The Cloven Foot - Mary Elizabeth Braddon - E-Book

The Cloven Foot E-Book

Mary Elizabeth Braddon

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  • Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
  • Kategorie: Krimi
  • Sprache: Englisch
  • Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
Beschreibung

The novel has two stories that at first glance seem unconnected, but most readers will be able to find out the connection. The first is about the situation of artificial inheritance. John Treverton must marry Laura Malcolm within a year or lose his inheritance. In another story, French ballerina Zaire Chico lives an absent-minded life in Parisian and London theaters. In the end, the mystery of the murder happens, and the rest of the plot focuses on that.

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Contents

The Heir Presumptive.

Jasper Treverton’€™s Will.

A Mysterious Visitor.

La Chicot.

A Disappointed Lover.

La Chicot has her Own Way.

’€˜A Little While Such Lips as Thine to Kiss.’€™

’€˜Days that are Over, Dreams that are Done.’€™

’€˜And Art Thou Come! And Art Thou True!’€™

Engaged.

No Trousseau.

An Ill-omened Wedding.

The Settlement.

’€˜You have but to Say the Word.’€™

Edward Clare Discovers A Likeness.

Shall it Be ’€˜Yes’€™ or ’€˜NO’€™?

Murder.

What the Diamonds Were worth.

’€˜To A Deep Lawny Dell they Came.’€™

The Church near Camelot.

Halcyon Days.

A Village Iago.

’€˜In the Meanwhile the Skies ’€˜Gan Rumble Sore.’€™

’€˜And Purple Light Shone over All.’€™

The Children’€™s Party.

A Disinterested Parent.

Desrolles is Not Communicative.

Edward Clare Goes on A Voyage of Discovery.

George Gerard.

Thou Art the Man.

Why Don’€™t you Trust me?

On his Defence.

At the Morgue.

George Gerard in Danger.

On A Voyage of Discovery.

Kergariou’€™s Wife.

The Tenant from Beechampton.

Celia’€™s Lovers.

On Suspicion.

Mr. Leopold Asks Irrelevant Questions.

Mrs. Evitt Makes A Revelation.

The Undertaker’€™s Evidence.

An Old Lady’€™s Diary.

Three Witnesses.

The Hunt for Desrolles.

Epilogue.

Chapter 1. The Heir Presumptive.

THE air was thick with falling snow, and the country side looked a formless mass of chilly whiteness, as the south-western mail train carried John Treverton on a lonely midnight journey. There were not many people in the train on that bleak night, and Mr. Treverton had a second-class compartment to himself.

He had tried to sleep, but had failed ignominiously in the endeavour, waking with a start, after five minutes’ doze, and remaining broad awake for an hour at a time pondering upon the perplexities of his life, and hating himself for the follies that had made it what it was. It had been a very hard life of late, for the world had gone ill with John Treverton. He had begun his career with a small fortune and a commission in a crack regiment, and, after wasting his patrimony and selling his commission, he was now a gentleman at large, living as best he might, no one but himself knew how.

He was going to a quiet village in Devonshire, a far away nook under the shadow of Dartmoor, in obedience to a telegram that told him a rich kinsman was dying, and summoned him to the death bed. The day had been when he hoped to inherit this kinsman’s property; not because the old man had ever cared for him, but because he, John, was the only relative Jasper Treverton had in the world; but that hope had vanished when the lonely old bachelor adopted an orphan girl to whom he was reported to have attached himself strongly. The ci-devant Captain had never seen this young person, and it is not to be supposed that he cherished very kindly feelings towards her. He had made up his mind that she was a deep and designing creature, who would, of course, play her cards in such a manner as to induce old Jasper Treverton to leave her everything.

“He never bore me or mine much goodwill,’ John Treverton said to himself, “but he might have left his money to me for want of any one else to leave it to, if it hadn’t been for this girl.’

During almost the whole of that dreary night journey he was meditating on this subject, half inclined to be angry with himself for having taken such useless trouble for the sake of a man who was not likely to leave him sixpence.

He was not an utterly bad fellow, this John Treverton, though his better and purer feelings had been a good deal blunted by rough contact with the world. He had a frank winning manner, and a handsome face, a face which had won him the love of more than one woman, with little profit to himself. He was a man of no strong principle, and with a self-indulgent nature, that had led him into wrong-doing very often during the last ten years of his life. He had an easy temper, a habit of looking at the pleasanter side of things, so long as there was any pleasantness in them, and a chronic avoidance of all serious thought, qualities which do not serve to make up a strong character. But the charm of his manner was none the less because of this latent weakness of character, and he was better liked than many better men.

The train stopped at a little rustic station, forty miles westward of Exeter, about an hour after midnight, a dreary building with an open platform, across which the wind blew and the snow drifted as John Treverton alighted, the one solitary passenger to be deposited at this out of the way place. He knew that the house to which he had to go was some miles from the station, and he applied himself at once to the sleepy stationmaster to ascertain if there were any possibility of procuring a conveyance at that time of night.

“There’s a gig waiting for a gentleman from London,’ the man answered, stifling a yawn, “I suppose you are the party, sir.’

“A gig from Treverton Manor?’

“Yes, sir.’

“Thanks, yes, I am the person that is expected. Civil, at any rate,’ John Treverton added to himself, as he walked off to the gig, wrapped to the eyes in his great coat, and with a railway rug across his shoulder.

He found a gig, with a rough looking individual of the gardener species waiting for him in the snow.

“Here I am, my man,’ he cried cheerily, “have you been waiting long?’

“No, sir. Miss Malcolm said as how you’d come by this train.’

“Miss Malcolm sent you for me then?’

“Yes, sir.’

“And how is Mr. Treverton, to-night?’

