by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER XIII.
A VAIN PURSUIT.
For nearly a mile Sophy ran, hope and excitement lending her unnaturalstrength and speed. Then for a little time she broke into a walk,drawing her breath in short quick sobs. She looked round as she stoppedrunning, but there was no light on the road behind her, nothing to tellof pursuit. Before she had walked a hundred yards, she again turned, andfar behind her along the straight road she saw the two bright lights,and felt that it was the gig in pursuit, felt, too, that she could neverreach Canterbury before she was overtaken. She turned again to run, forher only thought now was of flight. On one side of the road ran a deepdyke full of water, on the other the country was open, so that had shethought of leaving the road and concealing herself, she could still havedone so. But no such thought entered her mind; her only hope was to gainthe town in time, or if overtaken to defend the will with her life.Could she have run with her former speed, she would have been there, buther breath came short and hard, and she could scarcely keep at a pacebeyond a walk. Once or twice she looked wildly over her shoulder. Thelights gained fast, terribly fast, upon her; she had not much farther togo, but she felt that before that little was past, the gig would be upto her. She could hear the sound of wheels, and of the galloping horsebehind her, but the barracks were close to her now, and if she could butenter them she would be safe; but the gig was gaining too fast upon her,and as she reached the corner of the barracks it was just behind her.She stopped suddenly in the middle of the road, and before the horsecould be pulled up he was almost upon her. She levelled her pistol andfired in his face; she did not wound him, but startled, by the flash andreport close to his eyes, the animal reared up, struck wildly out withits forefeet, and then wheeling round, dashed back at full speed, alongthe road it had come. Sophy continued her flight: on through theturnpike the bar of which stood across the road; along by the side ofthe long iron railings, and past the closed entrance to the cavalrybarracks; she could hear her pursuers behind her again, but feeble andslow as her pace was now, she felt that she was saved. Breathless andfaint, stumbling and nearly falling, she held on as far as the gate ofthe infantry barracks. It was open, and a party of officers were justcoming in from the town.
She was but just in time; for she could hear footsteps following fastbehind her, for on reaching the gate Father Eustace had not waited forit to be opened, but had leaped out and had run on on foot. Sophy didnot hesitate a moment, but rushed in among the group of officers. Sheclung to the one nearest to her, with a hoarse cry, and panted out,"Save me! I am a woman; I am Mr. Harmer's grand-daughter, and this ishis will: don't give it up--don't let him have it--don't let"--and Sophysank in a lifeless heap at the officers' feet. When she first began tospeak, there had been a general exclamation of astonishment, but nowthey all clustered round her, and the eldest of them raised her from theground. He had hardly done so, when the group was broken again, andFather Eustace burst in among them: "I charge you to deliver that man upto me; he is a thief--he has stolen a deed, a document of value. Ah!" heexclaimed suddenly, seeing it in the hand of the officer, into whosehold Sophy had thrust it when she came in, and who still retained it inhis hand, although hardly knowing that he did so, so surprised andbewildered were they all by this strange scene.
"You have it--give it to me, sir," and he made an effort to snatch atit.
"No, no, sir," the officer said. "The priest or woman, or whatever itis, begged me to keep it, and I don't even know that it belongs to you;what do you say, major?"
"Certainly not," said the officer who was porting Sophy; "by no means,Featherstone. This is a serious matter."
Father Eustace again made an effort to possess himself of the will. Hesaw the labour of years slipping from him now, and he would have stoppedat nothing to regain the will. He again pushed forward, exclaiming--
"It is my paper--it is my paper; she has stolen it. You dare not keep itfrom me."
"Stand back, sir," the young officer who was holding the will said, "orelse, priest or no priest, down you go."
"Sir," the major said, "violence will do no good here, nor are we likelyto be alarmed at your threats. This is a very serious affair. I wasstationed here eight years ago, and I was then often over at Mr.Harmer's, and knew his grand-daughter well. I do not know whether thisperson dressed as a man is she, but I have heard that she ran away manyyears ago, and that at Mr. Harmer's death the will which would have madeher his heiress was missing. For aught I know that paper which she hasjust brought in may be the will after all. Hold it up to the light,Featherstone, and see what it says."
"By Jove, major!" the young officer said, examining it, "it is endorsed'The last will and testament of Herbert Harmer,' sure enough."
"It is a forgery," the priest broke out, "it is an infamous forgery. Iinsist on having it. I warn you at your peril, sir, to detain it."
