THOU ART THE MAN.

Press, Volume LI, Issue 8780, 28 April 1894, Page 2

THOU ART THE MAN.

Bt Braddo.v, Author «f *' Lady Auriley'r* Secret," " Vixen," ** Gerard," Sec.

(Continued, from last

I CHAPTER Vl.—Usquhabt Considers j v < i .yHriisELF Jxi.-u«RO. • That HtrßrgcstJcm TJttr possible toarriap:e had siirreiJL-iitlie,. waterijuof Marah io Brandon. Mountford's memory. Iv every man's mind there is some Slarahpool xwhich needs but a breath to distuft) its

bitter ~\taters'. With him lay still and deep, yet be.bad an ever present

J consciousness thab it was there, a silent I 6dfro#, Vrbieh made' Iris life different : from the lives of other young men. The fear cf hereditary madness was the shadow that wrapped him round, and set hi ill apart from nieh of his own age and circumstances, and bemmed-Mm in with {considerations which bat rarely block a j yoiiug roan's pathway. j He looked buck to-nijjht in the solitude icf his bedroom at Jiiiicrslie, with the j Goiliic ca*emencs flung open to the sofn j spring nigh*, and with ail the waste of j dans waiers stretching fir an ay to the 1 didiaut silvery line that marked the jhoj izoo, touched with starlight. .Hβ ia»ks>& s ti<ie£; as he dften--loofiSMy-«<id rtf- | in«iubere-.i his solitary childhood with his i tathe/* inutiier, old Mrs Moumford, j<\ iuorc of General Moun-.iord, who had ■ fought .iu-Arthur Wellesiey's IniJiaovCiuu- ; }i;tiu'i. He remembered that sad childj hood, his father &\vay in India, a. captain ; oi .feogiu'sers under Sir liob"ei"t'Napi«jiv M-s jinuii)mother a gloomy woman, evangelical, wiih pinched means, and a bitter sense of disappointment, in her' Only son, GC3poni[eat hiilci of the here and the hereafter. Ho remembered how, when ho was between fourteen aud lifreon, ha had been sent from Wellington College to a liijuse at Highgate to see his dyinf? mother, mother whose face he had never looked upon wiLhin hi 3 memory. A luci'l, or semilucid interval, had marked the ebbing away cf life, and she had entreated to see j her sou, hur baby, as she called him piteously. . . The tail lad stood beside her bed, holding her wasceri hasid in his, looking down ac Tier with tearful eyes ; and her iiraC impulse hiid been to repudiate him. 4i Who was this great boy?' she asked. "Mine was a litiie baby." 1 he nurse tried to explain to her, hut she did liot listen to the explanation. Sue was looking at the boy's face, and that told him more than anything the nurse could say about the years that lnid gone, and fhe changes made by time. l Yes, yes, you are my boy," she cried. "I'ou have your father's eyen. Where is lit—-where is my husband ? Why dossn'c lie come to mc? He is very unkind— everybody is unkind." The lad stayed jit' the doctor's house umil tiii was. over, and saw much of his mother in those last few days—ihoso slow.iy elociny hours of life, during which her LuinU was clearer, for brief intervals, than ib. had been in all the melancholy years since her sou's birth. From doctor ami nurses the *on heard the liistOiy of those lot>£ years of seclusion, ljer oelinipna, her fcii. ! cie,s, the gleams of reason, the sad periods of utter darknes*. He saw the rooms in which she had lived, brightly furnished, home-like, comfortable even to luxury ; and he understood how the absent husbtnd had considered and α-ired for hi-j helpless wife, slinking iio outlay thac could ensure her well-being. He walked in the garden-.where she had walked, a spacious,- where the trees and shrubs and holly hedgus had

been gro»*'ing for more Llitin a century, and from which he coultl soe the grear, city vi;i;-d iv its: smuke curt»in. vague, forniies«, lie walked there full of melancholy thought*. The poor mother — all his life long a prisoner within those narrow bound*. No, not quite a prisoner. She had beeo allovveu carriage airings wheu* ever her coiaaiiion permitted he/. being taken out o^iodrs —carriage-wirings in the custody of a mad house uuree. She uad been

no better ofTthan a S:.ate prisoner, at best.

