"And quite enough, too, Mr. Gunnel," said Mr. Hargrave, with an approving nod of the head.
"I am quite satisfied," said Mr. Stolterforth.
But Lady Anne exclaimed--
"No, not yet. There shall not be a shade of suspicion left upon his name. May I ask you, Colonel Mandrake, to read that paper aloud? You were acquainted with my dear father, and must know his handwriting at the bottom. The other signature I can prove, for the witness is now in the house, and shall describe what he saw and heard."
"I will read the paper at once, my lady," replied Colonel Mandrake. "I see your father's handwriting, and would swear to it anywhere from the peculiar turn of thed.
"'The confession of Stephen Hayley, made in the presence of Charles Earl of Milford, on the 11th day of October, 18--, at Harley Lodge, in the county of Hertford. I, Stephen Hayley, upon the solemn promise of the Earl of Milford never to divulge what I am now about to write, until after my death, except in case a young gentleman, known by the name of Henry Hayley, now supposed to be dead, should again reappear in this country, do hereby acknowledge and confess that I did forge the name of Mr. Henry Scriven, with the word "Accepted" on a bill of exchange, which, was discounted for me by the said young gentleman at the house of Messrs. Stolterforth and Co. bankers; and that he, the said Henry Hayley, was totally and entirely ignorant that the bill was forged, when he so discounted it; and that he never either knew, or, to the best of my belief, suspected, that the said bill was forged, till the very morning on which he departed for the Continent. Moreover, I acknowledge and confess that he left England at my earnest entreaty, and solely with the view of saving my life, I having previously furnished him with a paper to the same effect as this present, in order to ensure him from danger if he should be apprehended and brought back. I solemnly declare every word herein above written to be true; and I authorise the Earl of Milford to produce this paper in case the said Henry Hayley should not be dead, and should ever return to England, and to make whatever use of it he may think fit after my death.
"'Signed,Stephen Hayley.
"My father's signature can be proved by Alsager," said Lady Anne. "Let Thomas Alsager be called. Mr. Hargrave, will you put what questions to him you think necessary?"
When the name of Thomas Alsager had been pronounced, a stout, portly man, Lady Anne's butler, advanced to the table, bowing to the magistrates.
"Thomas Alsager," said Mr. Hargrave, "did you ever witness, in the presence of your late master, the signature of a gentleman named Hayley?"
"Yes, your worship," replied the man; "I did."
"Is that your handwriting?" demanded Mr. Hargrave.
"It is," answered the butler.
"Describe what occurred on that occasion," said Mr. Hargrave.
"Why, your worship," replied the man, "my lord had been very ill, from an accident by which he had nearly been killed; but he had been recovering rapidly, and had walked out once or twice in the park, when one morning at breakfast he had taken up a newspaper, just as I was putting some things on the table; and all in a minute he started up, as if he had seen something frightful, threw the paper down under his feet and trampled upon it. I never saw him in such a way before; and he cried out, 'Send a man on horseback immediately for that villain Hayley! Tell him to come down to me directly; and say, if he does not come, I will come and fetch him.' My lady was in the room, and she tried to quiet him. He did get a little more composed, and he wrote a note, and sent the carriage instead of a man on horseback. Mr. Hayley came back in the carriage, and when he got out I saw he was pale and trembling. I showed him into my lord's little room, and there he remained for about an hour; and as I passed and repassed I could hear my lord's voice very high at times, till at last he rang the bell as if he would have shaken it down. I ran in as fast as possible, and I found Mr. Hayley on his knees before him, crying, 'I will indeed--I will do it this minute.'
"Then my lord answered, 'Very well, sir; if you have told the truth, you can have no objection to write it. You may go away, Alsager.' In about half-an-hour after, he rang again, but much more quietly; and when I went in I found Mr. Hayley sitting with that paper before him, not spread out, but doubled down, so that I could only see the last words; and my lord said, 'I wish you to witness this person's signature, Alsager. Now, Mr. Hayley.' Then Mr. Hayley put his hand upon the paper, and said, 'All I have written in this paper is true, so help me God;' and then he wrote his name. My lord wrote his, and I wrote mine and went away. In a few minutes after, Mr. Hayley went too; but my lord would never see him afterwards, though he called once or twice."
No further questions were asked of the butler; but Sir Harry Henderson remarked--
"Here is your name upon the back of the paper, Hargrave, I see."
"That was merely for verification," said Mr. Hargrave, "in order to be able to prove how, when, and where this and other papers were found."
"Rather singular, indeed," said Mr. Scriven, whose bitter spirit was not yet fully worked out, "that the earl should leave such a paper about, when his old schoolfellow's life depended upon it."
"He did not leave it about, sir," answered Lady Anne. "He placed it in a cabinet here at Milford, a short time before his death, and sealed up that cabinet with a strip of parchment, impressing the wax at each end with his own coat-of-arms. The seal he left by his will to Mr. Hargrave; so that it has never been in my possession, nor have I ever been at Milford Castle, since my father's death, till I came here with Mr. Hargrave. The key of the cabinet, sealed up in a letter directed to me, and explaining the nature of the papers I would find therein when I came of age, my father ordered to be given to me after his death. Mr. Hargrave witnessed my opening of that cabinet, the parchment being then uncut and the seals unbroken; and he wrote his name upon each of the papers found therein, to identify them in case of need. I mention these facts, Mr. Scriven, lest you should suspect me of fabricating these papers--though what possible motive I could have for fabricating them it might be difficult to discover."
"Not so difficult as your ladyship supposes," replied Mr. Scriven, with a last spirit of disappointed spleen. "Love, we know, will make people do many strange things."
"Love!" cried Lady Anne, with a gay smile; "well, so be it. I do love him!" and she put her arm through that of Henry. "I do love him most dearly, most truly, most tenderly!"
