THE LOST LADY OF LONE.

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

THE LOST LADY OF LONE.

BY MRS B.D.E.N. SOUTHWORTB.

Author or 'The Hidden Hand,' 'Unknown.' ' Only a Giri.'s Heart,' 'Nbarest and Dearest,' Em-i Etc.

CHAPTER XLIV. RETRIBUTION. Bus a crisis was at hand. The debts of John Scotb increased every year, while the ready means of the Duke j>f Hereward diminished—everything being engulfed by the Lone restoration maelstrom. The guardian determined to expostulate with his ward. He went down to Oxford jusb before the close of the term. He found his ward established in elegant and luxurious apartments, quite fit for a royal prince, and very much more ostentatious than the unpretending cnamberß occupied by bhe young Marquis of Arondello at Cambridge, and ridiculously extravagant for a young man of limited income and no expectations like John Scotb. The duke was exceedingly provoked; the forbearance of years gave way ; the bottledup indignation burst) forth, and the guardian gave his ward what in boyish parlance is called, 'an awful rowing,1 ' You live, sir, at twenty times the rate, your debts are twenty times as large, you cost me twenty times as much aa doss Lord Arondelle, my own son and.heir!' concluded the duke, in a final burst of anger. John Scotb had listened grimly enough to the opening exordium, but when the last sentence fell from the duke's lips, the young man grew pale as death, while his compressed lips, contracted brow, and gleaming blueeyes alone expressed tho fury that raged In his bosom. He answered very quietly : •Your grace means that I cost you twenty times as much as does your younger son, Lord Archibald Scott, as it is natural I ehonld, being the older son and the heir of the dukedom.' To pourtray the duke's thoughts, foeling or looks during this deliberate speech would be simply impossible. He sab staring at the speaker, with gradually paling cheeks and widening eyes, until bhe quieb voice seased, when he faltered forth : * What in Heaven's name do you mean ?' 11 should think your grace should know right well what I have known for years, end can never for a moment forgeb, though your grace may affect to do so—thab I am your sldesb son, the son of your first marriage, with bhe daughter of Baron de la Motte, and therefore thab I, and nob my younger half brother, by your second marriage, am the righb Marquis of Arondelle, and the heir of the Dukedom of Hereward,' calmly replied the young man, with all the confidence an assured conviction gave. The duke sank back in his seat and covered hia face with his hands. However John Scobb had made the discovery, ib was absolutely certain than he knew the whole secret of his parentage. * Whab authority have you for making so atrange an assertion V ab length inquirod the duke. •The authority of recorded truth,' replied the young man, emphatically. • Bub doe 3 your grace really suppose that such a secret could be kept from me ? My dear, lost mother never revealed ib to me by her words, but she unconsciously revealed enough to mo by her actions to excite my suspicions, and set me on the righb track. The records did the rest, and pub me in possession of tho whole truth.' 1 What records have you examined?1 inquired the duke, in a low voice. •First and last, in Italy and France; I have axamined the registers of your marriage with my mother, and of my own birth and baptism ; and in England, Burkes Peerage. All these as well as other well-known facts, as easily proved as if they were recorded, establish my rights as your son—your eldest eon and heir. lAs my son, but nob aa my heir, for your most unhappy mother ' ' Stop !' suddenly exclaimed the young man, whilo his blue eyes blazed with a dan»erous tire. ' I warn you, Duke of Hereward, that you must not breathe one word reflecting in the loasb degree on my dear, injured mother's name. You have wronged her enough, Heaven knows ! and ■I, her eon, tell you so. Yes, from the beginning to end you have wronged her grievously, unpardonably. First of all, in marrying" her at all, when you must have seen—you tould not have failed to see—that she, gentle1 and helpless creature thab she was, was forced by her parents to give you her hand, when her broken heart was nob hers to give. And secondly, when she discovered thab the lover (to whom she had been sacredly married by the Church, though it seems not lawfully married by tho State), and whom she had supposed to be deud, was really living ; and when she took the only course a pure and sensitive woman could take, and withdrew herself from you both, lorilinrj to you her reasons for doing so, and expressing her wish to live apart a quiet, single, blameless Itfo, you did not wait, you did not investigate, but, with indecent hasto, you so hurried through with your divorce, and hurried into your second marriage, as to brand my mother with undeserved infamy, ,and delegalised her son and yours before his birth.' ' Heaven help me,' moaned the Duke of Hereward, covering his face with his bands. ' You have done us both this infinite wrong, nnd you cannot undo it now. I know that you cannot, for I have taken the pains to seek legal advice, and I have been assured that you cannob rectify this wronc. But—use my injured mother's sacred name with revorence, Duke of Hereward, I warn you —' •Heaven knows I would use it no other way. I loved your mother. She and you were not the only eullerere in my domestic tragedy. Her lo«s' nearly killed me with grief even when I thought her unworthy. The discovery of tho great wrong I did hor has nearly crazed me with remorse since ' Then do not grudge her son the small share you allow him of that vast inheritance which should have been his, had you not unjustly deprived him of it.' * 1 will not. Your debts shall be paid.' ' And do not upbraid me by drawing any more invidious comparisons between me and one who holds my rightful place.' •I will not—l will not. John, we understand each other now. Your manner has not been the most filial toward me, but I will not reproach you for that. You cay that I havo wronged you; and you know thab wrong can never be righted in this world. "If I were to give my body to be burned," ib could nob beuefit you in the least toward recovering your position ; but I will do all I can. I will sell Greencombe, which is my own entailed property, and I will place the money with my banker, Ltvison to your account. I have a pleasant little shooting-box ab the foot of Ben Lone. We never go to it. You must have the run of ib during the vacations. When you are roady for your commission I mil find you one in a good regimenb. In return, I have Z SJuert to make you. For Heaven'a

