Untitled

Otago Witness, Issue 2330, 27 October 1898, Page 41

THE NOVELIST.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

A WHIRLWIND HARVEST.

'By F. FRANKFORT MOORE.

Author of " I Forbid the Banns," " The Jessamy Bride," " A Grey Eye or So," " One Fair Daughter," "A Journalist's Note Book," "The Mate of the Jessica," "An Impudent Comedian," " Under Hatches " " Phillis and Philistia," " They Call Ii Love," &c, &c.

[COPYRIGHT.]

SYNOPSIS OP PEEVIOUS CHAPTEES CHAPTERS I and ll.— Mr Richard Westwood, chief partner in a large banking establishment in Brackenshire, is alarmed by a run on the bank, men and women, the latter especially, clamouring for their money. By his assumed coolness he staves off disaster until the arrival of a lady, who lodged with the bank a cheque for the sum of £15,000. CHAPTERS 111 and IV.-The ruse of the cheque being paid in saves the bank. Agnes JMowbray, the brave woman who had tinder taken this step, is loved by Claude Westwood, the brother of the man whose business had been saved. He had left many years before for the Soudan, and had not been heard of. She has faith in him, however, and believes he will return. Cyril, Agnes's brother, suggests to his friend, Dick Westwood, that ho should himself many Agnes, as Claude, he is convinced, is long since dead. Dick Westwood ridicules the idea. As they step out into the gaiden the shadow of a man seems to rise from the ground before them. CHAPTERS V and Vl.— The stranger stood before Westwood and told him that he had come for his money, £600, which he had deposited with the bank 12 months ago. He threatened him with a revolver, but ultimately Westwood calmed him, and he left the house. Westwood is afterwards visited by a girl named Lizzie, who has been betrayed by Cyril, but who has been taken into service by Miss Hope, a sister of Sir Percival Hope. Cyril had promised to marry her when he came into his money, and she asks Westwood to keep her before his mind. Sir Percival Hope proposes to Agnes, but she explains that she is in iove with Claude, and a telegram arrives announcing that Claude is alive. Chapter VII. HAT -were his feelings as lie 1 read the telegram which she i thrust into *" his hand : — the telegram sent to her by a relative, who lived in London, acquainting \ her with the fact that an enterprising London paper had in its issue of that morning, announced the safe arrival at Uganda of the distinguished explorer, Claude \VW.wood? 'Authority uiiaueß-