"Then no wonder, madam, your ladyship tries hard to save a man you wish to marry," said Mr. Scriven.
"Marry!" exclaimed Lady Anne, laughing joyously. "Nay, nay, my good sir; not marry my own brother!"
Mr. Scriven looked confounded; and there was many a one in the room who was very much, though not equally, surprised. After a moment's silence, however, Lady Anne turned to Henry, placing the rest of the papers she had brought in his hands, and saying--
"There, Henry, my dear brother, I put you in possession of that which is yours. I am no longer mistress of this house, of this estate, or of any of the property of the Milford family. They go with the title to you. Harley Lodge and my mother's property are all that I can claim; and I do not think you will make me pay back rents for that which I have not kept willingly. One such brother is to me worth all the property in the world."
Henry threw his arms round her and kissed her tenderly; but, bursting away from him with her own wild grace, she cast herself upon the bosom of Maria Monkton and wept.
The magistrates rose from the table at which they had been sitting, and shook hands with and congratulated him who had been the object of so much interest and so much investigation. Charles Marston and Mr. Winkworth were not behind them; and poor Lady Fleetwood exclaimed with a sigh--
"Well, this is very extraordinary, and very fortunate!"
"Very extraordinary indeed," said Mr. Scriven, drily; "and not the least extraordinary part of the whole is a body of magistrates rising to shake hands with a person still under a charge of felony."
"I drop the charge entirely," said Mr. Stolterforth. "I am perfectly convinced, as any reasonable man must be, that there is not the slightest foundation for it whatever."
"Nevertheless," said Mr. Hargrave, who had heard Mr. Scriven's observation and the rejoinder, "Mr. Scriven is quite right. This is an unusual manner of expressing the unanimous decision at which I believe we have arrived. We must proceed more orderly--Sir Harry Henderson!--colonel!--let me have your decision."
He spoke for a single moment apart with each of his brother magistrates; and then, resuming his seat with the rest, he said--
"It is the unanimous opinion of the justices present, that there is not the slightest ground for the accusation which has been made against the gentleman known here by the name of Colonel Middleton. Charge dismissed. Clerk, you will have the goodness to send all the papers to the proper quarter; and in case of any question as to our having acted out of our jurisdiction, I take the responsibility thereof upon myself. The prisoner, Samuel Nugent, must be sent to London, with a copy of the depositions by which he is affected."
"Then I am to consider that the case against Colonel Middleton,aliasHayley,aliasMilford, is disposed of?" said Mr. Scriven.
"As far as we are concerned, this case is, sir," replied Mr. Hargrave. "There is another case, however, affecting subornation of perjury, which, not having any parallel case in remembrance, I do not know how to deal with. I will, however, when I get home, consult authorities on the subject, and confer with my brother magistrates. If you are still in the county, you shall hear from me on the matter." This delicate hint was not lost upon Mr. Scriven. Although he saw that the game was against him, indeed, he had a strong inclination to see if nothing could be done to retrieve it. But he was a man of calculation--hardy, persevering, it is true, in pursuit of an object, but yet unwilling to risk much upon a perilous speculation; and in the present instance he was quietly beating a retreat, as soon as Mr. Hargrave's eye was off him. He was interrupted, however, in his course, by a loud, clear, sharp voice exclaiming--
"Hey! Scriven, Scriven!" and turning round, as almost all the rest of the party did at this sudden exclamation, he saw the eyes of Mr. Winkworth fixed upon him through a pair of large spectacles. "Just let me remind you before you go, Scriven," said Mr. Winkworth, "that you owe the sum of twenty-one thousand two hundred and sixty-three pounds eleven shillings and fivepence to the heirs, executors, administrators, or assigns of the late Stephen Hayley, Esq. whose sole representative I take to be Miss Rebecca Hayley, now in confinement, by your orders, at Brooke Green."
If Mr. Scriven ever really felt fury, it was at that moment.
"What is that to you, sir?" he demanded fiercely. "Your assertion is false!"
"No, it is not," answered Mr. Winkworth. "It is quite true; and not only will I prove it so within the next three months, but I will prove that you have owed it for ten years, and denied the debt because you had got possession of the vouchers."
Mr. Scriven had waxed marvellously pale, and he gazed in Mr. Winkworth's face as if he had beheld a ghost.
"And who are you?" he demanded, in a dull, hollow tone; but those were the only words he seemed capable of uttering.
"I am one who have known you well," replied Mr. Winkworth, "for well-nigh thirty years; and if your memory of faces were as good as you pretend, methinks you might have remembered mine. There--go, go! We shall meet in London within a month; and pray you see that my accounts with your house are in somewhat better order than those of unhappy Stephen Hayley."
Mr. Scriven was very near the door; and a servant, opening it at that moment, gave him an opportunity of slipping out without any great bustle.
Henry was at that moment speaking a few words to Lady Anne Mellent and pale Maria Monkton--pale, I say, for agitation had blanched her cheek till it looked like the leaf of a lily.
"Shall I call him back and ask him to stay?" he said, in a low but eager tone, addressing Maria.
"No, Henry--no," she answered, laying her hand upon his arm: "it would only be a misery to himself and a restraint to us. You can never be friends, for you are nature's opposites; but you will endure him for my sake, and better at a distance."
At that moment Lady Fleetwood advanced towards them, her face beaming with every kindly purpose.
"My dear lord," she said, while Maria looked up in his face with a gentle smile, "I congratulate you most sincerely, and dear Maria too, upon the wonderful events that have happened. I don't understand it at all for my own part, though I see that it has all ended quite right and happily. You must indeed forgive my poor brother Scriven; for you know he is a dry, commonplace man of business, and I am sure did it all--with the best intentions."
