Gertrude stood trembling, with the card in her hand, the name thereon seeming to play strange tricks, and growing larger and then dying away, till it seemed to be hidden in a mist, while a chaos of thoughts ran confusedly through her brain. At one moment she looked upon the coming of this stranger with dread, for a stranger he was to her; the next her heart began to beat, and her cheeks flushed, as she recalled that he was her affianced husband, and that he had come to protect her from this man, and that henceforth she would be safe.

She was brought back to the present by the old housekeeper, who, for the second time, touched her arm.

“Miss Gertrude, ma’am, don’t you hear me?” she said. “What shall I tell him?”

“I – I – ”

“Stop!” cried Saul sharply. “You are a young unprotected girl, and as the executors are not here, Gertie, I look upon it as my duty to see after your welfare. How do we know that this is George Harrington? Let me look at that card.”

He snatched the card from the trembling girl’s fingers, and scowled as he read the inscription, though he could gather nothing from that.

“Here, I’ll go down and see what he’s like. It may be some impostor.”

He had reached the door when Gertrude flushed up, and seemed in her decisive action to have changed from girl to woman.

“Stop, Mr Harrington!” she said; “this would not be the way to welcome my poor dead guardian’s grandson, and I think it is due to me that you should refrain.”

“What!” he cried, staggered for the moment by her manner and bearing, as she crossed to a writing-table. “Nonsense, girl; you know nothing of the ways of the world. I’ll meet this man, and see what he is like.”

Gertrude took no notice, but wrote two telegrams, and handed them to the housekeeper.

“Send them at once,” she whispered, and she turned to the door, where Saul’s hand was raised to stop her, but there was a low growl from close at hand, Saul started and shrank away, leaving the door free; but before Gertrude was half way to the room, with the dog close at her heels, Saul had followed, and entered the dining-room just as the keen-looking, sun-browned, and well-dressed man, who had stood gazing at old Harrington’s portrait, turned quickly and advanced to meet the agitated girl.

“How do you do?” he said, in a sharp decisive way, as he held out both hands, Gertrude placing hers within them, to be retained, as the stranger looked at her searchingly, and evidently with satisfaction. “There you need not tell me,” he continued, “you’re Gertrude, I know. I say, quite a shock to me to come back too late. That’s the old man, I suppose?”

He nodded towards the portrait as, without moving her eyes from his, Gertrude replied:

“Yes, that is uncle’s – I mean dear guardian’s portrait.”

“Like him?”

“Oh, so very like,” replied Gertrude, “I can almost fancy sometimes he is looking down at me from the wall.”

“Ah,” exclaimed the other, giving a quick glance up at the picture and back to Gertrude, whose hands he still held, and pressed warmly. “Of course I don’t remember. Quite a little shaver when I went over yonder.”

Saul, who stood glowering at the pair, half mad with rage and disappointment, winced at these words, but setting his teeth hard, he said quietly:

“Have you just arrived?”

“Reached Liverpool last night. Came on this morning. Very rough passage. Who are you?”

“I,” said Saul, forcing a smile – “well, I am – here is my card.”

He did not finish his sentence, but drew a card from his case.

“Mr Saul Harrington,” read the stranger. “Let’s see, I think I have heard of you?”

“Well, I should presume so,” replied Saul stiffly.

“I was right up the country when grandfather’s last letter came,” said the new-comer hastily, “but I got back to ’Frisco, and then across to New York, and took boat soon as I could, and here I am. Didn’t stop about much luggage, so as to be quick. Can I stay here?”

“Stay here?” said Gertrude, withdrawing her hands. “Oh, yes, it is your own house.”

“Ah, to be sure, I suppose so,” cried the young man sharply; and as he spoke his dark eyes were running from one to the other, and then to the dog, which kept on sniffing at him uneasily. “Won’t bite, will he?”

“Oh no. Lie down, Bruno,” cried Gertrude hastily.

“Don’t know so much about that,” said Saul; “he can bite sometimes.”

“Well, he’d better keep his fangs out of me,” said the young man, with an involuntary movement of the hand beneath the back of his morning coat.

“You’ll excuse me,” interposed Saul, taking a step forward, “but you are a perfect stranger to us, sir.”

“Natural-lee,” said the young man. “Never met before, of course.”

“Then will you be good enough to give me some proofs that you are the gentleman whose card you sent up.”

“Eh? Proofs? Oh, yes. No, I won’t. Look here, sir, this is a curious welcome; pray, who are you?”

“I gave you my card, sir.”

