The unexpected appearance of a man who was supposed, and with every reason, to be dead and buried was so startling that for a few moments no one could speak. Had it been night time, those present might well have been excused had they taken the newcomer for a ghost. But a ghost would scarcely reveal itself in broad daylight, supported by two flesh and blood mortals. Amazing as it seemed, the wan person, who was placed in a convenient armchair by his guides, was actually the Rev. Simon Leigh. His head was bandaged; his face was bloodless, and he appeared to be listless and exhausted. Never was there such a dramatic entrance, or such an uncanny situation.
"Leigh!" gasped Rupert, hardly able to pronounce the name.
"Yes," replied the parson, faintly smiling. "I am alive, you see."
"I said as he worn't dead," chuckled Ark again, and rubbed his horny hands with comfortable glee, while his grandson Tobias stood mute and grim behind the man who had returned from the other world.
Carrington, equally startled, was the first to recover himself entirely. He saw in the reappearance of the clergyman a chance of escape from his dangerous position. "You accuse me of murdering Leigh, and Leigh is alive," he said, regaining swiftly his native impudence. "What do you say now, Hendle?"
Rupert turned his eyes from the vicar to Tollart, whose big face was purple with astonishment. "What do you say, doctor?" he asked, feebly.
"It's a dream," muttered Tollart, rubbing his eyes. "He must be dead. I examined the body; I saw him buried; I gave the certificate of death."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Tollart," murmured Leigh with a weak attempt at a smile; "but you see I am still alive. Tobias!"
The grim man knew what was asked for and producing a flask of generous proportions administered a stiff dose of brandy to his patient. The ardent spirit made Leigh cough, but brought the blood to his cheek and a more lively light into his dim eyes. Also when he opened his mouth he spoke with a stronger voice. "Yes, I am alive. I was buried by mistake."
"It's impossible, I tell you," cried the doctor, still struggling with his astonishment. "You were as dead as a door-nail."
"So you thought, Tollart, but you are not the first medical man who has mistaken catalepsy for death."
"Catalepsy?"
"I have been subject to it all my life, but I never told anyone about it--not even you, Tollart. Only Titus knew, and that was why he was what was called my shadow down in the village. I always dreaded being buried alive."
"Yet you were," said Rupert, staring with all his might at the resuscitated man, and wondering if he was asleep or awake. "Titus wasn't much good, after all, in spite of his watchfulness."
"And what could I do, Squoire?" demanded the ancient shrilly. "I said as Muster Leigh warn't dead agin and agin, but none heeded me."
"If you had used the one word catalepsy," protested Tollart, who was annoyed that Leigh should reappear to give the lie to his skill, "I should have known what to do."
"I bain't no scholard," croaked Titus sulkily. "I said as Muster Leigh warn't dead and he warn't. On the night of the day when he was buried, me and Tobias got him out of his coffin and he hev bin in my house getting well."
"You should have told me, Titus," expostulated Rupert reprovingly.
"Now the Lard help me, Squoire. Didn't I tell 'ee times wi'out number. I said as Muster Leigh warn't dead and you laughed; you know you did. But he warn't dead; he warn't dead"; and the ancient repeated his favorite phrase again and again with angry gestures.
"No, he warn't dead," mimicked Carrington, strolling easily toward the door, "and now that we know he warn't, I suppose there is no objection to my leaving this pleasant little party."
"Stay where you are," commanded Leigh in a much stronger voice. "It is no thanks to you that I am alive. Stop him, Hendle."
Rupert took Carrington by the shoulders and pushed him across the room and into the chair he had vacated. "You stay here," he said sternly.
"Oh, I'll stay if you wish me to," replied Carrington, making a virtue of necessity, and shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. "You can't get me into trouble now."
"We'll see about that," replied Leigh, who was breathing heavily. "I haven't much time to live, as the shock of being buried alive has given me my deathblow. But I shall live long enough to see that justice is done. Now let me explain what I owe to Mr. Carrington."
"One moment, before you change the subject," remarked Tollart sharply. "You told me that you had heart disease."
"I did," admitted the vicar dryly; "but I never allowed you to examine me, or you would have found that my heart was perfectly sound. I made that excuse to account for anyone finding me in a cataleptic trance."
"You should have told me the truth," rejoined the doctor sternly. "But that I thought the blow on the head had killed you, along with heart disease, I would have opened your body to be certain of the cause of death. As it was, Mr. Leigh----"
"As it wor," interrupted the old sexton aggressively, "you warn't sober, Muster Tollart. That you warn't."
"How dare you say that!" cried the doctor, flushing angrily.
"Aye, but I do say it," retorted Titus valiantly. "You saw double, you did, and not being sure of your larning said as Muster Leigh wor dead when he warn't. And if 'ee'd tried to cut Muster Leigh up, I'd hev knocked 'ee down. Yus, I would, and no mistake."
"It seems to me that we are not getting on very fast," said Carrington lightly, yet anxiously, for he desired to get away before Inspector Lawson arrived from Tarhaven. "Suppose Mr. Leigh speaks, and relates his experiences in the other world."
"I shall deal with you later," said Leigh meaningly and with an unpleasant look. "You are not going to escape punishment because you failed to carry out your evil design. First, I shall explain about my catalepsy. I have always been afflicted thus, Hendle," he added, turning to the young Squire, "and for that reason I rarely went away from my house. Titus knew that I was subject to these trances, and I always liked to have him at my elbow in case I fell into one. Also Titus had the key of my family vault, so as to rescue me should I be buried alive by any chance. The blow on the head did not kill me outright, although it was severe enough very nearly to do so. I was stunned for the time being and then passed into a trance. Owing to the warm weather, unfortunately for me, I was buried hastily, else I might have recovered."
