The Impostor

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 166, 13 July 1907, Page 11

The Impostor

[ALL EIGHTS RESERVED.]

aVXOPSIS OF PREVIOUS INSTAL 8 ME>"TS.

jdie de la Villemarque, wnllst travelling ao*n to TrontdaJe to act as French governed to Qic Vale-Mellor children, drops the portrait of ncr father in the train. The locket is picked up by a pale-faced young man who. after having engaged rooms at the local hotel, feets a young woman in a lonely wood and. during the progress of the qnarrel, kills her. In the meantime, Julie, on Jier way to the Manor, meets Harry Vsle-Mellor -n-ith his pack of harriers, and yjth him proceeds to the house, where she is met by Mrs Vale-Mellor. and Is pnt in charge of the old family nnrse, iriio is strangely affected at the sight of Jier. Her fellow passenger has bow returned to the hotel, where lie gives his name as Archibald Edmnnd Vale-lijellor. and is recognised by the landlndy as Qciring some resemblance to the family. After taring destroyed a telegram taken from iie body of the mnrricreri woman, who appears to havp been his wife, the stranger meets an oiiler man in the hotel, who apparently shares his secret, and who is much perturbed at the sight of the looket forad in tiie train, and alarmed at hearing of Julie's arrival at Vale-Mellor. OJd Xurae has taken a strange fancy to Jalie, whilst Harry does his best to influence Eose Hunt, who is staying in the house, and is in love with Uarry, in her favour. Old Mr Vaie-MeJior now receives a letter from Archibald who proposes to call upon the old man. and present proofs of his being legitimately his grandson. The old man is angrily refusing ro see him when tie butler announces the fall of a . certain crag into the Devil's Pool, an event . which, according to local traditions, is an nnfailing presage of coming evil, a superstition which seems to stand every dsairce of fulfilment. Old Mr Vale-Mellor has a stroke, whilst Harry, sallying forth to ascertain the damage done by the rock slide and the consequent flood. stnnible>» across Archibald, who has sprainea hi* ankle and is taken to the house where he inmraiees his identity. Julie, after havinbeen asleep for some time is awakened by £ mysterious shape which stands by the Blue of her bedCHAPTER ES. Mrs. v"ale-3lellor sat in the (TraTOnTrocm and waited for her son. She had put her work aside, and her hands lay quiet and idle in her lap, her eyes looked gravely into tie dying fire. When Hairy entered, she lifted her face without any,betrayal of emotion. "Is it true?" she asked. "Is he xaally 'Etmtmd's son?" • "I do not know," said Harry slowly, taking a chair, ard drawvr ; _r it; to her fiida. 3, 3-fother and ?on were oddly alike a=; they looked into each other's faces' Hsrcy, it is true, was pure V-ile-Mel«or in feature, but he had inherited hi* mothers firm direct look, her thought" Mness, her inherent calm, iloreover Mrs. -Vale-Mellor had gradually assumed a great resemblance to her husband's family, with whose lot. and in whose nudst, the daily lines of her life were thrown. SmaJi as she was in contrast to the unusual height of her son, pale waere he was ruddy, and pleasantly grave where he was full of mirth and life, nobody could have mistaken the relationship between them. Tt>-night, when both were touched by a common emotion, and both resolute, to think and act with coolness, the likeness between them was intensified to a remarkable deirree. "I do not know,*' repeated liarrv. I do know that it was a letter from him that brought o n my Tandiather*s attack to-nigat." i "Your grandfather is better. Who told you he had had an attack?" "TtothwelL He said he was better, .tat not to be disturbed."