"I will take the risk of that, sir," the major said coolly; "and as yousay it was stolen from you, it is evident that the forgery, if it beone, was not committed by this person here. Your own words convict you,sir. There, say no more. My name is Charteris--Major Charteris, and anycharge you may bring against this lady, for so I believe her to be, Iwill be responsible that she shall appear to answer it, and I will holdthis will till it is proved who is the proper person to take charge ofit. I have nothing more to say, sir. Hankey, help me to carry this ladyup to my rooms. Leighton, I wish you would run up to the mess-room, andask the doctor to come round to my quarters at once."
And so the officers moved off in a body, talking among themselves of thestrange event, the two priests, one a woman, and the will, which seemedof such importance. "'Pon my soul, it's quite a romance;" and so talkingthey went up towards their barracks, leaving the priest standing, rigidand ghastly, looking after them. How long he might have stood there,with a strange whirl of despairing thoughts surging up in his heart, Icannot say. He stood there till the sergeant of the guard who had heardall that had passed, after speaking to him twice, and receiving noanswer, came up and touched him on the shoulder, and said--
"I am going to close the gate, sir."
The priest looked at him for a moment as if not understanding him, thenhe threw up his hands despairingly, and with a low moaning cry, turnedround and went out as if in a dream. Mechanically he got up into his gigwhich was standing there, and then with a wild hopeless look in hiseyes, he cowered down, while his servant drove the weary horse off intothe darkness again.
Major Charteris was a married man, and his wife at once took charge ofSophy, and with the maid's assistance undressed the insensible woman andput her into bed, by which time the doctor arrived. But it was a longtime before she showed any signs of returning consciousness.
Presently the major went down into the mess-room where the otherofficers were sitting, discussing this singular adventure, smoking manycigars and pipes over their consultation, and making various bets as tothe result. His entrance was greeted with a shout--
"Well, major, how is the fair priest?"
"She is very ill," the major said seriously, "she has recovered from herfaint, but she is quite unconscious, and the doctor talks about brainfever."
"Is she Mr. Harmer's grand-daughter, major?"
"I cannot say for certain, Featherstone, although I should think thatshe is, but she is so changed I should not have known her again in theleast; besides, all her hair is cut close."
"Let us hear all you know about it, major. What was the will about?"
"I left here nearly a year before Mr. Harmer's death, so I do not knowmuch about it. But I remember at that time it was stated that he hadleft his property between this girl, whose name was Sophy, and thechildren of a Dr. Ashleigh. By the way, that reminds me, I met MissAshleigh in the High Street only yesterday. I knew her again directly,and some one told me she was living with an old woman namedMapleback--no Mapleside, or something of that sort, in the terracelooking over the market. I know she was a great friend of Sophy's, forwe used to talk a good deal about it at that time, a
s this Sophy was thegreat heiress of the county. I will go up at once, and get her to comedown to the poor woman."
"But, major, it is half-past twelve."
"I can't help that," the major said; "it is right the poor woman,whether she be this Sophy or not, should have her friends by her ifpossible; besides, if this will is correct--which I have no doubt, orthe priest would not be so anxious about it--it is but right that MissAshleigh should know of it, as if I remember rightly her share is twentyor thirty thousand pounds."
"By Jove!" one of them said, as the major went out, "I wish that someone would wake me up to-night and tell me I had come into a fortune."
And so they continued talking the matter over while Major Charteris wentdown into the town.
It was about one o'clock when I was woke up by a loud knocking at thedoor. I thought it must be a mistake, but after a minute it wasrepeated. I got up and went to the window, and heard Hannah movingoverhead. In another minute I heard her throw up her window and ask,--
"What is the matter?"
Then I heard a man's voice below saying,--
"I am really very sorry to disturb you, but does not Miss Ashleigh livehere?"
"Yes she does," Hannah said; "but what do you want at this time ofnight?"
"My name is Major Charteris. I must speak to Miss Ashleigh at once. Itis a matter of great importance, almost of life and death, or I wouldnot disturb her at this hour. Please give her my message."
