A Vexed Inheritance

Southland Times, Issue 11298, 2 November 1889, Page 4

A Vexed Inheritance

By Annie S. Swan, Author of " Twice Tried," " Across her Path," "Aldersyde,""The Gates of Eden," &o. \" All Bights Reserved. Chapter 11, ;r The Lost Heib. ; IDp you think we could leave now, Adelaide?' So said Hubert Westray, drawing to his wife's side about' J an honr. after dinner. 'It is very early, Hubert. Bat if you are not well, if you would like to go. I will ask Mrs WUmot to excuse us,' ' Do. I feel wretchedly out of sorts,' he answered hurriedly. 'It is insuffer- i able to listen 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 hostessVand to ask that their carriage mi^ht be ordered at once. She was glad to getaway,. out of. the room, glad to escape, ©specially from Mrs Weatray's keen, cold eyes, which seetnel to have a Btrange, mbcking gleam in their depths: A prevision of coming trouble had laid its chill hand on the heart of Adelaide Westray, and when she was i alone in the carriage with her husband she sank back in her corner trembling ] in every limb. Forgive me, my darling ; I am a bear I — frightening and hurrying you like j this. I am a -miserable, evil-haunted man, who can rest neither -night nor day/ -. .:_■, . 'Miserable!" Evil-haunted ! What do you mean, Hubert 1 You terrify me, Why should you suffer in this way — you i 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 OEe which medical skill can assist, or even your sweet sympathy cure. Who can minis ter to a mind diseased ? ' But what doss it all mean, Hubert ? | W! y should you be troubled ? What ia it that lies so heavy on your heart ? Tell it to me, dearest, Although I am only aa ignorant girl, lam your wife ; and, oh, I could help yon, I think, if you would only let me.' For a time Hubert Westray made no answer. When he did speak, at length, it was only toa-k a question which had no bearing on the subject. 'Did you go into the nursery before we left, Adelaide !' ' yes,'v es,' she answered, briefly, hurt a little at his calm ignoring of her- appeal. ' Bertie was all right, I suppose V 'Yes, all right.' 'You can trust Foster 1 I hope she will look after the cbild 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, aiid he saw with what an effort she kept her self-control. 'I cannot help myself, 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.' 'Then you mnsfc be ill, Hubert, 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 she 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 j soothe him with her gentle touch. 'I think we mußfc 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 looks of late. lam very proud of my husband's scholarship, but I cannot let his health suffer On its account. He smUed, and slightly shook his bead. Then they re lapsed into silence, which Adelaide Westray felt no inclination to break. She was glad to be still for a little, to try and think over this trouble which had come Jinto her life Hitherto no shadow had faUen acro?B her happy heart. Had the richest earthly blessings only been given that through them she might learn something of the ministry of pain V 1 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?' ' I am your wife, Hubert — anri there i 8 Bertie,' she answered simply, yet with a strange pathos of wistfulness. 'You try me very hard. If you would only irust me 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 home, 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 unseasonably warm and oppressively still. It was almost as if a strange hush of expectancy hung over the dark and silent earth. ' How hot it is ! ' exclaimed Lady Westray;, pushing her hoo'i back from her golden bead and throwing her cloak off her bare arms. ' I feel oppressed, unhappy, Hubert. You have infec'ed me, I think, with your dulnees, I shall be glad to get to sleep. Surely it will be brighter tomorrow morning.' They entered the house together, and both were struck on the threshold by Ibe stilllaess within. Vo servant came forward, as usual, to receive the wraps ; but whra Lady Testray ran upstairs she met her own maid on the drawingroom floor. •Why, Denver, I thought you were all asleep. Take my things, and get me a cup of chocolate, 5 said her ladyship, lightly ; then suddenly struck by something strange in the woman's demeanour, she looked at her sharply. f What is it ? Why do you look at me so strangely ? Wo are an hour or two earlier than we expected, but that need ot disponc-rt you, surely.' • No, my lady, not at all There is nothing— at lenst,' said Denver, tremhUuu. an'i suddenly busting into tear*, she covered her face with her apron and ran away,

