Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 June 1885 — A FALSE FRIEND. [ARTICLE]

A FALSE FRIEND.

I returned only three months ago from Melbourne, where I had been in practice as a surgeon for about ten years. When I went out to the colony there were good openings in most of the larger towns for medical men, and as I was exceptionally fortunate in the introductions which the forethought of my friends at home had provided me, patients rang my bell in considerable numbers. Within three years I was making an annual income of nearly £3,000, and when, owing to family necessities, I was obliged regretfully to turn my back upon the new land that had treated nle so handsomely, I had saved £20,000, and had, in addition, obtained a very respectable sum by the sale of the good-will of my practice to a distinguished young Edinburgh surgeon, who went out expressly to succeed me. I give these details, not in order to encourage ambitious young fellows, fresh from the schools, to rush off to Australia under the imbression that it is still an Eldorado, but in order to show that I stood well forward in the front rank of my profession in Melbourne, and in some measure to account for the fact that when a gentleman who held very high political rank in "Victoria met with a severe and ultimately fatal accident, I was called in to attend.him. I suppress his name for reasons which will be obvious later on, but for convenience I will call him Sir James Reilly. Sir James was one of the largest land and stockholders in the colony.' I have ridden for mihas along the jjbanks of the river Murrumbidgee without going off his property; and whereas ordinary men count their possessions by hundreds of acres, he counted his by hundreds of square miles. He had worked hard, and his upward progress had been gradual, but it bad always been steady. When I knew him, no man in Australia was more respected or looked up to. He had been knighted as a small reward for his services as a colonial minister; he had received all kinds of gratifying testimonials from his fellow-citizens; his word in all the transactions of life was as good as another man’s bond; and yet Sir James, forty years before, had come to Australia as a convict, on account of the disgraceful crime of forgery. I never inquired into the details of his case, and indeed, I never knew them until he told them to me when he was on his deathbed.

Sir James lived in a beautiful and spacious house overlooking: the sea, and distant a few miles from the center of the city. In spite of his seventy years he was a good and active horseman; and one morning, as wsb his frequent custom, he rode into Melbourne in order to transact some business with'his solicitor. He had quitted the lawyer’s office, and was already half way home again, when his horse was frightened by some blastlngOperations which were being carried on in connection with the making of a new road. The animal became restive, and finally threw Sir James. He fell heavily upon a heap of stones, and his groom coming up found him insensible. The unfortunate gentleman, who was well known to every one in the neighborhood, was tenderly carried to the nearest house; and no sooner did he regain consciousness than he sent his servant,for his carriage, and dispatched a messenger to request me to go to his house. I rode thither immediately, and reached the place before Sir James’s arrival. I feared, of course, that he had met with an accident, but I bad not the faintest idea of the nature of it; and therefore I was greatly shocked when, a few miputes later, I saw him lifted from his carriage, helpless and well-nigh speechless. He was conveyed to his bed-room, which was upon the ground floor; and upon examining him I discovered that several of Iris ribs were broken, that the internal organs had been injured, and that there was, practically speaking, no hope of his recovery. Sir James was a bachelor, and had no female relatives in this colony. He might live, I knew, for some days; and as his housekeeper, though a kind and thoughtful woman, far too advanced in years to be capable of properly attending upon her unfortunate toaster, I sent the groom back ' to Melbourne for an experienced hospital nurse, and in the meantime remained with my distinguished patient, and did all that lay in my power for him. When the news of the accident was published in the city, is occasioned great excitement. Several of Sir James' former oolleagues immediately

met together, and one of them rode to the house to request that I would not leave it so lons as my patient continued to breathe. I was to summon any assistance that I might need and do exactly as I deemed best. “We would move heaven and earth,” said the gentleman, “to preserve his valuable life.* “I feel,” said I, “that there is not the slightest hope of saving it; but you may be sure that I will spare no pains. ” Sir James had fainted during his removal, from the carriage to the house and he did not regain the use of his sensed for some hours afterward. I, was sitting by his bedside when he opened his eyes.” “So I’m not gone yet, doctor,” he said, with a weird kind of humor. “Can this last for long?” “Who can say?” I replied. “You are sadly hurt. Are you in much pain ?” “No; thank God! In pain, but not in severe pain.” “I should warn you,” I said as gently as I could, “that if you have any worldy affairs to settle, you should settle them speedily. There is grievous danger.* “I know it,” he returned, with a sad smile; “but I have settled everything —everything, that is, that a* lawyer could help me in. Yet before I die there is something that I should like to confide to you.” “Will it agitate you to tell it?” “I’m afraid it will, a little,” he replied.