“Yes, of course, Saul Harrington – Mr Saul Harrington. But that don’t explain – yes, it does, you’re a cousin. The old man said something about you in his last letter.”

“And in the others,” said Saul sharply.

“Of course.”

“Have you the letters?”

“I told you I had, didn’t I? Am I to show them to you?”

“Stop,” cried Gertrude quietly.

“Eh? Stop!” cried Saul fiercely. “How do we know that this is not an impostor?”

“A what,” roared the young man fiercely.

“Stop, if you please,” said Gertrude. “Mr Saul Harrington is only a visitor here, Mr George, and has no right to make such a demand of you.”

“Mind what you are saying,” cried Saul angrily.

“I am minding what I am saying, sir. You have no right to ask such questions.”

“What? Not in your behalf?”

“No, sir,” interposed their visitor sharply, as he took his cue from Gertrude; “no right at all.”

“I was not speaking to you,” said Saul roughly; and the two men stood glowering at each other, Saul having rather the best of it, till Gertrude spoke hastily, in dread of a quarrel:

“If there is any need for Mr George Harrington to prove his identity, it should be to Mr Hampton and Doctor Lawrence.”

“Who are they?” said the young man sharply.

“My dear guardians,” replied Gertrude.

“Seems rather a strange thing,” said the young man, giving Gertrude a reproachful look, and then metaphorically setting up his hackles as he turned defiantly upon Saul, “that I come back to England, at my grandfather’s invitation, to my own place, and find some one, who has no right, beginning to dictate to me as to what I am to do.”

“I don’t know about dictating,” said Saul, who grew more calm as the stranger became excited; “but you don’t suppose, sir, that I, as my uncle’s representative, am going to stand by and let a perfect stranger enter upon the place, and take possession. What proof have I that you are George Harrington?”

“Proof? Didn’t I send up my card?”

“Card!” cried Saul contemptuously.

“Oh, if that isn’t enough I can give you plenty more proofs,” cried the young man quickly.

“Stop, Mr George Harrington,” said Gertrude, warmly espousing his cause. “Mr Saul Harrington assumes too much. I am my guardian’s representative at The Mynns till his grandson comes and takes possession. I decline, then, to let you be treated in this uncalled-for way.”

“Thank you, my dear, thank you,” cried the young fellow sharply. “Now, Mr Saul Harrington, what have you got to say to that?”

“Gertrude, you’ll repent this,” cried Saul, whose jealous rage and disappointment swept away the calm manner he had assumed.

“Perhaps so. But if she does, I suppose it’s no business of yours, sir. He has no right to bully you, has he, my dear?”

Gertrude flinched a little at this over-friendly, familiar way; but she thought to herself that George Harrington had led a rough life out in the West, and it was well meant. She could not help leaning, too, towards the man who had, she felt, a right to champion her, and he had come now to protect her and defend her against one whom now she literally loathed.

She replied then eagerly:

“None whatever, Mr George. This is your home, too, and he has no right to interfere upon your taking possession.”

She held out her hand to him, and looked him frankly in the eyes, as she said quickly:

“I’m very glad you have come.”

“Thank ye, my dear, thank ye. I’m rather rough, but you must not mind that. Been hunting, and gold-digging, and living in camp. Soon rub off the corners. It’s very nice and kind of you to speak so well as you have.”

He took the hand she held out, drew it through his arm, and kept it in quiet possession, as he turned with an insolent look of triumph upon Saul.

“Now, Mr What’s-your-name, do you live here?”

“No,” said Saul sharply, and he returned the other’s defiant look, and felt hard pressed to keep back his jealous rage as he saw Gertrude rest calmly, with her hand in that of the new-comer. “No – not yet,” he added to himself.

“Well, then, my dear sir, as I do – in future – and as I have come a very long journey, and am tired and hungry, and want to talk to miss here, perhaps you’ll be good enough to take your hat and get out.”

Saul’s eyes flashed, and his cheeks became of an uglier pallor, as he listened to this speech, which bore a strong resemblance to that of one of the late Mr Chucks, the boatswain, of “Peter Simple” fame. For it was all refinement at the beginning, and wandered off into argot that was the very reverse.

“I am not accustomed to be ordered out of this house, sir,” said Saul in a low voice, full of suppressed rage; “and I refuse to go until I have seen your credentials.”

“What!”

“And I’m not going to be bullied,” said Saul. “Your cowboy manners don’t frighten me; and if it wasn’t for the lady here, whom, in spite of her preference for an utter stranger, I am bound to protect, I’d just take you and show you how to behave in an English house.”

