Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 35, Number 84, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 June 1903 — WHO WAS GUILTY [ARTICLE]

WHO WAS GUILTY

A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE

CHAPTER Vll.—(Continued.) A. pang of mortification shot through |ne. Why had “Friend Mortloek” known, and not I? Why was he the chosen one? 1 concealed my mortification, however, and erpreased my delight at seeing him. He nodded and nodded—he was a little spare man, with not an ounce of niperduous flesh on his bones, and his bead seemed to be set on springs—and shook bands with me cordially, and greeted my wife and kissed her, and then, holding Eunice's two hands- in his, kissed her also. “The privilege of old age. my dear,” lie said. "And you are Eunice! You have grown into a very lovely young woman. We shall be the best of friends—the best as friends. You have a pretty place here, Kephew Richard, and it is well looked after. That is what I like to see. I beg yonr pardon." These last words were in reference to Mile. Rosalie, who rtood a little in the background. I introduced her. “How do you do —how do you doT’ he aaid, nodding at her as he had nodded at ns. “Lenormand—Lenormand. I know •a family of that name.in Versailles. Any relation?" “I have no relations, sir.” said Mile. ■Rosalie, adding, with a glance at me, ““out of England.” ■ “ludocd. indeed." he said; “no relations out of England? Nephew Richard, I want to walk through your grounds, ■but first I wish to place this in safety.” He motioned to Mr. Mortloek, who came ■forward wi:h a dispatch box, which I 'bad observed he was carrying. “There Is money in it. Nephew Richard. I never travel without money. It is the open «esame everywhere, even among savages, my dear" —this to Eunice. “1 have seen many, and U is surprising how quickly they learn the value of money.” “Your rooms are ready, sir,” I said. “Will you see them now?" “At once—at once. Carry the box for me. No, do not trouble, my dears. ■Nephew Richard and I will go alone; we ■will rejoin you presently.” CHAPTER VIII. We went up to his rooms together, and I was glad to hear him say that they were pleasantly situated. “I hope you will make a long stay with ms,” I said. “That depends—that depends. Let me ■thank you now for your courtesy to my friend Mortloek. He is full of your praises: of yours and your good family’s. A charming gentleman—an exceptionally charming gentleman. l>o you not think *o?” To please him I replied, in as cheerful a voice as I could command, that Mr. Mortloek was a charming gentleman. “That is as it should be—as it should be. I have a great regard for him, the greatest regard. I knew that you would be great friends—great friends. Place the box there—there, by the side of my bed, at the head. That is the spot. Thank you. Now we will go down to ♦he ladies.” With polnhed politeness he offered my ■wife nnd Eunice each an arm, and we ■trolled through the grounds, at the beauty of which Le expressed himself much gratified. Samuel Fleetwood approached us. “Here is a faithful servant, sir,” I ■aid, beckoning to Fleetwood, “who will wait upon you nud attend to your wishes while you remain with us. ' We thought It likely you might conic without a ▼alet." “I have —I have,” said Mr. Wilmot. “I discharged my scoundrel only yesterday; he had been with me fifteen years, and I discharged him at a moment’s notice. Disregarded my orders, the scoundrel! Had lie not disobeyed *ie I should have provided for him. I *m not the best-tempered man in the •world; I k Tl °"' my failings; 1 must have *iy own way: J will have my own way. Ah! 1 kuow what is in your mind. Right •r wrong? Yes. right or wrong, I must* shave my way. Too old to learn. I am fixed —fixed, like an ancient tree. Ladies, you must not be displeased to learn that I am a very willful, hot-tempered «!d gentleman. That is why I never married; 1 should have made my wife miserable, so one woman was spared. It wns very thoughtful of you. Nephew Richard, to give me a.new valet. Fleetwood—is that your name?” , . “Yes, sir.” said Samuel Fleetwood. “Good name —good name; I shall not forget it. 1 never forget anything. Two tranks and a valise of mine have by this time arrived at the house: I told the scoundrels if they used dispatch they should have half a sovereign. Here it is; give it to them, and take my belongings to my Awuq?. and arrange things. Here ai* the keys; don't touch my papers, •aly my clothes and printed books.” Fleetwood sped off. and my uncle followed him with his eyes. He nodded and ! on nodding, till Eunice, selecting a •mall whitv rose, put it in his buttonhole “Thank you. my dear; I like attention. But why not one to your father?” Smilingly she picked up a flower and put It in my coat. “And why not one for Friend Morttoekr said my uncle. With a heightened color and biting lip. Jiunice gave Mr. Mortloek a rose. He made no demur that she did not fatten It In his coat at she had fastened my unale’s and mine: but he took his revenge by placing the rose to his lips before he put it in his buttonhole. Mr. Wilmot laughed. ' “Oh, youth, youth!” he exclaimed; “inMtimable. priceless treasure, that can so invest with magic qualities a simple nael Will science ever lead to the discovery of the elixir? Nephew Richard, 1 bove in my dispatch box five thousand pounds. I would give it cheerfully for a your of life; I would give all my wealth, 4Mi stand a beggar in naked feet, if I were twenty once more. My dear niece” it was a mark of graciousness on Mo port to so address my wife —“l am, aa you see, fond of life; it is ail we In the evening, when dinner was over, Harry game, and was duly introduced. exclaimed Mr. Wilmot; bo ayed Horry narrowly, and there was

