching him. Do not think that you can deal with me in such sort. For your sake, and for the sake of the old man who has befriended my poor boy, I have watched and laboured; but I will not be made a reproach among the people that are now my people. You must promise, or I give you no assistance. If I give you no assistance, all your strength and foolish wisdom are vain. In ten hours from this moment he will be beyond your reach. The wind is in his ship's sail; the sea coast is but eight hours distant; and you may fret yourself in vain, if you lose the present moment for the great object you have before you."
"Promise, promise!" said Lockwood. "It is better to have the deer less the umbles, than by refusing the keeper's fee to lose the buck."
"I am quite willing to promise," answered Chandos, "that if he restores Mr. Tracy's property, I will make no attempt to stay him. I am not a thief-taker; and though I believe it would be but right to give him up to justice, and to inquire into many of his acts more strictly; yet, as I owe all knowledge of his abode to you, my good woman, I am ready so far to abide by your conditions. But still, I say, if he do not give up Mr. Tracy's property, I will not let him go."
"You must bargain with him for that," replied the woman; "he has got an advantage over a man, who, like all others, has been seeking advantages over his fellows. There are some advantages within your law; some beyond it: but, your laws are nothing to us; and he has only done what many of our own people would do, but in another way. When cheat robs cheat, it is all fair. This Tracy wanted to gain great wealth; some one must lose--nay, many must lose--to swell his fortune. Then comes a bolder rogue, and says, 'What you intended to gain, I will pocket.' Who can blame the man for being as greedy as his employer? But all this is foolish babble. If you will promise, you shall have him in your power in ten minutes; if not, you may follow your own course."
"Well, I promise," said Chandos, after some consideration, "only to use the opportunity you give me to make a bargain with him for the restoration of the shares. Will that satisfy you?"
"Yes," replied the woman; "but there are more things to be thought of. Come hither apart with me." And leading Chandos a few steps into the wood, she remained for several minutes in eager conversation with him.
"That is but fair," he said, as they came back; "I will do all that; but the people must wait for a few days."
"That they will do readily, on your word," replied Sally Stanley; "now I will send them away. You three stay here a moment; and mind, do everything very silently."
In about five minutes she returned alone, and made a sign to Chandos to follow, which he did, with Lockwood and Faber, through a narrow path amongst the trees, only wide enough to admit the passage of one person at a time. It wound in and out considerably; but the direct distance from the spot where they held their conference, to the top of the bank, under which Chandos had found the old tinker on the preceding night, could not be more than a hundred yards. I have before mentioned that the top of the bank was thickly covered with trees and underwood; but when the party reached the top, Chandos could perceive that the path they were then following took a turn through the bushes, and then descended in a sidelong manner to the road below. The cottage, with all the windows still shut, was clearly to be seen through the branches; and pointing to it with her hand, Sally Stanley whispered, "You will have to wait a while. Keep quite still and silent till you see the door opened; then down like lightning, and in."
"She will shut the door as soon as she sees us," answered Chandos, in the same tone.
"I will provide for that," replied the woman; and after cautioning Lockwood and Faber to be still, she left them on their watch.
For nearly half-an-hour they remained without seeing any movement of human life upon the road or in the cottage; and Faber asked Chandos, in a nervous whisper, if what they were about was legal. The only reply was an injunction to silence; and the moment after the two upper windows of the cottage were opened, and then the two lower ones. The maid next put her head out, and looked round on every side, then drew it in again, and pulled down the sash. Two or three minutes after a boy was seen coming along the road, dressed in a blue smock-frock and leathern leggings, with a white jug full of milk in his hand. For some moments, so complete was the disguise, that Chandos himself did not recognise Tim Stanley; but the boy at length gave a glance up towards the top of the bank, and then approached the little gate of the cottage garden. He tried it with his hand, apparently to see if it was open, then put his shoulder to it and pushed it in. The instant he had done so the door of the house was thrown violently open, and the woman, rushing out, began to abuse him for breaking the gate, at the same time snatching the jug of milk out of his hand. Chandos sprang forward and darted down the bank, followed by Lockwood. Their sudden apparition instantly changed the tactics of the woman, who ran towards the house and endeavoured to shut the door; but little Tim was before her, and setting his back stoutly against it, he resisted all her efforts. Another force, however, seemed to be suddenly applied from within; for the door was pushed forward, catching the boy between it and the wall; and as he resolutely maintained his place, he was in danger of being seriously injured, when Chandos came up, and by his superior strength drove it open.
"Run, run!" cried the woman servant; and as the young gentleman forced his way into the passage; a man's figure disappeared at the other end. Pushing the woman aside, he pursued without pause, and found a door leading out at once to the top of the high and precipitous bank, at the edge of which the house was situated; and a rapid glance down showed him a stout figure running along a narrow, ledge-like path on the face of the cliff. Chandos took a few hurried steps down, fearing that amongst the trees at the bottom he might still lose the object of his pursuit; but no sooner did the fugitive reach the comparatively level ground below, than a tall man, starting out from the bushes, caught him by the collar, and threw him rudely back upon the ground.
"Here he is. Come and take him," cried the man, beckoning to Chandos; and in another minute the young gentleman had his hand upon the shoulder of Mr. Scriptolemus Bond. Lockwood was also by his side; and between them, they raised the worthy gentleman from the ground, and made him walk up the bank again. There is, certainly, something very ludicrous in fear; and the expression of the rogue's countenance, as he silently rolled his sharp black eyes from the face of Chandos to that of Lockwood, had well nigh made the young gentleman laugh, notwithstanding all the grave thoughts that were in his bosom.