"You were as dead as any man could be," persisted Tollart sullenly, for the revival annoyed him beyond measure.
"I was not, yet, although you, in your confused state, thought so. And you were confused with drink, Tollart, as Titus assures me. Let this be a warning to you, my friend, to abandon this vice, as you may not so easily escape again from dooming a man to a terrible death."
Tollart tried to speak, but could not, as he knew very well that he was entirely in the wrong, and that the consequences of his too hurried examination of the body might be serious for him. He stammered, stuttered, and turned very white, then walked silently out of the room. He had received a lesson which he would not easily forget. Rupert started forward to stop him, but Mallien, who had been too startled to speak hitherto, laid a detaining hand on his arm. The man was nervous and less aggressive than usual, which was not to be wondered at considering what had taken place.
"Let him go, Rupert," he muttered. "We can deal with this matter among ourselves. I want to hear how Mr. Leigh was rescued from his terrible position."
"Titus rescued me," said Leigh thankfully. "On the night of the day when I was buried he came with Tobias to the vault. He had the key, as I said before, in case of such an accident. These two"--he jerked his head right and left toward his supporters--"unscrewed the coffin and carried me into their house, which is, as you know, near the churchyard. Gradually I revived from my trance, but suffered greatly from the blow in the head which confused me. Feeling that I was not myself, and knowing that serious matters had to be dealt with, I ordered Titus and his grandson not to say anything about my being alive. Since the day of my burial I have been hidden in that little cottage, and Titus has nursed me back to health. But I fear," ended the vicar plaintively, "that I shall not live long. The shock has killed me."
"Well, at all events," said Carrington coolly, "I didn't kill you."
"Indirectly you have," said Leigh indignantly, "and I shall have you punished before I die."
"That is a nice Christian feeling, I must say," retorted Carrington uneasily.
"Men such as you are, who go about attempting murder, should be locked up," was the stern reply. "You intended to kill me."
"I did not. I intended to stun you, and thought I had done so," protested Carrington sullenly. "No one was more astonished than I was, when I heard next day from Hendle there that you were dead. I thought the heart disease had killed you."
"I had no heart disease, and----"
"We know all about that," interrupted Mallien restlessly. "But tell us how that scoundrel managed to knock you down."
"Give me another dose of brandy, Tobias," said the vicar, and when he felt stronger after taking the spirit proceeded slowly to explain. "I was in my study on that night, and as it was after ten o'clock, Mr. and Mrs. Jabber had retired to rest. I had found the will, which I had mislaid, and was reading it, when I heard a tap at the window."
"I don't know about your reading it," said Carrington insolently, "as I watched you for some time through the window before I tapped. You were holding a parchment over a candle. I believe that you intended to burn the will."
"Perhaps I did," said the vicar with a queer smile. "There is more to be known about that will than you guess. At all events when I heard your tapping on the glass I blew out the candle and put down the will. I opened the window--you know it is a French window, Hendle--and looked out to see who had come at such an untimely hour. When I recognized you and you intimated that you wished to speak to me, I admitted you. I believed that you had come down to stay with Hendle and had arrived late."
"Did you lock the window again after admitting Carrington?" asked Rupert.
"I snicked it, certainly," replied Leigh quietly. "Not that doing so mattered, for, as there was nothing to steal at the vicarage, I paid little attention to bolts and bars."
Carrington laughed cynically. "And for that reason I was able to slip out of the front door and leave it unlocked without exciting suspicion," he remarked. "It was easy to get away."
"Very easy," assented Mr. Leigh. "The front door was never locked either by day or by night, as I did not fear burglars. And I did not fear you, Mr. Carrington, as you said that Rupert had told you about the will, and you wished to speak to me concerning it."
"Oh, you were brave enough," retorted the barrister carelessly. "Well?"
"I think you had better be less flippant, my man," cried Mallien, highly indignant. "You are not out of the woods yet."
"There's gratitude for what I have done for you," sneered Carrington. "But for my appearance at the window the vicar might have burned the will so as to allow Hendle to keep the property."
"Yes, I might have burnt the will, as you say," remarked Leigh with another queer smile; "and perhaps it would have been as well, seeing what an excellent Squire our young friend here makes."
"And what about me?" asked Mallien indignantly.
"You are not fit to govern the parish," said Leigh coolly. "You think of self and of self only."
"Well, the will is safe in my desk now," said Mallien complacently, "and, self or no self, I will be Squire of Barship as soon as the lawyers can arrange for the transfer of the property."
"You count your chickens before they are hatched, Mr. Mallien. There is much to be said before you step into your cousin's place."
"I don't see that," said Mallien doggedly. "Rupert knows that I inherit by that will you found in the muniment chest, as I am the legal descendant of Eunice Hendle. He makes no objection to giving me the property."
"Is this so, Hendle?" inquired the vicar.
"Yes," answered Rupert quietly. "I can scarcely keep what does not legally belong to me."
"You will be a pauper."
"I can't help that. I must act honestly."
Leigh was silent for a moment and cast a look of admiration on the young man. "You shame us all by your honorable nature," he said after a pause. "I am glad that I am spared to do you justice."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Carrington curiously.
"Never mind what I mean. I shall explain in due time. Just now I have to tell these gentlemen of the cowardly assault you made on an old man." Leigh turned toward Rupert to whom he chiefly addressed himself. "He held me in talk, Hendle, and all the time he was keeping his eyes on the will. I refused to let him take it away, as he wanted to do."
"I only wished to look after Hendle's interests," muttered Carrington.