“Mortal bad, sir. The doctors say as th’ old gentleman hasn’t many hours to live. And Miss Malcolm, she says to me, “Jacob, you’re to drive home as fast as th’ horse can go, for papa is very anxious to see Mr. John before he dies.” She allus calls the old gentleman papa, you see, sir, he having adopted of her ten years ago, and brought her up as his own daughter like, ever since.’

They had jolted over the uneven stones of a narrow street, the high street of a small settlement which evidently called itself a town, for here, at a point where two narrow lanes branched off from the central thoroughfare, there stood a dilapidated old building of the town hall species, and a vaulted market-place with iron railings, and closely-locked gates shutting in emptiness. John Treverton perceived dimly through the winter darkness an old stone church, and at least three Methodist chapels. Then, all in a moment, the town was gone, and the gig was rattling along a Devonshire lane, between high banks and still higher hedges, above which rose a world of hill and moor, that melted far off into the midnight sky.

“And your master is very fond of this young lady, Miss Malcolm?’ John Treverton inquired presently, when the horse, after rattling along for a mile and a half at a tremendous pace, was slowly climbing a hill which seemed to lead nowhere in particular, for one could hardly imagine any definite end or aim in a lane that went undulating like a snake amidst a chaos of hills.

“Oncommon, sir. You see, she’s about the only thing he has ever cared for.’

“Is she as much liked by other people?’

“Well, yes, sir, in a general way Miss Malcolm is pretty well liked, but there is some as think her proud–think her a little set up as you may say, by Mr. Treverton’s making so much of her. She’s not one to make friends very easy; the young ladies in the village, Squire Carew’s daughters, and such like, haven’t taken to her as much as they might have done. I’ve heard my wife–as has been parlour-maid at the Manor for the last twenty years–say as much many a time. But Miss Malcolm is a pleasant spoken young lady, for all that, to those she likes, and my Susan has had no fault to find with her. You see all of us has our peculiarities, sir, and it ain’t to be supposed as Miss Malcolm would be without hers,’ the man concluded in an argumentative tone.

“Humph,’ muttered John Treverton, “a stuck-up young lady, I daresay–and a deep one into the bargain. Did you ever hear who she was–what her position was, and so on–when my cousin Jasper adopted her?’ he asked aloud.

“No, sir. Mr. Treverton has kept that oncommon close. He’d been away from the Manor a twelve-month when he brought her home without a word of warning to any one in the house, and told his old housekeeper, as how he’d adopted this little girl–who was an orphan–the daughter of an old friend of his, and that’s all he ever said about her from that time to this. Miss Malcolm was about seven or eight year old at that time, as pretty a little girl as you could see–and she has grown up to be a beautiful young woman.’

Beautiful. Oh, this artful young person was beautiful, was she? John Treverton determined that her good looks should have no influence upon his opinions.

The man was quite willing to talk, but his companion asked no more questions. He felt indeed that he had already asked more than he was warranted in asking, and felt a little ashamed of himself for having done so. The rest of the drive therefore, passed for the most part in silence. The journey had seemed long to John Treverton, partly because of his own impatience, partly on account of the numerous ups and downs of that everlasting lane, but it was little more than half an hour after leaving the station when they entered a village street where there was not a glimmer of light at this hour, except one solitary lamp shining feebly before the door of the general shop and post office. This was the village of Hazlehurst, near which Hazle-hurst Manor House was situated. They drove to the end of this quiet street and along a high road bordered by tall elms, which looked black against the night sky, till they came to a pair of great iron gates.

The man handed the reins to his companion, and then dismounted and opened these gates. John Treverton drove slowly into a winding carriage drive that led up to the house, a great red brick mansion with many long narrow windows, and a massive carved stone shell over the door, which was approached on each side by a flight of broad stone steps.

There was light enough from the stars for John Treverton to see all this as he drove slowly up to the hall door. His coming had evidently been awaited anxiously, as the door was opened before he had alighted from the gig, and an old man-servant peered out into the night. He opened the door wide when he saw John Treverton. The gardener–or groom, whichever he might happen to be–led the gig slowly away to a gate at the side of the house, opening into a stable yard. John Treverton went into the hall, which looked very bright and cheerful after his dreary drive, a great square hall hung with family portraits and old armour, and with crimson sheep-skins and tawny hides of savage beasts lying about on the black and white marble pavement. There was a roomy old fire-place on one side of this hall, with a great fire burning in it, a fire which was welcome as meat and drink to a traveller this cold night. There were ponderous carved oak chairs with dark red velvet cushions, looking more comfortable and better adapted for the repose of the human frame than such chairs are wont to be, and at the end of the hall there was a great antique buffet adorned with curious bowls and bottle-shaped jars in Oriental China.

John Treverton had time to see these things as he sat before the fire with his long legs stretched out upon the hearth, while the old servant went to announce his arrival to Miss Malcolm.

“A pleasant old place,’ he said to himself. “And to think of my never having seen it before, thanks to my father’s folly in having quarrelled with old Jasper Treverton, and never having taken the trouble to heal the breach, as he might have done, I daresay, with some slight exercise of diplomacy. I wonder whether the old fellow is very rich. Such a place as this might be kept up on a couple of thousand a year, but I have a notion that Jasper Treverton has six times as much as that.’

The old butler came downstairs in about five minutes to say that Miss Malcolm would be pleased to see Mr. Treverton, if he liked. His master had fallen asleep, and was sleeping more peacefully than he had done for some time.

John Treverton followed the man up a broad staircase with massive oak bannisters. Here, as in the hall, there were family portraits on the walls, and armour and old china in every available corner. At the top of this staircase was a gallery, lighted by a lantern in the roof, and with numerous doors opening out of it. The butler opened one of these doors and ushered John Treverton into a bright looking lamp-lit sitting room, with panelled walls. A heavy green damask curtain hung before a door opening into an adjoining room. The mantel-piece was high, and exquisitely carved with flowers and cupids, and was ornamented by a row of egg-shell cups and saucers, and the quaintest of oriental teapots. The room had a comfortable home-like look, John Treverton thought–a look that struck him all the more perhaps because he had no settled home of his own, nor had ever known one since his boyhood.

