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194 - : FRANK LESLIE’S NEW YORK’ JOURNAL.
to the hiding place of the captain—find him—and I
promise you a sufficient sum to enable you and
your wife to emigrate to another land, where you
may retrieve the past by an honest future!” Do you
consent??” los tk WF he 2 LE
“I should think I do, miss!” exclaimed Miles,
either really or affecting to be deeply moved by her
offer; ‘if I had found a friend like you twenty
years ago, I might have beena better man! As for
the captain, I’ll ferret him out, even if I have to
hunt for him in the grave. But he can’t be dead—
I must have heard of that!”
With this arrangement Martha dismissed him:
whatever his delinquencies, she felt that she was|.
not called upon to punish them. By permitting
him to remain in the house, she secured an agent
on whom she vainly imagined she could rely, to as-
sist her in her search after her adopted child. *
“Have you succeeded?” inquired the lawyer
with a friendly smile, as he entered the private
office, where the interview between his client and
Miles had taken place. :
“Not yet!” was the reply. . :
“ Perhaps you had better trust the affair into my
hands!" suggested Mr. Foster; ‘ by employing the
police, we shall soon obtain some trace of the man
you seek!” .
“No—no!” interrupted the woman, hastily ; ‘‘it
would place him on his guard! Once alarmed, he
might find means to quit thecountry! He has long
been at war with justice! By-the-bye,’’ she added,
with the air of a person who suddenly recollected
some circumstance of trivial importance, ‘in look-
ing over my grandfather’s papers,I discovered a
hand-bill in which your name is mentioned!”
“Mine?”
His client laid before him the paper describing the
disappearance of George Maitland, offering areward
for any intelligence which might lead to his discov-
ery, and referring parties to Mr. Foster, Solicitor,
Inner Temple.
“It was connected,” said the lawyer, “with one
of the most extraordinary affairs in which I have
ever been engage
‘Am I too curious in asking the nature of it?”
“Certainly not!’ replied the gentleman, little
deeming that she had any motive stronger than cu-
riosity for her question. :
He at once proceeded to relate to her the visit of
George Maitland to his friend Edward Treyanian—
his’ quitting Farnsfield, and his mysterious disap-
pearance in London. © an .
“Strange!” said Martha. “Did you ever dis-
cover any clue?” a
“Not the least.”
“ Was he married?” she added.
Mr. Foster replied in the negative, and added, that
his family had Jong since given up all hope of as-
certaining his fate: , . :
“Trevanian!” repeated Martha, half aloud; ‘I
have certainly heard that name before.”
“ Not unlikely,” observed the lawyer; “Sir Rich-
ard Trevanian is one of the oldest baronets in the
kingdom.” us :
“Had he any interest in
“You have suggested a question,” replied Mr.
Foster, “which 1 have asked myself a hundred
times. Strange that the same idea should have
struck us both. Interest at the time of George
Maitland’s disappearance he. certainly had not; be-
sides, he is a man of unblemished reputation. It
would be unjust to suspect him.”
His client smiled.. Her grandfather's papers had
given her much beiter data for forming a correct
judgment of the baronet’s real character than the
speaker possessed. Shortly afterwards she took her
eave. :
Brief and apparently unimportant as had been
their conversation on the subject, the man of law
could not dismiss it from his mind. He could not
comprehend how his client had jumped to a conclu-
sion which had moré than once forced itself upon his
own mind.
“Had she been aware of the will,” he thought, “I
could understand it.” . ‘
Martha was not aware of the will; but she had
read the private memoranda of Peter Quin.’
_ Sir Richard and his family still continued to re-
side atthe hall. His son had just been gazetted to
a cornetcy in the Guards—one of, those fashionable,
crack regiments, as they are termed, in which dissi-
pation and folly run the race of ruin; the promising
youth was about to leave home to join. His father
‘was to accompany him to London, to introduce his
heir to the world.
The family were seated at the breakfast-table,
when the butler brought in the Jetter-bag from the
”
the baronet’s attention—it was sealed with black.