Years afterwards, when he saw the rocky inland of 6t. Marguerite, and the prison in

which the Iron M.i-k endured so many years of silent solitude, bis.thqughts went l»ack to the bright little sitting room at Higligatej and- the sunuy garden above

the great smoke-bound'city. Tho3B few diiys at Uighg.it.e a crisis in young Brandon Mountford's youth. He went back to Wellington aa being, and masters and boys were alike struck with the change which hi*

mother , .'! tiealh had made hi him. Ib was odd that he should take hi*ipßs so deeply to heart, they said, since ho had seen very little of his mother, a confirmed iuvalid. Over Brandon*!* life henceforth there brooded the shadow cf a dark fate. He had talked to the doctor at Hiv;h<rate, had ures«ed him ciosely upon the question of hereditary lunacy, hud inquired iar-o the nature of. h,i§ njotht;r'3 mahidy, and had discovered that the mental flaw had first shov?ndit*eif in the form of epilepsy, from which she had suffered, us a. ycutijr bui. havitijr, at it was supposed, entirely outlived the tendency to that Cenible disease she ;md her parents luid kept that dark t'xperience of her girlhood a secreo from her husbtnd and Ms family, an offence which old Mrs Mountford had never forgiven.

Over him, too. hung that horror of possibie epilepsy. . branded on this poshTbUlfcy, 'tie hoi;ror only youthful imagination can. He thought (tfe htoaaelf a*. a-■ cr'eatni'e apwt froav vl;is fellows, marked with the of a revolting disease. When the fifth chapter of the Second BooK of Kiniza was read in church, he compared himself with Naainan the leper; but, alas! the age of miraculous cures was psst; there was no river in which he could wash and be free from the tendency that was in hie blond, the awful heritage from LH dead mother.

J He (exaggerated all his bovi.sh ailments, j saw ia every headache an indication of irapeuding evil. It may have bacn by reason thoao gloomy thoughts 'ami oppressing fears", or it may have been that his fenrs were rightly gnouuded, and Ihup the taCal tendency was latent in.his constitution, that (be dreaded evil happened. He wae wearly eighteen years of when cue first attack occurred. Tha foal fi«n<l of epilepsy seized upon him one evening ia the school..chape), rent and tore him, and lefc hini\shu.tterecl and weakened, with a dull despair in his heart. Henceforth ha knew himself doomed. One after auother thifcse horrible couvulsive seizures would tea v < ac bruin a«d body, uar.il reason would ba wrecked in the struggle; and madness would close the scene. Ai it been with bje. mother, so ie would be wish him. He gave up all idea of the army. He went to Cainbri'dfte," worked hard there, and in hi* three years of University life had oaly that milder form of epileptic seizure which Frencu physicians call Is petit mal, in contrailstiuction to the severe and convulsive type, or le grand mal. Sometimes, in his rooms, with his books opeu before him, or on the jiv.er, tb,e sculls in hU hands inoyine : al6*vly with measured beac, there would be a sudden consciousness, fie would go on rowing, perhaps, with a mechanical motion; or the sculls would cea-ie to work, and the b *at would drift the tide for a little way, Che man sictiirtrtttbre ld«c to Vh'e world around him, knowing nothing till the slow awikening .19 from a trance, wirh the knowledge that he had lost,himself, that in few minutes reason and itietr'bry had'gb'he. The consciousness of this malady dark* ; ened years which should have been so fullctf ; but he managed lo degree, and to come out of'ihe iexarniuationsf creditably, to the delight of ] his who enjoyed a year's furlough in bis son's "society, travelling through"! Italy. At Biindisi father :atfd'j son parted, on board a P. and O. s~rearner, paried never to meet again on earth, for Within t few months of rejoining his regiment M jor Mount ford died of jungle fever , , aiKf Brandon was lord of himself and of a email income.

