Novel

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 368, 28 May 1903, Page 2

Novel

He fiit that he was taking a very generous view of the matter, and before night he wrote a note to Hedworth, giving him tha date and hour of the funeral, and expressing a rather patronising hope that he would now see his way to settle down in some respectable and honourable way of living. He underlined the word 'honourable,' in full conviction that Hedworth would know what he meant. t Bat he did not say a single word about his father's wishes, or his own willingness 9 to bestow some thousands of pounds upon his brother. 'lt was not necessary,' he said to himself. 'I promised nothing; and if Hedworth is guilty of this theft, it is really beyond business that I should cripple the business os his account. I did not promise,* he repeated to himself, more and more emphatically; and yet he felt uneasy when he thought of what he had said. He waa scarcely surprised to receive from Hedworth in the course of the next day a telegram which, in his opinion, ' spoke for itself: 'Tour letter insnlting. What do you mean?' Gilbert did not answer the message. He supposed that he should see Hedworth at Mr. Pollard's funeral. But the day came and passed, and Hedworth: did not appear. A letter produced no answer, and a telegram to the hotel resulted only in a brief communication to the effect that Mr. Hedworth Pollard had left on the previous Monday, and had given no address. Can anything be more conclusive of bis guilt? Gilbert thought not, and made no effort to discover the missing man After all, it was a great relief to every one —except to Effie—that Hedworth should ' have broken the ties between him and his home, and accepted the lot which made him, more than ever, an outcast and a prodigaL

CHAPTER VL—GILBERT'S VIEW. The household at The Eire soon settled down into its quiet routine when Mr. Pollard's funeral was over. Eor the present Gilbert did not want any change made, although he knew very well that when he marritd seme new arrangement would have to be evolved, for Mrs. Pollard and Doris would never be able to agree in the same house. He had seen enough of the world to know that Mrs. Pollard's views were in .many ways hard and oldfashioned, and he intended, when he once married, to make a complete sweep of the houu and habits to which he had all his life been subject. Wiry should he not dine late like other people of Doris's class? Why should not the drawing* room be made habitable, and be used every evening ? He felt that he should be pleased if his wife would give charming afternoon teas, and, before long, some really good dinner-parties. There was no reason why he should not mix in county society as Doiis'a father did. Mr. Lane waa only a cloth manufacturer after all. In fact, he intended to make a new departure as aoon as possible. Bat he did not tell his mother the thugs that were passing in his mind. He did not do more than hint them to Doris —the sweet, clinging Doris, whose heart was so entirely his own. He hept the sweetness of his dream for himself, and largely to counteract the effect of a bitter drop that had lately been mixed with his cup. He had done wrong in giving Hedworth no information about the bum ot money his father had wished him to have P Had he tried to find the brother who was so suddenly missing out of his life?' And—if Hedworth came home now—was he, Gilbert, prepared to take five thousand pounds out of the basin ss and hand it over to" the prodigal of the family to be squandered until nothing was left for him bat the husks and the swine ?

His conscience received a sharp prick one day when he came upen Effie in the garden. She asked him wistfully where Hedworth was, and the wcrda, 'Am I my brother's keeper/ rose so quiekly to Gilbert's mind that he all but uttered tlem aloud. ' I don't know, Effie,* he said af er a pause. She lilted her dreamy dark eyes to Lis face, and he thought with a suddtn increase of interest that she had refined and delicate features, and would grow into a remarkably pretty girL If only she wero not so pale! • You 1. ok very white, dear,' he said to her. Gilbert's manner was always gentle to women and children; yet he was t ure that Effie did not love him as ehe had loved Hedworth from the time she was a baby girL * What maki b you so white ?' he a*ked. 'Do you want change of air, I wond«r V ' 1 think I should like to go to school if I might—a boarding-school,' said Effie, with sudden decision. 'A boaiding-Echool! But then you would leave my mother all alone; the

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ABBANGEMENT,] THE r ConscienceofGabert Pollard

By Adeline Sabgeant.

COPYBIGHT.

"wants a companion.' 'I don't think aha wants me very much,' said Effief, "sorrowfully. Gilbert considered the matter.: He himself had thought of a boarding-school for her before har father's death; but it occurred to him now that good boardingschools were expensive, If he were to get married it might not be very easy to send Effie to a gocd school for five or six years; enough to do that for his own daughters when he had any. And it did not occur to him that a new, queer httie love of money was creeping into his heart and dwarfing everything'else by comparison. It would have to be killed very speedily and very completely if it were not to strangle all that was good in Gilbert Pollard's soul. -

*We must think about it,' he said. • I will talk to your auhtC' 'And please, Gilbert, when do you think I shall.get an answer from Hedworth to my letter ?' ' Tour -letter ?_ How—why—what-. do you mean P* 'I heard you Bay "that he was at the hotel in Lpndon;, ,and I wrote "to. him when he was there before, you know, in the spring; so I sent him a letter sojd after—after—Uncle '

'■' She stopped short and her lipe qaiyered. She did not yet find it easy to speak of death.

