LELGARDE'S INHERITANCE.

IN TWELVE CHAPTERS. CHAPTER IX.

THERE was a long, long silence between us two, a silence, on my part, of bitter, angry disappointment. Let those who have never felt poverty despise me for dreading a return to it. I am not ashamed to own that the thought was gall and wormwood to me: though not for my own sake, Heaven knows.

"Perhaps he is dead," I said, at last; I could not help it; but Lelgarde stood with a brighter light in her eye and a deeper flush on her cheek than I had seen for many a day, and her first words took me by surprise.

"Thank God!" she said, heartily; then, in answer to my looks, I suppose: "Yes, thank God, the mystery is out; the wretched feeling I have had is gone."

She turned to the half-finished picture which we had hung on the wall, the picture in which the fair feeble face, with its light-hearted look, was piteous, when one thought of that poor weak child's after life.

"Rest in peace," Lelgarde said, solemnly; 66 the wrong shall be right at last. Oh! I thank God, I do thank him that I am freed from this crime, this injustice; and now, Joan, what is to be done?"

ward man had been hurried, by an overpowering passion, into an act for which he heartily despised himself. There were earnest entreaties that he might be allowed to reveal the marriage, exhortations to courage and plain-dealing; keen self-reproach at the part which he had played, and an almost contemptuous dashing aside of the feeble arguments in favour of secrecy with which his bride evidently answered him. Then there were brief directions as to her sojourn by the seaside, and the arrangements for the birth of the expected babe, and there was one letter, the last, written after the child's birth, and just as he was about to start on his Swiss journey, which thus concluded: "When you tell me that to own our marriage would kill your father, I can say no more; but that danger once removed, not an hour shall pass before I claim my wife and child in the face of day." No wonder this letter was blistered with tears. We found other letters too, addressed, not to Miss Hilda, but to Nurse Oliphant; these were in stiff writing and bookish English, evidently written by some one to whom a letter was a great and unusual effort. They announced the arrival of "the child you are interested in," and alluded to certain arrangements for its comfort as mentioned previously. There was one more paper of melancholy interest, the slip from the Times containing the account of the accident by which Henry Hamilton lost his life; and there was a bundle of receipts, all addressed to Nurse Oliphant, for the sum of two hundred pounds, evidently paid yearly, for the maintenance of the luckless boy. These went on to the time when nurse's and Miss Hilda's death occurred within a few days of each other, now about ten years since. Lelgarde eagerly pointed out the signature, "Gideon Hatterick," and the date, "The Coombe Farm, near Hollyfield."

"That is what I wanted. Where is it? Somewhere in Devonshire or Cornwall, I think. I will look it out in Bradshaw, and we will start at once."

"Gently, my dear," I said, for she looked far too much excited to act calmly and sanely just then, "you must take advice before you do anything."

There was a tap at the door, and the astonished face of the young kitchen-maid who entered reminded us that in our absorption we had allowed church-time to pass, and that all the servants were gone.

'Mr. Seymour Kennedy, ma'am," she said; "but I wasn't sure you was in.”

"Oh! show him in," cried Lelgarde, in an eager tone, and she rushed out to meet him at the door, her hands still full of papers, with what he evidently took for delighted welcome.

"The very person I wanted!" she cried, eagerly; "come in; I want advice. You will give it me."

I tried to signal caution to her, but it was thrown away; she held out her hand, and he took license to hold it in his, as indeed she almost led him into the drawingroom. I never saw his disagreeable face show so much genuine satisfaction as it did at that moment. I could have shaken Lelgarde for the impression which I saw she was creating.

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I am so glad I came," he said in the soft voice that irritated me; "I was hoping to waylay you as usual in the lane; and when you did not come, I took alarm, and could not help coming to ask if anything was amiss."

"Providence sent you!" said Lelgarde, rather melodramatically.