v The first use htr mada of his independence was to trammeU of civilisation, ana'to set tili fac- towards tke-»ilderness.^-HU-doctoF -at Cambridge (had told him that his beat chance of wardSlha: off future attacks, and of out-growing jfahif malady, would be found Jα a free; adventurous life—sport, travel—under jGoda. open sky. Much learning was a thins for him to avoid; cor would he be Pl?M n B° Sn ß to the **?«*k** |fk»n« '»P "medicine as a profeßaijSq-.-U*':fc«d stayed rarCapibridge and for hi» degree only id v ratify his fathfcr.* H«s had no atnbitiou of his own ib Assoctatibn with the civilised world, ;It ha .were to gb"through ilife. toxabj dev'rr«,*let"the tormentors come upon him in tfee desert, where thejr«j«flAld be none to see him io bis atcouy, or at leant no one whose scornful pity could smite him to the quick. His life in the wilderness bad been on the whole a happy life. His love of sport and adventure had grown •ttd itrejpßfhetigd vrlth the growth of bin skill as a marksman and his acamen as an explorer.. Ifot often bad bin hereditary bfm In the midat of his wanderings, but he had not been altoKether free from such Tleltationr.'aDe he tendency was still unconquered, an enemy kept at bay, for the most pact, bat sot beaten.

JThat assurance had he that epih-p-y mi«;ht not sooner or later develop iuto dementia, as in the cttso of hU mother J

Sir Joseph hail not oven.hinttui at hi* idea, of Mc Sloantfonl as h. tj? .Marie; so there bad bscu no h.trui done, thought the old m»a, ua frsf tvfleecsd a port l»-»t-iii£hVs c.juvorsation wisii hi* ftaesu"while be took his moruinx walk on the terrace, before the niD<* o'clock brsakfa-u. Brandon had started for the rivtr soma hours before, having risen ax dawn ; bat lie and the keeper bad gone down to the stream alon* , , 17rquhart-fueadine; a- headache as a reason foe staying indours. M&rie Arnold appeared on the terrsco, brijihcand fresh in herpiuk cotton frock and black *<ilk apron, soou alter eight, aud joined Sir in his w.tlk. *" A long ietter from Sibyl," said the old man. "She 13 coming iwclc early next week. Her cough has quite none, and she is pining for ho;ue. You'll be glad to have her back again, won't you, Marie ?" " Very glad. EUersde is uos Eller.-.lie without hir." *' Ami aooat this time next year she will be Kβtti-.ig herself ready f->r t;»e rirst May drawing-room, and iht-u i«I;ler«!ie, a-'fi gjud-oye gi:"«n ;.•■»>«!, ,r s.-ikl Sir Jo-tepu with a sigh. **S'j« will bo swallowed up alive in the fashionable whii jpj.,>!, and you and I wiil 10-e our hoid up in her." " I'm njfc afraid of thar, Su - .lusenh. I don't think anything the woiid can do wilt ever change her." "Well, perhaps you aiv right. Her mother passed through the ordeal uncliangtiJ. She was in the .world, bat-never of iU; She was l«ko l!ii<u young \v.otnau old Jo]in Evelyn wussof jiv.i of, whu wt-nt dancing through the il-ry laru.ice of court I life, and a«ut wailing upon the Qjeen, and tMJiiu.; iv the King, iv a sociny where hal£-rh-e v/oin.-n Wtsre ' -f-uojuentioiiablc, auii yut a : saint to i!ie jasr. Ail, mc! Sweet Mrs Godolpltiti died in iao bloom of her youth aud beauty, like my de.v- wife. Well, M'-trie, ;iai'.t r£Cim<jiiß ourselves to th« iuevitnb'b: Sibyl's\<cd'L?Jlr6bifi'd;i.ys arc over, and you are no lo:ijjer a.y.ouns girl. You insist jny-dear; wn inus-t F.iid a ■■xl husbttui tvi. you,"._ ,; Pleas«j aonor-try my, Sir Jostpli." suid Mitrie, wiih a. little nervous i.iugii, and :t very vivid biusb. "If Providence insans mc to marry tne hu.sbaud will appear i;i due timn —a.id iv the niuaiiwhile 1 shall be qaitu cunteut to five my own quieC life iiei'y, with old Mia Morison, white you aud Sibyl are iv Londo?!." " And yon wiil not think yourself hardly U3ed— you won't, liiink i , . hard ihac Sibyl should have all the pleasures the Kreat world e.-ui give wiiile you ure buried in this Hull country liome." " Whac have I to envy Sibyl her life ? I ought; to fsei nothing but gra: itude for your g.jod:>esi to my mother aud to If you I»4J made 'mo a servant I OUK'T". en have been contended." "Dun', Marie, tiou's ! You pain mc when you t.'lS iike that. I wan;, yon to

