THE LOST LADY OF LONE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIV, Issue 210, 5 September 1893, Page 6

THE LOST LADY OF LONE.

BY MRS E.D.E.N. SOUTSWORTB,

Author oi 'This Hidden Hand,' 'Uhknown.' • Okly )k Gtrl's Hkaet,1 •Njubesx and Dearest,' Era, Ew.

CHAPTER XLIII.

TBE DUKE'B WARD,

IflE next morning, at the appointed hour, ,he Duke of Hereward drove to Langham's knd tent up hia card to Mr John Scotb.

The youth himself, to show the greater respect, came down to the public parlour where the duke waited, and after most deferentially welcoming his visitor, con. ducted him to his own private apartment.

'I see by your mother's letter, as well as by her will, that she has done mo the honour to appoint me your guardian,' said the elder man, as soon as they were seated alone together, and cautiously eyeing the younger, bo as to detect, if possible, how much or how little he knew or suspected of the true relationship between them.

1 My mother did me the honour to consign me to your grace's guardianship, if you will be ao condescending as to accept the charga,' replied the youth, with grave courtesy, and in bis turn eyeing the duke to sm, if possible, what might) be bis feelings and Intentions toward himself. The duke bowed and then said :

'I would like to carry pub your mother's views and your own wishes, if possible. She mentioned in her letter the army as a career for you. Do you wish some years hence to take a commission in bbc army ?'

'I did, your grace ; but now I prefer to leave myself entirely in your grace's bands,' cautiously replied the youth.

'Bub in the matter of choosing a profession you musb be left free. No one bub yourself can decide upon your own calling with any hope of ultimate huocosh. Much mischief is done by the oiliciousnees of parents and guardians in directing their tons or wards into professions or callings for which they have neither taste nor talent,' said the duke.

The youth smiled slightly ; he could bub tee that the duke was utterly perplexed as to his own course of conduct, and to cover his confusion he wa? only talking for talk's aake.

' You will let me know your own wishes on the subject, I hope, young air,' continued the elder.

'My only wish on the subject is to leave myself in your grace's hands. I feel confident thab whatever your grace may think right to do with me, will be the best possible thing for me, replied the boy, with more meaning in hia manner, as well as in bis words, than he had intended to betray.

The duke looked keenly at him; bub his fair impassive face was unreadable.

' Well, at all events, it is, perhaps, time enough for two or three years to come to talk of a profession for you. Would you like to enter one of the universities ': Are you prepared to do so ?' suddenly inquired tho guardian. 'I would like to go to Oxford, But whether I am prepared to do so I do nob know. Ido not know whab is required. I have a fair knowledge of Latin, Greek and Hebrew and of the higher mathematics. I was in course of preparation to enter one of the German universities when my good tutor, Father Antonio, died,' replied the youth. The duke dropped his grey head upon bis cheat and mused awhile, and then said:

' I think that you had better read with a private tutor for a while; you will then toon recover whab you may have lost since the death of your good teacher, and make such further progress as may fit you to go to Oxford at the next term. Whab do you think ? Let me know your own views, young eir.' 'Thanks, your grace, I will read with any tutor you may be pleased to recommend,' respectfully answered the youth.

'You are certainly a mosb manageable ward,' said the guardian, dryly, and with, perhaps, a shade of distrust in his manner. The boy bowed.

* Well, since you place yourself so implicitly in my hands I must justify your faith as well an your mother's by doing the very best I can for you. There is a very worthy man, fche Vicar of Greencombe, on one of my estates down in Sussex, near the sea. He is a ripe scholar, a graduate of Trinity College, Oxford, and occasionally augments his moderate salary by preparing youths for college. I will direct my eecrotary to write to him this morning to know if he can receive you, and I will let you know the result in a day or two.' ' Thanks, your grace.' ' And now how are you going to employ your time while waiting here?' 'By taking a good guide-book, your grace, and going through London. Your grace will remember that I am a perfect stranger here, and even one of your great historical monuments, such as Westminster Abbay or the Tower, has interest enough in ib to occupy a student for a week.'

