Chapter Twenty Eight.Mr Hampton is Uneasy.Mr Hampton was the first to break the silence.“Mr George Harrington is at present absent from home.”“I beg your pardon,” was the retort, in firm, convincing tones; “Mr George Harrington is here present, and eager to be confronted with this man.”“As soon as he returns, sir, you and he will doubtless meet; and, as a matter of course, I presume you will lay claim to the estate?”“I am not thinking of the estate now, sir. I want to meet this man—I want to be brought face to face with him. I’ll soon bring him to his knees, and make him confess. The villain!—the murderous wretch! I—I beg pardon, ladies. You do not know the truth. This man, Dan Portway, struck me down, and, believing me dead, has imposed upon you all.”“There! I knew it all the time,” cried Mrs Hampton emphatically.“My dear Rachel!”“Oh, don’t talk to me, Phineas. I knew he couldn’t be our George Harrington. A nasty, low-minded, drinking wretch, whose presence I would not have tolerated for a minute if it had not been for Gertrude here. I knew it all the time; something seemed to say to me, as soon as I set eyes upon him, ‘This man is a cheat.’”“My dear madam,” cried their visitor, smiling, “now you have set eyes on me I hope there is no such whisper to your inner self.”“Indeed there is not, sir.”“My dear Rachel?” cried the lawyer firmly, “this is extremely indiscreet. We are face to face with a very great difficulty.”“No difficulty at all. Wait till the wretched man comes back, and then send him about his business.”“You are talking like an inconsistent child, Rachel,” said the lawyer sternly. “Mr George Harrington—”“The assumed Mr George Harrington,” interposed the new-comer.“I beg your pardon, sir; until we have the most incontrovertible proofs of the truth of what you advance, this is Mr George Harrington to us; and you seem to forget the old adage: ‘Possession is nine points of the law.’”“Oh, no, I do not,” said the young man quickly; “and I do not forget that, little as I know of the law, I have you and the other executor to call to account for improperly disposing of my estate.”With a wholesome horror of the legal tedium of the profession to which he belonged, and startled at the prospect a lawsuit opened out, the old man sank back in his chair, and, for the moment completely taken aback, stared at his verbal assailant.“Pray do not misjudge Mr Hampton,” said Gertrude coming to his help. “He was my grandfather’s most trusted friend, and he has acted throughout with the strictest impartiality. If he has been mistaken—which we do not know yet,” she said, colouring deeply beneath the young man’s admiring gaze, “he will, I am sure, do everything that is right.”“I am sure he will, quite sure.”“This is a terrible position in which we are all placed,” continued Gertrude, with quiet, matter-of-fact courtesy.“Yes, a very terrible position, my dear,” said the old lawyer, full of gratitude for the way in which she had come to his help when, to his annoyance, he had been completely nonplussed; “and this gentleman must do nothing rash.”“Will it be rash to seize this scoundrel, and break his neck?”“Certainly, sir,” said the old man, with the comic gravity of one who takes everything as the French say,au pied de la lettre. “You are in England now and not in the Far West, where your most famous Justice is Judge Lynch.”“I wish he had hold of this man.”“Yes, exactly, my dear sir; but listen to simple, matter-of-fact reason. You see, of course, how the executors are placed.”“Oh, yes, I see,” said the young man, who was watching Gertrude all the time.“Prove your position then, my dear sir, and rely upon it you shall have justice.”“Am I to understand by these words that the executors will offer no opposition?”“I am sorry to say, sir, that the executors are powerless. They have, as they believed, done their duty conscientiously and well. Your actions for the moment, it seems to me, will be two. One for ejectment against Mr George Harrington.”“Against the impostor, sir.”The lawyer made a deprecatory motion.“The other against the unfortunate executors. Perhaps I am wrong, but all this is so sudden that I must confess to being a little off my regular balance.”“Look here, sir,” cried the young man bluffly. “I have passed my life among tough, lawless men; but there are plenty out West who are true, rough nature’s gentlemen. My father was one of these, and I’ve tried to follow out his teachings. I suppose I shall have to do what you say—go to law; but if it is made plain to me that you and your fellow executor have done your duty as gentlemen, and have unwittingly been imposed upon, why I’d sooner give up everything than come down upon you.”“Thank you, sir, thank you,” said the old man in a low tone; “thank you for myself and for Doctor Lawrence.”“Doctor Lawrence!” cried the young man with animation; “ah, I know him by name.”“And I say thank you, too, Mr George Harrington,” began Mrs Hampton.“My dear Rachel,” said the old lawyer reprovingly, “you are making an admission.”“Of course I am. I said Mr George Harrington, because I believe firmly that we have been imposed upon. I am glad to see you back again, George,” she continued, holding out her hand; “and you may depend upon having my help. There, there, there, Phineas, don’t look at me like that,” she continued, as the young man grasped her hand. “You feel the same as I do in your human heart, though you cannot in your legal mind. My making an admission does not injure your position behind your books. I say we have been tricked, and the sooner we repent in sackcloth and ashes the better.”“Come,” cried the young man, “here’s sunshine through the clouds. I have your support, madam, and that of our dear old granny here.”“Yes, yes,” said the old housekeeper, who had wept herself nearly blind, and quite dry. “It’s him, Mr Hampton. Oh, I’m sure it’s him.”“That’s right, old lady; and now I want to enlist another’s sympathy in my cause. Miss Bellwood—Gertrude—I came here to-night to claim my heritage, and to see the lady who would, in all probability, be my wife. You will shake hands?”He held out his brown, sinewy hand and gazed in the troubled eyes before his, as the poor girl stood trembling by Mrs Hampton’s side, while the rest looked on curiously.For one moment she shrank and hesitated, then, as if unable to resist the influence of the eyes which held hers, she slowly raised her hand, to have it clenched with a firm, strong pressure, before it was raised to the holder’s lips to be reverently kissed and then let fall.“This is really very much out of order,” said MrHampton querulously. “I ought not to sit here and—”“Allow it, sir? Well, perhaps not. There, it is growing late. I will not inflict my presence upon you longer; and you may rely upon it, ladies, that everything shall be done so as to cause you as little anxiety as possible.”“I am glad to hear you say that,” cried Mr Hampton. “When can I meet this man, sir?”“Really, I cannot say. At present I am under the impression that he has gone to Paris, and he may not be back for some days.”“Then why should I not turn the tables on him, and take possession here?”“It cannot be done, sir,” said the old man firmly.“But suppose I insist.”“If you are the true George Harrington, sir, you will act as a gentleman should, and take proper steps to make good your claim.”“Ah! now you disarm me. There: I will go now. Miss Bellwood, Mrs Hampton, whatever happens in the future you may believe in me. Good-night.”He shooks hands again.“Mr Hampton, I shall come in the morning and have a long talk with you.”“You are staying in town?”“I shall stay in town at Jay’s Hotel, Surrey Street.”“Then you will be close to my chambers in Lincoln’s Inn. I will be there, and expect you at twelve.”“And when shall I see Doctor Lawrence?”“At twelve to-morrow, at my place.”“Good-night, then; you, too, will shake hands.”“As soon as you prove yourself to be George Harrington.”“Quite right, sir. Good-night. You will show me the way out, granny.”“And with a sorrowful heart, my dear,” said the old woman. “To think of my having to turn you away from your own old home.”“Only for a while, old lady,” said the young man; and passing his arm round her he left the room.No one moved till the gate had been heard to clang, when, without word or look, Gertrude turned and hurried up to her chamber, to fling herself upon her knees, sobbing violently.“And I have promised to be his wife,” she moaned. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”“Well, Phineas,” said Mrs Hampton, after she had stood looking frowningly at her husband for some time as he sat tapping the table, “what have you to say to all this?”“Eh? Nothing.”“But you see that was the real man.”“No, I don’t. He must prove it.”“But this other one.”“Is to us Mr George Harrington.”“But when he comes back from Paris what will he say?”“I’m beginning to think, Rachel, that he has gone.”“Well, we know he has gone.”“But I mean for good.”“He couldn’t. It’s not in him. Gone for bad, you mean.”“I mean gone, never to come back.”“Good gracious, Phineas! Do you think he knows?”“It is impossible to say; but he has had ten thousand pounds in hard cash.”“The wretch!”“And I suppose I shall have to be answerable for the amount to the rightful heir.”“Why, Phineas, it would half ruin you if you had to pay.”“Yes,” said the old man dolefully.“But you think this is the right man?”“Yes, Rachel; and I’m afraid I have got myself in a dreadful mess.”
Mr Hampton was the first to break the silence.
“Mr George Harrington is at present absent from home.”
“I beg your pardon,” was the retort, in firm, convincing tones; “Mr George Harrington is here present, and eager to be confronted with this man.”
“As soon as he returns, sir, you and he will doubtless meet; and, as a matter of course, I presume you will lay claim to the estate?”
“I am not thinking of the estate now, sir. I want to meet this man—I want to be brought face to face with him. I’ll soon bring him to his knees, and make him confess. The villain!—the murderous wretch! I—I beg pardon, ladies. You do not know the truth. This man, Dan Portway, struck me down, and, believing me dead, has imposed upon you all.”
“There! I knew it all the time,” cried Mrs Hampton emphatically.
“My dear Rachel!”
“Oh, don’t talk to me, Phineas. I knew he couldn’t be our George Harrington. A nasty, low-minded, drinking wretch, whose presence I would not have tolerated for a minute if it had not been for Gertrude here. I knew it all the time; something seemed to say to me, as soon as I set eyes upon him, ‘This man is a cheat.’”
“My dear madam,” cried their visitor, smiling, “now you have set eyes on me I hope there is no such whisper to your inner self.”
“Indeed there is not, sir.”
“My dear Rachel?” cried the lawyer firmly, “this is extremely indiscreet. We are face to face with a very great difficulty.”
“No difficulty at all. Wait till the wretched man comes back, and then send him about his business.”
“You are talking like an inconsistent child, Rachel,” said the lawyer sternly. “Mr George Harrington—”
“The assumed Mr George Harrington,” interposed the new-comer.
“I beg your pardon, sir; until we have the most incontrovertible proofs of the truth of what you advance, this is Mr George Harrington to us; and you seem to forget the old adage: ‘Possession is nine points of the law.’”
