“Yes, I told him, and he would have confessed; but he did not dare. My boy, when you spoke to me that night in your room – when for the first time for years I kissed you, I felt that I must tell you all.”
“It’s monstrous!” cried Richard, and his face looked ten years older. “But, no; I won’t believe it – it can’t be true.”
“Not true!” exclaimed Mrs Lloyd, with her sallow cheeks flushing. “Ask your father. Is it so hard,” she added, bitterly, “to find that you have a father and mother alive instead of in the grave?”
“It is impossible!” cried Richard.
“Hush, hold your tongue!” she said, angrily. “You know the secret now – keep it. What is it to a soul? I never had the heart to send Humphrey away, but treated him well. Send him away now – give him money to go away. He’ll soon forget Polly. You must many her; and Richard – say a kind word to me,” she whispered, softening, “kiss me once – once only, my boy – your mother – before she goes back to be your servant, and to hold her peace for ever.”
She crept closer to him, as he stood staring straight away, her thin hands rested on his shoulders, and she gazed up into his eyes, with her face working and growing strangely young, even as his tinned old.
“Dick, my darling, handsome son, kiss me – once only. And you’ll marry her, won’t you, and make her happy? One kiss, my own boy.”
She uttered a hoarse cry, for he looked down at her with a look of loathing, and thrust her away.
“Mother? No!” he cried. “I can’t call you that. Woman, you thought to bless me, and what you have done comes upon me like a curse. Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. Take away your hands. I cannot bear it.”
She clung to him; but he tore her hands away, and pushed her from him.
“Dick,” she cried, throwing herself on her knees to him, and embracing his knees. “Your mother. One loving word.”
“I can’t,” he gasped – “I can’t. It is too much. An impostor – a pretender; and now to be an outcast! My God! what have I done that I should suffer this? Oh, Tiny! My love – my love!”
Those last words seemed torn from his breast in a low, hoarse whisper, as, breaking from the prostrate woman, he rushed away, right into the woods – the undergrowth bending and snapping as he passed on; till, with a groan of despair, he threw himself upon the earth, and lay there, in the deep shade, with his face buried in his hands.
With the Owner
How long Richard lay there he did not know. To him, it seemed like a year of torment, during which, in a wildly fevered state, he went over, again and again, the narrative he had heard; tried to find a flaw in it, but in vain. It was too true – too circumstantial; and at last, in a dazed, heavy way, he raised his haggard face, with his hair roughened, and wrinkled brow, to see Humphrey sitting upon a fallen tree by his side.
“Ah, Humphrey,” he said, in a calm, sad voice. “How long have you been there?”
“Ever since, sir,” said the young man. “I followed you.”
“Then you heard?”
“Every word, sir. I couldn’t help it, though. I didn’t want to listen.”
Richard bowed his head, and remained with his chin upon his breast.
“I had left Polly, sir – God bless her! she’d made me very happy with what she said – and I was taking a short cut back to try and catch you, sir, when I came upon you sudden like.”
“Yes,” said Richard, looking him full in the face. “But it was no fault of mine. I thought I was too happy for it to last. But I’ll be a man over it. Humphrey,” he exclaimed, rousing himself, “they educated me to be a gentleman, and I won’t belie them there. Once for all, I am very sorry, and I’ll make you every restitution in my power.”
“Well, sir, I did wonder why she was always so hard to me: but I don’t understand you, sir,” said Humphrey, quietly.
“Don’t sir me, man,” exclaimed Richard, passionately.
“Don’t be cross with me about it, Master Dick,” said Humphrey, smiling; “’taint my fault.”
“No, no, my good fellow, I know. Oh, it was monstrous!”
He turned away his head.
“Do you think it’s all true, Master Richard,” said Humphrey, quietly; “it seems so wild-like.”
“True enough. Oh yes, it’s true. But there, we won’t talk.”
“But I think we’d better, sir.”
“Haven’t I told you that I’ll make you restitution, man – give up all?”
