EDRIE'S LEGACY.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 46, 15 June 1917, Page 7

EDRIE'S LEGACY.

COPYRIGHT.—

IBy Mrs.’ Georgia Sheldon, Author of I ‘..‘That Dowdy of a Girl,” &c. &c.

1 SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS PARTS

Mrs. Campbell and her daughter Helena Sturtevant rescue a young girl, who calls herself Brown Edrie, from the clutches of a woman who (unmercifully beating the child. (They take, her home, where she is installed as wailing-maid. Mrs. Camp■bcil wr; a widow with two children, Helena and Harold, when she mar'riod Mr. Daniel Campbell, a coarse, uneducated, hut immensely wealthy man. When Mr. Campbell sees Ediric for the first time, and learns her •name, he receives a great shock, for she brings back memories to him that he would rather forget. Prolessor Gortz, Helena's music teacher, •hears Edrie singing in the garden ; he prevails upon Mrs. Campbell to :allow him to teach her; as he predicts a brilliant future for her; ( Just at this time Harold Sturtevant ■ls home from college, and makes the acquaintance of Edrie; A few years slip by, during which Edrie makes wonderful progress, till it-seems that she is sure to make a great name for herself. The following Christmas the Campbells arc entertaining h number of friends, young and old. Edrie had been asked to sing something to amuse the children. Just as she is b ginning the last- verse Mr. Campbell enters the room, and recognise the song as one he had forbidden her to sing; Then, all at once his gaze is attracted to a window through which a ghastly, emaciated face is peering. Later on Mr, Campbell has a Violent interview With Edrie, and he declares that she must leave his bouse, Utterly worn out, the poor girl retreats to the sowing-room, where she falls asleep behind a big screen in the corner of the room, to be awakened later by the sound of voices in heated conversationi It is Mr. Campbell demanding of his wife the instant dismissal of Edrie. That same night, when the master of Hollyhurst is in the library, he is surprised by the visit of a man whom he calls Skale. It app ars that, the latter has had in his keeping some one whom Mr. Campbell wishes out of the way. Skalo informs his employer that the man' has escaped. They 'arrange details for his recapture, and after the keeper’s departure Mr. Campbell is stupified by hearing a voice at the window say, "Let me in, Daniel Campbell ! After eighteen years it is my turn now !” The 'owner of the voice is Edward Richards, whom Campbell had caused to be shut up in a private madhouse, after which ho confiscated his fortune, at the same time giving out that the man had died. Richards demands justice, and gives Campbell until noon on the morrow to make restitution. Edrie’s flight from Hollyhurst is described in the next chapter, and we find her in the train on her way to New York. PART SEVEN.—CHAPTER XI, REVEALS A STARTLING TRAGEDY. The numerous inmates of Hollyhurst slept late the next morning, after the excitement and festivities of that never-to-be-forgotten Christmas. Two hours after Edrie’s flight ■ every one was soundly locked in slumber, that figure still sitting by the grate in the library soundest of them all. 'Phu lire had burned low, white ashes covered the blackening coals, while the dull grey light of the winter morning crept gradually in at the window and rested chillingly and with, a ghastly gleam upon the master of tiio house. At seven o'clock a lazy servant entered the room to replenish the fire in (he grate. He started and appeared surprised upon seeing his master there, a look of guilt at being so late leaping into his fare. “Beg pardon, sir,” he began, apologetically ; “I’d been in before if I had known you were up,” There was no movement, no reply to this observation. ' The man wont nearer, and peered more closely into the pallid face resting against the back of the chair. A frightened look came into his eyes. “Mr. Campbell, sir, wake up 1 Arc you ill, oil ?” Ho sot. down his scuttle of coal, and laid hi;; hand on his master’s arm, but instantly started back with a shiver, for it was stiff and rigid as marble. A more critical glance into the man’s countenance told him that it was still and frozen ; no breath came from the parted huoloss lips ; there was i'.o quiver of nostril or eyelid, no heaving of the broad, strong chest, and he knew that the master of .Hollyhurst was dead. Fifteen minutes later the household had all been aroused with the terrible news, and a messenger despatched for the family physician. Mrs, Campbell, Helena, and Harold gathered around the dead man, awc-stricken and almost paralysed by the suddenness of the blow ; Mrs. Campbell feeling sick at heart as she remembered how cold and proud she had been towards her husband during their last interview. She had never loved him—she had never pretended to love him ; ho had known it from the first, and accepted the situation as it was ; but she could not look upon him there, so helpless and rigid in death, without fr- ling keenest regret that their last words had been words of disagree-

