CHAPTER XV.

The wealthy, the haughty, the noble must alike taste of disappointment.

They court ideas whilst surrounded with bountiful store to be fostered

and fed with heaven-bordered hopes which nothing save denial could

thwart. The meek, the humble, the poor share equally in its visitation,

and learn not to frown at its unwelcome intrusion while they bear the

load of blighted hopes with unshrinking modesty.

At Dunfern Mansion matters seemed at a standstill, since that Christmas

Day which began with such sunshine and ended with such misery. Energy

had fled from the able-bodied staff of servants who occupied its rooms

of plentiful repast. Each and all of them seemed as if death had entered

their midst and snapped from amongst them their sole support.

Was it because of Rachel Hyde's hasty departure? No! They had now no

domineering inflicter of petticoat power to check their honest actions

or words; no eyes of dreaded terror viewing through spectacles of sin

their little faults, and submitting them, in exaggerated form, to the

ear of him who now lay so dangerously ill; no false face masked in

brasen mould, nor tongue of touchy cut to divide their friendship.

Rachel Hyde, whose word, nay, look, was law, was driven from the

presence of him who too long was blind to her false approaches, and who

always treated her with more leniency and consideration than she really

deserved, never again to mount a pinnacle of trust and truth, or share

in the confidence of such a just and true specimen of humanity as Sir

John Dunfern. She had been made to reap the crops of cunning falsehood,

sown so oft in the fields of honour and true worth, and pocket the

result of their flimsy income. She, by her long service of artifice,

had scattered the seeds of scepticism so thickly around the corners of

harmony, goodwill, and peace as to almost defy their speedy removal; but

time would swamp their silent growth and supplant in their stead roots

of integrity, justice, and benevolence. She had at last been cast on the

mercy of a world of icy indifference to facts of long standing, and made

to taste of the stagnant waters of pity, which flung their muddy drops

of rancid rascality on the face of dogmatic dread, until crushed beneath

their constant clash she yielded her paltry right to Him Whose order

must never be disobeyed.

Tom Hepworth, whose absence was partly the cause of sorrow within the

breasts of his fellow-workers in Dunfern Mansion, was much to be pitied;

he was the very soul of honour, and was highly respected by all who knew

him. In his presence every care vanished like snow in sunshine; the

pitiful look that shot from the eye of the down-trodden in Rachel Hyde's

presence was thrown aside when Tom appeared. He acted as a father and

friend on all occasions where trouble reigned supreme, and never failed

to hear the light laugh of youth proceed from its hidden bed, where it

too often reposed untouched.

Tom Hepworth, whose race was nearly run, when leaving Dunfern Mansion

took refuge in the home of Mrs. Durand, his sister, who lived only a

short distance from where he had spent more than a third part of his

existence. A few months only elapsed whilst under her roof when he was

seized with a fit of apoplexy, terminating in a few hours a life of

usefulness and blameless bearing. The shock of his sudden demise, when

conveyed to his master, whom he revered, brought on a severe attack of

hemorrhage, under which Sir John Dunfern now lay prostrate.

Not a week passed after Lady Dunfern took up residence at Audley Hall

until Sir John was informed of her whereabouts. Had her escape been

effected unknown to Oscar Otwell, it would scarcely have taken such hold

on the mind of him who, unfortunately, claimed her as his wife; but to

think he had again been duped by a rascally pauper tutor was a pill too

difficult to swallow without being moderately reduced. The troubles that

visit the just are many, and of these Sir John had ample share. He knew,

when too late, that he had jumped the drain of devotion with too much

intensity to gain a worthless reward.

He was tempted to invest in the polluted stocks of magnified extension,

and when their banks seemed swollen with rotten gear, gathered too often

from the winds of wilful wrong, how the misty dust blinded his sense of

sight and drove him through the field of fashion and feeble effeminacy,

which he once never meant to tread, landing him on the slippery rock of

smutty touch, to wander into its hidden cavities of ancient fame, there

to remain a blinded son of injustice and unparallelled wrong! All these

thoughts seized the blighted protector of the late Colonel Iddesleigh's

orphan daughter; and being gradually augmented by many others of private

and public importance, rose, like a tumour of superfluous matter, and

burst asunder on receiving the last blow relative to poor old Tom

Hepworth.

Sir John in a few weeks gradually grew stronger, until finally he

baffled his severe illness with Christian bravery, and was again able to

keep the ball of industry moving in the direction indicated during his

years of singleness, on which he now looked back, alas! not with sorrow,

but pride.

During all this trying time, however, it must be admitted there shone

one bright star of filial attraction which seemed to shoot its reflected

lines of loving brightness towards him, whose face always beamed with

delight in return. Yes, his little son Hugh, who had been placed under

the care of Madam Fulham, since Lady Dunfern, by her conduct, could no

longer fill the post of mother, had grown to be a bright child, able to

totter around his nursery toys of cost and variety. He always seemed a

cheerful, intelligent boy, and extremely beautiful, but inclined to be

slightly self-willed, a trait which developed itself more and more as

years rolled on.