A lady was sitting by the fire, dressed in a dark blue gown, which contrasted wonderfully with the auburn tints of her hair, and the transparent pallor of her complexion. As she rose and turned her face towards John Treverton, he saw that she was, indeed, a very beautiful young woman, and there was something in her beauty which took him a little by surprise, in spite of what he had heard from his companion in the gig.

“Thank God you have come in time, Mr. Treverton,’ she said earnestly, an earnestness which John Treverton was inclined to consider hypocritical. What interest could she have in his arrival? What feeling could there be between them but jealousy?

“I suppose she feels so secure about the old man’s will that she can afford to be civil,’ he thought as he seated himself by the fireside, after two or three polite commonplaces about his journey.

“There is no hope of my cousin’s recovery, I suppose?’ he hazarded presently.

“Not the faintest,’ Laura Malcolm answered, very sadly. “The London physician was here for the last time to-day. He has been down every week for the last two months. He said to-day that there would be no occasion for him to come any more; he did not think papa–I have always called your cousin by that name–ߞcould live through the night. He has been less restless and troubled since then, and he is now sleeping very quietly. He may linger a little longer than the physician seemed to think likely; but beyond that I have no hope whatever.’

This was said with a quiet, restrained manner that was more indicative of sorrow than any demonstrative lamentation could have been. There was something almost like despair in the girl’s look and tone–a dreary hopelessness–as if there were nothing left for her in life when the friend and protector of her girlhood should be taken from her. John Treverton watched her closely as she sat looking at the fire, with her dark eyes shrouded by their long lashes. Yes, she was very beautiful. That was a fact about which there was no possibility of doubt. Those large hazel eyes alone would have given a charm to the plainest face, and in this face there was no fault to be redeemed.

“You seem to be much attached to my cousin, Miss Malcolm,’ Mr. Treverton said presently.

“I love him dearly,’ she answered, looking up at him with those deep dark eyes, which had a melancholy expression to-night. “I have had no one else to care for since I was quite a child; and he has been very good to me. I should be something worse than ungrateful if I did not love him as I do.’

“And yet your life must have been a trying one, as the sole companion of an old man of Jasper Treverton’s eccentric temper. I speak of him as I have heard him described by my father. You must have found existence with him rather troublesome, now and then, I should think.’

“I very soon learnt to understand him, and to bear all the little changes in his humour. I knew that his heart was noble.’

“Humph,’ thought John Treverton, “women can do these things better than men. I couldn’t stand being shut up with a crusty old fellow for a week.’

And after having made this reflection, he thought that no doubt Miss Malcolm was of the usual type of sycophants and interlopers, able to endure anything in the present for the chance of a stupendous advantage in the future, able to wait for the fruition of her hopes with a dull, grovelling patience.

“This appearance of grief is all put on, of course.’ he said to himself. “I am not going to think any better of her because she has line eyes.’

They sat for a little time in silence, Laura Malcolm seeming quite absorbed by her own thoughts, and in no way disturbed by the presence of John Treverton. It was a proud face which he looked at every now and then so thoughtfully, not a loveable face by any means, in spite of its beauty. There was a coldness of expression, a self-contained air about Miss Malcolm which her new acquaintance was inclined to dislike. He had come to that house prepared to think unfavourably of her, had come there indeed with a settled dislike to her.

“I think it is to you I am indebted for the telegram that summoned me here?’ he said by-and-bye.

“Oh, no, not to me directly. It was your cousin’s wish that you should be sent for–a wish he only expressed on Monday, though I had asked him many times if he would not like to see you, his only surviving relative. Had I known your address, or where a letter would reach you, I think I should have ventured to ask you to come down without his permission, but I had no knowledge of this.’

“And it was only the day before yesterday that my cousin spoke of me for the first time?’

“Only the day before yesterday. On every previous occasion he gave me a short, impatient answer, telling me not to worry him, and that he had no wish to see anyone, but on Monday he mentioned your name, and told me he wanted particularly to see you. He had no idea where you were to be found, but he thought a telegram addressed to your father’s old lawyer would reach you. I sent the message as he directed.’

“The lawyer had some difficulty in hunting me out, but I lost no time after I got your message. I cannot, of course, pretend any attachment to a man whom I never saw in my life, but I am pleased that Jasper Treverton should have thought of me at the last, nevertheless. I am here to testify my respect for him, in a perfectly independent character, having not the faintest expectation of inheriting one shilling of his wealth.’

“I don’t know why you should not expect to inherit his estate, Mr. Treverton.’ Laura Malcolm answered, quietly. “To whom else should he leave it, if not to you?’

John Treverton thought this question a piece of gratuitous hypocrisy.

“Why to you, of course,’ he replied, “his adopted daughter, who have earned his favour by years of patient submission to all his whims and fancies. Surely you must be quite aware of his intentions upon this point, Miss Malcolm, and this affected ignorance of the subject is intended to hoodwink me.’

“I am sorry you should think so badly of me, Mr. Treverton. I do not know how your cousin has disposed of his money, but I do know that none of it has been left to me.’

“How do you know that?’

“I have been assured of it by his own lips, not once, but many times. When he first adopted me he made a vow that he would leave me no part of his wealth. He had been treated with falsehood and ingratitude by those he had loved, and had found out their mercenary feelings about him. This had soured him a good deal, and he was determined–when he took me under his care out of motives of the purest charity–that he would have one person about him who should love him for his own sake, or not pretend to love him at all. He took an oath to this effect on the night he first brought me home to this house, and fully explained the meaning of that oath to me, though I was quite a child at that time. “I have had toadies and sycophants about me, Laura,” he said, “until I have come to distrust every smiling face. Your smiles shall be true, my dear, for you shall have no motive for falsehood.” On my eighteenth birthday he placed in trust six thousand pounds for my benefit, in order that his death should not leave me unprovided for, but he took occasion at the same time to remind me that this gift was all I must ever expect at his hands.’