"Well, I at least shall give Providence a vote of thanks," he answered in a tone which chilled her high-wrought enthusiasm, and she subsided with a blush; seeing which, he spoke still more gently. "Now will you tell me in what I can serve you? I think I need not talk about the pleasure it will give me," and he glanced at me as much as to say "go," to which I replied with a look expressing, "not if I know it." "Read those" said Lelgarde, and placed the papers in his hands. I watched his countenance narrowly as he read, but it is unnecessary to say that my scrutiny was entirely thrown away. Coolly he read them one by one, and laid them down in regular order; coolly he folded them up again, and then said:

"Well, this is annoying-very."

In spite of my own previous reflections that it was annoying-very-I felt irate with him.

"What ought she to do, do you think?" I asked tartly enough.

66

Well; I should hope there may not be much trouble about the matter. There is no proof that the youth is alive; still less that he ever knew his own identity. It is for him to advance the claim; and after all he may not be able to establish it."

Lelgarde had quite regained her selfpossession; she spoke with quiet dignity.

"I will take care that there is no difficulty about that; only how to set about finding him ?"

"You promised to be guided by my advice, you know; and my advice is-do nothing at present. Wait-take timelook about you; there is at all events no immediate call for action."

Up went my Lelgarde's head.

"You hardly grasp the question, I think," she said.

Mr. Kennedy smiled at the idea, and answered as if she had been a child.

"You must help me then. What is it I do not grasp ?"

"You do not realise that every moment I spend here, as mistress of this place, I am adding to the cruel wrong that has gone on so much too long already. No immediate call for action? When for months I have been enjoying what is not my own. Oh! if you knew!"

She stopped-flushed, agitated-not to him could she hint at all that she had suffered.

"We will talk of this when you are calmer," he said in the same soothing voice; "I shall probably be here again in a few weeks-and I-I need hardly say how glad I shall be to serve you. Till we do meet again, let me entreat of you to take no compromising steps."

Lelgarde did not answer; and shortly afterwards Mr. Kennedy wished us goodbye, leaving on my mind a curious impression that, without a cold look, or an uncourteous word, he had been offensive. Not a word, not a look of his could have been found fault with; and yet I felt quite sure of two things-that he thought Lelgarde's warm welcome was due to her prospect of being penniless, and that he was not the man to interest himself in a penniless woman.

"I will have no more of lawyers," Lelgarde cried, impatiently, when he was gone. Mr. Graves? Yes, Mr. Graves may be consulted by-and-bye, perhaps, but surely, now, you and I can act for ourselves, Joan. We will go to Hollyfield to-morrow."

And she lost no time in setting about our preparations; examining train papers, and giving orders to the astonished Mrs. Bracebridge. No one who saw her that day, all eager interest, and noted her clearheaded and prompt arrangements, could have identified her with the drooping, pining girl, who had lately gone moping about the house. Not once did her spirits flag. We went to the afternoon service, and there, when my stubborn old spirit was inwardly growling at Providence, I saw her sweet face uplifted in real thankfulness.

Only when we left the church a little tinge of melancholy seemed to steal over her. The days were lengthening fast, and something of daylight lingered still. She passed her arm through mine, silently led me up a path through the plantations, which brought us to the top of a knoll behind the house. Athelstanes lay below us, a grey mass of building. The red light in the sitting-rooms was shining out comfortably in the growing darkness; the cows were walking in slow procession from the milking-shed to the paddock; the garden showed traces of Lelgarde's design for spring beauties. She turned to me with a rather wistful smile.

"Come and gone! Mine has been a strange, short reign, has it not ?"

I could not answer. I felt the necessity of being angry with somebody, and thought vindictively of the poor feeble creature, whose selfish weakness had left this legacy of doubt and disappointment behind her, the unfaithful sister, the undutiful daughter, the weak wife who dared not own her husband, the cowardly mother who forsook her sucking child.

wives to bring the money, I fancy-not nice men."

"Are you thinking of Mr. Seymour Kennedy ?" I could not help asking. She raised her eyes to mine in amazement.

"Of Mr. Seymour Kennedy? Certainly not. I was not thinking of any one in particular."

And therewith we both became silent, and continued so till the butler came in with our bedroom candles.

The next morning we started early, slept on the road, and before noon on the following day found ourselves at the little hilltown of Catcombe, the nearest station to the village of Hollyfield.

CHAPTER X.