Maria could hardly refrain from laughing; but Sir Harry Henderson, who was standing near, said, in a jocular sort of way--
"Indeed, Lady Fleetwood, few of us understand the matter completely, and should very much like to hear the whole explained, without waiting for a newspaper account of it."
"Such explanation, my dear sir, I shall be most happy to give you," said Henry, "but not now. I have my sister's directions to ask the whole party here assembled, and more especially yourself and Colonel Mandrake, to remain and dine with us. I would hold out the explanation of all mysteries as a temptation, did I not think that the bare request of Lady Anne would be quite sufficient for any gentleman here present."
"Assuredly, assuredly, my lord," replied Colonel Mandrake, who was a very gallant old gentleman, with bushy black and white eyebrows and an aquiline nose; "but, unfortunately, we are here in morning costume."
"That will be easily amended," said Lady Anne, with one of her gay looks. "Nobody indeed will remark Colonel Mandrake's costume when he is himself present; but, if he needs must attend to all those proprieties which so much distinguish him, a man and horse will be at liberty in a few minutes to bring whatever he requires. And now let us adjourn to another room, for this has been so full of agitating feelings that the air seems loaded with ill affections."
"Mingled with pure and noble ones, dear Anne," said Henry, laying his hand upon hers. "Now, kind Lady Fleetwood, let me give you my arm, and let none of us regret what has passed, as we have all acted--with the best intentions."
Sir Harry Henderson was very curious, and he longed to anticipate the explanation which he had promised for the evening; but he was disappointed, for the principal actors in the scene which had just passed had given up, they thought, enough time to facts, and were now disposed to afford a larger share to emotions.
For half-an-hour the whole party remained assembled in the drawing-room; but then one began to drop off after another, and the conversation, which had at first been of an eager yet gossiping kind, discussing all that had taken place, and the demeanour of several of those who had appeared upon the stage, languished for want of fresh materials.
Mr. Hargrave, though the oldest man of the party, was the one for whom a sensitive heart and intelligent mind had preserved, least impaired, that delicate perception--or rather, I should have said, intuition--of the feelings of others, which is so beautiful to see at a period of life when passions have become memories, and the emotions of life are stilled by the awful presence of the yawning grave.
He watched the face of Maria Monkton for a moment, as she sat with her cheek leaning on her hand, her eyes fixed upon the floor, and her mind evidently brooding over the scenes which had that morning taken place, her heart thrilling with sensations of joy and thankfulness. He saw the eyes of the young earl turn to her with a longing glance, as if he would fain have cast his arms round her and pressed her to his heart; and the old man said to himself--
"These young people would be better with fewer eyes upon them. Come, Sir Harry," he continued aloud; "you and the colonel must take a walk through the park with me, and see the improvements I was proposing to Lady Anne the other day. I do not know whether they may find favour with her brother; but I shall plead for them strongly, for there is no art so full of vanity as landscape gardening."
"Will you come and judge of them, my lord?" asked Colonel Mandrake; but Henry replied--
"I fear, my dear sir, my thoughts would be so busy with other things that I should not do them justice. In a short time, I think, I shall beg the advice of all three gentlemen upon many points, both of taste and business; but to-day I will not venture to do so."
Mr. Hargrave then, with his two companions, walked out into the park. Mr. Winkworth had quitted the drawing-room some time before. Lady Anne had disappeared: Charles Marston was not to be seen; and Lady Fleetwood, Maria, Mrs. Brice, and Henry, were the only persons remaining. Mrs. Brice slipped quietly away; and dear aunt Fleetwood sat for a minute or two, debating with herself what she should do. She knew that it would be very pleasant for Maria to be left alone for a time with her lover. She had not so much forgotten the lessons of youth as to doubt that; but she thought it would distress her niece if she brought the matter about too ostentatiously, and she puzzled herself for an excuse, finding none, till at length Henry laid his hand upon Maria's arm, saying--
"Dear Maria, I want to speak with you for a few moments."
Then Lady Fleetwood started up to go, without any excuse at all; first dropped her gloves, and then her handkerchief, and then the everlasting purse. Henry picked them up, with a smile, saying--
"Dear Lady Fleetwood, what I said need not banish you. We are going to the little breakfast-room."
"No, no; stay here," said Lady Fleetwood, hurrying away. But there was a fatality about her "best intentions;" and directing her steps to the library, she opened the door hurriedly, trying with one hand to keep fast hold of her gloves and handkerchief, and of the purse with the other, when, on the door flying back farther than she intended, she saw before her Charles Marston and Lady Anne Mellent, with his arm round her waist. Lady Fleetwood would fain have retreated instantly; but she had to shut the door, and in so doing she dropped the purse again, and as she stooped to pick it up, the door, coming to vehemently, hit her on the head, and nearly knocked her down. But while Charles was hurrying to her assistance, and Lady Anne stood half laughing, half crying, by the table, she contrived to pick up the purse and beat a retreat. Her next harbour of refuge was the little breakfast-room; but there again she found Henry and Maria, who had gone thither to avoid interruption; and at last she bethought her that it might be as well to try her own bed-room, which she had the happiness of finding vacant.
"Dear Lady Fleetwood!" said Anne Mellent, when Charles returned; "fate seems to lay traps for her. But now, Charles, remember our present compact, and keep it better than you did the last. Do you suppose that I did not see, while, under all your affectation of cool confidence and implicit trust, that your angry spirit was accusing me of every kind of coquetry, and grilling itself, like a London woman's head in a lace bonnet going out in August, in an open carriage, to a picnic at Shooter's Hill?" Charles Marston laughed.
"Well," he said, "it is true. I was uneasy, dearest Anne, but not with any doubt or mistrust, as you suppose, for of your love and truth I had no doubt; but it was impossible for me to divine such a cause as has now appeared for your conduct, and you yourself must confess that nothing else but such a cause could justify it."
