“The Heirs of Heritage,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 20 July 1934, Page 7

“The Heirs of Heritage,”

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT,

CHAPTER lll.—Continued. “No. I’d rather stay. I couldn’t rest away from you, darling. But you try to.” “Presently. You won’t forget, my son. You’ll do everything I asked you ? ’’ “Yes, yes, Mother. - You know I will.” “And you’ll keep in touch with Heritage, and go down sometimes — whether your grandfather wants you or not? I’d like to think of you learning to love the old place, although it will never be yours. But you’ve a greater heritage than that, Tony, for you were born of love, my son, and that’s the greatest heritage of all—and the only thing that really matters in this world —and the next. I’d like to have lived to see you mated. At least I think I would. ’ ’

She closed her eye's and lay silent for a time, the “Mona Lisa” smile on her pale lips. Still holding her limp hand in both of hisi, he sat beside her, watching her with anguished eyes. At the other side the Sister watched gravely, one hand on her wrist, feeling for the feeble, fluttering pulse.It seemed to him afterwards that lie had sat there for hours, though actually it was only a few minutes, before she opened her eyes again, and stared, not at him, but straight in front of him, with a rapt, ecstatic gaze. “Tony!” she said, softly. “Tony! At last, dear heart!” But it was not to her son she spoke. He saw the light fade from her eyes, heard the little sigh with which her spirit passed, and slipped on his knees beside the bed, hiding his face. The Sister’s hand on his shoulder roused him. He stumbled to his feet, and allowed her to lead him away, into a little room nearby, where he pulled himself together sufficiently to thank her brokenly, and go on his way. Someone rose from a bench in the hall and took his arm. Tim had been but

a few miles behind him all the Avay up, and had been waiting for him for the last hour. Tony looked at him dully, too dazed with grief and fatigue to wonder how he got there. Tim asked no question. A glance at the drawn face told him the news. “Hard luck, dear old chap,” he said huskily. “And you’re just about done up. Come on. We’d better be getting round to your place. Got your kev?” CHAPTER IV.—MR. HERITAGE. After parting with Tony Hylton, Abel Dudfield went slowly down the neglected avenue, cogitating whether or not to say anything to his master, Mr Gilbert Heritage, of this meeting. If he did broach the forbidden subject of “Miss Marian,” after so many years he must, of course, be prepared for an icy rebuke and rebuff at the very least, and possibly for a long period" of displeasure and consequent discomfort.

However angry Mr Heritage might be, it was unlikely that he would dismiss him. Under any circumstances the old man would not readily find anyone to serve him as faithfully as Abel Dudfield had done, man and boy, for nearly half a .century, and in his present and apparently permanent state of poverty, it was doubtful if he would secure anyone at all to look after his beloved horses, the most valuable of his personal possessions today, for the old mansion and its immediate surroundings, gardens, park, and paddock, all that remained to him of his once wide and rich acres, were mortgaged up to the hilt. Then apart from all considerations of self, if Dudfield upset him, he would probably be “in a temper” for days to come, and in that case, would undoubtedly “take it out of the ladies”

in some way or other, poor fragile Mrs Richard, his nephew’s widow, and her daughter, Miss Joan, who, with some four or five old servants comprised the household at The Hall. They had enough “to put up with” as it was. Abel often wondeerd how they, and Miss Joan especially, did “put up with it.” He loved his master, in his way, with a dog-like devotion, but was under no illusion about him, knew him through and through, and did not approve of many of his ways, though he’d have been ready to fight any man who dared utter any criticism of Mr Heritage in his hearing. - 1-Ie had not made up his mind on the vexed question when he reached his own abode, the lower lodge, counterpart of that at the upper entrance, now for some years occupied by Miss Lucy Forde, daughter of the late vicar, and her younger brother, Captain George Forde, hopelessly maimed and crippled.

And here, coming along the Low Road, were Miss Forde herself, with her brother in his wheeled chair, and two girls, Polly Stockton, of the Manor Farm, pushing the chair, and Joan Heritage walking alongside with the elder lady. It was the group Tony and Tim had noticed leaving the cricket field, taking the long way home, for the avenue was an easier gradient for the invalid’s chair than up the steep village street. Abel went forward briskly to meet them. He would take counsel of Miss Forde, who would certainly be interested, for she had known Marian Heritage from her birth, and loved the girl well. Moreover she was the one person in the neighbourhood who was accorded, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say who took, the privileges of old friendship with Mr Heritage and was wont to speak her mind to him on occasion, cheerfully and daunt-

lessly. J-Tis tidings created something of a sensation with them all. “Marian’s son!’’ cried Miss Lucy. “Arc you sure, Dudfield?’’ “Certain sure, m’am. I rekernized h;m thCj, minute I clapped eyes on him. Von couldn’t mistake him for anyone, hut a Heritage, by nature, whatever his name, and, of course, when he told me that, I knew it was him, for don’t T remember his father, as nice a young gentleman .as ever was, except that he was no horseman, as was his misfortune and not his fault, so to speak. Lord, how it conies bac kto me! The times I held her horse, bless her, and played gooseberry, so to speak, when she used to meet him in the woods on the sly. Wasn’t it me as drove her into Cirencester to pick up the Southampton train when she run away to

