Ravenshoe

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  THE GRAND CRASH.

  The funeral was over. Charles had waited with poor weeping Mary to seethe coffin carried away under the dark grim archway of the vault, andhad tried to comfort her who would not be comforted. And, when the lastwild wail of the organ had died away, and all the dark figures but theytwo had withdrawn from the chapel, there stood those two poor orphansalone together.

  It was all over, and they began for the first time to realise it; theybegan to feel what they lost. King Densil was dead, and King Cuthbertreigned. When a prime minister dies, the world is shaken; when a countymember dies, the county is agitated, and the opposition electors, tilllately insignificant, rise suddenly into importance, and the possiblenew members are suddenly great men. So, when a mere country gentlemandies, the head of a great family dies, relations are changed entirelybetween some score or two of persons. The dog of to-day is not the dogof yesterday. Servants are agitated, and remember themselves of oldimpertinences, and tremble. Farmers wonder what the new Squire's firstmove will be. Perhaps even the old hound wonders whether he is to keephis old place by the fire or no; and younger brothers bite their nails,and wonder, too, about many things.

  Charles wondered profoundly in his own room that afternoon, whither hehad retired after having dismissed Mary at her door with a kiss. Inspite of his grief, he wondered what was coming, and tried to persuadehimself that he didn't care. From this state of mind he was aroused byWilliam, who told him that Lord Segur was going, and Lord Saltire withhim, and that the latter wanted to speak to him.

  Lord Saltire had his foot on the step of the carriage. "Charles, my dearboy," he said, "the moment things are settled come to me at SegurCastle. Lord Segur wants you to come and stay there while I am there."

  Lord Segur, from the carriage, hoped Charles would come and see them atonce.

  "And mind, you know," said Lord Saltire, "that you don't do anythingwithout consulting me. Let the little bird pack off to Lady Ascot's, andhelp to blow up the grooms. Don't let her stay moping here. Now,good-bye, my dear boy. I shall see you in a day or so."

  And so the old man was gone. And, as Charles watched the carriage, hesaw the sleek grey head thrust from the window, and the great white handwaved to him. He never forgot that glimpse of the grey head and thewhite hand, and he never will.

  A servant came up to him, and asked him, Would he see Mr. Ravenshoe inthe library? Charles answered Yes, but was in no hurry to go. So hestood a little longer on the terrace, watching the bright sea, and thegulls, and the distant island. Then he turned into the darkened houseagain, and walked slowly towards the library door.

  Some one else stood in the passage--it was William, with his hand on thehandle of the door.

  "I waited for you, Master Charles," he said; "they have sent for me too.Now you will hear something to your advantage."

  "I care not," said Charles, and they went in.

  Once, in lands far away, there was a sailor lad, a good-humoured,good-looking, thoughtless fellow, who lived alongside of me, and withwhom I was always joking. We had a great liking for one another. I lefthim at the shaft's mouth at two o'clock one summer's day, roaring withlaughter at a story I had told him; and at half-past five I was helpingto wind up the shattered corpse, which when alive had borne his name. Aflake of gravel had come down from the roof of the drive and killed him,and his laughing and story-telling were over for ever. How terriblethese true stories are! Why do I tell this one? Because, whenever Ithink of this poor lad's death, I find myself not thinking of theghastly thing that came swinging up out of the darkness into the summerair, but of the poor fellow as he was the morning before. I try to thinkhow he looked, as leaning against the windlass with the forest behindand the mountains beyond, and if, in word or look, he gave any sign ofhis coming fate before he went gaily down into his tomb.

  So it was with Charles Ravenshoe. He remembers part of the scene thatfollowed perfectly well; but he tries more than all to recall howCuthbert looked, and how Mackworth looked before the terrible words werespoken. After it was all over he remembers, he tells me, every triflingincident well. But his memory is a little gone about the first fewminutes which elapsed after he and William came into the room. He saysthat Cuthbert was sitting at the table very pale, with his hands claspedon the table before him, looking steadily at him without expression onhis face; and that Mackworth leant against the chimney-piece, and lookedkeenly and curiously at him.

