A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT. OR LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION.

Otago Witness, Issue 1901, 17 July 1890, Page 33

A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT. OR LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION.

I By DORA RVSSJELL,

Author of " Footprints in the Snow," " The Broken

" He is his father's^very son," how often bad Mrs Brewster thought, as she listened to his careless words and looked on his handsome face. He had, too, a gay, pleasureloving disposition, and a certain amount of personal vanity, which in his case was somewhat remarkable; the late Lord Gilmore also hating been not a little proud of his own good looks, He therefore soon grew tired of waiting for Father Hayward to take his departure, and felt no scruple about going- into the dining room, in the hope of hurrying him away. But no sooner did he enter the room than he saw something very unusual had occurred.

His mother was sitting with clasped hands, looking pale — almost rigid — with an intensity of expression on her colourless face that he had never seen there before; while in front of her stood the father, with upraised hand, pouring out words of admonition and warning. Gerard glanced from one to the other in surprise, and as he did so, after a moment's thought, Father Hayward addressed him. " You have entered on a strange scene," he said, " for I came here on a strange purpose, and I trust you will now add your entreaties to mine to induce this woman, whom all your life you hare believed to be your mother, now to speak the troth." "I don't understand what you mean," answered Gerard sharply, and his faoe flushed; "this is my mother, and I don't like to hear her spoken of in that way." As Gerard said this he went up and put his hand on Mrs Brewster's shoulder, who, suddenly, as she received this tpken of affection,.burst into a passion of tears. ■ " I'm the only mother he 6ver had I " she sobbed. "£he only one who ever loved him."

" My son, she is not your mother," said the priest, solemnly. " Your mother is Lady Gilmore, of Wrothsley, of whom you may have heard, and this woman was your nurse, and she and your real mother in your infancy schemed together to rob you of your just birthright." " Lady Gilmoie, of Wrothsley 1 " repeated Gerard, in the utmost surprise. "Yes, you are the late Lord Gilmore's eldest son."

Gerard looked at Mrs Brewster, who had nov/covered her face with her hands and was sobbing aloud, and then at Father Hayward.

" I cannot understand it," he said ; "if this be true, what possible motive could Lady Gilmore have ? "

" A vain and foolish one," answered Father Hayward. " You were born with a personal defect— a defect of the spine— and your father was angry that his heir should bear this birthmark, and taunted your mother with, it in bis injustice. And to keep bis

affection, as she supposed, she hid you away and pretended to her husband you were dead, and your second brother, Hugh, who was well-formed and handsome, was brought up as the heir, while you were reared by Mrs Brewster, your nurse." Bvery word of this speech stung Gerard's vain heart to the quiok. His face flushed, and his hands trembled, and he drew himself up in mute protest against the reflection oast upon his form. " You have outgrown it, my dear," wept Mrs Brewster, who understood him, " there is little or nothing the matter with you now."

"Then— is all this true?" asked Gerard slowly, after a moment's pause. " Is— Lady Gilmore really my mother ? "

Once more Mrs Brewster hesitated.

"My daughter, jou have virtually ad-i mitted the truth of my statement," said Father Hayward. " If it is true, you had better say bo," said Gerard ; " and all I can say if it is, it was a disgraceful thing." " Gerard 1 It was your mother I " oried Mrs Brewster, unable to bear this reproach, and starting to her feet. " I did not want to do it— l prayed and begged her not. Yes, it is true," she went on passionately, flinging herself on her knees before him, and seizing one of his hands. " You were a weak and sickly babe, and my lord was angry because the younger boy was strong, and he was hard and cruel about it to my lady, and they had a bitter quarrel, and my lady took you and me away with her to the house in London, and when we were there, she persuaded me to help her to deceived my lord, and tell him you had died of fever."