John Treverton heard this with a quickened breath, and a new life and eagerness in the expression of his face. The aspect of affairs was quite altered by the fact of this oath sworn long ago by the eccentric old man. He must leave his money to some one. What if he should, indeed, leave it to him, John Treverton?

For some few minutes his heart beat high with a new hope, and then sank again suddenly. Was it not much more likely that Jasper Treverton would find some means of evading the letter of his vow, for the benefit of a beloved adopted daughter, than that he should bequeath his fortune to a kinsman who was a stranger to him?

“Don’t let me be a fool,’ John Treverton said to himself, “there’s not the faintest chance of any such luck for me, and I daresay this girl knows as much, though she is artful enough to pretend complete ignorance of the old man’s designs.’

The butler came in presently to announce that supper was ready for Mr. Treverton in the dining-room below. He went downstairs in answer to this summons, after begging Miss Malcolm to send for him the moment the invalid awoke.

The dining-room was handsomely furnished with massive sideboard and chairs of carved oak, the long narrow windows draped with dark red velvet. There was a fine old Venetian glass over the sideboard, and a smaller circular mirror above the old inlaid bureau that occupied the space between the windows opposite. There were a few good cabinet pictures of the Dutch school on the panelled walls, and a pair of fine blue and white Delft jars on the high carved oak chimney-piece. A wood fire burned cheerily in the wide grate, and the small round table on which the traveller’s supper had been laid was wheeled close to the edge of the Turkey hearthrug, and had a very comfortable appearance in the eyes of Mr. John Treverton as he seated himself in one of the capacious oak chairs.

In his disturbed state of mind he had little inclination to eat, though the cook had prepared a cozy supper that might have tempted an Anchorite; but he did justice to a bottle of excellent claret, and sat for some time, sipping his wine and looking about him thoughtfully, now at the curious old silver tankards and rose-water dishes on the sideboard, now at the Cuyps and Ostades on the dark oak walls. To whom would all these things belong when Jasper Treverton was no more? Throughout the house there were indications of wealth that inspired an almost savage longing in this man’s mind. What a changed life his would be if he should inherit only half of his cousin’s possessions. He thought, with a weary sigh, of the wretched hand to mouth existence that he had led of late years, and then thought of the things that he would do if he came in for any share of the old man’s money. He sat meditating thus until the servant came to tell him that Mr. Treverton was awake, and had asked to see him. He followed the man back to the study, where he had found Miss Malcolm. The room was empty now, but the curtain was drawn aside from the door of communication, and he passed through this into Jasper Treverton’s bed-room.

Laura Malcolm was seated at the bedside, but she rose as John entered, and slipped quietly away by another door, leaving him alone with his cousin.

“Sit down, John,’ the old man said in a feeble voice, pointing to the empty chair by the bedside.

“It is rather late in the day for us two to meet,’ he went on, after a brief pause, “but perhaps it is better for us to see each other once before I die. I won’t speak of your father’s quarrel with me. You know all about that, I daresay. We were both in the wrong, very likely; but it has long been too late to undo that. I loved him once, God knows!–yes, there was a day when I loved Richard Treverton dearly.’

“I have heard him say as much, sir,’ John answered in subdued tones. “I regret that he should have quarrelled with you; I regret much more that he should not have sought a reconciliation.’

“Your father was always a proud man, John. Perhaps I liked him all the better for that. Most men in his position would have courted me for the sake of my money. He never did that.’

“I know that,’ answered Jasper Treverton, “nor have you ever sought me out, John, or tried to worm yourself into my favour. Yet, I suppose, you know that you are my sole surviving relative.’

“Yes, sir, I am quite aware of that.’

“And you have left me in peace, and have been content to take your chance. Well, you will find yourself none the worse off for having respected yourself and not worried me.’

John Treverton’s face flushed, and the beating of his heart quickened again, as it had quickened when Laura Malcolm told him of his kinsman’s vow.

“My death will make you a rich man,’ returned Jasper, always speaking with a painful effort, and in so low a voice that John was obliged to bend over his pillow in order to hear him,’ on one condition–a condition which I do not think you will find it difficult to comply with.’

“You are very good sir,’ faltered the young man, almost too agitated to speak. “Believe me, I had no expectation of this.’

“I daresay not,’ replied the other. “I took a foolish oath some years ago, and bound myself not to leave my fortune to the only creature I really love. To whom else should I leave it then, but to you–my next of kin? I know nothing against you. I have lived too remote from the world to hear its scandals; and I know not whether you have won good or evil repute among your fellow men; but I do know that you are the son of a man I once loved, and that it will be in your power to carry out my wishes in the spirit, if not in the letter. The rest I trust to Providence.’

After having said this the dying man lay back upon the pillows, and remained silent for some minutes, resting after the exertion involved in so long a speech. John Treverton waited for him to speak again–waited with a tumultuous sense of gladness in his breast, looking round the room now and then. It was a spacious apartment with handsome antique furniture, and panelled walls hung with old pictures, like those in the dining-room below. Dark green velvet curtains were closely drawn before the three lofty windows, and in the spaces between them there were curious old cabinets of carved ebony, inlaid with silver. John Treverton looked at all these things, which seemed to be his already, after what the dying man had said to him. How different from the home he had left, the shabby-genteel London lodging, with its tawdry finery, and decrepit chairs and tables.

“What do you think of my adopted daughter, John Treverton?’ the old man asked presently, turning his dim eyes towards his cousin.

The younger man hesitated a little before replying. The question had taken him by surprise. His thoughts had been far away from Laura Malcolm.