“Would you, sir? Then look here. Out in the West, from where I came, we have no policemen and magistrates at every corner, ready to do all our dirty work. We do it ourselves, and carry with us all that is ready and necessary for the job.”

He advanced menacingly towards Saul; and as he took his first step, his hand dropped Gertrude’s, and he put it behind him.

“George Harrington! For Heaven’s sake?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he cried laughingly, taking her hand, laying it upon his arm, and stroking it gently. “I forgot. He riled me, and I felt as if I was back among the roughs out yonder. There, I don’t want to quarrel, Mr Saul Harrington. I suppose we are uncles and cousins or something of the kind. Shake hands, and let’s have a glass of something to show we are not bad friends. I suppose there is something in the house – eh, my dear?”

“Yes, but – ”

“Look here, sir,” cried Saul, ignoring the proffered hand, “I am not frightened by your Yankee, bullying ways, and I tell you what it is – ”

Saul Harrington did not tell the new-comer what it was, for the door opened, and Doctor Lawrence came in hastily.

“What’s the matter?” he cried. “Some one ill?”

“Yes, old gentleman,” said the stranger banteringly. “This chap – Mr Saul Harrington I think he calls himself – has got a fit.”

Doctor Lawrence gazed sharply at the speaker, and then placed his glasses upon his nose, as Gertrude withdrew her arm and hurriedly crossed to the doctor’s side.

“Yes, sir,” cried Saul fiercely, “a fit of indignation. I refused to – ”

“Oh, look here, let’s have an end of this. I don’t know who you are, old gentleman.”

“My name is Lawrence.”

“Well, then, Mr Lawrence – Oh, I know; you are my grandfather’s executor.”

“One of them, sir.”

“Well, I’ve come home at my grandfather’s wish, and I find he’s dead, and this man ready here to bully, and order, and insist upon my showing my papers.”

“Hum, my dear, don’t be alarmed,” said the doctor quietly; and then he turned to the last speaker. “You come as a stranger, sir, and it will be quite necessary for you to give ample proof that you are Mr George Harrington.”

“Of course, old gentleman, of course.”

“To me and my colleague, Mr Hampton; but I think Mr Saul Harrington might have waited till those who have a right to question come upon the spot. Lucky I came down.”

“You got my telegram?” said Gertrude.

“Telegram? No, my dear. I left home two hours ago. Now, Mr Saul, what have you to say?”

“Oh, I do not want to interfere,” said Saul quickly. “But there was no one here to protect Miss Bellwood.”

“Surely she needed no protection?” said the doctor, looking from one to the other.

“How do you know that, sir, when a man comes here assuming to be my cousin.”

“Assuming!” cried the new-comer very fiercely.

“Yes, assuming, sir. You refused to show any credentials.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t, and I don’t. But when a fellow begins to bully me, and to come the high-handed, I hit back. Look here, Mr Lawrence, has this Mr Saul Harrington any right to insist upon my clearing up to him?”

“None whatever, sir.”

“That’s enough. As to my refusing – not such a fool. Only we learn too much out in the West to begin opening out to every one who says, ‘I’m the proper moral custom-house officer: give up your keys.’”

“I only interfered as the executors were not present,” said Saul Harrington. “If this gentleman is what he professes to be, I shall only be too glad to give him the hand of welcome.”

“Thank ye for nothing. Now then, I’m hungry, so don’t let’s have any more jaw.”

Chapter Nine
Proofs of Identity

The new-comer was furnished with refreshment, and at the end of a couple of hours, after a long talk between Saul and Doctor Lawrence, the visitor rejoined them, just as there was a loud ring, steps, and, to Gertrude’s great delight, the lawyer entered the room.

“Who’s this?” said the young man sharply. “My fellow executor – Mr Hampton,” said the doctor. “Hampton, this is Mr George Harrington.”

“Oh, indeed,” said the old lawyer, setting down a very glossy silk hat, and depositing a new pair of black kid gloves therein. “Good-morning, my dear Miss Gertrude. Sit down, sir, pray.”

“Thank ye.”

“Mr Saul Harrington, are you going to stay to this little conference?”

“Certainly, sir. You know it concerns me very closely.”

“Ye-es,” said the lawyer, “true. Mr George Harrington?”

“Yes, sir. Mr Hampton, I am George Harrington.”

“You will excuse me, I am sure.”

“Oh, yes, old gentleman, go ahead.”

