THE Mystery of Wynne Court.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 333, 25 April 1885, Page 20

THE Mystery of Wynne Court.

BY THE AUTHORESS 03? "CASTJLE CHANDOS."

Written for the Observer and Free Lance.

CHAPER IT.

Diana's story {continued),

I started at the question, and for a moment was silent. Far away down in the innermost recesses of my mind had lived a doubt — the faintest doubt — that my lover's name was not Robert Wynne at all, or that he was exactly what he seemed to be. But it was a doubt which 1 never would . allow to come uppermost, and I attributed it to the romantic notions I had got — as girls will — into my head. " I don't know," I said at last, with much hesitation ; "I have wondered sometimes.'' " Wonder no more," he replied. "It is Robert Wynne Wynyard ; and my father is lord Wynyard, of Wynne Court, in Devonshire.?' I was not much surprised; I should not have been had he told me he was a prince. "But, Robert," I asked gently, "what has sent you away from your home, like an outcast and a wanderer ?" " Ah, that is what I am afraid to tell you," he said sadly. "Afraid to tell me!" I repeated; "you should not fear me, Robert." "I do fear you," said Robert bitterly, sitting bolt upright; "even you. But I will confess it. lam an outcast, Diana, because I am suspected of a' horrible crime — of murder." The last words were spoken so low, I only just caught their meaning. I could not speak for a moment; I had not imagined this. Robert went on still more bitterly : "You, too, will shrink from me now, I know, Diana. Ah, yes you will ; even hate me, and loathe the touch of my hand. Oh, why did I tell you ?" He was sitting now as far from me as he could get, almost beyond my reach ; but I stretched out my hand and took his in it. " My poor Robert," I said softly, gulping down my emotion, "don't be foolish; tell me all about it." He did not move. He sat looking at me wonderingly — even in the dim starlight I saw the wonder on his face. I felt his hand trembling in mine. "Is it possible," he asked at last, "that you have heard that, and are still the same?" "More than possible," I said; "it is true." I went close to him, and took his hand in both mine. " Tell me all aboutit, Robert," I saidagain. ** You were not guilty ?" "No, no — a thousand times, no," he answered passionately. " Don't believe that for one moment, Diana. I will tell you all I may. A visitor at Wynne Court, a friend of Lady Wynyard, my father's second wife, was found murdered in his own room one morning. Circumstances led them to suspect me, and I resolved to fly. I was innocent, heaven knows ; but I knew that circumstantial evidence would be very strong against me, and I was determined neither to risk my life nor yet imprisonment. I knew that my flight would confirm the suspicion of my guilt; but my friends implored me to consider nothing but niy personal safety. I had quarrelled with the man. I Avas on unfriendly terms with him, and had threatened him, I acknowledge, but I never thought of harming him, I swear. I had intended leaving home early on that morning. I knew nothing of the murder when I rose, but I acknowledge this to you — : as I have only done to Howard besides — that I did know of it when I left the house ; but I did not know that I. had done anything to attract suspicion to myself. I walked to the station . I intended goin gto Woodbury, to see my friead Howard ; and I did not happen to see any of the servants as I left ths house, except this man Blake, who was my father's land agent. I met him on the grounds, and I mentioned to : him where I was going. . I reached Woodbury, and went ■hi my friend's house. When I had been there about two hours, Blake came flying down on horseback to tell me what had happened, and to put nle upon my guard. He brought me a message from my father, imploring me to Keep myself hidden until -I saw how things turned out ; and, if circumstances should seem against me, to secure my safety by flight. I recalled then to my own mind many facts that I saw would be against me. Blake told me that no one but himself, my father, and niy friendknew where I then was, and urged me to go at once. My Mend Howard also was most anxious for me to make good my escape while I had the chance. I consented at last. I had a reason of my own, too, which I never told to anyone. Blake was. most anxious to accompany me T , and I agreed that he should join me afterwards; but I entrusted only Howard with my plans. I- left his house at once, and succeeded in reaching; London. I remained hidden there for some days.; then Blake joined me, &rid we went first of all to Spain, ;. where Howard was to meet me. It was my father's wish that he should be my 'companion, and any wish of my father's was like a command to Howard. Ah!" Robert broke off suddenly, "I have not told you about my friend, have I ? " "Who is he? "I asked. "His true name is Howard Hope, and he