“Master Richard,” said Humphrey, with a happy smile on his face, “you’ve give up to me my little love, and made me feel as if there was nothing else in the world I’d care to have. Look ye here, sir, it’s stunned me like; it’s hard, you know, to understand. I’m only a poor fellow like, come what may; and if I had the place – oh, you know, it just sounds like so much nonsense! – what could me and Polly do with it, when we could be happier at the lodge? It makes me laugh – it do indeed, sir. You, you see, have been made a scholar, and have your big friends – been made a gentleman, in fact – and nothing would ever make one of me. Let’s go on, then, as we are, sir. I’m willing. Only sometimes Polly, maybe, ’ll want a new dress, or a ribbon, or something of that kind; and then, if I ask you, you’ll give me half a sovereign, or may be a sovereign, eh?”
“Half a sovereign – a sovereign! Why, man, can you not realise that you have from now eight thousand a year?”
“No, sir, that I can’t,” said Humphrey, smiling pleasantly. “I never was good at figures. Dogs, you know, or horses, or anything in the farming line, I’m pretty tidy at; but figures bothers me. Let things stop as they are, sir; I won’t say a word, even to Polly.”
“Humphrey,” said Richard, holding out his hand, “you always were a good, true, simple-hearted fellow.”
“I hope so, sir,” said Humphrey, giving his horny palm a rub down his cord breeches before taking the extended hand, “and that’s what makes it right that we should go on as we are. Nature knew it, sir, and that’s how it was the change came about – you being the clever one, and best suited for the estate. I’m glad of one thing, though.”
“What’s that?” said Richard, wringing the extended hand.
“Why, I know now, sir, why Mrs Lloyd was always so down on me – she always was down on me, awful – regular hated me, like. Ah, the times I’ve cried over it as a boy! Nobody ever seemed to love me like till now, sir – till now.”
Humphrey beamed as he slapped his broad chest; and his simple words seemed to corroborate those of Mrs Lloyd, till the last ray of hope was crushed from Richard’s breast.
“No, Humphrey,” he said, gravely, though every word cost him a pang, “I cannot stay here as an impostor. The place is yours, I give up all.”
“That you just won’t, sir,” said Humphrey. “Why, I should be a brute beast if I let you. Come, come, let it go for a day or two, and think it over. It won’t trouble me. I don’t want it. I’m only glad of one thing – I’ve got somebody on the hip, and she won’t say no now.”
“I want no thinking, Humphrey; and we can still be friends. Come up to the house.”
“And what would Miss Tiny say?”
If Humphrey had stabbed him with the iron-pointed staff he carried, he could not have given him greater pain; and his eyes wore a strange piteous aspect as they gazed upon the young keeper’s face,
“You’ve got her to think about too, sir,” said Humphrey, “same as I have. Oh no, Master Richard, it wouldn’t never, never do.”
“Come up to the house, Humphrey – come up to the house.”
And then, without another word, but closely followed by his late servant, Richard strode hastily through the wood, whose briars and twigs in the unaccustomed path seemed now to take the part of fate, and lashed and tore him in his reckless passage, till his face was smeared with the blood which he had wiped hastily away.
“Has Mrs Lloyd come back from her walk?” said Richard to the staring footman.
“Yes, sir, two hours ago,” said the man.
“Go into the study, Humphrey Trevor,” said Richard, quietly; and then to himself, “Poor woman! and it was done for me.”
In Transition
It was a hard fight, and the temptation was strong upon him to hide the truth. Humphrey would be content – he did not want to take his place; and he sat opposite to him now in the study, upon the very edge of the chair. Oh, it was ridiculous that he should have to give the place up to such a man – one whom he had to order before he could get him to sit down in his presence. And even when he felt that his mind was made up, and he was stoically determined to do that which was right, the rightful heir would keep upsetting his plans.
“You see, it would be so foolish, Master Dick.”
“I can’t help that, Humphrey. You must have your rights. I will not be a party to the imposture.”
“Hadn’t you better see a lawyer about it all?”
To be sure. There was Pratt – a barrister – he might give good advice.
Richard rang the bell and a servant came. “Ask Mr Pratt to be kind enough to step here.”
“If you please, sir, Mr Pratt’s gone, sir. I put his letter on your table. Yes, there it is, sir.”
Richard started.