ba happy, independent, assured of a bri^iJt

futute. I want you to that you have a claim upon mc, a strong i.-lavu —that you

aro as much to mc n &\i orjjiimi niece could be—more than a niocs—almost, a.3 Tiiuch as a daughter," added Sir Joseph, lm eyes dim with tears. "You arc , ail goodness to mc. I huva had more affection from you than I ever had from my mother,mid Sibyl, han been all a siater could be. Do yuu this.k I am

goiog to complain becuu-e her Jot is to ba in.thfc'ifCEt:att:v«orld,a.Hd mine ouc of it? ,, "* You are a irood girl, »nd your i-t in-iy be happier than heivs pariiaoa. Who eu.ii tell?"

Lifa weufe en very quietly a!; Ellerslia after this canveiaation DeCweeu Sir Joseph nud his adopted d;vi;g!it.er, buc thut idea of finding a husband iur-Maiia Arnold was still uppermost J» his mind, aaci i>e was startled_\vhen Ilubkrt Urquiiart cu>ne to lii:u in his study two d'ayn biter and con fessed devoted lior filiss Arnold, an affection which ho only waited Sir Joseph's cousenl to declare to tiie young lady. '* VYhat! Have you said nothing to Marie about your feeiings?" Hsked Sir Joseph. " Nothing defiuite. I may hay« hinted at Use state of the ess-. It. Uhh been hardly possible tor.i»»e to be in her society, and not !es har see that. 1 adoi'e her." *'Ami how ha* she taken your hints, or your adoratiou ?" '**Slve is a i emsfiua fcq nap. Sir Joseph. "Tefc I pan but tuinlc.iM had "yMarapproyal —if you showed yaur»t;if reaily in tnvoav of our' marriage—she would nob look unkindly upon mc." " Oh, you think she would not; object if I nrged your su:t. Woil,'Mr Urqaharc,

I'll be frank wir.h you, and coiife.si that you are abaufc tile last man I'wbaldehbnse as a husband for my adopted daughter, lev I iill a faiiit-r's alteeiion f.«r her."

"I am β-asured of th>c bir Joseph," s-iid Urquhart;" tint I Jim 'at a los-. i.y underatand your objection to as a match for a l'<ly who, I am informed, daughter of a workinj: man vyho was in your employment in ijelgirim, and..who therefore would make >oTmi advance in the sucitvl HC ile if became the wife of an eari^M.y.ounsjiM , son." . ~ , "■'Ts-ue h'i'.jivts are more than coronets. , Mr Urquhurt, Yonr liiseuye is uiicbjt-c----liosmijhi ; bat Ilcatmot say its much for you' character or antecedenr.^."

'"I may have «oue tUe p.ice a little," admitted Urquhart; '* bafc lhave sown my vviid oata."

"It is not your wild oats I am thinking about, so much as the character of tho sower," answered, Sir Joseph (irayely. ''I have heard of yourdubiiidhesa ana ne/jkefc a<) a husband, Mr Urquhart. Forgive mc. if I say that you hava not a character itohi your la«fc place. I li&vo been told that your v/ife died cf a broken heart." . .. .

" Then you have- ••boeu told lies, Sir Joseph. Society seldom " forgives a m;in who marries putof its ranks. 1 married a couutry psirscu's penniless daughter; and any uirhiippiness there may hiivelieen in her life was die resale of circumstances over which 1 had no eonirol. Were I to marry your adopted 'daughter I conclude you would nuke a w.idemßiiD wki'ch would her : from th« pinch of poverty, and which might help mc to carve out * career for myself, either in. politics or at tha Bar."

