CHAPTER XV.

Otago Witness, Issue 1029, 19 August 1871, Page 18

CHAPTER XV.

F.VTIIIiH AUD SOy.

Sir Reginald Ardon had fallen into a doz'\ rts ho sit by tho fife with his Revue dcx Deux Maudes, slipping between his linger and thumb, on his knees. He waa recalled by Crozier'a voice, and looking

up, he saw, standing near tho door, aa if in Home slight hesitation, a figure not seen for two years htfore. For a moment Sir Reginald doubted his only half-awakened senses. Was that handsome oval face, with large, soft eyes, ftith such brilliant lips, and the dark, b-own moustache, ao fine and silken, that had never known a razor, an unsubstantial portrait hung in the dim air, or his living son? There were perplexity and surprise in the old man's stare. '' I should have byen hero befora, sir, but your letter did not reach me until an hour ago," said Richard Ardon. " By heaven ! Dick ! And so you came? I believe I was asloep. Givo me your hand. I hope, Dick, we may vot end this miserable quarrel happily. Father and son can have no real interests apart." !*ir Reginald Arden extended his thin hand, and smiled invitingly but rather darkly on his aon. Graceful and easy this young man was, ami yet embarrassed, as h* pl.iCbd his Intui within his father's. " You will tsko something, Dick, won't yon !'' "Nothing, sir, thanks." Sir Reginald was stealthily reading hia face. At last he began circuitously — " Fro a liitle bit "of news to tell you about Alice. How long shall I allow you to 2;'U'S3 what it is V

" I'ai the worst guesser in the world — pray don't wait for me, sir." " Well, T have in my desk there — would you mind putting it on the table here ?— a letter from Wynderbroke. You know him?"

"Yea, a little." "Well, Wynderbrrtke writes — the letter arrived only an hour a^ro — to ask my leave to marry your sister, if she will consent ; and he says all he will do, which i<< very handsome — very generous indeed. Wait a moment. Yes, here it is. Read that."

Richard Arden did read the letter, wirii open eyas t'nd breathless interest. The old man's eyes were upon him aa he did so.

" Well, Richard, what do you think?"

"There- can be but one opinion about it. Nothing can bo more handsome. Everything suitable. I only hope that Alice not be foolish."

"She shan't be that, I'll take_ care," said the old man, locking down hia desk again upon the letter. " It might possibly be as well, sir, to prepare her a little as first. I may possibly be of Borne little use, aud bo may Lady May. I only mean th.it it might hardly be expedient to make it from tho first a matter of authority, because she has romantic ideas, and she i 3 spirited."

cc I'll sleep upon it. 1 shan't see her again till to-morrow evening. She does not care about any one in particular, I suppose V " that I know of," said Richard.

" You'll find it will all be right— it will — all right. It shall be light," &aid Sir Reginald. And then there waa a silence. He was meditating the other buaines3 he had in hand, and again circuitously ho proceeded.

" What's going on at the opera ? Who is your great danseuse at present?" inquired the Baronet, with a glimmer of a leer. " [ haven't seen a ballet for more than six years. And why ? 1 needn't tell you. You know tho miserable life I lead. Egad ! there are fellows placed everywhere to watch me. There would be an execution in this house this night, if the miserable tables and chairs were not my brother David's property. Upon ray life, Craven, my attorney, had to serve two notices on the sheriff in one term, to caution him not to sell your uncle's furniture for my debts. T ehouldn'thave had a joint-stool to sit down on, if it hadn't been for that. And I had to get out of the railway-carriage, by heaven ! for fear of arrest, and come horne — if home I can call this ruin— by posting ail the way, except a few miles, i did not dare to tell Craven I was coming back. I wrote from Twyforrl, where I—l — took a fancy to sleep last niijht, to no human being but yourself. My comfort is that they and all the world believe that I'm still in France. Tt is a pleasant state of things !" "I am grieved, sir, to thiak you suffer so much."

I know it. I knew it. I know you are, Dick," said the old man eagerly. "And my life ia a perfect hell. I can nowhere in England iind rest for the sole of my foot. I am suffering psrpetually tho most miserable mortifications, and the tortures of the damned. I know you are sorry. It can't be pleasant to you to see your father the miserable outcast, and fugitive, and victim he so often is. And I'll say distinctly— l'll say at once— for it waa with this one purpose I sent for you — that no son with a particle of human feeling, with a grain of conscience, or an atom of principle, could endure to see it, when he know that by a stroke of his pen he could undo it all, and restore a miserable parent to life and liberty ! Now, Richard, you have my mind. 1 have concealed nothing, and I'm sure, Dick, I

know, 1 know you won't see your father perish by inches, rather than sign the warrant for his Iteration. For God's sake, Dick, my boy, speak out ! Have you the heart to reject your miserable father's petition ? l>o you wish mo to kneel to you ? I love you, Dick, although you don'fc admit it. HI kneel to you, Dick— l'll kneel to you. I'll go on my knees to you." His hands were clasped ; he made a movement His great, prominent eyes were fixed on Richard Arden's face, which he was reading with a great deal of eagerness, it is true, but abo with a dark and narrow shrewdness.

" Good heaven, sir, don't stir, I implore ! If you do, I must leave the room," said Richard, embarrassed to a degree that amounted to agitation. "And I must tell you, sir — it is very painful, but, I could not help it, necessity drove me to it — if I were ever bo desirous, it is out of my power now. I have dealt with my reversion. 1 have executed a deed."

" You have been with tho Jews !' cried the old man, jumping to his feofc. " You have boun dealing, by v.ay of po»t obit, with my estate !" Richard Arden looked down. ?ir Reginald was aa nearly white as his yellow tint would allow ; his largo ojvs were gleaming fire — he looked as if he would have snatched the poker, and brained his eon.

"But what could I do, sir ? I had no other resource. I was forbidden your house ; I had no money." " You lie, sir ! " yelled the old man, with a sudden flash, and a hammer of his thin trembling fiat an the table. " You had a hundred and fifty pounds a year of your mother's." " But that, sir, could not posßibly support any one. I waa compelled to act hs I did. You really, sir, left me no choice. "

" Now, now, now, now, now ! you're not to run away with the thing, you're not to run away with it ; you shan't run away with it, air. You cuiild haw made a submission, you know you coulti. I was open to ba reconciled at any time — alv/ayß too ready. You had only to do aa you ought to have done, and I'd have received you with open arms ; jou know 1 would — f v:onhl — you had only to unite our interests in the estates, and I'd have donu everything to make you happy, and ym know it. But you have taken the step — you have done it, and it is irre vocable. You have done it, and you've ruined me 5 and I pray to God yolt ha,ve ruined yourself !"

With every siuew quivering, the old man was pulling the bell-rope violently with his left hand, Over his shoulder, nn hia son, he glanced almost maniacally. " Turn him ont ' "' he screamed to Crozier, stamping ; put him out by the collar. Shut the door upon him, and lock it ; and if he ever dares to call here again, slam it in hia face. I have done with, him for ever ! "

Richard Arden had alrrady left the room, ami this closing passage was lost on him. .But he heard the old mai/s voice aa he walked along the corridor, and it was still in his eats as he passed the halldoor ; and, running down the steps, he jumped into his cab. Crozier held the cab-door open, and wished Mr. Richard a kind good-night. He stood on the steps to see the last of the cab an it drove down tho shadowy avenue and waa lost in gloom.

(To be continued )