"To look after your own, you mean," retorted Leigh tartly. "Had you meant well you would have gone away after I refused to give you the will. But you waited until my back was turned, and then struck me with the loaded stick you carried. The blow fell on my right temple and I dropped stunned to the floor, while you----"
"While I," cried Carrington, rising and speaking insolently, "snatched up the will and walked out of the front door cautiously, so as not to waken those servants of yours."
"After which," put in Mallien viciously, "you went through the jungle and buried the will under the sundial."
"I did," admitted Carrington recklessly. "You know so much that you may as well know all, for Leigh being alive you cannot touch me in any way. I buried the will, as you say, and afterward wrote that letter to Mrs. Beatson, so that she might find the will and avert suspicion from myself."
"Why Mrs. Beatson?" asked Rupert, disgusted with his former friend's brazen assurance.
"Because, according to you, she had overheard the conversation between you and the vicar. I guessed that, if she produced the will, suspicion would fall on her. Our meeting her on that night, Hendle, was pure chance, but it helped on my plans. I wished her to procure the will to you, and thus bring suspicion on herself as having killed the vicar."
"You infernal villain!"
"Oh, I don't see that," said Carrington carelessly. "Mrs. Beatson would be none the worse for having her neck stretched. But I would not have allowed things to go so far as that. All I wished, was for her to give you the will, and then when you consulted me, as I knew you would, I intended to persuade you to burn it in order to keep the property and pay me five thousand pounds for holding my tongue. You understand."
"Yes," said Rupert quietly, "you explain your villainy so carefully that I can scarcely help understanding. It was you, then, who dropped a clue near the sundial to incriminate Mallien?"
"It was me," replied Carrington, with cynical hardihood. "I snatched the opal by chance from Mallien's watch-chain when we struggled in the avenue. Only when I got away and found what was in my hand did I see how I could get the upper hand of him. I recognized the ornament at once as the one he had shown me on the first day we met."
"You scoundrel!" shrieked Mallien furiously, and would have struck the barrister, but that he swerved. Then Rupert interfered.
"He will have a much worse punishment than a blow," said the Squire, holding his cousin back with a strong arm.
"I won't have any punishment at all," sneered Carrington insistently.
"It is for me to say that," remarked Leigh, who was growing very weak in spite of the dose of brandy which Tobias administered. "So you met Mr. Mallien in the avenue of my place after you had buried the will?"
"I did. There is no reason why I should deny it, seeing that I am safe. And when I got away from him I walked to the next station and caught the night express from Tarhaven which does not stop at Barship. Next day----"
"You came down to play the part of a friend," said Rupert scornfully; "but you soon showed the cloven hoof, Carrington. Your plot was very clever, and had I been a less honest man it would have succeeded."
"It never would have succeeded," interposed the vicar, speaking with labored breath, "for I was alive all the time and intended to speak when necessary, as I have done. Titus kept me informed of all that went on."
"Aye, that I did," said the old man, patting Leigh's hand; "and they'll find in the village as the old 'un don't tell lies and bain't no fool either. I told 'em as you wor alive, didn't I, Muster Leigh?"
"Yes, Titus, yes. But I think you will very soon have to tell them that I am dead," said Leigh with a weak sigh. "After all, it is for the best. I shall never regain my health after that awful experience. And as my successor has been appointed, it would be wrong of me to deprive him of the living."
"Don't trouble about that, Leigh," remarked Rupert, bending over him. "You shall stay here and be nursed back into health again. I'll see that you are all right for the future."
"You are a good man, Hendle; but if you knew----" He stopped abruptly and drew away his hand which the Squire had taken. "But that I can speak of another time. Meanwhile we must finish dealing with this gentleman."
"Do you mean me?" asked Mallien, who felt uneasy because he had an idea that the resuscitated man had, as the saying goes, something up his sleeve.
"I don't mean you at present," replied the vicar, eyeing him with an expression of intense dislike. "I shall attend to your matter later."
"What matter?"
"That," said Leigh slowly, "I shall tell you in my own good time."
"You are very mysterious."
"Oh, I think all mysteries are at an end now," interposed Rupert hastily, for Mallien showed a tendency to make himself disagreeable in spite of the vicar's weak state of health. "We now know that Carrington did come to Barship and did strike down Mr. Leigh."
"Who cares if you do know?" retorted Carrington insolently. "Not me. I have played a bold game and have lost, thanks to your confounded honesty. If you had been wise, you would have destroyed that will and would have kept your money to yourself."
"At the cost of losing my honor," said Rupert flushing.
"Pouf! Who cares for honor in these days?"
"Apparently you don't, you beast," cried Mallien, who was desperately angry at the way in which Carrington had proposed to cheat him. "How dare you speak in this way! I'll have you charged with fraud."
"Fraud!" Carrington laughed aloud and snapped his fingers. "And how do you intend to do that, my good man?"
"Don't call me your good man, confound you!"
"Well, I won't," sneered the barrister; "it is rather a mistake to credit you with any goodness, I admit. You're no more a saint than I am, and would have played the same game had you got the chance. My only regret is that I have not rooked you to the tune of five thousand pounds. And but for the vicar's unexpected appearance I should have done so."
"Not you."
"Oh, yes. You were at the Vicarage on the night of the presumed murder, and I had your opal, which I dropped near the sundial. If I had held my tongue, as I would have done, you would have been hard put to explain your presence there, seeing what John Hendle's will meant to you."
"And you--and you!" shouted Mallien furiously, "how would you have escaped suspicion seeing you came down on that night?"
"Very easily," retorted the barrister in a light and airy tone. "I would have declared that I came down in Hendle's interest to get the will, and arrived at the Vicarage to find you leaving the house after murdering the man."
"Oh!" Mallien rushed forward. "Let me get at him, Rupert. Dog that he is. I want to strangle him."