11 It was disgraceful 1 " oried Gerard, roughly trying to pull away his hand, but the poor woman clung to it. " I have nursed you and watched over you for 25 years," she wept. " But for me you would never have been what you are now — strong and well. Oh, forgive me, Gerard 1 " He had a kind, if a vain heart, and after a moment's hesitation he put his other hand on her grey head. "Well, it can't be helped -how," he said. "Gome, get up. I don't like to see you kneeling there." " Then will you forgive me ? " she asked humbly. " It seems to me that my other mother, not you, was the one to blame. But why has she changed her mind, sir 1 " he added, turning round to Father Hayward, after he had raised Mrs Brewster up. " Why does she want to acknowledge me now if she was ashamed of me before, though I don't see that she had any reason, certainly." 1 "My son, great grief and trouble has come to her," answered the good father ; " the son 'she preferred before you, and of whom she made an earthly idol, after leading a discreditable life, married against her will, and ;when she learnt this it seemed to her that ithe very hand of God had been stretched out to punish her for the wrong she had done you. She was stricken with paralysis and lay speechless many days, and she asked me to pray that her tongue might be loosed, and after a while, by God's grace, her speech was restored to her, and the first use she made of it was to confess he grievous fault." i " And — my father ? " asked Gerard, not unmoved. ' Lord Gilmore has been dead four years, and at his death your brother Hugh assumed the title, and now Dears it. But it is justly yours — you are now Lord Gilmore." ! It is almost impossible to describe the mingled feelings with which the young man iheard these words. He grew excited, his face flushed, and his heart beat fast. The change was so sudden, so great, and so unexpected, that he seemed scarcely able to realise it.

" And the other fellow," he said, at length, "how will he like it?"

The good father could soarcely restrain the smile whioh stole over his grave features at this naive remark.

11 Your brother, I trust, will see the justice and propriety of giving up a position which should never have been his without protest — at all events without dragging your mother's name into a law Court. But should he resist your claim, it will be your plain duty, and Lady Gilmore's duty also, to uphold it." Again Gerard was silent ; he stood there moving himself uneasily, thinking thoughts that had not yet had time to shape themselves into full reality.

"It only now rests with me," continued Father Hayward, to give you the letter which your mother, Lady Gilmore, entrusted to my care. This is it, my son, and I pray by God's blessing it will be the first link to unite your heart to hers, after your long severance."

Gerard took the letter that the priest held to him in his trembling hand. 11 Perhaps you would rather read it alone," said the father considerately, who noticed how agitated the young man before him really was ; and Gerard eagerly availed himself of this proposal, and at once quitted the room.

He went up the somewhat^arrow though well-carpeted staircase of the farmhouse with hasty steps, and when he reached the first landing hurried to his own bedroom, which was situated in the front of the dwelling. And when he got there he first shut the door, and then tore open the letter he bad received from the father, which was sealed, the wax being stamped with the armorial bearings of the House of Gilmore. It was headed inside "To my eldest son, Gerard," and the text ran thus : — My bod, ere you read this the good father will have told you who you really are, and how I, in my sin and folly, strove to deprive you of your juat birthright. But God Himself put out His hand to punish me, and I have fallen prostrate before His will. You were born, my poor son, with another birthright as well aa your father's name, and a bitter, bitter one it seemed to me. Your father was cruel and unjust to me because you were not straipht and shapely like himself and the other son, for whose sake I wronged you. Gerard, this other son, whom I have loved too well, too well, has been made* the whip wherewith to scourge me I will not write ef him here ; it is enough to tell you that his conduct has made me see mine in ita true light, and I bow my bead to bear the punishment whioh is my due. Do not blame the only mother you have ever known— Nurse Brewater— for tbia good woman did not wish to aid me in the deception whioh we practised on your father, until I over-persuaded her to do bo, and no mother could have reared you with gieater

tenderness and oare than she haf done. She tells me you have grown strong and well, and you must not forget you owe this to her. I have written to her, and she will no doubt fully confirm the truth of my words. And now, my son, there but remains for me to ask your forgiveness and to implore you to come to me before I die. And do not think that only when I learnt your brother's unworthiaeas that my oonaoience stung me ! God is my witness how for years and years I tried to Btifle its dumb voice, yet it ever priraued me. Nowstricken aa I am— l see things more clearly ; see how vainly we strive to follow our own weak plans if they are opposed to the Al-, mighty's, I will write no more, but remain your sorrowing, affectionate mother, DOKOTHT GrILMOBH, P.S.— ln Father Hayward, the bearer of this, you can safely confide all your present and future arrangements. He ia a moßt worthy and excellent man, and a pious and devoted priest of our Holy Ohuroh. D. G. Gerard read this long letter to the end with the most strange and varying emotions throbbing in his heart, but his first action after doing so told that personal vanity was one of the strongest feelings of his being. He went, in fact, up to the looking glass, and stood trying to see the effect of his own figure at the back. There were no cheval glasses at Oragside farmhouse, nor even hand glasses. Mrs Brewster, indeed, with rare tact for one of her station, had always, tried to hide from the son of her love the fact of his bodily deformity as much as possible, and Gerard was proud of his handsome face, and extremely angry if any allusion was ever made before him about his figure. - True, rude boys at school had sometimes called him "humpbacked," and rough lads in the village, who were jealous of his money and fine clothing, had sometimes jibed at him, but mostly in his absence, for Gerard, who was brave and strong in spite of bis misfortune, had turned round on one unmannerly knave and knocked him down for some unseemly words. After this people did not care muchto interfere with Gerard Brewster (as he was called), and as Gerard was generous and even lavish with his money, for anyone with this characteristic — in village and city alike — there are always flatterers to be, found.