tioriable," were the words with which the telegram ended. Had he for one single moment an "unworthy thought? Had he for a single moment a consciousness that she was lost to him for ever? Had he a feeling that he was being cruelly treated by Fate? Or was every other thought overwhelmed by the thought that this woman whose happiness was dear to him was overcome with a sense of happiness? She was leaning upon him as he read the telegram ; and when he turned his eyes upon her face he saw that the expression which it wore was not that of a woman who is thinking of her own happiness. He saw that her heart was not so full of her own happiness as to have no place for a thought for the man whe in a moment had all hope swept away from him. Her eyes showed him that she had the tenderest regard for him at that moment, and that was how he was able to press her hand and say, " With all my heart — with all my heart, I am glad. You will be happy. I ask ! nothing more." She returned tbe pressure of his hand, and with her eyes looking into his, said in a low Voice, " I know it — I know it." As he helped her to walk up to the house she kept putting question after question to him. Was the news that this paper published usually of a trustworthy character She had heard that some newspapers with a reputation for enterprise to maintain weie usually more anxious to maintain such reputation than one for scrupulous accu racy. Would Claude Westwood's brother be likely to receive a telegram to the same effect as hers, and if so, how was it that Dick had not come to her at once? Could it be that he questioned the accurac}' of the news and was waiting until he had it confirmed by direct communication with Zanzibar before coming to her? And if Dick doubted the authentic nature of the j message was there not more than a possi- i bility that there was some mistake in it v She knew all the systems of communication between Central Africa and the coast, she did not require any more information |on that point ; and she was aware of the 9aee with which an error could be made in a name or an incident between Uganda and Zanzibar. Before she reached the house the confidence which she had had in the accuracy of the message had vanished. With every step she took a fresh doubt arose in her mind ; so that when she ' threw herself down in the seat at the porch she was tremulous with excitement. What could he say to soothe her? She knew far more than he did about fbc romance of African exploration, and being aware of this fact, he felt that it would be ridiculous for him to refer to the many cases there had been of explorers reappearing suddenly after years of hopeless silence. She was more "fully acquainted than he was with the incidents connected with these cases of the lost being found. All that he could do was to assure her that no firstclass newspaper, however anxious it might be to maintain a reputation for enterprise, would wilfully concoct such an item of | news as that of which Agnes held the summary in her hand. It was perfectly clear that the newspaper had good reason for publishing in an authoritative manner the news of the safety of Claude Westwood, otherwise the words "Authority unquestionable" would not have been used in transmitting the substance of the intelligence. This Sir Percival pointed out to her ; ■ and then, after a few moments of thought, Agnes rose from her seat, not without tva effort, and announced her intention of going to Westwood Court. "Dick cannot have received the ne^/.* or he would surely be with me now," she said. " Ah, what will he think of it? He never gave up hope. Everything he said to me helped to strengthen my hope. Yot have heard how attached he and Clard , were? " Sir Percival, seeing how excited she hail ; become, how she alternated between the extremes of hope and fear, dissuaded her from her intention of going to the Court a-, once. " You must have some rest," he said. "The strain of going to the Court wouli be too much for you. You must not run the chance of breaking down when you need most to be strong. You will let mo do this i for you. I will see Westwood myself, whether he is at the Court or at the bank, ami bring him to you." "I am sure you are right, my dear friend," she said. " Oh, yes, it is far better for you to bring him here. I canl'Ot understand why Cyril has not conic down yet. He should be the one to go. But you do not mind the trouble?" " Trouble ! " he said, and chen laughed. " Trouble ! " He had gone some war down the drive when she called him back. She liad left the porch of the house, and was standing against the trellis work over -vhich n. ivsc wag climbing. He returned to her at once. " Listen to me, Sir Percival," she sa.d in a curious voice. " You are not to join with Dick in any compromise in regi;d to the news. If he believed that the report of Claude's safety is not to be trusted, you are to say so to me : it will not be show- { ing your regard for me if you come back saying something to lessen the blow that Dick's doubt of accuracy of the news will be to me. You will be treating' me best if you tell me word for word what he says." " You may trust me," he say I quietly. His heart was full of pity for lier, for he could without difficulty see that she was in a perilous condition of excitement "I will trust you — oh, have I not trusicd you?" she cried. "I do not vant to live in a Fool's Paradise — Heaven only knows if I have not been living there during the past years. Paradise? No, it cannot be called a for in no Paradise can there be the agony of waiting that was mine. And now — now — now — ah, do you S think that I shall have an houi of Paradise til] you return with the truth? — the truth mmd — that is what I want mmd — that is what I want." He went away without speaking a word of reuly to her,.; What would he the iznnd