a shade of displeasure on his face. “Clanronald! Ah!” Then he looked at Eunice, who was blushing and ill at ease, ; and at Harry again, who was nervous and awkward in the presence of a stranger; and then he turned his sharp eyes upon Mr. Mortloek, who met them smilingly, whereat Mr. Wilmot smiled, nnd nodded, and nodded -with great vivacity. Mr. Wilmot took Harry as his partner in a rubber of whist, and even when Harry revoked it did not ruffle him. After the rubber my uncle proposed a game of chess, and Checkmated poor Harry in twelve moves. Then my uncle called upon Mr. Mortloek to furnish entertainment, and this gentleman. with great willingness, applied himself to the task, and surprised u%, with a display of accomplishments of which he had hitherto made no parade. He related story after story; he gave imitations of singular people he had met in his travels; he sang in French, German and Italian, and accompanied himself with the skill of a master. My wife, as I observed, disapproved of some of these songs, but Mr. Wilmot shook with laughter. Mile. Rosalie was called upon to contribute to the entertainment, and she sang admirably and with great spirit. At length, to our relief, the ewening came to fin end. Harry had said good-night and had gone home unhappy, Eunice was miserable, and my wife and I were filled with disquieting reflections. Only Mr. Wilmot and Mr. Mortloek seemed to have enjoyed themselves and to have passed a pleasant time. My uncle bade Eunice nnd her mother good-night, and said that be foresaw that his visit would be eminently agreeable. “I breakfast late,” he said. “Nephew Richard, you will see me to my room.” Fleetwood was there when we reached it, arranging Mr. Wilmot’s things for the night. Upon our entrance he retired through n communicating door into his own adjoining bedroom. “To-morrow, Nephew Richard,” said Mr. Wilmot, “wc will speak of matters of business, upon which I have no doubt we shall agree. There is a rmall task 1 wish you to assist me in to-night. Lift my dispatch box on the table. Thank you. Here is the key. Unlock it. Always on the first night of my arrival in a new place I see that my money and valuables are safe. \ r ou will see a cash box there. Yes. that is it. This key with a piece of blue ribbon round it will open it. Now, let vis count;” Together we counted the money in the cash box. There were exactly five thousand pounds—five hundred sovereigns, and four thousand five hundred in Bank of England notes. The cash box'*contained also several articles of jewelry of considerable value, one of which, a singlestone diamond ring, the jewel in it being of extraordinary brilliancy, although not large, he put on his finger. Before the money nnd jewels were replaced in the box Mr. Wilmot recalled Fleetwood into the room and he saw them spread out on the table. When they were all safely packed away my uncle said: "Do not let me be disturbed lin the morning, Nephew Richard. I never allow myself to be called or disturbed. Nature informs mo when I have had sufficient rest. Somewhere about 1 o’clock in the day we will have our chat. Goodnight.” On my way to my room I encountered Mile. Rosalie nud bade her good-night. “Good night, sir,” she said. "What a charming gentleman Mr. Wilmot is, and what a delightful evening we have passed!” Then she whimpered, “I ought to tell you, sir, that I have not had the courage yet to tell Mrs. Pardon my secret. I am writing out my life, which I shall give her to read, and she will know all.” 1 nodded and left her. I had matters of greater importance to think of than Mile. Rosalie’s small family secrets.

