THE FOURTH GENERATION.

New Zealand Mail, 15 February 1900, Page 12

THE FOURTH GENERATION.

BY SIR WALTER BESANT

Author of “All Sorts and Conditions of Men;” “Herr Paulus,” "The Master Craftsman,” “Armorel ofTyonesse” “The World Went Very Well Then,” “All in a Garden Fair,” “Children of Gibeon etc. Copyright. CHAPTER XVIII. THE TIDE BEGINS TO TURN. When Leonard was left alone he looked about as if expecting to see something. He opened the draw er iu which the.hook lay. but mechanically. .To his great surprise he was not compelled to take out the book oi to read in its accursed pages. Further, the pages of that book no longer floated before his eyes,-as had been their abominable habit for three weeks. For the moment, at least, he was free of the book. . More than this, although the discovery—the horrible, discovery—was fresh in his mind, he found himself once more free to. think of other things.. While he considered this phenomenon a strange weariness fell upon him. .He lay down on his couch, closed his eyes, and instantly fell asleep. It was then noon. When lie awoke tlie room was dark. He got up and turned on the light. It was midnight. Again he felt Lie heaviness of sleep. He went into his bedroom, undressed, lay down, and again fell fast asleep. He slept till noon next day. He had slept twice round the clock, so great was, the relief from the long tension of the last three weeks.

He dressed, expecting the customary summons to the Book and the Case. None came. He took breakfast and opened the paper. For three weeks he had been unable to read the paper at all. Now, to his surprise, he approached it with all his customary interest. Nothing was suggested to his mind as to the book. He went into the study; he even opened the drawer; he was not afraid, though no compulsion obliged him to take out tlie book; since he was not constrained, as before, to open it, he put it back again. He remarked that the loathing with which lie had regarded it only tlie day before was gone. In fact, lie heeded the book no longer: it was like the dead body of a demon which could do no more harm.

He turned to the papers on his writing-table. There were the unfinished sheets of the article for the “Quarterly Review.” He took them up with a new-born delight, .and the anticipation of the pleasure of finishing the tiling; lie wondered how he had been able to suspend his work for so long. There was a pile of letters, the unopened, unanswered' letters of the last three weeks. He hurriedly tore them open; they must be answered without delay.

All this time he was not forgetful of the Discovery; that was now made; it was complete. He sat down, his mind clear once more, and made out the steps by which the truth had been recovered. To give his thoughts words, “We startdfl with two assumptions, both of which were false; and both made it impossible to find the truth. The first of these was the assumption, that the two were fast .and firm friends,- whereas they were for the moment at- variance on some serious affair—so much at variance that on two occasions before the last, one of them had become like a madman in his, rage. The second was the assumption that the squire had turned and gone home at the entrance of the wood. Both .fit the inquest and 1 the trial that had been taken for granted. Now the boy had simply said that they went into the wood together, and that one had come out alone. “In consequence of. these two assumptions, we were bound to find someone in- the wood who must have done the deed. .The boy declared that no one was in the wood at half-past five in the morning, and that he saw no one go iri till John Dunning went m at noon; The cottage woman said that \ lO all had used that path that clay. The squire must have - seen anybody wlio was lrirking there. If we remove the two assumptions—if we suppose that thej, entered the wood quariellmg—if y-e, reitieniber that the evening before one of them had become like a madman for .rage—if we give ten minutes' Qr , a quarter of an hour together—if ive r remember the suof one , which alone en\nfV,ed’thi? b i ow -'i to fall 011 the top of the ' other s head—if we add to all this the subsequent behaviour of the survivor aoubt ,S ”b, l 0 W '«m for oouot. Ihe murderer was Algernon Campaigue, Justice of the See A S n ei \° f Pampaigne Park.” ’ clearlv 1^ aSOne ? J out coldI .>’ and eaiiy. That he could once more re-i K o tiiht y ti übj k? fc gave r im ' 80 much r<eler, that the blow and shame of the discovery were greatly lessened. He

remembered that tlie event IPptP seventy years before; that tlif® be no further .inquiry.; was no need to speak other member of liis family w-kWm By this time, what was* W N family honour ? He laughed bitv he reflected: on the blots fair white scutcheon. SuiciHpJNi.ruptcy—the mud and mire’ of fry erty—forgery-Eshame * and!%2|r and at last the culminating yond which one can hardly 'goEffy crime which. was also the first—tf' - ! 54 iiig of a man bv his brother— MTTRruS’ A knock at the door roused hiiif ! it more trouble? He sat ufrh&r 3 tively to meet- it. But calm. He did not expeef When it conies, one generally beforehand. Now he felt 2M * anticipation. It was, in letter from Constance.