of saying anything to a woman in her con. , dition? She had all the sympathy of hik heart. As he went along the road to thd Court he began to wonder how it was that] he had not guessed long ago that the life o{ this woman was not the life of other] women. It seemed to have occurred to nof one in the neighbourhood to tell him whaf^ was the life that Miss Mowbray had chosen? to live— that life of waiting and waiting! through the long years. He supposed thafii her story had lost its interest for such perJ sons as he had met during the year that? he had been in Brackenshire ; or they had not fancied that it would ever become o? such intense interest to him as ifc was this morning of June sunshine and singing birds' and fleecy clouds and sweet scents o£ meadow grass and flower beds. He was conscious of a curious feeling o£ indignation in regard to the man who "hadf •been cruel enough to take from that womarf her promise to love him, and him only, and then to leave her to waste her life away in waiting for him. He fancied he could picture her life during the nine years thati Uaude Westwood had been absent, and hei felt that he had a right to be indignant; with a man who had been selfish enough ta bind a woman to himself with such a boncM Of course most women would, he knew] not consider such a bond binding upon! them after a year or two; they. would hava been faithful to the man for a year—perhaps some of the most devoted might havei been faithful for as long as eighteen months after his departure from England, and the( extremely conscientious ones for six months,, after he had been swallowed up in the; blackness of thafc black continent. They would not have been content to live the lifa that had been Agnes Mowbray's— the lifa of waiting and hoping with those alternate intervals of despair. The man had behaved cruelly towards her for he should have known that she waa not as other women.. It was the feeling; that the man was not worthy of her that* caused Sir Percival Hope his only misgiving. He wondered if he himself had! chanced to meet Agnes before she ha* known Claude Westwood what would heir, life have been— what would his life have' been? • He stood still in the road and tried" to, form a picture of their life— of their lives joined together so as to make one life. He hurried on. The picture was too bright, to be looked upon. He found ife easier to think of the picture which hadf been before his eyes when he had looked? back, hearing her voice calling him— the picture of a beautiful pale woman, with one hand leaning on the trellis work of the porch, while the roses drooped down to her. hair. "Thi cruelty of it— the cruelty of il-!"' he groaned as he hurried on to perform hismission. And these were the very words that' Agnes Mowbray was moaning at the sanies instant as she fell on her knees beside the sofa, in her dressing room. That was al% the prayer that her lips could frame at> that moment. _ " The cruelty of it ! The cruelty of it ! '" ■ That was the result of all her thoughts of; I the past years that she had spent in waiting. She and God knew what those years hadi been — the years that had robbed her of her; youth, that had planted those grey hairs where the soft brown had been. All tho past seemed unfolded in front of her like ai scroll. She thought of her parting fron* 1 her lover on that chill October day, when;' every breeze sentj»the leaves flying in crisp flakes through the air. Not a tear did alief shed while she was saying that farewell tos him. She had carried herself bravely— yes, as she stood beside the privet hed£,e and waved her hand to him on the road otf which he was driving to catch the trail rf but when she had returned to the house and her father had put his arm round her* she was not quite so self-possessed. Hoi tears came in a torrent all at once, and Jai cried out for him to come back f.o her. He had not come back to her. Through the long desolate years that had been lie*.' cry ; but he had not come back to her.Oh! the desolation of those years that foU lowed. At first she had received many; letters from him. So long as he was iii touch with some form of civilisation, however rudimentary it was, he had written fc» her ; but then the letters had become fewi and irregular. He could only trust that one out of every six that he wrote would reach' her, he said, for he only wrote on th& chance of meeting an elephant-hunter or at slave raider going to the coast who wouldf take a letter for him — for a consideration* She had not the least objection to receive a letter, even though it had been posted by, the red hand of the halfcaste slave trader. But afterwards the letters ceased altogether. She tried to find courage in theS reflection that the rascally men who had* been entrusted with the letters had flung; them away, or perhaps they had been killed\ or had died naturally before reaching the! coast. Only for a time did she find somei comfort in thus accounting for the absence* of all news regarding him. At the end ofl a year she read in a newspapei an article ins which the writer assumed that all hope for the safety of Claude Westwood had been: abandoned. The writer of the article was clearly an expert ie African exploration. He was ready to quote instance after instance since the days of Hanno -of ex> plorers who had dared too much and had been cut off — some by what he called the legitimate enemies of pioneers — namely, disease and privation, others by that cruelty which has its habitation in the dark placea of the earth, and nowhere in greater abundance than in the dark places of the Dark Continent. She recollected what her feelings had been when she read that article and the scores of other articles that rivetted her, dealing with the disappearance of Claude Westwood. She had not broken down. Her father had pointed out to her the extraordinary mistakes so easily made by the experts who wrote on the subject of Claude Westwood's disappearance ; and if they were able to bring forward instances of the loss of intrepid men who had set out in the hope, of adding to the world's knowledge of the world, the Admiral was able to give quite aa many instances of the safe return oS explorers who had been civen ub for loafci'