"'lam afraid he may not' have received it,' said Gilbert. «I could have told you .'so at the time if you asked me. The manager of the hotel wrote to me that he haSgpHe-away.';K* >-, ,£ If & -Bpjb he" gotvjouri ietter,* said anxiously* - -"':>;■ .<; y". ' .o*' letter, ehildf Tjbs, from me/and replied to What do j©u mea££' '"'■'^'-. ■- *„." ■■■ "£"■ ■■%?*&\ ' <Sb, ? lam Effie simply, ' because I was afraid he had gone away without hearing about .the .; money that Uncle Matthew wanted to give him. He could do a great deal with five thousand pounds, couldn't he', Gilbert?* f It seemed to Gilbert as though a thunder bolt had fallen from the sky. He looked down at the little girl, whose eyes were bo innocently' lifted to his face, and for. a moment or two was literally unable to speak. . .'.

'What—what do you know about five ' thousand pounds ?' he asked. 'I was in the room when Uncle Mat-, thew was talking'to you. Nurse brought me in to say good-night. I -heard you promise to give poor Hedworth the money* and I was se glad.' 'lt seems to me,' said Gilbert, with Eudden coldness, 'that you are of a rather meddlesome-disposition, Effie. T should advise yon to listen a little less to what people are saying, and never Jto talk about what they say. „ There lie nothing so disgusting,' he added with gathering warmth, 'as meanness of that kind.' - ' ' vjL» He turned his back upon her, andwalked towards the mill, while Effie, biting her lips and trying in vain to forise back the tears that would brim over her eyelids, made her way blindly to the house, sought her own room, and east herself down, sobbing bi'terly, upon the floor. It was something of a crisis in poor little Effie's life. Gilbert had: accused her of a meddlesome dieposition. Hedworth had once told her not to peep and pry. The two accusations intensified each other. She seemed to herself a hopelessly degraded little being, whom no one could ever love or respect; and she vjwed with all the force of her nature that she would never meddle in anyone's affairs any more as long as she lived upon the earth!

It was not at all a bad resolution, though she needed to make it less tban most children of her age, for she was naturally of a frank, simple, straightforward nature, by no means disposed to crooked ways of any kind. She" was in some danger, however, of being driven into an enforced reticence which might be hurtful to her; and it was a fortunate thing that Gilbert decided, not long afterwards that she had better be sent to school.

Her words had, in fact, given Lim a terrible shock. He rebuked her, had called her meddlesome, and walked away from her in apparent displeasure, because this was the easiest mood e£ self-d-fence. With a child things are so simple 1 A. child will honestly believe itself in the wrong, because you say so. And Effie 3pcnt hours in ciying, and almost made herself ill with shame and distress befauee one cousin, who was of course an authority, had told her not to meddle, and another not to peep or pry. How ■•vas she to know that their sharpness name out of their own pain, and that they fell upon her desperately, because the tocth of remorse or of envy was gnawing at their own sore hearts ? She was too young to understand these things, and years were to elapse before any gl. am of