"I would-do much for a mxn she could Jove, and whom I could trus&," replied Sir Joseph, gravely. ." No question of lrumey Hhould stand between her and h'ippiaess. But, t.o be frank wis.h you once more, you are by uo menus tbo man I would choose.'

♦ "T understand," *a.i& Urquhart, pale I with auaer, yet trying to h«s courreoas. " You have uuide your choice already, perhaos ! Mr Mouutford is the niau you • would prefer." - -

"Mr Monnrfor<l is out- of the question. He is a bachelor by inclinai ion, and ia bent upon a roving life in South Aide*."

" Perhaps, Sir Joseph, after your frankness— wbicii implies a considerabl« prejudice aeainst me—l had better pick my porr.manr,i>iia and lesve the ealmon to more favoured angler.--). I have no right to inflict an un-welcorno ujueit upon your family circle."

"Don't talk nonsense, man. I may objecr, to you ac a husband for an impulsive, inexperienced but that's no reason why I should turn you out of doors, stop as lonK as you like; ouly cive Marie no more hinfes-o? your adoration. I-have an idea thac she is tolerably heart-whale, so as you are concerued." TJrqaharfc did not order the pack ins of his .portmanteau. The ealrnon. river was yoty.'.sittrecUve at this.seaaojj, andii; would not have suited his plana to leave Ellttrslia, itb". leav* Mountford master , j of , tbe,-situation ;. for let. ,SU* JosSpfii Avhat he would, UrqiiTiart 'thought-, that J&ountfprii'a pretensions !would be favoured. Mounlford's family was as good as his, Urquhart/s; and Moantford's antecedents offered no ugly blots to the inquiring eye. He had done well at .the University. He bad lfever madu himself notorious by riotous living or debt. He had won renown ass, a fine sbot nnd a sngacioua explorer, and had lately pwhli-faed'- a record of bis travels whicfi had been prat3ed by the critics and appreciated by the public. Cla, such a man as this TJrquhart saw a'dangerous rival. He saw, too, chat Maria was "interested in MountCord, and nee«S!#but some chow c'f lfeTnipathy on qis pArr'to win her heart. 'Here, puzzled. Mocntford charms which kindled tf^t^rtt warmest (eelings. •Wan this tne Ynask or dteilpiy; ifr w.ve th? man really iQdit&ceuLl.UrQttbarc watched him closely, and could surprise no touch of tenderness amidst, bis sao¥arjirig courtesy; yet his own natural bent towards dissimulation inclined him'-ttJ believe that Mountfordwas only masking his' batteries. There are some wom4si wto only care* for the unattainable: a6d it might bs that Marie thoagbt nil tHTe more of Monntford j because she had| been unable to subjugate him. TJrquhart had tried tbe other plan and had failed iigDaminously. Mountford had been nearly three weeks iafc EUerslie, and aeeraed to have int«rwoven himself I into the femily life. Sir Joseph bad taken a cordial liking for and ie was the * thoroughness r 6f the old man's friendlicfcas wuicU Induced him to protract" hi=f visip much' beyond his orisinal intention. / j