sake avoid meeting the duchess or her family. Do this for the sake of peace. I hope now that) wo do understand each other?' piii'l the 6\;ke with emotion. 4 We do,' said the young man his better spirit gottinp the ascendency for a few moments. 'We do, and I beg your pardon, my father, for the hasty, unfilial words I have spoken. 'I can make every allowance for you, John. I can comprehend how you must* often feel that you are only your mother's son,' answered the duke, grasping the hand that his eon had offered. So the interview that had threatened to end in a rupture between guardian and ward terminated amicably. John Scott's debts were once more paid, his pockets were once more filled and he left for Scotland to spend his vacation at the hunting-box under Ben Lone, in the neighbourhood made attractive to him, not by black cock or red deer, but by the presence of his handsome shepherdess. The duke sold Greencombe and placed the purchase-money in the hands of Sir Lemuel Levison & Co., Bankers, Lombardfitreet, London, to be invested for the benefit ot his ward, John Scott. The unhappy duke did this at the very time when he was so pressed for money to carry on the great work ab Lone, as to be compelled to borrow from the Jews at an enormous interest, mortgaging his estate, Here ward Hold, in security. And John Scott, with an ample income and without any restraint, took leave of his good angel and started on the road to ruin. Meanwhile, the great works at Lone were completed and the ducal family took possession and commenced their short and glorious reign there by a series of splendid entertainments given in honour of the coming of age of the heir. John Scott was not an invited guest either to the castle or the grounds ; but he proaented himself there, nevertheless, and caused some confusion by his close resemblance to his brother, aud much scandal by his improper conduct among the village girls. And many an honest poasant went home from the feast lamenting the behaviour of the young heir, and trying to excuse or palliate his viciousness by the vulgar proverb: 'Boys will be boys.' And so the reputation of the young Marquis of Arondelle suffered and continued to suffer from the evil doings of his double. John Scott kept one part of his compact with the duke, he avoided the family; oven when he could not keep away from Lone he contrived to keep out of sight of the duke, the duchess and the marquis. The young Marquis of Arondelle, indeed, was very little seen at Lone. Ho was ab Cambridge or on his grand tour nearly all the time of the family's residence in the Highlands. John Sootb loft the university without honours. This was a disappointment to the duke, who did not, however, reproach his wayward son bub only wrote and asked him if ho would now take a commission in tho army. Bub the young man, who had lost all his youthful military ardour and contracted a Toying habit that made him averse to all fixed rujes and all restraints, replied by saying that his income waß sufficient for his wants and that ho preferred the free life of a scholar. The duke wrote again and implored him to choose one of the learned professions, saying that it was not yet too late for him to enter upon the study of ona. The hopeful son replied that ho waß nob good enough for divinity, bad enough for law, or wise enough for medicine: that, therefore, he was unsuited to honour either of the learned professions; and begged his guardian to disturb himself" no longer on the subject of his ward's future. Then the duke let him alone, having, in fact, troubles enough of his own to occupy him — a life of superficial splendour, backed by a condition of hopeless indebtedness. We have already, in the earlier portions