CHAPTER VA REVELATION

It was with joy and relief that Dorinda communicated her father's decision to Rupert, and he was as pleased as she was at the prospect of their speedy marriage. Hitherto Mallien, not wishing to make himself uncomfortable by losing his housekeeper--which Dorinda really was--had always objected to the performance of the ceremony. Certainly he gained five hundred a year when the two became one; but, during the twenty-four months of the official engagement, this fond parent had not been in particular want of money, and in any case had always borrowed what small sums he required from his liberal-minded cousin, at intervals. But now his heart was set upon purchasing the blue sapphire which he had mentioned to Dorinda, and it was not likely that Rupert would give him the price of that. Therefore, to get his new income assured, he allowed the young couple to have their own way. Also--and this had a good deal to do with the granted permission--he really dreaded lest Carrington should obtain any influence over the young Squire, and thought that the gaining of such could best be prevented by giving Rupert his desire. With Dorinda beside him, it was unlikely that Hendle would allow Carrington to draw on his purse.

Seeing that Miss Mallien had a small opinion of her father, and spoke to him pretty freely on subjects of dispute between them, it seemed strange that she should have laid such stress on obtaining his consent to the marriage. But Dorinda, considering that her father was her father, in spite of his unamiable nature, wished him to exercise this last act of paternal authority. She would not have been happy had she provoked a quarrel by going contrary to his views, and so had waited until he thought fit to issue his commands. Had Mallien, indeed, wholly forbidden the marriage taking place, Dorinda would have rebelled, but she gave way on the minor point of an unusually long engagement. She saw Rupert almost daily; they understood one another thoroughly, and, as both were young, there was no particular hurry. Nevertheless, the girl was pleased at the lordly permission of her irritating parent, and set about her preparations straightway. It was now July, and after a conversation with Rupert, it was decided that the Rev. Simon Leigh should make them man and wife toward the end of August. And Dorinda confessed to her future husband, that she would be glad to escape from the constant society of her father, who of late had been unusually trying. On his side, Rupert was extremely glad to get the dearest girl in the world all to himself. So the important matter was settled, and Hendle returned to The Big House very contented with the world in general and with himself in particular.

In his delight he called in Mrs. Beatson to the library to inform her of his intended change of life, although he rather dreaded the woeful looks and sad words with which she would receive his communication. Mrs. Beatson made her appearance, looking more like a Christian martyr than ever, but assumed her most gracious and lady-like manner to hear what her young master had to say. She greatly resembled that painfully well-bred gentlewoman, Mrs. Sparsit, in Dickens' story, and, like her, was a housekeeper very much against her will.

"Wish me joy, Mrs. Beatson," said Rupert gaily, when the martyr made her sour appearance. "I am going to be married."

"So I have understood for two years, Mr. Hendle."

"Quite so. I have been engaged to Miss Mallien for quite that time. But we are to be married toward the end of next month."

"Indeed!" Mrs. Beatson looked dismayed. "Isn't that rather sudden?"

"Sudden!" Rupert swung round his chair and looked puzzled. "How can it be sudden after my being engaged for twenty-four months?"

"I only mean, Mr. Hendle, that I should have thought it necessary for you to consider the matter carefully for six months before fixing the day. Marriage, Mr. Hendle, is a serious matter."

"It is a very delightful matter, Mrs. Beatson, considering who the lady is."

"Ah!" Mrs. Beatson crossed her hands and cast up her eyes with a melancholy expression, "so we all say until we are married. I suppose, Mr. Hendle, you intend to give me notice?"

"Indeed, I intend to give you nothing of the sort," said Rupert bluffly. "All the difference will be that my wife will give you orders instead of me."

Mrs. Beatson looked as though this would make a very great difference indeed, as she much preferred to have a master than a mistress. All the same, she looked relieved when she learned that her situation was not in danger. "I am glad to stay on, Mr. Hendle," she said, with the air of making a concession. "I look on The Big House as in some sense my home."

"That's all right. Continue to look upon it as your home, until Kit marries Miss Tollart and you go to live with them."

"Pardon me, Mr. Hendle," said Mrs. Beatson with icy scorn; "but you little know my nature when you suggest such a thing. I don't approve of Sophy Tollart, whose views regarding our sex are anything but pacific. Besides, young people rarely take the advice of those who are older and wiser than they are; consequently, it is best for them to live by themselves. Would you like Mr. Mallien to dwell at The Big House when you wed with his daughter?"

"Good Lord, no," replied Hendle hastily. "It is the last thing either I or Miss Mallien would desire. We can manage our own affairs."

"So you think, Mr. Hendle; but the mistakes you will make will be endless."