"You might have been quite sure," replied Lady Anne, "that I had a sufficient cause. But I will own the trial was hard," she added, in a lighter tone; for her first words had been spoken gravely; "and therefore I forgive you. I took a sly, quiet look at your face, when the secret came out; and, I must say, I never saw a more remarkable look of foolish astonishment. However, perhaps I may surprise you still more before I have done to-day; and then I suppose it will be all over, and I shall sink down into a tame, quiet, every-day sort of wife, who, if ever she ventures upon one of her old vagaries, will be scolded heartily and will endure it with due submission."
"No, no, dear girl," he answered; "you must be ever, as far as possible, what you are now. I love you as you are, and could not love you better for any change. Depend upon it, dear Anne, it is the change after marriage from what people were, or seemed, before marriage, which is the source of nine-tenths of the unhappiness one sometimes hears of in married life."
"Then take care what you are about, Charles," said Lady Anne, with a look of surprise; "for you are actually changing already. You are talking like a reasonable man. Now you know quite well, if I had ever thought you pretended to such a character, I never would have consented to marry you. But I forgot one thing. You may very likely not wish to marry me now. Do you remember, sir, coming to me one morning, with a grave and serious face, and setting me free from all promises, because an alteration had taken place in your circumstances? Now a very great alteration has taken place in mine--I have lost more than thirty thousand a-year--and therefore I now set you free."
Charles Marston laughed.
"I won't be free," he answered: "I refuse emancipation: and, to tell you the truth, my love, I am very glad it is so. The marriage is not now so unequal as it was. The good world would only have said----"
"Never mind what the world would say, Charles," answered Lady Anne. "The world is a great fool, and says every day the most ridiculous things, which nobody should care about or think of. And now, to prove how little I care, I am going to sit with Mr. Winkworth, in his bed-room, for half-an-hour."
"Well, go," said Charles. "I do not wish to stop you; but come down again soon, for I am determined to have a long ramble in the park with you--all alone."
"We shall see," answered Lady Anne, and she left him.
While the conversation which I have just detailed was taking place in one part of the house, one of a very different tone went on in the little breakfast-room, between Maria and her lover. She had gone thither with her arm through his, but somehow, when seated on the sofa there, his arm had fallen round her and his hand clasped hers. We have heard of eloquent silence, and I am not very fond of the expression, nor indeed of any paradoxical figures. Still Maria and Henry were silent, quite silent, for a minute or two after they entered the room; and their silence might well indicate the presence of many powerful emotions in their hearts--too large, too powerful for words. The first which Henry uttered were, "Do you forgive me, Maria?"
"Forgive you for what, Henry?" she asked.
"For keeping you in suspense," he answered; "for withholding from you that full, entire, unclouded confidence which shall never be withheld again. The only cause was, dear Maria, that my dear, kind, generous sister, who rejoices as much to see herself deprived of a large property as others would rejoice to receive one, bound me to silence till everything was prepared, both to establish my claims and to meet any charges against me. She was fearful that the least hint escaping might precipitate matters, and place us for a time at least in a difficult, if not a dangerous situation. Perhaps, indeed, there might be a little of the spirit of adventure and romance in her desire for keeping everything secret to the last; but still you will own she has managed admirably for me."
"Admirably indeed," exclaimed Maria, with tears in her eyes; "and when at last she said, 'What! marry my brother!' I felt inclined to run forward and cast myself at her feet. But, oh, Henry! what can I say of my uncle's conduct? What must you feel towards him? And are you quite quite sure, that you will never let any of those feelings fall back upon me?"
"Can you believe it for a moment, my beloved?" he replied. "What! upon you, the dearest, the best, the earliest friend I have--you, whose noble heart judged mine rightly from the beginning--you, who never abandoned me, who never failed me, who received me on my return with the same affection, the same confidence, which had existed between us in childhood--you, who upon my simple assurance, unsupported, unconfirmed, believed the tale I told, and in the moment of danger and difficulty conferred upon me that blessed hope which gave me strength and courage to encounter every peril and triumph over every obstacle! Oh, no, Maria! no: I shall ever look upon you and your love as the crowning mercies of all those with which heaven has compensated for a short period of anguish and disgrace. So far from my feelings towards Mr. Scriven falling back upon you, I trust, and indeed am sure, that my feelings towards you will sensibly affect my sensations towards him. Angry and indignant I must feel; but I will try, as soon as possible, to banish all such emotions, and will never forget that he is the uncle of one who loved and supported me in adversity and sorrow."
Another silent pause succeeded, for Maria did not reply; but she thanked him in her heart, and then, looking up in his face, she said, "There is much, I suppose, still to be done to establish your rights."
"Not much," replied Henry. "The whole case, I think, is very clear. All the steps taken by Mr. Scriven to prove that I am Henry Hayley tend to establish the fact that I am the son of the late Earl of Milford; and my dear sister Anne had that in view, in suffering him to go on so long without bringing forward the proofs of my innocence which she possessed. Indeed, she managed the whole with a degree of skill and judgment quite extraordinary in one so young, and apparently so wild. The proofs of my own legitimacy I have myself obtained in an extraordinary manner; and two or three papers, which, luckily, were not in the pocket-book of which I was robbed, fill up every break in the chain of evidence. You will hear the whole fully detailed to-night, and will see that, though aristocratic by the father's side, I am plebeian by the mother's; but I do not think you will love or esteem me the less for that. Nor, to say the truth, do I myself regret it; for I believe that it is by the frequent mingling of plebeian with patrician blood that the aristocracy of this country is so different from, and so much superior to that of any other. My grandfather is still living--a fine specimen of the English yeoman; and I know that my Maria will join with me in making him forget his sorrows. Some prejudices, indeed, I know he has, especially against men of a higher rank and station than his own; but those I am sure will be removed when he finds that his daughter's son can be fully as proud of the upright honesty of one ancestor as of the rank and station of another."