ment, nml their parting accompanied by feelings of anger and bitterness. Dr. Sargent came with all possible despatch, and his face assumed a peculiar expression the moment that he looked upon the dead man ; then his suspicious glance settled upon the bottle and glass that stood upon the table by his side. Almost at the same moment he noticed a handkerchief lying upon

the floor near Mr. Campbell’s chair. He stooped and picked it up, and directly underneath it there lay a small square piece of white paper.

This’ also he secured, examining both it and the handkerchief carefully, a look of stern conviction gleaming in his eyes ; then he laid them both beside the glass and bottle, saying, in an authoritative tone : “Let no one touch these things—let nothing in the room be disturbed. 'i “Whatl has caused it, 1 doctor ?” Mrs. Campbell asked, anxiously, as she realised that he regarded (ho case as peculiar, and considerably mystified by his movements, for she had not a suspicion of the truth. “Was it—apoplexy ?” “No, Mrs. Campbell, I think not.” Then turning to the awc-stricken guests and servants. he requested that they all withdraw from the room while he communicated with the family, alone. Every one obeyed with alacrity, leaving only Mrs. Campbell; Helena, and Harold with him.

“Mr. Campbell had died from the effects of poison—morphine probably,” the physician then said, Impressive-

"Poison !” ejaculated the three listeners in one breath and with blanching faces, while Mrs, Campbell sank weakly upon a chair, overcome by a terrible suspicion. Had her coldness and hauteur of the previous night her threat to leave his home and go lo town to board—driven her husband to suicide ?

“Dr. Sargent, are you sure of what you state ?" Harold asked, gravely. “You have made no thorbugh examination ; hdw can you tell ?” “From his appearance and from this,” the physician replied, lifting the glass from the table and holding it up between the young man and the light.

Harold Sturtevant observed a se’diment at the bottom, also that some crystals adhered to the side of it. The physician put. down the glass and took up the bit of white paper which ho had picked from the floor. “This is the wrapper that enclosed the poison,” he said, “and if you will look closely you will observe that some white crystals, like those on the glass, still cling to it.” Harold looked, and saw that it was even so. “My opinion is that either Mr. Campbell committed suicide, or that some one has wilfully murdered him !” the doctor concluded, with a glance at the handkerchief lying on the table. “Horrible !” exclaimed the young man, with white lips, and then he sprang towards his sister just in time to catch her as she fainted dead away. Dr, Sargent gave his attention to her recovery, and as soon as she was able she was taken to her room. Just after shb left, the library a servant brought Mrs. Campbell Edrie’s note, and both she and Harold expressed a great dismay at her flight. Trouble seemed to follow trouble.

The servants had already discovered it, and vague suspicions and whisperings were floating about among them, and these grew stronger and more significant when one of their number repeated the violent language which he had heard his master use to the young girl the previous night. This led to other surmises and conjectures, and they recalled many instances of the man’s evident dislike and vindictiveness towards the girl. The doctor looked very grave when he learned that she had gone and what had occurred the evening before.

“This looks bad,” he remarked in a low tone to Harol'd, after Mrs. Campbell had communicated the contents of Edrie’s note.

“Why so ?” the«young man asked, not a suspicion against her having entered his mind, although; he was very much distressed about her leaving in the way that she did, “This is her handkerchief her name is on it ; it lay on the floor close by Mr. Campbell’s chafr, and directly over the paper that contained the poison,” he said, lifting it from the table and passing it to Harold.

He took it, his hand trembling visibly, and, examining it, found her name, “Edrie Brown,” written in tiny characters in one corner. Then all his love for her arose in arms against the foul suspicion ; an indignant crimson. mounted to his brow.

