HENRY DUNBAR.

Bruce Herald, Volume III, Issue 68, 27 July 1865, Page 5

HENRY DUNBAR.

By the:- Author of * Aurora Floyd,? < Lady • i'- iiAudley's Secret,' &c, &c.

: .."■-.'• CHAPTIft :XXIV.

Unbidden Guest who came to Laura,; a \ ■ .Dunbar's Wedding. ' (Continued from our last} *He did/ answered John Lo veil, 'but ■half of the time "is"gone, and I've had a letter- from llord-Herriston by/,thisiafter-.oaopn's-post;.. He .wants your decision Im- ' 'mediately, for a connexion of his own has applied, to him for the appointment. He stilLhoids to his promise,, and will give : yo,u title preference,; but you must make up : s your mind at once.' _ 7- Dp y put wish me to go, to India, fether?' ; ;: ■.-.";• . ■ ' . .! Do. I wish you to go to India I Ur • course npt, my Gear boy, unless your own . ambition ' takes you there. Remember, you are an only son. You have no occasion. f: to leave this/ place. You will inherit a very g'ood 'practice and a com- ' fprtable. 1 fortune. I thought you were ambitious, and that Shorncliffe was top Darrpw : a sphere for your ambition, or ; else I shpiiid never have entertained any idea of this Indian appnintment.' . ■ ,;>: And you will not be sorry if I remain in England?', . _. ; 'Sorry! No, indeed, I shall be very, glad. Do you suppose, when a man has. only one son, a handsome, clever, highminded young' fellow, whose presence is like sunshine in his father's gloomy old house— do you think the father wants to get rid of the lad ? If you do - think so,; you must have a very small idea of parental affection.' 'Then Twill refuse the appointment, father* <Godbless ; you my boy!' exclaimed -the lawyer.' The letter to Lord Herriston was; written that evening,- and Arthur Loyell resigned himself to a perpetual residence in, that quiet town, within a. mile of which, the tall towers of Jocelyn's Rock crowned the tall cliff above the rushing waters ot the Avon. Mr Henry Durbar had given all necessary directions for the reception of his shabby friend. ' The Major was ushered at once to the tapestried- room, where the banker was still sitting at, tne dinner-table. He had, that meal laid/ upon a round table near the "fir^pand the room looked a very picture of comfort and luxury as. Major \ ernon went iito it,-iresii frbm the black, foggy night, and the "leafless avenue, where the bare trunks of 'the " majestic ■ elms looked like gigantic .shadows, looming through. the obsQuritv. Majdr's eyes were almost dazzled /Sy. the brightness of tba : t pleasant chamber. This man . was a reprobate, but he had begun life as a gentleman. He remembered such a room as this long ago, across a dreary guli of fort} ill-spent years. "The fight of this room brought hack ■ the memory of a pretty laniplit parlor, vf.i^an Rid nian sitting in a highbacked easy chair ; a genial matron bending over. her. work ; two fair-faced girls ; a favourite mastiff stretched full length upon the hearth; and, last of all, a young man at home from college,' yawning over a sporting newspaper, weary to death of all the simple delights of home, sick of the companionship of gentle sisters, the love of a fond mother, and wishing- to be back again at the old uprorious wine parties, the drunken orgies,' the. card-playing and prize-fighting, the extravagance and debauchery of the bad set in which he was a chief. . The Major. gave a profound sigh as he looked round the room. But the melancholy, shadow on his face changed into a grim smile as he. glanced irom the tapestried wall, and curtained window, with a great Indian jar of hot-house flowers standing upon an inlaid table , before it, and filling, the, room ; with a faint perfume of jasmine and almond,; to the figure of . Henry Dunbar. „,'. ; i;-w>v^ it ; s,vComf6?table,'.:saidsMHJor, l^ernpn ; ; /(to? saiy •thejleastktf it; it's : yery.ijpmfprtable. And with a balance gf half. &■;. million ...or •so at one's banker's, or in one's own