"But what will you do with regard to the property you have inherited in Spain, and the family there which claims you as one of its members?" demanded Maria.
"That will be easily managed," answered Henry; "though it certainly is a curious situation in which to be--as Mrs. Malaprop calls it, 'three gentlemen in one'--Henry Hayley, Frank Middleton, and Lord Milford. However, Henry Hayley we shall soon dispose of; and Frank Middleton's conduct will be very clear--to renounce the name, to restore the whole property, to repay every dollar he has received from it. The family will be very well satisfied with the restitution, for it was left to me by will, not taken as succession; and I have a letter from Don Balthazar, at the time he made his will, stating that he knew me to be no relation, and that he was acquainted with my name and history, yet left me the property with that knowledge. The family, therefore, could establish no legal claim to that which I intended to restore. The letter will only be useful as justifying me in all eyes for having retained the property so long; but I would fain, in this as in other things, come out clear of any imputation."
"I am sure you will," replied Maria; "I always was sure of it, Henry; and I must do my aunt Fleetwood the justice to say, that she has never ceased to maintain your innocence."
"Dear aunt Fleetwood!" said Henry with a smile. "I know, Maria, she loved me when a boy, and would not easily believe any evil of me. We must not forget her in our own happiness, Maria, although ours will, I am sure, greatly contribute to hers. She must be with us as much as possible; and I trust and believe that hergood intentionswill no longer have any power of working in a contrary sense."
The conversation proceeded in the same course for some time, and then the whole party reassembled at luncheon. The afternoon was spent in rambles in the neighbourhood, and in those various ways of killing time which we usually see practised in a country-house. To Lady Fleetwood Henry was tender kindness itself; and he soon taught the excellent lady to imagine that her "good intentions," though they had taken a droll course, had operated for his benefit, and to congratulate herself upon the result. Joshua Brown was committed to the care of Carlini; and all the servants of the house, though they did not comprehend the matter clearly, addressed Lady Anne's acknowledged brother with infinite reverence, and at every other word called him "my lord."
It was after dinner. The summer light had faded from the evening sky, yet there were roses in the west, and a bright star following, like a fair handmaid, upon Cynthia's footsteps through the sky. The curtains were not drawn, and the purple hue of the past day spread through the dining-room, mingling with the more powerful light of the lamps, like calm, sad memories tempering present joys.
The party at Milford Castle consisted, as the reader knows, of ten persons; and they were still seated round the table. Lady Anne was at one end; her brother had assumed the other. The dessert, such as it was at that season of the year, was still before them. The excellent wine had once gone round; the commonplace chat of the dinner-table had gradually subsided; and one of those fits of silence which very often indicate expectation had fallen upon the whole party. The one who was the most eager for the promised explanation was Sir Harry Henderson, who said, after the silence had continued for perhaps half-a-minute--
"You promised us a history, my lord--or perhaps even I might call it a romance, for certainly it savours of the romantic."
"It does, indeed," answered Henry; "but, like many another romantic thing, it is very true. I think, however, although with my dear sister and myself some painful memories may arise and some gloomy thoughts may be awakened, it will be better to read you the letter of him who knew the whole circumstances, from being the principal actor in them, rather than give you my own version of the details. I will only premise, that from this letter Lady Anne first learned that she had ever had a brother. The demonstrable proofs were found in the cabinet, which, as you have heard, was opened by her in the presence of Mr. Hargrave."
Thus saying, he rose and rang the bell, ordering, when the servant appeared, that a green box of papers should be brought him out of his room. When it had been procured, he opened it, and took out a letter from the top, containing several closely-written pages; and having looked at it for a moment, he said--
"After the death of my father, the late Earl of Milford, this letter was delivered by his executors to his daughter, Lady Anne, whom he then believed to be his only surviving child. It contained the key of the cabinet to which you have heard allusion made; and it bears, marked upon the back, 'To be opened by my daughter, Lady Anne, when she shall arrive at the age of one-and-twenty years--provided it should please heaven that she should survive me.' The letter then proceeds as follows:--
"'My dearest Child,--You must have remarked that my health has been gradually failing for some years. The medical men attribute this decay to an accident I met with, which you well remember. I myself connect it with a much more painful event, of which they know nothing. They cannot, therefore, by any drugs, remedy the disease. I am now about to unburden my whole heart, for the first time in my life, to you, for I feel that I am soon about to be called hence; and though most improbable events might occur, which would render the secret of my early life important both to yourself and others, I know you, my dearest child, well, thoroughly, entirely; and I can trust implicitly both to your heart and to your understanding. You are too dutiful and affectionate a child to blame your father severely, even if you find he has committed some errors, or to scorn his injunctions, even if you cannot always approve his conduct. Neither will I blame my own parent, although we did not live on those terms of tender confidence in which you and I have always dwelt together; but it is necessary that I should speak of his character, to account for, if not to justify, my own actions.