“The rats desert the sinking ship,” he muttered; and then blushed for his doubt of his friend.
“When did he go?”
“Hour ago, sir. Telegraph come from Saint Kitt’s, sir; and he wrote that letter, sir, for you, while they got the dogcart ready to take him to the station.”
“That will do.”
He tore open the letter, which enclosed the telegram from a friend in chambers —
“Come directly. A good brief for you. Don’t lose the chance.”
The hastily-scrawled letter was as follows: —
“Dear Dick, – Don’t blame me for going. I must take work when it comes; and honestly, for reasons I can’t explain, I am glad to go. – Yours, F.P.”
“Must be genuine,” thought Richard. “Well, it has happened at a good time. I’m glad he has gone.”
Then a thought struck him.
He and Humphrey might divide the estate. But, no, he drove it away; he would be honest.
“Shall I go over to Saint Kitt’s and fetch Mr Lawyer Dancer, sir?” said Humphrey.
“Say no more about it, for Heaven’s sake!” exclaimed Richard. “I want no advice – I want nothing – only this, Humphrey, that you will forgive those old people – my – my parents. Let them have money to the end of their days, even if it is not deserved.”
“Oh, but Master Richard.”
“And promise me that you will not allow any prosecution and punishment to be held over their heads.”
“Is it likely, Master Richard?” said Humphrey, laughing.
“Now let me have a few hours to myself, to collect my thoughts, and write a few letters.”
Humphrey leaped from his chair.
“’Bout draining the little meadow, sir?” he said. “Shall I set the men on? The tiles is come.”
Richard’s face contracted with pain, and then a bitter smile crossed it.
“My dear Humphrey,” he said, taking his hand, “can you not realise your position? You are master here.”
“No, sir,” cried Humphrey, flinging down his hat, and then picking it up – “I’ll be blessed if I can. This has put my head all in a buzz, like bees swarming, and I can’t understand it a bit.”
He left the room, and Richard gave a sigh of relief, seating himself at his table, and taking up a pen to write; but only to rest his head upon his hand, and stare before him, dazed – crushed.
“Please, sir, Mrs Lloyd says can you make it convenient to see her?” said the footman; and then he started back, astounded at his master’s anger.
“No,” roared Richard, “I will see no one. Let me be left alone.”
Then he hastily wrote a letter to Pratt, and fastened it down before dropping it in the letter-bag, and threw it into the hall.
He had hardly finished before, knocking first softly, Lloyd opened the door, to stand trembling before him.
Richard pointed to the door.
“Go,” he said, hoarsely. “I can’t talk to you now. Another time – in a week – in a month – wait until then.”
“But – ”
“Go – for Heaven’s sake, go!” cried Richard, frantically.
He was left alone.
Next came a note in pencil from Mrs Lloyd.
“My dearest Boy – Forgive me; it was for your sake I did all this. Pray be careful, for I fear Humphrey has some suspicion. Do see me, and give me your advice.
“M.J.L.”
“Poor woman!” he muttered, tearing the note bit by bit into tiny fragments. “Her plan is destroyed, save that this niece – my fair cousin, Polly – will sit in the seat she intended, without poor Humphrey is spoiled by prosperity. Poor fellow! It will be a hard trial for him.
“Be careful?” he said, laughing in a strange, harsh fashion. “Does she think I am going to remain her accomplice in this horrible fraud?”
He sat down, then, to think; but his brain was in a whirl, and he gave up in despair.
At last he woke up to the fact that it was growing late, and he remembered that he was to have accompanied the Reas on an expedition that afternoon, and now it was past six. They must have been and returned.
What would poor Tiny think?
A cold, chilling feeling of despair came over him now. What would she think? Yes, how would she take it? All must be over between them now – at least, for some years to come.
A servant announced dinner, and he bade him send it back. Locking the door after him, he sat down in an easy-chair, conscious that several times there had been knocks at the door, but paying no heed whatever.
Night fell, and he had not moved; and then, in a strange, fitful, dreamy fashion, the night passed away.
