CHAPTER ONE.
WISER COUNSELS.
"That scamp! That out-and-out irreclaimable scamp! A hundred is justninety-nine pound nineteen more than he deserves. A hundred. No--I'llmake it two."
Sir Luke Canterby looked up from the document he had been perusing andannotating, and biting the end of his pen, sat gazing meditatively outof the window. It was a lovely day of early spring, and the thrusheswere hopping about the lawn, and the rooks in the great elms were makinga prodigious cawing and fuss over their nest-building. All Nature wasspringing into new life in the joyous gladsome rush of the youthfulyear, but the old man, sitting there, was out of harmony withrejuvenated Nature. His meditations and occupation were concerned, notwith life, but with death. The document before him was nothing lessmomentous than the draft of his last will and testament.
In appearance, however, there was nothing about Sir Luke Canterby tosuggest impending dissolution, either now or in the near future. Seatedthere surrounded by the dark oak of his library, he represented apleasant and wholesome type of old age. He was tall and spare, and, forhis years, wonderfully straight. He had refined features and wore ashort beard, now silvery white, and there was a kindly twinkle in hiseyes. He was a rich man, but had not always been, and, although of goodparentage, had made his money in commerce. He had been knighted on theoccasion of a Royal visit to the mercantile centre wherein at the timehe was prominent, but in his heart of hearts, thought but little of the`honour' in fact, would have declined it could he have done so with agood grace.
His gaze came back to the paper with a troubled look, which deepened ashe made the correction. For although to the legatee in question twohundred pounds would be better than none, yet the said legatee had hadreason to expect that the bulk of the whole would be left to him. Stillthe testator sat staring at what he had just effected, as if it weresomething he did not relish at all, and in fact, no more he did. Thenan interruption occurred in the shape of a knock at the door and theentrance of a servant.
"Canon Lenthall is here, Sir Luke, and would be glad to know if you cansee him?"
"Eh? Yes, certainly. Show him up here. The very thing," he added tohimself. "I'll take Dick's opinion about it. Ah, there he is. Comein, Canon. Real glad to see you, especially just now."
"Nothing wrong, Canterby?" said the other, as the two men shook handscordially.
"Don't know about wrong, Dick. But I'm in a puzzle over something, andyou always had a sound judgment. Sit down."
The Very Reverend Richard Lenthall was one of the canons attached to theRoman Catholic Cathedral in the adjacent town of Passmore; and thedifference in their creeds notwithstanding, for Sir Luke did not professthe ancient faith, the two men had been fast friends for nearly alifetime. In aspect and manner they were totally dissimilar. Thepriest was a broad, thick-set man of medium height, with a strong butjovial face, square-jawed and surmounted by a fine forehead, andilluminated by a pair of fine dark eyes, wonderfully searching, as theygazed forth from beneath bushy brows. He had a brisk, hearty, genialmanner, differing entirely from the somewhat reposeful and dignified oneof his friend. But mentally, both had many points in common--notably akeen sense of humour--and a delight in studying the contrasts andironies of the satirical side of life.
"What's the puzzle?" he now said, dropping into a chair.
"I'll tell you. Oh, by the way, let me ring for a glass of wine for youafter your walk."
"No, thanks. I'll wait till lunch. I'm going to stop and lunch withyou, but I'll have to get away directly after."
"As to that you know your own business best. Look here, old friend,advise me. Do you know what this confounded document is?" holding itup.
"Um. It might be a lease, or a deed of partnership--or of sale."
"No. Try again."
"Or your will."
"You've struck it. That's just what it is. The draft of my will.And--I want you to read it."
"Why?"
"Because I want your opinion, man--doesn't it stand to reason?"
"See here, Luke," said the other, and there was a twinkle in his eye."Aren't you afraid of the much-abused priest who is supposed to bealways poking his nose into other people's business and interfering infamily matters? You know."
"I only know that you are talking bosh when you ought to be serious,Dick. Do run through that paper and make any remarks on it you like."