"Walk in there, Sir," said Chandos, when they reached the door of the little parlour; and then, turning to the maid who stood crying beside Faber and little Tim, in the passage, he added, "If you have hurt the boy by your brutality, my good woman, you shall not go without punishment."
"Oh I am not hurt!" cried Tim; "she's not so bad as a bull."
"Now," said Chandos, entering the parlour, of which Lockwood already had possession, "I think I have at length the pleasure of seeing Mr. Scriptolemus Bond, alias Wilson, &c.; and I have to inform him that he must immediately produce all the scrip, bonds, and papers of all kinds belonging to Mr. Arthur Tracy."
"Who are you, Sir?" exclaimed Mr. Scriptolemus Bond, recovering himself a little. "What authority have you to force your way into my house? Where is your warrant or your staff? Do you suppose that without authority I--"
"You ask for authority, do you, Sir," said Chandos. "By so doing you will force me to seek it, and convey yourself to prison and to Van-Diemen's-Land. I was willing to spare you, if you thought fit to make restitution of that which you have wrongly taken from Mr. Tracy; but let me tell you that you have no choice but to do so instantly, and without hesitation, or go before a magistrate on a charge of robbery."
"Stay, stay," said Mr. Scriptolemus Bond; "let us talk about the matter quietly. Perhaps we can arrange it.--Betty, Betty, give me a glass of brandy."
"Not a drop," said Chandos, sternly: "the matter needs no arrangement. You have heard what I demand, and what are my intentions, and you have but to answer 'Yes,' or 'No,' to this plain question--Will you deliver up the papers?"
"But you are so hasty, so hasty," cried Mr. Bond. "For Heaven's sake, shut the door, and let us speak two words. First of all, I must know who you are, Sir; for one does not trust papers of consequence to a stranger. I have been very ill, Sir; or I should have seen Mr. Tracy before, and given the papers to himself. Very ill, indeed, I have been, with a nasty affection of the throat."
"You are likely to be troubled with a still nastier one," said Lockwood, drily.
"Mr. Bond," replied Chandos, "none of these evasions will serve your turn in the least. My name is Winslow, a friend of General Tracy and his brother. The fact of your having absconded is well known to everyone: officers are in pursuit of you; you have been publicly advertised in the newspapers; and I have nothing to do but to take you before a magistrate, in order to send you to jail. Once more, then, I ask you, Will you deliver the papers?"
"I don't see what good it would do me," said Mr. Scriptolemus Bond; "I must see my way clearly, Sir. Pray, are you one of the Winslows of Elmsly?"
Chandos was provoked by the rapid return of his cool impudence; and he replied, "You shall see your way clearly, but it shall be to prison."
At the same time he laid his hand upon the worthy gentleman's collar again, and turning to Lockwood, added, "You can pinion him with my handkerchief, Lockwood. Then I and Faber can take him over to S----, while you remain here to see that nothing is abstracted till a proper search can be made."
"There, there, you are so very hasty," said the culprit; "now do be a little reasonable. Can you expect me to give up such sums without some small consideration for my pains."
"The consideration which you will get," answered Chandos, "is an escape from punishment."
"I must have something more than that," said Mr. Bond. "And now, Sir, I will tell you in one word how we stand; for you seem to think you can have it all your own way; but you cannot. You have got the whip hand of me in one way, and I have got the whip hand of Mr. Tracy in another. It is very lucky for him that you are not an officer, as I thought at first; for if you had been, not one shred of all his shares would he ever have seen in his life. You think it is in this house, or perhaps in my pocket; but you may search the premises and the pockets too, and if you find a single share you may eat me. Now, Mr. Winslow, I tell you there is nobody knows where the whole amount is but myself, and there it shall lie till it rots, unless I have ten thousand pounds for giving it up. That is my last word upon the subject."
"Then perhaps you will have the goodness to walk with me," said Chandos; "only just a little way, till we can get a post-chaise to carry you before a magistrate; for ten thousand pounds you certainly will not have, or anything the least like it. If it had been a fifty pound note you demanded, just to help you into some foreign country, I might have given it to you on receiving the shares."
"But what am I to do when I get to a foreign country?" said Mr. Bond, coolly. "You forget, my dear Sir, that a man must live. And if I am not to live comfortably, I might as well go to Van-Diemen's-Land, and let Mr. Tracy do without his shares."
"You had better give him something, Mr. Winslow," said Faber; "the poor devil must have something to start with."
"Thank you, thank you, Mr. Faber," said Mr. Bond; "that is the right view of the case. I wonder if you are any relation of Faber, my old college chum--a wonderfully clever fellow he was."
Chandos could have knocked him down; but the negotiation was renewed by Faber and Lockwood; and, after a great deal of haggling and resistance, the rogue's demand was reduced to the sum of fifty pounds in hand, and a draft for five hundred pounds at seven days' date, to be drawn by him and accepted by Chandos on the spot. He moreover exacted from the young gentleman, acting as agent for Mr. Tracy, a receipt in full of all demands; and when these points were conceded, he drew the draft and the receipt with his own hand, and even made an effort to get them both signed by Chandos, before he produced the papers.