“Then wait until to-morrow, Sir James. The danger is great—even inevitable, I fear; but not immediate; and yon had better wait until you are calmer, anddet us hope, stronger. The shock has tried you terribly, and yon have not yet had time to recover from it.” “As you will,” he assented. “But do hot leave it until too late.” - I recommended him to the care of the nurse, who had by this time arrived, find retired to bed, not knowing how soon I might be summoned to him, or how long it might be befove I should be able again to quit his side. In the morning I returned to his room. He was sleeping, and the nurse informed me that he had passed an unexpectedly good night. After I had breakfast, therefore, when he once more referred to the subject which seemed to be uppermost in his mind, I permitted him to talk, but implored him to control himself as much as possible, and not to overtax his strength. What he told me was in substance as follows. I made exhaustive notes of it as soon as I left his room, and I am confident that I have succeeded in recalling many of Sir James’ actual phrases. It made a very powerful impression upon me, and I do not doubt that it will a qualiy excite the interest and sympathy of the reader. The names alone are altered. “Y was born,” he said, “in London in 1812. My father was the rector of St. —• —’s; and after putting me to a good school he sent me to Cambridge. I took my degree in 1833, and" then went to the bar. My chief friend both at Cambridge and at the Inner Temple was JHorace Raven, a young mah who possessed astonishing ability, remarkble good looks, great ambition, and the prospect of succeeding to a large fortune and to one of the oldest English baronetcies. In all these respects he was, I need scarcely say, my superior. I was a poor man; I had only my energies to depend upon; and I had no influential relations, no near relatives, indeed of any kind except my father, I being an only child, and my mother having died during my infancy. At the bar I was, for a youngster, fairly successful. Raven and I had chambers together; we had our law books in common; and we were on such terms of friendship that we were known on onr staircase as ‘the Brothers.’ For some years I lived a very happy life. I made enough to enable myself to live in tolerable comfort; and in time indeed I felt myself to be justified in looking out fora wife.

“One evening Haven and I went to a ball at Lady D ’s. We there met a Miss Mary Bagster, a young girl of surpassing beauty, and before the night was spent we,- had both—as I learned subsequently—fallen in love with her. Her father, like mine, was a poor clergyman. I had but little difficulty in establishing myself upon a footing of intimacy with her family, and pften when I visited them Haven accompanied me. Mary, though she was, as I have said, inexpressibly lovely, was of a somewhat cold disposition. She was unenthusiastic and self-contained tg an unusual degree; and yet, in her way, she was ambitious. She desired to marry a man who would make his way in the world, and it was only after some flattering hints about me and my ability had been let drcfjp in her presence by her father, wiio evidently favored me, that she consented to become my wife. Haven was not at Mr. Bagster*B house on that eventful evening. Next morning, when I met him at our chambers, I told him of what had occurred. He changed color, which at that time I attributed to the strength of his friendship for me, and then congratulated me in a somewhat extravagant manner. “ .When are you going to be married ?’ he asked.

“ ‘Soon,’ I replied. ‘There is no reason why we should delay. I could wish that I were a little better off, but our misfortune in that respect will, I trust, disappear in course of time. As it is, we shall, I think, be able to do pretty well.’ ‘I wish you joy,’ said Haven, as he rose to go into the Chancellor’s Court, where he had a brief that morning. “I had no idea that he also loved Mary Bagster, and that he had determined, even at that late hour, if not to wrench her from me for himself, at least to prevent my marrying her. His conduct toward me remained, so far as I could see, exactly what it .had been previous to my. engagement. He was genial and friendly, appeared to take an absorbing interest in all my plans for the future, and actually accompanied me to Brunswick Square to look over a house which was to be let, and which I thought of taking and furnishing. I found that the place would be rather, beyond my means, and regretfully told him so. “ ‘Never mind, Jack,’ he said; ‘you will find’ something better, perhaps. But I certainly should like you to have the house.’

