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cme hy
~ Clare, ‘and my
FOR CASH ONLY,
39
otherwise than as a contribution to physiology,
namely—to;the spectator.
.“ Well. when you say ‘not a shadow of
wrong,’ Clare, in which I cordially agree with
you, you must remember that that may not be
the view of the outside public, who did not
know our father as we did.”
.. “That is just what I am thinking about,” re-
plied Clare, simply. .
“* In the eyes of mere casuists, in fact,’”’ con-
tinued Gerald, ‘ it may be doubtful whether our
father’s act, though unconscious, may not seem
tohave the same effect as though it had been
done designedly.” .
‘Good heavens! Do you suppose I am
thinking of keeping the money?”
Gerald stared at her aghast. He was all at
_sea again.’ Ifshe was not thinking of keeping
the money, what on earth was she thinking of?
“Well, you said -yourself,” he answered,
doggedly, ‘‘that it would not be necessary to
reveal the actual fact.”
- “J meant, sir, that we never need speak of
what—you say—you saw.”
He was still ignorant of her meaning, but he
dared not put another question to. her; that
‘you say” of hers convinced him that she still
harbored doubts of his main story. ‘*It is
very easy,” she went on, ‘‘ to convince some
’ people that money belongs to them. Let Sir
Peter have his dues; he will not be particular to
‘inquire how he came by them.”
“Oh, if, you really mean to throw up your
chance,” said Gerald, ‘‘ that part of the busi-
ness will be easy enough. Sir Peter is always
going about saying how hard it was that he
should have lost his money by seven minutes;
if you choose to have conscientious scruples
about it being such a narrow shave, he'll share
them, I warrant; he'll take all he can get, and
only look on it as restitution.” :
‘Let him look on it how helikes, in Heaven’s
name,” ejaculated Clare, ‘‘so long as our
father’s memory is kept stainless. You and I
well know that it is as pure as snow, and in
that, although we lose’ our all, he will still have
left us a rich legacy.”. .
‘Well, as for me,” said Gerald, in an ag-
gireved tone, ‘‘I am not aware that he ever
left me anything else worth speaking of.
‘The whole matter is one for your own consider-
ation, not. mine. You seem still to doubt my
Story, but what reason can I have for invent-
ing it? You don’t suppose I’m in Sir Peter's
pay, do you? In so far as the thing affects
me at all, I shall lose by it, for I suppose that
beggarly three hundred a year, to which Mr.
. Oldcastie persuaded ycu to limit my allowance,
will go with the rest.” : .
“To be sure; I had forgotten that,” sighed
good intentions are gone with
it. . We shall both be losers by our honesty, my
poor Gerald.” .
“Good intentions? What do you mean,
Clare ?” inquired the other, excitedly.
“Oh, no matter. It can make no difference
now. And yet I should like you to know that
I was not so hard upon you as you persuaded
yourself to think I was. On the day you came
of age, half the money, the loss of whjch you
regretted so, would have been settled on you.”
«Bat, look here: in that case I have a con-
tingent interest in this matter,” interrupted
Gerald. .‘*You must not do anything in a
bury, and without consultation with me. Why
the deuce didn’t you tell me about all this be-
fore ?” 7
“Tt is better as it is, Gerald,” she answered,
with asad smile. ‘ You have been saved from
what might have been a terrible temptation,
though I hope you would have revealed every-
thing just the same.”
“T hope I should not have been such an un-
speakable idiot,” exclaimed Gerald, naively.
“*You don’t really mean to say that you are
going to throw away your money—my money
—-for a mere caprice?” ’.
“Acaprice!’ It is an act of common honesty.
Would you have your father’s daughter be a
‘thief, brother ?” \
Gerald looked at her as Claudio might have
regarded Isabella. He murmured somethin,
about her conduct being Quixotic, but attempt
no further argument. He saw the mischief was
done as regarded those contingent expectations
of his, of which he had only heard when he had
lost them, and cursed what he deliberately
termed his ‘‘ folly.”
“Of course I would wish you to do nothing
wrong, Clare,” he answered, -complainingly;
‘it is very hard that you should always: mis-
judge me so. As to what you suggest about
concealing the actual facts, I think you are most
judicious. Nobody need know about them saye
you and me.” .
“‘Nay, some people must know about them,
Gerald. It is only right that I should repay the
confidence which others have placed in me by
taking counsel of them.” .
‘Counsel? I don’t: know any good that you
have done to yourself or anybody else,” (he was
thinking of Mr. Oldcastle’s advice which had re-
stricted his allowance so meanly) ‘ by taking
advice of that sort. I should have thought your
nearest relative—myself—would have been the:
proper person to advise with. Of course you
will doas you please; but people will talk, how-
ever much they may have shown you confidence,
as you Call it, and if once the story gets abroad,
I wonder how many will believe that the gov-
ernor did not put on the clock on purpose—I
mean in his right mind?”
“TI. see that quite clearly, Gerald,” she an-
swered, gravely. ‘‘There is danger. on every
side.
‘* Andon one side certain ruin, Clare; remem-
ber that.” “6
It was his last shot, fired in desperation. If
it went home, as it could scarcely fail of doing,
it would surely give her pause,
‘*It will make us yery poor, no doubt, Ger-
ald,” she answered gravely, ‘‘ but it will at least
leave us honest. Do not suppose that I feel
angry with you for having done your duty;
quite otherwise. Iam grateful to you for hay-
ing preserved me from committing an yncon-
scious wrong. Of course it isa bad thing for
both of us in one way, but the having relieved
your mind of such a burden must of itself be
grateful to you, and a time will come—the
same that came to our dear father—when you
will rejoice in what now seems loss as a great
gain. Think, think, Gerald, if perchance he is
now cognizant of what we do, hearing perhaps
the very words we are now saying!”