But his mother's letter and Father Hayward's words had brought his bitter birthright most vividly and painfully before him. They made him realise for the first time that he must be shaped differently to his ordinary fellow men, and the idea was very galling to | his heart. Still, as he stood gazing at himself anxiously, he saw nothing to be very much dissatisfied with. His well-made brown velveteen coat and waistcoat were fitted so 'as to greatly disguise, in front at least, that there was anything the matter with him; and he saw, too, the finely-cut features, the bright hazel eyes, and the thick brown mous-. tache and hair. 1 "I have nearly outgrownoit, I suppose,", Ihe thought, 1 presently; and then his mind' turned to the great change of fortune which had come to him ; to the new life of wealth and pleasure lying glittering before his halfbewildered gaze! ' By-and-bye, however, he remembered the good father, and returned to the sitting room, for the purpose of seeing after his comforts. He found Father Hayward alone, for Mrs. Brewster had retired to indulge her bitter grief at the prospect of losing her adopted son, 11 You will stay and dine with us, sir, will you not ? " said Gerard, and the . father consented, and during the comfortable and wellcooked meal whioh followed, the priest was quietly endeavouring to read the oharacter of the young man whose future had now become of such importance in his eyes. Gerard talked pleasantly and well, but the subject of his inheritance was not, of course, mentioned before the waiting-maid. Mrs Brewster had declined to appear — in truth,> was too much overqome to do so— but the good father marked with satisfaction that Gerard did not forget her. He sent her up 3ome soup, and poured out a glass of wine for her ; and altogether Bhowed both kindness and consideration for the woman whom he had so long regarded as his mother. After dinner was over the two men went out together, and Father Hayward then urged Gerard to return with him to Wrothsley. " Lady Gilmore wishes you to do so," he said : " and your new position cannot be too, soon established. When could you leave here?" Gerard hesitated. " There are a good many things that will have to be settled, you know," he said. " But an agent can do all this ; money now can be no object with you, for your father, Lord Gilmore, died a very wealthy man." «;Still » "' Oan you go to-morrow 1 " asked the priest. •' To-morrow ? " echoed Gerard, and his face flushed and his heart beat tumultously. To leave here to-morrow — to go from all the old scenes— from everyone 1 Gerard was thinking at this moment of the blue-eyed girl he had walked with in the morning, ard on many dewy eves, on the "ribbed sea-shore." He was thinking of May Sumners, his sweetheart, and feeling that to part with her thus suddenly would be very painful, But he naturally said nothing of this to Father Hayward as the two walked on together along the narrow pathway on the cliffs, above the wide, rolling waters of the northern sea. They were strange companions ! The priest, thoughtful, erudite, mused of many things even while he questioned the .young man by his side of his former life, and doubtless hoped to direct and guide his coming days. But Gerard was not by nature inclined to be a docile pupil He was " a bit of a freethinker," as he him-* self expressed it, and though Jhe answered the father civilly and pleasantly, he was by no means as conn lential with him as he might have been. He was very glad, therefore, when Father Hayward proposed to return to the village, and mentioned that he would seek a night's lodging at the village inn. Gerard had been afraid that he would be forced to ask him to stay at the farmhouse, and he by no means relished the idea of a whole evening spent in the good father's company. He therefore turned with alacrity, and escorted Father Hayward to the inn, and parted with him at the door, without however, committing himself to any absolute