  Charles went up silently and kissed his brother on the forehead.Cuthbert neither moved nor spoke. Charles greeted Mackworth civilly, andthen leant against the chimney-piece by the side of him, and said what aglorious day it was. William stood at a little distance, lookinguneasily from one to another.

  Cuthbert broke silence. "I sent for you," he said.

  "I am glad to come to you, Cuthbert, though I think you sent for me onbusiness, which I am not very well up to to-day."

  "On business," said Cuthbert: "business which must be gone through withto-day, though I expect it will kill me."

  Charles, by some instinct (who knows what? it was nothing reasonable, hesays) moved rapidly towards William, and laid his hand on his shoulder.I take it, that it arose from that curious gregarious feeling that menhave in times of terror. He could not have done better than to movetowards his truest friend, whatever it was.

  "I should like to prepare you for what is to come," continued Cuthbert,speaking calmly, with the most curious distinctness; "but that would beuseless. The blow would be equally severe whether you expect it or not.You two who stand there were nursed at the same breast. That groom, onwhose shoulder you have your hand now, is my real brother. You are norelation to me; you are the son of the faithful old servant whom weburied to-day with my father."

  Charles said, Ho! like a great sigh. William put his arm round him, and,raising his finger, and looking into his face with his calm, honesteyes, said with a smile--

  "This was it then. We know it all now."

  Charles burst out into a wild laugh, and said, "Father Mackworth's aceof trumps! He has inherited a talent for melodrama from his blessedmother. Stop. I beg your pardon, sir, for saying that; I said it in ahurry. It was blackguardly. Let's have the proofs of this, and all thatsort of thing, and witnesses too, if you please. Father Mackworth, therehave been such things as prosecutions for conspiracy. I have LordSaltire and Lord Ascot at my back. You have made a desperate cast, sir.My astonishment is that you have allowed your hatred for me to outrunyour discretion so far. This matter will cost some money before it issettled."

  Father Mackworth smiled, and Charles passed him, and rang the bell. Thenhe went back to William and took his arm.

  "Fetch the Fathers Tiernay here immediately," said Charles to theservant who answered the bell.

  In a few minutes the worthy priests were in the room. The group was notaltered. Father Mackworth still leant against the mantel-piece, Charlesand William stood together, and Cuthbert sat pale and calm with hishands clasped together.

  Father Tiernay looked at the disturbed group and became uneasy. "Wouldit not be better to defer the settlement of any family disagreements toanother day? On such a solemn occasion----"

  "The ice is broken, Father Tiernay," said Charles. "Cuthbert, tell himwhat you have told me."

  Cuthbert, clasping his hands together, did so, in a low, quiet voice.

  "There," said Charles, turning to Father Tiernay, "what do you think ofthat?"

  "I am so astounded and shocked, that I don't know what to say," saidFather Tiernay; "your mind must be abused, my dear sir. The likenessbetween yourself and Mr. Charles is so great that I cannot believe it.Mackworth, what have you to say to this?"

  "Look at William, who is standing beside Charles," said the priest,quietly, "and tell me which of those two is most like Cuthbert."

  "Charles and William are very much alike, certainly," said Tiernay;"but----"

  "Do you remember James Horton, Tiernay?" said Mackworth.

  "Surely."
r />   "Did you ever notice the likeness between him and Densil Ravenshoe?"

  "I have noticed it, certainly; especially one night. One night I went tohis cottage last autumn. Yes--well?"

  "James Horton was Densil Ravenshoe's half-brother. He was theillegitimate son of Petre."

  "Good God."

  "And the man whom you call Charles Ravenshoe, whom I call CharlesHorton, is his son."

  Charles was looking eagerly from one to the other, bewildered.