of this story, described the short, glorious, delusive reign of tho Herewardß at Lone, and the culminating glory and ruin of the royal visit), so immediately to be followed by the great crash, when bhe magnificent estate, with all ita splendid appointments, was sold under the hammer, and purchased by the wealthy banker and city knighb, Sir Lemuel Levison. We have told how the noble son—the young Marquis of Arondelle —sacrificed all his life-interest in the entailed estate, to save his father, and how vain that sacrifice proved. We have told how the duchess died of humiliation and grief, and how the duke and his son went into social exile, until recoiled by tho romantic love of Salome Levison, who wished to beßtow her hand and hf?r magnificent inheritance upon the disinherited heir of Lone. We have now brought the story of John Scotb up to the nighb of the banker's murder, and his own unintentional share in the tragedy. At the time of the projected marriago between the Marquis of Arondelle and the hoiress of Lone, John Scotb was deeply sunk in debt, and badly in want of money. The capital given him by his father had been so tied up by the donor that nothing bub tho interest could be touched by the improvident recipient. It had, in fact, boen given to Sir Lemuel Lavison in trust for John Scott, with directions to invosb it to the b6st advantage for his benefit. This duty the banker bad raosb conscientiously performed by investing the money in a mining enterprise supposed to be perfectly secure and to pay a high interest. This investment continued good for years, affording John Scotb a very liberal income ; but as John Scott would probably have exceeded any income, however large, thab he might have possessed, so of course he exceeded this one and gob into debt, which accumulated year after year, until at last he folt himself forced to ask his trustee to sell out a parb of his stock in the mining company to liquidate his liabilities. This the banker politely bub firmly refused to do, representing to the young spendthrift that his duties as a trußtee forbade him to squander the capital of his client, and thab he had been made trustee for tho very purpose of preserving it. The obstinacy of tho bankor enraged the young man, who protested that it was unbearable to a man of twenty-live years of age to be in leading-atringa to a trustee, as if he were an infant of five years old. The time came, however, when t.ho trustee was compelled by circumstances to sell out. The rare foresight which had made him the millionaire that he was, warned Sir Lemuel Levison that the mining company in which he had invested his ward's fortune was on tho eve of an explosion. As no one olso perceived the impending catastrophe, Sir Lemuel Lovison was enabled to sell out his ward's stock aba good premium some days betore tho crash came—not an honeat measure by any means, we think, but—a perfectly business-like one. He informed John Scott of the transaction, telling him ab the same time that he had the capital of thirty thousand pounds in his possession, ready to be re-in-vested, and the premium of throe hundred pounds, which last was ab the orders of Mr Scott. Mr Scott was not contented^ with the three hundred pounds premium. Ho wanted a few thousands out of tho capital, and he wrote and told his trustee as much. Sir Lemuel Levison was firm in refusing to diminish the capital that had been placed in his hands for the benefit of the spendthrift. Then John Scotb in a rage went up to London and called ab the banking house of Levison Brothers. Being admitted to the private office of Sir Lemuel Leraon the young man used some very intemperate language, accusing tho great banker of appropriating bis own