their meaning dawned upon her mind. Gilbert walked back to in much perturbation. -He had reasons for feeling disturbed. That Effie should have been in his father's room, should have overheard the conversation between himself and his father—that to begin with was bad enough. It was like a mine 'sprung under his feet Effie might mention to anyone, at any moment, what she had heard; and the question might at once be raised as to wheth r he had carried out his father's wishes, and paid over to Hedworth the sum which Matthew bollard ihad >decreedV to ?be his| share,, Effie might even have mentioned it in the unlucky letter to Hedworth. But in that cace surely Hedworth' would have re-, appeared to claim bis own—except for the matter of the bank-note. Gilbert recollected it' with a Bigh - of - positive relief. The theft of that bank-note might probably avail to keep him' away How. did he know that Gilbert would not prosecute him if ho came hack"?' Z' a^^^^^ a T i 'But of course I should not,' said Gilbert to himself as he sat at his desk with hie dark head bowed upon his hands in an attitude of dejection which; he would never have; allowed himself to assume with an unlocked door.»'*He might know" that I would never prosecute. Still, conscience makes cowards of us all!,, He may be hiding himself from me in the belief that I should exact mylpopndof flesh—that I should disgrace him in the eyes of the world!' And yet, deep in his utmost heart, he did not in the least believe that Hedworth would be afraid to face anyone in the world, or to allow his maddest deeds with .the exultant laugh which had often scandalised the lawful authorities when he was a wild, ungovernable boy. 'Of course, he has a weapon in his own band, if he only knew it/ Gilbert wenton reflecting. 'lf I prosecuted him (the notion is absurd, poor old Heddy!) he might retaliate by asking what I had done with the five thousand pounds that his father told me to give him! WeD, at | the worst, I don't suppose people would condemn ma particularly for withholding it. I was not bound by law to give Hedworth that money, and, considering that he has robbed me—for I think I may take that for granted—l am not compelled to cripple my own business, to embarrass my finances, and find myself unable to make' a home for my future wife, all in order to bestow a large sum upon him, which he would fool away as he fooled away father's money on the ranche in California!' (He did not acknowledge to himself that the gift of five thousand pounds to Hedworth could not possibly paralyse his resources toi anything like the extent represented in the argument.) '.lt would be absurd, unreasonable. ,1 should he mad to do such a thing—to'mjure my wife, my family, for the sake of a prodigal, a vagabond ! and all because of a few words spoken by my father when his brain was enfeebled, and his -strong will broken, on his dying bed.].; Absurd, •absurd!' : »/•;,-// ' Aj'^^-l'. He lifted his head from his hands and looked around' him quite proudly. He had disposed of one of the terrors which Effie's words had evoked. But another now lifted its head and stared him in the face.

Effie said that he had premised. She had heard him promise. He had always. maintained to himseif that he had not promised anything. -Now heS saw'■ quite plainly, in the clear light shed?by -a child's uncompromising tnifchiulneßs,. thatthat promise had been made, j He had •given his father plainly to understand that those five thousand be paid, in order to let Hedworth have a fair start in life. ' I will do as you desire,' he had said. 'As you course.' It was a bare assent, but had been equal to a. promise. And again,-" 'Heady and I will make things square, I promise you, father.' And hje 1 knew that his father had died in the belief that Gil-, bert would repair ,the._wroßg..that he had done to his elder son. Yes—in a sense—the promise had been given; and Gilbert 'copld not but feel the Bacrfidaess of a promise given- at such a time. ?|.. ; - ; i,. p .But oircumstances alter cases. "Wpu'd. have wiiled/sfi' 6 thousand J»bnnds t to after he had found him sE- base and heartless '^eft.;: Gilbe | it"tonld4)e%eting surely. as., his father would have, acted in withholding that last gift on discovery of his crime. Matthew Pollard had been a rigidly upright man. He would havedisrsisied Hedworth from the room with Curses instead of words of affection and forgiveness, if he had known the truth. And the more Gilbert thought of it, the more he felt the unfairness if inconveniencing himself for the sake of a man who was not only a step-brother, but an outcast and a thief. He had' nearly conquered the second. teiror.'by dwelling upon Hedworth's unr worthiness. Pure justice might intimate that Hedworth's wrong-doing could'not -exactly do away with the promise made to the dead man, and that' Gilbert could by no means say ."with certainty that Mr. Pollard would have, withdrawn his gift on evidencasf ,15«dw.orth's wrong-doing; but justice had to make way, as she so often doeß*. for'i*3linatioß. -By the .time Gilbert's meditation was over, he had con- . vinced himself that-he was acting for the best, and that nobody could blame him for his silence to Hedworth on the subject of "that five thousand; pounds, of which only Effie Morison had ever heard. " Effie'e letter! T&at weighed on his mind, Itweighed so much that he took the trouble to visit London, and so inquire at the.hotel whether a letter had been received for-Mr. Hedworth Pollard, which could not be delivered and still remained, by chance, in the house. Bafc';his, inquiries led to nothing. He was ..told that there was absolutely no; letter for anyone named Pollard, except th se that had been delivered to the gentleman of that name when he was there in September; and Gilbert returned to Fareham bafflid in his search, but more than ever inclined to think either that Hedworth had never read Effie'B letter, or that he had thought it the mere idle imagining of a child; or that he had been afraid to follow up the trail of gocd fortune which had besn indicated in the letter. Gilbert's best plan, therefore, he considered, was : to deal boldly, yet subtly, with Effie. He knew that she had intelligence, and he believed that she was both timid and conscientious; it would therefore be easy to mould Ler thoughts and feelings to his will. ■ %&$ CTo he continued )