I had struck a light by this time, and began dressing hurriedly. Whatcould he want? what could be the matter? I opened the door and calledout to Hannah to put on her things at once, and that I would be ready infive minutes. I do not think I was ever so puzzled in my life as I waswhile I was dressing at that time. I could not form the slightestconjecture what it could be about--not the slightest. If I had not heardhim speak, and listened to his regular tramp as he walked up and downoutside, I should have thought that he must have been drinking, and thatall this must be some tipsy frolic. But the earnest, steady tones of hisvoice precluded the possibility of this supposition; and I really couldform no other. I do not think I was more than five minutes dressing, andputting my hair in a net, and just as I was ready I heard Hannah comingdownstairs. I went out of my room, and down into the parlour. I lit thetwo candles on the mantelpiece, and then stood anxiously waiting whileHannah unbolted the front door; in another minute the major entered.
"Miss Ashleigh," he began at once, "I had the pleasure of knowing yousome years ago, and I trust that you are assured that I would notneedlessly disturb you at this time of the night; but I am sure you willexcuse my so doing when you know the cause. You were once great friends,I believe, with Mr. Harmer's grand-daughter,--do you know where she isnow?"
"I must first know why you ask, Major Charteris."
"I ask, because at the present moment there is a woman in my quarters inbarracks; how she got there I will tell you presently--she is in chargeof my wife. She says she is Mr. Harmer's grand-daughter; but whethertruly or not, I cannot say. If she is, she is so much altered that Ishould not have known her."
"Yes, yes," I said, "no doubt it is Sophy. I know she is in this part ofthe country; but what is the matter with her? and how came she in thebarracks?"
"She came in for refuge, Miss Ashleigh; she was dressed as a RomanCatholic priest."
"As a priest!" I exclaimed, astonished.
"Yes, indeed, Miss Ashleigh; and what is most curious, she was followedby a real priest, to escape from whom she took refuge in the barracks; Ishould not have disturbed you, but she has had a fainting fit, and isnow delirious; and I am afraid, by what our doctor says, in a state ofgreat danger. It struck me that you, being connected with Mr. Harmer,might know if it were really his grand-daughter, and, if so, might wishto come to her; so I thought it my duty to come and inform you at once,in spite of the strangeness of the hour."
"I am very much obliged to you, Major Charteris," I said, "very much.Poor Sophy, what must she have gone through! So this is the end of hersearch."
"Although I do not know, Miss Ashleigh, exactly to what you allude, Ibelieve from what I know of the circumstances, and from what the poorlady said to-night, that one consequence has arisen which will, I think,affect you. I have in my rooms a document which she brought with her,and which seemed to be the object of the priest's pursuit. It purportsto be the will of the late Mr. Harmer."
"The lost will!" I exclaimed, sitting down in utter astonishment. "Is itpossible that Sophy has at last found Mr. Harmer's will?"
"She has, indeed, Miss Ashleigh; at least if I may judge from theappearance and the endorsement upon it. I believe I have to congratulateyou upon its discovery--have I not?"
"You may, indeed," I said. "It leaves me a fortune. However, at presentI must think of poor Sophy. I should like to go to her, Major Charteris,very much."
"Mrs. Charteris begged me to say that she hoped you would do so, MissAshleigh. Indeed your presence would be a great relief to her, and wouldtake the responsibility off her shoulders. My wife will endeavour tomake it as comfortable for you as possible."
"Thank you very much, major; I will go with you at once. Will you bekind enough to wait a few minutes while I awake Mrs. Mapleside, andexplain to her what has happened."
Major Charteris assented, and I went out into the hall, where Hannahhad, according to my instructions, waited during the interview, and Iastonished her, even more than she had been before, by telling her to goupstairs and put on her things, for that she was to go up to thebarracks with me at once. I believe she thought I was mad, and I wasobliged to leave her in that belief, as I had no time to enter intoexplanations with her on this subject. Then I went up to Mrs.Mapleside's door, and knocked. I was a long time making her hear, forshe was a heavy sleeper, and had not been disturbed by all this noiseand confusion. When I did make her hear, and she got up and unlocked herdoor and let me in, I had the greatest difficulty in assuring her thatthe house was not on fire. Her fears on that point allayed, I had stillgreater trouble in explaining to her what was really the matter; thatSophy Gregory was lying dangerously ill in the barracks, and that thewill was found. All this was for a long time quite incomprehensible toMrs. Mapleside, who did not know that Sophy was in that part of thecountry, or that I had seen or heard from her for years.