.. “This proves nothing,” he said, hastily thrusting it into his breastpocket, a ring of scorn in his voice. “She could no more have beenguilty of such a deed than I could take my mother’s life.” “I hope not,” Dr. Sargent gravely replied ; “but the fact of her handkerchief having been found on the floor hero, together with that paper from which the poison had been emptied ; the incidents of last night, to which your mother has referred ; Mr. Campbell’s expressed aversion to the young lady and his determination that she should leave Hollyhurst —all of which she overheard—■and her subsequent flight, cannot but be regarded as somewhat suspicious.”

“I never will believe it ! It is utterly impossible that Edrie could have cherished a thought of revenge

in her heart !” Harold persisted. “I trust it may be so proved,” the physician returned. “But my young friend; I must request you to replace that handkerchief. It is very important that, everything be left undisturbed until after the inquest.”

“Inquest I” gasped Mrs. Campbell In a tone of horror.

“Yes, madam. The affair is of such a suspicious nature that an inquest will be unavoidable.” This was a great trial to Mrs. Campbell, but she was, of course, obliged to submit to it, and also to a post-mortem examination. The truth of Dr. Sargent’s suspicions seemed to be verified by this, for It was discovered that Mr. Campbell had swallowed a heavy dose of morphine, but whether ho had done so intentionally or otherwise remained to be proved. The entire household was subjected to a rigid examination. The servants, one after another, wore summoned and questioned, and their testimony went to show that the master of the house had never liked Miss Brown- ; that hoi had been known 'upon several occasions to treat her harshly, while her presence always seemed to put him out of temper. His angry encounter with her in the back hall on Christmas night, was rehearsed and somewhat enlarged upon until it appeared as if hard words had passed on both sides.

Matters were not mended when Mrs. Campbell was called to give her testimony, when she was obliged to confess what had occurred in the sewing-room, when her husband had declared that the girl should not remain any longer In the House. She had to produce ’'Edrie's note, when, of course, it came out that the fugitive had overheard all the disagreeable things that Mr. Campbell had said of her, and which would naturally create a desire for revenge, The handkerchief and bit of paper which had contained the morphine—for the crystals adhering to it were proved to be that deadly drug—were discussed, with the suspicious circumstance of their having been found together beside the chair in which the dead man sat ; and it was finally decided that Daniel Campbell had come to his death by poison administered in hie wine by Edrie Brown, from motives of revenge for some fanciful or real injury.

Mrs. Campbell, Helena, and Harold all indignantly protested againsH. this.

It was wholly inconsistent, they said, with the character of the girl, who was kind and affectionate in disposition, and who, though she was often unjustly treated by Mr. Campbell, had never resented any of her injuries, nor treated him otherwise than with the most marked respect. They declared that they would sanction no such verdict ; they would take no steps for her apprehension—indeed, they would do their utmost to defend her if she should be arrested, and they were much more inclined to believe it a case of'suicide. But when questioned as to what possible motive the deceased could have had for taking his own life, they wore obliged to confess that they did not know ; they could assign no motive, and so, with sinking hearts, they were obliged to hear the verd’ict.

The loaded revolver had been found upon Mr. Campbell’s person, but every chamber contained its cartridge and no one thought of imputing its presence to any design on his part to use it against himself.

Harold, who had known of his be-

ing so disturbed by that lace at the drawing-room window on Christmas night, imagined that he had armed himself, simply in self-defence in case he should be attacked by any one prowling around the house. All this told severely upon Mrs. Campbell, and she was nearly prostrated from the excitement and from anxiety on Edrie’s account.

She was both glad and sorry that j she was gone ; glad to have her escape from the clutches of the law — though she lived in constant fear of her arrest—and sorry that she was j drifting alone and unprotected out .upon the cold world. The rich man was buried with all the pomp and ceremony which his j wealth and position demanded, and • Mrs, Campbell showed him all out- • ward respect by draping herself in deep mourning, and denying herself to all company. A beautiful place in the cemetery I was selected, and he was laid in it, l while an imposing monument was ■ erected to his memory. I There were a few weeks of excitej ment and wonder oVer the manner of the great man’s death, of which ; sensational accounts were published j in the leading newspapers ; then the world settled back into its usual routine, and everybody, save the de- | tectives who were on the look-out J for Edrie Brown, gave their attention to other things. At noon precisely on the day of the discovery of Daniel Campbell’s death, three men presented them- . selves at Hollyhurst and inquired : for its master. j They were Edward Richards, one of Mr. Campbell’s midnight visitors ‘ on Christmas night, his lawyer, and an .officer of the law, and they had come to demand justice for the ijor- ’ mer’s wrongs. | Mr, Richards appeared greatly j shocked upon learning what had oc- : currcd, and at once quietly withdrew j with his companions. He would not annoy the stricken i household at such a time with his ; own affairs, although he was resolutely bent upon demanding and , securing the fortune of which he had teen robbed. He had not once thought that the man could escape him, and that the