"Well, if you really wish it," said the Canon, serious enough now, as hegot out his glasses, and began to peruse attentively the masses of legaljargon which covered up the testator's designs. He had not got far,however, before he came upon that which perturbed him not a little, butof such his trained impassive countenance betrayed no sign. Sir Lukesat looking out of the window, watching the thrushes hopping about thelawn.
"Well?" he said at last, but not extending a hand to receive thedocument which the other was holding out to him.
"You have altered all your former dispositions," said the Canon.
"Yes. I have been thinking things carefully over. I daren't trust him,that scamp. He has simply gone from bad to worse, and would make ducksand drakes of the lot. Percival won't."
"That scamp!" The hardly perceptible quiver in his old friend's voiceas he uttered the word, did not escape the shrewd ecclesiastic. Indeed,to that skilled and experienced master of human nature in all itsphases, the state of his friend's mind at this moment was a very wideopen book.
"Are you sure of yourself, Canterby?" he said. "Is it quite just toentail upon him so ruthlessly sweeping a penalty as this? Are you sureof yourself?"
"Of course I am."
"No, you're not. My dear old friend, you can't throw dust in my eyes.You are not sure of yourself. Then why not give him another chance?"
"Why, that's just what I have done. Anybody else would have cut him offwith a shilling--with the traditional shilling. By George, sir, theywould."
Canon Lenthall smiled to himself, for he knew that when a man of hisfriend's temperament begins to wax warm in an argument of this sort, itis a sure sign that he is arguing against himself. He considered thevictory almost won. Turning over the sheets of the draft once more, heread out a clause--slowly and deliberately:
"To my nephew, Hilary Blachland, I bequeath the sum of two hundredpounds--in case he might find himself in such a position that itspossession would afford him a last chance."
"Well?" queried Sir Luke.
"Please note two things, Canterby," said the Canon. "First you say I amto advise you, then that I am to read this document and make any remarksI like."
"Of course."
"Well then, I'll take you at your word. I advise you to draw your penright through that clause."
"Why? Hilary is an irreclaimable scamp."
"No, he is not."
"Not, eh? `St. Clair, St. Clair and Blachland.' Have you forgottenthat, Canon?" snorted Sir Luke. "_And_ Blachland! My nephew!"
"How long ago was that?"
"How long ago? Why, you know as well as I do. Six years. Rather overthan under."
"Yes. Six years is a long time. Time enough for a man to recognisethat he has made worse than a fool of himself. How do you know thatHilary has not come to recognise that--is not doing all he can to wipeout that sin?"
"Exactly. How do I know? That's just it. He has never had the graceor decency to let me know that he has--to let me know whether he's deador alive." The other smiled to himself. "That's not the solitary oneof his carryings on, either. Yes. He's an out-and-out scamp."
"I don't agree with you, Canterby. The very fact that he has refrainedfrom communicating with you makes for the contrary. It is a sign ofgrace. Had he been the scamp you--_don't_ believe him to be, you'd haveheard from him fast enough, with some pitiful appeal for assistance."
"But he ought to have let me hear. I might be thinking him dead."
"Well, the last thing you told him was that he ought to be. If Irecollect rightly, you strong
ly recommended him to go and blow hisbrains out."
"Well, he didn't. He went off with the woman instead."
"That isn't to say he's with her now."
"I'm surprised at you, Canon," snorted Sir Luke. "Hanged if I everthought to find you defending--er--vice."
"And you haven't found me doing so yet. But everything has to bedetermined on its own merits."
"But there aren't any merits in this case. It was a bad case, sir, arotten bad case."
"Well, we'll say demerits then, if you prefer it. Now there are, orwere, two extenuating circumstances in this particular one--thepersonality of the woman, and--heredity. For the first I have seen her,for the second, Hilary's father. You knew him pretty well, Canterby,but I knew him even better than you did."
"But what would you have me do? I daren't put him into possession oflarge responsibilities. He has disgraced his family as it is. I can'thave him coming here one day, and disgracing it further."
