THE NOVELIST. THE BAILIFF'S SCHEME OR, The Buried Legacy.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 4282, 18 April 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE NOVELIST. THE BAILIFF'S SCHEME OR, The Buried Legacy.

By Mrs llabutkt Lewis,

AUTJIOR OF " TIIE DOUBLE LIFE," " THE

RIVAL COT/SINS," " TIIK HOUSE OF SECRETS," ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER V.

the question of a life

Tho village of Winchester, a nulo distant from tho Towers, was situated in a pleasant, sunny valley, shut in by low Kentish hills, which wero crowned with handsome dwellings, fair green fields, or slrrtches of purple forest. Upon one of these hills, visible from every part of the Tillage, rising from the midst of its Biirrounding greenery, was the statoly castle of Wilchester Towers, by fnr the oldest plnce in the neighborhood. Upon opposite or adjacent eminences were situated beautiful villas or elegant mansions, the seats of noble families, many of them of higher rank, but less ancient pedigree, than Sir Archy's.

The village was small, consisting of two wide streets crossing each other at right nnglos, after the fashion of so many English vUages. Upon the Upper street, in square brick mansions or ornate cottages, sot ingardensof various dimensions, dwelt the local aristocracy—the doctor, the lawyer, tho rector, a few army officers on half pay, a retired rearadmiral of the navy, and one or two younger sons of noble houses with their families, who had come to Winchester ostensibly for the sake of quiet and pleasant society, "but really for tho sake of economy. Upon the Upper street, also, was tho pretty, rustic stone church, with its porch draped in vines, and its memorial windows, the pride and admirtion of the church-goers. The Lower street contained the shops and market-place, tho homes of the tradcs-peoplo, and those who gained their daily bread by tho exercise of some active employment. Wilcliester was n quiet, dreamy little place little frequented by strangers. No excursionists from town ever disturbed its precincts. On market days the country peoplo thronged into tho busy Lower street; and during the hop season crowds of ill-fed, wretcbed-look-

ing croatures, who seemed just emerged from some Union, or just released from some workshop, passed through the little town on their way to the hop-grounds. The great houses on tho surrounding hills, however, were often gay with fashionable visitors, and the village aristocracy wero went to gossip at tea-fights and evening parties of tho gay-doings of the higher aristocracy, with whom they had not even a bowing n^qr.aintarce—much to their secret envy and chagrin On the Lower street, near the station, was the village inn, the 'Blue Boar.' It was a quaint, old-fashioned edifice, with a tea-gar-den in its rear and a porch in front, which was provided with a bench for tavern loungers. The tap-room of the Blue Boar was spotlessly neat, and usually filled with appreciative guests. Tho inn parlor, with its diamondpancd windows, flowing dimity curtains, yawning fireplace, heaped high "with living coals, and worn but well-polished furniture, promised more comfort to its occupant than all the stately drawing-rooms of modern city hostelry.

In this snug parlor, on the afternoon of the very day on which the preceding events had occurred, two strangers, just arrived on the down-train, were seated at their private table, upon which a tempting little dinner was displayed.

The moro noticeable of the two was a youth of apparently threc-and-twenty years, tall, broad-chested, and athletic, the incarna-

tion of manly beauty and grace. His broad brows showed themselves the seat of a noble intellect. His brave, fearless blue eyes, of

the rare, pure, deep blue of a summer's sky, were bright and keen as the oyes of an oaglo. His mouth, shaded slightly by a drooping moustache, while capable of expressing the tendcrcst emotions and almost womanly sweetnoss, was yet firm in all its lines, and without, a trace of weakness or effeminacy. H!s fair hair was flung carelessly back from

his forehead, and the whiteness of the latter contrasted effectively with the bronzed lower

There was a high-bred, patrician air about

this youth, and it was evident that ho also possessed the truest nobility—tho nobility of mind, heart and soul. He looked like one born to command —as much from his grand and towering mental qualities as from hereditary right.

His companion presented a striking contrast to all that splendor and grace. Ho belonged to a lower social order evidently, but thero was an honest look in his eyes, and an

honest expression on his rugged, florid countenance that showed at least ono reason why tho two should be on terms of such apparent intimacy.

The young gentleman was called Hugh Chandcs. His companion was his fosterbrother nncl personal attendant, Martin Cross.

' I cannot cat—-I am too excited,' eaid Hugh, quitting the tablo and going to tho window, from which ho could command a view of the street. 'My veins seem filled with molten fire. I wonder, Martin, if lam not on threshold of a discovery that will affect my whole destiny,'

'In truth, Master Hugh, I don't rightly understand why we have come to this place at all.'

Hugh smiled, and seated himself, still at tho window. Then he drew from an inner pocket of his coat a thin packot of old and time-stained letters, neatly bound together with ribbon.

' I'll tell yon tho whole story, Martin, so far as I know it,' he said, undoing the packet. 'You know that I have never, in my remombrance, seen my parents. This journov has to do with them.'

Martin dropped his knife and fork, and aiming in his chair, faced his young master.

' In order to make my story plain to you, Martin,' said the young gentleman, after a pauso. 'It will bo necessary to remind you of much that you know already. You knowthat your mother, good Margery Cross, was my nurse and foster-mother. _"ouond I are nearly of the same age, and spent our early years together, sharing the same instructions and care. When I had grown to beof suitable age, I was placed by your father at a gentleman's school. I left it for Harrow and Oxford. I have been supplied beautifully with money —more than 1 con use. I bear an honorable name, yet I cannot be sure that it is my own. I recognise tho fact that some, person has watched kindly over my destiny so far, but I havo no idea who that person

' All this I know, Mrfster Hugh, said Marvin, withdrawing himself entirely from the ;able.