"I don't what vre shall do with-

nafc you when yon leivc- u.s," sail Sir Joseph. "We shal! ml*H him sadly when he goes, stunt we Mtdji" He did not sec Mario. Arnold's vivid » biii-ili. she bent over the newspaper «ha . i.ad been re-sding, und he thought l»->-* • answer was cold ami JLnd tlien I he rciKttiui>H,red Jjrniadon'e determination >. to remain umnarria I—a reAolv« thnt was perhaps r.verscrupulous, since tnotitcr's malady rauht havo iicquot(h<-d no fatal ttinfc to hiu-i—.uui he tnouuht it h merciful diape!v-a;i:?n that Mnria Ari.old should be CMFeltis* a .i i, differ en. It was after «even o'clock wheu Mount' ford cune homo ilt:it evet-.ing. He wad been for a lonjj; and lonely iitinblo over the moors, glad to escape from Urquhari's sr-cieTj-, even at cfie sacritlce ot >-port. Urquhari's conversation »vm the essence of wcrldiy wisdom, vi the streets streety : "and a uihii who lias spent his happiest years iv ihe lonely places of the earth, aud ha-* communed with Goil and Nature utitler tropical stur.s. does not lind much or isi the paUy coasip of clubs. i>r the ana money troauljs vi men about to»n. ' "I never a fellow fir not beiut; iuieiest'j;! in ti>iiiy< :-;;at intcri-so other men," said Urquh&r:.di-«onteiuedly, when pno cf his ciioico.sL aneei'ou's had fulle\i Hat. " 1 don't beiicve you c*ie evtu for the turf." "Not o.w jot," anawi-rcd Brandon, "I admira a raeshorse because he is tbe pstf«ction of blaodaad spt-ed, not because he can «"in ;\ cop." * " Your indifference makes you very bad company," crumbled Uiquhart. "We can't all shoot Hi:-n«." To-day Brandon had batbr-d soal aud sensl-.s in Hi>litnd>?, and he felt all the *bettjur.lof. the loniz ramble in the wild bleoJw country. !ie iiad Duniuce Cisfle afar oil, tall and cray abjve tlic ridge of the moor, and he bad wondered idly whether he would ever see it nearer, and -what kind of a man its owner, Hfqtihart's elder brother, might he.- And now iv the fading light he Walked up the hill, and by the wiudi'ift shru'bberutd road that ■ le'if cb Kllerslie House. A carviago was tlrivinjj alii tie way iti front, of him as -h« ptts*ed the It diiiippeared at.ihejiist turn of t-heroad, and he ihoughc no more of it until he saw it oe-fo.-'c ihe porch, wiiiie a footman busiod himself in carrying Vftrioua articles of luggage, iiandb:i}<i, books, umbrellas, and &uch sm.ul doer, into the hall. From the hall came a sound of voices, Sir* Jott'-ph'K strong baritosse, anil a girlish voice which was like music, so low and sweetly toned. Could it be the daughter of th:-. house? Brandon went, into the hall ieoling shyer than he had ever been in his Jif« bu-fore. In those last days of fidantial intercourse in Italy, wheu the father and son had talked together as man j K,\sd mar), Walter JMouniford had told his son that pathetic story of a hopeless low, ;'giins(; valiantly, and never revealed, 'ii-e that he was going to si«e she daughter of '.ho woman hi* father had ioved thrilled him s:.raug>.*ly. lie had been told that Sibyi v/as Jike her mother, and ie was with a feeli: ■£ iiiino-.t of iiffc tliat he approached tiie girl ofri^hteen. Hi , ivtnembcrerl an old photograph, grey jsnd faded, a poor little pnocograph cuteon on the beach at Boixnor by au i iueraut photographer—the portrait of a jiirl in a broad-1 rimmed hat and an old fashioned frock, but with oh, so sweet and dolica'e n countenance —features sorelined in their cliiselhuff, such loveiy lines of chin an.) tin".»jjt, and such asleuder, graceful 'figure ! Hi?; f<l titer hud tAkeu that poor little photograph from his despatch-box. It wan an gins*, and it had aci'ouipiuik'd him all over Jndisi wichout coming to grief; and from the shadowland of dcith and vinixhed years the youn« face h>id looked at Brandon dimly liice a very ghost. Yes, tlu , re were the same features, the same gracious lines, the same soft <tepth in the dark grey eyes that were looking at him now. "Hullo, Mountford," cried Sir Joseph, £aiiy ; "! hi mister ot the house has conic Lome. No more las: behaviour now ! "We Rhall h.ivo so mind our manners. Come and be iistrod.ictd to my tyrant." Sibyi in-lit out. her h;ind to him io the frai)V:est, friendliest way. "' lain ever much obli.cad to yon f.iv heltsiuji to keep father in good spirits, ,, she aaitl. .