“I think she is very handsome, sir,’ he said, “and I daresay she is amiable; but I really have had very little opportunity of forming any opinion about the young lady.’

“No, you have seen nothing of her as yet. You will like her better when you come to know her. I cannot doubt that. Her father and I were warm friends, once upon a time. We were at Oxford together, and travelled a good deal in Spain and Italy together, and loved each other well enough, I believe, till circumstances parted us. I need have no shame in owning the cause of our parting now. We loved the same woman, and Stephen Malcolm won her. I thought–whether rightly or wrongly–that I had not been fairly treated in the matter, and Stephen and I parted, never to meet as friends again till Stephen was on his death-bed. The lady jilted him after all, and he did not marry until some years later. When I heard of him next he was in reduced circumstances. I sought him out, found him in a pitiable condition and adopted his daughter–an only child–doubly orphaned. I cannot tell you how dear she soon became to me, but I had made an oath I would leave her nothing, and I have not broken that oath, dearly as I love her.’

“But you have made some provision for her future, sir!’

“Yes, I have striven to provide for her future. God grant it may be a happy one. And now call my servant, if you please, John. I have talked a great deal too much as it is.’

“Only one word before I call the man. Let me tell you, sir, that I am grateful,’ said John Treverton, kneeling down beside the bed, and taking the old man’s wasted hand in his.

“Prove it when I am gone, John, by trying to carry out my wishes. And now good-night. You had better go to bed.’

“Will you allow me to sit with you for the rest of the night, sir? I have not the least inclination to sleep.’

“No, no, there would be no use in your sitting up. If I am well enough to see you again in the morning I will do so. Till then, good-bye.’

The old man’s tone was decisive. John Treverton went out of the room by a door that opened on the gallery. Here he found Jasper Treverton’s valet, a grave-looking, grey-haired man, dosing upon a window seat. He told this man that he was wanted in the sick room, and then went to the study.

Miss Malcolm was still there, sitting in a thoughtful attitude, looking at the fire.

“What do you think of him?’ she asked, looking up suddenly, as John Treverton entered the room.

“He does not seem to me so ill as I expected to see him from your account. He has spoken to me with perfect clearness.’

“I am very glad of that. He seemed a good deal better after that long sleep. I will ring for Trimmer to show you your room, Mr. Treverton.’

“Are you not going to bed yourself, Miss Malcolm? It is nearly three o’clock.’

“No. I cannot sleep during this time of suspense. Besides, he may want me at any moment. I shall lie down on that sofa, perhaps, a little before morning.’

“Have you been keeping watch like this many nights?’

“For more than a week; but I am not tired. I think when the mind is so anxious the body has no capability of feeling fatigue.’

“You will find the reaction very severe by-and-bye, I fear,’ Mr. Treverton replied; and Trimmer, the old butler, having appeared by this time with a candle, he wished Miss Malcolm good-night.

The room to which Trimmer led John Treverton was on the other side of the house–a large room with a comfortable fire blazing on the hearth, and reflecting itself in a border of old Dutch tiles. Late as it was, Mr. Treverton sat by the fire thinking for a long time before he went to bed, and even when he did lie down under the shadow of the damask curtains that shrouded the gloomy-looking fourpost bed, sleep kept aloof from him. His mind was busy with thoughts of triumph and delight. Innumerable schemes for the future–selfish ones for the most part–crowded and jostled each other in his brain. It was a feverish night altogether–a night which left him unrefreshed and haggard when the cold wintry light came creeping in between the window curtains, and a great clock in the stable-yard struck eight.

A countryfied-looking young man, a subordinate of the butler’s, brought the visitor his shaving water, and, on being questioned, informed him that Mr. Treverton the elder had passed a restless night, and was worse that morning.

John Treverton dressed quickly, and went straight to the study next the invalid’s room. He found Laura Malcolm there, looking very wan and pale after her night’s watching. She confirmed the young man’s statement. Jasper Treverton was much worse. His mind had wandered towards daybreak, and he now seemed to recognise no one. His old friend the vicar had been with him, and had read the prayers for the sick, but the dying man had been able to take no part in them. The end was very near at hand, Laura feared.

Mr. Treverton stopped with Miss Malcolm a little while, and then wandered down to the dining-room, where he found an excellent breakfast waiting for him in solitary state. He fancied that the old butler treated him with a peculiar deference, as if aware that he was to be the new master of Treverton Manor. After breakfast he went out into the gardens, which were large, and laid out in an old-fashioned style; straight walks, formal grass plats, and flower beds of geometrical design. John Treverton walked here for some time, smoking his cigar and looking up thoughtfully at the great red brick house with its many windows glittering in the chill January sunshine, and its air of old-world repose.

“It will be the beginning of a new life,"he said to himself; “I feel myself ten years younger since my interview with the old man last night. Let me see–I shall be thirty on my next birthday. Young enough to begin life afresh–old enough to use wealth wisely.’

Chapter 2. Jasper Treverton’s Will

JASPER TREVERTON lingered nearly a week after the coming of his kinsman–a week that seemed interminable to the expectant heir, who could not help wishing the old man would make a speedy end of it. What use was that last remnant of life to him lying helpless on his bed, restless, weary, and for the greater part of his time delirious. John Treverton saw him for a few minutes once or twice every day, and looked at him with a sympathising and appropriate expression of countenance, and did really feel compassionately towards him; but his busy thoughts pressed forward to the time when he should have the handling of that feeble sufferer’s wealth, and should be free to begin that new life, bright glimpses whereof shone upon his roving fancy like visions of paradise.