“Oh, no, I do not,” said the young man quickly; “and I do not forget that, little as I know of the law, I have you and the other executor to call to account for improperly disposing of my estate.”
With a wholesome horror of the legal tedium of the profession to which he belonged, and startled at the prospect a lawsuit opened out, the old man sank back in his chair, and, for the moment completely taken aback, stared at his verbal assailant.
“Pray do not misjudge Mr Hampton,” said Gertrude coming to his help. “He was my grandfather’s most trusted friend, and he has acted throughout with the strictest impartiality. If he has been mistaken—which we do not know yet,” she said, colouring deeply beneath the young man’s admiring gaze, “he will, I am sure, do everything that is right.”
“I am sure he will, quite sure.”
“This is a terrible position in which we are all placed,” continued Gertrude, with quiet, matter-of-fact courtesy.
“Yes, a very terrible position, my dear,” said the old lawyer, full of gratitude for the way in which she had come to his help when, to his annoyance, he had been completely nonplussed; “and this gentleman must do nothing rash.”
“Will it be rash to seize this scoundrel, and break his neck?”
“Certainly, sir,” said the old man, with the comic gravity of one who takes everything as the French say,au pied de la lettre. “You are in England now and not in the Far West, where your most famous Justice is Judge Lynch.”
“I wish he had hold of this man.”
“Yes, exactly, my dear sir; but listen to simple, matter-of-fact reason. You see, of course, how the executors are placed.”
“Oh, yes, I see,” said the young man, who was watching Gertrude all the time.
“Prove your position then, my dear sir, and rely upon it you shall have justice.”
“Am I to understand by these words that the executors will offer no opposition?”
“I am sorry to say, sir, that the executors are powerless. They have, as they believed, done their duty conscientiously and well. Your actions for the moment, it seems to me, will be two. One for ejectment against Mr George Harrington.”
“Against the impostor, sir.”
The lawyer made a deprecatory motion.
“The other against the unfortunate executors. Perhaps I am wrong, but all this is so sudden that I must confess to being a little off my regular balance.”
“Look here, sir,” cried the young man bluffly. “I have passed my life among tough, lawless men; but there are plenty out West who are true, rough nature’s gentlemen. My father was one of these, and I’ve tried to follow out his teachings. I suppose I shall have to do what you say—go to law; but if it is made plain to me that you and your fellow executor have done your duty as gentlemen, and have unwittingly been imposed upon, why I’d sooner give up everything than come down upon you.”
“Thank you, sir, thank you,” said the old man in a low tone; “thank you for myself and for Doctor Lawrence.”
“Doctor Lawrence!” cried the young man with animation; “ah, I know him by name.”
“And I say thank you, too, Mr George Harrington,” began Mrs Hampton.
“My dear Rachel,” said the old lawyer reprovingly, “you are making an admission.”
“Of course I am. I said Mr George Harrington, because I believe firmly that we have been imposed upon. I am glad to see you back again, George,” she continued, holding out her hand; “and you may depend upon having my help. There, there, there, Phineas, don’t look at me like that,” she continued, as the young man grasped her hand. “You feel the same as I do in your human heart, though you cannot in your legal mind. My making an admission does not injure your position behind your books. I say we have been tricked, and the sooner we repent in sackcloth and ashes the better.”
“Come,” cried the young man, “here’s sunshine through the clouds. I have your support, madam, and that of our dear old granny here.”
“Yes, yes,” said the old housekeeper, who had wept herself nearly blind, and quite dry. “It’s him, Mr Hampton. Oh, I’m sure it’s him.”
“That’s right, old lady; and now I want to enlist another’s sympathy in my cause. Miss Bellwood—Gertrude—I came here to-night to claim my heritage, and to see the lady who would, in all probability, be my wife. You will shake hands?”
He held out his brown, sinewy hand and gazed in the troubled eyes before his, as the poor girl stood trembling by Mrs Hampton’s side, while the rest looked on curiously.
For one moment she shrank and hesitated, then, as if unable to resist the influence of the eyes which held hers, she slowly raised her hand, to have it clenched with a firm, strong pressure, before it was raised to the holder’s lips to be reverently kissed and then let fall.
“This is really very much out of order,” said Mr
Hampton querulously. “I ought not to sit here and—”
“Allow it, sir? Well, perhaps not. There, it is growing late. I will not inflict my presence upon you longer; and you may rely upon it, ladies, that everything shall be done so as to cause you as little anxiety as possible.”
“I am glad to hear you say that,” cried Mr Hampton. “When can I meet this man, sir?”
“Really, I cannot say. At present I am under the impression that he has gone to Paris, and he may not be back for some days.”
“Then why should I not turn the tables on him, and take possession here?”
“It cannot be done, sir,” said the old man firmly.
“But suppose I insist.”
“If you are the true George Harrington, sir, you will act as a gentleman should, and take proper steps to make good your claim.”
“Ah! now you disarm me. There: I will go now. Miss Bellwood, Mrs Hampton, whatever happens in the future you may believe in me. Good-night.”
He shooks hands again.
“Mr Hampton, I shall come in the morning and have a long talk with you.”
“You are staying in town?”
“I shall stay in town at Jay’s Hotel, Surrey Street.”
“Then you will be close to my chambers in Lincoln’s Inn. I will be there, and expect you at twelve.”
“And when shall I see Doctor Lawrence?”
“At twelve to-morrow, at my place.”
“Good-night, then; you, too, will shake hands.”
“As soon as you prove yourself to be George Harrington.”
“Quite right, sir. Good-night. You will show me the way out, granny.”
“And with a sorrowful heart, my dear,” said the old woman. “To think of my having to turn you away from your own old home.”
“Only for a while, old lady,” said the young man; and passing his arm round her he left the room.
No one moved till the gate had been heard to clang, when, without word or look, Gertrude turned and hurried up to her chamber, to fling herself upon her knees, sobbing violently.
“And I have promised to be his wife,” she moaned. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”
“Well, Phineas,” said Mrs Hampton, after she had stood looking frowningly at her husband for some time as he sat tapping the table, “what have you to say to all this?”
“Eh? Nothing.”
“But you see that was the real man.”
“No, I don’t. He must prove it.”
“But this other one.”
“Is to us Mr George Harrington.”
“But when he comes back from Paris what will he say?”
“I’m beginning to think, Rachel, that he has gone.”
“Well, we know he has gone.”
“But I mean for good.”
“He couldn’t. It’s not in him. Gone for bad, you mean.”
“I mean gone, never to come back.”
“Good gracious, Phineas! Do you think he knows?”
“It is impossible to say; but he has had ten thousand pounds in hard cash.”
“The wretch!”
“And I suppose I shall have to be answerable for the amount to the rightful heir.”
“Why, Phineas, it would half ruin you if you had to pay.”
“Yes,” said the old man dolefully.
“But you think this is the right man?”
“Yes, Rachel; and I’m afraid I have got myself in a dreadful mess.”
Chapter Twenty Nine.“There it is Again.”“My dear Gertrude, I did not oppose you after you had made up your mind to carry out your guardian’s wishes; but I’m so pleased with the way in which things have turned out that I hardly know what to say.”“But you forget, Mrs Hampton; you forget that I have promised to be that man’s wife.”“Well, what of that, my dear?”“What of that?”“Yes; you are a woman, aren’t you?”“Of course, but—”“Well, say you won’t have him. Nobody can force you to. What’s the good of being a woman if you can’t have your own way about the man you marry?”“Hark!” cried Gertrude, “the bell!” and she turned quite pale. “It must be he.”“Which he?” cried the old woman shortly. “Can’t be our Mr George Harrington, because he was to go to Lincoln’s Inn about this time. And I don’t believe it is likely to be the other. He’ll never come back at all. Oh, the pest?”Mrs Denton looked from one to the other with a satisfied air, as she handed the letter she brought in to Gertrude, her air suggesting that she expected to be spoken to; but as nothing was said, she shrugged her shoulders and left the room.“From Saul Harrington,” said Gertrude, opening the letter with trembling hands.It was dated the previous day from a well-known hotel in Paris, and very brief.He hoped his dear little cousin would be glad to hear he had reached Paris all right, and was having lovely weather. He said that the gay city was full of temptations, but he was going to resist them all, and leave in forty-eight hours for Chamounix, which he should make his headquarters till he went on to the Tyrol.“Tell George,” he continued, “that I consider he has lost his manliness in pinning himself to your apron till the happy day. He had far better join me out here for a good tramp. If he likes to alter his mind he can easily catch up to me, and I faithfully promise to send him bark in ample time for a certain event. Under the circumstances I shall probably not return till after you are married, so forgive my absence. I wish you every happiness.”“Then that man has not joined him yet, my dear.”“No, Mrs Hampton. Is it not very strange?”“Very, my dear.”“Why do you speak like that? It is as if you had some hidden meaning.”“I only think that he did not go and join him.”Gertrude looked at her rather curiously, and then said in an eager way:“It would be easy to find out if he has joined him since.”“By telegraphing. Are you going to do this?”Gertrude shook her head.“Would you like me to send a message?”“Yes—no—I hardly know what to say.”Mrs Hampton stuck her ball of wool on the point of the shining knitting-pin she held, and spun it round for a few times.“It would be satisfactory for everybody to know,” she said at last. “Ring the bell, my dear, and I’ll send a message.”The message was despatched, and after a long discussion as to the probabilities of reaching Saul Harrington before he left for Switzerland, and how soon an answer might be expected, they settled down to the daily routine of their lives. One duty now was Gertrude’s nursing of the injured dog, who seemed, as he lay on the soft hay bed in the stable, very near his end. He lay for hours together without stirring, till he heard his mistress’ step, and then he uttered a low whine, and feebly raised his head as his eyes sought hers before he lowered his muzzle again, as if it was too heavy for the strength he had left.Gertrude let many a tear fall upon the poor brute’s head as she patted it gently and bandaged the wound, the dog submitting to what must have been a painful operation without so much as a whine, till the time came when he could get his head in his mistress’ lap, and sink into a kind of stupor more than sleep.That day wore by, and there was no answer to the telegram. Then came the dinner hour, and with it the old lawyer, but not alone, Doctor Lawrence having once more accompanied him down to The Mynns.Their looks spoke volumes, but little was said till they were seated over the dessert; when, in response to one of Gertrude’s inquiring looks, the Doctor leaned towards her, took her hand, and said gravely:“My dear child, I have said nothing, because I seem to have nothing to say.”