  "Ask him, Father Tiernay," he said, "what proofs he has. Perhaps he willtell us."

  "You hear what Mr. Charles says, Mackworth. I address you because youhave spoken last. You must surely have strong proofs for such anastounding statement."

  "I have his mother's handwriting," said Father Mackworth.

  "My mother's, sir," said Charles, flushing up, and advancing a pacetowards him.

  "You forget who your mother was," said Mackworth. "Your mother wasNorah, James Horton's wife. She confessed to me the wicked fraud shepractised, and has committed that confession to paper. I hold it. Youhave not a point of ground to stand on. Fifty Lord Saltires could nothelp you one jot. You must submit. You have been living in luxury andreceiving an expensive education when you should have been cleaning outthe stable. So far from being overwhelmed at this, you should considerhow terribly the balance is against you."

  He spoke with such awful convincing calmness that Charles's heart diedaway within him. He knew the man.

  "Cuthbert," he said, "you are a gentleman. Is this true?"

  "God knows how terribly true it is," said Cuthbert, quietly. Then therewas a silence, broken by Charles in a strange thick voice, the like ofwhich none there had heard before.

  "I want to sit down somewhere. I want some drink. Will, my own boy, takethis d----d thing from round my neck? I can't see; where is there achair? Oh, God!"

  He fell heavily against William, looking deadly white, without sense orpower. And Cuthbert looked up at the priest, and said, in a low voice--

  "You have killed him."

  Little by little he came round again, and rose on his feet, lookinground him as a buck or stag looks when run to soil, and is watching tosee which dog will come, with a piteous wild look, despairing and yetdefiant. There was a dead silence.

  "Are we to be allowed to see this paper?" said Charles, at length.

  Father Mackworth immediately handed it to him, and he read it. It wascompletely conclusive. He saw that there was not a loophole to creep outof. The two Tiernays read it, and shook their heads. William read it andturned pale. And then they all stood staring blankly at one another.

  "You see, sir," said Father Mackworth, "that there are two courses opento you. Either, on the one hand, to acquiesce in the truth of thispaper; or, on the other, to accuse me in a court of justice ofconspiracy and fraud. If you were to be successful in the latter course,I should be transported out of your way, and the matter would end so.But any practical man would tell you, and you would see in your calmermoments, that no lawyer would undertake your case. What say you, FatherTiernay?"

  "I cannot see what case he has, poor dear," said Father Tiernay."Mackworth," he added, suddenly.

  Father Mackworth met his eye with a steady stare, and Tiernay saw therewas no hope of explanation there.

  "On the other hand," continued Father Mackworth, "if this new state ofthings is quietly submitted to (as it must be ultimately, whetherquietly or otherwise you yourself will decide), I am authorised to saythat the very handsomest provision will be made for you, and that, toall intents and purposes, your prospects in the world will not suffer inthe least degree. I am right in saying so, I believe, Mr. Ravenshoe?"

  "You are perfectly right, sir," said Cuthbert in a quiet, passionlessvoice. "My intention is to make a provision of three hundred a year forthis gentleman, whom, till the last few days, I believed to be mybrother. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Charles, I offered FatherMackworth ten thousand pounds for this paper, with a view to destroy it.I would, for your sake, Charles, have committed an act of villainy whichwould have entailed a life's remorse, and have robbed William, my ownbrother, of his succession. You see what a poor weak rogue I am, andwhat a criminal I might become with a little temptation. FatherMackworth did his duty and refused me. I tell you this to show you thathe is, at all events, sincere enough in his conviction of the truth ofthis."

  "You acted like yourself, Cuthbert. Like one who would risk body andsoul for one you loved."

  He paused; but they waited for him to speak again. And very calmly, in avery low voice, he continued--

  "It is time that this scene should end. No one's interest will be servedby continuing it. I want to say a very few words, and I want them to beconsidered as the words, as it were, of a dying man; for no one herepresent will see me again till the day when I come back to claim a rightto the name I have been bearing so long--and that day will be never."

