Chapter 11. The Lost Heir.

Otago Witness, Issue 1972, 10 December 1891, Page 38

Chapter 11. The Lost Heir.

"Do you think we could leave now, Ade laide?"

So said Hubert Westray, drawing to his wife's side, about an hour after dinner.

"It is very early, Hubert. But if you are not well, if you would like to go, I will ask Mrs Wilmot to excuse us."

" Do. I feel wretchedly out of sort?," he answered hurriedly. "It is insufferable to Visten to these people talking. I didn't want to come at all. I ought to have stayed at home."

Lady Westray hurriedly rose, and hastened to make her excuses to their hostess, and to ask that their carriage might be ordered at once. She was glad to get away out cf th,e room, glad to escape, especially from Mrs Robert Westray's keen, cold eyes, which seemed to have a strange, moc.king gleam in their depths. A prevision of coming trouble had laid its chill hand on the heart of Adelaide Westray, and when she, was alone in the carriage with her husband she sank back in her comer trembling in every limb,

"Forgive me, my darling; I am a bear, frightening and hurrying you like this. I am a miserable, evil-h mnted man, who can rest neither night nor day."

" Miserable 1 Evil-haunted ! What do you mean, Hubert? You terrify me. Why should you suffer in this way —you who have never willingly harmed a human being ? You are very ill, surely, Hubert, and the mind is dependent on the body. We will have the best medical advice to morrow."

Hubert Westray gloomily shook his head.

" You do not understand, Adelaide. My wife, my trouble is not one which medical skill can assist, or even your sweet sympathy cure. Who can minister to a mind diseased 1 "

"But what does it all mean, Hubert? Why should you be troubled? What is it that lies so heavy on your heart ? Tell it to me, dearest. Although I am only an ignorant girl, I am your wife ; and, oh, I could help you, I think, if you would only let me." For a time Hubert Weatray made no answer. When he did speak, at length, it was only to ask a question which had no bearing on. the' subject. "Did y.6'u go into the nursery before we left, Adeiatae 1 " ''Yes," she answered briefly, hurb a little at his calm ignoring of her appeal. "Bertie was all right, I suppose ? "

"Yes, all right." " You can trust Foster ? I hope she will look after the child as faithfully in your absence as when you are at home." "Why, of course. What extraordinary questions you are asking, Hubert. You alarm me very much." Her voice shook, and he saw with what an effort she kept her self-control. "I' cannot help rnyselP, Adelaide. I feel as if there were a sword hanging over my head. Whenever you or the child are out of my sight I am in torment." " Ihen you must be ill, Hurrrt, when such strange fancies possess you," said the young wife, turning her wondering eyes on his face. In the dim light of the carriage lamp &he could see how pale and haggard he was, and what a restless light gleamed in his eye. She laid her hand on his arm, seeking to soothe him with her gentle toush. " I think we must go away somewhere for a time, Hubert ; to the sunny South, where you will forget all your gloomy fancies. You have been too much among your books of late. lam very proud of my husband's scholarship, but I cannot let his health suffer on its account."

He smiled, and slightly shook his head. Then they relapsed into silence, which Adelaide Westray felt no inclination to break. She was glad to be still fora little, to try and think over this trouble which had come into her life. Hitherto no shadow had fallen across her happy heart. Had the richest eartbly blessings only been given that through them she might learn something of the ministry of pain ? " Adelaide," Sir Hubert's voice broke the long silence, "if you were to learn that I was unworthy, would you change towards me ?■ Should I lose your love ? " 11 1 am your wife, Hubert — and there is Bertie," she answered simply, yet with a strange pathos of wistfulness. " You try me very hard. If you would only trustme entirely, and tell me what is troubling you, it would be better for us both. Here we are at home. I never was so thankful to see borne, I think, in all my life before." The carriage drew up at the pillared entrance to West Court, and Sir Hubert, jumping out, helped his wife to alight with his usual careful tenderness. It was a dark, starless night, the air unseasonable warm and oppressively still. It was almost as if a strange hush or 'expectancy hung over tte dark and silent earth.

"How hot it is I" exclaimed Lady Westray, pushing her hood back from her golden head and throwing her cloak off her bare arms. " I feel oppressed, unhappy, Hubert. You have infected me, I think, with your, duiness. I shall be glad to getf to sleep. Surely it will be brighter to-morrow morning-" They entered the house togethg^and both Were Struck on the threshold by the stillness within. No servant pame forward as usual to receive the wraps ; but when Lady Westray ran upstairs she met her own maid on the drawing-room floor. ".Why. Denver, I thought you were all asleep. Take my things, and get me a cup of chocolate," said her ladyship, lightly ; then suddenly struck by something strange in the woman's demeanour, she looked at her sharply. "What is it? Why do you look at me so strangely ? We are an hour or two earlier than we expected, but that need not disconcert you, surely." i 1 No, my lady, not at all. There is nothing —at least," said Denver, trembling, and suddenly bursting in,fco tears she covered her face wfth her apron and ran away. Lady Westray hung her wraps over the balustrade an d walked upstairs to the n,um ry. The lights in both night and day nursery were at their full height, the doors wjde open, and the baby was not in his cot. Lady Westray furiously rang the bell, but there was no answer. Another peal, and a young girl who assisted in the kitchen came stealing into the room, as white as the collar at her throat. • "Wbere is baby, and where is Foster, Anne ? " asked Lady Westray, very sharpjy for her, but her nerves were strung to, the highest pitch. " How dare she 1 ake him oat of the nursery at this late hour?. And how dare she send you to answer my bell 1 " •♦ Oh, my lady, Foster is in the kitchen. S.he has fainted three times sine? and— and : " The little maid finished her sentence, like Denver, with a burst of weeping. " Where is baby 1 " Try to tell me quietly, Anne.what hashappaned," said Lady Westray, her very agony of apprehension enabling her to speak "calmly and even gently to the gobbing girl. •• 111 try, my lady. It was about half-past 9 ; Foster was in the hall having a bit of supper with ug. She. had left baby sleeping in his cot, and when she came, up, after 10 be was not there. I offered to go up and sit by him, my lady,' whi*e Mrs Foster had her supper, but she said he was sleeping s_o soundly there was no need." Like an arrow Lady Westray swept paßt the girl and sped downstairs to the kitchen. Sir Hubert af tear removing his hat a,nd coat,