When she was at last made to understand it, and to know that I was goingto inherit a fortune after all, the dear old lady got into the wildeststate of excitement and congratulation, and was only calmed down by myspeaking of Sophy's illness; after that I had great difficulty indissuading her from getting up and accompanying me. However, at last Iquieted her, and arranged to take Hannah with me, and to send her backat seven o'clock in the morning.
I also impressed very seriously upon her that it was absolutelynecessary that she should not breathe a word of all this to a soul; weshould endeavour to arrange the whole affair with as little scandal andtalk as possible, and therefore it would be most distasteful to all ourfeelings if the thing was to get abroad. The old lady promised secrecy,and on this occasion I believe really kept her word.
I dressed myself quickly, and then went out with Hannah and the major,and walked to the barracks. On the way the major related at length to meall the occurrences of the night, and from what he told me I couldnearly guess how it had all come about.
It felt very strange walking through the streets at that time of night;the major had indeed volunteered to call them up at one of the hotelsand get a vehicle for me, but I knew that this would take at least anhour, and so I preferred, strange as it was, walking; it felt still morestrange going into the barracks. However, when Major Charterisintroduced me to his wife, who received me very kindly, and at once tookme in to the room where Sophy was lying, all feelings of strangenesspast off, and I forgot everything in the poor girl before me. She was ina terrible state of delirium, and it was at times almost more thanHannah and I could do to keep her down. Her appearance was shocking: herpale cheeks, with a patch of red in their centres, he
r wild staringeyes, her closely cut hair, the strange streaks of paint upon her face,made her dreadful to see; while her wild screams of terror as she triedto fly from some pursuer, rang in my ears for weeks. All night long shecontinued to rehearse what she had gone through the evening before. Nowshe was arguing with Miss Harmer, now discovering the will, thenlistening to the pursuing gig, and then her screams would break outagain, and she would writhe in agonies of terror. It was a dreadfulnight, and I shall never forget it. The doctor never left the room, andMrs. Charteris came in from time to time, and brought me in some tea,for which I felt very grateful. Towards morning the powerful opiateswhich the doctor had given her began to take effect, and she sank into atroubled doze.
It was quite impossible, of course, to think of Sophy being moved, and Iwas very sorry for the dreadful trouble to which we were putting ourkind entertainers. However, they would not hear of its being anyinconvenience to them, and as it was evident that it might be someconsiderable time before she could be moved, they gave us up entirepossession of their rooms, and moved into the quarters of anothermarried officer in the same building, who happened to be away on leavewith his wife. At seven o'clock I sent Hannah home, and got a regularnurse to come in and be with me. I should, I think, have sent for Polly,but she was daily expecting her confinement, and I was to have gone upthe very next day to have stayed with her.
At eight o'clock in the morning I sent up a telegram to Mr. Petersfield,asking him to come down to me by the first train, as the will was found,and telling him that he would find me by inquiring for Major Charteris,at the barracks. He came down soon after one o'clock. He was astonishedat the will being found, and was, I believe, almost as pleased as I wasat the discovery. He was most anxious to know how it was found, and Itold him all I knew about Sophy's coming down in disguise and enteringinto the service of Father Eustace, also what I had gleaned from herravings during the night, and the fact of her pursuit and taking refugein the barracks.
Mr. Petersfield was delighted with the story, and said that it was athousand pities that she had not been born a detective.
We then proceeded to business, and the will was formally opened by Mr.Petersfield, in the presence of Major and Mrs. Charteris, the doctor,and myself. The lawyer at once declared it to be the genuine document,as he knew the handwriting in which it was drawn up, and could swear tothe signatures of his late partner, and of a clerk, still in his office,who were the attesting witnesses. It was couched precisely in the termswhich Mr. Harmer had told papa years before, L20,000 to variouscharities, and the rest, about L150,000, half to Sophy, and theremaining half between Harry, Polly, and me. The only proviso in it withwhich we were not previously acquainted was, that Harmer Place, with theexception of the chapel, was to be pulled down. The estate itself wasspecially mentioned as part of Sophy's share, she might sell it if shewished, but if she resided there it was to be in a new house, which heexpressly provided was not to be called Harmer Place.
When Mr. Petersfield had finished, he folded up the will, came over andshook my hand, and congratulated me formally, and said that he hoped tocontinue to act for me as his firm had done so many years for thisestate. I laughed, and said that I thought I had sufficient confidencein him to intrust it to his care. He then asked me what I should wish inthe matter. I said that at any rate I should wish nothing done untilMiss Harmer's death, that she was not expected to live for a week, andthat she must not be disturbed; but with that exception I gave him_carte blanche_.