He immediately broke the seal.
'“No illnews, I hope!” observed her ladyship.
“You shall hear!’ replied her husband, reading
aloud: “Brierly ‘Grange,'September the twenty-
to have the pleasure of seeing you here. Yours,
very respectfully, . ~
. “*¢ Joun Mortxocg, Steward.’ ”
“What a bore!”’ exclaimed Walter Trevanian ;
“ just at this time.”
the appellation her son bestowed.
“You are so impatient!” she said
manded the young man.
am his next heir!” ~
* Probability !” repeated the youth.
“T must start for Berkshire instantly!” continued
four days,” he added ; “or, if you preferit, youcan
accompany me.” .
lowed it. a:
his cousin’s heir. The late Sir John Mordaunt had
he had discarded him: the young man died shortly
doubtful whether they still existed.
did not—it would have been eight thousand a year
out of his pocket.
started for the Grange, mentally calculating during
the journey his chances of the rich succession—to
the importance of which Walter was now fully
alive. :
' On their arrival at the house, the air of respect
and deference with which the steward, lawyer, and
domestics of the deceased received them, confirmed
their hopes that nothing had been heard of the heir ;
still they would have given something to have pos-
sessed a certificate of his death.
Had Peter Quin been still living, perhaps the ac-
commodating agent might have procured them one,
After a hasty dinner, the party adjourned to the
library. : .
WA cad affair !’’ replied the steward ; «so sudden!”
“Very, Mortlock!” replied Sir Richard Tre-
yanian, trying to look grave. .
Walter yawned: he was impatient to join his
regiment—to sport his dashing uniform—to indulge
in a wider field the vices which had procured him
no yery enviable reputation at Farnsfield, The
prospect of the inheritance scarcely compensated for
the delay. vie .
“Most unpardonable thing in Sir John!” said
the lawyer—who had long been’ in the interests of
the expectant cousin—* to leave his affairs in such
confusion!” ° - *
It was suggested that the estates were entailed.
“But not the personal property!” continued the
man of law—* which amounts to five hundred thou-
sand dollars, at least! But the first thing is to ar-
range respecting the funeral!”
“I think, gentlemen,” exclaimed a voice near
them, **I can spare you that trouble !”
They looked up: during their conversation, a
stranger, followed by the housekeeper and the velet
of the late baronet, had entered the room. He was
a tall, resolute-looking man, apparently about 30 or
thirty-two years of age: if his appearance was not
altogether gentlemanly, it was striking—one of
those faces which, once seen, are not easily forgot.
ten; he had an eye like a vulture’s, raven hair, and
might have been considered handsome, but for a
bitter, sarcastic expression about the mouth,’?
“And pray, sir, who are you?” demanded the
baronet, haughtily. -
‘Your cousin, Sir John Mordaunt!” replied the
stranger, with a smile—at the same time extending
village post-office.- One letter particularly excited
his hand to welcome him.
Richard draw back; ‘as you please—your displea-
sure, after all, is very natural |’’ 1.
fourth. Honorable Sir—It is my painful duty to in- | years you have calculated on being my grandfather’s
form you that, your cousin, Sir John Mordaunt, ex- | heir—the intention, no doubt, was praiseworthy—
pired last night. Every search has been made, but | to accomplish which, you left no means untried to
no will has been found. The general impression is,|keep alive his anger against his son, who had
that he died intestate. As no arrangements for the | offended him—not hesitating even to slander the
funeral can take place until your arrival, I trust soon | dead!"
joinder.
His mother smiled. She did not think the pros-|I should do so! Well, then, Sir Richard~thanks
pect of an additional eight thousand a-year merited|to the fidelity. of these attached servants of my
co family—your numerous Ictters to my grandfather
o., are in my possession. I am in a position also, to
“Has the old fool left us anything, then?” de-| prove the nature of the affectionate inquiries you
: *. |through the agency of one Peter Quin. As to my
'. “You hear,” answered his father, gravely, “that | own identity,” he added, «that cannot be disputed.