“But tell me what you think,” said Gertrude imploringly.“Well, my dear, I think—but it must not influence us in any degree—that this young man really is George Harrington.”Gertrude tried to stifle the emotion she felt, as the doctor went on:“It is a puzzling business, my dear. We have had a very long interview at Hampton’s chambers, and he certainly has impressed me strangely. Our friend here is like a rock, and he has been piling on to my head stories of impostures, and cases where pretenders have come forward, till I am completely bewildered.”“Then if he is not the true George Harrington, let George Harrington himself come forward and say so. Why doesn’t he come back, instead of running off in this mysterious way?”Mrs Hampton looked quite fiercely to right and left as she delivered herself of this speech.The old lawyer seemed to decline to take up the cudgels; he only tapped softly on the table. But Mrs Hampton’s tongue was unloosed, and she turned the flow of her eloquence upon the doctor.“I say this is the right man,” she cried; “everything goes to prove it. I have not said anything about this before, but I have noticed a great deal since I have been here, and I kept my lips sealed because I felt that I might be doing wrong in speaking, and, besides, I had no right.”“What have you observed, then?” said the lawyer, turning upon her sharply.“That time after time, while he was professing to be so sober, our Mr George Harrington sat drinking with Saul half, and sometimes all the night. Three times over did old Mrs Denton come to me, pretending it was to help her about some domestic matter, over which she did not want to trouble Gertrude here, and it was to show me Mr George Harrington asleep in the study, where he had been all night. Ah! here she is. Mrs Denton, how many times did you find the gentleman—bah!—the man who came and said he was Mr Harrington—asleep in his chair in the study.”“Six, ma’am,” said the old housekeeper. “No: it was eight.”“Now, don’t exaggerate, Denton. It was only three.”“I beg your pardon, ma’am; I only came to you three times. There were five other times when I woke him, and got him up to bed myself, so stupid and confused that he could only ask where Mr Saul was. They had been sitting in the study together when I went to bed, and he must have let Mr Saul out himself and then gone back and fallen asleep in his chair. A telegram, miss.”Gertrude eagerly took the message, tore open the envelope, read, and passed it to Mrs Hampton who also read it anxiously.“What do you mean? George did not come with me. He refused in your presence. Just off to Switzerland. Wire to Glacier Hotel, Chamounix.”“You need not wait, Denton,” said Gertrude.“No, miss; but might I make so bold: is there any news of—of the gentleman who said he was Mr George?”“No, Denton; none at all.”“And might I ask when Mr George is coming again?”Gertrude looked at the old lawyer, who only looked close as one of his own tin boxes, so she transferred her gaze to the doctor, who fidgeted about beneath the inquiring eyes.Gertrude rose from the table, laid her hand upon the old woman’s arm, and led her from the room.“Denton—dear old nurse,” she said affectionately, “you must be patient and wait. We are all in a terrible state of perplexity; do not increase it by asking questions.”The old woman caught her hand and kissed it affectionately.“Not another word will I say, my dear, till you speak to me. But, Miss Gertie, I know I’m right. This last one is Master George. Why, my darling, you can see it in his eyes and in his fine manly way to me—the poor old woman who nursed him as a child.”“Yes, yes, Denton; but please say no more now.”“Only one word, my dear, and it’s about you. If the other comes back and wants you to side with him, and be his wife, don’t listen to him. You shall not. I’d sooner kill him than he should ever take you in his arms.”“Denton!”“I’ve done, my dear. It was only my love for the little girl I helped to bring up that made me speak. Don’t be angry with me, dear. I forget sometimes that I’m only a servant. That’s right. If you only smile at me like that you make me feel so happy again.”Gertrude returned to the dining-room, to find that a discussion was going on, and the doctor speaking.“Then you feel it is our duty to remain silent?”“Most decidedly. Whatever your feelings may be you must recollect that we have accepted this gentleman as James Harrington’s heir. The pretender—”“Pretender!” echoed Mrs Hampton.“Yes. I must call him so, my dear. The pretender must make good his claim.”“Then we can do nothing till Mr George Harrington Number one comes back?”“Nothing.”“And you have a latent feeling that we shall not see him again?”“A feeling that the telegram has strengthened. It seems to me that if—mind, I say if—he is an impostor, he may have had a hint that the genuine George Harrington was, after all, alive and coming back. He had foresight enough to possess himself of a large sum of money, and with this he has escaped. Good Heavens! There it is again.”Dr Lawrence had started from his seat, as once more a long, low howl seemed to come from close at hand.“It is only Bruno,” said Gertrude. “Poor fellow! he must have made his way out of the stable. Don’t stir, I’ll send him back.”She ran out of the room, to find Denton coming to meet her.“Bruno, my dear. He has managed to get over into the house.”“Where is he?”“I don’t know, my dear; I only heard him howl.”A short search was sufficient, and the dog was found in the study, standing on the hearthrug, though his legs seemed hardly able to bear his weight, and sniffing and looking about in a curiously uneasy way.Gertrude’s coming was sufficient to take his attention directly, and he suffered himself to be led back to his quarters.“I seem very rude,” was on Gertrude’s lips as she reached the dining-room door, but the words were not spoken, for she stood, chained, as it were, to the spot, listening to the doctor’s words.“No, Hampton,” he said, “we medical men know too much of nature to be superstitious; but I have known cases where a dog has seemed to have a strange presage of death.”A sudden giddiness seized upon the trembling girl, as the thought occurred to her: Suppose these two young men should meet. What would be the consequence? Would it mean death, and to which?Gertrude’s heart seemed to stand still.
“My dear Gertrude, I did not oppose you after you had made up your mind to carry out your guardian’s wishes; but I’m so pleased with the way in which things have turned out that I hardly know what to say.”
“But you forget, Mrs Hampton; you forget that I have promised to be that man’s wife.”
“Well, what of that, my dear?”
“What of that?”
“Yes; you are a woman, aren’t you?”
“Of course, but—”
“Well, say you won’t have him. Nobody can force you to. What’s the good of being a woman if you can’t have your own way about the man you marry?”
“Hark!” cried Gertrude, “the bell!” and she turned quite pale. “It must be he.”
“Which he?” cried the old woman shortly. “Can’t be our Mr George Harrington, because he was to go to Lincoln’s Inn about this time. And I don’t believe it is likely to be the other. He’ll never come back at all. Oh, the pest?”
Mrs Denton looked from one to the other with a satisfied air, as she handed the letter she brought in to Gertrude, her air suggesting that she expected to be spoken to; but as nothing was said, she shrugged her shoulders and left the room.
“From Saul Harrington,” said Gertrude, opening the letter with trembling hands.
It was dated the previous day from a well-known hotel in Paris, and very brief.
He hoped his dear little cousin would be glad to hear he had reached Paris all right, and was having lovely weather. He said that the gay city was full of temptations, but he was going to resist them all, and leave in forty-eight hours for Chamounix, which he should make his headquarters till he went on to the Tyrol.
“Tell George,” he continued, “that I consider he has lost his manliness in pinning himself to your apron till the happy day. He had far better join me out here for a good tramp. If he likes to alter his mind he can easily catch up to me, and I faithfully promise to send him bark in ample time for a certain event. Under the circumstances I shall probably not return till after you are married, so forgive my absence. I wish you every happiness.”
“Then that man has not joined him yet, my dear.”
“No, Mrs Hampton. Is it not very strange?”
“Very, my dear.”
“Why do you speak like that? It is as if you had some hidden meaning.”
“I only think that he did not go and join him.”
Gertrude looked at her rather curiously, and then said in an eager way:
“It would be easy to find out if he has joined him since.”
“By telegraphing. Are you going to do this?”
Gertrude shook her head.
“Would you like me to send a message?”
“Yes—no—I hardly know what to say.”
Mrs Hampton stuck her ball of wool on the point of the shining knitting-pin she held, and spun it round for a few times.
“It would be satisfactory for everybody to know,” she said at last. “Ring the bell, my dear, and I’ll send a message.”
The message was despatched, and after a long discussion as to the probabilities of reaching Saul Harrington before he left for Switzerland, and how soon an answer might be expected, they settled down to the daily routine of their lives. One duty now was Gertrude’s nursing of the injured dog, who seemed, as he lay on the soft hay bed in the stable, very near his end. He lay for hours together without stirring, till he heard his mistress’ step, and then he uttered a low whine, and feebly raised his head as his eyes sought hers before he lowered his muzzle again, as if it was too heavy for the strength he had left.
Gertrude let many a tear fall upon the poor brute’s head as she patted it gently and bandaged the wound, the dog submitting to what must have been a painful operation without so much as a whine, till the time came when he could get his head in his mistress’ lap, and sink into a kind of stupor more than sleep.
That day wore by, and there was no answer to the telegram. Then came the dinner hour, and with it the old lawyer, but not alone, Doctor Lawrence having once more accompanied him down to The Mynns.
Their looks spoke volumes, but little was said till they were seated over the dessert; when, in response to one of Gertrude’s inquiring looks, the Doctor leaned towards her, took her hand, and said gravely:
“My dear child, I have said nothing, because I seem to have nothing to say.”
“But tell me what you think,” said Gertrude imploringly.
“Well, my dear, I think—but it must not influence us in any degree—that this young man really is George Harrington.”
Gertrude tried to stifle the emotion she felt, as the doctor went on:
“It is a puzzling business, my dear. We have had a very long interview at Hampton’s chambers, and he certainly has impressed me strangely. Our friend here is like a rock, and he has been piling on to my head stories of impostures, and cases where pretenders have come forward, till I am completely bewildered.”
“Then if he is not the true George Harrington, let George Harrington himself come forward and say so. Why doesn’t he come back, instead of running off in this mysterious way?”
Mrs Hampton looked quite fiercely to right and left as she delivered herself of this speech.
The old lawyer seemed to decline to take up the cudgels; he only tapped softly on the table. But Mrs Hampton’s tongue was unloosed, and she turned the flow of her eloquence upon the doctor.
“I say this is the right man,” she cried; “everything goes to prove it. I have not said anything about this before, but I have noticed a great deal since I have been here, and I kept my lips sealed because I felt that I might be doing wrong in speaking, and, besides, I had no right.”