"Nonsense, I am not a fool, and Miss Mallien has plenty of good sense."

"Sense isn't experience," lamented Mrs. Beatson, shaking her head and smiling in a most dreary manner. "However, I am no prophetess of evil, and wish you and Miss Mallien well. But mistakes you will make, say what you will, and sorrow will come to you as it comes to all."

"There! There! Don't croak any more, Mrs. Beatson."

"Me croak," repeated the lady in surprise. "Why, I am trying to look on the bright side of things, for whatever you may say there is always a black side."

"Well, well," observed Rupert testily, for her words and manner irritated his usually steady nerves. "We'll wait and see what happens. Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you, is a very good proverb."

"I annoy you by speaking the truth," remarked the good lady with a superior smile. "Ah, that is always the way with the young, sir. However, you have only to say the word and I go."

"I don't want you to go."

"You may not, Mr. Hendle, but Miss Mallien will."

"Not at all. She is quite willing that you should stay."

"So she says, but I have my doubts;" and Mrs. Beatson groaned, being quite sure in her own mind that Dorinda wished to turn her out to die by the wayside. "However, this is a world of sorrow, and when I am starved to death, perhaps you may be sorry for your harsh treatment."

"Wait until the harsh treatment takes place," retorted Rupert, who would have liked to shake her into common sense. "Meanwhile, I have told you of my intention to get married next month."

"There's many a slip between the cup and the lip," said Mrs. Beatson, mysteriously; "but the less talked about is the soonest forgotten." After which cryptic speech she drifted toward the door, as if her legs were taking her in a direction contrary to that expressed by her will. "The Rev. Mr. Leigh is in the Muniment Room, Mr. Hendle," she said, pausing on the threshold, "and expressed a wish to see you."

"You might ask him to stay to dinner," said Rupert, glancing at his watch.

Mrs. Beatson departed firmly convinced that her master really intended to dismiss her and had only broken the ice with his information about the marriage, so that she might be prepared to be turned out to die. With this in her mind, she hovered uneasily about the dining-room and drawing-room both before and after dinner, in the hope of catching some stray word, which might reveal Rupert's expected treachery.

Meanwhile Rupert, after a hearty laugh at Mrs. Beatson's cheerful manner of looking at the future, went upstairs to dress for dinner.

"Hang Mrs. Beatson," he thought, when he descended to the drawing-room. "I do wish she would keep her dismals to herself. She's about as cheerful as tombs, and not at all the person to have in the house of a young married couple," and from this mental speech it may be guessed that the dreary old lady was within an ace of being dismissed, as she dreaded, although such an idea had never entered her master's mind until she began her wailing.

Mr. Leigh, who had brushed and washed at Mrs. Beatson's request, for he was dusty and grimy after his work in the Muniment Room, was wandering about the big drawing-room, peering at pictures and statues and old silver through his pince-nez. He turned to greet Rupert in his usual mild absent-minded way, when the young Squire, smartly groomed and eminently handsome, entered.

"Quite Greek," murmured the vicar, balancing himself on his toes and with his hands behind his back. "I must say that your looks are in your favor, Rupert. For the well-being of the race you should marry and beget children."

"Well, I am going to," said Hendle, used to the vicar's eccentric speeches. "I make Dorinda my wife next month."

"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Leigh alertly. "Dorinda is a very desirable damsel. I hope you will be happy."

"You seem to have your doubts, from the tone you use," remarked Rupert dryly.

Mr. Leigh shook his head. "Life has its troubles," he observed sententiously.

"For heaven's sake, vicar, don't croak. I have had enough of that from Mrs. Beatson," a remark which the housekeeper, hovering outside the door, overheard and registered in her mind as a bad omen for her future continuance at The Big House. "I beg your pardon," went on the Squire, rather ashamed of his momentary irritability, "but I do wish people would look on marriage as marriage and not as a funeral."

"Of course, of course," ruminated Mr. Leigh. "One is always sure of a funeral, though not of a marriage."

"Vicar!" burst out the young man, much vexed at this persistent lamentation, "you are--well." He linked his arm in that of Mr. Leigh, knowing it was useless to argue, "you are hungry and there's the gong."

"Am I hungry?" Mr. Leigh asked, when he was being conducted into the dining-room. "Really I believe I am. For three or four hours I have been busy in the Muniment Room."

"I wonder you don't grow tired of fumbling amongst those dusty parchments."

"No! No! No! They are most interesting. Yet," went on the vicar, as he spread his napkin across his spare knees. "I may have to postpone my history of Barship Parish after all--until I return from Yucatan, that is."