"And be hanged for the murder of a worthless creature," said Rupert, holding Mallien tightly to prevent his executing his intention. "Leave him to Mr. Leigh. I rather think he knows how to deal with him."
"Oh, do you?" snapped Carrington, wheeling with a contemptuous smile on his dark face, "and what do you propose to do, may I ask?"
"I propose," said the vicar, whom he addressed, "to have you arrested for a murderous assault on me. As a lawyer, Mr. Carrington, you probably know how many years you will get for a contemplated crime."
Carrington grew pale and looked nervous. "I never intended to kill you," he muttered sullenly; "and, as you are alive and well----"
"I am alive certainly, but scarcely well," said the vicar faintly. "All the same, it is no thanks to you that I am not dead. You assaulted me, and you robbed me, so you shall suffer."
"I shan't!" and Carrington made a dash for the door, only to be caught by the Squire, who held on to him grimly.
"You shall," said Rupert stolidly. "As soon as Lawson arrives, and he may be here at any minute, Leigh will give you in charge for assault and robbery."
"Hendle, you wouldn't see me disgraced in that way," pleaded Carrington, who suddenly saw an abyss open at his feet. "If I am arrested, I will be ruined."
Hendle released the miserable man and stood back, rather incautiously as it afterward proved. "You would have ruined me," he said sternly, "so why should you not be done by as you intended to be done by others?"
"There's Scripture authority fur that," grunted old Ark, grinning toothlessly.
Carrington, now at bay, looked round and saw that everyone was against him, so that there was no hope of mercy. He covered his face with his hands and staggered against the wall near the door. For a moment there was silence, for, although neither Mallien nor Leigh pitied the scoundrel, Rupert, having an unusually tender heart, did so. Perhaps the feeling that the man was his old schoolfellow induced him to give Carrington a chance of escape. But be this as it may, when the barrister sobbing near the door suddenly opened it and dashed out, Rupert made no immediate effort to stop him. Mallien did. "Stop, thief! Stop, liar! Stop, murderer!" he vociferated and followed. Rupert was thus compelled to pursue the culprit, although he did so reluctantly.
The two came to the door to see Carrington running down the avenue, and dashed after him. The barrister flew like the wind and speedily outdistanced his pursuers. But he was not to escape after all, for, as he reached the open gates of the avenue, Kit's motor car, containing Lawson, swept round the corner. Running blindly, Carrington tripped and fell under the machine. The wheels passed over him, breaking his back. He was picked up stone dead.
At the inquest, held on the body of the unfortunate Carrington, the whole story of the events connected with the will of John Hendle was related in detail. This was done by the advice of Inspector Lawson, so as to avert further trouble. As the officer wisely pointed out, it was necessary that the characters of all those implicated in the affair should be cleared once and for all. This could only be done by the truth being made public. And this course of procedure greatly recommended itself to Rupert, who was tired of underhand doings. He was of a frank nature, and the idea of hiding this and concealing that, annoyed him exceedingly. He therefore made a clean breast of the matter when called upon to give evidence regarding Carrington's death, and insisted that everyone else should do the same. Consequently, the whole amazing story appeared in print, and read like a romance.
Mallien was inclined to hold back from giving evidence, as, of course, he should have communicated with the police the moment he became cognizant that a murder had been committed. But both his cousin and Lawson insisted that he should come forward to state what he knew, and, notwithstanding his reluctance, he was compelled to do so. He escaped better than he deserved, as it was seen how difficult his position had been, and the majority of people argued that the man could scarcely have been expected to incriminate himself by drawing attention to the crime at the time when he discovered it. Mrs. Beatson also contrived to elude reproof, as she cleverly stated that, when in possession of the will, she had intended to hand it over to the Squire. Of course, Rupert knew that she had never meant to do this, but for the sake of Kit he did not contradict her statement. And, because of Dorinda's feelings, he was glad to think that Mallien had got off so lightly. The two plotters themselves were much relieved that their characters had not suffered to an appreciable extent, and retired into the grateful shade of obscurity as speedily as possible. Things had turned out better than they had expected.
Carrington's conduct, of course, was condemned, since he had behaved so basely, but not so severely as it would have been had he been alive. Having met with a violent death, it was felt that he had paid for his trickery, and as little as possible was said about him. Kit, of course, was exonerated with regard to the accident, as Lawson proved that the young man had sounded his horn when turning into the park. But Carrington, anxious only to escape before the Inspector could take him in charge, had either not heard the warning of the horn, or had not attended to it. But be this as it may, there was no doubt that he had ran on blindly and thus had fallen under the cruel wheels of the car. Remembering Carrington's two premonitions about walking over his grave in the avenue, Rupert thought it quite uncanny that he should have met his fate on the very spot. But he only remarked on the matter to Dorinda, who was wise enough to hold her tongue. Enough had been said about Carrington and his disreputable doings in the newspapers, so there was no need to say more.
Mr. Leigh did not appear at the inquest, as he lay dying in a comfortable bed under the hospitable roof of The Big House. But he signed a written statement detailing the events of the night when he had been struck down, and this satisfied both Coroner and jury. After all procurable evidence had been sifted a verdict of "Death by Misadventure" was brought in, and the matter ended in the only way it could end. Carrington's sole relative, a clerk in the War Office, came down to take charge of the body, but expressed little surprise at the smirched reputation of the dead man. Carrington had always been a black sheep, and his relative grimly said to Rupert that he was glad things had turned out as they had. Carrington, he observed, would sooner or later have come to prison or the gallows had he lived, being one of those unfortunate creatures who could not run straight. So that was the end of the Squire's old school-friend, who had chosen evil instead of good; and bad as he had been Hendle was kind-hearted enough to regret the man's miserable end. Afterward, he always tried to remember Carrington as he had been at Rugby, rather than as the despicable plotter of his more mature years.