He said that in that case, as soon as he heard of Miss Harmer's death,he should proceed to prove the will, and that he should then notify thefirm in London who had acted as the Miss Harmers' solicitors since theirbrother's death, that the will was in his hands, and that they couldinspect it at his office; and he should call upon them to deliver up allthe late Mr. Harmer's property in conformity with its provisions, withall accumulations.
I objected to this last point, but Mr. Petersfield pointed out to methat Miss Harmer had certainly not spent more than her own income, andthat, therefore, the interest of all this property had beenaccumulating, and would, if we did not claim it, undoubtedly go by herwill to the Romish Church. To this I assented, and he returned to Londonthe same evening in the highest spirits, taking the will with him.
I wrote that afternoon to Polly, telling her the news, andcongratulating her as well as myself upon it, and saying that could Ihave left Sophy, I would have gone up to London at once. I also wrote toAda, who would I knew be as pleased at the great discovery as I wasmyself, as it removed any possible feeling of dislike on the part ofLady Desborough to my marriage with Percy, which now promised to turnout, after all, to the satisfaction of all parties.
CHAPTER XIV.
ENJOYING THE SPOILS.
For a long week Sophy Gregory lay between life and death, and thedoctors who attended her thought very badly of her case, and doubtedmuch whether--even if, contrary to their expectation, she should everrecover from her illness, and regain her bodily strength--her intellectwould not be hopelessly shattered from the effect of the terrible strainit had undergone.
I do not know how I should ever have supported the responsibility andanxiety of that week's watching, had it not been that on the second dayof her illness Sophy uttered, in her ravings, a name which I remembereddirectly I heard it as that of the woman who had brought her up inchildhood, and with whom she had stayed for some days when she firstcame down to Sturry. In her delirium Sophy called wildly to Mammy Greento save and hide her. She plaintively recalled her childish days, andbesought her, for the sake of their love in those times, to shelter andprotect her.
I immediately sent over to Sturry to her, asking her to come at once,and take charge of her foster-child.
Mrs. Green had been in a terrible state of anxiety, for all sorts ofvague rumours were afloat in the village of the strange doings up at theHall, and of the flight, and pursuit by the priest, concerning thereason for which, even the servant who had driven Father Eustace wasignorant. All that he knew was, "that they had been sent over toSittingbourne on a fool's errand; and that when they reached home hisfellow-servant was found to be missing. That they had then driven up toHarmer Place, and his master had gone in telling him to wait, and hadreturned in two or three minutes in a state of the greatest excitement,had jumped into the gig, and had told him to drive as hard as he could;and that he believed, from what he said, they were in pursuit of themissing servant. They had not, however, seen anything of her; but whenthey were nearly at Canterbury, a man, or a boy, he could not say which,who was running before them, had suddenly turned round and fired apistol in the horse's face. This man had afterwards taken refuge in thebarracks, and Father Eustace had gone in after him. What had happenedthere he could not say: he only knew that his master came out shortly,and did not speak while they drove back to the village, but looked, hethought, quite queer, and cut-up like. Father Eustace had got out at thedoor, had left him to put the horse up--which the poor thing wantedbadly enough, for he had never done such a day's work in his life--andhad gone up to the Hall, where he remained till morning."
Nor could the servants at Harmer Place give Mrs. Green any account ofSophy. They knew that something strange had taken place, but what theycould not say. "A strange priest had arrived, and had, by her orders,been shown up to Miss Harmer's room; that was about half-past seven, andthey heard nothing more of him till near eleven. Then the bell had rangviolently, and the servant, on answering it, had found Miss Harmeralone, to her great surprise, for no one had heard the priest go out.Her mistress had asked her if she had seen him, and she had answeredthat she had not, and had thought he was with her mistress. Miss Harmerhad appeared very much agitated, and had told her to call anotherservant, and to go down into the hall, and that they would find a sortof door open by the side of the fireplace, and a flight of steps; theywere to call out loudly at the bottom of these, and if they received noanswer, were to come up to tell her.