Sir John died intestate! If so, in all possibility I} This woman,” pointing to the housekeeper, * was
- | present at my birth. The valet has known me from
: ” : :
the baronet; “such interest ought not to be trifled} his birth a greater period than a year had never
with! It will only delay your journey three or | passed without their seeing him.
Walter Trevanian did prefer it. He was tired of|inents: the inheritance he had intrigued for evi-
home—for his vaturally selfish heart was a stranger | dently had escaped him. It remained with himself
to the affections and ties which ought to have hal- | whether he was to suffer in reputation as well as in
- fortune.
Here it may be as well to explain what his father} might avoid the latter disgrace. His mind was
meant when he said that in all probability he was | quickly made up—he extended his hand frankly.
an only son, who had married a person of humble} the home of your ancestors. I:at once admit your
birth and doubtful reputation—in his indignation | claims. Let the past be forgotten.””
afterwards, leaving a widow and son totally unpro-| wish to rake up old grievances. No one desires
vided for; but so many years had elapsed since| more ardently than myself that the past should be
they had been heard of, that it was more than | forgotten. ‘The page is a painful one.”
Most fervently Sir Richard Trevanian hoped they | proved to the baronet that the speaker was sincere.
That same day, accompanied by his son, he} must possess no ordinary energies. One circum-
«* What! you won’t take it?’ he said—seeing Sir
“I do not understand you, sir!” ee i
“TI perfectly understand you, Sir Richard. -¥or
* Infamous!”’ exclaimed the baronet.
«Exactly what I think of it!’? was the cool re-
You must retract this calumny, or ——’?
“Prove it!’ said the stranger; “ it is only just
\dhood.
Both the domestics declared that from the time of
The identity of the heir was therefore complete.
Sir Richard Trevanian reflected for a few mo-
By~an act of graceful recognition he
“« Welcome, Sir John Mordaunt,” he said, * to
“ Willingly,”. replied his cousin; «I have no
The tone in which these’ words were uttered
e gazed upon him with a mingled sensation. of
fear and respect; the man who could baffle him
stance puzzled him more than-all the rest.. ‘He
could not comprehend how he had become ac-
quainted with his transactions with Peter Quin,
whom he vainly imagined he had deceived as to his
real name and quality. He mentally resolved, on
his arrival in London to see the agent, and Ciscover
if possible, a clue to the mystery,
“He had yet to learn that the unscrupulous in-
strument of his villanies were dead.
To his surprise, he discovered that his cousin was
a man of the world, equally ready for attack as de-
fer.ce—close as a tombstone on the events of his
past life—the point Sir Richard so ardently desired
to arrive at. . :
“T always imagined,” he said, “that you had died
abroad |” i
_ “« It was so given out, I believe!” replied his eou-
sin, carelessly. ‘ ;
“Then you have never beenon the continent ?”
“ Occasionally.” .
“Married, I presume?”
“Nol” replied Sir John; “and most probably
never shall be. In which case I need not remind
you that you are my heir!” :
Sir Richard Trevanian looked aa if he considered
the chance but a poor compensation for the loss of
eight thousand a-year. :
Althongh politely pressed to remain for the fune-
ral, he declined, pleading as an excuse the necessity
of his son’s immediately joining his regiment. The
following day he took his departure for London.
“ Go!” muttered the new baronet, as he saw him
drive from the Grange; “a blacker villain never
darkened the doors of an honest man! A villain
without temptation, too! Hunger never pressed
him—he never knew what {t was to pace the streets
without a shelter to fly to—the hounds of justice on
his track! But Ihave baffled them at last!” he
added; “at last! The prize has been worth suffer-
ing and sinning for!” : :
Immediately after the funcral of his grandfather,
the owner of Brierly Grange pensioned off all the
old servants, except the housekeeper and. vale-—
those he retained; the latter he named steward, in
the place of John Mortlock, who had been so many
years in the confidence of his disappointed: cousin.
When the neighboring gentry called to condole
with him on his loss, they t ought it somewhat sin-
gular that Sir John Mordaunt never returned their
®