(To be Continued)

BY JOHN IRONSIDE. (Author of “Lady Pamela’s Pearls,” “The Crime and the Casket,” ‘ ‘ The Black Slia dow, ” etc).

him to-morrow. But what about his grandfather? Are you going to tell Mr Heritage, Dudfield?” “I was just wondering if I ought to, ma’am.” “Well he ought to know, of course.” “But you know what the old man is, Miss Lucy. There’s no saying how he’d take it. Now if you was to tell him—” Miss Forde laughed. “I see, Dudfield. All right, I’ll take, the bull by the horns. I expect he’ll come round this evening to hear all the news as usual, and I’ll tell him then. ’ ’

“You can tell him now. Here he comes,” said Polly, and resumed her way, pushing the chair, a whimsical smile on her pretty lips, her blue eyes gazing straight ahead, deliberately ignoring tile tall figure now seen advancing towards them down the avenue, with an old cocker spaniel pacing demurely at his heels. Abel Dudfield promptly retreated indoors, and the others continue their way beside the chair. Tall and slim, with a fine upright carriage, Gilbert Heritage looked much younger than his seventy odd years. A handsome man still, though, in repose, his face was marred by the hard expression of his hawk eyes, by the habitual frown that furrowed his forehead, the peevish droop of the thin-lipped mouth, and the obstinate chin. It brightened with a charming smile, however, as he greeted Miss Forde, raising his cap, and then lifting a hand in salute to Forde.

He ignored Polly, as she ignored him. He considered the Stocktons vulgar upstarts, who had ousted him from the greater part of his lands. A most unjust and unfounded prejudice, for the land had been sold years before, by the mortgagees, who were forced to forecloshe, and Frank Stockton had bought it and the old Manor House at a fair, even a generous price. It was not his fault that the moneylenders profited thereby, but in his narrow, obstinate mind Mr Heritage was convinced that the Stocktons were cheats and interlopers, and had sedulously avoided any direct intercourse whatsoever with them.

Therefore he disapproved, but found himself pnable to prevent, the friendship that had arisen between his greatniece and Polly, the Stocktons’ only child. This one-sided feud maintained by the futile old man was a standing source of amusement to the Stocktons, who were much too busy and too tolerant to resent it. -

So now Polly and her charge passed on, while the other halted. Heritage exchanged a few words with Miss Forde, then glanced censoriously at Joan and asked frigidly: “Where are your gloves?” “Here,” she answered serenely, half pulling out an immaculate white doeskin pair from the pocket of her cardigan. “They last so much longer this way! ’ ’ “ How often have I requested you —?” he began, when Miss Lucy hastily intervened. “Oh, Joan! They’ve gone on without the key, and won’t be able to get it. Run after them with it, there’s a dear! ’ ’

Joan took the key, exchanged a glance of perfect understanding with Miss Lucy, and went on up the winding drive, passing out of sight, and overtaking the others before they reached the lodge. Polly was in the act of unlocking the door, the while they discussed Dudfield’s news, when Miss Lucy appeared, walking rapidly, flushed, breathless, indignant. “Well?” they demanded in unison. “Just what one might have expected! Though I did think he would have come to his senses at last. But he really is incorrigible.” “What did he say?”

“Nothing for a mrf/nent or two. He was taken by surprise, and stood poking the gravel with liis stick. Then he said, quite politely—you know his wfl y—‘My dear Lucy, my daughter died —to me—the day she left her home and married against my will. I must ask you, not for the first time, never to mention her name, to me again.’ With that he raised his cap, wheeled round, and walked off—a regular right-about-face quick march! No mattei. We’ll give the boy a. welcome, ourselves, to-morrow, and get in touch with his mother again. I hope. I wonder what she’s like! Dear me, she must be about forty-three or four now! ”

him? Though her father don’t know that to this day. If he’d known then, he’d have fired me out, sure enough.” “And he’s coming over again torn or row?” “That’s so, ma’am. Him and his friend. Bright and early.” “You must bring him up to see me!” i .

“I will, ma’am. I’d have brought him in, there and then, only I knew you was down at the match.” “Why, they must have been the two we noticed just as we were coming out,” exclaimed Polly Stockton, a pretty girl, with frank blue eyes, and a ready smile. “You noticed them—or the tall one, didn’t you?” she asked Captain Forde. “I did. And that accounts for it. I thought I knew him, or ought to know him. The likeness of course. What an amazing thing.” “I didn’t see either of them. I wish I had!” said Miss Forde. “No. It was just when you and Joan turned back to speak to the vicar. They rode off a moment later.” “Then he’s my cousin! I wish I’d seen him,” said Joan, tall and slim, with the hazel eyes and bronze hair of the Heritages, very like Tony’s. She and Polly Stockton, short, fair, plump, were close friends, and a greater contrast than they presented could scarcely be found, representing two absolutely different, but undeniable, types of beauty. “Come up to the lodge and see