"Rather scared, thinking that their mistress had go
ne out of her mind,and wondering over the mysterious disappearance of the strange priest,the women had done as she had ordered, but had found no signs of thedoor she spoke of, and had gone up, with white faces, to tell theirmistress so. Miss Harmer had been still more agitated, and had said toherself, 'He must have let the door close behind him, and cannot open itfrom the inside;' and then, after a minute, wrung her hands and criedout, 'Oh, my dream! my dream! What has happened to him? has it been as Ithought? has the spirit----' and then she had broken off, and told themto dress her somewhat, and to call the men-servants, for that she mustbe carried down into the hall at once. Greatly scared by all thisstrange mystery, and believing that their mistress was delirious, theywere still afraid to disobey her, and had just commenced carrying outher instructions, when Father Eustace arrived. He had at once gone upinto Miss Harmer's room, and had a short conversation with her; what hadbeen its import the servants could not tell, but both parties seemedgreatly excited. The priest had then run downstairs again, very pale,and evidently much agitated, had called for a light, knelt down at thehall fireplace, picked up one of the iron dogs'-tongues which was lyingon the hearth, and pushed it into its place; he had then risen, and puthis hand up the chimney, and immediately a small door, that none of themhad ever seen before, had flown open by the side of the fireplace.Father Eustace had snatched up the candle, and ran up some steps whichwent up behind it; he had been away a minute or two, and then came downagain, looking out of his senses, and rushed wildly upstairs to MissHarmer's room. He had only stayed there a moment, and said a word or twoto her; but their mistress had given a terrible cry, and fallen backlike dead upon her bed, while the priest had run downstairs again,calling to them to look to Miss Harmer, had leapt into the gig, anddriven off again, telling his servant to drive for his life." This wasall they knew; what it was all about they could not even guess; butjudging from the priest's and their mistress's faces, something veryterrible. As to Father Eustace's maid-servant, they knew nothing, andindeed had not heard until the next day that she was missing.
Mrs. Green had therefore remained in a state of terrible anxietyconcerning Sophy, until she received my summons; and, bad as the realitywas, she almost felt it a relief after the agony of suspense she hadbefore endured. She came over immediately to the barracks, and at oncetook the responsibility off my hands, never leaving her night or day,and nursing her with a mother's tenderness; and as Sophy had, besides,the nurse I had before engaged, my services could be now, to a certainextent, dispensed with, and I was therefore enabled to go back of anevening to Mrs. Mapleside's, and to sleep there, returning to take myplace by Sophy's bedside early in the morning. But still it was aterrible week, believing, as I did, that her illness could have but onetermination, or that at best--if it could be called best--even shouldher life be spared, that her reason was gone for ever.
But God in His infinite mercy willed it otherwise.
At the end of a week Sophy fell into a long sleep, so quiet and still,that I several times leaned over her to see that she still breathed.This sleep the doctors said was the crisis of her illness, and upon thestate in which she woke depended her life and reason.
Very long she lay so; the time seeming even longer than it was, to uswatching by her side, longing for, and yet fearing, her waking. At lastshe moved slightly, and her eyes opened. I leant over her and saw thatshe knew me.
"Do not try to talk, dear," I said; "you have been ill, but are betternow, do not trouble about anything. I am here to watch you, and yourkind nurse, Mrs. Green, is beside you."
The old woman gently took one of Sophy's hands in her own; she could notspeak, for she was crying now with joy and thankfulness.
Sophy gave a very faint smile of pleasure and recognition, and thentaking a little medicine, which the doctor had prepared in readiness forher waking, she closed her eyes, and was soon again asleep.
A great burden was lifted from our hearts, for the doctor said that hehad every hope now, for that nature had made a wonderful effort, that hebelieved she was saved, body and mind.
This time she slept about two hours, and when she woke, even myunpractised eye could see that she was decidedly better than before.
After the first faint look of pleased recognition at Mrs. Green andmyself, and a little pressure of the fingers we held in ours, she layquite quiet, but with her eyes open as if thinking. Then they wanderedover the room as if in vague wonder as to where she was. Presently shespoke in a voice which sounded strangely low and weak, after the loudravings and terrible screams of the past week.
"Where am I? What has happened?"
"You have been very ill, darling," I said soothingly, "but you will bebetter now. Do not wonder or trouble about anything; you are withfriends, and when you get strong enough, you shall hear all about it."
She was quiet for a while again, and lay with no expression beyond athoughtful wonder in her eyes, gradually she closed them again, and Ihoped that she was going to doze off. But presently they openedsuddenly, and she said, in a voice so loud and sharp in comparison withthat in which she had before spoken, that it quite startled me, "Whereis the will?"