ffhus she and her father kept up each other's hopes until the' question of Claude's safety ceased to be even alluded to in the press as. a topic "of the day. She had never lost hope ; but this fact 1 'did not prevent her being tortured by ! dreams of the night. She was" accustomed to awake with a cry, seeing him tortured by ravages — seeing him lying alone in a country where no trees was growing. And then she would remain awake through the long night, praying for his safety. ! That had been her life for years, and now she was still praying for his safety — praying that the day of realisation of her hopes had at last come. She started up, hearing the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. She was at 3fer window in time to see Sir Percival it: the act of entering the porch. He had not been Jong absent. He could not have had a Jong conversation with Richard Westwood. She met him while he was still in the porch. They stood face to face for a few foments, but no word came from eiths-r of them for a long time. She seemed to jthink that she was about to fall for she !put out a hand to the velvet portiere that rung in an arch leading to the hall — that ,\vas her right hand — her left was pressed ii^aiiist her heart. 1 " You need not speak," she whispered, when they had stood face to face in that long silence. " You need not speak. I know all that your silence implies." * " No — no — you know nothing of what 1 have to tell you," said he, slowly. ! "What have you to tell? Can you tell me anything worse than that Claiide West>vood is dead? " "It is not Claude Westwood who is 'dead." "Not Claude? — who — who, tLen. is dead? " " Richard Westwood is dead." Chapter. VIII. She continued looking at him after he had spoken as though she Jailed to grasp the meaning of his words. Tt seemed as if they conveyed nothing definite to her. " I don't think I heard you aright, Sir Percival," she said at last. " There was no ; question of Richard Westwood being alive j or dead. You went to find out about Claude." "I went to find out about Claude, but I did not get further than the lodge," said Sir Percival. "At the lodge I heard what had happened. It is a terrible thing ! The events of the' day must have affected him more deeply than we imagined they would." " You mean to tell me that Diek — that Hichard Westwood is dead?"' said Agnes. "He died this morning." " Dead ! But I was with him yesterday. | ■My brother Cyril dined with him last night." "I tell you it is a terrible thing. Poor fellow ! His mind must have given way beneath the strain that the run upon the bank ' entailed upon him. Dear Agnes, let me help j •you to reach your chair. Pray lean on me." j She did not seem to hear whab he had said. She was dazed, but striving to recover herself. "I cannot understand," she said. "It appears strange that I cannot understand ;when you have spoken quite plainly. But ,we were talking about Claiide — not Dick. iYou were to find out what Dick thought regarding the rumour of Claude's being alive —so far I am quite clear. But here you come to me saying: 'It is Dick Westwood and not Claiide who is dead.' What on fearth can you mean by saying that, when all t wanted to know was about Claude?" " My dear Agnes, I can say nothing more. This second shock is too much for you. In a few minutes, however, you will be able to realise what has happened. Where is your ".brother? I must speak to him." " No — no ;do not leave me. If he is 'dead — and you say that he is dead — I have no friend in the world but you. Ah, you jniist not leave me. I do not think I have Anyone in the world but you." She spoke in a tone of pitiful entreaty, holding out both her hands to him, as she had done once in the garden. He took her hands and held them for a moment, but he did not press them, as another man might have done when she had spoken. ' He said gently : " I will not leave you — whatever may hapjpen I will be by your side. Now you will Bit down." He had not helped her to one of the chair.? that stood in the porch when the portiere was flung aside, and Cyril, in the act of lighting a cigarette, appeared. " Hullo, Agnes, I'm a bit late, I suppose," he began, but seeing Sir Percival helping her as though she were as feeble as an invalid to the chair, he stopped short. " What's [the matter, Sir Percival?" he said, in another tone, but not one of great concern. " Tell him— tell him ; perhaps ha ysJH