' I commend your taste in the occupation you lmvo sketched out) for your time. I must request) you, however, to take great care of yourself, and to be here everyday at this hour as I shall make ib a point to look in upon you.' 'Thanks, your grace.'

♦And now good-day,' said the visitor, offering his band and then abruptly leaving the room,

Tho youth, however, with the most deferential manner attended him downstairs and to his carriage, and only took his leave, with a bow, when the footman closed the door.

Again as soon as his back was turned upon his father the youth's face changed and darkened, and—

•I bide my time—l bide my time,' he muttered to himself as he re-ascended the stairs.

He had nob deceived his guardian, however, as to the manner in which he meant to spend bis time while in London. At this time of bis unfortunate position ho had not yet contracted any evil habits, nnd ho had a genuine liking for interesting antiquities. So, after partaking of a lighb luncheon be went out, guide-book in hand, and spent the whole day in studying the architectural glories and the antique monuments ir. Westminster Abbey. The second day ho passed among the gloomy dungeons and bloody records of the Tower of London. On the third day he received another visit from the Puke of Hereward, who came to tell him the Reverend Mr Simpson, the Vicar of Greencombe, bad returned a favourable answer to his letter, and would be bappy to receive Mr Scott in his family. •Now I do not wish to hurry you my dear boy : butl think the sooner you resume your long-neglected studies, the better it will be for you,' said the duke, speaking kindly, but watching cautiously, as was his constant habit when conversing with this unacknowledged son. 11 am ready to co the moment your grace commands,' answered the young man. • I issue no commands to you, my boy. I will give you a letter of introduction to Dr. Simpson, which you may go down and deliver nt your own leisure. If you choose to "vend a week longer in London to see what Iflto b 8 Been, why do bo, of course. If nob

you can run down to Greencombe to-day or to-morrow. It is about two houra' journey by the Lonlon and South Coast Railroad from the L ndon iiridge Station.'

'1 will up down thia afternoon.' 'That is proinpb. That is right. All you do my boy, all I Bae of you, commends you more and more to my approval and esteem. Go this afternoon, by all means. I will myself meeb you abthe station, to see you off and leave with you my letter of introduction. Stay; by what train shall you go ? Ah ! you do not know anything about the trains. King the bell.'

The youth complied,

A waiter appeared, a Bradshaw was ordered and consulted, and the five f.m. express fixed upon as the train by which the youth should leave London. The duke then took leave of the boy, with an admonition of punctuality. 1 Well,' said John Scotb to himself, as soon as he was left) alone, ' if my father gives me nothing else, he is certainly disposed to give me my own way. Perhaps in time he may give me all my rights. If so, well. If not —I bide my time,' he repeated. At the appointed hour the guardian and ward mot ab the depot,

The duke placed the promised letter in the youth's hand, saw him into a first-class carriage, and there bade him good-bye. John Scott sped down into Sussex as fast as the express train could carry him, and the Duke of Hereward went back to Hereward House, much relieved by the departure of the youth, whose presence in London bad seemed like an incubus upon him.

The deeply injured boy had departed ; but—so also had the father's peace of mind forever I Certainly he was now relieved of all fear of an unpleasant ecolaircissemant; bun he was nob freed from remorse for the past, or from dread for the future. He told the duchess that day ab dinner that a ward bad been left to his guardianship, thab this ward was, in fact, the son of a near relation, and bore the family name, which made it the more incumbent upon him to accept the charge; and, finally, thab he had sent the boy down to Dr. Simpson, ab the Greencombe Vicarage, to read for the university. The duchess was not in the leaßb degree interested in the duke's ward, and rather wondered that he should have taken the trouble to tell her anything 'about him ; bub the duke did so to provide for the future contingency of an accidental meeting between the duchess and the boy, so that she might suppose him to be a bloodrelation, and thus undoratand the family likeness without the danger of suspecting a truth which could not be explained to her.

Bub the duke could nob silence the voice of conscience and affection. The deeplywronged boy whom ho had sent away waß his own first-born son—the son of his firßt marriage and of his only love ; and he had wronged him beyond the power of man to help. He was the rightful heir of his title and estate ; yet he could never inherit them; he had been delegated by his father's own hasty, reckless and cruel act; and for no fault of the boy's own—before ho was capable of committing any fault—before his birth—he was disinherited.