With the departure of the barrister's body in charge of his relative from Barship departed all mystery. It is now known who had struck down the vicar, and why the blow had been delivered. That Leigh had escaped death was not Carrington's fault, and the dead man was practically a murderer. But the villagers, in the excitement of finding their vicar alive, began to overlook Carrington's share in the matter. The question most frequently asked was whether Leigh would resume his charge of the parish seeing that his successor had been appointed. But all talk on this point was ended when it became known that the shocks inflicted on the unfortunate man, both by being struck down and by being buried alive had so shaken his system that he was not likely to live. Tollart was attending to him, and did so in an entirely sober state, as his narrow escape from trouble kept him away from the drink. Sophy, indeed, regarded the whole matter as a blessing in disguise, and hoped that her father would reform. He had every reason to do so seeing what a lesson he had received. With regard to his giving a certificate of death, Tollart's fellow-physicians held that he was perfectly justified, since the vicar had been in a cataleptic trance. But the villagers, headed by Titus, held that Dr. Tollart had been drunk at the time when he examined the body, and this opinion was not favorable to Tollart's reputation. However, when it was seen that he had turned over a new leaf, his conduct was considered more kindly and the doctor began to hope that he would weather the storm. But it had very nearly wrecked him, and the escape he had had greatly improved his character. In time by acting judiciously and keeping strictly sober, he managed to reëstablish his position.
A week later, when everything in connection with the catastrophe was quite settled, Mallien made his appearance at The Big House. He was more subdued than usual, as he also had learned a lesson, but there remained something of his old blustering manner when he entered the library and produced John Hendle's will from his pocket. Rupert guessed that his cousin had come to demand a settlement, and braced himself to face a disagreeable future. It was not pleasant to become a pauper, but there seemed to be nothing for it but to accept the inevitable. Yet it was not so much the loss of the money which the young man regretted as the probable loss of Dorinda as his wife. Rupert knew his cousin well enough to be sure that once in the possession of the estates and income he would not be inclined to permit the marriage to take place. And seeing that he was likely to be poor, it was useless for the girl to insist upon the fulfilment of the engagement. It was with a sad face and a weary heart that Hendle asked Mallien to take a seat.
"I suppose you have called to discuss matters regarding the will," he said, leaning his head on his hand and speaking quietly.
"In a way, though I don't see that there is anything to discuss," retorted Mallien, who was rapidly regaining his former bullying ways. "All you have to do is to clear out and allow me to come here."
"Walk out bag and baggage, you mean?"
"Something of that sort. I don't mind giving you one hundred pounds with which to make a new start in life. If I were you, I would go to Australia with Kit when he marries Sophy Tollart."
"And what about Dorinda?"
"She is not for you," said Mallien resolutely. "As the daughter of the Squire of Barship, she must marry a man with a position."
"Does Dorinda say so?" inquired Rupert quietly.
"Dorinda," said the affectionate parent, "is as obstinate as a pig. She is coming here in a few minutes to argue the matter. I told her that I intended to settle the matter of the will to-day. But she shan't marry you with my consent, and, as I have the money, you can see that it would be wrong of you to drag her down to poverty."
"You put the case very plainly, Mallien."
"How else do you expect me to put it?" said the other, who was not in the least ashamed of the cowardly way in which he was behaving.
"You might have a little more consideration for my position," remarked Rupert, with a shrug.
"What consideration did you ever show to me?" snarled Mallien.
Rupert looked at the little man in amazement. "I have always been your good friend," he said after a pause. "I have given you money and----"
"My own money," interrupted the visitor. "Much thanks for that. It won't do, Rupert. I won't allow you to work on my feelings."
"I never knew that you had any to work on."
"No more I have. I want justice, and justice I intend to have."
"Don't make such a row over the matter," said Hendle contemptuously. "You shall have what you want. But you can scarcely expect me to walk out of this house this very minute. We must take the will to the lawyers and have it gone into. Since you are behaving so brutally, I am inclined to defend my position. There is the Statute of Limitations to be considered."
"And there is me to be considered," said a quiet voice at the door, and the two turned to see Dorinda at the door.
"You have been listening?" snapped her father.
"Yes, I have," she replied boldly, "and what I have heard shows me what a cruel nature you have, father."
"Don't speak to me in that way," stormed Mallien, furiously.
"Oh, yes, I shall"; and Dorinda entered to place her hand on Rupert's shoulder as if to give him confidence. "You have not got Rupert's money yet."
"But I shall get it. The will is plain enough."
Before Dorinda could reply, Rupert rose to his feet and made a gesture that she should be silent. "Leigh has something to say about the will, Mallien," he remarked, "and had you not come over I should have sent for you. Leigh wishes to see you and me and Dorinda."
"If Leigh intends to try on any hanky-panky," said Mallien, uneasily, for the summons seemed strange and ominous to him, "he'll find himself in the wrong box, I can tell you. You've been scheming with him, I expect, since he has been lying there."
"I have scarcely seen him," retorted Rupert, passing his arm round Dorinda's waist. "Tollart says he should be kept quiet."
"Then we shan't disturb him now."
"Yes, we shall. Leigh has something on his mind, and wants to see the three of us. Tollart has given permission, so we can go up to him now. Only I beg of you, Mallien, not to excite him, as he is very weak, and is not far from death. You understand."
"I understand that you want to trick me in some way."
By this time Rupert's long-enduring patience was at an end, and he turned on the selfish little man in a cold fury. "Look here, Mallien, I have had enough of this," he said, firmly. "Don't goad me too far, or you will regret it."