understand," said Agnes, looking up to Sir Percival's face. j " You do not mind my speaking to him for a minute in the garden?" said Sir Percival. i " Go ; perhaps he will understand," said she. He held up a finger to Cyril, and they went outside together. \ "What's the mystery now?" asked Cyril, picking up his straw hat from a chair. " I shouldn't wonder if it had something to 'do with Claude Westwood. My poor sister is overcome because she has received confirmation of his death probably. But you and I know, Sir Percival, that there has not been the smallest chance." " I do not want to talk to you about Claude Westwood just at this mii.ute, but aLout his brother," said Sir Percival. " The facb is that I have just returned fiom tho Court. The dead body of Richard Westwood was found by a gardener this morning not twenty yards from his house. He haJ shot himself with a revolver." Cyril turned very pale, but the cigarette that he was smoking did not drop from his lips. He stared at Sir Percival for soma moments, and then slowly removed his cigarette. Ho drew a long breath before saying in a whisper : "Shot himself? Then he was bankrupt after all, and Agnes's money is gone. Why the mischief did you give her that cheque yesterday, Sir Percival?" "I thought it well that you should hear this terrible news at once," said Sir Percival, ignoi'ing his question. " I believe that you dined with him last night, and so 3*oll were probably the last person to see him alive. You will most certainly be questioned by the chief constable before the inquest." " The chief constable or any other constable may question me ; I don't mind. I don't suppose it will be suggested that I shot poor Dick," said Cyril, somewhat jauntily. Sir Percival made no reply, and Cyril went on. " Good heavens ! Poor old Dick ! I'm sorry for him. I have good reason to be sorry. He was the best friend I had. He understood me. He wasn't too hard on a chap like me. The people in this neighbourhood think that I'm a bad egg — you probably think so too, Sir Percival; but poor Dick never joined with the others in boycotting me, though he knew more about me than any of them ! And to think that all the time he was playing that game of billiards — all the time he was cros&ing the park with me when I Avas going home, he meant to put an end to himself." " You will probably be asked some questions on this point by the chief constable," said Sir Percival. "He will ask you if you can testify to his state of mind last evening. You drove back with him from the bank, I believe?" "I drove back with him. and dined with him. We had a game of billiards, the same as usual, and then he walked across the park with me, as I say. That's all I have to tell. I know nothing about his condition of mind ; but he admitted to me more than once that he had had rather a bad time of it while those fools were in the bank clamouring for their money — it appears that they weren't such great fools after all. Poor o'd Dick ! He took me up quite seriously when I suggested that he should marry Agnes. He pretended to believe that Claude was still alive, as if he didn't know as well as you or I, Sir Percival " " There is every likelihood that Claude Westwood is alive," said Sir Percival. " What — Claude Westwocd alive and Dick Westwood dead?" cried Cyril. " Pardon me if I seem rude, Sir Percival, but what en earth are you talking about?" " I have told you all that I know," said Sir Percival. " Your sister got a telegram an hour ago telling her that a London newspaper contains a piece of exclusive news regarding Claude Westwood, and the information is described as accurate beyond question." "Great Scott!" said Cyril, after a pause. " What's the meaning of this, any way? One brother turned up alive and well after being lost in Africa for nine years and the other Good heavens ! What can anyone say when things like that are occurring under our very eyes? Why couldn't Dick have waited until the news came? He would not have shot himself if he had known that Claude was alive, I'll swear. And as for Claude — well, when he gets the news from BiMckenhiust, he'll be inclined to wish that he had remained in the interior." " They were so deeply attached to each other?" " Well, of course, Sir Percival, I can't say anything about that from my own recollection, but everyone about here says they were like David and Jonathan — like Damon and the other cha.p. Nothing ever came between them — not even a woman ; and I need hardly toll j;qu* Sir PercivaU. fch§£ the gfi*