After six monotonous days, every one of which was exactly like the other for John Treverton, who smoked his solitary cigar in the wintry garden, and ate his solitary meals in the great dining-room with his mind always filled by that one subject–the inheritance which seemed so nearly within his grasp–the night came upon which Jasper Treverton’s feeble hold of life relaxed altogether, and he drifted away to the unknown ocean, with his hand in Laura Malcolm’s, and his face turned towards her, with a wan smile upon the faded lips, as he died. After this followed three or four days of wearisome delay, in which the quiet of the darkened rooms seemed intolerable to John Treverton, to whom death was an unfamiliar horror. He avoided the house in these days as much as possible, and spent the greater part of his time in long rambles out into the open country, leaving all the arrangements of the funeral to Mr. Clare, the vicar, who had been Jasper Treverton’s closest friend, and a Mr. Sampson, an inhabitant of the village, who had been the dead man’s solicitor.

The funeral came at last, a very quiet cere- monial, in accordance with Jasper Treverton’s express desire, and the master of Treverton Manor was laid in the vault where many of his ancestors slept the last long sleep. There was a drizzling rain and a low, lead-coloured sky, beneath which the old churchyard looked unspeakably dismal; but John Treverton’s thoughts were far away as he stood by the open grave, while the sublime words of the service fell unheard upon his ear. To-morrow he would be back in London, most likely, with the consciousness of wealth and power, inaugurating that new life which he thought of so eagerly.

He went back to the house, where it was a relief to find the blinds drawn up and the dull grey winter light in the rooms. The will was to be read in the drawing-room–a very handsome room–with white and gold panelling, six long windows, and a fireplace at each end. Here Mr. Sampson, the lawyer, seated himself at a table to read the will, in the presence of Mr. Clare, the vicar, Laura Malcolm, and the upper servants of the Manor-house, who took their places in a little group near the door.

The will was very simply worded. It commenced with some bequests to the old servants, a small annuity to Andrew Trimmer, the butler, and sums varying from fifty to two hundred pounds to the coachmen and women servants. There was a complimentary legacy of a hundred guineas to Thomas Sampson, and a bequest of old plate to Theodore Clare, the vicar. After these things had been duly set forth the testator went on to leave the remainder of his property, real and personal to his cousin, John Treverton, provided the said John Treverton should marry his dearly-beloved adopted daughter, Laura Malcolm, within one year of his decease. The estate was to be held in trust during this interval by Theodore Clare and Thomas Sampson, together with all moneys therefrom arising. In the event of this marriage not taking place within the said time, the whole of the estate was to pass into the hands of the said Theodore Clare and the said Thomas Sampson, in trust for the erection of a hospital in the adjacent market town of Beechampton.

Miss Malcolm looked up with a startled expression as this strange bequest was read. John Treverton’s face assumed a sudden pallor that was by no means flattering to the lady whose fate was involved in the singular condition which attached to his inheritance. The situation was an awkward one for both. Laura rose directly the reading of the will was finished, and left the room without a word. The servants retired immediately after, and John Treverton was left alone with the vicar and the lawyer.

“Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Treverton,’ said Thomas Sampson, folding up the will, and coming to the fireplace by which John Treverton was seated: “you will find yourself a very rich man.’

“A twelvemonth hence, Mr. Sampson,’ the other answered doubtfully,’ always provided that Miss Malcolm is willing to accept me for her husband, which she may not be.’

“She will scarcely fly in the face of her adopted father’s desire, Mr. Treverton.’

“I don’t know about that. A woman seldom cares for a husband of any one else’s choosing. I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, or to Seem ungrateful to my cousin Jasper, from whom I entertained no expectations whatever a week or so ago; but I cannot help thinking he would have done better by dividing his property between Miss Malcolm and myself, leaving us both free.’

He spoke in a slow, meditative way, and he was pale to the very lips. There was no appearance of triumph or gladness–only an anxious, disappointed expression, which made his handsome face look strangely worn and haggard.

“There are not many men who would think Laura Malcolm an encumbrance to any fortune, Mr. Treverton,’ said Mr. Clare. “I think you will be happier in the possession of such a wife than in the enjoyment of your cousin’s wealth, large as it is.’

“In the event of the lady’s accepting me as her husband,’ John Treverton again interposed doubtfully.

“You have an interval of a twelvemonth in which to win her,’ replied the vicar, “and things will go hard with you if you fail. I think I can answer for the fact that Miss Malcolm’s affections are disengaged. Of course she, like yourself, is a, “little startled by the eccentricity of this condition. The position is much more embarrassing for her than for you.’

John Treverton did not reply to this remark, but there was a very blank look in his face as he stood by the fire listening to the vicar’s and the lawyer’s praises of his departed kinsman.

“Will Miss Malcolm continue to occupy this house?’ he asked presently.

“I scarcely know what her wishes may be,’ replied Mr. Clare, “but I think it would be well if the house were placed at her disposal. I suppose that we as trustees would have power to make her such an offer, Mr. Sampson, with Mr. Treverton’s concurrence.’

“Of course.’

“I concur most heartily in any arrangement that may be agreeable to the young lady,’ John Treverton said, in rather a mechanical way. “I suppose there is nothing further to detain me here. I can go back to town to-morrow.’

“wouldn’t you like to go over the estate before you return to London, Mr. Treverton?’ asked Thomas Sampson. “It would be just as well for you to see the extent of a property that is pretty sure to be your own. If you don’t mind taking things in a plain way, I should be very much pleased by your spending a week or so at my house. There’s no one knows the estate better than I do, and I can show you every rood of it.’

“You are very kind, Mr. Sampson. I shall be glad to accept your hospitality.’

“That’s what I call friendly. When will you come over to us? This evening? We are all to-dine together, I believe. Why shouldn’t you go home with me after dinner? Your presence here can only embarrass Miss Malcolm.’