"Oh, will I!" taunted the other; "and in what way?"
"Possession is nine points of the law," retorted Hendle, "and you appear to forget that I am the Squire of Barship. I shall see the lawyers and take all chances I can to prevent you getting possession of the money. I am innocent of any roguery in the matter, and my position is a very unfair one, as I am not to blame. It is close upon a century since that will was made, and if I make use of the Statute of Limitations I may be able to squash the whole affair. Equity, if not Common Law, will be on my side."
"You--you--you!" cried Mallien violently, "you swindler!"
"Don't call names," said Rupert imperiously, "or in spite of the fact that Dorinda has the misfortune to call you father, I shall kick you out of the house. So now you know."
"My own house," foamed Mallien, stamping.
"It's not your house yet, and it never may be."
"Well,"--Mallien drew a long breath--"I never--I never----" He turned on his daughter suddenly and with violence. "What do you think of this behavior?"
"I entirely approve of it," said Dorinda, calmly, "and I am glad to see Rupert stand up for his rights. He has treated you far too well as it is."
"What--what--what?"
"It's no use, father. You don't care for me and you don't care for your honor. All you do care for is yourself."
"I--I--shall cut you off with a shilling--with a shilling."
"So long as I have Rupert, I don't care."
Hendle caught Mallien by the shoulders and pushed him toward the door. "I can't allow any more of this, Mallien. Behave like a human being or I shall turn you out. Now come up and hear what Leigh has to say."
"Oh, I'll come," cried Mallien viciously, but, unable to resist his cousin's superior strength; "but remember that if there is any plot to take away my money I shall make things hot for you."
"Get on! get on!" said Hendle, impatiently, "and don't make a fool of yourself."
Mallien did go on and climbed the stairs to Leigh's room unwillingly. He was beginning to see that there was nothing to be gained by storming, and that his best plan would be to adjust the matters in dispute quietly. Although he believed the will to be legal, he yet had a lurking suspicion that it might be set aside by the Statute of Limitations. Under these circumstances it was unwise to quarrel with his cousin, so he became more subdued. All the same his dog-like temper could not be entirely suppressed, and he entered the sick-chamber growling and muttering savagely. Dorinda and Rupert followed, the girl crying with shame. Her father's conduct was disgraceful.
The vicar was propped up in bed with pillows, looking white and weak. It was evident that he had not long to live, and there was an anxious expression on his face which showed that he had something on his mind. With a faint smile he welcomed the newcomers, and signed to the nurse that she should leave the room. This the woman did, whispering in passing Rupert that Tollart had left instructions that the patient was to be as little excited as possible, since his strength was rapidly failing. She also gave the young Squire a strong stimulant with which to revive Leigh, should he grow faint during the interview; and saying that she would return in half an hour departed softly. When the door was closed, the vicar looked at the weeping Dorinda and her scowling father; also at Rupert, who was cool and composed. Inwardly the Squire was greatly disturbed, but it was necessary that he should keep his emotions under control and he did so.
"Why do you cry, Dorinda?" asked the vicar, softly.
"She's a fool," growled Mallien frowning blackly.
"I am an honest girl," said Dorinda, flushing and drying her eyes; "and I am ashamed of the cowardly way in which you are behaving."
"How is your father behaving?" questioned Leigh with an ironical smile.
"He wants to take everything from Rupert and make him a pauper," said Dorinda sadly. "He refuses to allow me to marry him."
"And will you obey him?"
"No!" She drew herself up proudly. "I love Rupert more than myself, and if he will marry me I am ready to be his wife at any moment."
"Fool! Fool!" growled her father savagely.
"What do you say, Hendle?" inquired the vicar calmly.
"I wish to marry Dorinda, as I love her dearly," answered the Squire, who was pale but composed; "but if this will is proved to be legal I may lose all, and I can't ask Dorinda to share a life of poverty with me."
"I don't care for your poverty," cried the girl, impetuously throwing her arms round her lover's neck. "I would rather have a crust with you than stay with my father in luxury."
"But I don't think it will be necessary for you to be reduced to a crust, Dorinda," smiled the vicar. "After all, considering the circumstances of the case and that Hendle is not to blame, surely your father will give you half the income."
"Two thousand pounds," said Mallien derisively. "I'm not such a fool. I shan't give Rupert a single penny, and if Dorinda marries him without my consent, which she will never get, she must be prepared to starve."
"Dorinda will never starve while I can work," said Rupert calmly.
"What at? You have never done a hand's turn in your life."
Leigh interposed before Rupert could reply. "Mallien, surely you will not behave so wickedly and selfishly as to keep all the money to yourself."
"Yes, I shall. The money is mine, and I shall not give a penny."
"You are a bad man," said Leigh slowly.
"Pooh! What do I care for your names?"
"Nothing. I can see that. However, I may be able to make you care. Dorinda, give me some of that tonic."
The vicar's voice was growing weak and his eye closed. Dorinda slipped her arm round his neck and gave him a dose of the medicine which shortly took effect. He opened his eyes again and spoke in a stronger voice. "Are you determined to behave in this unjust way, Mallien?"
"It is not unjust, and I do."
"You will keep all the money to yourself?"
"Every penny."
"And--if you can--prevent Dorinda marrying Hendle?"
"Yes. She does so at the risk of starvation."
"But you may ruin two lives, Mallien."
"Pooh! Don't talk rubbish, vicar. I shall do as I like."
"You shall not do as you like," said Leigh steadily. "You are an evil and wicked man, although I am too sinful myself to say so. But I thank God that He has permitted me to live and make reparation for my wrongdoing." The vicar fumbled under his pillow and produced an envelope. "Take this, Hendle, and put it into your pocket. No, don't open it now. When I am dead you can learn how deeply I have sinned. And, above all, don't let Mallien get hold of it."