' But. you did not know, my good friend, my foster-brother,' replied Hugh, 'what longings I have had to solve tho mystery of my being. I knew fnero was a mystery, for your parents always evaded the questions I put to them concerning my parent age. I have had doubts, fears and suspicions. I have walked through life alone, suffering tortures you can never understand. After leaving college, uncertain how long those mysterious allowances of money would continue. I devoted myself to the study of law. I have just been admitted to tho bar, and am in a position at last to face tho world, to stand up for myself, and to search out this hidden mystery of my life. Yesterday I decided that Margery must tell me all she'knew. It was my right (o hear it. 1 so represented the caso to her. Heretofore, I had pleaded for that knowledge. Yesterday I demanded it. My demand was successful. Margery told me every thing she knew about me. Alas ! that was so little!'

Hugh sighed, and fixed his gaze upon the dull street below, with its occasional passers, as one who saw nothing. His nature, however, was eminently hopeful, and it was not long before he hfid shaken off hi 3 brief gloom and turned a bright fuce back upon iiis trustworthy, attendant.

' Why, didn't, mother know all about you ? enquired the latter, in surprise. ' She must have known who your parents were, or she eould'nt have had you placed in her charge. Purely, Master Hugh—forgive mo—you didn't, come out of the Foundling ?' Hugh laughed in a manner that instantly dispelled the fear of his foster-brother. 'Mv origin may not be more creditable, Martin,' he said, ' but it has tbe merit of

being more romantic. Listen. Your mother

was at homo one evening—just twenty-two

years ago this spring. Sho lived then in a little detached cottage at Kensington. Her door was open, her table spread for tea, nnd she stood in the door-way, with you, a Utile child, in her arms, waiting for the return of your father from his day's work. The evening had just, fallen, and Mie streets wore already dark. There was no light in the cottage but the light of the fire. While sho stood there, her figuro outlined by tho firelight, a man came slowly along the street, a child in his arms. He stopped before your mother's cottage, hesitated, then abruptly entered. Your mother retreated, and would have procured a light, but that he told her not to do so. He enquired her name, her husband's business, and the number of their children. Then he told her that the mother of his child was dead, and that he was seeking a nurse for the little one. Ho offered Margery a handsome price for her services as nurse, desiring to leave tho child with her. Margery accepted his offer at once, half-doubting her good fortune. A bargain was made immediately, Margery's first year's salary paid, I and the business was completed. The stranger then pressed tho child to his breast, and Margery says sho saw his tears fall on tho little, unconscious face. She says she is sure that the man was the father of the child. He placed tho littlo one in her arms, and then departed alone, but twice he came back to kiss his child once more, and to see if it were still contented. He went away, Martin, and your mother never saw him again.' ' And you were that child, Master Hugh ?'

'Yes, Martin. I was that child. That man, my heart tells me, was my own father. He sent every year to Margery a hancVsomc sum of money for my support. When I had attained the proper age, he ordered that I should be put to school. Your father placed me at tho school designated. The letters continued to come yearly, each remittance be-

ing larger than the last. Minute instructions accompanied eacli remittance, directing my studios and my life. In short, Martin, that man—my unknown father —lias been the invisible fairy who has guided and directed me and watched over me all these years Margery never answered his letters —never knew his address. He never wrote to me personally, and until yesterday I never beheld his handwriting.'

' I wonder how ho looked, said Martin,

thoughtfully. ' Margery says Hint as sho saw him only by tho fire-light, she cannot describe him with exactness, but she thinks I am his exact counterpart. Ho was dressed in black, nnd appeared like a gentleman used to society— to use Margery's own words. He loved me. There is no doubt of that. I Imow he is my

father. Ho must, be living, or ho could not have continued his remittances and letters until now. But why has he never claimed me? Why has ho never come to see mo ? Why has he not permitted me to know him ? These are the questions that trouble mo now.' ' But what has our journov clown to this place _ot to do with this mysterious individual ?' asked Martin. ' These,' replied Hugh, separating the letters ho held in his hands, ' aro the letters ho wrote to Margery. All but ono are postmarked London. Tho exception is stamped Wilchestcr. So you see, Martin, I have a faint .clue to work on. I might search London for ever without finding a trace of him. Hero I may meet with some success. I mean to try for it. The Wilchestcr letter was sent lost year, and, like all the others, is signed ' Cha'ndos.' Now I have to enquire after a gentleman of that name first. It is possible that tho name was assumed. That remains to bo seen. Margery says he woro diamond studs in his shirt-bosom and at. his wrists. His allowances to me prove him rich. His handwriting is that of an educated and refined person. Of course, I must look for him, then,among thegentry, or possibly still higher. I shall give up my life to the prosecution of this search. I will know if I havo a right to the name I bear, if, in fact, I havo a right to any name !' And the young man's faco grew proud and white at the bare possibility of discovering that his heritage was one of shame. ' And I will join you in the search, Master Hugh,' cried Martin. 'We will work together. I promise'you that I will give up my life to your service.' Hugh grasped the hand of his fosterbrother warmly, and the compact wa sealed. ' Lot us have the landlord up,' said Hugh, 'and I will question him. Jii3t ring the bell, Martin, and we will learn, to begin with, if there is a Chandos in the neighborhood.' Martin hastened to com ply, ringing the bell lustily, while ho exclaimed : ' I begin to like this mightily. We're already in a full blaze of mystery, romance, and—who knows ? —riches and honors !'

(To be continued.)