Chandos, however, declined; and Lockwood laughed aloud, not without being joined in his merriment by Mr. Bond himself; for there is a point of roguery where all shame dies, and a man becomes vain of his very impudence.
"Well now, gentlemen," he said, at length, "just have the kindness to lock the door, that we may not be interrupted, and then we will see what can be done."
There was a rosewood table in the middle of the room, with a drawer in it; and, to the surprise of Chandos, it was to that drawer that the knave applied a key which he drew from his breeches-pocket.
"Why, I thought you told me I might search the house for these papers in vain," said Chandos, indignant at having been cheated.
"So you might," answered Mr. Bond, coolly, and drew open the drawer, which presented nothing but a void.
The next instant, however, Mr. Bond pressed his thumbs tight on the two sides of the drawer, and with a sudden click the bottom started up. Removing the thin piece of wood thus displaced, the worthy gentleman exhibited to the eyes of the bystanders some fifteen or twenty bundles of papers, neatly tied up and ticketed.
"Now Sir," he said, "you have got my secret, be so good as to accept the draft and sign the receipt." He turned towards Chandos as he spoke; but that gentleman had suddenly seated himself at the other side of the table, and was leaning his head upon his hand, lost in thought. The words of Mr. Bond roused him, however, and he replied, "Not till I am sure, Sir, that all the shares are there. Give them to Mr. Faber, he will count them, and I will compare the number with the printed list which I have in my pocket-book."
This was accordingly done, much to Mr. Bond's mortification; for there is much reason to believe that it was his intention to lay claim to some part of the spoil, in order to drive a second bargain at an after period. But Chandos's precaution, in having cut out of a newspaper a full description of the shares purloined, frustrated this last attempt, and all were restored. There still remained in the drawer three bundles, similar to those which were given up, belonging probably to some other unfortunate clients of the worthy Scriptolemus Bond; but with these of course Chandos had no power to meddle, and he accordingly signed the papers which had been drawn up.
"Now," cried Mr. Bond, snapping his fingers as soon as he had received them, "I am a free man. This paper is as good as a passport; and to-morrow morning I shall be safe in France."
"I should think, Mr. Bond," said Chandos, with a somewhat contemptuous smile, "that there are things in that drawer which will yet take the wind out of your sail."
"A very pretty figure, but not applicable," replied Mr. Bond. "All the other gentlemen have trusted to Mr. Tracy's catching me, and so his passport is, as the French say,valablefor the present."
"I shall take care, at all events," said Chandos, "to make this matter generally known when I reach London."
"Now that is not fair, that is not fair," said Mr. Bond. "But I will be beforehand with you; and, as I think our business is concluded, I will go and pack up my trunk. Good morning, Mr. Winslow; good morning, gentlemen all."
Chandos did not deign to make any reply; but, taking the papers from Faber, walked out of the house.
The little boy, Tim, was found in the garden, near the gate, which he had burst open; for the proximity of Mr. Bond's strapping maidservant did not seem pleasant to him.
"Have you got it? have you got it?" cried the boy. And when Chandos, patting him on the head, answered in the affirmative, he clapped his little hands with joy, exclaiming, "I will run and tell my mother; she will be so glad!"
"I will go with you, Tim," said Chandos; "for she must take you home to Northferry. All my plans are altered by this morning's work, Lockwood; and I must speed up to London without delay. I will be down, however, to-morrow or the day after, for a new light has broken upon me in an instant, which I think may lead to great results. I wish to Heaven I could see the memorandum which poor Roberts found."
"I can show it you, Sir," said Faber; "for by his direction I took a copy of it, and have got it in my pocket-book."
It was produced in a moment, and, still standing in the open space before the cottage, Chandos read it attentively.
"Were these initials at the end copied accurately?" he said, turning to Faber, and pointing to some capital letters written under his father's name.
"Yes, Mr. Winslow," answered Faber; "as far as I could make them out, they stood just so, in two lines. No. 2, I.S. B.E. No. 3, P.D.".
"Then there is still a chance," said Chandos. "But come, I will away to London, and take advice upon these points also."
His companions could not at all make out what he meant; but the new light which he said he had got, greatly accelerated all Chandos's movements. With a quick step he led the way to the copse where he had left the gipsey woman; and having given little Tim into her charge, he explained to her all that had occurred; but in terms so brief that none but one of her rapid intelligence could have comprehended what he meant. Then promising to see her again soon, he hurried away towards the high-road to London, accompanied as before by Faber and Lockwood. As they approached the little inn where Chandos had stopped on the preceding day, but before they could see the road, the sound of rolling wheels was heard; and with an impatient exclamation he said, "There is the coach gone!"
But he was mistaken, for it still wanted a quarter of an hour of the time at which the stage appeared. Faber would fain have gone with him to London; but Chandos begged him to go over to Northferry, and wait for him, saying, "Sir William will not come there, you may be very sure."
In a few minutes after, the coach rolled up, the portmanteau was put in the boot, Chandos sprang upon the top, and after a short delay, away the vehicle rolled towards the great city.
"He's in a vast hurry," said Lockwood; "what can have struck him?"
"I don't know, I am sure," replied Faber; and they turned away.