Rupert slipped the envelope into the pocket of his coat and smiled grimly although he also looked astonished. "I'll take care of that," he said, with a nod; "but what is the paper about?"
"It contains a signed and witnessed confession of my sin."
"Your sin." Mallien began to shake in his shoes as there was something very ominous about these proceedings.
"Yes. I intended evil, and evil has come of my intention. But thank God I am able to nip my wrongdoing in the bud. Mallien"--the vicar shook a reproving forefinger at the man--"I have given you every chance to behave as a Christian should, but you will not seize the opportunity. Now it is too late, and you must abide by your selfish conduct."
"What the devil are you talking about?"
"Hush, father, hush! Don't speak like that," cried Dorinda with a shiver.
"I shall speak as I like. What does Leigh mean by his nonsense?"
"You will not find that paper I have given Hendle nonsense," said Leigh in a faint voice. "It contains an account of my sin and will be your punishment."
"Come to the point; come to the point," stuttered Mallien, nervously angry.
Leigh turned to look at Hendle, who stood beside Dorinda silently amazed at all this strange talk. "My friend," he said, wincing at having to lower himself in the young man's eyes, "I was tempted by Satan and I fell. In the muniment chest I found a bundle of letters written by John Hendle, which showed that he wished to disinherit his son Frederick, whom he hated, in favor of Eunice, the infant daughter of his eldest son, Walter, whom he loved. He declared in the last letter of the bundle--which you will find in the chest where I left it--that he would make a will, leaving the estates to Eunice, who married Filbert when she grew up. But John Hendle died of heart disease, as other family documents show, before he could execute his intention. He made no will in favor of Eunice, and Frederick lawfully inherited the property."
Mallien turned a greenish color and pulled out the will from the pocket--the will which had caused so many disasters. "John Hendle made this----"
"He did not," interrupted the vicar in a strong and triumphant voice. "I made that will. It is forged."
"Forged!" Rupert, Dorinda and Mallien all echoed the word.
"Yes," Leigh went on, speaking swiftly as if fearful that his strength would not hold out to the end. "I wanted money to go to Yucatan, and hoped to get it from Hendle. He was not inclined to fit out an expedition, so I hoped to force him. Satan entered into me, and, taking advantage of what was in those letters of John Hendle, I prepared the will in favor of Eunice. I bought the parchment and wrote out what was wanted to give me a hold over Hendle. When Carrington saw me holding the will over the candle, I was doing so to change the color of the ink and make the parchment appear black and a little contracted. I did not give the forged will to Hendle when I spoke about it, as it was not quite ready. Next day I proposed to give it to him and to offer to allow him to burn it on condition that he gave me enough money to go to Yucatan with an expedition. Failing Rupert, I should have gone to you, Mr. Mallien."
"And you would have gone!" gasped Rupert, amazed by this recital. "I would never have agreed to suppress that will had I believed it--as I did--to be genuine."
"I see that now," said Leigh, whose voice was becoming fainter. "You were too honorable for Mallien and Carrington, and you would have been too honorable for me. My forgery was vain. But God intervened and prevented me from carrying out my wicked plot. Carrington came and--and--you--you--know the--rest. I acted wickedly--and--I--I----" He stopped and fell back on his pillows with a ghastly look on his face.
"He is dying," cried Dorinda, running to the bedside. "Call the nurse."
Rupert opened the door, but Mallien looking like a fiend rushed to the dying man and shook him roughly. "You are a liar! you are a liar!" he screamed, white with thwarted ambition. "This will is not forged; this will is----"
Hendle, furious with the man's inhumanity, caught him by the shoulders and thrust him out of the room. The nurse hurried in and along with Dorinda tried to revive the fainting vicar, but in vain. Dr. Tollart was immediately sent for and came at once to pronounce that there was no hope. Leigh lingered for twenty-four hours and then passed away quietly without ever regaining consciousness. This time, as Tollart took care to prove, the vicar was really dead, and within a week his body was again placed in the family vault. To be certain about the catalepsy, the corpse was kept above ground for the seven days until there was no doubt that the man actually was dead. In vain Titus Ark, overcome with grief, repeated his parrot cry that his friend "worn't dead." Leigh was on this occasion a truly dead man. The blow on the head, the shock to his nervous system caused by being buried alive, and perhaps the shame of having to confess his forgery of the will, had all combined to kill him. He died and Barship knew him no more.
And Mallien? He was almost crazy with rage at his loss. Again and again he tried to prove that the forged will was a genuine document, and saw many lawyers and experts. But the confession of Leigh, signed by himself and witnessed by Titus Ark and his grandson, held good, as it gave all details of how the false testament had been prepared. Leigh confessed therein that he had copied the signature of John Hendle from the letters which first gave him an idea of committing the forgery. So in the end Mallien had to accept the fact that Rupert was the true Squire of Barship, and that there was not the slightest chance of his getting a single penny of the four thousand a year he so greedily coveted.
While Mallien, frenzied with baffled avarice, was moving heaven and earth to prove that he was the rightful heir, the other people who had been connected with the strange affair of the will were settling themselves in life. Mrs. Beatson obtained a situation as housekeeper to an invalid gentleman in Derbyshire, much to the relief of Kit and Miss Tollart. Hendle was so pleased with the way in which these two had assisted him at an awkward moment, that he gave Kit a handsome sum of money; and, along with Dorinda, was present at his marriage to the doctor's daughter. Tollart himself found that, in spite of all efforts, he could not quite do away with the prejudice against him, although more or less he managed, as has been said, to reëstablish his position. But perhaps conscience had something to do with his determination to go to Australia with the young couple, for he felt very uncomfortable among his patients. Sophy, who was unwilling to part from her father since he might take to drink again, suggested that he should emigrate. The doctor did so and shortly departed with Mr. and Mrs. Beatson for Melbourne, where he hoped to redeem himself entirely. And, thanks to Rupert's generosity, a start at the Antipodes was made easy both for him and for the young people.