circumstance of his death would .'(implicate matters somewhat, though , the proofs which he held wexo too strong not to win his case in the end. It would be harder, too, for him personally to demand restitution, for Mr. Richards was naturally a noble-minded, whole-hearted man, and he shrank from wounding the family of his enemy,, who wore of course innocent of the great wrong that ho had suffered. He had no faith in the theory that Mr. Campbell had been foully dealt with by a servant-girl, as that evening’s papers asserted ; ho felt very sure that he had taken his own life to escape the confession which he had required of him, and its consequent disgrace, and with the hope also of thus securing to his proud and beautiful wife and her children the immense fortune for which he had schemed and sinned. CHAPTER XH. MR. RICHARDS’ THRILLING STORY.It was not until Daniel Campbell had been buried a full week that Edward Richards presented himself again at Hollyhurst, and this time he inquired for Mrs. Campbell, He was told that the lady received no visitors, and then the servant, with a supercilious air would have shut the door in his face if he had not stepped forward and prevented him. “Tell your mistress that I am no visitor, but that I desire to see her upon important business connected with her late husband’s estate,” he commanded, in a tone which plainly indicated that he would not be denied, while at the same time he handed the man his card. The servant took the message to his mistress, and presently returned to inform Mr. Richards that she would see him, and requested him to come in. He conducted him to the library, where he sat down to await the lady’s appearance ; but a feeling of gldom oppressed him as he remembered the strong man whom he had seen there so recently, but who now lay wrapped in the chill embrace of death within his costly tomb. Mrs. Campbell soon came in, looking pale, and Edward Richards’ heart almost failed him at the thought of probing her wounds afresh with the terrible tale that hey had to tell. “Mr. Richards ?” she said, inquiringly, glancing at his card, then searching his face with an earnest and somewhat’ apprehensive look. “Yes, madam, that is my name,” ho returned, courteously, “and I am obliged to tell you that I am hero upon a very unpleasant errand ; believe me, I regret it exceedingly on your account, but justice compels me to do it, notwithstanding.” Mrs. Campbell Bowed coldly. “Your errand, I am told, relates to my to Mr. Campbell’s estate,” she remarked, ignoring his apologies, and bringing- him directly to business. “Yes, madam ; 'But first I have something of a history to relate to you. If you will have patience with me, I will endeavour to be as brief as possible.” Mrs. Campbell seated herself at this, and assumed an attentive attitude, though she regarded the man with something of hauteur and suspicion. “Your late husband, Mrs. Campbell, and I were reared in the same family ; or, rather, I should say that we spent some years together under the same roof,” Mr. Richards began.

and the lady lifted’ an astonished look to him at this statement. “My mother became the wife of his father

when I was v a youth of sixteen years. My own father had died- some three years previous to this marriage, leaving a large fortune, mostly in stocks and bonds, to which I was sole heir, my mother having only what the law allowed her from it. Mr. Campbell believed that she was very wealthy in her own right—that she also controlled ray money, and he was sadly disappointed when, shortly after she became his wife, he discovered his mistake. The property was in the hands of a trustee who was to control it until I was of age, when it was to come, unconditionally into my possession. Mr. Campbell had a son—Daniel —who was some two or three years older than I, and who, for some reason, seemed to entertain a feeling of bitter dislike towards me from the moment of our meeting. I imagined that it was caused TSy envy on account of my prospective wealth and the superior advantages I enjoyed on account of it. His father was a farmer, in moderate circumstances ; Daniel’s education had been' curtailed, and he was kept at work upon the farm. I was still kept at school after my mother’s marriage, and this seemed to excite his anger, and also to make him greatly discontented with his own lot.