“That evening we were sitting together over the fire. ‘Jack,’ he said suddenly, ‘we are old friends, and I want to give you a handsome weddiug present. “He had, I should explain, recently succeeded to the baronetcy and the estates, and was now a rich man. , “ ‘You are very good,’ I answered, ‘Anything that you may give ua will bo valued, not merely for itself, but for the sake of the giver.’ “ ‘We have been in chambers together,’ he resumed, ‘for more than seven years. I shan’t like losing your company ; for of course I shall be robbed of a good deal of it now. Be plain with me, Jack. Would not money be more useful to you than a mere present ? It usually is acceptible, I believe, in those cases ’ » “I thanked him feelingly for his forethought. ‘lt would be particularly welcome,’ I said. “Without another word, he drew his chair to the table, took his checkbook from a drawer, and filled in a draft, which, after he had carefully examined, he handed to me. “I took it. and gazed at it with astonishment—it was for a thousand pounds! ‘My dear Raven,’ I gasped, for I was overcome by this act of apparent and totally unexpected generosity, ‘it is too much; it is too good of you. I cannot think of accepting it.’ “ ‘Yon know that I can well afford it,’ he said curtly. ‘I insist upon your taking it. If you refuse, we cam no longer remain on terms of friendship.’ “ ‘Nay, Raven,’ I cried, while my heart seemed to rise to mv throat. ‘Do not misunderstand me. This is noble of you. I thank you with all my heart; but I cannot accept such a large sum.’ “He would not listen, however, to my refusal; and finally I pocketed both my pride and the draft. “Mary Bagster was at the time paying a short visit to her friends in the country; and thus it happened that I did not mention the fact of my having received Raven’s handsome present either to her or any one else. I looked forward to surprising her with the news upon her return to town; and in the meantime I sent the draft to my banker’s, a well-known private firm with which I had but recently opened an account. “A few mornings afterward I was sitting at breakfast in my bachelor lodgings in Chapel street, Bedford Row, when, without warning, a police officer entered my room, and showing me a warrant which authorized him to arrest me on a charge of forgery, took me into custody. “As you may expect. I was thunderstruck. ‘Forgery ? Forgery of what ?’ I exclaimed, half-maddened by the monstrous charge.

“But I soon learned a little, and guessed the rest. Raven, in order to dispose of me, and to effectually put a stop to my marriage, had written out ■the draft in an unusual manlier, and had appended his name in a way which had caused his banker to decline to cash the cheek, and to endorse it with the words: ‘Signature differs.’ “The draft had been returned in this condition to Raven, who witkout kesitation had pronounced it to be' a forgery. According to his story, which was only too plausTble, I alone could be the criminal. The check was payable to me; I had access to the drawer in which lie kept the book from which the form had been torn; and the clumsy signature had been written much as I might have written it. “You can guess the sequel, doctor. I was tried, and, although I was very ably defended by a leading counsel, who was a personal friend of mine, I was convicted and sentenced to transportation. How shall I describe to you the agony of those days! In due course I was sent out here with a shipload of cut-throats and felons. Th a few years, doubtless, I was nearly forgotten at home, for my conviction killed my father; and who else was there to remember me save Raven and Mary Bagster, whom he, to add to my wretchedness, soon afterward married?"

At this point Sir James was seized with spasmodic pains, brought on by his excitement; and I was obliged to temporarily forbid his continuing the painful narrative An hour or two later, however, finding him calmer, I permitted him to go on. “I served my time,” he continued, ‘'and then, having no friends in England, I decided to remain here. Like many others, I went to the diggings, and, unlike most, I was fortunate. I invested everything in land and stock; I tried to make myself publicly useful; gradually obtained the confidence and respect of my fellow-citizens, and two or three years ago, as you know, received the honor of knighthood. I can now say with truth, doctor, that there is no man in Australia who Vvouid refuse to grasp me by the hand because I'was once a convict.” “Has your innocence never been proved ?” I asked. “Never!” fie returned. “I might, perhaps, have made a second endeavor to prove it long ago; but I could not bring myself to make her unhappy—unhappier, that is. than he has made her. As I have told you, she became Lady Haven- You cannot expect me to be able do tell you that the man who so cruelly swore away my liberty made her a good husband. He systematically ill-treated her; and although she bore him several children, and was, I have heard, an exemplary wife until she was crushed by his brutality, he behaved to her as he would not have behaved to his dogs. Do you know, doctor, that I preserve my love for her still ? I have never ceased to love her, although she believed evil of me, and never sent me a single word of sympathy ; and I have left everything I have to her eldest son, who by this time has sons of his own. But I do not know whether or not she is dead. I have, however, provided that, should she be living, she is to have a life-interest in my estate. Poor thing, she deserves it; for sadly did she suffer,, and not infrequently, I expect, did she want" “And he?” I asked. “What became of Haven?” -1 - : “In time he deserted ’ her, and plunged into the lowest depths of drunkenness and dissipation. He had wasted his fortune; and not very long ago I read that he had been picked up in a fit in the streets of Paris and had . i ..... *