is a clergyman — the vicar of Woodbury," answered Robert. " Oh," I exclaimed, " I never imagined that.' 1 " No, you wouldnot," said Robert; " but so he is. He is my foster-brother, also, and ,has- been my^ best,, my -truest, ,and my dearest friend, all my life long. I suppose my father thought his presence would be an additional safeguard to me, and I was only too thankful to have_,his companionship in my exile., We '"stayed in Spain two or three months'; then i determined'to run the risk of. travel again, and for some months we wandered about the Continent, avoiding ■all; the well-beaten tracks I had;takeii on a former Continental tour. Then we wandered to Australia, and finally to New Zealand, and to this out-of-the- world spot, where I thought I had found a resting-place at last." Such is the substance of the story Robert told me. I cannot recollect exactly his own words ; I have told it in my own. I suppose I was blinded by love and pity, for I belie ved him then, and I believe him now. When he ceased speaking, I sat in silence for a moment. AVords utterly failed me to express the sympatt y, sorrow, and love I felt for him. "My poor darling." I said at last, stealing my arms round his neck, "you should not have feared to tell me this," "I ought to have told you before 1 asked you to many me," said Robert: "and, indeed, I had no right to think of* marriage at all, no right to try and win any woman's love, with such a shadow over me. When I asked you I thought I might venture to make a home for a few months — perhaps longer. But though I could give you wealth, I know I ought to have told you I could give you nothing else. I had a reason, too — an urgent reason — why I wished you to marry me at once. Ah, Diana, I have more to tell you yet." I started a little. "Surely," I thought, "I had heard the worst." "My friend begged of me to trust you implicitly," went on Robert, sadly, "and I shall do so, for you have proved yourself worthy of trust. Why have I told you this story now, do you think ? Why, when I have kept it from you so long ? Ah ! my darling, what will you say to me when I have finished? I must tell you why. Do you not wonder why the appearance of this man Blake here has caused me so much trouble ?" I had almost forgotten JBlake ; he had retired into the background of my thoughts for the time. " What has he to do with you ?" I asked, anxiously. " So far, I daresay, he has appeared to you only in the light of a disinterested friend," said Robert ; " but I will explain all to you. I must give him his due. He has been of the utmost service to me in my wanderings, not only as a servant, but a friend also, and 1 relied greatly upon his shrewdness and foresight for my safety. But he had a motive for all. He had a daughter at school in German y — a very handsome and ladylike girl. I was surprised when he told me about it, but the man was himself fairly educated and most inordinately ambitious ; and he had determined to bring up his daughter as a lady. When we arranged to visit the colonies he asked permission for her to accompany him. I did not object ; indeed, at first I saw little of her — he kept her always in the background; but you can guess — ah, Diana, can you guess — what his sole obiect from first to last has been ?" A dim suspicion flashed across me — " Surely, Robert — surely," I said, slowly, "he did not want you to marry her '?" " He did," answered Robert. I laughed, the idea seemed so absurd ; but my laughter soon ceased, for I saw that Robert looked very grave. "Ah, Diana, you may well laugh," he said; "I laughed too, at first, so did Howard, but on second thoughts we found it looked too serious for laughter. Blake was thoroughly in earnest and most determined. He told me, first of all, that he could give some most important evidence on my behalf, if I would consent; if I would not, he would become as bitter a foe as he had been a staunch ally, and would never rest until he had given me u-p to justice, in fact he told me that I should find it almost impossible even then to leave that town except as a prisoner. But I laughed at him and his threats ; I did not believe be knew anythiug so important as he professed to know, and I scorned the idea that he could prevent my escape ; at the ' same time I knew he would be a most dangerous foe, and that I should need all possible caution. I told him I would consider the matter. Howard and I both laughed heartily at the presumption of the man when we were alone, and set to work to plan a way of escape from him. We were in Australia then, and we managed to outwit him, for we reached New Zealand, s® we thought, without detection. But we deceived ourselves, it appears ; at any rate, he has found me out again." " What are you going to do, Robert ?" I whispered. "It depends ispon you, Diana, entirely upod you," said Robert slowly and very hesitatingly. "Upon me?" I repeated, with a beating heart. "Yes, upon you, darling," said Robert, folding his arms tightly round me ; "if you fail me, I know not what I shall <io." "Tell me what you mean," I whispered, utterly bewildered.