"You would rather put Percival into the position then?"
"Of course. He would fill it worthily. The other wouldn't."
"I don't know about that. I am perfectly certain about one thing, andthat is that Percival himself would never accept it at the expense ofhis cousin, if he knew he was to do so. That boy has a rarelychivalrous soul, and he used almost to worship Hilary."
"Pooh! That wouldn't go so far as to make him deliberately choose to beleft nearly a pauper in order to benefit the other," sneered Sir Luke.But he was a man who did not sneer well. It was not natural to him tosneer at all--therefore his sneer was not convincing.
"I don't agree with you, Canterby. I believe he would. There are somefew natures like that, thank Heaven, although it must be conceded theyare marvellously scarce. But he need not `be left a pauper'--thoughthat of course rests with you--and that without doing the other anyinjustice--and yourself too. For you know as well as I do, Luke, thatHilary holds and always will hold the first place in your heart."
"And the same holds good of Percy in regard to yours, eh, Canon? Yetyou are arguing against him for all you know how."
"I am arguing against you, not against him. You invited remark upon thecontents of this document, Luke, and asked me to advise you, and I havedone my best to comply with both desires. Don't be in a hurry to commitan act of injustice which you yourself may bitterly repent when it istoo late, and past remedying. You are at present sore and vindictiveagainst Hilary, but you know perfectly well in your heart of hearts thathe is to you as your own and only son. Stretch out a hand of blessingover him from beyond the grave, not one of wrath and retribution andjudgment."
"It isn't that, you know," urged Sir Luke, rather feebly. "My reasonsare different. I don't want him to come here and play ducks and drakeswith what I have taken a lifetime to build up--and not easily either--and to bring scandal on my name and memory. That's what it amounts to."
"That's what you are trying to persuade yourself into thinking itamounts to, but you can't humbug me, old friend. My advice to youtherefore is to lock that draft away, or better still, put it in thefire, and leave things as they are."
"You mean with Hilary as my heir?"
"Just that. I have, however, a suggestion to append. Find out Hilary;not necessarily directly, but find out about him--where he is and whatdoing. The fact that he has never applied to you for help, is, as Isaid before, a point in his favour. He may have carved out a positionfor himself--may be of use in the world by his life and example.Anyway, give him a chance."
"But if I find just the reverse? What if I find him a thoroughlyhardened and disreputable scamp?"
"Then I have nothing further to urge. But somehow I have an instinctthat you will find him nothing of the sort."
A perceptible brightening came over the old man's face. The priest hadstruck the right chord in saying that Hilary Blachland had been to hisfriend rather as an only son than as a nephew, and now the thought ofhaving him at his side again was apparent in the lighting up of hisface. Then his countenance fell again.
"It's all very well to say `Find out Hilary,'" he said. "But how is itto be done? We last heard of him from South Africa. He was trading inthe interior with the natives. Seemed to like the life and could make alittle at it."
"Well, there you are. You can soon find out about him. Althoughcovering a vast area in the vague region geographically defined as SouthAfrica, the European population is one of those wherein everybody knowseverybody else, or something about them. Send Percival out. The tripwould do him a world of good. You need not tell him its precise objectin every particular, I mean of course that he is sent out there toreport. But let him know that he is to find Hilary, and he will throwhimself into it heart and soul. Then his indirect report will tell usall we want to know."
"By Jove, Canon, that is sound judgment, and I'll act upon it!" criedSir Luke eagerly. "What on earth are your people about that they don'tmake you a Cardinal Archbishop? Send Percival! Why, that'll be thevery thing. I shall miss the boy though, while he's away, but oh,confound it, yes--I would like to see that other scamp again before Idie. Here--this can go in the fire," throwing the draft document intothe grate and stirring it up with the poker to make it burn. "We'llsend Percival. Ha! That sounds like his step. Shall we say anythingto him now about it? Yes. Here he is."