Having accepted the lawyer’s invitation, John Treverton did not care how soon his visit took place, so it was agreed that he should walk over to “The Laurels’ with Mr. Sampson that evening after dinner. But before he went it would be necessary to take some kind of farewell of Laura Malcolm, and the idea of this was now painfully embarrassing to him, It was a thing that must be done, however, and it would be well that it should be done at a seasonable hour; so in the twilight, before dinner, he went up to the study, which he knew was Miss Malcolm’s favourite room, and found her there with an open book lying on her lap and a small tea-tray on the table by her side.

She looked up at him without any appearance of confusion, but with a very pale, sad face. He seated himself opposite her, and it was some moments before he could find words for the simple announcement he had to make. That calm, beautiful face, turned towards him with a grave expectant look, embarrassed him more than he could have imagined possible.

“I have accepted an invitation from Mr. Sampson to spend a few days with him before I go back to town, and I have come to bid you good-bye, Miss Malcolm,’ he said at last. “I fancied that at such a time as this it would be pleasanter for you to feel yourself quite alone.’

“You are very good. I do not suppose I shall stay here many days.’

“I hope you will stay here altogether. Mr. Sampson and Mr. Clare, the trustees, wish it very much. I do not think that I have much power in the affair; but believe me it is my earnest desire that you should not be in a hurry to leave your old home.’

“You are very good. I do not think I could stay here alone in this dear old house, where I have been so happy. I know some respectable people in the village who let lodgings. I think I would rather remove to their house as soon as my trunks are packed. I have plenty to live upon, you know, Mr. Treverton. The six thousand pounds your cousin gave me yields an income of over two hundred a year.’

“You must consult your own wishes, Miss Malcolm. I cannot presume to interfere with your views, anxious as I am for your welfare.’

This was about as much as he would venture to say at this early stage of affairs. He felt his position indescribably awkward, and he wondered at Laura Malcolm’s composure. What ought he to say or do? What could he say that would not seem dictated by the most sordid motive? What disinterested feeling could there ever arise between those two, who were bound together by their common interest in a great estate, who met as strangers to find themselves suddenly dependent upon each other’s caprice?

“I may call upon you before I leave Hazlehurst, may I not, Miss Malcolm?’ he asked presently, with a kind of desperation.

“I shall be happy to see you whenever you call.’

“You are very kind. I’ll not intrude on you any longer this evening, for I am sure you must want quiet and perfect rest. I must go down to dinner with Mr. Sampson and the vicar–rather a dreary kind of entertainment I fear it will be. Good-bye.’

He offered her his hand for the first time since they had met. Hers was very cold, and trembled a little as she gave it to him. He detained it rather longer than he was justified in doing, and looked at her for the first time with something like tender pity in his eyes. Yes, she was very pretty. He would have liked her face better without that expression of coldness and pride, but he could not deny that she was beautiful, and he felt that any young man might be proud to win such a woman for his wife. He did not see his own way to winning her, however; and it seemed to him as if the fortune he had so built upon during all his reveries lately, was now removed very far out of his reach.

The dinner was not such a dismal feast as he had imagined it would be. People are apt to accustom themselves very easily to an old friend’s removal, and the vicar and the lawyer seemed tolerably cheerful about their departed neighbour. They discussed his little eccentricities, his virtues, and his foibles, in an agreeable spirit, and did ample justice to his claret, of which, however, Mr. Clare said he had never been quite so good a judge as he had believed himself to be. They sat for a couple of hours over their dessert, sipping some Burgundy, of which Jasper Treverton had been especially proud, and John Treverton was the only one of the three who seemed troubled by gloomy thoughts.

It was ten o’clock when Mr. Sampson proposed an adjournment to his own abode. He had sent a little note home to his sister before dinner, telling her of Mr. Treverton’s intended visit, and had ordered a fly from the inn, in which vehicle he and his guest drove to “The Laurels,’ a trim, bright-looking, modern house, with small rooms which were the very pink of neatness, so neat and new-looking indeed, that John Treverton fancied they could never have been lived in, and that the furniture must have been sent home from the upholsterer that very day.

Thomas Sampson was a young man, and a bachelor. He had inherited an excellent business from his father, and had done a good deal to improve it himself, having a considerable capacity for getting on in life, and an ardent love of money-making. He had one sister, who lived with him. She was tolerably good-looking, in a pale, insipid way, with eyes of a cold light blue, and straight, silky hair of a nondescript brown.

This young lady, whose name was Eliza, welcomed John Treverton with much politeness. There were not many men in the neighbourhood of Hazle- hurst who could have borne comparison with that splendid military looking stranger, and Miss Sampson, who did not yet know the terms of Jasper Treverton’s will, supposed that this handsome young man was now master of the manor and all its dependencies. For his sake she had bestowed considerable pains on the adornment of the spare bed-room, which she had embellished with more fanciful pincushions, and ring stands and Bohemian glass scent-bottles, than are consistent with the masculine idea of comfort. For his gratification also she had ordered a reckless expenditure of coals in the keeping up of a blazing fire in the same smartly furnished chamber, which looked unspeakably small and mean to the eyes of John Treverton after the spacious rooms at the Manor-house.

“I know of a room that will look meaner still,"he said to himself,’ for this at least is clean and neat.’

He went to bed, and slept better than he had done for many nights, but his dreams were full of Laura Malcolm. He dreamt that they were being married, and that as she stood beside him at the altar her face changed in some strange ghastly way into another face, a face he knew only too well.