Lady Westr'ay hung her wraps over the balustrade, and walked upstairs to the nursery. The lights in both night and day nursery were at their full height, the' doors wide 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. ? Where is baby, and where is Foster, Anne ?' asked Lady Westray, very sharply for her, but her nerves were .strung to the highest pitch. 'How dare she take him out of the nursery at this late hour ? And how dare she send you to answer my bell ?' 'Oh, my lady, Foster is in the kitchen. She has fainted three times since, and —and——' The little maid finished her sentence like Denver, with a burst of weeping. -*■ Where is baby % Try to tell me quietly Anne, what has happened,' said Lady Westray, her very agony of apprehension enabling her to speak calmly and even gently to the sobbing girl. . 'I'll try, my lady. It was about half-past nine 5 Foster was in the hall having a bit of supper with us. She had left baby sleeping in his cot, and when she came up after ten he was not there. I offered to go up and sit by him, my lady, while Mrs Foster had her supper, bat she said he was sleeping 80 soundly there was no need.' Like an arrow Lady Westray swept past the girl and sped downstairs to the kitchen. Sir Hubert, after removing his hat and coat, had gone as usual to the library. It was his babit 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 W 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 bhe 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 V asked her lactyship, 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 t there. 'There is very little to tell, ray 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 trick on nurse — 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 honse we haven't bten into, nor an outhouse. We went through every blessed one with a lantern, but it was no use.' L-idy Westray asked no more questions, but walked sluwly out of the kitchen and upstairs to the library. There was no filtering in her step, nor in her voice, when she interrupted her husband's Teverie by the expiring fire. 'Baby is away, Hubert,' she said in a quiet, low voice, and she sat down and looked at him with a dazed, almost vacant air. 'Away to bed, do you mean V 'No ; away out of the house. They have lost him. Some one has tnken 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 carried out into the dark night. It was very 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 cords. 'That was her errand, 1 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. I 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 about, Hubert? My3tery seems he.iped vpon mystery here. Do you know who can have taken Bertie V asked bis wife, pressing her hands to her throbbing Umples as if trying to-collect and calm her thoughts. ' Yes, I know. 1 saw Rosamond Vane in Wevtborough 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. Yos, ! will tell you, Adda de. The crisis has coma, and you must know all. It cannot matter now whether you leave me or not. I told you I hnve been a I miserable, evil haunted man, pursued by the ghost of the past — by the misery of a sin for which I have been bitterly puuish3(i. But there, I cannot; teU you the story now. I mujt go and seek her and the child.' So saying, and leaving his wife to her helpless, unavailing pain, he quitted the house. A little later she heard the ring of horse's hoofs on the avenue, and if afc that moment Adelaide Westray felt aa if the very foundations of ea*th and heaven were shaken ehe may be forgiven. She dragged herself up at length, and went to make some more inquiries in a strange, listless, disspirited way, without that exhibition of freuzy which a mother thus suddenly and mysteriously bereft might have been expected to display. There was little more to 1 ?arn. The gross carelessness of the seivants was only confirmed ; they were too miserable and consciencestricken to attempt to screen or defend themselves. While they bacl been enjoying their evening meai, the hall door had b en. opened, and the entire bouse left at the mercy of any one who might elect to enter if. The servants' quarters were quite shut off from the upper part of the house, and only a very unusual nuise C"ii!d be h^ard downstairs. How easy tht-u for the robber to steal upstairs and cir.-y away the sleeping child. The mystery was why the child should have bt>en taken, and so much that is com.,

( monly valued by the thief left untouched. Lad/ Westray 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-staring eyes, waited for what she scarcely knew. None of the servants catne 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, witn a wild light of expectancy in her eyes, sped down to the hall, only to see her husband enter alone ; then|with a low moan she tottered, and sank unconscious on the sottle in the hall. (To be continued)