. "Yes. I thought he was better quiet. So this young man had written to him?" "Yes. To ask if he might come here. I snppose he was coming when he hurt his foot." "Hβ has said nothing- further to you?" "2fo. I have hardly talked to him tt all. I went off to change and then came here. Rothwell is getting a bed put up for him. Mother! What does it aD mean? Was my Uncle Edmund, mamed, then, when he died?" For a moment Mrs. Vale-Mellor was Biknt. Then she answered affinna-, ihrely. "Yes. He was married." have we never been told any■firiag about him?" Ihe white-haired lady pondered, her eyes feed on the fire. By-and-bye She listed her face to her son. Ton were never told because your grandfather forbade his name to be mentioned, and your dear father respected . iris wishes. Edmund was the elder son, a-year older than your father. When & was eighteen he fell madly in love i ■with a rather flashy farmer's daughter called Florence Kemp, and married her oy special license at Birtle Church. Then fee came home and told his father. The sqnire turned him out, and swore he vould. never iorgive Tiim Poor Edmund left Trontdalfi with his vrife, and your -;jjiaadfather forbade his name ever to ie mentioned in the house again. It "was a' great grief to your father, for he i and Edmund had been much attached. I think he -would have told you the story, Harry, if he had lived to" see you * man. Bnt you were only fourteen Saen he died." «J3 es >". said Harry half-abse.atly. Tien did yon ever know Edmund ?" ' . Sfe. Yale-Mellor shook her head. .J^ 0 - You see I was abroad in my g*°°d, and, in spite of old family I did not know the Vale™uor young men until I was three-or-"Bγ and twenty. Edmund had gone ''raywith his-wne from Troutdale seven pHViefore. It was thirty-three years sp>:that he quarrelled with his father. be likely to have a son about s™_ young nran's age. Yes, I am only •"ty. you know. Harry. in spite of niv hair." Harry put out hia fingers and touched we sno-wy hair gently. He knew it ned wben lh " e white "o-reaths iL laid U P on his father's grave. lonS" 7 silent, again, then he oosed up once more, and spoke with oa&eration. tt'? 3 y° un g nian is really my W e + v mmid ' S son ' he J^ s more " ri § ht «ere tha n j ~ ao entail -" said his mother. JnsK ~c that does not a£eat the " fenk 051 " 011 - Did not m J fath ' laSf a J aom ent Mrs. Vale-Mellor hesiJ«- Then she spoke out firmly. that •- , - He always said h ever a son of Edmund's came c ne would move heaven and earth «t ratice should be done to him. It _t ° W Vat^f 7 f ° r thG dder SOn G reyklk." ~ tlle son f l6 - Pr ° ud defcermined ring echoed ln the mother's voice "Yon^l^ ess e yes. S«iy» JT^ , Was a ver y 3ust man. ?^S l h£ e l^ eUorfcai y" l 1854 °iaii, too" lus son i≤ a very

By ROMA WHITE (Author of " The Testimony of Esther Sandys," &c.J

Harry's lip quivered ior a moment. After all, he was still young. "Well, mother," he said, after a pause. "The question is, what are we to do?"

"It is a grave question."' said Mrs. A ale-Mellor. "There is your grandhealth to be considered. He is very oid, and, you say, was already agitated into this attack by receiving a letter, from this man?" "Yes. He threw it into the Sre, and declared never to forgive his son Edmund until the Devil's Cliff lay in the Devil's Pool. Mother! Is it not strange? For nicrat of the Cliff has fallen into the Pool to-night." Mrs. Vale-Mellor made a little expressive movement with her head. She was paler than usual, and her lips were compressed. "He spoke of a prophecy," went on Harry, tlsoushtfullv, "that when the Devil's Cliff lay in the Devil's Pool the blood of aliens should carry on the Vale•ilellor race. Have you ever heard it, mother." '"Yes. I have heard it. Your father used to repeat it to mc. It is a rhyme that runs something like this— "■While Devil's Cliff o'er Devil's Pool stands hi-h. Yale-Mellor shall the stranger's blood defy. When Devil's Cliff in Devil's Pool doth lie, Vale-Mellor blood in stranger's blood shall die." She repeated the doggerel quietly, and smiled as she finished it. "TYe all used to laugh at it, as something very absurd," she said. "But your grandfather would never have it mentioned in his presence. He has the respect for tradition that seems to belong to the natives of Troutdale." " 'Stranger's blood,' " quoted Harry. '"I suppose even a Troutdale farmer's blood would be stranger's blood to the Vale-Mellcrs."