At the age of six, Sir John, abhorring the advice of his many friends to

procure for him a tutor, had him sent to Canterbury High School, where

he remained for a period of five years as boarder, under the careful

charge of Professor Smeath, a man of the highest literary attainments,

and whose exemplary training of the many youths placed under his august

rule was so pronounced as to leave no room for doubt in the minds of the

many parents who intrusted their respective charges to him. Each week

during this period found Sir John a visitor at Canterbury; he gave every

instruction necessary to Professor Smeath that would serve to interest

his son in any way, and strictly prohibited him from allowing any

outsider whatever, male or female, an interview with his boy, always

treating with dread the wily ways of her who claimed to be once his

partner, and who had brought a shower of everlasting shame upon himself

and child. This order had only to be issued once to the stern professor

carrying out on all possible occasions any instructions received from

the parents of the pupils under his control with unflinching and

undeniable reliance.

During these five years of Hugh Dunfern's instruction at Canterbury, Sir

John was seen to gradually grow careless and despondent. The healthy

glow of youth disappeared daily since domestic affliction entered his

home, and wrote its living lines of disgust with steady hand on the brow

which was now thickly marked with them. He got too much time to meditate

on the immediate past, which was considerably augmented by the absence

of his son.

He was known to sit for hours at a time in deep and painful thought, and

it was only when aroused by Madam Fulham that he ever cared to stir from

his much-frequented couch of rest; she whom he appointed housekeeper in

Rachel Hyde's stead, and who acted as well mother to his little son

until removed to school--she extended him every attention, of which he

stood in great need, after his severe attack of illness and trial,

bodily and mentally.

Time rolled along until his son's return from Canterbury, whose very

presence should have healed the gaping wounds his absence inflicted, and

chased away all gloomy cavities from the mind of Sir John. On the day of

Hugh's home-coming, after five years' training under Professor Smeath,

which should have been a day of gladness and rejoicing throughout

Dunfern Mansion, it was only one of sadness for the heart-broken father.

Bouncing into the room with boyish pride, Hugh ran and proudly embraced

him, who, in return, stood face to face with the very image of her whom

he could never again own.

There were the rounded forehead, the aquiline nose, the hazel eyes, the

nut-brown hair, the ruby lips, the pearly teeth, the dimpled cheeks and

tiny chin of his mother, who probably was grappling at the crumbs of

pauperism! However, Sir John manfully tried to hide from his boy the

source of his grave looks, until some day of revelation would demand

their blackened origin to be boldly announced to him who as yet was

solely ignorant of his mother being alive.

Six weeks' holiday passed too quickly, Hugh thought, until he would

another time be compelled to quit his home of unbounded luxury and enter

Chitworth College, Berks, for a further period of instruction, the

length of which events alone would define.

Although the very name of Chitworth College brought reminiscences of

dislike to him who suffered so much from one of its former staff, yet

those days had fled, and with them the footsteps of flaming stratagem.

Being a personal friend of Professor O'Sullivan, Sir John preferred his

son to reside with him, and receive under his able control all the

necessary acquirements devolving upon a son of such a proud and

distinguished race. The morning at last arrived for Hugh to start on his

college career, and, accompanied by his father, was not long in

completing the journey.

The interview between Sir John and his attached friend, Doctor

O'Sullivan, was affecting in the extreme, so much so that Hugh, being an

entire stranger to such outbursts of grief, and not being prepared for

such sudden emotional and silent greeting as that now witnessed by him,

began to feel it impossible to refrain from joining in their sorrow.

Throwing his youthful arms around his father's neck, he sobbed

hysterically, and could only be quieted when his father again appeared

cheerful.

Leaving his son in charge of Doctor O'Sullivan, the latter retired from

duty that day, and begged Sir John to remain over-night, adding that he

would so much like to have a chat with him over matters he had known,

and was persuaded to believe caused heartfelt pity to be secreted where

once there dwelt heartfelt pride. To this proposal Sir John consented

willingly, not caring to leave his gentle and much-loved boy so soon

after such a trying meeting as that which he not alone witnessed between

friends of old standing, but in which he modestly and sympathetically

joined.

All the past gravity which marred Sir John Dunfern's mirth and

usefulness, and which he kept attracted to one common centre, crept from

its crazy cell on this evening. So soon as dinner was over the President

and Sir John retired to a room of seclusion, and the intense relief it

gave the trodden and blighted messenger of manhood to at last have a

friend in whom he could confide no one could half imagine!

For fully five hours both sat talking confidentially to each other and

sympathising when necessary, and it was only during this conversation

that Sir John was first made acquaint either of his wife's marriage with

Oscar or her present abode, neither of which, in the President's

estimation, moved the husband of treachery in its most mischievous form

much.

The news of his wife being Mrs. Otwell, instead of the honourable name

her conduct ordered her to bury, only served to cast for ever the gentle

words of practical remembrance Sir John had in his last will and

testament concerning her into an unknown chasm. Until now the forgiving

husband, the meek adviser, the patient sufferer, the wounded knight,

the once attached partner, the loving father, and the son of justice,

gratitude, and chastity was ready to share a little of his ransom with

her whom he thought he may have probably wronged by too rigorous

punishment. But President O'Sullivan, whose well-guided words and

fatherly advice had on this evening so sealed the mind of forgiveness

with the wax of disinterested intent that Sir John, on his arrival home,

at once sent for his solicitors, Messrs. Hutchinson & Harper, and

ordering his will to be produced, demanded there and then that the pen

of persuasion be dipped into the ink of revenge and spread thickly along

the paragraph of blood-related charity to blank the intolerable words

that referred to the woman he was now convinced, beyond doubt, had

braved the bridge of bigamy. Some slight alterations, in consequence,

were necessary to be made, and these being righted, the will of Sir John

Dunfern remained a prisoner until released on the day of execution,

which as yet could not possibly be named.