"It is quite safe, dearest; all is well; do not think more about it now,you shall hear all in good time."
Sophy lay quiet for a while, but I could see that she was not satisfied;and then she asked again, "where is it?"
"In Mr. Petersfield's hands, dear, so you need not feel uneasy about it.It will never be lost again."
A look of pleasure came across Sophy's face. "Thank God," she murmured,and then closed her eyes, and was soon asleep again.
From that time Sophy recovered rapidly; in ten days she was able to beremoved from barracks, and in a month was strong enough to be taken upto London, to stay with me at Polly's, where her little boy was to meether.
Upon the very day when life was coming back to Sophy, and she wassnatched as it were from the grasp of death, Miss Harmer passed away.
How she died I never heard, but I have no doubt bravely and trustfully.She had, according to her light, fought for eighty years, a good fight,and had held the faith; and although the battle was in the end lost, andthe purpose of her life frustrated, still I doubt not that she died, ifangry and grieved, as I can well believe she was, at the failure of theschemes from which she had hoped so much, yet of good conscience and afair hope that she would reap the reward of a life spent in the serviceof her beloved Church, and at length, after her long weary life'sstruggle, attain peace in the world to come.
Mr. Petersfield, at her death, wrote to her lawyers, inclosing a copy ofthe will, and took the necessary steps for proving it. Of course delaysand difficulties arose, but as there was no one to oppose, it took lesstime to arrange matters than might have been anticipated, moreespecially with respect to the accumulations. But it appeared, thatstrangely enough--probably with the constant dread before her eyes, thatthe secret would be some day supernaturally disclosed to Polly, and thewill discovered--Miss Harmer had never touched one penny of the rents orinterest arising from the property left by her brother; but by herdirection a separate account had been opened at the bank, to which thesemoneys had been regularly paid in, and in these seven years the propertyhad accumulated to nearly a third more than the original account. Inconsequence our shares had increased from L25,000 each to over L32,000.
From the order and regularity with which everything had been kept, andthe absence of any opposition whatever, in about two months from thetime of Miss Harmer's death, Mr. Petersfield, who had exerted himselfvery much in the matter, told us that it now only required oursignatures to obtain our respective shares of the property.
Mr. Petersfield besides acting as our man of business in the affair, wasone of the executors; for Mr. Ransome and papa, who were the twooriginally named, being both dead, he, with James Fielding, who wasappointed at Sophy's request, acted as executors, and arranged the wholebusiness with as little trouble to us as possible.
In accordance with the terms of the will, as soon as we we
re fairly inpossession, Harmer Place was ordered to be pulled down, and the estate,which was part of Sophy's share, was by her wishes, soon afterwardsadvertised to be sold.
And so at last we were really rich. I could hardly believe that it wastrue; for I had for so long given up all hopes of ever finding the will.However, I was very glad for all our sakes that it was so, and I wasvery pleased to think that dear Polly was now placed beyond allpossibility of a reverse of fortune; for Charley insisted on executing adeed settling the whole of her share upon her; not, as he said, that hehad any reason to fear such an event--for he was doing a capitalbusiness--still it was as well to be prepared for all possibleeventualities.
And so Sophy and I left Canterbury together, but with very differentfeelings in so doing. I with some little regret, for I dearly loved theold town where I had lived so many happy years; and to which I had goneback as to a haven of rest, in the time of my great sorrow. Howdifferent were my feelings now from those with which I had come downlittle more than a year before! Then I believed that all hope was forever dead, that my life, as far as pleasure and happiness were concernedwas over; and that the most I could ever look forward to or strive for,was a chastened content in my lonely life. But now how bright was myprospect! with Percy alive and soon to return, with every obstacle toour union cleared away, with a happy, happy future with him to lookforward to! And yet, happy as I was, as I looked from the window of thetrain, and caught the last sight of the dear old town, and its statelycathedral, I could not help a little sigh of regret at leaving it, andall the friends who had been so kind to me in my hour of sadness.
But with Sophy it was quite otherwise, and she gave what she told me wasa sigh of relief at leaving it for ever behind. The place was to herhateful, every association connected with it full of pain, and she felthappy in the thought that she was leaving it never to return.