It was about half-past four in the afternoon, when a common street-cabriolet drove up to a house in Berkeley Square, in the windows of which were exhibited large bills, stating that the lease and furniture would be sold by auction, on a certain day, then not far distant. Chandos Winslow sprang out of the vehicle, and knocked at the door, which was opened almost immediately by a coarse-looking woman, with her arms bare, and a wet cloth in her hand. In answer to the young gentleman's inquiry for Mr. Tracy, the charwoman replied, that he was not there; adding that he had left the house the day before with his family, but that she did not know where he was gone. The next drive of the cabriolet was to Green Street; but there Chandos paid the driver before he got out. He then knocked at General Tracy's door, and the face of his old servant, who soon appeared, showed him at once, that no favourable change had taken place in the circumstances of the family.
"My master and Mr. Tracy are both out, Sir," he said, even before he was asked; "but Miss Rose is in the drawing-room."
"Are they all well?" asked Chandos.
"Pretty well; but very sad," replied the man. "Miss Emily, indeed, is not very well; and has not been out of her room to-day."
"I hope I bring them all good news," replied Chandos, willing to lighten the grief even of an attached dependent. "I will, therefore, make bold, to go up at once, my good friend, without being announced:" and walking rapidly up the stairs, he opened the drawing-room door.
Rose was seated at a table, writing; for she had not heard the sound of a footfall on the well-carpeted stairs: but, the moment Chandos entered the room, she looked up; and though there were still tears in her eyes, a low exclamation of pleasure broke from her lips, when she saw him.
"Oh, Chandos!" she said, "I was writing to you, by my uncle's permission; for we thought you had left town yesterday--indeed, the people at the hotel said so."
"I did, dearest Rose," he answered; "but I have come back to-day on business of importance."
"I am exceedingly glad of it," replied Rose, as Chandos seated himself beside her; "not alone because I am glad to see you; but because you can answer in person the questions which I was going to put;--and yet I do not know how I can put them, now you are here."
"What!--between you and me, dear Rose?" said Chandos. "Can you have any hesitation in asking Chandos Winslow anything? Tell me frankly, my beloved what it is you wish to know; and I will answer at once."
"Why, the fact is this," said Rose, looking down at the letter she had been writing, till the rich beautiful hair fell over her fair face, "the creditors have, this morning, returned an unfavourable answer. They will not consent to my uncle's proposal. They will not permit the reservation of ten thousand pounds from the sale of his estate for Emily, and the same for myself; though they do not object to the sum appropriated to purchase an annuity for my uncle and papa. Emily at once begged that she might not be considered for a moment; and so did I: but my uncle said, that, in my case, he was not a free agent; for that he had promised that sum of ten thousand pounds to you: and that he could not even propose to withdraw from his word. I took upon me, Chandos, to answer for you; but he said that the proposal must come from yourself, if at all, when you knew the whole circumstances; and I had even a difficulty in gaining permission to write to you, though everything must be decided by half-past twelve the day after to-morrow. Was I wrong, Chandos, in what I said on your behalf?"
"No, dearest Rose, you were not wrong," answered Chandos; and then kissing her fair hand, he gazed with a look of mingled gaiety and tenderness in her face; adding, "and yet, my Rose, I do not think I shall consent after all."
"Not consent!" she exclaimed; and then, shaking her head, as she saw the bright look with which he regarded her, she said, "Nay, I know you better: you are jesting, Chandos."
"No, my Rose," he answered, "I am not jesting. But I will not tease you with suspense: what I mean, my love, is, that I do not think there will be any need of my consent; for I trust the clouds are passing away, and that your father's fortunes may be re-established, without the noble sacrifice your uncle proposes to make."
"The change must be soon, Chandos," said Rose, sadly; "for these people have announced their intention of making him a bankrupt the day after to-morrow, if their demands are not complied with."
"The change has taken place, dear Rose," replied Chandos; "and I thank God that I have been made the instrument of bringing good news and comfort to you all. It is this which has brought me so suddenly back to town. But, hark! that is the General's knock, or I am mistaken."
"My father is with him," said Rose; "but tell me, dear Chandos, tell me the news. Let me be the first to give it him."
"It is that I have recovered all the property carried off by that villain, Bond," answered Chandos Winslow. "I have the whole of the shares with me now."
Rose clasped her hands in joy, and at the same moment the door opened, and the dejected face of Mr. Tracy appeared. He gazed for an instant sternly at the laughing countenance of his daughter, and then made a movement as if to quit the room; but Rose sprang up and cast her arms round him--whispered some words in his ear, and then, in the excess of her joy, burst into tears.
"What? what?" cried Mr. Tracy. "I did not hear. What does she say? What does she mean?" and he turned towards Chandos with an eager and impatient look, while the foot of General Tracy was heard ascending the stairs.
"She has good news to give you, my dear Sir," replied Chandos; "the best that you have received for some time; but I really must not take it from her lips. Be calm, be calm, dear Rose, and tell your father."
"Oh he has got them all!" cried Rose, still weeping; "all the shares--all that the wretched man carried off."
"You, you, Chandos?" cried Mr. Tracy.
"Got them all!" exclaimed General Tracy, pushing past his brother.
"All," replied Chandos; "at least all that were advertised. They are here, my dear Sir. I never was so loaded with riches before;" and he produced the various packets from his pockets.
Mr. Tracy sat quietly down on the sofa, in profound silence; he did not touch the papers; he did not even look at them. His emotions were too strong, too overpowering; and he remained with his eyes bent upon the floor, till Rose sat down beside him, and took his hand in hers, when he threw his arms round her, and kissed her tenderly, whispering, "Go and tell our dear Emily, my child."