All this so worked upon tho duke's conscience that he could nob give his mind to his ordinary vocations. Bub about this time, the duchess, through the death of a near relative, inherited a very large fortune, principally in money. With this she wished to purchase an estate in Scotland. And so, when Parliament rose, the duke and duchess wenb to Scotland, personally to inspect certain estates thai) were for Bale there; for the duchesa said that, in the matter of choosing a home to live in, she would trust no eyes but her own.

Ib Bsemed, however, that neither of the seats in the market pleased the lady, and she had given up her quest in despair, when the duke suggested that, before leaving Scotland, they should make a visit to the famous historical ruins of Lone Castle, in Lone, on Lone Lake, which had been in the Scott ■ Hereward family for eight centuries.

It was while they were tarrying at the little hotel of tho Heroward Arms, and making daily excursions in a boat across the lake to the isle and to the ruins, that the stupendous idea of restoring the castle occured to the duke's mind—and nob only restoring it as ib had Btpod centuries before, a great impregnable Highland fortresa, bub by bringing all the architectural and engineering art and skill of the nineteenth century to bear upon the subject, transforming the ruined castle and rocky isle and mountain-bound lake into the earthly paradise and century's wonder it afterwards became.

What vast meanß were used, whab fortunes were sacrificed, what treasures were drawn into the maelstrom of this mad enterprise has already been shown. Ib is probable, however, that the duke would not have thrown himself so insanely into this work had ib nob seemed a means of escaping the torturo of his own thoughts. Ho could restore the old Highland stronghold, and transform the barren, wader-girt rock into a garden of .Kcleu ; bub he could nob restore the rights of his own disinherited son.

He had consulted some among the most eminent) lawyers irs England, putting the case Buppoßitiouoly.or as the case of another father and son, and the unanimous opinion given was that there could be no help for such a case as theirs; and even though the father had had no other heir, he could not reclaim this disinherited ono.

It waa not with unmingled regret that the duke heard this opinion given. It certainly relieved him from the fearful duty of having to oppose the duches3 and all her family, as he would have been obliged to do, had it been possible to restore his eldest son to his rights ; for the duchess would not have stood by quietly and seen her son set aside in favour of the elder brother.

The duke spoke of his ward from time to time bo that in case the duchess should ever meet him or hear of him from others she could not regard him as a mystery that had been concealed from her, or look upon his likeness to the family with suspicion.

But the duchess seemed perfectly indifferent to the duke's ward, or if she did interest herself it was only slightly or goodnaturedly, as when Bhe answered the duke's remarks one day by sayinf :

•If the dear boy is a relative of the family, however distant, and your ward besides, why don't you have him home for the holidays ?' 1 Oh, Bchoolboys at home for the holidays are always a nuisance. He will go to Wales with Simpson and his lads whon they go for their shorb vacation,' answered the duke, not unpleased that his wife took kindly to the notion of hi 3 ward. In due time the youth entered Oxford. The duke spoke of the fact to the duchess. Then she answered not so good-humouredly as before ; indeed, there was a shade of annoyance and anxiety in her tones as she said:

' Oxford is very expensive and a young man may makeib quite ruinous. I hope the youth's friends have left him means enough of his own. I would not speak of such a matter,' she added apologetically, ' only the restoration of Lone seems no to swallow up all our resources as to leave us nothing for charitable objects.' ' The youth has ample means for educational purposes and to establish him in some profession. Of course he cannot indulge in any of those university extravagance's' and dissipations that are the destruction of bo many fine young men ; but, then, he is not that kind of lad ; a steady, studious boy, brought up by—a widowed mother and a priest,' answered the duko, with just a slight faltering in his voice in the latter clause of his speech. ' Such boys are more apb than others to develop into the wildest young men,' ro-

plied the lady ; and circumstances proved that she was right. John Scobb ab Triniby College, Oxford, passed as the grand-nephew of the Duke of Hereward and the next in succession after the young Earl of Arondelle to the-duke-dom.