“What have you observed, then?” said the lawyer, turning upon her sharply.
“That time after time, while he was professing to be so sober, our Mr George Harrington sat drinking with Saul half, and sometimes all the night. Three times over did old Mrs Denton come to me, pretending it was to help her about some domestic matter, over which she did not want to trouble Gertrude here, and it was to show me Mr George Harrington asleep in the study, where he had been all night. Ah! here she is. Mrs Denton, how many times did you find the gentleman—bah!—the man who came and said he was Mr Harrington—asleep in his chair in the study.”
“Six, ma’am,” said the old housekeeper. “No: it was eight.”
“Now, don’t exaggerate, Denton. It was only three.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am; I only came to you three times. There were five other times when I woke him, and got him up to bed myself, so stupid and confused that he could only ask where Mr Saul was. They had been sitting in the study together when I went to bed, and he must have let Mr Saul out himself and then gone back and fallen asleep in his chair. A telegram, miss.”
Gertrude eagerly took the message, tore open the envelope, read, and passed it to Mrs Hampton who also read it anxiously.
“What do you mean? George did not come with me. He refused in your presence. Just off to Switzerland. Wire to Glacier Hotel, Chamounix.”
“You need not wait, Denton,” said Gertrude.
“No, miss; but might I make so bold: is there any news of—of the gentleman who said he was Mr George?”
“No, Denton; none at all.”
“And might I ask when Mr George is coming again?”
Gertrude looked at the old lawyer, who only looked close as one of his own tin boxes, so she transferred her gaze to the doctor, who fidgeted about beneath the inquiring eyes.
Gertrude rose from the table, laid her hand upon the old woman’s arm, and led her from the room.
“Denton—dear old nurse,” she said affectionately, “you must be patient and wait. We are all in a terrible state of perplexity; do not increase it by asking questions.”
The old woman caught her hand and kissed it affectionately.
“Not another word will I say, my dear, till you speak to me. But, Miss Gertie, I know I’m right. This last one is Master George. Why, my darling, you can see it in his eyes and in his fine manly way to me—the poor old woman who nursed him as a child.”
“Yes, yes, Denton; but please say no more now.”
“Only one word, my dear, and it’s about you. If the other comes back and wants you to side with him, and be his wife, don’t listen to him. You shall not. I’d sooner kill him than he should ever take you in his arms.”
“Denton!”
“I’ve done, my dear. It was only my love for the little girl I helped to bring up that made me speak. Don’t be angry with me, dear. I forget sometimes that I’m only a servant. That’s right. If you only smile at me like that you make me feel so happy again.”
Gertrude returned to the dining-room, to find that a discussion was going on, and the doctor speaking.
“Then you feel it is our duty to remain silent?”
“Most decidedly. Whatever your feelings may be you must recollect that we have accepted this gentleman as James Harrington’s heir. The pretender—”
“Pretender!” echoed Mrs Hampton.
“Yes. I must call him so, my dear. The pretender must make good his claim.”
“Then we can do nothing till Mr George Harrington Number one comes back?”
“Nothing.”
“And you have a latent feeling that we shall not see him again?”
“A feeling that the telegram has strengthened. It seems to me that if—mind, I say if—he is an impostor, he may have had a hint that the genuine George Harrington was, after all, alive and coming back. He had foresight enough to possess himself of a large sum of money, and with this he has escaped. Good Heavens! There it is again.”
Dr Lawrence had started from his seat, as once more a long, low howl seemed to come from close at hand.
“It is only Bruno,” said Gertrude. “Poor fellow! he must have made his way out of the stable. Don’t stir, I’ll send him back.”
She ran out of the room, to find Denton coming to meet her.
“Bruno, my dear. He has managed to get over into the house.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know, my dear; I only heard him howl.”
A short search was sufficient, and the dog was found in the study, standing on the hearthrug, though his legs seemed hardly able to bear his weight, and sniffing and looking about in a curiously uneasy way.
Gertrude’s coming was sufficient to take his attention directly, and he suffered himself to be led back to his quarters.
“I seem very rude,” was on Gertrude’s lips as she reached the dining-room door, but the words were not spoken, for she stood, chained, as it were, to the spot, listening to the doctor’s words.
“No, Hampton,” he said, “we medical men know too much of nature to be superstitious; but I have known cases where a dog has seemed to have a strange presage of death.”
A sudden giddiness seized upon the trembling girl, as the thought occurred to her: Suppose these two young men should meet. What would be the consequence? Would it mean death, and to which?
Gertrude’s heart seemed to stand still.
Chapter Thirty.Why Saul Came Back.Saul Harrington went down one day from his chambers, and walked up to The Mynns from the station with his arm in a sling.“You, Mr Saul!” said Denton.“Yes, old lady. Who did you think it was? Anybody at home?”“Yes, sir, Miss Gertrude is upstairs. But what’s the matter with your arm?”“Mere nothing; slipped on the ice inflamed. The Hamptons still here?”“Oh, yes, sir.”“Shall I fasten the gate? There you are. One moment, though: Master Bruno was never very fond of me. Dog had his teeth in me twice. Is he chained up?”“Poor Bruno,” sighed Denton. “I dare say it was only in play.”“PoorBruno! What do you mean? Not dead, is he.”“Oh, dear no, sir. Getting quite strong again.”“Indeed,” said Saul drily.“Yes, sir; somebody tried to kill him, but Miss Gertrude has nursed him back to life.”“Poor dog! Somebody tried to kill him. What for? Biting?”“I don’t know, sir. He crawled in one morning half dead; and, for a long time, I thought he wouldn’t get over it. But he’s nearly well now.”“And chained up?”“No, sir; but shut up in the stable. We can’t have him in the house, he howls so.”Saul Harrington made no answer, for they were at the top of the steps; and directly after he was shown into the drawing-room, where every eye was fixed upon his arm.“Ah, Gertrude! my dear,” he cried, shaking hands. “Mrs Hampton, too. Glad to see you.”“It’s a big story,” said the old lady below her breath, as she shook hands in the most cold and limp manner ever perpetrated by woman. “Is your arm bad?” she said aloud.“Slipped on a glacier. Nothing very much. Got your letter, Mr Hampton, and came on at once. Nothing wrong, is there?”The old lawyer coughed.“Rather a mysterious document. ‘Come on at once; important business.’ Why, hang it all, sir, you haven’t found a later will, have you?”“No, sir,” said the lawyer coldly, “it is not that.”“Well, I am on the tip-toe of expectation. What is it? But where’s George?”There was no reply, and Saul looked from one to the other wonderingly.“Not been up to his games, has he? Another touch of DT?”“No, sir; there has been nothing of that kind, unless it was unknown to us, and it prompted him to behave as he did.”“Great Heavens, man, what is it? He has not injured anyone in a mad fit, has he?”“Neither am I aware of that,” said the lawyer gravely. “The fact is, Mr Harrington, your cousin has disappeared.”“My cousin has what?” cried Saul, laughing aloud.“There is no cause for mirth, sir. I sent for you because the day after you were here your cousin George went away.”“What, for a day or two?”“And he has not been seen since.”“Good heavens! But, by Jove, that’s too bad. Had he any money?”“Yes, sir; I believe he had quite a large sum.”“Then that’s why he would not go with me. He had some plan in his head. Oh, it’s nothing. He’ll soon be back. Just a farewell bachelor trip, Gertie. Don’t take any notice of it.”“We thought he had joined you,” said Mrs Hampton sharply.“Oh, dear no; I haven’t so much as heard from him. But he’ll be back soon.”“It is a long time now since he disappeared.”“Went out,” said Saul, with a peculiar laugh.“Have it that way if you like, Mr Harrington,” said the lawyer coldly—“went out; and has not returned.”“Well, he is not a child, sir. George Harrington is a young man, full of life and energy; he has just come in for a large fortune, and we all know he likes to enjoy life. Besides, his ways have not been as ours. Those from the Far West do not study the conventionalities. He’ll soon settle down. Well?”“Well, sir.”“Is that all?”“No, Mr Saul, that is not all. There are several little matters into which I will not enter.”“But surely you have not fetched me back from Switzerland, sir, because my cousin has gone off somewhere on the spree?”“There are very grave considerations in connection with this matter, Mr Saul,” said the old lawyer; “and I deemed it my duty, seeing how near a relative you are, to send for you back.”“But surely you will explain; give some stronger reason for dragging me here?”“Well, sir, I will; and, as everything is known to Miss Bellwood, here, and my wife, I will speak out at once.”“Then for heaven’s sake do, sir; and pray don’t dole out your words as if they were those of a letter, at a shilling a line.”The old lawyer took no notice of the last words, but said quietly:“There has been a suggestion, sir, that the missing man had collected together a large sum, and has gone off with no intention of returning.”“For the present,” said Saul, with a quick glance at Gertrude.“At all, sir.”“Oh, rubbish. Who has dared to insinuate that? Bah! preposterous. Collect a few hundreds, and leave behind this fine estate. My dear Mr Hampton, are you serious?”“Ideas, these, sir, which sound strange; but to which colour is given by the assertion now made that the person in question is not the true George Harrington, but an impostor.”Saul Harrington leaped from his seat with a horrified and startled look in his eyes, and then sank back, grasping the arms and staring wildly at the old man, his jaw dropping, but no words coming from his lips.“Yes, I surprise you, of course,” continued the old lawyer, in his calm, unruffled, legal manner.Saul Harrington uttered a gasp, as he seemed to make a tremendous effort to master his emotion.“Yes, yes, of course,” he cried, “you surprise me terribly. Then—then—if he is an impostor the property would naturally fall to me.”“No,” said the lawyer, as Saul sat back in his chair, with his teeth set and a peculiarly rigid aspect in his face, “the property only comes to you in the event of George Harrington’s death without issue.”“Yes,” said Saul, in a hoarse whisper.“And we do not know that George Harrington dead.”“No, no; of course not,” said Saul hastily. “I begin to see now why you summoned me back. But—impostor—my cousin—the man I left here, accepted by you all?”“Yourself included, Mr Saul,” said the lawyer gravely.“Yes, of course—of course—his proofs of identity—of course.”“They were very strong, Mr Saul, and upon the strength of them he has obtained from the estate ten thousand pounds in hard cash, and he has disappeared.”“But it is impossible! An impostor?” said Saul hoarsely. “No, no, no; you do not think so.”“My position forbids me to offer an opinion. At least, I consider it does, sir.”“But what proofs have you?” cried Saul, who seemed to be recovering himself. “You are keeping something back. Who says that George Harrington is an impostor?”“I say the man who called himself George Harrington is a rank impostor, sir,” said a firm voice at the doorway; and all turned to see the speaker standing there, a little in advance of Doctor Lawrence.“You!” cried Saul, springing up, and looking so ghastly pale and drawn of countenance, that he seemed to have aged ten years.“Yes, I do, sir.”“And—may I ask—who—you are?” said Saul, speaking with terrible effort.“Yes! I am George Harrington, come here to claim my rights.”