General Tracy in the meantime ran hastily over the shares, comparing them with a memorandum in his pocket-book. Then laid them down upon the table; and marching across to Chandos, shook both his hands heartily, but without a word. Chandos understood him, however, and it was enough. The next minute the old officer rang the bell; and on the servant appearing, said in a quiet tone, "Bring me the paper out of my room, Joseph."
As soon as he had got it, he set to work, with pencil in hand, upon the prices of the share market; and after a rapid calculation, looked with a triumphant smile to his brother, saying, "Twenty-three thousand pounds to spare, Arthur. Tomorrow, please God, they all go, for I shall never have peace till the cursed trash is out of the house. Now, Chandos, my dear boy, let us hear no more--."
But before Mr. Winslow could answer, Emily Tracy followed Rose into the room, and cast herself into her father's arms. Her next movement was to hold out her hand to Chandos, saying, "Oh, thank you, thank you! You have saved us from horrors. But how has it been done?"
"Why I have now my confession to make," answered Chandos; "and if I had been politic, I should have done it while the first pleasant surprise was upon you all; for I have taken upon me, Mr. Tracy, to act for you very boldly."
"Whatever you have promised, I will perform," answered Mr. Tracy, "and that with deep and heartfelt thanks; for you have saved me from disgrace which I could never have survived."
"If it be for twenty thousand pounds, it shall be paid gladly," said the General.
"Nay, it is not so bad as that," replied Chandos; "the worse part of my case, my dear Sir, is, that, unauthorised, I have taken upon me to act as your agent, and in that quality to give the man a general release. As to the money, there was not any great difficulty, for I gave the scoundrel fifty pounds in hand to help him to France, and accepted his bill at seven days for the rest, to close the whole transaction at once; as at all events if I acted wrong, I could but be the loser of the sum. He demanded ten thousand pounds--."
"Well, let him have it," said General Tracy.
"No," answered Chandos, "I would not let him have it; but I engaged myself for five hundred; and it is for you to judge whether I acted right in so doing, knowing, as I did, that in this case time was of the greatest importance."
"You acted admirably," said Mr. Tracy; "and I have to thank you for your decision, as well as for your prudent management."
"If it had been in my hands, I fear I should have given him whatever he asked," said the old officer; "for the fearful idea of my brother being made a bankrupt--a bankrupt, Chandos, like a mere trader--would have swallowed up all cool prudence. But now tell us all about the how, the when, and the where you found this pitiful knave."
"Do you know, General," replied Chandos, "I fear I must leave that part of the tale untold for to-night. I have some matters of much moment on which I wish to have the best legal advice I can get; and I must seek it instantly. If I can obtain the opinion and directions I want to-night, I shall leave town early to-morrow. If not, I shall come in during the morning, and will tell you all."
"But do give me a hint, however slight," said Mr. Tracy; "it seems to me like a happy dream; and I fear I shall wake and find it unreal, unless I have some confirmation."
"All I can stop to say," replied Chandos, "is, that your little protégé, General, the gipsey boy, acted a great part in the adventure; and gallantly did he perform it, I assure you, at the hazard of life and limb."
"I will make a soldier of him," answered the old officer; "I will buy him a commission. But there has been danger then, in this affair."
"Oh no!" replied Chandos; "only danger to the poor boy. But now I will bid you adieu. Farewell, dear Rose. The greatest happiness I have ever known in life, has been to bring you news which took a heavy load from your kind warm heart."
Chandos Winslow shook hands with the rest of the party, and was then leaving the room, when the General exclaimed, "Chandos, Chandos!" and followed him to the top of the stairs.
"My dear friend," said the officer, "you have done us the greatest service that man could render us; but, in so doing, you have removed obstacles to your own happiness. Rose and Emily, are, of course, my heiresses. I do not see why they should not have now the greater part of their future fortunes: for I have no expenses; and now, with changed circumstances, it would not, of course, be so imprudent to marry, as it appeared some days ago. Poor Emily is sad; for she has heard from your brother, announcing his return to England; and claiming the completion of her engagement with him. I must take it in hand myself, I see; for I will not have the dear girl's happiness thrown away. Now, however, farewell: for I see you are in haste; but come in, whenever you return from your journey; and remember, that the causes which induced me to exact a promise of you, to refrain from pressing Rose to a speedy union have been removed. Only one word more; and that on business. Are you at the same hotel where you were the other day?"
"Yes," replied Chandos; "I left my baggage there as I came."
"Well then, I will send a cheque for the five hundred pounds there, this evening," said the General.
"Perhaps, it would be better," answered Chandos, "if you would have the kindness to pay it into my account at Curtis's; as it is very possible, that I may not be home till very late to-night. Any time within a week will do."
"It shall be done to-morrow," replied the old officer; and they parted: Chandos to seek his friend, Sir----, through courts and chambers; and the General, to rejoice with his brother on a deliverance from that which had seemed an inevitable disgrace not half-an-hour before. General Tracy was a good, kind man; but, like everybody else in the world who fancies he has no prejudices, he had several; and those he had were strong. He looked upon it undoubtedly as a disgrace not to pay a just debt under any circumstances; but the sting of the calamity which had menaced his brother, was to him that he might be "made a bankrupt like a mere trader." There was the rub with General Tracy. If none but "gentlemen and soldiers" could be made bankrupts, he would not have felt it half as much, though he would have deplored it still. But to be put in theGazettelike a ruined pork-butcher, that was terrible indeed! How strange it is, that in estimating disgraces, we never look to the act, but to the consequences!