The young Earl of Arondolie was still ab Eton. And the duke determined to send him from Eton to Cambridge instead of Oxford where John Scotb was ab college ; for the father of these two boys wished them never to meet,

At Oxford John Scott, as the grandnephew of the Duke of Hereward, bearing an unmistakable likeness to the family, and being, besides, a young man of pleasing address, soon won his way among the most exclusive of the aristocrats there; and prido and vanity tempted him to vie with them in extravagant! and riotous living. His income only was limited, his credit was unlimited. When hia money fell short he ran into debt; and at the end of the firsb term his liabilities were alarming, or would have been so to a more sensitive mind,

It is true the amount was much greater than his inexperience had led him to expect ; bub ho only smiled grimly when he had all his bills before him and had estimated the sum total, and he said to himself:

'If my allowance will nob support me here like a gentleman my father must make up the deficiency, that is all.' The Duko of Hereward was indeed confounded when his ward wrote to him and told him boldly thab he wanted fifteen hundred pounds for immediate necessities —namely, twelve hundred for the liquidation of debts and three hundred for traveling expenses.

Bub could he scold the poor, disinherited boy, who, left to himself at Oxford, had doubtless fallen among thieves and been mercilessly fleeced.

No ; he would pay these debts oub of his own pocket, and write the young man a kind letter of warning against the university sharks.

The duke carried oub this resolution, and John Scott, freed from debt, and with three hundred pounds in his possession, went on a holiday tour through the country.

Ha had heard ab Oxford of the rising glories of Lone, and determined to take his holiday in that neighbourhood.

Ib happened that the Duke and Duchesa of Hereward, with theMarquia of Arondelle, and their attendants, went that summer to Badoti-Baden ; so wbeu the Oxonian arrived at tho Hereward Arms, in the hamlet of Lone, and, from his age and his exact likeness to the family, was mistaken for the heir, there was no one to set the people right on the subject. The obsequious host of the Heroward Arms called him ' my lord,' and inquired after his gracious parents, the duke and the duchese.

John Scotb did nob actually deceive bhe people as to his identity, but ho tacitly allowed them to deceive themselves. He did not tell them thab he was the Marquis of Arondelle ; neither did he contradict them when they called him so. Nor did his conscience reproach him for his silent duplicity. He Baid to himsolf:

' I am tho rightful Marquis of Arondelle. They do but give me my own just title. If this comes to the ears of the duke and brings on a crisis, I will tell him so.'

While he was in the neighbourhood, he went up to Bon Lone on a fishing excursion and there, as elsewhere, on the Scottish estate, ho was everywhere received as the Marquis of Arondelle. There John Scott first mob by acoidenb the handsome shepherdess, Rose Cameron, and fell in love for the first) time in his young life.

We have already seen how the Highland maiden, flattered by the notice of the supposed young nobleman, encouraged those attentions without returning thab love.

After this, John Scott spent all his holidays at Lone, and much of them in the society of the handsome shepherdess. His attentions in that direction were regarded with strong disapproval by his father's tenantry, but it was cot their place to censure their supposed 'young lord,' and so they only expressed their sentiments with grave snaking of their heads. During the progress ot the work, the ducal family never came to Lone, so that the tenantry there were never set right as to the identity of John Scotb.

Only onco tho duke made a visit, to inspect the progress of the workmen. Ho stopped ab the Hereward Arms, and there heard nothing of the pranks of John Scott, although, upon one occasion, he Came very near doing so. .

The landlord respectfully inquired if they should hare the young marquis up there as usual.

The duke stared for a moment, and then answered :

' You are mistaken. Arondelle does not como up here. Whatever are you thinking of, my man V

The hosb said he was mistaken, that was all, and so got himself out of his dilemma the best way ho could, and took tbo first opportunity to warn all his dependents and followers that they were nob to ' blow ' on the young marquis. 'He was an unco wild lad, nae doobt, but his feyther ken.ned naebhing about his pranks, and eae the loasb said, sunesb mended,' said the landlord.

And thus, by the pranks of his ' double,' the reputation of the excellent young Marquis of Arondello Buffered among his own people.

(Jo be Continued.)