He must have dozed at times, he knew; for his thoughts had wandered off into dreams, and the dreams had trailed off in turn into thoughts; and now it was morning, for the grey light was streaming through the antique casement, and a feint glow overhead told of the rising sun.
He threw open the windows, and the cool morning breeze, fresh from the Atlantic, seemed to calm and refresh him. His thoughts grew more collected; and at last he left the window, and went out into the hall, to seek his bedroom.
A bitter smile crossed his lip as he noticed the luxurious air of wealth about him, and then a sigh drew his attention to the fact that the cause of all his agony had been watching at his door the night through, and was now on her knees stretching out her hands as if in supplication for pardon.
“Oh, my boy – my boy, what are you going to do,” she groaned.
“Do?” he said, bitterly, as she crept to his feet. “Act like the gentleman you wanted me to be.”
“What do you mean, Richard – my son? There, I give up about Polly. I’ll never say another word. You shall do as you like.”
“I need not ask you if what you told me yesterday was true,” he said, calmly. “Well, we must make amends.”
“How? What do you mean?” she said, starting up.
“Mean? Why, by giving up everything to the rightful owner, and leaving him possession at once.”
“Richard,” she cried, passionately, catching him by the arm, “you would not be so mad.”
“I shall be so honest,” he said.
“What, give up – give up everything to Humphrey?”
“Everything,” he said, coldly, “and at once.”
“You’re mad – mad!” gasped Mrs Lloyd. “And after all I have done for you – to make you a gentleman.”
“These are its effects,” he said, bitterly. “You made me a gentleman – I wish to act as one.”
“But, Richard – think – your father – your old mother – we shall be turned out in disgrace – to starve,” she cried, piteously.
“Mother, I cannot help the disgrace,” he said, coldly. “I would save you if I could, but the disgrace would be greater to keep up this horrible imposture.”
“Hush!” she whispered, “the servants will soon be down – they may hear us. Oh, you cannot mean, Richard, what you say.”
“I told Humphrey yesterday,” continued Richard, “that I begged he would care for you; but that is only for the present. As soon as I can find means to earn my bread, I will keep you both myself; so that you shall be spared the disgrace of taking alms from the man you wronged.”
“Fool – idiot – mad boy!” hissed Mrs Lloyd, seizing his arm angrily, and shaking it. “You shall not act like this. I’ve been nearly thirty years building this up, and do you think I will have it crushed down like that? Say a word if you dare!”
“If I dare!” exclaimed Richard. “Do you know that Humphrey does more than suspect, that he knows all – heard all from your own lips in the lane yesterday?”
Mrs Lloyd’s jaw dropped.
“The true-hearted, honest fellow refused to take advantage of his position.”
“Of course, yes,” cried Mrs Lloyd. “We’ll pay him out, and let him go. Yes, he shall have Polly,” she added, with a look of pleasure on her troubled face.
“Enough of this,” said Richard, firmly. “Loose my arm. Some day I may be able to talk to you again. Now, go to your room, and make arrangements either for leaving, or make your peace with your new lord. He loves little Polly, and that will act as a shield for you.”
“I say you shall not give in,” cried Mrs Lloyd, in a hoarse, angry voice.
But he dragged his arm free, and dashed up the stairs.
End of Volume Two
Mistaken Zeal
In the course of the morning Richard grew calmer. He had a long interview with Humphrey, giving him plenty of advice as to his future proceedings; and then sending for Mr Mervyn, whom Humphrey happened to mention as a gentleman in whom he had great confidence.
But the messenger was not needed, for Mr Mervyn was coming up the drive, and he was sent on another errand, with a couple of notes to Penreife – one to Sir Hampton, the other to Tiny.
“I was on my way here, Mr Trevor,” he began.
“My name is Richard Lloyd, Mr Mervyn,” said Richard, quietly.
“Yes – yes,” said Mr Mervyn, “I have heard. It is all over the place.”
“So soon?” said Richard, bitterly.
“Yes; and directly I heard,” said Mervyn, “I came up. But, my dear sir, it’s like a romance; it can’t be true.”
“It’s true enough,” said Richard, coldly.