The ground-floor of Sir William Winslow's house at Elmsly, contained as splendid a suite of rooms as any in England; and nothing that taste could do to give grace to the decorations, or that skill could effect to afford that comfort of which we are so fond, had been neglected by the last possessor, during a period of three years before his death. Sir William Winslow, however, was in some sort a stranger to the house, which was now his own: for, during several years, great coldness had subsisted between himself and his father. He had spent much of his time on the Continent; and had not, in fact, been at Elmsly for two years, when he was summoned thither in haste, a few hours before Sir Harry's death. The interview between himself and his brother Chandos at Winslow Abbey took place on the Tuesday; and on the Thursday following, about nine o'clock at night, he was seated in the large dining-room of the magnificent suite I have mentioned, with the clergyman of the parish opposite to him.
The table, looking like a little island, in the ocean of Turkey carpet which flowed around, was covered with the desert, and with sundry decanters of choice wines; and two servants handed the plates of fruit and preserves to their master, and their master's guest. When this ceremony had been performed, the attendants left the room; and a desultory conversation, mingled with wine took place between Sir William and the clergyman. The latter was a stout, portly man, with a good deal of the animal in his original composition; but rigidly and pertinaciously kept down by a strong moral sense, and high religious feelings. The motives which had produced so speedy an invitation on the part of Sir William Winslow were various: but one was, that Sir William did not like to be left alone. His own thoughts were unpleasant companions. Again, he was anxious to retrieve some part of the good opinions he had lost. He felt that he had undervalued character; and, of late, things had appeared important to him, which he had looked upon with contempt before. Amongst others, some sort of religious opinions began to be objects of desire. He did not much care what, for his notions on the subject were very indefinite; but he felt a want, a craving for something that could give him the support which he possessed not in his own heart--for something that would afford him hope, when there was nought within him but despair. He had heard--he knew, indeed--that the Christian religion promised pardon for offences, hope to the sinner, peace to the repentant. And he sent to the clergyman to seek a certain portion of religion, just as a thirsty labourer would send to a public-house for a jug of beer.
The conversation, as I have said, was of a desultory kind: the subject of religion was approached in a timid, uncertain sort of way by Sir William Winslow; more as an opening than anything else: and the clergyman answered in a few brief, but very striking words; which produced a deep effect. He treated the matter less doctrinally than philosophically, and in such a manner, that Sir William Winslow was inclined to fancy what he said had a personal application to himself; although the good man had no such intention.
"It is beautifully and happily ordained," said the clergyman, in answer to something which had preceded, "that the commission of crime, and the reproaches of conscience, very frequently, by the desolation which they produce in worldly things, should awaken in us the conviction of another state; give us a sense of our immortality; and teach the man who has only known himself as a mere animal, that he possesses a spirit, to be lost or saved, to live for ever to punishment or felicity. That conviction once gained, and the question naturally follows: 'What can I do to be saved?' The Word of God replies 'Repent'; and repentance to salvation is not unfrequently the consequence."
Sir William Winslow mused; but after a time he replied, in a discursive manner, "It is a curious consideration what this same spirit can be. I doubt not its existence; for I feel a moving power within me, apart from, and independent of, merewill. But what is it? I see it not. No one has ever seen it."
"Hold, hold," cried the clergyman; "you must not say that. The records of Scripture bear witness, that spirits have been seen; and it can be shown philosophically, that there is no reason for supposing such a thing impossible."
The worthy pastor had been set upon a subject which was a favourite one with him, and he went on, citing history after history, and instance after instance, to prove that, under certain circumstances, there were means of communication established between the dead and the living. He even went so far as to argue that it would be absurd to suppose it otherwise; that granting that there is such a thing as spirit, and that spirit is immortal, all analogy would show that there must be a power in the disembodied of producing certain influences upon their brethren in the flesh. "You cannot point out any order of beings," he said, "from the most imperfect to the most perfect, which has not some knowledge and communication with those next to it in the great scale of animated nature."
Sir William Winslow listened, but replied not, keeping his teeth tight shut, and his lips compressed; and the clergyman proceeded in the same strain, till the clock struck ten, when he suddenly rose to depart.
His host would willingly have detained him a little longer; for, as I have said, he loved not to be alone; but he was too haughty to press it beyond one request; and the clergyman, who was a man of habits, always retired at ten.
When he was gone Sir William walked into the drawing-room and ordered coffee. He took it very strong, and that agitated rather than calmed his nerves. He walked up and down for half-an-hour, and then he said to himself, "I will go and look over those letters. There is no use in going to bed, I should not sleep." He then ordered candles in the library; but he would not go thither till they were lighted. When that was done he walked slowly in, and took up some of the unopened letters with which the table was strewed. The second which he broke was signed "Overton;" and after having run his eye down the page, he threw it away with a look of anger. He would read no more, and sitting down in the large arm chair, where so often his father had sat, he gnawed his lip, with his eyes bent upon the ground.