  Another pause. He moistened his lips, which were dry and cracked, andthen went on--

  "Here is the paper, Father Mackworth; and may the Lord of Heaven bejudge between us if that paper be not true!"

  Father Mackworth took it, and, looking him steadily in the face,repeated his words, and Charles's heart sank lower yet as he watchedhim, and felt that hope was dead.

  "May the Lord of Heaven be judge between us two, Charles, if that paperbe not true! Amen."

  "I utterly refuse," Charles continued, "the assistance which Mr.Ravenshoe has so nobly offered. I go forth alone into the world to makemy own way, or to be forgotten. Cuthbert and William, you will be sorryfor a time, but not for long. You will think of me sometimes of darkwinter nights when the wind blows, won't you? I shall never write toyou, and shall never return here any more. Worse things than this havehappened to men, and they have not died."

  All this was said with perfect self-possession, and without a failure inthe voice. It was magnificent despair. Father Tiernay, looking atWilliam's face, saw there a sort of sarcastic smile, which puzzled himamazingly.

  "I had better," said Charles, "make my will. I should like William toride my horse Monte. He has thrown a curb, sir, as you know" he said,turning to William; "but he will serve you well, and I know you will begentle with him."

  William gave a short, dry laugh.

  "I should have liked to take my terrier away with me, but I think I hadbetter not. I want to have nothing with me to remind me of this place.My greyhound and the pointers I know you will take care of. It wouldplease me to think that William had moved into my room, and had takenpossession of all my guns, and fishing-rods, and so on. There is adouble-barrelled gun left at Venables', in St. Aldate's, at Oxford, forrepairs. It ought to be fetched away.

  "Now, sir," he said, turning to Cuthbert, "I should like to say a fewwords about money matters. I owe about L150 at Oxford. It was a greatdeal more at one time, but I have been more careful lately. I have thebills upstairs. If that could be paid----"

  "To the utmost farthing, my dear Charles," said Cuthbert; "but----"

  "Hush!" said Charles, "I have five-and-twenty pounds by me. May I keepthat?"

  "I will write you a check for five hundred. I shall move yourresolution, Charles," said Cuthbert.

  "Never, so help me God!" said Charles; "it only remains to say good-bye.I leave this room without a hard thought towards any one in it. I am atpeace with all the world. Father Mackworth, I beg your forgiveness. Ihave been often rude and brutal to you. I suppose that you always meantkindly to me. Good-bye."

  He shook hands with Mackworth, then with the Tiernays; then he offeredhis hand to William, who took it smiling; and, lastly, he went up toCuthbert, and kissed him on the cheek, and then walked out of the doorinto the hall.

  William, as he was going, turned as though to speak to Cuthbert, butCuthbert had risen, and he paused a moment.

  Cuthbert had risen, and stood looking wildly about him; then he said,"Oh, my God, he is gone!" And then he broke through them, and ran outinto the hall, crying, "Charles, Charle
s, come back. Only one more word,Charles." And then they saw Charles pause, and Cuthbert kneel downbefore him, calling him his own dear brother, and saying he would diefor him. And then Father Tiernay hastily shut the library door, and leftthose two wild hearts out in the old hall together alone.

  Father Tiernay came back to William, and took both his hands. "What areyou going to do?" he said.

  "I am going to follow him wherever he goes," said William. "I am nevergoing to leave him again. If he goes to the world's end, I will be withhim."

  "Brave fellow!" said Tiernay. "If he goes from here, and is lost sightof, we may never see him again. If you go with him, you may change hisresolution."

  "That I shall never do," said William; "I know him too well. But I'llsave him from what I am frightened to think of. I will go to him now. Ishall see you again directly; but I must go to him."

  He passed out into the hall. Cuthbert was standing alone, and Charleswas gone.