died before his removal' to#4he hospital.” t ' “I am shortly going to England* Sir James,” I saM, “and can be of any use in discovering this poor lady’s whereabouts, 4 shall be glad tq do my beat. ’’ “You are going to England? lam happy to hear it. You then can do what I feared would have to be done for ine by a third partjk I want you to find Lady Raven and tell her what I have told you. Tell her that, although we have been separated for more than forty years, I still think of her; that I die thinking of her; afid that I forgive her; and—yes, doctor, tell her, too, that I forgive him. I must forgive him. Yes; I do fully.” I not go on to describe the painful htfirs I spent at Sir James’ side ere death released him from his sufferings. Suffice it to say he bore himself, even in his moments of greatest agony, with becoming resignation. Until the last he was thoughtful for all about him rather than for himself ; and when the long sleep at last closed his weary eyes, I turned away, feeling that Australia had lost a man the memory of whom she might justly cherish. Two or three month? afterward I returned to England. Lady Raven, who for some time had been in impoverished circumstances, had meanwhile been discovered by my late patient’s solicitors; amd before I saw her, she had been apprised of the provisions of Sir James Reilly’s will. I introduced myself to her as his friend; and found her occupying a pleasant but not very well-furnished house in one of the best squares in Bayswater.

“It is all a mystery,” she said to me, when she had first for the disorder of her temporary \ aboder “Poor James I He was once very fond of me. It was many years ago. Wq should have married, you kn6w, but for an unfortunate circumstance! Perhaps you have heard of it ?” A I was slightly annoyed at the tone in which she spoke of her dead benefactor, “I have heard of it, Lady Raves?,” I returned, seriously. “But It did spoil his success in life,” she continued with a slight laugh; “and now at last he has made restitution. Well, it is only what we deserve I He robbed my late husband, you knojy; and it is fitting that we should be his heirs—is it not ?” I was beginning to feel angry. Eveij if Sir James had been guilty, she had no right to speak of him now in so light and scornful a tone. Already I saw she was recklessly spending her newly-acquired wealth, though she had not actually entered into possession of it, the will not then having b§en proved. Her misfortunes had not made a good woman of her. She was gaudily dressed. Instead of being in morning, she was covered with jewelry. Surely it was well for poor Sir James that this vain woman had never been his wife! “Lady Raven,” I said sternly, “we may as w ell end this. Sir James Reilly never injured you or any other living creature. It was your husband who wa? the criminal! He wrote his own name that to check which led to Sir James’ transportation. He denied the facts, and caused your benefactor to be sent tio the antipodes! And do you think that I, knowing all this, will suffer Sir James’fair name to be slandered?”

She turned pale, and ciung for support to a chair. “Gracious powers!” she exclaimed; “is it —can it be true ? I knew it, then—l knew it! My husband once told me all, when he was delirious with drink. God forgive me!” and she fell like a corpse to the floor. I summoned the servants, who carried her to her room. I then sent for a physician, and in the meantime did what I could to revive her. But my efforts were in vain; and soon after my colleague arrived she expired. An examination subsequently disclosed the fact that she had long been a sufferer from heart disease. I am glad to be able to say that her son, who is now enjoying Sir James Reilly’s munificent bequest, is worthy of the legacy. A week or two ago he sailed with his family for Victoria, and it is his ambition there to follow his benefactor’s footsteps. — Chamber’s Journal. «.