Chapter 111.

Otago Witness, Issue 1727, 27 December 1884, Page 12

Chapter 111.

The horrible fact was discovered soon enough the next morning. The body waa pot out of the whirlpool, somehow or other, carried up to the castle, and laid in state. An inquest was arranged for the next day but one. • A servant was dispatched in search of Bernard, but returned without being able to find him. The inquest came off, but nobody knew how the thing had happened. The two who had, as they supposed, last seen Lord Raven alive, were Beazley, the valet — who had gone down to the riverside to apprise him of the arrival of Mr and Miss Pomeroy — and a boy who was attending Lord Raven, and who had accompanied the valet up the zig-zag, carrying the fishing basket. ' I thought I saw his lordship down below on the zig-zag, coming after us,' said Beazley in his evidence ; ' but I must have been mistaken ; or else he turned back again. 1

His testimony was corroborated by the boy. Bernard was known to have left the Cantle befote this, on his way to meet the stage. The coach had got into Exeter earlier than usual that night, with him in it. So much had been ascertained. So there appeared nolbiner to implicate him. The jury were for returning a veidict of 'accidental death; 1 but the greyheaded old fereman suggested their returning an open verdict, in casa anything ever turned up to throw more light on the unhappy affair. Tho verdict accordingly wa3 returned - ' found drowned.'

'They needn't ha' bin so cock sura Mr Bernard was gone, for he wasm't,' said the boy to Beazley, after the inquest. ' I seed un moiself, talkin'to Misß Pomeroy,under the trees, arter us come up the z : g zap.' To the boy's astonishment, Beazley soizod him, and. cuffed him, and shook him till he nearly shook the breath out of him. 'You idiot!' eaid ho, 'the inquesfc wan about Lord Ravou, It bad nothing to do with Mr Bernard.'

And he further dared the boir ever ho say that he saw anything, on peril of all sorts of unheard of pains add penalties, the least of which was to be turned away without a chaiacter, and shut up in gaol all tho rest of hw life.

Then the valet departed in search of Bernard, now Lord Raven. Knowing more of his haunt 1 ! and habits than the other servants, he had no difficulty in finding him. He seemod overwhelmed with agony at the death of his brother. Beazley wondered within himself bow much of it was real. 'Wo had our little tiffs,' said Bernard. 'A good mauy of 'em, and' not little onas,' thought Beazley. ' But we wero brothers, for all,' said Bernard.

'Queer sort of brothers,' thought Beazley. ' J couldn't bear to come back. I shall go abroad. The sight of my poor dead brother would kill me.'

Tho valet took this assertion for what it was worth, iind meb it with smooth, discreet deference. He finally persuaded him to go back, wont back with him — and remained with him.

People wondered at Barnard's grief over tho brother with, whom in life he had agreed so little. They wondered .that instead of the grief passing away and his old boisterous mirth returning to him, he became still more gloomy and morose. The deceased Lord Rayon was not greatly regretted ; the present one would have bßen regretted Ftill less. The both brothers wero proud, fi9rca, masterful men ; but tenants and dependents had found Paul a little more kindly and accessible than thoy now found Bernard to be.

Time passed ; and the next thing that astonished the county was his marriage with Miss Pomeroy. She had accepted him, after some very anxious thought. In spite of the family legend and tradition Lord Raven's death appeared truly to havo been accidental. She knew that Bernard had spoken to her after tha time that ho was supposed to have left the Castle. But she concluded that he must have ridden hard to catch the coach ; for there was the fact tbat he had gone by it, and that the coach had reached Exeter earlier than usual that night. Had she known that the coach had left the "Raven Inn nearly an hour behind its time, and that even then Bernard had rushed across the valley and caught it at a point which saved a detour of oome miles, she would not have felt so clear about his innocence. But the coachman had said nothing, fearing that the public would cease to patronise his conveyance if hiß drinking habits were known ; and perhaps in the hope of possible hush-money. And the landlord of tho liaven Inn had said nothing, for the coachman might stop his coach and his passengers elsewhere ; and Lord Raven might— indeed, would— turn him out of the inn if he dared say anything that would militate against him. No doubt she married him partly for his title and estates — for "Eliza Pomeroy was an ambitious woman — but she married him blindfold.

The traditional two boys were born of this union. Eliza thought that if they were called by some other names the spell might be broken ; but her husband was like a rock, and gave them the traditional names— Paul and Bernard. In her dread of the family curse, porhaps no mother ever strove harder to train her boys to love each other and not to quarrel ; and yet it seemed to her that even in their earliest boyhood no boys ever quarrelled like herst. It was tha dread of her life that the family cuifse might full upon her boys. To her surprise she found that her husband fully shared^ the dread. Botween 1 them they took all possible care that no whisper of the family legend should reach the ears of the boys, knowing that often such things work out thoir own fulfilment. Remembering what her father had told her, how in all those centuries no daughter had ever been born of the race, she besieged heaven day and night for a little girl, that the softening and civilising influence might help her boys. Her prayer was granted, and a little girl was born. Never, surely, was a daughter so welcome in a household. Under the circumstances, never one with so much unconscious influence. The soft, sweet girl beauty melted the father's rugged temper, and he made an idol of her. The mother loved her for the sake of the boys, and tremblingly put forward the clinging child love to link them to each other. The boys quarrelled which should pet her the moat, or do the most for her, but they never quarrelled where their little sister could hear or see. She had been called the old traditional name Hilda. Husband and wife had agreed on that, at least.

On tho whole, they had not agreed very well. And on the whole, the marriage had not boen a very happy one. For her, perhaps, title and wealth had not stood her in all she thought, thus linked with ono so more than uncourfcley — 60 rough and violent ; one who sometimes degraded her, as well as himself, before their household, by his rude passionate temper. For him — his wife was as proud as himself, and as masterful, in her way. Inch by inch she had disputed the territory with him, and many a time, the remorse gnawiDg secretly at his heart— some stinging taunt — the dread that she knew more than even the taunt implied — made him yield the point ; with bluster and rape- still he yielded. So, inch by inch, she h?d gained her way ; and, on the whole, ruled tha castle pretty much according to her will. Bhe kept the management of her boys out of their father's bands, and in her own, more than most mothers do— in a fashion which often aogf red him beyond bounds : even though he knew that her motive for that was to shield them from the curse. And tnerewas one speech of his that was used bo often to the boy. aR they grew up into boyhood, that at labt Lady Raven began to notice it. And the speech was : 'Nothing is worth a crime. Mind, that, boys. Nothing is worth a crime.'