"I am ashamed and afraid to tell you," said Eobert, hesitating almost ovei* each word. " Promise me first that ycu will not Be angry." I promised, without even pausing to consider. " I wanted to marry you openly and ' honorably, long ago, did I not," asked Robert, gently, " but your parents thwarted me. I was so anzious to make sure of ycu without delay, for I felt certain Blake would turn up again ere long. I can never marry you openly now, Diana. Will you , marry me secretly and at once ?" i I started violently ; tins at least had never entered my thoughts. , I was so confused and startled that for a moment I could not ' speak. Bobert mistook my silence. ! "Nay, my darling, do not be angry," he pleaded. " I love you so well that I cannot give you up. And if you refuse, there will be nothing else left to me. Listen, Diana ! I have thought over Blake's proposals long and calmly. I came to the conclusion that it would be a dangerous thing for me to make a bitter foe of him in the position lam in now. Ido not believe I should ever leave New Zealand, except as a prisoner, and I cannot risk the smallest additional chance of that. Perhaps I am not so good as I ought to be, Diana; for it seemed so much easier and pleasanter for me to take a crooked path that I did not hesitate very long this time. I have promised him — at least I have consented" He stopped short, in great confusion and agitation, and turned away from me. "Eobert," I said, coldly, "you promised to marry her." " Yes," he answered, hoarsely. " A man connot love two wives," I wont on, more coldly still. "If you marry me, you cannot marry her." " Oh, Diana, listen ! you don't understand!" he cried, hurriedly, taking me again in his arms, in spite of my resistance. "Marry me first, my darling. I can go through an empty form with her ; it will satisfy Blake. I told him I would never acknowledge her as my wife, never perhaps speak to her afterwards. So long as he thinks she is my wife, and can claim her rights some day, he is satisfied." "But, Eobert," I said, " have you thought of the future — when you Avill be restored to your home and friends. What then ?" "If that time ever comes," he answered, " a few thousand pounds will set that all right, and lie will take it thankfully. He would not gain anything- by prosecuting me for bigamy; and money is nothing to" me. I am rich enough, even now, to buy him up body and soul. I have a large fortune in my own right, and if I can claim my right I shall be one of the richest men in England in the far-off future. Think, Diana ; think it calmly over ; ask yourself if I was much to blame after all." "Does the girl love you, liobert ?" I asked, after a short silence. "Not she," answered Robert, readily. "She is ambitious, like her father; and she knows she is beautiful and accomplished. She has been educated far beyond her position. She does not love me an atom." I knew not what to say or think : my brain seemed all in a whirl. One thing I was certain of — I could not decide then. "If you will marry me, Diana," went on Robert, gently, " we may be happy together yet, even if I have to spend my life in exile, borne day in the distant future, when you are alone in the world, we can steal away to some far-off corner of the earth, where we can live in peace. People would only say I was an awful scamp to desert my wife, and no one would know where you had gone. There would be no sin in that, Diana ; but if you will not marry me first, my marriage with her will be legal, and there will be nothing for xis but eternal separation. Think of that, darling." I did think of it, and shuddered at the thought. Need I repeat any more of what passed between us—all the arguments and persuasions, all the loving words and entreaties that. Robert made use of to induce me to consent to his wishes ? I did not yield at once, but I promised to have my answer ready the following evening, when Robert said he would be able to come again to the house, as usual. " How shall 1 wait till then?" he said wistfully—" nearly twenty -four hours of suspense, Diana ! Will it take you so long- to make up your mind?" " There are so many considerations involved in it, Robert," I said gravely. "Oh! if I might but ask my mother," I added with involuntary fervour. " I wish with aM my heart you might," said Robert, with equal ■ fervour. . "But, Diana, dearest, under the circumstances it is impossible." • I knew it, and it was a most bitter thing" to me, accustomed as I had been from childhood to confide every treuble to that faithful and loving guide. It was long after midnight when we. .parted — when I crept back again to my room, slyly and stealthily as I had left it. I felt instinctively that life had changed for me in those two short hours ; that never again should I be the careless, candid,' straightforward Diaaa of days gone by. Henceforth I should have a secret — hateful thing ! Henceforth I should have to guard and keep it, to hide' it away from mortal eyes, to shudder and to tremble with" terror for its safety ; for I knew well how I should decide; I knew, even while Eobert argued aad pleaded with me; I knew long before I had entered my room again. My

heart told me I should yield, and I didT Ah, well ! I have no excuse to make for myself. When Robert came on the. following' evening, and we strolled out together in the grounds as usual, I gave him my answer. He thanked me with a rapturous gratitude and passionate love that removed the stingof conscience while I was with him. He told me that he should have to leave Edendale almost immediately— probably never to> return ; that Blake had gone back to the town where he had left his daughter, and that he (Eobert) had promised to marry her within a fortnight. Eobert colored deeply and looked confused and miserable as h&\ told me this. " I have pledged him my word of honorto be there at the appointed time," he said,, "and the man knows that that is a sacred bond. I shall be free from his espionage until then. But, Diana, we shall have to> exercise the utmost caution to carry out our own plans." "Are you quite sure," I asked, in ignorant simplicity, " quite sure that west all never be found out ? " Eobert laughed. "Nothing is sure in this world," heanswered ; ' ' but I will tell you all my:' plans, and try to set your mind at rest."

(To be continued.)