But Lelgarde answered earnestly, "Yes, God forgive her!" And silence fell between us.

Her next words startled me a little.

Joan, do you remember how they brought us here the first day to have a view of the old house? Ah, me! Harry Goldie may become a great artist, but it is not here that he will visit me. Come, let us go home," she added immediately, and all the evening she was very silent-the reaction, doubtless, from the morning's excitement.

She sat on the hearth-rug, as she often used to do, gazing into the depths of the fire, till I asked if she was reading her fortune there.

From the moment we started we were gradually mounting, and before long a thickly wooded bank rose on our right; on our left was a descent as thickly wooded, ending in a little noisy brook that sparkled out into the light, now and then, a dash of white in the tender April green. A long ascent brought us out on a heathery common, whence we could see all around, over hill and dale, to the sea; and then we began to descend.

"I can see no sign of a house, and yet I suppose Hollyfield is not far off," said Lelgarde; and, even as she spoke, there opened out in the glade below a little cluster of houses round a church and parsonage. No safer nook could certainly have been chosen wherein to bury a secret. Our driver touched his hat, and looked for orders. "To the parsonage," said Lelgarde, decidedly.

She was very pale, her lips compressed, evidently a little nervous, but self-possessed nevertheless. For myself, I own I felt as if we were pulling the string of a showerbath. The parsonage, a little ivy-covered thatched cottage, stood close to the churchyard wall; and at the garden gate we got out, and walked up to the door. A roundeyed, rosy-cheeked maid-servant gazed at us

I think Lelgarde began to realise that her quest had its awkwardnesses; but she stood her ground with upraised head and quiet, fearless look, a match, as she always was, for all merely human encounters. But we were both relieved, I think, when the clergyman, emerging from his study, proved to be a venerable, silver-haired gentleman of benevolent aspect.

"In what can I serve you? Will you walk in ?" he said, politely; and we entered his study, a room in truly bachelor-like disorder, littered with books and papers. Very shy and uncomfortable he looked, and I could not help feeling that we were probably taken for well-got-up beggars of intrusive manners.

Lelgarde began, her voice gathering firmness as she went on.

"I am come to ask if you can give me any information about a child, at least a youth-I suppose-a young man"-(the rector looked alarmed)—“who was brought up, I believe, by some people of the name of Hatterick, at a place called the Coombe Farm, in your parish ?"

"Poor Henry Hamilton?" said the clergyman, looking surprised, and much interested.

Lelgarde met the look with one more eager.

Yes. Oh, that is the person I mean. Where is he?" And she looked ready to start up and fly to him.

parson

The old shook his head. "If you could tell me that, my dear young lady, you would make me a very happy old man," he said, feelingly.

"Is he dead ?" I found myself asking; and I suppose the tone was peculiar; for both my listeners looked at me in surprise. "No," the old man said-(his name was Benson, as we found out afterwards) "no, I trust not; but where he is, or how he is faring, God knows-the God of the orphan," he murmured, almost to himself.

66 Will you please tell me about him. It is not for nothing that I ask," Lelgarde

said.

He smiled at the childish emphasis on

the imploring "please," and looked into her young face with sudden kindness.

"You know him, then ?" he said.

"No," she answered, blushing a little, "but I believe him to be a relation of my own; I think I know who he is. Unless I can find him I shall be very, very unhappy."

"You know who he is!" cried the old man, eagerly; then, checking himself, "but I see you want to hear all I can tell you before you tell your story. It is not much. I came to the parish-let me see- -four-andtwenty years ago; and at that time I believe young Hamilton was at the farm, a little infant, under Mrs. Hatterick's care. Mrs. Hatterick was a good woman."

He paused, musing; there was a misty, unpractical look in his mild blue eye, which, connected with the untidy room and the loaded writing - table, made me set him down as a dreamer and a scribbler more than a worker. His next words confirmed my idea.

"I

suppose most old people feel that they have not done as much good in the world as they might; but this is my case, espe cially when I think of that poor lad. There has always been a mystery about him, and perhaps I ought to have made it my business to try to clear it up, and ascertain if there was any wrong-doing in the matter; but I am not clever at finding the right moment for beginning things-and then it is too late."