CHAPTER IX. “Now." said my uncle, on the following day, when we were together in his room, "we will have our chat. I ?hall be glad to get it off my inind, and you will, too. First let me o" press my approval of my new scoundrel Fleetwood. When I leave you I shall be almost inclined to tempt him to accompany me.” “He has heart disease,” I said, “and, I am afraid, has not long to live.” “By the way, Nephew Richard, the young man who was here last night and revoked at whist —have you known him long?"'.“For sonf?what over two years,” I replied. "But my letter has explained—” “Ah, those letters!” said Mr. Wilmot. "Would you believe, Nephew Richard, that there are two boxes full of them—actually two boxes full? I burst out laughing when 1 saw them, and I quickly locked the boxes again. Life is too short for correspondence. When I return to London I shall instruct sonie one to separate the wheat from the chaff, and then probably burn the lot—positively burn tile lot without looking at them.” I was seized with consternation. My uncle had not read my letter announcing Eunice's engagement with Harry Clanronald; he was in ignoranee that Eunice’s heart was pledged to the young fellow; and lie was now in my house with the intention of promoting Mr. Mortlock's suit. 1 was convinced of it, and presently the proof came, and left no shadow of doubt behind. “A great many years ago,” said my mu-le. “I was acquainted with a Mr. Clanronald, whom I have no reason to think well of. If it is the same, he is this young man’s father. you« have a photograph of him?” I went to the drawing room. and. selecting the album in which Mr. Clanronald's portrait was placed, I took it up to Mr. Wilmot. My mind was tilled with misgivings, for my uncle's voice, when be spoke of Mr. Clauronald. boded ilk “Let mp find the portrait for myself,” he said; and I handed him the album. As he turned over the pages I telt that consequence* almost vital were trembling in the balance. ”Yes,” said Mr. Wilmot. pausing at a page, “this Is the man —it is he.” He nodded and snarled at the bit of pasteboard. “Let us be sure. This is the father of the young man who played what he called chess with me Isst night?”

"Tea.” # He closed the book. “Nephefir Richard, you and I do not know much of each other.” “Not as much as I should have desired, air.”* . “Well, well. Perhaps we have been better friends apart. It is often the pase —often the case. I like you; I like your wife; I like your daughter. There are oue or two others I like—only one or two. I like Mortloek; you like him, too; you said' he was a charming gentleman. So he is—charming. There are men I dislike—some more, some less. They do not trouble me. because I do. not allow them to trouble me. I wipe them out, I do not express my dislike; 1 do not as much as think of them, unless they happen to be forced upon me. As in this case. I dislike your Mr. Cianronald, much more than less. I will not enter into the reasons for my dislike; they are private and delicate, and are, to me sufficient. That much being said, we dismiss the Clanronalds. Let me never hear their name again.” “But, sir, I said, in a helpless tone of remonstrance, for hope seemed surely slipping from me, “it is of this very Harry Cianronald I must speak.” “Pardon me,” he said, in a tone of extreme politeness, and had I been better acquainted with his character I should have known that this was in him a dangerous sign. “I do not see the necessity. Let us, at all events, first speak of what will be mutually agreeable—mutually agreeable. I present myself to you aa an ambassador.” “As an ambassador?” I stammered. “As an ambassador,” he repeated, blandly. “I have the honor to ask the hand of yonr lovely daughter Eunice for my dear friend Mortloek.” I gazed at him in a kind of despair; he continued: “He is a gentleman; a man of good family, a traveled man; a cultured man; a man of parts; and I like him. When I introduced him to you and your delightful family I had a latent hope that he would fall in love with your daughter. It has happened. I did not say to him, ‘Go to England; go to Boscombe Lodge, Sevenoaks, and make n friend of my nephew Richard, and there behold a fresh and budding type of English beauty in the person of my nephew Richard’s charming daughter Eunice. I might have said as much, having, before I left England, received a picture of your daughter, for which, I think, I have not thanked you, and in which I discerned a bud that would blossom into a rare loveliness; but I did say to Friend Mortlock„ ‘Nephew Richard has a daughter; it is time you should settle down/ What I hoped has come to pass, and I approve.” “What you ask,” I said, “is impossible. Eunice does not love Mr. Mortlock. Her heart is given to another. To Harry Claifrouald.” “A childish fancy,” said my uncle, “whilst will soon pass away. She cannot marry“him.” - '‘She must, uncle. She is pledged. I know the nature of my child. She will never wed another.” He did not lose his temper, but I saw a change come over his face. His sharp eyes grew sharper and smaller, and this diminishing sign, if I may so express it, distinguished all his features. His wizened face grew still more wizened, his mouth seemed to contract, his nostrils to become thinner, and when lie spoke again his voice was cold, clear and precise. and seemed to come through lips of steel.