Saul Harrington went down one day from his chambers, and walked up to The Mynns from the station with his arm in a sling.
“You, Mr Saul!” said Denton.
“Yes, old lady. Who did you think it was? Anybody at home?”
“Yes, sir, Miss Gertrude is upstairs. But what’s the matter with your arm?”
“Mere nothing; slipped on the ice inflamed. The Hamptons still here?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“Shall I fasten the gate? There you are. One moment, though: Master Bruno was never very fond of me. Dog had his teeth in me twice. Is he chained up?”
“Poor Bruno,” sighed Denton. “I dare say it was only in play.”
“PoorBruno! What do you mean? Not dead, is he.”
“Oh, dear no, sir. Getting quite strong again.”
“Indeed,” said Saul drily.
“Yes, sir; somebody tried to kill him, but Miss Gertrude has nursed him back to life.”
“Poor dog! Somebody tried to kill him. What for? Biting?”
“I don’t know, sir. He crawled in one morning half dead; and, for a long time, I thought he wouldn’t get over it. But he’s nearly well now.”
“And chained up?”
“No, sir; but shut up in the stable. We can’t have him in the house, he howls so.”
Saul Harrington made no answer, for they were at the top of the steps; and directly after he was shown into the drawing-room, where every eye was fixed upon his arm.
“Ah, Gertrude! my dear,” he cried, shaking hands. “Mrs Hampton, too. Glad to see you.”
“It’s a big story,” said the old lady below her breath, as she shook hands in the most cold and limp manner ever perpetrated by woman. “Is your arm bad?” she said aloud.
“Slipped on a glacier. Nothing very much. Got your letter, Mr Hampton, and came on at once. Nothing wrong, is there?”
The old lawyer coughed.
“Rather a mysterious document. ‘Come on at once; important business.’ Why, hang it all, sir, you haven’t found a later will, have you?”
“No, sir,” said the lawyer coldly, “it is not that.”
“Well, I am on the tip-toe of expectation. What is it? But where’s George?”
There was no reply, and Saul looked from one to the other wonderingly.
“Not been up to his games, has he? Another touch of DT?”
“No, sir; there has been nothing of that kind, unless it was unknown to us, and it prompted him to behave as he did.”
“Great Heavens, man, what is it? He has not injured anyone in a mad fit, has he?”
“Neither am I aware of that,” said the lawyer gravely. “The fact is, Mr Harrington, your cousin has disappeared.”
“My cousin has what?” cried Saul, laughing aloud.
“There is no cause for mirth, sir. I sent for you because the day after you were here your cousin George went away.”
“What, for a day or two?”
“And he has not been seen since.”
“Good heavens! But, by Jove, that’s too bad. Had he any money?”
“Yes, sir; I believe he had quite a large sum.”
“Then that’s why he would not go with me. He had some plan in his head. Oh, it’s nothing. He’ll soon be back. Just a farewell bachelor trip, Gertie. Don’t take any notice of it.”
“We thought he had joined you,” said Mrs Hampton sharply.
“Oh, dear no; I haven’t so much as heard from him. But he’ll be back soon.”
“It is a long time now since he disappeared.”
“Went out,” said Saul, with a peculiar laugh.
“Have it that way if you like, Mr Harrington,” said the lawyer coldly—“went out; and has not returned.”
“Well, he is not a child, sir. George Harrington is a young man, full of life and energy; he has just come in for a large fortune, and we all know he likes to enjoy life. Besides, his ways have not been as ours. Those from the Far West do not study the conventionalities. He’ll soon settle down. Well?”
“Well, sir.”
“Is that all?”
“No, Mr Saul, that is not all. There are several little matters into which I will not enter.”
“But surely you have not fetched me back from Switzerland, sir, because my cousin has gone off somewhere on the spree?”
“There are very grave considerations in connection with this matter, Mr Saul,” said the old lawyer; “and I deemed it my duty, seeing how near a relative you are, to send for you back.”
“But surely you will explain; give some stronger reason for dragging me here?”
“Well, sir, I will; and, as everything is known to Miss Bellwood, here, and my wife, I will speak out at once.”
“Then for heaven’s sake do, sir; and pray don’t dole out your words as if they were those of a letter, at a shilling a line.”
The old lawyer took no notice of the last words, but said quietly:
“There has been a suggestion, sir, that the missing man had collected together a large sum, and has gone off with no intention of returning.”
“For the present,” said Saul, with a quick glance at Gertrude.
“At all, sir.”
“Oh, rubbish. Who has dared to insinuate that? Bah! preposterous. Collect a few hundreds, and leave behind this fine estate. My dear Mr Hampton, are you serious?”
“Ideas, these, sir, which sound strange; but to which colour is given by the assertion now made that the person in question is not the true George Harrington, but an impostor.”
Saul Harrington leaped from his seat with a horrified and startled look in his eyes, and then sank back, grasping the arms and staring wildly at the old man, his jaw dropping, but no words coming from his lips.
“Yes, I surprise you, of course,” continued the old lawyer, in his calm, unruffled, legal manner.
Saul Harrington uttered a gasp, as he seemed to make a tremendous effort to master his emotion.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he cried, “you surprise me terribly. Then—then—if he is an impostor the property would naturally fall to me.”
“No,” said the lawyer, as Saul sat back in his chair, with his teeth set and a peculiarly rigid aspect in his face, “the property only comes to you in the event of George Harrington’s death without issue.”
“Yes,” said Saul, in a hoarse whisper.
“And we do not know that George Harrington dead.”
“No, no; of course not,” said Saul hastily. “I begin to see now why you summoned me back. But—impostor—my cousin—the man I left here, accepted by you all?”
“Yourself included, Mr Saul,” said the lawyer gravely.
“Yes, of course—of course—his proofs of identity—of course.”
“They were very strong, Mr Saul, and upon the strength of them he has obtained from the estate ten thousand pounds in hard cash, and he has disappeared.”
“But it is impossible! An impostor?” said Saul hoarsely. “No, no, no; you do not think so.”
“My position forbids me to offer an opinion. At least, I consider it does, sir.”
“But what proofs have you?” cried Saul, who seemed to be recovering himself. “You are keeping something back. Who says that George Harrington is an impostor?”
“I say the man who called himself George Harrington is a rank impostor, sir,” said a firm voice at the doorway; and all turned to see the speaker standing there, a little in advance of Doctor Lawrence.
“You!” cried Saul, springing up, and looking so ghastly pale and drawn of countenance, that he seemed to have aged ten years.
“Yes, I do, sir.”
“And—may I ask—who—you are?” said Saul, speaking with terrible effort.
“Yes! I am George Harrington, come here to claim my rights.”