"Yucatan!" Rupert nodded to the butler that he should fill Mr. Leigh's glass with sherry, for the vicar was too absent-minded to give the order. "Where is Yucatan?"

Mr. Leigh devoted his attention to the soup, and then looked up dreamily. "Yucatan," he repeated. "Dear me, Rupert, your geographical knowledge is limited."

"I never was a particularly good scholar," said the squire apologetically, "and Yucatan is some out-of-the-way place, I take it."

"It is in Central America, and is concerned with the Maya civilization."

"Oh, now I know what you are talking about. You refer to that diary of old Frank Mallien, which his son has. Dorinda told me that you went occasionally to see it at my cousin's cottage."

"Yes," said Mr. Leigh, more wide awake than usual; "and, although I have been many times for the last year, Mallien always tells me over again that it is his father's manuscript when he explored Central America. He thinks that I am wanting in common sense, I fancy. But I let him talk on rudely, as he does talk, Rupert. After all, the diary is so interesting, that Mallien's brusque manners are well worth putting up with for the sake of my acquiring the information it contains."

"What does it contain?" asked Rupert, more for the sake of promoting conversation than because he cared.

"An account of a dead and gone civilization," said the vicar in a dreamy tone, and scarcely knowing that fish had been placed before him. "Tombs, cities, stone carvings and manuscripts, deposited with mummies. Yes, there certainly must have been some communication between Yucatan and Egypt. Le Plongue says--dear me, I forget what he does say. However, I can see into the matter for myself when I go there."

"Go to Yucatan--to Central America," said Hendle staring. "Why, at your age, it is dangerous to attempt such an expedition."

Mr. Leigh only caught the last word. "Expedition! Yes! It will be costly, as Mallien, in his rude way, observed. But I have arranged how to get the money, Rupert. A thousand pounds--perhaps more. Really I am not sure what it will cost. But we can arrange the sum later."

"We?" Rupert stared harder than ever.

"You and I," said Leigh placidly. "After all, I am glad you have the money and not Mallien, as you are more likely to do what I want than he is. A dour man, grasping and avaricious."

Rupert glanced at the butler and the footman. "I don't quite understand," he said, in a puzzled way. "Perhaps you will explain."

In his turn Leigh, following Hendle's eyes, glanced at the servants. "When we are alone I can tell you all about it over our coffee."

More bewildered than ever and, in a vague way, sensing danger, Rupert would have asked for an explanation. But the servants being present, he decided to wait until he was alone with his erratic friend. Therefore the conversation passed on to other subjects connected with Mr. Leigh's discoveries in the Muniment Room, of various documents connected with the behavior of dead and buried Hendles toward the parish. Rupert said very little. What with Mrs. Beatson's gloom and the vicar's cryptic utterances, he felt as though some storm were approaching, and was anxious for the meal to end, so that he could go to the root of the matter. All the same, he laughed at himself for entertaining such a wild fancy. There was no quarter of the heavens from which any storm, big or little, could blow, as all was serene and bright. And, as Hendle happened to be one of those very material persons who only believe in what can be seen, heard or touched, he scouted the idea of any premonition heralding any possible evil. Yet the premonition was in his consciousness sure enough, and the young man, prosaic as ever, put it down to indigestion. A weaker explanation considering his splendid health can scarcely be imagined.

When the dinner was over, Mr. Leigh, who had contented himself with a single glass of port wine to round off the entertainment, rose more briskly than usual, and announced his wish to go.

"You must not mind my speedy departure, Rupert," he said, slipping his pince-nez into his waistcoat pocket; "but I have much work to do in connection with my proposed expedition. I hope Titus Ark is waiting to accompany me home. I told him to call for me about half-past six."

"Ark is waiting in the kitchen," said Rupert, after a quiet word with the pompous butler. "He came at six and has stayed on. There is no hurry for you to go, Mr. Leigh. Remember you have something to tell me," and Hendle, taking the old man's arm, led him gently but firmly into the drawing room.

"Something to tell you," repeated the vicar puzzled; then suddenly his face cleared. "Oh, dear me, yes; how fortunate you reminded me, Rupert. It has to do with John Hendle."

"John Hendle. Do you mean my great-great-grandfather----"

"Who died in the Waterloo year. Yes, I do. When we are alone,"--Mr. Leigh broke off and glanced meaningly at the footman who was bringing in the coffee. "It is lucky you reminded me," he ended aimlessly, "very lucky. My expedition, ah yes, this hangs on that and that on this."

"What on earth are you talking about?" questioned Hendle, much vexed at all this unnecessary mystery. "Sit down and drink your coffee and tell me all about it. You don't smoke, I know, but I shall."