> bank-4rwhich is better still, perhaps T-one is not so very badly ; off, eh, Mr., Dunbar V \ -/..Sit down and eat one of those birds,' answered the'banker. ' I'll talk to you by and bye. -. The Major obeyed his friend j he.unwound three or four yards of dingy woollen stuff from around his scraggy throat, turned down the poodle 'collar,, pulled his, chair close to the table, squared his elbows, and began business. He mide very^ ligh fc '■ ofia brace of partridges and a bottle of isparkling Mozelle. !-.' When the table had been cleared, and the two men left alone together, Major Vernori stretched his long legs upon the hearthrug, plunged his hands deep down in his trousers pockets, and g*ave a sigh of satisfaction. ' And now,* said Mr Dunbar, filling his glass Trom the starry crystal claret j.ug, 'what is it that you want to say to me, Stephen Vallance, or Major Vernon, or whatever ridiculous name you may call yourself ;— what is it you've got to say V I VII tell you that in a very few words,' answered the Majo^ quietly ; ' I want to talk to you about the man who was murdered at Winchester some months ago V The banker's hand lost its steadiness, 'the neck of the claret jug knocked against the thin "lips of the glass, and shivered it into half a dozen pieces. 'You'll spill your wine,' said Major : Vernon. 'I'm very sorry for you if your : nerves are no better than that.' When Major Vernon that night left his friend, he carriea away with him half a dozen cheques for different* amounts, : making in all two thousand pounds, upon that private banking account which Mr Dunbar kept for himself in the house.of Dunb:ir >; Dunbar, and Balderby. It was after midnight when the banker opened the hall door, and passed out with .the Major upon the broad stone flags, under the Gothic porch. There was no rain now ; but it was very dark, and the north-easterly winds were blowing amongst the leafless branches of giant oaks and elms. ■ ' Shall you present thosft cheques yourse^?' Henry Dunbar asked, as the two men were about to part. 'Yes, I think so.' ' Dress yourself decently, then, before you do so,' said the banker; 'they'd wonder what dealings you and I could have together, it you were to show yourself in St. Gundolph Lane in ycur present costume.' 'My friend is proud,' exclaimed the Major, with a mock tragic accent ; 'he is proud, and he despises his humble dependent.' . ' Good night,' said Mr Dunbar, rather abruptly; 'it's vast twelve o'clock, and I'm tired." 'To be sure. You're, tired. Do you —dp you— sleep; well '?' asked Major Vernon, in a whisper. There was no mock solemnity in his tone now. The banker turned away from him with a muttered path. The : light of a lamp suspsnded from the groined, roof of the porch shone ; upon the two men's faces. Henry Dunbar's countenance ; was overclouded by, a black frown, and was by no means agreeable to look upon ; but the grinning face of the Major, the ihin lips wreathed into a malicious smile, the small black eyes glittering with a sinister light, looked like the face of a Mephistopheles. 'Good night,' repeated the banker, turning his back upon his friend^ and about to re-enter the house. Major Vernon laid his bony fingers 'upon Henry Dunbar's shoulder, and stopped him' before he could cross the threshold. ' You've given me two thou',' he said ; ; ' that's liberal enough to start with ;- but I'm an old man; I'm tired of the life of a vagabond, and I vant to live like a gentleman; — not as' you do, of course; that's out of the question; it isn't everybody that has the good luck to be a millionaire, like Henry Dunbar ;■ but I want a bottle of claret with my dinner, a good coat upon my back, and a five-pound note in nrv pocket constantly. You must do as much , as that for- me ; eh, dear boy V T don't refuse to do it, do I -V- asked Henry Dunbar, impatiently; 'I should * think what you've got in your pocket already is a pretty good beginning.' ; 'My dear fellow, it's^ a stupendous be- , ginmng!'. exclaimed Major Vernon; .'it's • a"' princely beginning" j ; it's a. Napoleonic 1 . I beginning 1 . But that two thous isn't