“You see Doctor Lawrence and I are the late Mr Harrington’s executors, and we have a duty to perform. In the pursuit of that duty we shall have to ask questions that may seem impertinent.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Quite right. I’ll answer, only let’s get it done. Here! I like dogs,” he said softly to Gertrude, as he patted his leg, chirruped, and Bruno wagged his tail, trotted toward him, and then turned off, and went to the other side of where Gertrude was seated. “Ha, ha, ha! Dog wants to hear first whether I am the genuine article.”

Saul watched him closely, and the doctor and lawyer exchanged glances, as if satisfied by the bluff nonchalant manner of the claimant, who raised his eyes now, and looked long and searchingly at the portrait whose eyes met his.

“Will you be good enough, sir, to tell me whose son you are?”

“Eh? George and Isabel Harrington’s.”

“And when you were born?”

“No! Hang it all, sir, that’s a poser. Can’t recollect being born.”

The lawyer raised his eyebrows.

“Somewhere about five-and-twenty years ago, I believe; but I’ve led such a rough life out there, that you mustn’t ask me any questions about dates or books.”

“Can you tell me anything about your childhood?”

“Oh, yes. Father had a ranche, and he went gold-digging, and prospecting, and we had an old nigger servant, who used to wash and cook and do everything; and a half-breed chap, half Indian, half Englishman, who used to take me out in the woods; and old Jake, that was the nigger, used to give me rides on his back.”

“But I mean about your earlier life.”

“No; can’t go back any farther than that.”

“You remember your grandfather, of course?”

“Eh? No, how should I remember a man I never saw?”

There was a pause here, and the young man looked sharply from one to the other, as the old lawyer cleared his throat.

“Will you be good enough to tell us any little act that you can recall.”

“Well, I haven’t a very good memory, gentlemen, but I’ve got a few notes and letters in my pocket-book.”

“Ha! documentary evidence,” said the lawyer, brightening up, as the young man took a well-worn letter-case from his pocket.

“Here’s the old man’s letter to me about a watch I sent him.”

Gertrude’s face, which had seemed pained and full of anxious care brightened at this, and Saul bit his lip.

“To be sure – yes,” said the lawyer, passing the letter to Doctor Lawrence, who smiled and nodded.

“Then here are a few notes I made about some remittances I sent home.”

“To be sure – yes,” said the lawyer, eagerly scanning the pencilled entries in the book. “Anything else, my dear sir?”

“There are some letters in one of the pockets, and the last one I received is there, telling me to come back, and what I was to do. But don’t read that aloud,” he said, smiling, as he fixed his eyes meaningly upon Gertrude’s, making her lower her lids and turn scarlet, while Saul, who missed nothing, ground his teeth. “Private, that letter is, gentlemen, please.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said the doctor, nodding pleasantly at Gertrude; who felt at the moment as if she would have given anything to have had with her an elderly woman friend.

“All very satisfactory, Mr George Harrington,” said the old lawyer gravely; “but, unpleasant as it may seem, we must go a little further, please.”

“Come,” said the young man, smiling, “you acknowledge me as George Harrington, then?”

“A lapsus lingua– a mere slip of the tongue. Now, sir, can you give us any other proof. Have you brought any letters of introduction from well-known people in the States?”

“I have brought you a letter of introduction from my grandfather, gentlemen – several.”

“Yes, yes. Quite right. But any others?”

“Good Heavens, gentlemen, I have been for months hunting in the wildest parts of the North West, fighting bears; always on the watch to save myself from Indians; and when at last I got your letter at Laramie City, I came home. Letters from people in the States! Why, I never thought of such a thing.”

“No, he would not,” said the doctor quietly.

“By the way, gentlemen, as I am to come into some property now, I ought to make a will.”

“A most wise proceeding, sir,” assented the old lawyer.

“Then will you two gentlemen agree to be my executors?”

“Really, sir, I – ”

“Because no man could have a more careful pair.”

“You are complimentary, sir. Doctor Lawrence and I are only doing our duty.”

“Of course, of course. Well, gentlemen, I’ve shown you my grandfather’s letters, etcetera, and I am George Harrington. That’s all I have got to say.”

“But – you’ll excuse me. We are rather awkwardly placed. We ought to have some other proof of your identity. My dear Miss Gertrude, have we any of Mr George Harrington’s letters?”

“I think there are some among my guardian’s papers.”

“Stop a moment – I forgot. Here’s my watch, with my initials engraved upon the case, and to be sure – why, what a dunderhead I am!”

