Chapter XLVIII.

Otago Witness, Issue 1899, 13 April 1888, Page 29

Chapter XLVIII.

His Children. IR William's death had been very sudden, and was a terrible shock to Fred Harley, who knew as he stood looking at his father's changed face that the secret of his life which he had guarded so jealously would now be known to the world.

The family doctor, who had been hastily called in when Sir William's last seizure took place, was standing by the bedside when the young man, pale and awed, entered the room.

" It is only what I expected, Sir Frederick," said the doctor ; and Fred Harley started and bit his lips at the unfamiliar name.

The name that never was to be his 1 Fred realised at this moment the full bitterness of the truth. And yet he could not blame the dead man, whose last hours had been embittered by the thought of the unconscious wrong he had done his son. In the narrow selfish heart that just was stilled there yet had been a strong affection for this son. And Fred Harley knew this ; knew, too, that one of the heaviest blows that had fallen on the old man — the death of Effie Dorrer — had been caused by his own thoughtless disregard of the poor girl's feelings.

Sir William had, indeed, heard the news that Effie was dead with a moan almost of despair. Fred, stricken with remorse, his light nature stirred to depths which before had never moved him, by the sight of the still beautiful face of the young girl whose heart he had broken, had gone straight to his father's room on his return from Luke Smith's house, and as he faltered out the miserable news, Sir William had turned away his head, feeling that now his own ill deeds had indeed come home to him.

And the poor child Effie had been a sort of favourite of his ; her beauty and her great likeness to her Aunt Theresa when Theresa had been in her first girlish beauty, had always interested Sir William, and many a small gift he had given her, and always had a kind word for her when he went to her aunt's house.

Therefore the knowledge that Fred — the son he loved — had dealt this bitter blow to the woman whom Sir William himself had

intended so cruelly to deceive, seemed, in this dark hour, to Sir William's heart like the fruit of his own shortcomings. " Oh, my poor boy ! " he said, and that was all. But a new terror quickly seized him. That other son— the son who had defied and hated him — would be sure to avenge this wrong done to the young girl under his roof, Sir William soon thought. Again, therefore, he sent for Louis Carter; and when Louis Carter had looked on his changed face he had told Luke he " would not have long to wait," and tins prophecy was speedily fulfilled.

And now Fred stood looking at his dead father, awed, silent, and full of thought. This sudden summons had come in a moment ; "in the twinkling of an eye," and Sir William had fallen forward on his library floor, and had expired even before his butler, who had chanced to be in the room, could lift him on a couch.

They carried him on this couch upstairs, and sent for his two children. Fred Harley was the first to arrive, but as he stood still, watching his father's face, Mrs Lawley ran into the room.

" Fred ! is it true ? " she cried, her face pale, and her eyes full of tears ; and Fred's answer was to lead her a little nearer where their father lay, done with all he had once prized so much — gone from the world whose smooth words he had courted and loved to listen to ; but now they could not reach him, nor " flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ! "

"Oh! father— poor father!" wept Mrs Lawley, and she knelt down and kissed the cold hand. For in spite of his many failings, Sir William had been a good father to these two ; loving his children in his selfish way, perhaps, but still loving them ; and now they both felt this, and were sincerely grieving that he was gone. And presently Fred Harley led his sister away, and forced himself to the bitter task of telling her that he was not his father's heir.

At first Mrs Lawley would not believe this ; it was impossible, she said. What ! married before he married their mother ; she could not believe her dear father would do such a' thing. " He did not do it intentionally, Harriet," Fred answered in a low tone. "He was deceived by Louis Carter." "But he must have gone into the church ; he must have gone through the ceremony, if this is true 1 " said Mrs Lawley eagerly. "He is just gone, Hatty — don't let us speak unkindly — but— but I grieve to say he meant to deceive this poor woman by a mock marriage, and for his own purposes Louis Carter took very good care it was a real one."

11 It was disgraceful," Mrs Lawley began, and then she, too, paused, the look in those half-closed eyes upstairs smiting her with sudden remorse.

" Then," she said, a moment or two later, " do — you not intend to dispute these claims, Fred ? "

"It would be no use to do so. My father admitted in the presence of myself and — this other son — that unintentionally he had committed bigamy ; that he was in truth married when he married our mother ; and this man — his son — wrung a written acknowledgment from my father of this fact. It is no good to dispute it, Hatty. Luckily it does not fall so heavily on you as on me, as you are a married woman, and at leasb have a name," added Fred, a little bitterly. " Oh, my poor Fred 1 " said his sister, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing him ; " and do you think your wrong isn't mine ? It was cruel to deceive us 1 I — I — must blame poor father " but here sobs choked her utterance.