had gone as usual to the library, It wa3 his habit to sit over his books till far on in the morning. He did not hear the light, swift footfall pass the door ; he was sitting moodily over the fire, his head buried in his hands, a prey to his own gloomy thoughts. In the kitchen a bevy of terrified servants were gathered about the nurse, who was rocking herself to and fro in her chair, wringing her hands and bemoaning her fate, for it was to her carelessness that West Court owed the loss of its heir. When Lady Westray, still in her white dinner dress, with the spring blossoms, now crushed and withered, at her throat and belt, entered the kitchen, the group silently fell apart; then some of them burst into audible sobs. "Foster, what have you done with my child ? " asked her ladyship in a calm, clear, perfectly passionless voice. At the sight of her mistress the woman went off into hysterics ; then Lady Westray turned inquiringly to the others. " There is very little to tell, my lady," said the cook, more self-possessed than any of the rest. •'Mrs Foster was having her supper with us, for company's sake, and when she went back to the nursery the baby was gone — spirited away, I say — for no human being could take him. At first we thought Anne or Polly was playing a tiick on nurse— trying to frighten her for leaving him— but we soon found there was nothing of that kind. We've searched high and low, my lady; there isn't a corner of the house we haven't been into, nor an outhouse. We went through every blessed one with a lantern, but it was no use." Lady Westray asked no more questions, but walked slowly out of the kitchen and upstairs to the library. There was no faltering in her step, nor in her voice, when she interrupted her husband's reverie by the expiring fire. "Baby is away, Hubert," she said in a quier, low voice, and she sat down and looked at him with a dased, almost vacant air. . " Away to bed, do you mean ? " "No ; away out of the house. They have lost him Someone has taken him out of his crib. We shall never see him any more I suppose. Poor Bertie ! To be lifted out of his warm bed and aimed out into the dark night. It was v<.ry cruel, Hubert, to him as well as to us." * Hubert Westray sprang to his feet, his tall figure quivering with excitement, the veins in his forehead standing out like knotted chords. " That was her errand," he said in a low. thick whisper, oblivious of his wife's unnatural calm. " I ought to have known that revenge brought her here. That is the sword which has been hanging over me for days, Adelaide. 1 knew it would be either you or the child." Even in her own dread, awful misery, Lady Westray was arrested by her husband's wild words. •'Who are you talking affbut, Hubert? Mystery seems heaped upon mystery here. Do you know who can have taken Bertie 1 " asked his wife, pressing her hands to her throbbing temples, as if trying to collect and calm her thoughts. " Yes, I know. I saw Eosamond Vane in Westborough yesterday, and her eyes have haunted me ever since. They foreboded evil to me and mine." " Who is Rosamond Vane ? " •• Ah, I forgot ; you do not know. YeS, I will tell you, Adelaide. This crisis has come, and you must know all. It cannot matter now whether you leave me or not. I told you I have been a miserable, evil-haunted man, pursued by the ghost of the past — by the misery of a sin for which I have been bitterly punished. But there, I cannot tell you the story now. I must go and seek her and the child." So saying, and leaving his wife toherhelples?, unavailing pain, he quitted the house. A little later she heard the ring of horses' hoofs on the avenue, and if at that moment Adelaide W est ray felt as if the very foundations of ,eaith and heaven were shaken she may be forgiven. She dragged herself up at length, and went to make some more inquiries in a strange, listless, dispirited way, without that exhibition of. frenzy which a mother thus suddenly and mysteriously bereft might have been expected to display. There was little more to learn. , The gros3 carelessness of the servants was only confirmed ; they were too miserable and conscience-stricken to attempt to screen or defend themselves. While they had been enjoing their evening meal, the hall doer had been open, and the entire house leftat the mercy of any who might elect to enter it. The servants' quarter 3 were quite shut off from the upper pajrt of the house, and only a very unusual noise could be heard downstairs. How easy then for the robber to steal upstairs and carry away the sleeping child. The mystery was why the child should have been taken, and so much that is commonly valued by the thief left untouched. Lady Wesbray wandered about the house for a time like one in a dream, looking blankly into one room after another, until at length she sat down on a chair by the. empty cot in the night nursery, and there, with folded hands and wide-star-ing eyes, waited for what she scarcely knew. None of the servants came near; they were afraid to see. her, they whispered to one another, and so a, dreary hour dragged itself away. Towards two o'clock in the morning the sound of a horse's returning hoofs rang out over the still and heavy air, and Lady Westray sprang to her feet, and, with a wild light of expectancy in her eyes, sped down to the hall, only to see her husband enter alone ; then with a Ijow moan she tottered, and sank unconscious on the settle in the hall. (To be eonthmed.).

— " Last but nob leased," said the landlord, as he looked at the vacant house.

— Probably the biggest piece of crockery ever heard of is the Great Wall of China.

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