|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 95
"I--I'm afraid I don't quite understand," said Jack. "I never suspected
anything of the sort, though I remember that my mother rarely spoke of
her early life."
"That was her secret," replied Sir Lucius, "and she intended that it
should be revealed to you after her death. Read these; they will tell
you all!"
Sir Lucius produced three papers from his pocket. Jack took them, and
he uttered an exclamation of astonishment as he saw that one was a
certificate of his mother's marriage, and another one of his own birth.
The third paper was a letter of a dozen closely written sheets, in the
dead hand that was so familiar to him. As he read on, his face showed
various emotions.
"My poor mother, how she suffered!" he said when he had finished the
letter. "It is a strange story, Sir Lucius. So my mother was your
sister, and Victor Nevill was the son of another sister, which makes him
my cousin. My mother knew all these things, and yet she never told me!"
"She had the family pride," Sir Lucius answered, with a sigh. "As for
Victor Nevill, I regret that the blood of the Chesneys runs in his
veins. But he is no longer any kin of mine--I disown him and cast him
out. The letter does not speak so harshly of me as I deserve. Your
mother, Mary, was my youngest and favorite sister--I loved her the more
because my wife had died childless soon after my marriage. I got a
clever young artist, Ralph Clare, down to Priory Court to paint Mary's
portrait, little foreseeing what would happen. She fell in love with
him, and fled to become his wife. It was a blow to my family pride, and
my anger was stronger than my grief. I vowed that I would never forgive
her, and when she wrote to me--once a short time after her flight, and
again ten years later--I returned her letters unopened. Her elder sister
was as obdurate as myself, and refused to have anything to do with her.
After the death of Elizabeth--that was Victor Nevill's mother--I began
to feel that I had been too harsh with Mary. My remorse grew, giving me
no rest, until recently I determined to find her. But I might never
have succeeded had not mere chance helped me. I was struck by your
resemblance to Mary when I first met you in Lamb and Drummond's shop--"
He paused for a moment, struggling with emotion.
"My boy, believe that I am truly repentant," he added. "I have no kith
or kin left but you--you alone can fill the empty void in my heart. You
must reign some day at Priory Court. Will you forgive me, as your mother
did at the last?"
For an instant Jack hesitated. He remembered the sad story he had
just read--the story of his father's illness and death, his mother's
subsequent privations, and the grief caused by her brother's cruel
conduct, which continued to cloud her life after a distant relative
bequeathed to her a comfortable legacy. Then he recalled the last words
of the letter, and his face softened.
"I forgive you freely, Sir Lucius," he said. "My mother wished me to
bear you no malice, and I cannot disregard that."
"God bless you, my boy," replied Sir Lucius. "You have made me very
happy."
"Come, cheer up!" put in Jimmie. "This is an occasion for rejoicing. I
have a bottle of champagne, and we'll drink it to the health of the new
heir."
The wine was produced and opened, and Jack responded to the toast.
"There is one thing that puzzles me, Sir Lucius," he said. "How did
these papers come into your hands? They could not have been among my
mother's effects."
"Are you aware," replied Sir Lucius, "that on the night after your
mother's death her house in Bayswater was broken into by a burglar?"
"Yes; I remember that."
"Well, the burglar carried off, among other things that were of little
value, this packet of papers. He concealed them at his lodgings in
Kentish Town, and he chose a curious and ingenious hiding-place--a
recess behind a loose brick in the wall of the house, just below his
window. Shortly afterward the rascal--his name was Noah Hawker--was
caught at another crime, and sent to penal servitude for a term of
years. On his release last spring, on ticket-of-leave, he went abroad,
and when he returned to England several weeks ago he resurrected the
papers from their place of security, studied them, and saw an
opportunity for gain. He knew that they concerned three persons--you,
Victor Nevill and myself--and he was cunning enough to start with
Victor. He hunted him up and offered to sell the papers for a thousand
pounds. My nephew agreed to buy them, intending to destroy them and thus
retain his position as my sole heir--"
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|