Chapter 3. A Mysterious Visitor

THE next day was fine, and Mr. Sampson and his visitor set out in a dogcart directly after breakfast on a tour of inspection. They got over a good deal of ground between an eight o’clock breakfast and a six o’clock dinner, and John Treverton had the pleasure of surveying many of the broad acres that were in all probability to be his own; but the farms which lay within a drive of Hazlehurst did not constitute a third of Jasper Treverton’s possessions. Mr. Sampson told his companion that the estates were worth about eleven thousand a year altogether, besides which there was an income of about three thousand more accruing from money in the funds. The old man had begun life with only six thousand a year, but some of his land bordered closely on the town of Beechampton, and had developed from agricultural land into building land in a manner that had increased its value seven-fold. He had lived quietly, and had added to his estate year after year by fresh purchases and investments, until it reached its present amount. To hear of such wealth was like some dream of fairy land to John Treverton. Mr. Sampson spoke of it as if to all intents and purposes it were already in the other’s possession. His sound legal mind could not conceive the possibility of any sentimental objection on the part of either the gentleman or the lady to the carrying out of a condition which was to secure the possession of that noble estate to both. Of course, in due time Mr. Treverton would make Miss Malcolm a formal offer, and she would accept him. Idiocy so abject on the part of either the gentleman or the lady as a refusal to comply with so easy a condition was scarcely within the limits of human folly.

Looking at the matter from this point of view, Mr. Sampson was surprised to perceive a certain air of gloom and despondency about his companion which seemed quite unnatural to a man in his position. John Treverton’s eye kindled with a gleam of triumph as he gazed across the broad bare fields which the lawyer showed him; but in the next minute his face grew sombre again, and he listened to the description of the property with an absent air that was inexplicable to Thomas Sampson. The solicitor ventured to say as much by-and-bye, when they were driving homeward through the winter dusk.

“Well you see, my dear Sampson, there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip,’ John Treverton answered, with that light airy tone which most people found particularly agreeable. “I must confess that the manner in which this estate has been left is rather a disappointment to me. My cousin Jasper told me that his death would make me a rich man. Instead of this I find myself with a blank year of waiting before me, and with my chances of coming into possession of this fortune entirely dependent upon the whims and caprices of a young lady.’

“You don’t suppose for a moment that Miss Malcolm will refuse you?’

John Treverton was so long before he answered this question, that the lawyer presently repeated it in a louder tone, fancying that it had not been heard upon the first occasion.

“Do I think she’ll refuse me?’ repeated Mr. Treverton, in rather an absent tone. “Well, I don’t know about that. Women are apt to have romantic notions on the money question. She has enough to live upon, you see. She told me as much last night, and she may prefer to marry some one else. The very terms of this will are calculated to set a high-spirited girl against me.’

“But she would know that in refusing you she would deprive you of the estate, and frustrate the wishes of her friend and benefactor. She’d scarcely be so ungrateful as to do that. Depend upon it, she’ll consider it her duty to accept you–not a very unpleasant duty either, to marry a man with fourteen thousand a year. Upon my word, Mr. Treverton, you seem to have a very poor opinion of yourself, when you imagine the possibility of Laura Malcolm refusing you.’

John Treverton made no reply to this remark, and was silent during the rest of the drive. His spirits improved, or seemed to improve a little at dinner, however, and he did his best to make himself agreeable to his host and hostess. Miss Sampson thought him the most agreeable man she had ever met, especially when he consented to sit down to chess with her after dinner, and from utter listlessness and absence of mind allowed her to win three games running.

“What do you think of Miss Malcolm, Mr. Treverton?’ she asked, by-and-bye, as she was pouring out the tea.

“You musn’t ask Mr. Treverton any questions on that subject, Eliza,’ said her brother, with a laugh.

“Why not?’

“For a reason which I am not at liberty to discuss.’

“Oh, indeed!’ said Miss Sampson, with a sudden tightening of her thin lips. “I had no idea–at least I thought–that Laura Malcolm was almost a stranger to Mr. Treverton.’

“And you’re quite right in your supposition, Miss Sampson,’ answered John Treverton,"nor is there any reason why the subject should be tabooed. I think Miss Malcolm very handsome, and that her manner is remarkable for grace and dignity–and that is all I am able to think about her at present, for we are, as you say, almost strangers to each other. As far as I could judge she seemed to me to be warmly attached to my cousin Jasper.’

Eliza Sampson shook her head rather contemptuously.

“She had reason to be fond of him,’ she said. “Of course you are aware that she was completely destitute when he brought her home, and her family were, I believe, a very disreputable set.’

“I fancy you must be mistaken, Miss Sampson,’ John Treverton answered, with some warmth, “my cousin Jasper told me that Stephen Malcolm had been his friend and fellow-student at the University. He may have died poor, but I heard nothing which implied that he had fallen into disreputable courses.’

“Oh, really,’ said Miss Sampson, “of course you know best, and, no doubt, whatever your cousin told you was correct. But to tell the truth Miss Malcolm has never been a favourite of mine. There’s a reserve about her that I’ve never been able to get over. I know the gentlemen admire her very much, but I don’t think she’ll ever have many female friends. And what is of so much consequence to a young woman as a female friend?’ concluded the lady sententiously.

“Oh, the gentlemen admire her very much, do they?’ repeated John Treverton. “I suppose, then she has had several opportunities of marrying already?’

“I don’t know about that, but I know of one man who is over head and ears in love with her.’

“Would it be any breach of confidence on your part to say who the gentleman is?’

“Oh, dear no. I found out the secret for myself, I assure you. Miss Malcolm has never condescended to tell me anything about her affairs. It is Edward Clare, the vicar’s son, I have seen them a good deal together. He used to be always making some excuse for dropping in at the Manor-house to talk to Mr. Treverton about old books, and papers for the Archaeological Society, and so on, and anybody could see that it was for Miss Malcolm’s sake he spent so much of his time there.’

“Do you think she cared about him?’

“Goodness knows. There’s no getting at what she thinks about any one. I did once ask her the question, but she turned it off in her cold, haughty way, saying that she liked Mr.Clare as a friend, and all that kind of thing.’

Thomas Sampson had looked rather uneasy during this conversation.

“You mustn’t listen to my sister’s foolish gossip, Treverton,’ he said; “it’s hard enough to keep women from talking scandal anywhere, but in such a place as this they seem to have nothing else to do.’