contemptible little fortune for private and unhallowed purposes. ' You are the most unmitigated scamp alive and I wish I had never bad anything to do with you ; however, I will convince you thab you have wronged me and then I will wash my hands of you,1 exclaimed the banker. And so saying he unlocked a great patent safe that stood in his private office, 'took from it a small iron box and set ib on his desk before him in full sight of his visitor. •See here,' he continued, 'here is this box read the inscription on ib.' The visitor stooped over and road—in bras 3 letters — the following sentence: 'John Scott—£3o,ooo.' ' Now, sir,' continued the banker, opening the box and displaying the treasure all in crisp, new, Bank of England notes of a thousand pounds each — ' here is your money. I cannob betray my trust by giving it into your hands. But I intend, nevertheless, to resign my truab into the hands that gavo ib me. lam going down to Lone to celebrate the marriage of my daughter. with the Marquis of Arondello, and I shall take this box and its contents down with me. I shall, of course, meet the Duke of Horeward there. As soon aa the marriage is over and the pair gone on their tour I shall deliver this box with its contents over to the duke, who can then hand over any part or the whole of this money to you if ho pleases to do so.' If any circumstance could have increased the uneasiness of the spendthrift it would havo been this resolution of the banker and trustee. John Scobb begged Sir Lemuel Levison to reconsider hi 3 resolution and not return his capital to the donor, who, in his impoverished condibion, might, for all he know, choose to resume his gift entirely and appropriate ib to his own uses. Bub the banker was inflexible, and the next day set out for Lone carrying John Scott's fortune locked up in the iron box, besides other treasures in money and jewels secured in other receptncles. John Scott was in despair. At length a daring plan occurred to hia mind. His evil life had brought him into communication with Borne outlaws of Bociety of both sexes, with whom, however, he would not willingly have been seen in daylighb or in public. One of these—a brutal ruffian and thief, with whoso haunts and habits he was well acquainted—he sought out. He gave him an outline of his scheme, telling him of the great, treasures in jewels and other bridal presents that would be laid oub in tho drawing-room at Lone on the nighb of the sixth of June in readiness for tho wedding display on the morning of the seventh. The man Murdockson listened with greody eara. Tho tempter then told him of the iron box, inscribed with his own name and containg important papers which it was necessary he should recover, and proposed thab if Murdockson would promise to purloin the iron box trom tho chamber of Sir Lemuel Levison, and bring ib safely to him, John Scotb, he would engage to leave tho secret passage to tho castle open for the free entrance of tho adventurers. Murdockson hesitated a long time before consenting to engage in an enterprise which if it promised groab profit), also threatened great dangers. At length, however, fired by the prospect of the fabulous wealth said to lio exposed in the form of bridal presents displayed in Castle Lono, Mr Murdockson promised to form a party and go down to Lono to reconnoitre, and if ho should see his way clear, to undertake the job. The plan was carried oub to its full and fatal completion. Disguised .ib Highland peasants, Murdockson and.two ot his pals went down to Lone to inspect the lay. They mingled with the great crowd of peasantry and tenantry that had collected from far and near to viGw tho grand pageantry preparod for the celebration of the wedding, and their presence in so large an assemblage was scarcely noticed. They mot their principal in the courso of the day, nnd with him arranged the details of the robbery. One thing John Scott insisted upon—that there was to be no violence, no bloodshed ; thab if fche robbery could not be effected quietly and peaceably, without bodily harm to any inmate, ib was not to be done ab all, it was to be given up at once. The men promised all that their principal asked, on condition thab he would act hia parb, and lot them into the castle. That night John Scotb did his work, and attained the" climax of his evil life. He tampered with the valeb, treated him with drugged whisky, and while the wretched man was in a stupid sleep, stole from him the pass-key to Sir Lemuel Lavison's private apartment. We know how that terrible night ended. John Scott could nob control the devils he had raised. Only robbery had been intended ; bub murder was porpetrated. John Scott, with the curse of Cain upon hia soul, and withoub the spoil for which he had incurred it, fled to London and afterwards to the Continent, where he became a homeless wanderer for years, and whore ho was subsequently joined by his female companion, Rose. (To be Continued.)