Polly and Charley received us joyfully at Putney, and I was very, veryglad to be with them. Polly was a mother now, a son having been born toher a few days after the will was found. The meeting between Sophy andher child was very pitiful; she kissed him and cried over him, while thelittle fellow, in his joy at seeing her again, could not understand hertears, and could only stroke her thin cheeks and say, "Don't cry, mammy;mammy has got her little Jamie again, she must not cry any more."
Sophy stayed with us for a week, and then took rooms near us. She wasstill pale and weak, and did not gain strength as she should have done.She never spoke of the past, except upon one occasion before we came upto town, when she related to me the whole circumstances of her findingthe will; except on that occasion she never mentioned the past, and theslightest allusion to it excited a nervous horror in her, and greatlyretarded her recovery. The medical men said that her brain had notrecovered from the terrible strain upon it, and that a perfect changewas necessary, and a total absence of anything which might, by recallingthe past, tend to excite her.
Accordingly, about two months after coming up to town, she started forthe continent, taking with her a maid, and a young lady as governess forher little boy, and companion to herself, and accompanied by JamesFielding and his wife, who were only going for a short time, but whotook charge of her as far as Florence, which was her destination, at anyrate for the present.
Her letters tell me that she is much better, and that she is happy withher boy. She has spent a fortnight with her old friends, leaving hercompanion and maid at Florence, and living with them as before as one ofthemselves. I earnestly hope that this improvement may continue, andthat Sophy may have happy days yet in store for her. Poor girl, she hasindeed suffered sorely, and has paid dearly for the fault she committed.And yet I have always thought that the fault was not all hers, and thathad it not been for the harsh verdict of society against her, she wouldnever have fallen so easy a victim to the snares of Robert Gregory, at atime when her wounded feelings led her to cling to any one who wouldshow her kindness. However, I may be mistaken. Society certainly nevertook any of the blame of her misdeeds upon itself, and she alone haspaid the penalty. I trust that that penalty is now paid in full, andthat her future life may in some sort atone to her for the unhappinessof the past.
In due course I received a letter from Harry, in answer to mineannouncing the recovery of the will. He said that he was delighted tohear of it, not so much for his own sake as for that of his wife, forthat the climate of Australia did not suit her; the hot winds and suddenchanges were very trying to her constitution, and he should therefore,as soon as he could be relieved, return to England, and carry out hisoriginal plan of buying a partnership in a good firm in London.
And now I have only myself to speak of, and in that I shall beexceedingly brief. My happiness is far too great to speak of--tooperfect to describe.
Little more than a month after I returned to Putney, I received a letterfrom Percy, now long since become Captain Desborough, saying that heshould sail for England by the next mail, that he should, as he hadwarned me, claim me at once, and that he hoped I would not keep him morethan a fortnight waiting.
Although he had not received my letter telling him of my late-foundwealth, yet he knew that there would be no cloud to dim the brightnessof our happiness, for he had long since heard from his mother of thedetermination she had arrived at, on hearing of his being alive, thatshe would no longer in any way oppose our union. In due time Percy camehome. I cannot tell how we met. That happiness is too deep, too sacredto be described.
Percy was somewhat changed, the terrible trials and anxiety he underwenthave told upon his constitution, and the doctors have recommended him toleave the army, and to lead a quiet life, at any rate for the present.
To this he has acceded, and intends at the end of his two years' leaveof absence to sell out. However, in the short time he has been at home,he has greatly recovered his strength, and will I trust soon be asstrong as ever.
He talks of going into Parliament, for Percy is of too energetic anature to rest content with a life of perfect idleness. Lady Desborough,Ada, and I encourage him in the idea, and, of course, prophesy greatthings of him.
We have now been married three months. He is sitting beside me, and evenwith his dear, dear face looking at me I can hardly believe that it isindeed all true, that it is not a mere happy dream.
I have finished my story, such as it is, and glancing over the earlierpages, I can hardly, in my present happiness, believe that they aremine, or understand the sad feelings with which I then wrote it. Were Ito begin again now, it would be written in a very different strain; butthat cannot be. The occupation of recording my history has served itspurpose, and cheered and occupied me at a time when I sorely neededconsolation.
Percy is telling me that if I go on writing any more, he shall begin tothink he has married a blue-stocking. So I must end now, with a ferventfeeling of thankfulness for the great mercies which have been vouchsafedto me; which have dissipated all the dark clouds which hung over me, andhave changed an existence which promised to be a very sad one, into alife of as perfect happiness as ever falls to the lot of mortals uponearth.