LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 3438, 18 April 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ONE FATAL NIGHT,

My father had taken honours at Oxford, but his health, not particularly robust, partly gave way under the strain of hard work and late hours. Nevertheless, after being five years in orders, he found himself one morning rector of a comfortable country living, from which he was not to be promoted. Ho did not live long enough to occupy the stall, or wear the apron, that might one day be his. Whilst a curate at Exby he had fallen in love with Lady Annie Norton, and she with him. They kept their secret until he became rector of Coinbe- Carden. Then in fear and much inward misgiving, yet not without boldness, he went up and asked the earl for his youngest daughter.

The earl, after some little hesitation, gave hiß consent. The engagement of the Rev George Wellesloy and the Lady Annie Norton was announced to the world, and in due time the marriage took place. The Earl of Norwich was not a rich man, and her dowry consisted of one thousand pounds only This tun was spent in enlarging and improving the

recto v y i an d they settled down in one of the prettiest homeß in England. But she suddenly died. In less than a fortnight her place knew her no more. I can just remember her. A sma.U ; gentle, loveable lady, with a quiet, musical voice — that most excellent thing in woman — * soft tread, and one of the loveliest faces ever seen iu the world. My father, so to say, never looked up after his wife's death. Iu lesa than a year lie was laid beside my mother in tlw small churchyard of Combe-Carden, and the living passed into strange hands. I was takca to London, to my uncle. Henceforth his bouse became my home. Here I breathed a very different atmosphere, morally as weli/ as * physically, from that I had just quitted. .Child though I was, I realised the change. The atmosphere x.2 peace, of extreme' .refinement', was exchanged for that of wetvtfcii, luxury, and fashion. My uncle was tec years my father's senior. He had early shown remarkable talents for finance, and entered, the great banking house of Marlow and Mar-low. The credit of the firm stood second" to none in the city, and eight years after enteiong it my uncle had become a' partner. Immediately after thie, he married Jane Marlow, only ; daughter o£ the younger of the two >iv>therß, with whom he had a large dowry ; . ml thus found liimaelf launched, on all sides, on (lie ihill tide of prosperity. Mrs Eustace Wellesley was a woman amicable only for her husband. Her passionate love for him made her, in one sense, a good wife. But she was jiroud, ambitious ; in temper hasty and unforgiving. Her hopce were- centred upon one child, a son ; born live years after the marriage. John Wellesley was nearly four ysars my senior. The boy was indulged by his mother until he was rendered selfish, regardless of the feelings of others, and taught to believe that his will and way were to rule the world. Almost from the first day I entered their house, I was made to suffer at his hands. Petty tyranny, slights and small insults- of every description this boy of eight visited upon me. Mrs Wellesley took an equal dislike to mo. I should have been banished to school over and over again, and probably hove been the happier, but it pleased her vain mind to be able to show me off as her nephew, "the grandson of tho Earl of Norwich." So- time went on. At thirteen John went to Eton, and my life became comparatively happy and tranquil. At thirteen, I also followed in his footsteps. Ihe following year mx aunt died. My uncle never married again. He applied himself more closely than ever to business, and only relaxed when his boys were at home. He called iis both his boys, and invariably treated us alike. Again the time went on. I went to Cambridge, and took honours without difficulty. I had inherited my father's talents, but not his delicate health. I was stror . and a head taller than my cousin. The worm said I had inherited the good looks of both my parents ; a subject that troubled me little, uutil — but I must not anticipate.

John left Cambridge three years before I did. That is to say, when I went up lie went down. Thus wo did not clash in oiucollege life. My cousin had two ruling passions—his love of wealth, which led him to do inconceivably mean and close things ; and a love of diamonds. Not the littleness which desires to wear them about the person ; his mania was to collect unset atones of the purest water. A magnificent specimen w<is sure to find a customer in him, if he could spare the sum at the moment. I lei't college. Possessing the required gifts for the profession, I decided to become a barrister. I was a ready speaker j had a powerful and singularly retentive memory ; was quick at s-ii/.incr the points of a case. Therefore i chos • the bar ; and, with my uncle's full b.v :-lion, entered myself at the Inner Temple. I remember well a conversation I had with my uncle Eustace at this time, and his concluding words. °

" George," said he, "you have now chosen your path in. life. I think you have chosen wisely. With your powers ' and energies the highest honours of the law may in time become yours. Hard work lies before you ." " I am not afraid of that, sir," 1 modestly put in.

" I was about to say bo," returned my uncle ; " I could almost have wished a similar prospect for John. But his lot will be different from yours, His fortune is mude ; you have to make your own— as I have made mine, The back is fitted to the burden."