"You knew him ?" I suggested, as he showed signs of going off into a reverie of self-reproach.

"Knew him? Poor lad, he used to come to me every day from the time he was seven years old to be taught his Latin and English, and such smatterings in general as I could give him. Mrs. Hatterick was a just woman, and while she lived the boy had his due."

Mr. Benson, with a sigh. "Poor youth, he trusted me, and would always have been guided by me. He was, it may be, fourteen or fifteen years old when Gideon Hatterick came to ask my advice, saying that the income paid for young Hamilton's maintenance had suddenly ceased. It had been paid either in person by the woman I told you of, or in bank-notes sent by post, generally from London; so that they had no clue."

"Did not she-that person- -ever give any account of the child ?" asked Lelgarde cagerly.

"She stated, I believe, that both his parents were dead, and that this annuity would be paid as long as no questions were asked. It seemed a common story enough- -" He hesitated and coloured like a girl; then went on: "The lad had always been treated more or less as a gentleman, as indeed he deserved to be; he associated chiefly with two young nephews of mine, who were living with me at that time. I exhorted Gideon Hatterick to keep him in the same way for awhile, and let the youth look about him; Gideon was well-to-do, and could afford it; and I think he loved Hamilton; indeed, we all did, for he was a noble-natured fellow, and full of talent too, poor lad. Just at that time one of my own dear boys fell sick, and I had to leave this place to a curate, and take him to winter in Italy-he had nobody but me."

"And what happened ?" I ventured to ask, as the pause grew long.

"Ah! here comes the sad part. My poor young nephew grew worse and worse -in the spring I had to leave him therein foreign soil-my poor lad. The last few weeks I never left him; I was more absorbed in him than any human creature has a right to be in any one exclusive thing. When, after the funeral, I brought myself to open the packet of letters that had been accumulating, I found one from poor young Hamilton, imploring me to give him some advice and help, or at all events a kind word. Gideon Hatterick, I already knew, had married again, a hard grasping woman not well spoken of in the parish. She hated poor Hamilton, and had stirred up her husband to consider him a burden, and to treat him as a drudge. He was sent out to labour in the fields, and, worse than that, he was every hour taunted with his dependent position, with what they believed to be the disgrace of his birth."

"Oh! how hard! how unjust!" said Lelgarde, tearfully.

"He implored me to suggest some line in which he might hope to secure inde pendence, and earn his own bread. I turned to the date of his letter-it was several weeks old-and there was another of more recent date, written hastily, almost angrily, in which he said that as even I would take no notice of him in his distress, he could bear his life no longer, and had resolved to give up a name to which he was constantly told that he had probably no right, and plunge into the world, to sink or swim. My dear young lady, may you never feel as I have felt, that you have let a soul drift away to its ruin, when a kind word might have saved it."

"But surely-surely you have heard of him since then ?" Lelgarde said, almost imploringly.

She had turned very pale, and looked disappointed and weary.

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I lost no time," said Mr. Benson. "I spared no pains. I could not be angry at the insolent answers I got from Mrs. Hatterick. I deserved it all, and more, Heaven knows. But I could find out nothing. The boy had gone off, I suppose had changed his name, for I could not trace him. One or two gentlemen had lodged at Hatterick's the summer before for fishing and sketching, and had taken a good deal of notice, I believe, of the lad; but the Hattericks either could not or would not remember their names; and when I got them at the post-office I had no clue to their addresses.”

"But you know their names?" said my sister, breathlessly.

"I did know them," he said, "but there were several of them, and it is ten years ago."

Lelgarde looked thoroughly dispirited. The quest seemed abruptly ended, the clue lost utterly. She put her bundle of papers into Mr. Benson's hands with a few words of explanation.

"Read these," she concluded, "and pity me, for I am the mistress of Athelstanes."

On the 27th of April will be commenced A NEW SERIAL STORY,

ENTITLED

THE YELLOW FLAG.

BY EDMUND YATES, Author of "BLACK SHEEP," "NOBODY'S FORTUNE," &C.