pearance of the woman is usually the, signal for " ! " Here is Major Borrowdaile," said Sir Percival, interrupting the outburst of cynical philosophy on the part of the youth, as a dogcart driven by Major Borrowdaile, the chief constable of the county, passed through the entrance gates. Cyril allowed himself to be interrupted without a protest. His nonchalance vanished as the officer jumped from the dogcart and went across the lawn to him. Sir Percival took a few steps to meet Major Borrowdaile, but Cyril did not move. " You have heard of this nasty business, Sir Percival?" said the officer. " I have just come from the lodge at the Court," replied Sii Percival. " There's no possibility of a mistake being made, I suppose? It is certain that Mr Westwood shot himself." "It is certain that the poor fellow was found shot through the lungs," said the chief constable, cautiously. "I hear that'jou dined with him last night, Mowbray," he continued, turning to Cyril. "That is why I have troubled you with a visit." " Wlsy should you come to me?" said Cyril, almost plaintively. " I dined with Dick Westwood, and parted from him at the j road gate before midnight. That's all I know about the business." " That means you were the last person to see him alive. He musfc have been shot on returning to the house after letting j r ou through the road gate." "Musfc have been shot?" cried Cyril. "Why, you said he had shot himself, Sir Percival." "He was found with a revolver close to his hand," said Major Borrowdaile, " and the under-gardener, who discovered the body, took it for granted that he had committed suicide. You see the fact that there was a run upon the bank yesterday induces some people to jump to the conclusion that he committed suicide, just as the assumption that he committed suicide will lead many people to assume that the affairs of the bank are in an unsatisfactory condition. They are bad logicians. Did he seem at all depressed in the course of the evening, Mowbray?" " Not he," replied Cyril. "He was just the opposite. He ate a first-class dinner, and we discussed the fools -who made the run upon the 'bank. It seems that they weren't such fools after all — so I've been saying to Sir Percival." '' You are another of the imperfect logicians," said Major Borrowdaile. " I want facts — not deductions, if you please. If there are to be any deductions made I prefer making them myself. I promise you that I shall make them on a basis of facts. Dr Mitford saw our poor friend, and he has had, as you know, a large experience of bullet wounds — he went through four campaigns — and he declares that it is quite impossible that Mr Westwood could have shot himself. The bullet entered the lungs from behind. . Now, men who wish to commit suicide do not shoot themselves in that way. They have the best of reasons for l-efraining. That is fact number one. Fact number two is that the revolver which was found at his hand was not Mr Westwood's — his own revolver was found safe in his own bedroom." " Then the deduction is simple," said Sir Peicival. " Someone must have shot him." "I'm afraid that is the only conclusion one can come to, considering the facts which I have placed before you, Sir Percival," said Major Borrowdaile. " This view is strengthened by Mowbray's testimony as to the condition of Mr Westwood last n'ght ; he was not depressed nor had he any reason to be depressed, the run upon the bank having been successfully averted." " But who could have born him a grudge? He was, I have always believed, the most popular man in the neighbourhood," said Sir Percival. The chief constable glanced towards Cyril, saying : " Perhaps Mowbray here will be able to give us at least a clue." » "I — I know nothing of the matter," said Cyril. " I have told you all that I know. We parted at the gate in the wall of the park — it saves me a round of more than half a mile — that's all I know, I assure you." " Then I'm disappointed in my mission to you,' 1 said the chief constable. "The fact is that one of the servants came to us with a singular story of a visitor — a man wearing a rather shabby coat and a soft hat. He says he found this man having an altercation with Mr Westwood, at which you were present, and the revolver" " Great Scott !" cried Cyril. " How could Ibe such an idiot as to forget that ! The man came into the drawing room through the open window, and called Dick a swindler. He pulled out a revolver and covered Dick with it just as the sei-vant entered the room. Dick took the matter very coolly and the fellow threw the revolver out of the window, and walked out by the door him&elf — but not before he had threatened Dick. Oh, there can be no doubt about it ; the shot was fired by that man." " Did he mention what was his name?" asked Major Borrowdaile. "He did — yes, he said his name was — now what the mischief did he say it was? Stanley? — no — Stanmore? — I think he said his name was Stanmoie. No — I have it now — Standish ; and he mentioned that he had just come from Midleigh. Oh, there's no doubt that he fired the shot. Why on earth haven't you tried to arrest him? He can't j have gone very far as yet." ! "He was arrested half an hour ago," said the chief constable. " Heavens above ! He didn't run away then !" cried Cyril. i "On the contrary, he walked straight into the bank the first thing this morning, and tried to make a row because the cashier hadn't arrived," said Major Borrowdaile. " He waited there, and when the news came that Mr Westwood was dead and the doors of the bank were about to be closed, he lefused to leave the premies. That was where he made a mistake ; for he was arrested by my sergeant on suspicion, though the sergeant had heard that Mr Westwood had shot himself. And yet we hear that there is no intelligence apart from Scotland Yard !" (To be continued. ) — The earliest autograph in existence is I tuat of Eiouard U.