"'Let me tell you, then, my early history. I was my father's second son, and never was loved as my elder brother was. That brother was kind and good, and worthy of all affection; but even to him my father was usually stern, and often even violent. To me my father's demeanour was exceedingly harsh and imperious. Instant obedience to his lightest word was exacted in all things, as was perhaps right and due; but no command ever came unaccompanied by a threat, and no threat ever remained unfulfilled, if the command was, even by mistake, disobeyed. It seemed as if he wished to make fear supersede both affection and a sense of duty--and he succeeded but too well. I learned to dread him; and, even after my poor brother's death, that sad lesson was not forgotten. As his heir, I was furnished with ample means, and received a very good education; but before my brother's death I had been placed at a somewhat inferior school, where I formed a very close intimacy with a boy of the name of Hayley. You have often seen him as a man, and must recollect him. He was weak, timid, and somewhat cowardly; but I was in the custom of defending him from the attacks of older and stronger boys, and we naturally learn to love what we protect. When I afterwards went to Eton, Stephen Hayley followed me thither, and our friendship continued unabated. Even when I was sent on a tour through Europe, with a tutor, I regularly corresponded with Hayley, my new rank as Lord Mellent making not the least change in our intimacy, though he had now become a clerk in a great merchant's house. It was not long after my return, and while I was still a student at Oxford, that an event occurred, the consequences of which have chequered my golden fate with shades unalterably dark. One day, in a country village, where I had gone to study more quietly for my degree than I could do elsewhere, I saw a girl of the most surpassing beauty that can be conceived. The first meeting was merely accidental, but the second was designed; for I eagerly inquired who she was, and finding that her father was a wealthy and honest farmer, of the name of Graves, I contrived to introduce myself to him as a person wishing to purchase a horse. I soon made myself intimate in his family, and the admiration I had conceived for his daughter ripened into the warmest and truest love. She was as gentle and kind, as good and as graceful, as she was beautiful; and, even had such a thing been possible, my dearest Anne, which it was not, I would not have misled her for the world. But my position was very difficult. I knew my father's proud spirit and highly aristocratic feelings, and that his consent to my marriage with a farmer's daughter was quite out of all hope. But I loved her, and she loved me, and I told her all my difficulties. She, and she alone, knew who I was; for I had given myself out as a merchant, and the son of a merchant, to escape visits and civilities which might be burdensome. We hesitated, we doubted long; but at length passion triumphed over prudence, and she was persuaded to fly with me and unite her fate to mine. We were married in secret, and passed nearly a year in the fondest affection. All that she exacted was permission to write to her father to assure him that she was a wife. When the time approached, however, at which she was to give birth to a child, fears assailed her, and remorse for having left her parent's house. She made me promise that, if real danger occurred, I would send for him with all speed, that she might receive his pardon and his blessing before she died.
"'Danger did come, my child, and death; but she had the satisfaction she sought. Her father and her husband were with her at the last hour, and she died forgiven, leaving me with a poor, helpless infant. The old man fled from the cottage almost in a state of madness, and my own mind was so troubled that for three days I forgot all the dangers of my situation. Those dangers were many, as I will soon explain to you; and to avoid them I was obliged to leave that cottage with the child as soon as the funeral was over, to consign the poor infant to the charge of a nurse, and to appear in the gay world of London with a calm face, and none of the external signs of that mourning which was sincerely in my heart.
"'I must now go back to tell some other events which had occurred. Like most young men of my day, I had been somewhat extravagant, and had lived a good deal beyond the income which my father allowed me. My debts amounted to between nine and ten thousand pounds when I first met with poor Mary Graves. My creditors were importunate; I had not the means of paying them; and, about seven months after my marriage, one of them applied to my father. He sent for me, and sternly demanded that I should give him an account of everything I owed. I did so; and, to my surprise, I found him much less enraged than I could have imagined. But it soon appeared that he had a project in his head which would compel me to disobey and offend him. He asked me if I had ever seen a young lady whom he named--in short, your own dear mother. I told him I had not, but that I had always heard her highly spoken of. He then informed me that he was acquainted with her father, and that, as she was an only child and heiress of considerable wealth, he had proposed to him a marriage between her and me. Your maternal grandfather had consented, upon the condition that the marriage should be agreeable to ourselves; and my father now said, "On condition of your marrying this young lady, I will at once pay your debts and settle a larger income upon you." I cannot minutely describe the scene that ensued. Of course, I was obliged to refuse; and I did so decidedly and at once. That was sufficient to excite great wrath; but my father smothered it in a degree, and requested me at least to see the young lady before I decided. I endeavoured, as humbly as I could, to represent to him that, by pursuing such a course, and then refusing to marry her, especially after what had taken place between him and her father, I should be grossly wronging and insulting her. But now the storm broke forth. He told me that a rumour had reached him, that I was either keeping or had married some low woman; that he had refused to believe such an assertion; but that my conduct gave such strong confirmation to the report that he would take means to ascertain, the fact; and if he found I had been guilty of so base a dereliction of my duty to him, and of my rank and station in society, he would cast me off for ever; would bequeath every farthing of the property which he could alienate--and that was nearly the whole--to strangers, and leave me what he justly called that most miserable of wretches, a titled beggar. He would not hear me utter a word, but drove me forth from his presence to seek comfort with my poor wife, from whom I was obliged to conceal the sorrows which my marriage with her had brought upon me.
"'Thus matters continued till her death--knowing that I was watched, and obliged to have recourse to a thousand stratagems to conceal my movements. Even after the poor girl's death, I knew my father too well to doubt that, if he discovered I had a son by such a marriage, he would carry his threat into execution; and in my difficulty and distress I applied to my friend Hayley, made him my confidant, and induced him to promise that he would acknowledge the child as his own and superintend his education, till such time as I should be enabled publicly to declare my marriage.
"'Some months after, I accidentally met with your mother in society, found her beautiful, amiable, and in every respect agreeable to me, and I took means to make myself agreeable to her. She was quite unconscious of what had previously taken place, and gave such encouragement as no well-educated woman would afford to a man whom she would afterwards reject. Her father, however, who was well aware of the whole, at first treated me very coldly; but as soon as I had made up my mind to offer her my hand, I thought it right to have an explanation with him; and I pointed out to him that I had acted honourably towards his daughter, in refusing to be introduced to her with such views, unless I were positively determined to carry them out. I soon overcame all his prejudices. He became attached to me. His daughter accepted my offered hand; and I wrote to my father, whom I had not seen for some months, hoping that my obedience, tardy as it was, would be accepted. He was not fond of writing, and he sent for me to come to him. When I went, my treatment was that which might have been shown towards a very lowly dependant. He told me that, if I wished to show myself dutiful, my submission came too late; that now I might marry your mother or not, as I pleased; that he approved of the match, but did not require it; and that, although he would allow me an income equal to my station and expectations, he would settle nothing upon me. He added, in a low but very menacing tone, "I have my doubts, young man--I have my doubts; and if ever I find that you have degraded your name or rank, I will leave you without one penny of which I can deprive you."