Saul, who had been undergoing a torture of change – doubt and hope – watched the young man’s actions as he passed his hands behind his neck, and for a few moments seemed to be trying to unfasten something.

“That’s it,” he said, as he undid the clasp of a thin gold chain, and drew out chain and locket, both gold, and pressing a spring at either end, the locket flew open back and front, to display two daguerreotype heads. “Know them Mr – Mr – ”

“Hampton,” said the old lawyer, taking the locket, and examining it carefully, and looking long at the two faces before handing them to Doctor Lawrence. “What do you say to those?”

The Doctor examined the locket as carefully as his colleague, while Saul looked on with an intense interest as he waited for the next remark, and the claimant of the estate chirruped carelessly to the dog.

“As far as I can recollect them,” said Doctor Lawrence, at length, “I should say these are the miniatures of Mr and Mrs George Harrington, but I only saw them once.”

“Well,” said the young man, smiling, as he held out his hand for the locket, “satisfactory?”

“Quite, sir,” said the old lawyer, handing back the locket.

“Looks girlish,” said its recipient, “but I always wear it round my neck. Shouldn’t like to lose that. Now, gentlemen, any more questions to ask?”

“One more, sir,” said the old lawyer. “My dear Gertrude Bellwood, may I ask you to leave us for a few minutes. You may have some orders to give.”

Gertrude started to her feet, and was making for the door, when Saul rose to open it, but his rival was quicker, darting before him, and smiling at the girl as she passed out, more agitated and excited than she had ever felt before.

“Now, gentlemen, what’s the next piece of cross-examination which this culprit is to bear?”

“I have – we have – but one more question to ask, sir,” said the old lawyer. “It is in our instructions, drawn out by my old and esteemed client, a year before his death. If you can answer that to our satisfaction, I for one shall be perfectly satisfied.”

“And I,” said the doctor; then to himself, “as far as your being the right man is concerned.”

“Very good, gentlemen,” was the smiling reply; “let’s see if I can oblige you.”

The words were light, but there was a peculiar intensity in the speaker’s eyes, and a slight twitching about the corners of his lips, which a close observer would have detected.

“Have you not some birth-mark about you?” said Doctor Lawrence.

“No, sir, as far as I am aware – none.”

“No peculiar marks about your person?”

“I have the scar of a bullet-wound in the shoulder – the entrance and exit. I believe it went through my scalp.”

“Scapular,” said the doctor, smiling.

“Yes – the blade-bone.”

“Anything else?”

“An ugly seam or ridge on the skull where I had a chop from an Indian axe; and a knot here in my right arm, where it was broken and mended again.”

“Is that all, sir?”

“No; one other mark – a trifle done some time or another – here on my breast. Like to see it, gentlemen?”

“Ha!” ejaculated the old lawyer. “If you are Mr George Harrington, sir, you have the figure of a heart tattooed upon your breast – a heart transfixed by an arrow.”

“That anything like it, gentlemen?” said the young man, unbuttoning his vest, and throwing open the flannel shirt he wore, to show, plainly marked upon his white skin, the figure described.

“Like it, sir? – yes,” said the old lawyer. “Mr George Harrington, welcome home, sir, and I hope we may be the best of friends.”

“And I add my congratulations, and the same wish, Mr George Harrington,” said the doctor, shaking one hand as his colleague shook the other; “but,” he added to himself, “as to the friendship, I have my doubts.”

“And now it is my turn, Cousin George,” said Saul Harrington, advancing with extended hand. “I apologise for playing the British bulldog to you, but you were a stranger, and you will be the last to blame me for showing a bold front in defence of your patrimony.”

“To be sure, Cousin Saul. How are you, old fellow? Stop and let’s all dine together. No more business to-day, I hope. Let’s have a glass of wine – champagne – and, Cousin Saul, suppose you and I have a good long talk over a cigar.”

“We will,” said Saul, as they stood hand in hand, eye gazing into eye, and, singularly enough, with similar thoughts agitating each breast.

For the successor to the estate left by the original of the picture on the wall said to himself:

“If we were out in some parts of the West, Saul Harrington, any office would find it a bad spec to insure your life.”

And Saul thought:

“If this man had not come back, I was master here – of the house, of the money, and of – ”

He stopped and gazed hard across the room, for at that moment, looking flushed and handsome, Gertrude stood hesitating at the doorway, as if asking if she might come in.

“Yes,” said Saul to himself, and as if in conclusion of his unfinished thought, “and of you, too.”