Volume Iii Part 9 (1/2)

'Yes, of the carnal and unregenerate. There are too many of such, alas, in the Church of England-wolves in sheep's clothing.'

The lady was an Evangelical of the bitterest type.

'Well, dear, we won't discuss the question,' said the Colonel meekly.

'What am I to reply to this letter?'

'What, the letter from London, from Mr. Wentworth? Short and sharp. Say the idea is perfectly ridiculous. We can hear of no compromise. It is quite out of the question for us to give up our rights just as Providence has opened to us a means of extended usefulness. Mr. Wentworth is only a newspaper writer, a man of no position in society, and I am told his wife was actually an actress.'

'Yes, I believe so,' said the Colonel. This was enough. The Colonel's lady was one of the elect-a model in a certain section of society of holy living. Yet, under a sanctified exterior, she was as hard, and bitter, and selfish, and uncharitable as it was possible for any woman to be, and the beauty of it was, that she thought herself, and was considered by her friends, to be in a state of exalted spiritualism, living in close communion with G.o.d.

Such people are by no means uncommon, the creatures of a self-deception of a most odious kind. Their language is full of Scripture phraseology; they delight in pious hymns; all their reading is confined to pious biographies, especially religious diaries, the morbid revelations of which record at nauseous length their diseased state of mind, which they a.s.sume to be the direct results of a Divine inspiration and tokens of a Divine love. When they are in distress, it is not the natural result of the circ.u.mstances in which they are placed, or the conditions of ordinary life, but the Divine will and purpose. If they neglect the laws of health, and are ill in consequence, it is the Lord's doing. If they lose their money owing to imprudence in trusting it in rotten companies, it is the Lord's doing. If trade is bad and creature comforts fail, or they live beyond their means and are in embarra.s.sed circ.u.mstances, it is the Lord's doing, to wean them from the world and its sinful vanities, and to lead them back to Himself.

There are no mysteries to them; all is clear, and their knowledge of the Divine way is only equalled by their thorough acquaintance with those of His great adversary the devil. In them, peace of mind is the result of this knowledge. To the carnal mind their self-sufficiency and self-satisfaction is amusing. It is almost beautiful, the smile with which they listen to one another, and the calm contempt with which they regard everyone not of their way of thinking. By the side of them an iceberg is genial, and their power is as great as their faith. All the artillery of heaven is in their hands. Peace is theirs, but it is truly a peace that pa.s.seth all understanding; they are not as other men are.

To the outer world their cry is, 'Procul este, profani!'

But let us return to the Colonel's lady.

She continues:

'We are not wealthy, you see,' she was wont to say to the kind-hearted Belgian ladies, when they called on her for a subscription. 'We are, I may say, living quite up to our income, and we have got our duty to do to the family, and the Colonel keeps the money-bags so tight that I can never get a franc. But what I can do I do, and, after all, it matters little-the contemptible dross of the world-if I can give to the needy the riches, that never fade nor pa.s.s away, of the Divine Word.'

And thus the lady excused to herself, as so many of us do, her lack of true charity.

'Well,' said the Colonel, 'what shall I say to this Wentworth?'

'Take no notice of him. Refer him to your lawyer in London. The path of duty is very clear. We find ourselves, by a merciful interposition of Providence, restored to our rightful position in society. You to take your place as the head of one of the old county families, I to still labour for my blessed Master in a sphere of increased usefulness. You owe it to your family to at once take possession of the t.i.tle and estate, and not to have a moment's delay.'

'But,' said the Colonel, 'if there should be a grain of truth in this c.o.c.k-and-bull story it might be awkward. I should like to have an inquiry made about this boy.'

'Pray, do nothing of the kind. You only open the way to fraud and imposition. Your late brother never treated us fairly. He was often positively rude to me, and his son-if this boy is such-has no claims on us.'

'Well,' said the Colonel, 'I should not like to behave shabbily.'

'What do you mean, Colonel?' said the lady indignantly. 'I am not the one to recommend you to do that. The boy is no concern of ours. We take what the law gives us. It is a duty we owe to society to do that. I am aware,' added the lady, 'that Sir Watkin had a son, that the infant was stolen, and that the dead body was placed in the family vault. Not all the lawyers in London, and they are bad enough, can upset that.'

'But suppose the wrong child was buried?'

'Fiddle-de-dee!' said the lady. 'We know better than that. The estates are fairly ours, and we return to England as soon as we can to take our rights. Mr. Wentworth and his wife between them have concocted this villainous story, which no decent person would ever think of believing.'

Wentworth and his wife were quite aware of that; they believed in the boy, who was-to judge from the family portraits-a striking representation of the deceased Baronet at his time of life. But would the world believe it? that was the question to be asked.

Poor Sally on her deathbed had no inducement to tell a lie.

Unfortunately, she had kept her secret too long. She had hoped to have made a harvest of the boy, but death had come to her, and all her hopes had ended in the grave. As is often the case, she was too clever by half.

Wentworth and his wife had an unpleasant time of it. Indeed, the family lawyer had intimated in a genial mood that he might possibly feel it his painful duty to place them in the dock, on a charge of conspiracy to defraud-a situation for which neither of them had any fancy. Their best friends seemed to regard the story with suspicion. What jury would be convinced by the testimony of 'our Sally,' whose head was generally fuddled with drink, and whom they could not even produce in court? It was true that the lad very much resembled the deceased Baronet. It was quite within probability that the latter was his father, but that did not legally make him the son and heir. It was felt that they had better talk over the matter with the lad himself, who was then an officer on board one of the floating hotels plying between Liverpool and New York.

Accordingly, Rose undertook the task of interviewing him in one of those sumptuous hotels for which Liverpool is famed. The boy had never heard of Sir Watkin, nor were his recollections of the deceased Sally of a very decided character. He had, however, never believed that she was his mother, and from her mysterious hints when under the influence of drink he had come to the conclusion that he had been stolen, though when or why he could not make out.

It is true there was an old woman at Sloville, a pal of Sally's, the one who had written to Rose, who had the identical dress which the baby wore when it was stolen, but it was felt that the production of the article in question in court would not much advance matters. She had not stolen the baby. She could only say that the deceased Sally had a.s.serted she had, and had bidden her be quiet, as one day or other she would astonish everybody by the wonderful revelation she had it in her power to make.