“‘O Lord,” interrupted Gerald, pushing. back
his chair, ‘‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.
I hate it. I thought we had come to Sandford
to keep our-spirits up.”
‘* Does it distress you to talk about the dead,
Gerald?” she answered, gently, almost pitying-
ly. ‘Well, well, I will say no more. I will
now go to my own room, and think of all you
have told me, and what is best to be done.
Good-night, dear boy.”
She stooped down and. kissed him. He did
not move his face to meet hers, but sat
with shut lips and a frowning brow, the very
image of moody discontent. He could not have
better played his part (though he acted nat-
urally enough) in the plan he had in view.
His demeanor went far to remove any lingering
doubts she might have entertained of the
truth of his tale. He looked exactly as a
man might have been. expected to look who,
having confessed something to his own detri-
ment, repented of his frankness. But in reality
his heart was full of fear as well as of chagrin.
That Clare believed his story was now clear
enough, but would those others whom she had
expressed her intention of consulting believe it?
She herself was ready enongh to give up her
share in the profits of Fibbert & Lyster, but
would she be permitted to doso without inyesti-
gation? .
That notion of his father being cognizant of
all that had just passed affected him still more
than he could have thought possible.. Of course
it was all ‘‘rot,” but it was a very unpleasant
idea to lie down with ou one’s solitary bed at
night. He hada brandy and soda and another
cigar before he retired, to help him get rid of it,
but even those remedies failed. to restore his
equanimity. Moreover, happening to look out
of his bedroom window, which faced the great |]
furnace fires, a still more unpleasant thought
suggested itself. The words ‘Better not, bet-
ter not,” were no longer to be read in them, but
the flame now reminded him of a certain old
picture he had been attracted to as a child in Sir
Peter’s mansion, depicting in the ancient ma-
terial way the place of lost souls.. Something
whispered to him, as he gazed atits lurid glow,
‘Tf hell has but one man in it, that man will be
Gerald Lyster.” The notion was egotistic. It
might easily have suggested to him at least one
companion; but even had it done so, that would
have afforded him anything but comfort.
CHAPTER XXIX.
A GOOD GUEss. :
Every mature mind is aware that when
two ladies are alone together at. night, with
their brushes in their hands and their back
hair down, that is the supreme moment for °
the reposal of confidence. Miss Darrell had
not much to brush, which enabled her. to
give her undivided attention to her. young
companion, who retailed to her all that Gerald
had told her without hesitation or reservation,
Miss Darrell had passed the age of astonishment,
but just at first her brush dropped upon her
knees, and as if that action had mechanically
affected her muscles, mouth and eyes flew open
to their extreme limit. As Clare proceeded,
however, she gradually.recovered herself, and
by the time the narrative was concluded, could
have recited the whole prospectus of her
scholastic establishment without a mistake—
her test for her intellect being in full marching
order. , soe
‘Well, my dear, my conviction is that your /
first impression concerning the matter is the
correct one. I believe the whole story to be a
falsehood from beginning to end.”
“‘What! Do you really think that Gerald is
so wicked as to have invented it?” .
“IT don’t know about ‘wicked,’ my dear,
though some men—ay, and women—are more
desperateiy wicked than you have any idea of;
and I don’t say a word about invention, for I
have no high opinion of your half-brother in
that way; but that he hastold you a deliberate
lie I have small doubt.”
“But what motive could he pussibly have in
thus defaming my father’s memory? He never
loved him, but there was no quarrel between’
them, and even if there had been, surely no
human being—let alone the case of father and
son—could carry his enmity beyond the grave?”
‘Tt is often done, Clare, nevertheless,” sighed
the old lady; ‘but I readily acquit Gerald of
apy such intention. He is not that kind of
person.” .
‘*Moreover,” continued Clare, he can get
nothing by it; nay, he uses a certain income,
which, though, as it happens, it falls short of
his expectations, is surely worth having.”
‘There, of course, is the difficulty,” mused
the old lady. :
‘‘Unhappilly, he does not like me, Nannie,
and persists in misunderstanding my own
feelings, who wish to do what is most kind
for his own good; but even if he hated me,
he would surely not wish to compass my
ruin, in which, moreover, he himself is in-
volved.” . 7
‘He did not know that,” put in the old lady,
quietly; ‘‘ but nevertheless I am, so far, of your
opinion. Gerald would not do you any harm
unless he could do himself good by it. The
question is, is there any one else who has a
grudge against you, and who in gratifying it
would at the same time benefit himself?”
“My dear Nannie, how can you talk so?
I have not, thank Heaven, an enemy in the
world.”
“I did not say an enemy; I said one who had
a grudge against you. Think, think.”
‘You cannot mean Percy?” .
“I did not mention him, but since you have
done so, I may say that itis not only women
who resent being cast off by those whom they
have loved.” , :
‘Oh, Nannie, one might regret it, and even
resent it; but surely, surely, one could
never willfully injure one whom we haye once
oved. :
“My dear Clare, you could never willfully in-
jure anybody, Yet undoubtedly there are many
people who have no hesitation in doing so,
.