"'Yes,' , Mrs. Vale-Mellor spoke with calm pride. "The Valc-Mellors have always prided themselves on their purity of race. And Florence Kemp had not a very good name. Your father always used to say she trapped Edmund—she was, much older than he." There was a brief silence between mother and son. Then' Harry rose. -Well," he said. 'Tm off to'bed. Mother, v.-hat shall -we do about all this!" "That is for you to decide, Harry," she said, with a sweet, spirited look. "'lt concerns you. as a Vale-Mellor, more closely than it concerns mc. You will, I know, do as your father would have done. You must think it over, remembering that your grandfather must be spared as much as possible."' Harry bent his head gravely, then stooped and kissed her. "Good-night, Mother," he said. "Hers is your candle." "Good-night, my son. God bless you." Harry Vale-Mellor walked soberly up to bed. It seemed to him as if months had elapsed since the Troutdale pack had killed their hare under little Mademoiselle's cab. He was very tired, but the working of his brain forbade him to sleep. He jlrew aside his blind and saw that at last the rain had stopped, and the moon shone clearly among dark ragged drifts of cloud. " Under the white light the trees of the park made dark bosses and carverns of shadow: and a little wailing wind still faltered through the valley, with a voice like a lament" Harry's ears were extra.ordinarily keenly sensitive to natural sounds. He recognised a new resonance in the wind —a singular flute-like note, as if it blew through sounding rocks. As he listened he wondered half-dreamily if the change in the foundation of the valley was enough to account for this. The*desire to go out again into this murmuring moon-bewitched night suddenly swept over hhn to the exclusion of all other thought. He believed that with the cool wet wind blowing upon him he conld think more calmly, set his mind more stedfastly in the direction of what was right for him to do.

He had not commenced to undress, so he quietly and cautiously opened'his door, and stepped out into the passage closing it behind him. A light burned against the wall—{Mrs. Vale-Mellor disliked leaving the passages in darkness throughout the night. The moment Harry stepped from his room he perceived that the passage contained a human figure— a small slight girl's figure fully dressed, who sat on the mat = outside the room at the far end, her face buried in her hands. At the slight cautious noise of Harry's opening door -Julie de la "v lllemarquee lifted a white race, and terrified, imploring eyes. Then she rose to her feet, and advanced towards him -n-ith a curious dignity and ma.denhness. as if the sight of him had roused her to quick perception of the strangeness of her position. "I am so glad you came out," she said simply in a i ow voice « T djd n£)( . want to wake anybody, and I want to know the way to Nurse's room. She made mc promise to go to her if I wanted anything in the night, but she forgot to show mc her room. I never thought of asking, for I never gues=ed 1 should want to so to her." The girl stood nekr him so modest so candid, with such delicate dignity in her bearing, such simple childlike faith in his chivalry and gentleness, that Harry ■R-as conscious of a sudden deep thrill o"f admiration for her—a thrill such as he had never felt in the presence of any ■woman before. He answered her as quietly as she had spoken to him: without betraying any recognition of the fatt that it was twelve o'clock at ni»ht and thar they were alone together in the silent sleeping house. '•Certainly. I will show you the way"' he said. -But what disturbed you"?'" Juhe shook her head, and the scared look- came back into her soft eyes. " I would rather not say." , she answered. "• Perhaps it was only a dream But it frightened mc, and 1 d"id not like to stay in my room alone."

'" We must hear about it to-morrow."' said Harry kindly. '"See! This way!" Softly and quickly he stepped before her down the passage, and she followed him with footsteps even lighter and more noiseless than his. But, as they turned the corner, a door behind them moTed silently on its hinges, and Rose Hunt's face peered out. A look of amazement, of petrifaction, was suddenly imprinted upon it as she saw who had made the soft whispered sounds that had disturbed her. As she stared at the corner round which they had vanished, her look of utter astonishment changed to an expression of anger and contempt. She drew her lips together tightly, and her eyes hardened. Then she shut her door with elaborate soundlessnessj and went back to bed.