"'I was obliged to bear these tidings to my future father-in-law; but, with a certain portion of ambition, he was a kind-hearted and affectionate man. He knew that his daughter loved me. He felt confident, from all he had seen, that I loved her, and his consent to our marriage was given--unwillingly, indeed, for he was sufficiently wealthy to look high for a match for his daughter, and to desire a settlement proportionate to her fortune. However, all objections were waived, and we were married. My allowance from my father was liberal. Her fortune was large, and eight months after, it was trebled by the death of her father. All that I possessed, however, and all that I should ever possess, except a very small portion, depended upon the earl's never discovering that I had contracted a previous marriage, and had had a son by a plebeian wife. My dear boy therefore remained under the care of Mr. Hayley, was brought home by him while yet almost an infant, acknowledged as his son, educated with great care, and displayed in person and mind, in character and demeanour----'
"But I need not read all that," said Henry. "After a few commendations on my boyhood, the letter goes on thus:--
"'You have seen him often, my dear Anne. You know him well, for I brought him up with you almost as a brother, intending to tell you that he actually was so, before you reached the age of womanhood. I loved him--oh, how dearly and how well! And you loved him too, I am sure, with that fraternal love which was exactly what I desired. No act, no thought, of his ever gave me a moment's pain; and without wishing for my own father's death, I longed to be able to tell you and your mother that this boy was my son.
"'At length I was suddenly summoned away to Belford, to attend upon my father, who had been seized with severe illness. I could have wished to remain in London or in its neighbourhood, for I knew that the affairs of Mr. Hayley were getting into sad disorder. I had already supplied him, more than once, with considerable sums of money, beyond the expenses of my dear boy's education and maintenance; and a new demand had been made upon my purse, accompanied by a vague and timid threat.
"'However, I was obliged to set out. My father died a week or two after; and I proceeded from Milford Castle to Caermarthen, to consign his remains to the family vault. On my way back, my carriage was overturned at the bridge at ----, and I was taken up insensible, with concussion of the brain. I remained ill for several weeks, and my recovery was slow and difficult. For a long time the medical men would not suffer me to read or write at all; but at length, one morning, after I had been permitted to go out once or twice, I took up the newspaper on the breakfast-table, and was struck with horror and dismay on reading a paragraph headed, "The Late Forgery." I cannot dwell on the particulars even now, my dear child. Suffice it to say, that that paragraph showed me that my son, your dear brother, had been accused of forgery to a large amount; that he had fled from the country, after having been traced down to Northumberland, and thence to Caermarthen, in search of me, it seems; and that the officer who had followed him to Ancona had there, by the monks, been shown a dead body which they solemnly declared to be his. My feelings were almost those of a madman. I knew my boy was not guilty. I saw it all in a moment: that Hayley, a bankrupt gambler as he had proved, had committed the forgery, and had induced the boy, who thought him his father, to fly, in order to screen his supposed parent. At the same time, a vague, wild hope--which haunts me yet--that my child might still be alive, that the officer might have been deceived by a pious fraud of the monks--took possession of my mind, and made me act upon the moment with a degree of fierceness and resolution which perhaps I might not have had the courage to display if I had paused to deliberate. I sent for the man Hayley, with a threat that if he did not come I would fetch him; and when he appeared before me, all pale and trembling, I accused him at once of what he had done, as if I had had a revelation of the whole facts. He was always a coward, and in his attempts to deny and equivocate he betrayed himself; but I wrung the whole from him, as if I had taken his false heart in my hand and crushed out the only drops of truth it contained. I told him that if he did not instantly, and at once, confess the whole, I would carry him from my house to the office of the magistrate; that I would prove, from his own letters to me, that he was a bankrupt and a beggar but a few days before that forgery was committed; that I would make him account for the possession of every penny which he had expended since, and leave the keen hounds of justice to follow out the scent. He did at length confess the whole, and put it down in writing, signing it in my presence and that of Alsager, the butler, upon the condition that I would not reveal the facts till after his death, unless my boy ever appeared in England again.
"'My hopes of such being the case have daily decreased, but they linger still. I have caused many inquiries to be made, and secret investigations to be carried on; but the only fact I have been able to discover, which keeps expectation alive, is that there were two lads, nearly of the same age, in the convent, at the time my poor boy was supposed to nave died at Ancona. In case he should appear again, before you arrive at the age of one-and-twenty, I have besought my dear old friend Charles Hargrave, of Detchton-Grieve, near Belford, to watch carefully the events that take place in London; and if Henry should come back, to desire you to open this letter at once. The confession of Hayley, with several other papers concerning my private marriage and the boy's birth and education, are in an ebony cabinet in my dressing-room at Milford Castle. It is sealed up, with an order written upon it, to the effect that it is only to be opened by yourself, after you have reached the age of one-and-twenty.
"'And now, my dear child, farewell. These lines will not meet your eyes till your father's are closed. I know I have no need to exhort you to do justice to your brother, if ever you should find him; and if you should not, to clear his memory, after Mr. Hayley's death. Your mother's ample fortune will be sufficient provision for you, and the estates of the family will descend to you, without being specially mentioned in my will; but remember that you hold them in trust for him, if ever he should reappear. Should such be the case, I trust that the affection which existed between you and him, as boy and girl, may be a blessing to you both in more mature years. And now, that heaven may protect you, and send you a happier fate than mine, is the sincerest prayer of
"'Your father,
"'Milford.'"