“I write to tell you that the fortunes of your House arp- -jc' There will lie no more. ' I tain of what I say. D 0 riot'askh!* how I learned tins, because yotffnJu not believe me. We h&veffiS to the discovery which ends it all;: “Constance,'’ ' ■mi • “The Discovery," lie is worse than all the rest put togeffer No more misfortunes? No sequences, then. What does slie meanf Consequences must go oil.” -yQ ' You remember how, one: day?’there camo one who told of trouble; and a!, most before he had finisked'’sp'el4i E j there came also another 'with trouble, and yet a, third with more, l This afternoon the opposite hapten, ed. Tnere came three, but- they-were not messengers of trouble, but of : pta tt and even joy. •(‘•'a. The first was his cousin Mary Am “I’ve come,” she said, “with'kvnm. sage from my brother. Sam ; isiherj sorry that lie carried on ri’iere as he says he did. .'.TB-fion’i knoiv how he carried on,’;jb?t Sam is very nasty sometimes, whegbii temper and his troubles get the better of him.” ; , “Pray do not let- him be troubled. I have quite forgotten what lie-said,” “It- seems that he brought his precious bill against Granny and showed it to yon. He says that he’s put it in the fire;:ana that he didn’t mean it, except intle hope that you’d lend him a little money.” “I see. Well, my cousin, is'that all ?” “Oh, he begs your pardon, humbly. And he says that the builder has got'jhe bank to back him after all; and he'll wait now for his share of the accumulations.” “I am sorry that he still entertain hopes in that direction.” ' ~,1 “As for Granny, she’s so vexed anaput out about liis showing you that bill—and so am I—that a grandson of hers should do; such things, that we’ve arranged to part company. Granny will Tivri.with me—l can afford it—and mother will go on with Sam. And Ido hope, Mr Campaigne, that you will come and see- her sometimes. She says, have you read the book?”

“Yes, I will go to see her sometimes. Tell her so. And as for the b00k,.1 have read it all through.” “And did it do you good in,read;the book? To me it always, makes .that old gentleman so grand and good—finding lawyers for, the poor innocent- mail and all.”' '• '' ; a;’’"? - “Tell her tliife book lias- produced all tlie effect she desired and more.”. While she was still speaking, Ik™ Fred burst in. Mary Anne retired, mat ing way for the visitor, who,, she perceived, from the family likeness ; was 3 large and very magnificent specimen ot the Campaigne family. ; “My boy,” he cred, “I am going tot again. Barlow Brothers must be,sß«w. Nothing short of a national disaster must be averted.” • “Indeed! lam glad. YoUor&jw* going td make a compimy bf-it; : f ®up-/ pose.” • ,” v : “Perhaps,” he replied with dect|t° • “The City has had its chance and ha-S tfused its opportunity. I no vt return Australia. The firm of Barlow^ E thers may rise conspicuous arid coio.s - or it man continue to be a sardines’.and; bottled butter;” frß'; At this point his eye fell upon a ter. It was one of the docurien« the Case; in fact, it was thtrt f rom - Australia which came with , Dunning’s memorandum. By ae ®L t it had not been put away with the - He read the superscription on theT e “John Dunning’s Sons.” , John Dunning s Sons ? he » “John Dunning’s Sons?” 'Law “It’s an old story. Your helped John Dunning in ear „m, e j Leonard took out the letter." w . write to express the gratitude, ,a cL mortem gratitude, of the late - - Dunning to the familygeh e Would you like to read it? j sC a Uncle Fred read it. HisJPYMbecame grave—even austere ln'Wjf j fulness. He folded the letter it in his pocket. “By your said. “My deal 1 boy, the Dunnih® the ricliqst people in the colony,- 7 . .. a 'made man. , Their gratitude ~, warms my heart. It inspires,L. human nature. With this_ this introduction Broth? ish, —— the sardine b'oxesw-^j Campaigno returns to Austral! Fortune smiles. My . boy,. K With this letter in my pocket,; > to-morrow.” rtiiwH' There remained one more— r . : plier the speeclimaker.

, a subdued joy. “They Ho ca ’ ne T canard I’ve had a terrible ' know al f, die wife and the daughter. “5°T fe'® «3w at the house; tola the wife. »e,e ?T“ a terrible scene. -§> 1 W Iper“/“Vlim with » good deal of troucas v”, And I pointed out the eduear v. y f B, ’.j- A »i.a -drance of oratory. bo tional siae---• - ‘ lat ie );T little. " Anci 1 V f y \ C od t , 'w th mg bv offering to go bac* chnched tao A , e should have t 0 H^at Bush, m afiO a tO , . se/ni-detoched. wlibe Algernon v ent ? thPvl' Vas a clerk at fifteen shillings a'wSe-Siich is more than his uue sip 06 it did well 1 congratulate vou. The profession will bo continued, But I confess I was sirnt thf Bar I’ 6t “Andfwk»t about the threatened ex- '°^ e gernon has gone to see the BEAST, xfo is to promise; lam that if a woid oi a hint is dropped, everybody shall know tierA he, the BEAST, buys his stories an d Lis poems, and his epigrams as well |s hi 3 after-dinner speeches. Algernon has fished if all out.” . , " So with a chuckle of congratulation the weaver of speeches went away. Only the day before .Leonard would have received this communication with disgust, as another humiliation. The way cf deception—tlie life of pretence —was kept open It would have been a tearing down of more family pride. Now, it was nothing: part of the pretence which beers socle* v going. It. no longer beforUecfto himself/* any more than that uo-lv old story common to the two brothers, in which somebody’s name was put to something—why should lie trouble about that grimy old legend ? As for the coarse and common cunning of the struggling solicitor—what did it matter to. himl How was he affected when liis distant cousin Sam wanted to get money from him by threats or by cs u He was hardly conscious that so great a change had fallen upon him.' IS or did he. as yet, attribute it to the Discovery, which" had at first thrilled his soul with horror. Had the children been visited enough? If the old mail was cf the first generation, then lie was of the fourth. “Unto thethird and fourth.” Why then, in his civil person, the visitation, whether Consequence or Punishment, should come to an end.’ (To be continued.)