CHAPTER X Harry Vale-Mellor sat by his grandfather's bed. The old man was more shaken than had appeared the night before, and the doctor, who had been at the house before nine o'clock, thought badly of him. All exciting subjects were forbidden, and Harry was at a loss how to proceed in the matter of the stranger whom he had brought home. The old man was silent, with far-away eyes. When he roused himseli to talk, he seemed half inclined to wander. " It's nearly over—nearly over with mc, Harry, boy." he murmured frequently. "• Has the Huntsman in Green come yet? " '"The Huntsman in Green, sir? "Harry tried to humour him. "We have not changed the hunt livery you know." " No—no," the old man seemed fretlEujl (of bis grandson's non-comprehension. •'The Huntsman in Green —the old ValeMellor ghost. He always comes when the head of the house is going to die, but only a Vale-Mellor can see him."' '" No, sir, he has not , come yet," Harry reassured him, taking the superstition quite seriously. He knew that his grandfather was deeply imbued with old Troutdale traditions. " He"ll be seen before long," the old man went on dreaming. " Well, I'm glad to go, Harry. My time's come, and it seems all right and natural. And you'll look after Vale-Mellor, and keep up the old name for honesty and clean living. I've tried to teach you to be a Vale-Mellor in heart and soul, as well as in name, Harry. You must never bring disgrace to the old line, boy." " Please God, I never will, grandfather." The young man's lip trembled. He looked out of the window upon the Vale-Mellor fields and woods. Perhaps only in the partial renunciation of what he had been taught to look on as his heritage could he keep the purity of heart and conduct worthy of a ValeMellor of Troutdale. He turned his troubled eyes back upon his grandfather. He wondered if the old man remembered anything of the previous rtigiit. Apparently his faint, or fit, had entirely obliterated the recollection of what had" gone before. On the other side of the bed. half behind the curtains, sat old Xurse, knitting busily. Her brow was heavy with thought, but she neither looked nor appeared to hear the conversation between grandfather and grandson. Harry rose to leave the room, and beckoned to her to follow him for a moment. ''Does he remember yesterday, do you think. Nurse?'' he asked. '-'Does' he know about the landslip? ' Xurse shook her head. "No, Mr Harry, I don't believe he does." "What did he. say before he fainted . You were talking to him?" "Xo, Mr Harry. When I went in he was standing beside his desk. He just staggered to his big arm-chair, and fell back ia it, without speaking."

The old woman spoke slowly, looking out of the passage window with yearn" ing prophetic eye?.

"I knew then that it had all come to pass, went on old Xurse. "'And that the stranger's blood had come to Vale-Mellor at last. Aye. strange-r's blood and vet my very heart goes out to it, for its Vale-Mellor Dlood as well.' , "Nurse, what do you mean?" The old woman shook her head, her eyes still fixed in that strange far-oil' gaze. '"I mean what I say. Mr Harry. The prophecy had come to pass, and I went to tke old master to give him comfort. But the hand of Heaven struck him before I could say the words I had gone to speak." "Well, it was a good thing you went." said Harry practically, "for he might have lain in his chair a long timfe wildout attention, if he had bepn alone." The old Squire's voice was heard, calling feebly, and Xurse hurried back to him. Harry went on down the passage and the stairs, to the little morningroom, where the young man who claimed to be Edmund Vale-Mellor's son, lay on a temporarily erected bed, placed in a eurtained-off recess. Harry opened the door of the room., and went in. His guest lookpd up as the tall, fine, athletic figure entered, and gave a half-nervous, half-surly nod. "How's the foot?" was Harry's first question, drawing up a chair. "The doctor seen it?" "Yes." The young man seemed unable to go on. He twitched his eyebrows almost nervously, and his hands trembled a little. "Is it a bad sprain?" "Pretty well. All the ligaments on one side are twisted. I say I'm jolly grateful to you for taking mc in. But I'd like my baggage. Its down at Phizacklea's, you know." Archibald Vale-Mellor seemed oddly frightened by the position in which he found himself. His pale, cruel, sinister face twitched coutinuaLly, and he pinched the fingers of his right hand between the fingers of the left. Harry, with the cool determination inherited from his mother, appeared all the finer and manlier by contrast. i ''Of course we took you in. and I'm sending for your baggage," he responded. Then with a high-spirited pinile that took the edge off his words, he went on. "You know, you will have to prove b°yond all doubt that you are my cousin before I admit any relationship, or introduce the j subject to my grandfather." "Then does not old Mr Vale-Mellor ; know I am here?" demanded the other. "He has not been told yet. I must inform you that the shock of receiving your letter, and—and another thing that | happened so agitated him that it brought i on a kind of stroke."