The clock struck eleven, and Sir William started in his seat and counted it. A minute or two after, he took out his pocket-book, and drew from it a folded piece of vellum. He did not then look at the contents, however, but thrust it into a drawer of the table. Then, rising from his seat, he walked to the window and looked out. It was a beautiful moonlight night, the soft, silvery rays resting on the lawns and woods of the park, and the little stars, faint and sleepy in the sky. He gazed for several minutes; but I know not whether he beheld anything but the objects of his own fancy. Then he walked up and down the room again, and twice stood for a moment or two opposite the drawer in the library table. At length he suddenly pulled it open, took out the vellum, unfolded it, and read the strange contents.
"By--," he exclaimed, after thinking for a moment, "this is devilish strange! it is the very day she drowned herself!" and the vellum trembled in his hand. "I won't go. Why should I go?"
He looked at the writing again: "She will come and fetch me!" he repeated, with his lip curling; "I should like to see her;" and the proud spirit seemed to rise up again in full force. But then he shook his head sadly, and murmured, "Poor girl! she told me once before she would come, and she did--to her own destruction."
The clock struck the half hour, and in great agitation--agitation scarcely sane--Sir William Winslow walked up and down the room again, with a wild, irregular step, his eyes rolling in his head, as if he saw some strange sight, and his hand frequently carried to his brow, and pressed tight upon his forehead.
At the end of about ten minutes, he stopped, gazed vacantly upon the floor, and then, with a sudden start, exclaimed aloud, "I will go to her! She shall not say that I feared her. She shall not come here--no, no--yet I believe, alive or dead, she would do it, if she said it.--It is her hand too. That name, how often have I seen it with different feelings! Poor Susan!" and walking out of the library, and through the corridor, he took his hat and quitted the house.
The moon lighted him on his way through the park. He could see every pebble in the ground; but yet his step was as irregular as if the way had been rough and rude. Nevertheless he went very quick; he seemed impatient; and when he found the park-gates shut, he did not wait to awaken the people of the lodge, but cut across to a stile which went over the paling; and there he issued forth into the road. About two hundred yards before him rose the church, with its good broad cemetery, encircled by a low wall. The moon shone full on the white building, rising like a spectre amongst the dark trees and fields around.
Sir William Winslow stopped suddenly, crossed his arms upon his chest, and thought. Then the heavy bell of the church clock began to strike the hour of midnight; and walking rapidly on he reached the gate of the churchyard, while the sound of the last stroke still swung trembling in the air. He passed through the little turnstile, and walked up the path. There was a new tombstone close upon the right, which he had never seen before; and his eyes fixed upon it. The letters of the inscription were all plain in the moonlight, and the name "Roberts" stared him in the face, with these words following, "Brutally murdered, by some person unknown, on the fifth of February, one thousand eight hundred and forty-five, in the sixtieth year of his age."
Sir William Winslow trembled violently, and murmured, "Who has done this? Who has done this?"
His courage had well nigh deserted him entirely; and he paused, hardly able to go on, when a voice from the farther side of the cemetery asked, "Are you come?"
He knew the tongue, though it had sounded sweeter in other days; and striding forward, he answered, "I am here! Where are you?"
"Here," answered the voice from the direction of a tall mausoleum, over the mouth of the Winslow vault: "Come on!"
He advanced, but could perceive no one. He walked round the monument; the space was quite clear around. "Where are you? What would you with me?" he cried.
"I am where I have a right to be," answered the voice from a spot apparently below his feet. "I am amongst those from whom sprang a man who promised to make me one of them, and broke his promise. I am amongst your dead, William Winslow! Your father is on my right hand, and your mother on my left. Your place is here beside me, and will not be long vacant, if your spirit does not bow itself to repentance, your strong will does not yield to right."
"God of Heaven!" he cried, laying his hand upon the gate in the iron railing which surrounded the tomb, and shaking it violently; but instantly there was a low laugh, and a voice said, "Poor fool!--You ask," continued the voice, "what I would with you? For myself, I seek nothing. You can neither harm nor benefit me more. The time is past. The hour is gone by; and what you could once have done, is now beyond your power. But for our boy, you can do much; you can atone to the mother, by love to the child. Take him to yourself; own him as yours; and oh! above all things, teach him to avoid and to abhor such crimes as you yourself have committed."
"Our boy!" cried Sir William Winslow, "I knew not that you had one, Susan. Oh, Susan, in mercy, in pity, tell me where he is?"
"Ask your brother," answered the voice; "ask that kind, noble brother, whom you have wronged, who has been a father to your child, when you were depriving himself of his inheritance; who has taught him virtue, and honour, and the love of God. He will give him to your arms, if you show yourself worthy of him. Thus much for myself, William Winslow; but, oh that there were any power in prayers, to make you grant that which is needful for another."
"Speak, speak!" said he eagerly; "I will grant whatever you ask. I wronged you basely, I know; I broke my plighted word; I forfeited my honour given. Speak, Susan! Let me make atonement, as far as it can now be made."
"The other for whom I prayed is yourself," answered the voice. "Oh, William Winslow, beware. The cup is well nigh full. You cannot wake the dead; but you can do justice to the living. Bend your knees to God, and implore mercy; humble your heart even before men, and do not persist in evil. Restore what you have wrongly taken, and all may go well; but hear the last words that ever you will hear on earth, from her you wronged on earth: If you persist in the evil you can by a word redress, the crime that you think is buried for ever in darkness, will rise up into light by the consequences of your own acts. Such is judgment--such is retribution--such is the will of God. Amen."