meant : for a blind; is it '? It's'not to bo the beginning", middle, and the end? You're not going to dothe gentle bolt — eh V * What do you mean V c You're not going to run away? Xou're not going to renounce the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, and make an* early expedition across the berririg-pond. —eh, friend of my soul ?' ' Why should I run away V asked Henry Dunbar, sternly. 'That's the very thing I say myself, dear boy. Why should you ? A wise man doesn't run away from lanced estates, and fine houses, and half a million of money. But when you broke that cJaret glass after dinner, it struck me somehow that you were— shall I venture the word I : — rather nervous ! Nervous people do all manner of things. Giva me your word that you're not going to bolt, and I'm satisfied.' ' I tell you, I have no such idea in my mind,' Mr Dunbar answered, with increasing impatience. ' Will that do V 'It will, dear boy. Your hand upon it! What a cold hand you've got L Take care of yourself 5 and once more — good night V ' You're going to London V ' Yes-^-to cash the cheques, and make a lew business arrangements.' Mr Dunbar bolted the great door as the footsteps of his friend the Major died away upon the gravelled walk, which had been quickly dried by the frosty wind. The banker had dismissed his servants ax, ten o'clock that night, so there was nobody to wait upon him, or to watch him, wlien^he went back to the tapestried room. He sat by the low fire for a little time, thinking, with a settled gloom upon his face, and drinking- Burgundy out of a tumbler. Then lie went to bed; .and the' light of the, night lamp shining upon his face as he slept, showed it distorted by strange shadows, that were not altogether the shadows of the draperies above his bed. Major Vernon walked . briskly down the long avenue leading to the lodge gates. 'Two thou is comfortable,? he muttered to himself; 'very, satisfactory for a first go-in ac the <£bld-diggia's ! but I shall expect my California to produce a little more than that before we close the shaft,, and retire upon the profits of the speculation. I think ray friend is safe^— l don't think he'll run away. But I shall keep my eye upon him, nevertheless. Thejhuman eye is a great institution j and I shall watch my friend.' In spite of a natural eagerness to transform those oblong slips of paper-r-the cheques signed with the well known name of Henry Dunbar— into the still more convenient and flimsy paper circulating medium dispensed: by the Old Lady in Threadneedle Street, or the yellow coinage of the realm, Major Vernon did 1 not seem in any great hurray to leave Lisford. A great many of the Listordians had seen the shabby stranger take his seat in Henry Dunbar's carriage, side by side with the great bauker. This fact became universally known throughout the parish of Lisford and. two neighboring parishes, beiore the shadows of nig-hfc came down upon the day of Laura Dunbar's wedding, and the Major was respected accordingly. He was shabby, certainly ; queer about the heels of his boots ; and very mangy with regard to the poodle collar. His hat was more shiny than was consistent with, the hat manufacturing interest. His bony hands were red and bare, and- only one miserable mockery of a glove dangled between his thumb and finger as he swaggered along the village street. But he had been seen riding in Henry Dunbar's carriage, and from that moment he r had become invested with a romantic interest. He was a reduced gentleman, who had seen better days; or, he was a miser, perhaps— an eccentric individual,, who wore shabby boots and shiny hat for his own leve and pleasure, People paid respect, therefore, to the stranger at the Rose and Crown, and. touched their hats to him as he went in and out, and were glad to answer any questions he chose to put to them as he loitered about the village. He contrived to find out a good deal in his way about things in general and the habits of Henry Dunbar in particular. The banker had given bis shabby acquaintance a handful of sovereigns for present use, as well as, the cheques; and the Major was able to lire upon the best the' Rose