Archibald Vale-Mellor eyed Harry oddly. "What was the other thing?' he demanded. '•The landslip up the valley/ Harry told him. after a moment's hesitation. His visitor still watched him with that odd half-mocking look. Then he surprised the young man by suddenly reelin<j off the old rhyme aloud. "While Devil's Cliff o'er Devil's Pool stands high. Vale-Mellor shall the stranger's blood defy. When Devil's Cliff in Devils Pool doth lie, Vale-Mellor blood in stranger's blood shall die." There was silence between the two young men for a minute, after he had finished. Then Harry said quietly: "I see you know the old family rhyme." ■■Oi course I know it/ responded Archibald half-impatiently. "My father taught it to mc." Harry looked at him with some earnestness. He was a Handsome man in his wa J r ; 7 et an ugly something, a half-keen half-shifty look gave Harry a vague mistrust of him. He could not reconcile that look either with his grandfather's strong intrepid countenance, or with his dead father's high candour of regard. "Perhaps you will tell mc all about yourself," suggested Harry, at last. "As I say, the doctor has forbidden any excitement for my grandfather, or ne is the proper person to hear what you have to say. In default of him, I must take up the responsibilities of the affair."

"Does that mean that you are prepared to acknowledge mc?" Archibald demanded, with a faint flush of excitement. "It means nothing," replied Harry, calmly, "' but that I wish to deal rightly and justly with this affair. Edmund Vale-Mellor, my uncle, married against my grandfather's wishes. If you axe his son, who was your mother?" '" My mother was Florence Kemp," said the young man, readily. " I have the certificate of their marriage in a pocketbook in that coat. Not that it was necessary to bring it, for it lies in the register ten miles away—at Birtle Church." He pointed, and Harry found the poc-ket-book, and gave it him. Archibald drew out the certificate and held it towards him. Harry read the words on it, and quietly bent his head. " Yes. And the certificate of your own birth ? " " I have that, too. You see—lß7 i. Thirty-one years ago." It was correct, but Harry made a quick calculation in his mind. " Then you were not born until two years after the marriage?" " No." Archibald also appeared to make a quick calculation, but said no more. *' And when did your fatlier, my Uncle Edmund, die? " Archibald Vale-Mellor frowned. " I do not know. He deserted my mother. I believe he went abroad." " Deserted her!" Harry's voice was stern. " A Vale-Mellor never did a dastardly trick like that! " "My father did," replied Archibald, stubbornly. "He deserted her before I was born, and if it had not-been for Wilfred Kirke she and I would have starved. 7 ' "Wilfred KArke? How in the world did you and your mother come across Wilfred" Kirke?" Harry's voice was amazed, even a little stern. His grandfather's sister, Rachel Vale-Mellor, had married into the Kirke family, and he knew well that her son Wilfred had, years ago, been shipped hastily off to Australia on account of some action which, but for the clemency of those wronged, might positively have brought him within reach of tho law. The Kirkes had left the neighbourhood, unable to bear the hushed-up disgrace, and Rachel, Wilfred's mother, was long since dead. How then had Edmund Vale-Mel-lor come across Wilfred Kirke'/ Archibald answered the question. "My father and his wife fettled at Southampton after Squire Vale-Mellor had refused to receive them. My father got employment in a shipping office, and one of the passengers on a home-coming boat was Wilfred Kirke. He had no luck in Australia, and came home unknown to anybody. He and my father were cousins, of course, , and friends in boyhood, and they took up with esch other again. Then, when my father left my mother, Wilfred Kirke looked after her. for old sake's sake. She died when I was four or five i years old, and Wilfred Kirke saved mc i from the workhouse. When I was eighteen or so we went out to Australia again, but we came back last year. Since then we've been picking up a living as best we could in London. If we had not been as hard-up as we are now. I doubt if I should ever have presented myself here as Edmund Vale-Mellor's son."' Archibald told his story sullenly; almost, as it were, unwillingly. Harry listensd in silence, and rose when the tale was ended. " I must talk it all over with my mother,' , he said. "'Meanwhile, take care of your-sinkle and get well, i "hope Rotitwell looks well uiter you?" j " Oh. yes," roplic*) th.c other, wijth a short laugh. "He brinss mc food which 1 believe lie wishes would poison mc. He seems to have a very soft corner for you." " Hr is an old retainer," fiiid Harry. ■" He has lived with us thirty years."' \ •■ So he says." replied the other. Then his brows met in a sharp frown, tie turn- | ed away from Harry, and closed his cyos. ! (To be continued nest Saturday.).