Chapter Thirty One.An Invitation Declined.“Come, Mr Saul, sir, drink a little more of this,” said Doctor Lawrence; and he held a glass to the young man’s lips, as he lay back on the sofa, where he had been lifted, for the words he had heard uttered had so strange an effect upon him that he had stood staring wildly for a few moments, and then uttered a sudden, low cry, and fallen heavily upon the carpet.“Better now,” he said, drinking with avidity; and then sitting up quite calm and connected. “A sudden fit of giddiness. I have been travelling night and day. I have not eaten; and the suddenness of this news completely overset me. Very absurd, of course.”“No, sir; quite natural,” said the doctor quietly.“Yes,” said Saul, with a peculiar laugh, “in a girl; but not in a strong man.”“And now, if you will take my advice,” said the doctor, “you will partake of some refreshment, and leave all further discussion of this business till another day.”“No,” said Saul hoarsely, “I must have all this cleared up before I go.”“Well, we can arrange that,” said Gertrude smiling. “I will tell Denton to see that you have a room made ready; sleep here to-night.”“Sleep? here?” cried Saul quickly. “No, thank you; I shall get back to town.”“Far wiser to stay, sir,” said the doctor quietly.“No. You will be going back; I’ll go with you.”“As you like,” said the doctor; and at that moment Mrs Hampton whispered to Gertrude as they stood apart.“You asked him—to stay!”“Yes,” said Gertrude, with her eyes full of perplexity. “I cannot tell how it was, but I do not feel afraid of him now.”She started almost as she spoke, for an angry voice behind exclaimed:“Well, sir, why are you looking at me like that?”“For the simple fact that I was eager to see what kind of man my cousin Saul might be.”“Your cousin, sir. You have to prove that yet,” cried Saul excitedly.“Of course; of course! Don’t be put out about it, or I shall begin to think you did not want me to come back.”“Gentlemen, gentlemen?” cried Mr Hampton, “pray let us have calmness and discretion; there are ladies here.”“Yes; I am quite cool; and I beg their pardon.”“But may I ask why you are here this evening, sir,” said the lawyer. “I thought, after our last meeting, it was decided that you should wait patiently.”“Yes, sir; I promised against myself. Self has mastered me. I called on Doctor Lawrence; found he was coming down. I could not keep away. I beg pardon all the same.”All this while Saul was glaring at the speakers in a curiously excited manner, which took the doctor’s attention, and he crossed to his side.“I don’t want to alarm you, Saul Harrington,” he whispered; “but if you do not control yourself, you will have another fit. Besides, all this will fly to your bad arm.”“Oh, I’m calm enough now,” was the impatient reply; but as Saul spoke the veins were beginning to stand out in knots about his temples, for the visitor had crossed to Gertrude and shaken hands, while her peaceful, gratified look, and the smile she gave, as she looked up in his eyes, seemed to madden him.“Come away,” whispered the doctor.“What! and leave that man, that impostor, here?”“Who said impostor?” cried the new pretender, turning sharply round. “You, sir? All right, Gertrude, I will not quarrel with him. I dare say it is natural, but not a pleasant thing for me to bear.”“Get them both away, or we shall be having terrible trouble,” whispered Mrs Hampton in her husband’s ear.“Yes. Gentlemen, everything connected with this matter must be left to the law of your country. The use of language tending to anger is not likely to settle matters. Mr Saul Harrington, I have explained the state of affairs to you, and you grasp all that is necessary for you to know at present.”“You sent for me,” cried Saul fiercely, “and I decline to go and leave Miss Bellwood in company with this strange man, whose claims are preposterous.”“Then I must appeal to you, sir,” said the lawyer. “You came down unasked; your presence is likely to cause unpleasantry; trust me that you shall have justice done, so please to go.”“I, George Harrington, feel that I have a perfect right to be here, Mr Hampton; and I cannot help resenting the overbearing manner of my cousin.”“George,” said Gertrude softly, as she laid her hand in his; “I believe in you.”“Ah!” he cried, in a low, eager tone.“Be content, and go.”“I could not exist without seeing you,” he whispered; and the colour came warmly into her cheeks at his words. “You wish me to go?”“Yes.”There was a pleading look in her eyes which disarmed all resistance; and, pressing her hand, he turned to Mrs Hampton.“Good-night,” he said; “I know I have an advocate in you. Gentlemen, good-evening. I will call at your office in the morning, Mr Hampton.”He left the room, and, as soon as the gate was heard to clang, Gertrude signed to Mrs Hampton and they left the room, for Saul’s manner betokened another storm.Too truly, for the next minute it broke out with uncontrolled violence—words he did not mean to utter pouring from his lips.“It is a lie! A fraud! A base piece of cozening?” he cried. “The man is an impostor, who has come forward to rob me of my rights.”“Your rights, Mr Saul,” said the lawyer slowly; “what are they?”“I mean my rights as next-of-kin. Where is my cousin George? He must be found: he shall be found!”“Stop, sir!” cried Doctor Lawrence, in a stern voice, as he caught the speaker by the shoulder. “As a physician, I know your condition better than you know it yourself. I have given you fair warning of the danger of giving way to anger like this. You will not heed my remonstrances, so now I insist upon your being calm.”“Calm! How can a man be calm?”“When he is goading himself on to an apoplectic fit? I don’t know, sir; but you have to be calm, or I must give you some drug that will make you.”“No, no,” cried the young man, with a gesture full of horror.“Then obey me. Your conduct is suicidal, and I feel as if I were assisting at a murder. You had better sleep here to-night.”Saul turned upon him with so fierce a gesture that the doctor gave way.“Very well; I will see you to your apartments in town. Good-night, Hampton. No fresh clue, I suppose?”The lawyer shook his head as he walked down towards the gate with them.“None whatever. It is a very mysterious affair; and I feel now as if we ought to place the matter in the hands of the police.”“Feel giddy, Mr Saul?” said the doctor, for his companion had suddenly struck against his arm.“I beg pardon, no; I nearly fell. The worst of these country places. I trod on a slug or toad, and only having one arm at liberty, I—”“Committed murder—involuntarily, of course,” said the doctor with a chucks. “Well, things that are in one’s way should get out of one’s way.”Saul made no reply, but he breathed hard, went silently down the station road, and then to himself:“Or be put out of one’s way,” and he started again as if fearful that his words had been heard.
“Come, Mr Saul, sir, drink a little more of this,” said Doctor Lawrence; and he held a glass to the young man’s lips, as he lay back on the sofa, where he had been lifted, for the words he had heard uttered had so strange an effect upon him that he had stood staring wildly for a few moments, and then uttered a sudden, low cry, and fallen heavily upon the carpet.
“Better now,” he said, drinking with avidity; and then sitting up quite calm and connected. “A sudden fit of giddiness. I have been travelling night and day. I have not eaten; and the suddenness of this news completely overset me. Very absurd, of course.”
“No, sir; quite natural,” said the doctor quietly.
“Yes,” said Saul, with a peculiar laugh, “in a girl; but not in a strong man.”
“And now, if you will take my advice,” said the doctor, “you will partake of some refreshment, and leave all further discussion of this business till another day.”
“No,” said Saul hoarsely, “I must have all this cleared up before I go.”
“Well, we can arrange that,” said Gertrude smiling. “I will tell Denton to see that you have a room made ready; sleep here to-night.”
“Sleep? here?” cried Saul quickly. “No, thank you; I shall get back to town.”
“Far wiser to stay, sir,” said the doctor quietly.
“No. You will be going back; I’ll go with you.”
“As you like,” said the doctor; and at that moment Mrs Hampton whispered to Gertrude as they stood apart.
“You asked him—to stay!”
“Yes,” said Gertrude, with her eyes full of perplexity. “I cannot tell how it was, but I do not feel afraid of him now.”
She started almost as she spoke, for an angry voice behind exclaimed:
“Well, sir, why are you looking at me like that?”
“For the simple fact that I was eager to see what kind of man my cousin Saul might be.”
“Your cousin, sir. You have to prove that yet,” cried Saul excitedly.
“Of course; of course! Don’t be put out about it, or I shall begin to think you did not want me to come back.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen?” cried Mr Hampton, “pray let us have calmness and discretion; there are ladies here.”
“Yes; I am quite cool; and I beg their pardon.”
“But may I ask why you are here this evening, sir,” said the lawyer. “I thought, after our last meeting, it was decided that you should wait patiently.”
“Yes, sir; I promised against myself. Self has mastered me. I called on Doctor Lawrence; found he was coming down. I could not keep away. I beg pardon all the same.”
All this while Saul was glaring at the speakers in a curiously excited manner, which took the doctor’s attention, and he crossed to his side.
“I don’t want to alarm you, Saul Harrington,” he whispered; “but if you do not control yourself, you will have another fit. Besides, all this will fly to your bad arm.”
“Oh, I’m calm enough now,” was the impatient reply; but as Saul spoke the veins were beginning to stand out in knots about his temples, for the visitor had crossed to Gertrude and shaken hands, while her peaceful, gratified look, and the smile she gave, as she looked up in his eyes, seemed to madden him.
“Come away,” whispered the doctor.
“What! and leave that man, that impostor, here?”
“Who said impostor?” cried the new pretender, turning sharply round. “You, sir? All right, Gertrude, I will not quarrel with him. I dare say it is natural, but not a pleasant thing for me to bear.”
“Get them both away, or we shall be having terrible trouble,” whispered Mrs Hampton in her husband’s ear.
“Yes. Gentlemen, everything connected with this matter must be left to the law of your country. The use of language tending to anger is not likely to settle matters. Mr Saul Harrington, I have explained the state of affairs to you, and you grasp all that is necessary for you to know at present.”
“You sent for me,” cried Saul fiercely, “and I decline to go and leave Miss Bellwood in company with this strange man, whose claims are preposterous.”
“Then I must appeal to you, sir,” said the lawyer. “You came down unasked; your presence is likely to cause unpleasantry; trust me that you shall have justice done, so please to go.”
“I, George Harrington, feel that I have a perfect right to be here, Mr Hampton; and I cannot help resenting the overbearing manner of my cousin.”
“George,” said Gertrude softly, as she laid her hand in his; “I believe in you.”
“Ah!” he cried, in a low, eager tone.
“Be content, and go.”
“I could not exist without seeing you,” he whispered; and the colour came warmly into her cheeks at his words. “You wish me to go?”
“Yes.”
There was a pleading look in her eyes which disarmed all resistance; and, pressing her hand, he turned to Mrs Hampton.
“Good-night,” he said; “I know I have an advocate in you. Gentlemen, good-evening. I will call at your office in the morning, Mr Hampton.”
He left the room, and, as soon as the gate was heard to clang, Gertrude signed to Mrs Hampton and they left the room, for Saul’s manner betokened another storm.
Too truly, for the next minute it broke out with uncontrolled violence—words he did not mean to utter pouring from his lips.
“It is a lie! A fraud! A base piece of cozening?” he cried. “The man is an impostor, who has come forward to rob me of my rights.”
“Your rights, Mr Saul,” said the lawyer slowly; “what are they?”
“I mean my rights as next-of-kin. Where is my cousin George? He must be found: he shall be found!”
“Stop, sir!” cried Doctor Lawrence, in a stern voice, as he caught the speaker by the shoulder. “As a physician, I know your condition better than you know it yourself. I have given you fair warning of the danger of giving way to anger like this. You will not heed my remonstrances, so now I insist upon your being calm.”
“Calm! How can a man be calm?”
“When he is goading himself on to an apoplectic fit? I don’t know, sir; but you have to be calm, or I must give you some drug that will make you.”
“No, no,” cried the young man, with a gesture full of horror.
“Then obey me. Your conduct is suicidal, and I feel as if I were assisting at a murder. You had better sleep here to-night.”
Saul turned upon him with so fierce a gesture that the doctor gave way.
“Very well; I will see you to your apartments in town. Good-night, Hampton. No fresh clue, I suppose?”
The lawyer shook his head as he walked down towards the gate with them.
“None whatever. It is a very mysterious affair; and I feel now as if we ought to place the matter in the hands of the police.”
“Feel giddy, Mr Saul?” said the doctor, for his companion had suddenly struck against his arm.
“I beg pardon, no; I nearly fell. The worst of these country places. I trod on a slug or toad, and only having one arm at liberty, I—”
“Committed murder—involuntarily, of course,” said the doctor with a chucks. “Well, things that are in one’s way should get out of one’s way.”
Saul made no reply, but he breathed hard, went silently down the station road, and then to himself:
“Or be put out of one’s way,” and he started again as if fearful that his words had been heard.