As to Hendle and Dorinda, they took advantage of Mallien's preoccupation with regard to the will to get married quietly in London. Dorinda was of age and did not require her father's consent. Moreover, after his shabby behavior, she felt that even though he was her father, she could never live with him again. So she became Mrs. Hendle shortly after Leigh was buried for the second time, and, after a short honeymoon, returned to be welcomed by one and all as the mistress of The Big House. Everyone was delighted that Rupert still kept his position, and everyone knew that the will, which had caused so much trouble, had been forged. Hendle would have preferred to keep Leigh's confession to himself out of regard to the unfortunate vicar's memory, but Mallien's action left him no option but to make it public. The amazing story added yet another chapter to the romance of the whole queer business, and the story got into the newspapers. Mr. and Mrs. Hendle were not a little troubled by reporters and interviewers and snap-shot people, but in the end curiosity died away and they were left to live their own simple life, doing good and making everyone around them happy.
In the end, Mallien found that his efforts to prove the will to be genuine were futile, so one day presented himself at The Big House in a very dismal frame of mind. Not being able to get the property, he was secretly pleased that his daughter should have become Mrs. Hendle, even without his consent, as he hoped to use her for his own ends. With the greatest impudence he suggested that his son-in-law should fulfill his old promise and allow him five hundred a year.
"Oh, no," said Rupert, calmly, when Mallien came for a last interview. "I don't think it is good for you to be treated with such leniency."
"Nor do I," chimed in Dorinda, who found it difficult to behave amiably to her father, seeing how badly he had behaved.
"What do you mean?" demanded Mallien, taken aback, for he had quite expected to get his own way. "What do you both mean?"
"I don't think it is so very difficult to gather what we mean," replied Rupert coolly. "You never intended to give me a penny had you got the money, so why should I give an income to you?"
"That's different."
"Maybe. Anyhow, you will have to live on what you have."
"I am Dorinda's father."
"I don't look on you as my father," said the undutiful daughter. "You never have behaved like a father to me, and now that I have Rupert to look after me, I wish to see as little of you as possible."
"And this is my child," moaned Mallien, much cast down.
Dorinda laughed. "It won't do, father," she said calmly. "As Mr. Leigh declared on his deathbed, you had every opportunity of acting honorably. How you have acted I leave to your conscience to say."
"Iwon't," said Rupert sharply. "See here, Mallien. I am a kind-hearted man and wish to help everyone, but for me to give you money for your wickedness would be wrong."
"What wickedness?"
"If you will have it; you threatened to turn me out of this house as a pauper, and you have done your best to prove true a document which you knew to be forged. If you had triumphed, Dorinda and I would have been thrown into the street without a penny. Because you have failed, you come whimpering to me for money. You shan't have any. As you are my wife's father, I should have allowed you enough to live on had you been without an income. But as you enjoy five hundred a year of your own you can exist on that. And, as people here are not very well disposed toward you, I advise you to go away."
Furious at this plain speaking Mallien turned on his daughter. "Do you hear how I am spoken to?" he demanded looking black.
"I hear," responded Mrs. Hendle quietly, "and I am glad that you hear the truth for once in your life. I hope it will make you a better man. I think you had better take Rupert's advice and leave Barship."
"Oh, I shall go. I don't want to stay in such a hole," shouted Mallien, putting on his hat violently; then he became pathetic. "And I go to live a lonely life."
"I think you will find plenty of amusement in playing with your jewels," said Dorinda quietly. "You never cared for me."
Mallien muttering something about an ungrateful child and a serpent's tooth, walked away with a drooping head. It dawned on him dimly when he shook the dust of Barship from his feet that perhaps after all, as he had not given affection, he could not expect affection. But his egotism was much too strong to permit him to understand fully that he was only reaping what he had sown. He took up his abode in London and managed to get along very comfortably on his five hundred a year. But he always persisted in regarding himself as a much injured man and stubbornly maintained that the will forged by Leigh was genuine. Needless to say, he never missed his daughter, as he was far too much wrapped up in himself to desire any company but his own.
"Do you think we have acted rightly, Rupert?" asked Dorinda in a troubled tone, when her father departed after that last interview.
"Yes, dear. He is your father certainly, but he has no right to take advantage of the relationship to behave so selfishly as he has done. It would be wrong to pander to his egotism by giving him money."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Dorinda with a sigh. "People are very hard to understand, Rupert. Besides my father, who puzzled me with his selfishness, there is Mr. Leigh. Whatever made such a good and kind man forge that will?"
Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "A sudden temptation perhaps," he said, after a pause; "but I don't pretend to explain; his act was entirely opposed to his character. If he was in a story people would say that he was inconsistent."
Dorinda agreed. "Very inconsistent. Human beings are strange."
"They are, dear. But you see, as we only see the outside of people we don't know how to account for every action. The majority of people are children and often act wrongly without thinking of the consequences. After all evil is only ignorance, for if wrongdoers knew what they would have to pay for behaving wickedly they would not sin. Now, darling, don't think anything more about the matter. Let us enjoy the peace which has come to us after the storm. There is no more to be said about the past and no more to be done. We are happy and try to make others happy. What more do you want?"
"This," said Dorinda, and kissed him fondly.