“But under the circumstances, Mr Trev – Lloyd,” said Mervyn, “Mr Humphrey here won’t press – ”
“That’s what I want Master Richard here to understand,” said Humphrey. “As I says to him yesterday, sir, what’s the good of it to me?”
“Exactly,” said Mervyn, “right is right; but as Mr Trev – Lloyd is innocent in the matter, and has made engagements and the rest of it, why not come to some arrangement satisfactory to both?”
“Mr Mervyn, you are sent for here as the friend of Mr Humphrey Trevor.”
“Exactly, Mr Tre – Lloyd. I beg your pardon, but my tongue is not so quick of apprehension as my brain.”
“I want you to advise and help him in his novel position.”
“I will,” said Mervyn, frankly; “but I should like to advise and help you too. You see, Mr Tre – there – Mr Richard, you have possession.”
“I give it up,” said Richard.
“But you might hold it, and give friend Humphrey here a great deal of trouble.”
“Mr Mervyn, I claim to be still a gentleman, whatever my birth,” said Richard, haughtily. “Will you act as Humphrey’s friend?”
“I will.”
“Then understand this, sir. I have had a hard fight, and I have come through the temptation, I hope, like a man. I now resign everything to Mr Humphrey Trevor here. I ask his pardon for usurping his rights, and I beg his forbearance towards my poor father and mother. I will not make this cruel injury to him worse by any opposition.”
Humphrey shuffled in his seat, and tried to speak, but he only wiped his damp face, and looked helplessly at the man he was bound to oust.
“You see, Mr Mervyn,” continued Richard, “Mr Trevor’s will be a peculiar position.”
“Yes,” said Mervyn; “but had you not better get some legal advice?”
“What for?” said Richard. “Can anything be plainer? As I said, Mr Trevor’s will be a peculiar position. He will be the mark of the designing, and he will need a staunch friend at his side. Will you be that friend?”
“I will,” said Mervyn, wringing his hand. “Yours too, my dear fellow, if you’ll let me. But,” he added, in a whisper, “Miss Rea?”
A spasm of pain shot across Richard’s face, and he was about to speak when Humphrey turned to him.
“Master Richard,” he said, in a husky voice, “we was boys together, and played together almost like brothers. This here comes to me stunning, like. You say it’s mine. Well, it aint my fault. I don’t want it. Keep it all, if you like; if not, let’s share and share alike.”
The last words fell on empty air, for Richard had waved his hand to both, and hurried out of the room.
That evening, with beating heart, he walked towards Tolcarne gates. He had been busy amongst his papers, tearing up and making ready for that which he had to do on the morrow; and now, more agitated than he would own, he sought the lane where so many happy hours had been spent to see if Tiny Rea would grant him the interview he had written to ask for, that he might say good-bye.
It was a soft, balmy night, and the stars seemed to look sadly down through the trees as he leaned against a mass of lichen-covered granite, pink here and there with the pretty stonecrop of the place, waiting, for she was behind time.
“Will she come,” he said, “now that I am a beggar without a shilling, save that which I could earn? Oh, shame! shame! shame! How could I doubt her?”
No, he would not doubt her; she could not have cared about his money. She was too sweet and loving and gentle. And what should he say – wait? No, he dared not. He could only – only – leave her free, that she might —
“Oh, my darling!” he groaned; and he laid his broad forehead upon the hard, rugged stone, weeping now like a child.
The clouds came across the sky, blotting out one by one the glistening stars; a chilly mist swept along the valley from the sea, and all around was dark and cold as the future of his blasted life. For the minutes glided into hours, and she came not – came not to say one gentle, loving word – one God-speed to send him on his way; and at last, heart-broken, he staggered to the great floral gate, held the chilly rails, kissed the iron, and gazed with passionate longing up at the now darkened house, and then walked slowly away, stunned by the violence of his grief.
The wind was rising fast, and coming in heavy soughs from off the sea. As he reached the lodge gates at Penreife he paused, staring before him in a helpless way, till a heavy squall smote him, and with it a sharp shower of rain, whose drops seemed to cool his forehead and rouse him to action.