Henry's voice faltered as he read the latter sentences of his father's letter to his sister, and there were tears in Lady Anne's bright eyes; but those tears did not run over till old Mr. Hargrave laid his hand upon hers, saying--
"Well and nobly, my dear child, have you fulfilled your excellent father's last behest, and justified his judgment both of head and heart."
"And I am a proud man," said Mr. Winkworth, looking at her through his spectacles, which he had been wiping more than once, for some reason or another; "for I shall one day call her child who has so brightly performed her duty to a dead father and a living brother."
"Hush, hush, hush!" exclaimed Lady Anne, starting up: "you will drive me away. Did you not promise, most faithless of Indians? You are as bad as the man in the fairy tale."
"And as ugly," replied Mr. Winkworth, laughing; "but I fear, dear lady, I shall never find a kind girl to restore me to my pristine form again--though, if there be a sorceress upon earth who could do it, she were Anne Mellent. Pray use your interest with her for me, my dear lord, for I would fain have youth and beauty back, as they appeared before they had been taken away by that fell enchanter, Time; and here are two people in the room--my old acquaintance Hargrave and my dear sister Lady Fleetwood--who can tell you that I was a very good-looking fellow nine-and-twenty years ago, when I was called Charles Marston."
"Charles Marston!" exclaimed Lady Fleetwood, almost with a scream. "You Charles Marston!"
"Yes, my dear Meg," replied Mr. Winkworth; "even your poor brother-in-law."
"But, dear me!" cried Lady Fleetwood, "Scriven told me you were a bankrupt, and Charles says you are very rich."
"Both, Meg--both," replied Mr. Winkworth. "There Scriven told truth, and Charles too. Do you not know that I never did things like other men? and when I was coming from India, as there were some dear friends who owed me a couple of lacs, and were too gentlemanly to pay an old friend, I made myself a bankrupt, that the task of suing them might fall upon my assignees. I had the hint, by-the-way, from Grange, the pastry-cook, who made himself a bankrupt every year, just to call in his accounts; but I rather think I am capable of paying a hundred shillings in the pound; and now all I have to say is--and I say it deliberately before witnesses--if Lady Anne Mellent will condescend to take up with a merchant, and does not object to old age, and is very fond of a yellowish skin and a lean person, I am ready to marry her as soon as this wound in my shoulder is quite well; and I will settle a quarter of a million upon her on her wedding-day, whether she marries me or----Well, well, my dear; I won't."
So complete was the surprise of all present, except Mr. Hargrave and Lady Anne, that there was a dead silence for half-a-minute; and then Lady Fleetwood, whose wit always fixed upon something collateral, asked aloud--
"What are lacs?"
A burst of laughter followed, and perhaps it was the best way of ending the explanation.
Lady Anne made good her retreat as fast as possible; and after the gentlemen were left together, Henry laid before Mr. Hargrave and the rest all the papers which went to prove his title--Lord Milford's account of his private marriage, in a more detailed form than he had given it to his daughter; the documents with which he had been furnished by the monks at Ancona, to prove that he was Henry Hayley, notwithstanding his long assumption of the name of Middleton; some letters upon the subject from Don Balthazar de Xamorça; and, last, the certificate of the marriage of Charles Mellent and Mary Graves, and that of his own birth.
"For these latter papers," he said, "I am indebted to the activity and intelligence of that worthy man, Joshua Brown; and by your permission, gentlemen, I will have him in, and thank him, in your presence, for all he has done for me."
The pedlar was soon introduced, and in graceful terms the young nobleman expressed his gratitude, making him sit down beside him.
"There is a lady," said Henry, "who longs much to thank you, Mr. Brown, and to-morrow, before breakfast, you must let me introduce you to her. Will you take a glass of wine to drink her health?"
"Willingly, my lord," replied the pedlar, "formy lordyou are; but yet I think you will find a little hitch somewhere that will want making smooth."
"In good truth, my dear young friend, he is right," said Mr. Hargrave, who had been looking carefully over the papers. "Here is every proof that you passed as Henry Hayley; every proof that Milford was privately married and had a son; every proof that he believed you to be that son, and that Hayley told him so; but no legal proof whatever that the boy who was given to the care of the nurse by your poor father was the same that Mr. Hayley brought home and acknowledged as his own."
"I've got it here, sir," said the pedlar, producing an old pocket-book. "I told the young lord that he'd want more of my help; so, between the time when I last saw him and the day I went to listen at Lady Fleetwood's, I ran down to the part of the country where they were married; for I recollected quite well having seen a pretty babby, about that time, at Mrs. Goldie's, the grocer's widow's, with black ribbons upon its little white frock; and I knew it was a nurse-child, for she had none of her own--never had. She's alive to this day; and there is her certificate that the child she delivered to Stephen Hayley, Esq. was the child of Charles Mellent and Mary Graves. She has got, moreover, the order, in Charles Mellent's own hand, to deliver the child to Mr. Hayley, and Mr. Hayley's acknowledgment that he had received it. She says, too, that with the child she gave him a gold box, the top of which unscrews, and in it she put a paper, like a careful old body as she is, with all the marks the child had upon it, such as moles and spots, and such like, which most of us have more or less."
"I've got the box!" cried Mr. Winkworth,aliasMarston, who had broken off a conversation with his son to listen: "I owe that to the care of my little man Jim. It was found in the goods and chattels of poor Miss Hayley; but there is amongst her papers a memorandum, written in one of her saner moods, stating that the box was brought with the clothes of her brother's son, Henry Hayley, when he first came home from the place where he was nursed, and that she always preserved it carefully, in the hope that she might some time hear news of the poor child's mother, who must have been of some rank, as there is a coronet engraved upon the box."
"Bravo! bravo!" said Mr. Hargrave: "the only link wanting in the chain seems to be supplied; and now I think we shall do, without any further question."
And so think I, dear reader, too.