and Crown qbiild afford;. and pay liberally for all he consumed! ' ' I find the Warwickshire air agree witfo me remarkiabfy welly' he said to the landlord, as he sat at breakfast in the barparlour, upon the second, day after his interview with Henry lJuixbar-; / and if you know of any snug little box in the neighborhood that would suit a lonely old bachelor with a comfortable > income,. and nobody to help him to spend it," why; I'' really should have a great inclination to take it, and furnish it.' ... The, landlord scratched hi& head, and reflected for r few minutes.- Then he slapped his leg wxth a sounding triumphant slap. * I know the very thing as would suit you, Major Vernbn,' he said— the Majorhad assumed the name of Vernon, as agreed upon between_himseli and Henry Dunbar — 'the very thing,' repeated the; landlord; 'you might say it had been made to order like. There's a sale conies off next Thursday. Mr Grogson, the Shorncliffe aucrioneer, will sell, at eleveti o'clock. precisely the furniture and lease, of .the snuggest little box in these parts — Woodbine cottage it's called— a sweet pretty little place, as was the property of old Admiral Mjanders. The admiral died in the house, andliaving^ been a bachelor, ,and his. money .paving gone to distant relatives, the \eos and furniture of the cottage will be sold. But 1 should think,' added the landlord,' gravely looking doubtfully at his guest as he sgoke, I should think the lease and, furniture, pictures and plate, will , fetch; a rhatter of eight hundred to a thousand pound'; and you mightn't care to go to. that ? *v The landlord could not refrain from glancing furtively at the white and shining aspect of the cloth that' 'covered the sharp knees of his customer^which were exactly under his eyes as the wo I ' men sat opposite to each other beside the snug; little round table. ':. '■ ' You mightn't care.to,go r to; that price/ he repeated, as. he helped l himself to about three quarters of a pound of cold ham. The Major Hf ted his. eyebrows with & contemptuous twitch- ' If the cottage r suits me/ he said, I dont mind a thousand for it. To-day's Saturday j — l shall run" up to town tomorrow,, or Monday morhingjtq^ settle a f bit of'business I've got on hand, and come back here* in time to attend the sale/ ". • ■' ; 'My wife and me was tbirikin* of/goin* sir,' the landlord answered^ with unwonted reverence in Ms / voice j;/ ' and, if it" was agreeable, we could drive you over in a four-wheel shay. Woodbine V, Cottage is about a mile and a half from here, and little better than a mile from lMaudesley Abbey. There's, a copper:, coal-scuttle of the old Admiral's as my wife : h&s- got rather a fancy for./ -But' p'raps if you was. to make a hotter previous ito the sale,' the : property might be disposed of asi it stands, [by private contrack.''' < " ' " '111 see about that/ answered Major Vernon. c I'll stroll over to ■■Shorncliffe this morning, and look in upon Mr!Grogson — Grogson j I think you said wwars r theauctioneer's, name ?' : : ■;■.'.■ - 'Yes, sir; Peter Grogson, . and very much looked up to he is, arid ia warm man, folks ! do say. His offices is in ShorndiffeHigh street, sir, next door but two from Mr Lo veil's, the solicitor's, and; not morethan hall a dozen yards from St. Gwendoline's Church.' : Major Yernon, as he now chose te call himself, walked from Lisford to ShornclifFe. He was a very good walker, and, indeed, had become pretty well used to pedestrian exercise in the bourse . of long weary trampings from one racecourse to another, when he was so far>doWn?iri T his luck as to be unable to pay. ihisi railway fare. The frost had set in for the: firkttime this year, so the roads were dry ■ andi hard: once more, and the sound of horses' hoofs and rolling wheels, the jingling of ; bells, the, occasional barking of a noisy sheep-dog, and sturdy laborer's voices calling to each other on the high road, travelled far in the thin frosty air.. . ' " The town of Shorncliffe was very quiet to day, for it was only on market days that; there was m-ucli life or bustle in the queer old streets^ . and= Major Vernon found nohindrance to the business that had brought him fromlnsford. ; : * : ■„ He went straight to Mr Grogson, the auctioneer; atfd from that gentleman heard all particulars respecting the- pending sale at Woodbine Cottage. The Major-offered to take the lea«e at a fair price, afiiiytiwffuriiiture, as it stood, by yaluation* - ; To be continued. : > :