. “This state of things, hoHvever, did not last a great while, for Mr. Campbell died about two Real’s after his union with, my mother, and she was thus relieved from a position which had brought her only disappointment and unhappiness. There was no will, so. of course the property fell to the son, who at once informed my mother that she would be obliged to leave the place at once, as he was going to sell everything. He promised that he would make over to her one-third of the proceeds if she would sign away her right in the homestead, which she l~it she never received one farihing from him, for upon selling the place he suddenly disappeared, leaving no clue to his destination.

“My mother then removed to the city, where I was in college, so as to be near me ; but she only lived

three months after that, and I was left, without a relative in the world.

“I was then nineteen years of age. I finished my course, graduating at twenty-one, when I came into my property, which was a very handsome one.

“1 had always had a desire to travel ; therefore I resolved to see what was worth seeing in my own country and then go abroad. My money was nearly all invested in the city of New York, so talcing letters of credit from there, I started on my tour.-

“I went leisurely from one point to another, stopping some time in certain places, passing more quickly through others, until I reached the southern part of California.'‘Here I met a very lovely young lady, who was travelling as a companion with an invalid.- We at once conceived a strong affection for each other, and, after a short courtship, were married, when, of course, my wife left her position to travel with

"We spent several months on the Pacific coast, and then turned our faces eastward, intending to spend the winter in New York, and sail for Europe in the early spring. "We reached Denver one cold night in November. I had not been feeling well for several days, and was taken suddenly worse just as we entered the station. The last I remembered was hearing, as afar off, my wife’s appeal to some one to come to her aid ; then, as in a dream, I seemed to see a face that I had known in my boyhood, and after that all was blank.

“When, after long weeks, I came to myself again, I was lying in a darkened chamber, while a man with a pale, thin face, and keen, evil eyes was sitting by my side. “I was very weak, not able to lift even so much as my hand. My first call was, of course, for my wife—my Annie.

“I was told that she would come presently ; then some potion or medicine was given me, and I immediately fell asleep. Again, on waking, I asked for ray wife, but some excuse was made for her absence —she was either lying down or not feeling, well; and thus, from day to day, they put me off, while I was still too weak and ill to suspect that there was anything wrong or enforced about her absence.

“Little by little I began to gain strength, and one day awoke to find, another strange man sitting beside

“ ‘How are you, old fellow ?’ he cried, in a hearty, familiar voice, when he saw that I was observing him curiously ; and instantly I recognised Daniel Campbell. “ ‘How came you here ?’ I inquired, when I had responded to his greeting.

“ 'Why, bless your heart, I picked you up, nearly dead, on the train four weeks ago, though you were too far gone to know anything about it. You’ve had a tough time of it, my boy, But you’ll pull through all right now, I hope. I’ve been here every day to see you, and to help nurse you, and, EM, I hope you’ll let bygones be bygones. I didn’t use you just right, nor your mother neither, in those old days, and I'm real sorry for it now. I’ve had a chanoe to think a bit since I came West, and have had to shift for myself without a friend in the world, and I see things differently from what I did then.’ “He seemed so honest and sincere that I believed him. " ‘lt was all right,’ I told him. ‘I never had cherished any ill-will towards him,’ and I thanked him for his recent kindness to me. Then I asked for my wife. “I noticed- that he turned his face away from me as he answered : “ ‘Oh, she’s around the corner, at a nice hotel.’ “ ‘At a hotel !’ I exclaimed, astonished. ‘Am I not in a hotel, too ?’ “ ‘No, Ed ; we had to bring you here. It's—it’s a sort of hospital, you know. We took you to the hotel in the first place, but they wouldn’t keep you because you had malignant typhoid fever,’ he explained, in his glib way. “ ‘Hasn’t Annie, my wife, been to see me at all ?’ I inquired. “ ‘Oh, yes, lots of times ; but you were out of your head and didn’t know her.’ “ ‘Will she come to-day ?’ I was so anxious for my darling, I yearned for her as only a weak, sick man can yearn for one whom he loves as his life. “ 'Well, I doubt her getting around here to-day.’ he said, turning away to arrange some bottles on a table near him, ‘She hasn’t been quite well herself during the last day or two.’ "This worried me greatly, for I could not endure the thought that perhaps my wile might have taken the fever from me and would have to be given over to the care of utter strangers, while I was too weak and helpless to go to her. I fretted over it so much that I was not well the next day. It did not mend matters when they confirmed my fears and told me that my wife was prostrated with the same disease, and would not be able to come to me at all for the present. I had a relapse after that, and I came very near death’s door again ; but I rallied after a time.