Starting off, with great strides, he took the short cut, and made for the sea, where the fields ended suddenly, their short, thyme-scented grass seeming to have been cut where there was a fall of full four hundred feet, down past a rugged, piled-up wall of granite, to the white-veined rock, polished by the restless sea below. To any one unaccustomed to the coast a walk there on a dark night meant death, either by mutilation on the cruel rocks, always seeming to be studded with great gouts of crimson blood, where the sea anemones clung in hundreds, or else by drowning in the deep, clear water, when the tide was up, and the waves played amidst the long, chocolate strands of fucus and bladder-wrack, waving to and fro.
It was going to be a wild night, but it seemed in keeping with the chaos of his mind. Far out on the sea, softly rising to and fro in the thick darkness, were the lights of the fishing-boats, as a score or so lay drifting with their herring-nets; and in his heart there was not a rough fisher there whose lot he did not envy.
“And she could not come!” he groaned, as he stood there, with bare head. “Oh, my love – my love! To go without one gentle word, far, far away, and but yesterday so happy!”
The wind increased in force, and, with the gathering strength of the tide, the waves came rushing in, to beat in thunder against the rocks far beneath his feet; and then, with a rush, the fine salt spray was whirled up, and swept in his face, as he gazed straight out to sea.
At another time he might have shuddered, standing thus upon the edge of that great cliff, with – just dimly seen in its more intense blackness – the rugged headland that stretched like a buttress into the sea upon his left. But now the horrors of the place seemed welcome, and he felt, as a smile came on his dripping features, that it would be pleasant to leap from where he stood right off at once into oblivion.
It seemed so easy, such a quiet way of getting rest from the turmoil and trouble of the future, that the feeling seemed to grow upon him.
“No,” he said at last; “that would be a coward’s end. I’ve done one brave thing to-day; and now, old friend, you shall have me again to toss upon your waves, but it shall be as your master, not as a slave.”
As he spoke he raised his hands and stretched them out, when he heard a hoarse cry behind him, and as he sharply turned and stepped back, something seemed to come out of the darkness, seize him by the throat, and the next moment he was over the cliff, suspended above eternity.
Then there was an awful silence, only broken by the roar, thud, and hiss of the waves below, as they rushed in, broke upon the rocks, and then fled back in foamy spray.
Richard’s fingers were dug into the short, velvet turf, and he hung there, with his legs rigid, afraid to move, and wondering whether those were friendly or inimical hands that clutched his throat. It seemed an age of horror before the silence was broken, and then came a panting voice, which he knew as Humphrey’s, to sob, as it were, in his ear —
“Master Dick, don’t be scar’d. I’ve got you tight, but I can’t move. Get your nerve, and then shift your hands one at a time to me.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Richard did so, with the damp gathering on his brow the while.
“That’s brave, sir. Now get your toes in the cracks of the granite somewhere – gently, don’t hurry – I won’t let go, though I can’t move.”
Richard obeyed, drew himself up an inch, then another, and another, felt that he was saved – then made a slip, and all seemed over, but Humphrey held to him with all his strength, and once more Richard tried, tearing hands and knees with the exertion, till he got his chest above the cliff edge, then was halfway up, and crawled safely on, to fall over panting on his side.
“Quick, Master Richard, your hand!” shouted Humphrey.
And the saved had to turn saver, for the keeper had been drawn closer and closer to the edge by Richard’s efforts, and but for a sudden snatch, and the exercise of all his strength, the new owner of Penreife would have glided off the slippery grass into the darkness beneath.
“Safe,” muttered Humphrey, rising. “Give me your hand, Master Richard. I thought, when I followed you, you meant to leap off.”
“No, Humphrey,” said Richard, sadly, “I will not throw my worthless life away. It is such glimpses of death as that we have just seen that teach the value of life. Goodnight; don’t speak to me again.”
Humphrey obeyed, and followed him in silence to the house.
The next morning, as soon as the letters had been brought in, Richard took his – a single one – and, without a word to a soul, carried a small portmanteau to the stable-yard, waited while the horse was put to, and then had himself driven off.
As he passed the lodge a note was put into his hand by a boy. An hour later he was in the train, and the destination of that train was the big metropolis, where most men come who mean to begin afresh.