Chapter Thirty Two.“Down, Bruno! Down!”“No, Denton; he does not seem to get better,” said Gertrude, as she knelt beside Bruno in the stable, the dog resting his muzzle in her hand, while he blinked patiently; and, from time to time, uttered a very human sigh.“Oh, but he is better, my dear, and gradually growing stronger. He ate quite a big basin of bread and milk this morning.”“So cruel to injure a poor dumb beast like that.”“Yes, my dear; but I’ll be bound to say Bruno left his mark upon whoever it was, and serve him right.”The dog whined uneasily, and opened his eyes to stare about him, as if he had been half dreaming, and imagined there was something near.“Poor Bruno, then?” said Gertrude caressingly. “Denton, doesn’t all this seem very strange to you about—about—”“Master George, my dear? Well, yes; but I can hardly forgive myself for thinking that other was the darling little fellow I was so proud to have in the house. But there, we are all right now.”Gertrude signed.“Why, my dear, you oughtn’t to do that. Now, if it was the other, with his dreadful ways of sitting up with Mr Saul over the whiskey, and the finding him asleep in his chair at seven o’clock in the morning, you might sigh.”“Hush, Denton,” said Gertrude colouring, as she softly laid down the dog’s heavy head, with the effect that the poor beast whined.“Now, I tell you what I should do if I were you, Miss Gertie,” continued the old woman. “Dogs are a deal like human beings when they’re ill.”“What do you mean, Denton?”“Why, poor Bruno has been shut up in this dark stable and wants fresh air. If I were you, I should go and get a book, and then lead the dog right down to the bottom of the garden, to the old seat under the yew hedge, and you could read in the shade while he lies down in the sun.”“Denton, you ought to have been a duchess,” cried Gertrude; “you dear, clever old thing. Lie still, Bruno, and I’ll be back directly.”Full of her idea, Gertrude ran into the drawing-room for a book; told Mrs Hampton, who was writing letters, what she was about to do; and, catching a sunshade from the hall-stand, she was back in the stable before five minutes had elapsed.It was no easy task, though, to get the dog down to the bottom lawn. The poor beast, evidently in a drowsy way, approved of the change; but at the end of every few yards he lowered his head, and stood as if going to sleep on his outstretched legs. At such times Gertrude felt disposed to give up; but invariably as she came to this determination the dog seemed to revive, and slowly followed her again.The old rustic chair was reached at last, and Bruno lay down, in the full sunshine, upon the soft turf; while his mistress settled herself in a well-clipped nook of the great yew hedge, which separated the bottom of the garden from the meadows, across which ran a footpath, forming a short cut to the station.The flies troubled the dog a little, but he was soon apparently sleeping, basking in the sun; though the opening of one eye every time a leaf was turned over by his mistress told that he never lost consciousness.Gertrude read a page or two of her book, and then began reading page after page of her life; and there was a curious feeling of wonderment as she went on, thinking of Saul’s advances, and the horror with which they had inspired her; then of the coming of him who called himself George Harrington, the man she had tutored herself that it was her duty to love, with the result that the chivalrous being she had expected to see had completely disillusionised her; and her duty had become a pain.She wondered, as she thought of his embraces, of the drink-poisoned breath, and the horror of his self-inflicted illness, and what followed. It was all oppressive and strange. It had seemed as if her life was to be one long act of self-devotion, with clouds surrounding her, and her heart aching painfully over the fate from which there seemed to be no escape.Then, all at once, in a way that seemed to frighten her, the sunshine had burst the clouds, and dazzled her with its effulgence. She felt a strange kind of joy, that the hero she had painted in her heart could not even compare with the frank, manly, chivalrous fellow who had come and boldly declared the other to be an impostor.“Was this the first dawning of love?” she asked herself, as the warm blood mantled in her cheeks; and she wondered whether it was unmaidenly and strange to think so warmly of the man who had been selected to be her husband.She had just come to the conclusion that it would be possible to love such a one as this, when there was a faint rustling sound beyond the hedge, as of a footstep in the grass, and a voice said thoughtfully:“I wonder whether she ever comes down here.” A low, deep growl from Bruno followed; and, without thinking that her words might be heard, Gertrude cried:“Down, Bruno! down!”
“No, Denton; he does not seem to get better,” said Gertrude, as she knelt beside Bruno in the stable, the dog resting his muzzle in her hand, while he blinked patiently; and, from time to time, uttered a very human sigh.
“Oh, but he is better, my dear, and gradually growing stronger. He ate quite a big basin of bread and milk this morning.”
“So cruel to injure a poor dumb beast like that.”
“Yes, my dear; but I’ll be bound to say Bruno left his mark upon whoever it was, and serve him right.”
The dog whined uneasily, and opened his eyes to stare about him, as if he had been half dreaming, and imagined there was something near.
“Poor Bruno, then?” said Gertrude caressingly. “Denton, doesn’t all this seem very strange to you about—about—”
“Master George, my dear? Well, yes; but I can hardly forgive myself for thinking that other was the darling little fellow I was so proud to have in the house. But there, we are all right now.”
Gertrude signed.
“Why, my dear, you oughtn’t to do that. Now, if it was the other, with his dreadful ways of sitting up with Mr Saul over the whiskey, and the finding him asleep in his chair at seven o’clock in the morning, you might sigh.”
“Hush, Denton,” said Gertrude colouring, as she softly laid down the dog’s heavy head, with the effect that the poor beast whined.
“Now, I tell you what I should do if I were you, Miss Gertie,” continued the old woman. “Dogs are a deal like human beings when they’re ill.”
“What do you mean, Denton?”
“Why, poor Bruno has been shut up in this dark stable and wants fresh air. If I were you, I should go and get a book, and then lead the dog right down to the bottom of the garden, to the old seat under the yew hedge, and you could read in the shade while he lies down in the sun.”
“Denton, you ought to have been a duchess,” cried Gertrude; “you dear, clever old thing. Lie still, Bruno, and I’ll be back directly.”
Full of her idea, Gertrude ran into the drawing-room for a book; told Mrs Hampton, who was writing letters, what she was about to do; and, catching a sunshade from the hall-stand, she was back in the stable before five minutes had elapsed.
It was no easy task, though, to get the dog down to the bottom lawn. The poor beast, evidently in a drowsy way, approved of the change; but at the end of every few yards he lowered his head, and stood as if going to sleep on his outstretched legs. At such times Gertrude felt disposed to give up; but invariably as she came to this determination the dog seemed to revive, and slowly followed her again.
The old rustic chair was reached at last, and Bruno lay down, in the full sunshine, upon the soft turf; while his mistress settled herself in a well-clipped nook of the great yew hedge, which separated the bottom of the garden from the meadows, across which ran a footpath, forming a short cut to the station.
The flies troubled the dog a little, but he was soon apparently sleeping, basking in the sun; though the opening of one eye every time a leaf was turned over by his mistress told that he never lost consciousness.
Gertrude read a page or two of her book, and then began reading page after page of her life; and there was a curious feeling of wonderment as she went on, thinking of Saul’s advances, and the horror with which they had inspired her; then of the coming of him who called himself George Harrington, the man she had tutored herself that it was her duty to love, with the result that the chivalrous being she had expected to see had completely disillusionised her; and her duty had become a pain.
She wondered, as she thought of his embraces, of the drink-poisoned breath, and the horror of his self-inflicted illness, and what followed. It was all oppressive and strange. It had seemed as if her life was to be one long act of self-devotion, with clouds surrounding her, and her heart aching painfully over the fate from which there seemed to be no escape.
Then, all at once, in a way that seemed to frighten her, the sunshine had burst the clouds, and dazzled her with its effulgence. She felt a strange kind of joy, that the hero she had painted in her heart could not even compare with the frank, manly, chivalrous fellow who had come and boldly declared the other to be an impostor.
“Was this the first dawning of love?” she asked herself, as the warm blood mantled in her cheeks; and she wondered whether it was unmaidenly and strange to think so warmly of the man who had been selected to be her husband.
She had just come to the conclusion that it would be possible to love such a one as this, when there was a faint rustling sound beyond the hedge, as of a footstep in the grass, and a voice said thoughtfully:
“I wonder whether she ever comes down here.” A low, deep growl from Bruno followed; and, without thinking that her words might be heard, Gertrude cried:
“Down, Bruno! down!”