" Hush, dear Hatty," said Fred gently ; "and — and — don't speak or think unkindly of him to-day. Hewasayoungman,quiteayoung man, you know, when all this happened ;

A fair-haired girl reading aloud. and — and when we are young we do not think of the bitter consequences of our own folly." And Fred Harley sighed.

While these two of his children were speaking of the dead man, let us see how that " other son," the son who now seemed so near his " heart's desire," was bearing his good fortune.

Luke read the letter in which Louis Carter had been so quick to hail him as Sir Luke, and then laid it down with a thoughtful brow and a disturbed mind. That strange presentiment, that foreboding of a coming change, had been the warning of his father's death, then. The mysterious clouds that envelope our lives here had often dwelt on and puzzled this man's wayward, powerful imagination. Could his father's passing soul for an instant have been near him 1 For an instant have paused on its unseen way — but not in love — Luke knew well !

No word of love or affection, indeed, had ever issued from Sir William's lips for this unloved son. He had hated him in life, Luke felt at this moment, could he have hated him in death ? Luke had grown cold, and a little shiver had passed through bis strong frame as he was on his way to call on Lucy, just at the very time he knew now that his father had died. And a feeling that something, had happened or was about to happen, that hoded him ill, had flashed across Luke's mind at this moment. | Luke remembered all this as he stood there, after reading Louis Carter's letter.

Then he pulled himself together ; again tbofc up the letter, and went into the dining room, and sat down and began to realise the change that had happened to his life. He was a rich man now ; he was Sir Luke Harley ; he could go to his fair-haired love as soon as he chose and offer her all the things that women love so well ; and Luke's lip curled as he thought of it 1 She would take him now. There was a little bitterness in this idea, soon, howerer, to be swept away by the great tide of tenderness that flooded his soul. Oh, how he loved this woman ! Luke admitted to himself it was a shame and a sin to worship a human creature with such passionate selfabandonment as he gave to Lucy. He tried to analyse his own feelings, wondering at himself. She was beautiful, but there were other beautiful 'women ; women who would smile now on Sir Luke Harley, Luke knew full well.

Then he of his mother; the mother who" was free at last to hold her head up before the world, to tell what she was and had always been. The newly-made widow did not know yet that the lover of her youth, the man who had wooed her with such passionate eagerness, and wearied of her and left her, had gone away now from our poor judgment. Mrs Smith — Lady Harley as we muse in future call her — had never left her bedroom since Effie Dorrer's death, and the illness from which she suffered had become more acute since she had seen the young girl she had reared and loved breathe her last, straggling breath. Luke rose, took a step forward, still thinking of his mother, and then paused. How would she take this news ? She had loved this man once. Would she grieve for him now ? But she must know, and he was the right person to tell her; and having decided this, Luke went upstairs to his mother's room, and having asked permission, entered it.

She was sitting looking pale and worn, but with a "certain look of serenity on her once lovely face, and on a table near her lay a Book from which of late she had derived some comfort.

" How are you to-day, mother ? " said Luke, going up to her and taking one of her thin hands ; and then (an unusual action of his) he stooped down and kissed her cheek. "A little better, my dear, I think," she answered, with her gentle smile, looking up at her tall son.

"Mother," began Luke, with faltering voice, turning away his head, "I — I — have some news for you."

A sudden flush came over the delicate face, and a sudden fear into the large dark eyes.

"Not — not " she faltered, rising excitedly, and grasping her son's hand. v He — he is dead," said Luke, in his deep voice ; " the man you married long ago. Sir William Harley is dead." The shock was a great one ; Theresa's face grew almost grey-tinted ; she clasped her hands together — she gasped for breath. "Do not grieve, mother ; he was not worth it."

No answer came from her pallid lips ; her memory wandered back over the long space of years, to her girlhood ; to the early days of what she believed to be her wedded life. And she forgot all else ! He was dead, and his sins died with him in the heart of the woman who had loved him too well 1

" Go, dear Luke," she whispered a moment later, pointing to the door ; and Luke understood, and silently left his mother alone in this solemn hour.

Then she fell down on her knees, and we, too, shall leave her to her tears and passionate pleadings for the dead.