“One day I was greatly startled to hear Daniel Campbell and the' other man, of whom I have spoken, and whom I had learned was a physician, whispering near my bed, and caught the words 'can’t live,’ 'wife,’ ‘will, and so forth.

“I begged them to tell me what they meant, and then they told me ■that Annie was slowly getting well, and would ere long be out again, but that I had not long to live. They

very gently and plausibly that I ought to make my will if I' wished her to have any property/ or she would be left unprovided for.' “It is almost a wonder that their information did not kill me outright. for it was a terrible shock to me to be told that I must resign all my bright hopes of life and leave my wife without a friend in the world ; but I recognised the wisdom of their suggestions, and told Camp- j bell to summon a lawyer and have 1 a will drawn up in due form.- I “A notary a pretended one, I j afterwards learned was called in, and I was questioned regarding my j property, what it consisted of, and where it was invested ; and then, ! after he had procured all the infor- | mation he desired, he withdrew to j draw up the will. He brought it to mo later and read it aloud to me, | for I was too weak to read it my- i self.lt had, apparently, been written just as I had dictated everything that I possessed was left unconditionally to my wife. “I professed myself satisfied, whereupon some witnesses were summoned, and I signed the will in their presence. “I did not know much for a long time afterwards. I think that being told I could not live had unsettled my mind, and I must have been partially insane for a while, even after my physical health began to mend. But memory and sense did return tt> me after a time, although it was only to be plunged into terrible despair by being told that my wife had died and had been buried several months previous. I asked for Daniel Campbell, and was told that he had gore to the West again, but that he had done everything that he could for me before leaving, and had given directions to the effect that I was to receive every care and attention, without regard to expense. I learned that I had been ill nearly a' year, and also that I was under the care of an eminent physician who kept a retreat for persons afflicted with nervous diseases—in other words, I was in a private madhouse.” Mrs. Campbell made a gesture of horror, and lifted a face from which every vestige ,of colour had fled. A suspicion of the terrible tale which was to follow had flashed upon her mind.

“There is no doubt that I was insane for a while after being told of the. death of my beloved wife," Mr. Richards resumed, “but at this time I was as rational as I am to-day. I told the physician so, and demanded to be allowed to leave the institution ; but he curtly refused, saying that he* was the best judge of my condition, and his orders were to care for me as long as I needed attention. His orders, I knew, could .have come from no one but Daniel Campbell, and I indignantly questioned his right to exercise authority over me ; and yet I did not, at .that time, suspect the diabolical plot which he had so cunningly and successfully worked out against me. “Several years passed, during which I demanded my liberty, only to be as often refused, while I was constantly watched and guarded lest I should try to escape. I was allowed to go out in thevgrounds with the other patients, but I was always accompanied by an attendant, and never had the slightest opportunity to make my esckpe. “Thus fifteen years passed. Think of it, madam—fifteen years in such a placfe and in such company—when one day something occurred which finally resulted in my escape. I saved the life of an attendant ; he would have been murdered in cold blood by a frenzied patient but for my timely interference, and then a little while after he came to me and, out of the gratitude of his heart, confessed the diabolical plot which Daniel Campbell had conceived and carried out against me. He said that Campbell had taken Skale, the proprietor of the institution, into his confidence, and the latter had agreed to assist him in carrying it out for a handsome consideration, over and above what he was to get for the care of me yearly as long as I should live. This attendant was a nephew of Skale's, and from boyhood he had been dependant upon him for his living. He had neVer been well treated, and he received nothing for his disagreeable services, save that which his uncle chose to give him, and* he hated and feared the man with all his heart. He did not dare to run away from him, for he had been guilty of some indiscretion in his youth, which gave his uncle a hold upon him. How he ever gathered courage to betray the plot againstme is a wonder ; he said he overheard the two men planning it during my illness, after my relapse. He said that Daniel Campbell told his uncle of my great* wealth, that I had not a relative in the world but my wife, who was really lying at the point of death at that time. (To be Continued.)