My uncle sighed •, wlietlver at llvo buvden of his immenso wealth, or at the thought that his son, though rich, would never be distinguished, I could hardly toll. "I have cared for you almost equally," ho continued ; you, George, tho son of my dearly loved brother, have been almost as my own son "

" And you, sir," I interrupted with emotion, " have been ever as a kind and tender father to mo. But for you I should have been an outcast upon the world. I can as little repay your goodness as I can ever forgot it."

" You have never ceased to repay mo," returned my uncle, almost severely, for ho rarely allowed Ilia feelings to be seen ; " but;," he added, alluding to himself for the first and last time in his life, " I feel that I have not many years before me. Even now it behoves me to be setting my house in order; to be squaring up my accounts for the Great Day of Reckoning. It comes to us all in turn. To you I shall give £10,000. At any rate, it will be a small independence." 1 was called to the bar. As my aunt had died almost at my entrance upon school life, so my uncle died when I commenced my public career. It was my first great grief. I had been too young to realise the lob3 of my parents. My uncle had been, in every sense of the word, a father to me. But now :i strange circumstance arose. My uncle's will had been made six months before his death. In it, as he had promised, he left me £10,000. But whether his mind had become less clear through illness, or whethor the legal difficulty arose through the stupidity of the lawyers who drew up the document, it was so worded that the executor, my cousin John Wellesley, could avoid paying it if he chose. The wish of the testator was perfectly clear. In every sense the executor was morally, though not legally, bound to carry it out. John availed himself of the flaw. Ho declared that he would not pay the legacy. He had himself come into a fortune of £500,000, besides the magnificent estate of Wellesley Hall, in Suffolk, with its 9000 acree, which my uncle had purchased. Yet the demon of avarice so possessed him that he found himself unable to part with a fraction of the wealth ha had inherited. He threw conscience to the winds. By a peculiar logic of his own he persuaded himself that he was doing right. He offered me a compromise. He would make mo a present of £1000, to keep mo going, as ho termed it, until the briefs came in. This I indignantly rejected. I would not take a tenth portion as a present of that which was mine by right. Though I left my cousin's house I did not break with him. He was having his day. He had revenged himself upon me for having become an interloper in his house. All the world was before him to choose as he would. Yet I felt that my day would also come. And somehow I never envied him his wealth, hia position, or the smiles of the world. Nay, I would not have changed places with him.

One December John and I were invited to spend Christmas with the Earl of Norwich. The carl was now an old man of eighty. Three of his daughters had married, three had grown into old maids ; pleasant, genial women, nevertheless, with traceß of fadod beauty and disappointed hope in their faces. John, no doubt, had been invited on the chance of his falling in love with one or other of the two granddaughters then at; ving iti the house. I, simply because it won. .1 have beon too pointed to leave mo oul;. We wont down together into Norfolk. Erlsmore, iny grandfather's place, was ten miles honi th» station. A carriage awaited us with powdered, coachmen and footmen, and all the outward symbols of pomp and prido. Had I been alone, although the earl's grandson, I should probably have found a dog-curi in waiting, and been equally grateful. Loyb oi" splendour was never one of my besetting sins. All this was intended for the master oi Wellesley, and the possessor of half a million. Thi glorious day was now drawing to a close. The sun was pinking westward. The air was bright with fro9t. Snow had fullon, and the branches of the trees were white with crystals that glittered in the sun. All nature, far as vhe eye could reach, was clothed in the samo hue. The sky was now clear, savo for a few white clouds that floated here and tbcro. As the sun dipped, it flooded the whole landscaoo with a rosy light inexpressibly lovely and charming. "Do you still keep up your lovo for diamonds?" I asked, on the impulse, of tho moment, as we drove along. 1 ■ More than ever," was tho brief answer.

" And still oollecfc them ?"

" More than ever," he repeated ; "I n m to. nbte to go in foy ray mania, if you chQQg

to call it so. I Ixave the largest imsefc private collection probably in tho world." " Then they must be worth something" % remarked, « ,f they are all of tho first water." Of the very first water," ho replied; "I should nerer dream of collecting any otherThey must be worth not leas than jfiIOOjOOO. 7 * I think I realised in that moment, as I had never yet done, the power of wealth and its extent. That a man, without moving & muscle of his face or changing a shad3 in the tone of his voice, could thus speak of so largtf a sum or of such a collection. " What if they were stolen from you." For an inslant a slight shudder passed through him. Then he smiled in self-con-fidence. " I could as soon suppose the mint robbed," ihe retorted .juietly ; "they :re too well secured to be easily found." ' " At your bankers., porhiip? :' "In my own house. Bo easy G.^rge. They arc safe. I will tell yon 'vW -." "Nofcfor worlds,"'! h. >. j"I will not be the repository of i uvii a secret. If they vrere lost you might suspect me of iiaving stolen them." " Scarcely," he replied, lauglring, "we bear si mme to shame unknown." Perhaps I thought differently. [To be continued.]