Chapter Thirty Three.Master’s Stick.“I beg your pardon. Really, Miss Bellwood, I did not expect to find you here.”“Mr—”“Harrington,” he said, as she paused. “You need not be afraid to call me by that name; and George. They are mine, indeed.”“I beg your pardon, Mr Harrington.”Bruno uttered a low, ominous growl.“Your dog does not like me,” he said.“You are a stranger.”“At present; but not for long, I hope.”“Quiet, Bruno!” she said, to hide her confusion. “He has been hurt very much. I brought him out here for a change.”“Lucky dog,” he said; and then in dread lest it might be considered an impertinence: “How was he hurt? Run over—a kick?”“No, poor fellow; somebody must have struck him a terrible blow on the head.”“Indeed! That’s bad. Let me look at him. I understand a good deal about dogs.”“You do?” cried Gertrude eagerly.“Oh, yes. I have been in the wilds, sometimes for months, with no other companion than a dog. May I come through? There is quite a gap here.”“A gap? Then let me bring Bruno to you,” she said hastily.He smiled as he said to himself, “this is a strange position;” and he appreciated the maiden delicacy which prompted the words, and stood religiously on the field side of the hedge as Gertrude coaxed the dog to follow her.Bruno rose painfully and walked to the gap, where he suddenly seemed to revive, for he growled fiercely, set up his ruff, and began to look eagerly about, snuffling loudly the while.“Down, Bruno!” cried Gertrude excitedly. “He does not like you. He might bite.”“He had better not,” cried the young man merrily. “Dogs must not bite friends—his mistress’ friends,” he added meaningly; and, as through the slightly broken opening in the yews he saw Gertrude shrink, he continued hurriedly: “no, it is not at me, but at something about the grass. Oh, I see, he has found a broken stick.”For as he spoke, the dog had ferreted out of the long grass, at the foot of the hedge, a broken walking-stick—the upper part of a strong oaken cudgel, whose top was a heavy root knob, over which he growled savagely.“Why, Bruno, what’s the matter?” cried Gertrude. “Perhaps you had better go.”“Oh, no; I don’t like to be afraid of a dog; and, besides, I think they havenousenough to know when you mean well by them. Here, old chap, let’s look at your head.”Bruno ceased growling, and raised his muzzle with the stick across his mouth, as the young man parted the yew bushes and knelt down.“Yes, Bruno—good dog—friends,” said Gertrude nervously.“He does not quite believe it yet,” said the young man. “Suppose you shake hands with me.”She hesitated a moment as she looked in his eyes, but they were so frank and pleasant to gaze upon that she halted no longer, but placed her hand in his, and then tried to snatch it back in alarm, but it was pinioned tightly in a warm, firm pressure.“There Bruno,” he said, “your mistress and I are friends, and she will never have one more faithful and true. Now, old fellow,” he added, loosing the hand, “let’s have that stick. Good dog. What are you growling at?”He took the stick from the dog, threw it down, and then quietly laid his hand upon his head; then placed the other on the side, and the dog whimpered softly.“Hurt you, old fellow? well, I’ll be more gentle, but I must examine you. Poor lad, then. Why, you have been in the wars. You ought to be dead.”“Oh!” ejaculated Gertrude.“I only meant the blow was bad enough to have killed him. Do you know how serious it is?”“I know it was a dreadful cut, but it is healing now.”“Cut? The poor dog’s skull is fractured. A regular crack. Has he seemed stupid and dull?”Gertrude could not answer for a few moments for the sob that choked her; and, as the impromptu surgeon looked up in her eyes he saw that they were brimming over.“Oh, if they would only weep like that for me,” he thought; and directly after, “no, I should be very sorry.”“I—I did not know he was so bad,” she faltered.“But it is mending all right. Yes. Hold still, old fellow; I won’t hurt you much. That’s right. Oh, yes, he’s mending capitally; but it would be better if the hair were cut away a little from the wound. Knife? No. I suppose you could fetch me a pair of scissors?”“I have a pair,” cried Gertrude eagerly, producing a tiny embroidery pair from a case.“Capital! but, I say, my great ugly thumb and finger would not go into those holes. Could you—? No, it would be such a nasty task.”“I should not consider it a nasty task to do anything to help my poor dog,” she said quickly.“Then you shall do it. There, cut boldly between my fingers. Don’t be afraid. That nasty, matted hair frets the wound. That’s right; capital! Now, there again, and there. Hurt, Bruno? Never mind, old chap; don’t flinch. That will do.”They were busy together, kneeling on either side of the dog for quite five minutes, before they raised their eyes and looked at each other, their faces only separated by a dog’s width, and Gertrude’s eyes fell beneath the admiring glance which seemed to thrill her.“I am very grateful to you for what you have done.”“Don’t name it. I am very glad.”“But will he get well?”“Oh, yes. It will take some little time, of course, but animals have a wonderful faculty for healing up. There, old chap, your case is attended to. No fees and no bills, thank you. Do you know, I believe he understands all about it. Hardly flinched, and I know I must have hurt him a good deal.”“He has always been so patient while I bathed his head, and bandaged the cut.”“Yes; he knows. There, old chap, you’ll know me again, eh?”Bruno licked the hand which took hold of his muzzle, and whined softly.“See that, Miss Bellwood?”“Yes, it is his way of thanking you for what you have done.”“No, I think not. It is his way of showing you that I am not an impostor. No dog would make such friends with a rogue.”“Are we not giving him the credit of having too much sense?” said Gertrude archly.“Ah, well, perhaps so; but I thank him for giving me this interview. I thought I should like a look round the old place—that is why I came down; and—yes, I can’t be a sham—I did hope that I might catch a glimpse of you. Good-bye.”He held out his hand again.“Good-bye,” she said slowly and sadly; and she once more timidly placed her hand in his, when he raised it to his lips.The next moment he was gone, and Bruno uttered a growl, picked up the stick once more, and carried it to the house, Gertrude walking meditatively before him, and asking herself whether she had done right in talking as she had with such a comparative stranger. Her meditations were broken by the voice of Mrs Denton.“Why, Bruno, good dog, where did you get that stick? Broken too. I’ve missed that for weeks; it’s the one poor dear master used to use when he walked round the garden. Oh, dear, and broken, too. How it does seem to bring him back.”But Bruno refused to part with the broken stick, and carried it with him into the stable, where he laid it in the straw beneath his muzzle.Someone felt worse and yet better for that walk down the garden.Perhaps more than one.
“I beg your pardon. Really, Miss Bellwood, I did not expect to find you here.”
“Mr—”
“Harrington,” he said, as she paused. “You need not be afraid to call me by that name; and George. They are mine, indeed.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr Harrington.”
Bruno uttered a low, ominous growl.
“Your dog does not like me,” he said.
“You are a stranger.”
“At present; but not for long, I hope.”
“Quiet, Bruno!” she said, to hide her confusion. “He has been hurt very much. I brought him out here for a change.”
“Lucky dog,” he said; and then in dread lest it might be considered an impertinence: “How was he hurt? Run over—a kick?”
“No, poor fellow; somebody must have struck him a terrible blow on the head.”
“Indeed! That’s bad. Let me look at him. I understand a good deal about dogs.”
“You do?” cried Gertrude eagerly.
“Oh, yes. I have been in the wilds, sometimes for months, with no other companion than a dog. May I come through? There is quite a gap here.”
“A gap? Then let me bring Bruno to you,” she said hastily.
He smiled as he said to himself, “this is a strange position;” and he appreciated the maiden delicacy which prompted the words, and stood religiously on the field side of the hedge as Gertrude coaxed the dog to follow her.
Bruno rose painfully and walked to the gap, where he suddenly seemed to revive, for he growled fiercely, set up his ruff, and began to look eagerly about, snuffling loudly the while.
“Down, Bruno!” cried Gertrude excitedly. “He does not like you. He might bite.”
“He had better not,” cried the young man merrily. “Dogs must not bite friends—his mistress’ friends,” he added meaningly; and, as through the slightly broken opening in the yews he saw Gertrude shrink, he continued hurriedly: “no, it is not at me, but at something about the grass. Oh, I see, he has found a broken stick.”
For as he spoke, the dog had ferreted out of the long grass, at the foot of the hedge, a broken walking-stick—the upper part of a strong oaken cudgel, whose top was a heavy root knob, over which he growled savagely.
“Why, Bruno, what’s the matter?” cried Gertrude. “Perhaps you had better go.”
“Oh, no; I don’t like to be afraid of a dog; and, besides, I think they havenousenough to know when you mean well by them. Here, old chap, let’s look at your head.”
Bruno ceased growling, and raised his muzzle with the stick across his mouth, as the young man parted the yew bushes and knelt down.
“Yes, Bruno—good dog—friends,” said Gertrude nervously.
“He does not quite believe it yet,” said the young man. “Suppose you shake hands with me.”
She hesitated a moment as she looked in his eyes, but they were so frank and pleasant to gaze upon that she halted no longer, but placed her hand in his, and then tried to snatch it back in alarm, but it was pinioned tightly in a warm, firm pressure.
“There Bruno,” he said, “your mistress and I are friends, and she will never have one more faithful and true. Now, old fellow,” he added, loosing the hand, “let’s have that stick. Good dog. What are you growling at?”
He took the stick from the dog, threw it down, and then quietly laid his hand upon his head; then placed the other on the side, and the dog whimpered softly.
“Hurt you, old fellow? well, I’ll be more gentle, but I must examine you. Poor lad, then. Why, you have been in the wars. You ought to be dead.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Gertrude.
“I only meant the blow was bad enough to have killed him. Do you know how serious it is?”
“I know it was a dreadful cut, but it is healing now.”
“Cut? The poor dog’s skull is fractured. A regular crack. Has he seemed stupid and dull?”
Gertrude could not answer for a few moments for the sob that choked her; and, as the impromptu surgeon looked up in her eyes he saw that they were brimming over.
“Oh, if they would only weep like that for me,” he thought; and directly after, “no, I should be very sorry.”
“I—I did not know he was so bad,” she faltered.
“But it is mending all right. Yes. Hold still, old fellow; I won’t hurt you much. That’s right. Oh, yes, he’s mending capitally; but it would be better if the hair were cut away a little from the wound. Knife? No. I suppose you could fetch me a pair of scissors?”
“I have a pair,” cried Gertrude eagerly, producing a tiny embroidery pair from a case.
“Capital! but, I say, my great ugly thumb and finger would not go into those holes. Could you—? No, it would be such a nasty task.”
“I should not consider it a nasty task to do anything to help my poor dog,” she said quickly.
“Then you shall do it. There, cut boldly between my fingers. Don’t be afraid. That nasty, matted hair frets the wound. That’s right; capital! Now, there again, and there. Hurt, Bruno? Never mind, old chap; don’t flinch. That will do.”
They were busy together, kneeling on either side of the dog for quite five minutes, before they raised their eyes and looked at each other, their faces only separated by a dog’s width, and Gertrude’s eyes fell beneath the admiring glance which seemed to thrill her.
“I am very grateful to you for what you have done.”
“Don’t name it. I am very glad.”
“But will he get well?”
“Oh, yes. It will take some little time, of course, but animals have a wonderful faculty for healing up. There, old chap, your case is attended to. No fees and no bills, thank you. Do you know, I believe he understands all about it. Hardly flinched, and I know I must have hurt him a good deal.”
“He has always been so patient while I bathed his head, and bandaged the cut.”
“Yes; he knows. There, old chap, you’ll know me again, eh?”
Bruno licked the hand which took hold of his muzzle, and whined softly.
“See that, Miss Bellwood?”
“Yes, it is his way of thanking you for what you have done.”
“No, I think not. It is his way of showing you that I am not an impostor. No dog would make such friends with a rogue.”
“Are we not giving him the credit of having too much sense?” said Gertrude archly.
“Ah, well, perhaps so; but I thank him for giving me this interview. I thought I should like a look round the old place—that is why I came down; and—yes, I can’t be a sham—I did hope that I might catch a glimpse of you. Good-bye.”
He held out his hand again.
“Good-bye,” she said slowly and sadly; and she once more timidly placed her hand in his, when he raised it to his lips.
The next moment he was gone, and Bruno uttered a growl, picked up the stick once more, and carried it to the house, Gertrude walking meditatively before him, and asking herself whether she had done right in talking as she had with such a comparative stranger. Her meditations were broken by the voice of Mrs Denton.
“Why, Bruno, good dog, where did you get that stick? Broken too. I’ve missed that for weeks; it’s the one poor dear master used to use when he walked round the garden. Oh, dear, and broken, too. How it does seem to bring him back.”
But Bruno refused to part with the broken stick, and carried it with him into the stable, where he laid it in the straw beneath his muzzle.
Someone felt worse and yet better for that walk down the garden.
Perhaps more than one.