"But of what particular wrong do you speak?" asked Sir William Winslow.
There was no answer, and he exclaimed, "Speak, Susan! speak!"
All was silent, and again and again he endeavoured to obtain a reply, but in vain.
At length, moving slowly away, he passed round the other side of the church, to avoid the grave of the steward, and soon reached the park. He hurried homeward; but he entered not his own house so speedily. For two long hours he walked backwards and forwards upon the terrace, with his head bent down and his eyes fixed upon the sand. Who shall undertake to detail the terrible turns of the struggle then within him. It was a battle between the whole host of darkness and the cherubim of the Lord. Fear, and Doubt, and Pride, and Vanity, and all their tribes were arrayed against the small, bright legion which had gained one small spot of vantage ground in his heart. Doubt and Fear he knew must remain for ever on this side of the grave, to hold that part of the castle to which he had given them admittance; but their very presence there made him anxious to exclude them from the rest; and he repeated a thousand times in spirit, "Would to God I had not burned that will! Would to God that aught would afford me a fair excuse for acting as it dictated! What can I do? Where can I turn? Heaven send me, light and help!"
Still the internal strife lasted long; and when at length he re-entered the house, body and mind felt worn and exhausted. His valet gazed at him with one of his quiet, serpent looks, and said, "You seem ill, Sir. Had you not better have some cordial?"
"No, no," answered Sir William Winslow, turning from him with a faint shudder; "I want nothing but rest. It matters not."
But that night he did not lie down to rest without bending the knee, and imploring mercy and protection. It was the first time for many years. It was the first night, too, that he had slept for more than an hour at a time for several months; but now he remained in slumber undisturbed till ten o'clock, and when he woke he felt the effect of repose. He rose, threw on his dressing-gown, and approached the glass on his dressing-table. He hardly knew the face that it reflected. He did not feel ill. Sleep had refreshed him; his limbs were strong and vigorous, but all colour had fled from his cheek. He was thenceforth as pale as the dead.
He then went to the window for air, and the first thing his eye lighted upon was his valet, advanced a step or two on the terrace, talking to a tall, stout man, of a very sallow complexion, in a long, brown great coat. Sir William Winslow's heart sunk, he knew not why. He did not like to see that Italian talking with any one since he had mentioned the spots of blood upon his coat; and he gazed for a moment at the servant as he stood with his back towards him, with feelings of pain and alarm. Suddenly a change came over him. He raised his head high, and his proud nostril expanded. "It matters not," he said to himself; "I will be no man's slave long. I will do Chandos justice--I will provide for my poor boy--see him--embrace him--and then that scoundrel shall go forth to do his worst."
With these thoughts he rang his bell sharply, and soon after descended to breakfast. His meal was speedily concluded; and going into the library, he wrote for some time. One paper which he covered seemed to be a mere note; but for the other he consulted several times a law book, which he took down out of the library.
When that was done, he rang again, and ordered the servant who appeared to send the butler, the bailiff, and the housekeeper to him, all together. Before they could be collected he had folded the note and addressed it to "Chandos Winslow, Esq.," and when the three persons he had sent for appeared, with some surprise at their unusual summons, he said, I wish you to witness my signature of this paper. Then taking the pen, he wrote his name at the bottom, saying, "This is my last will and testament." The witnesses put their hands to the paper and withdrew, each observing how ill their master looked, and arguing by the sudden signature of his will that he felt more unwell than he appeared.
The event became a matter of gossip in the housekeeper's room, and the Italian valet rubbed his forehead and looked thoughtful; but he had not much time for consideration before he was called to carry a note, which had just arrived, to Sir William, who had gone to his dressing-room previous to going out. The man looked at it somewhat wistfully as he took it up; but he dared not finger the envelope, and it was delivered without the contents having escaped by the way.
"Countermand my horse," said his master; "I will write an answer directly. Some one is waiting, of course."
"Yes, Sir William," replied the valet, and his master walked out at once, and descended to the library. There, he again spread out the letter before him, and read to the following effect:--
"The Golden Bull, Elmsly,"May, 1845.
"Sir,--I am directed by my client, Chandos Winslow, Esq., to inform you, that from documents lately in the possession of Mr. Roberts, deceased, and from private marks thereon, in the handwriting of the late Sir Harry Winslow, of the true intent and meaning of which private marks the said Chandos Winslow is cognizant, he has reason to believe, that an authentic copy of the last will and testament of the aforesaid Sir Harry Winslow, Bart., signed with his name, and dated, '25th June, 1840,' is still to be found in a certain depository, at Elmsly House; hitherto unsearched by you: and, in consequence, I beg, in his name, to request that you will cause search to be made in the said place or depository, with all convenient speed, in the presence of myself, his attorney, or any other person or persons whom he may select: or otherwise, that you will sanction and permit the said search to be made by the said Chandos Winslow, Esq., or myself, as his attorney, in presence of yourself, or any other person or persons by yourself selected, as witnesses that the search or examination is well and properly made, without fraud or favour, by,Sir,
"Your most obedient Servant,"Henry Miles,
"Attorney-at-Law and Solicitor to the firm ofMiles, Furlong, and Miles, S----."
"P. S. Sir, I am directed by my client to inform you, that he has no desire to be present in person at the proposed search, as he judges that, under circumstances, his visit to Elmsly might not be agreeable."