“Nephew Richard, I was right when I said we do not know much of each other. ■ Even if I had not set my heart upon this match, I would never consent to your daughter marrying young Mr. Clauronald; but I have set my heart upon it, and if you are prudent you will range yourself on my side. You shall not be in the dark, whichever way you decide. I will be very explicit. It is in no petty or boastful mood thpt I sny I have behaved well to you and yours.” “You have behaved, sir,,” I said, “most liberally, most generously. A lifetime of gratitude could not repay you.” "1 will be content with less,” he said, dryly. “There is not much merit in what 1 have done; what you have received from me I could well spare. In all my life I have really loved but one human being—your mother, my only sister. When your father fell into misfortune I resolved upon my course; and once resolved, Nephew Richard, it needs, indeed, a powerful reason to move me. Oblige me by unlocking my dispatch box." He paused occasionally as 1 attended to his instructions. "Beneath the cash box are some papers tied round with red tape. Bring them forward. Lawyers’ papers, Nephew Richard. Lock the box again. Untie the papers, and take from them the largest and most important. It is my will. You may read it if you like. It makes you my heir to the greater portion of my property. For what I have done for you—for what I have cheerfully and ungrudgingly done, I have never asked from you the least return; I have never requested you to render me the slightest favor. For the first and only time I ask now a favor at your hand; —give your consent to the union of your daughter with Friend Mortlock.” “I cannot, sir.” “Weigh well your words. Nephew Richard. The consequences of your refusal will be that 1 shall destroy this will, making another person my heir. To you and yours not one shilling; nor shall vou ever receive another shilling of my money.” My heart fainted within me; absolute beggary stared mo in the face; and with that beggary, as it seemed to me, disgrace. “I regret," continued my uncle, “that I should have been forced iuto speaking so plainly. I give you till to-morrow morning to reflect, to talk over the matter with your wife. Till then, we will speak no further on the subject. What 1 have resolved upon is Irrevocable, and there is nothing surer in life than you and I have done with eaeh other forever eif you then determine to oppose my wishes.” I r.aw that it would not improve matters if I remained with him,; therefore I left him and sought my wife. “What has happened?” she askpd, in a voice of alarm. She read the news in my face. I told her all. and, cast down and despairing aa she was, she said that I had acted right. "Do you realize wbst it means?” I said. “We shall hare to quit thia place at once; we shall be thrown upon the world to starve!” And then I started up, and paced the room hi a state of terrible excitement, saying that it was monstrous such a blow should be dealt us by a feeble old man. “Feeble and okl." I repeated vacantly;

“yes, feeble and old. He la over seventy. If he should die to-night!” Tha words froze upon my lips. “Richard!" cried my wife. "God forgive me!” I said; “I know not what I am saying. But it shall not — shall not —shall not be!” How the day passed I can scarcely recall. I know that my wife sent a note by hand to Harry Cianronald, requesting him not to come to our house that evening. I know that we. Mile. Rosalie, Mr. Wilmot and Mr. Mortloek, dined together, and that I was forced to play the part of host. I know that the three names I have written were full of Sparkle and animation, while we were moody and silent. I know that Mile. Rosalie and Mr. Mortloek played and sang. And then came the good-night all round, and I was in my bedroom with my wife. Her eyes were encircled by dark rings; her face wns wan; her limbs shook; her voice trembled as she spoke. (To be continued.)