"Certainly, certainly," murmured Leigh vaguely, "of course, your marriage with your cousin will bring together the two branches of the family. That, in the long run, will put things right."

"Put what things right?"

"Money matters."

Hendle echoed the word and stared. "I wish you would talk plainly," he said, with some irritation.

"Oh, certainly. I am rather apt to wander in worldly matters." Leigh cleared his throat and sat up briskly with all his wits about him for once in his dreamy life. "Mallien is descended from Walter Hendle, and you from Frederick Hendle, their father John being your common ancestor."

"Yes, that is so. But Mallien descends through the female line, although he is the elder branch of the family."

"There is no entail?"

"No. If there was, it would be in my favor, as I descend through the male heirs. But what does all this mean?"

"I shall tell you if you will allow me to collect my thoughts. While searching in the Muniment Room, Rupert, I came across letters of John Hendle, which show that he loved his elder son Walter and greatly disliked his younger son Frederick. Walter was a brave man, who fought for his country and who died at Waterloo. Frederick, as the letters say, was a scamp--what in those days was known as a blood. Reckless, extravagant and evil, he alienated his father's affections, and John Hendle desired to disinherit him."

"It is the first time I have heard of Frederick's iniquity," said Rupert with a shrug, "and I see little use in raking up the evil done by a man who lived about one hundred years ago."

Leigh took no notice of this observation. "John desired that his granddaughter Eunice, the child of his favorite son Walter, should inherit. As the property was entirely at his own disposal, he made a will in her favor."

Rupert jumped up so suddenly that he upset his coffee. "What?"

"Pray don't act in so excitable a manner, Rupert," protested the vicar, raising his thin hand. "You irritate my nerves."

"But--but--what you say--oh, it's absurd," stammered the Squire. "There was never any question about Frederick's inheriting the property. I don't know much about the matter, as the thing didn't interest me. But, if Frederick inherited wrongly, surely the question would have been raised before."

"How could it be when the will in favor of Eunice was missing?"

"Missing?"

"Yes. John made the will and apparently died suddenly before he could make it public. I found it," said Mr. Leigh slowly, "in the chest."

"In the Muniment Room?"

"Yes. It is a will drawn up quite legally on parchment as was the case in those days, although I don't think wills are drawn up now on----"

"Oh, never mind these minor points," broke in Rupert hastily. "You say that you found a will, made by John Hendle, leaving the property to Eunice, from whom my cousin Mallien is descended?"

"I did. Some weeks ago I came across the document. But I did not say anything until I ascertained for myself as to which of you two was the right person to have the money. I am inclined to think that you had better keep it, Rupert, since Mallien is so avaricious, and will not help anyone--not even me, when I desire money for my expedition to forward the cause of science."

"If this will is in order," said Rupert, rising to pace the long room, and feeling painfully agitated. "Mallien should have the property."

"I fear so; I fear so," murmured the vicar uncomfortably. "The same leaves the property unreservedly to his grandmother Eunice. I have not told Mallien, who would undoubtedly contest your right to the estates, as I do not consider him a fit and proper person to have much money."

"Right is right," said Hendle, whose face was pale and whose lips were dry. "If Mallien is the rightful heir, he must be placed in possession. But all this may be a mistake on your part. Where is the will?"

Mr. Leigh looked nervous and distressed. "Dear me, Rupert, I am afraid I have mislaid it. I took it home to study it at my convenience, so as to make sure that it really gave the property to Eunice. I did examine it, and became quite positive that Mallien is the rightful heir. Then, somehow--you know how absent-minded I am--I laid it aside and since have not been able to find it. I have searched without result."

"You should have given it to me at once," said Hendle, severely.

"But, my dear boy, I had your interest at heart," protested the vicar, wiping his forehead. "I know how quixotic you are, and guessed that you would give the property to Mallien without demur, if the will was correct, which I fear it is. For your own sake I took time to consider the discovery I had made."

"You must find the will at once," commanded Rupert manfully, "and it must be submitted to the lawyers. If Mallien is the heir, Mallien gets the money."

Mr. Leigh rose, much agitated. "I don't think he should get it, Rupert. He is a greedy man, who would only hoard up gold and make a bad use of newly acquired wealth. I tell you he declined to help me to fit out my expedition. I know you will, so you ought to keep the money."

"How can you advise me to be so dishonest," cried the Squire, indignantly, "you who are a clergyman of the Church of England?"

"I have the greater sense of right from being so," rejoined the vicar, quite tartly for so amiable a man. "And when I remember that you and yours have enjoyed the property for one hundred years, it seems ridiculous to hand it over to another man."

"Who belongs to the elder branch, remember," said Rupert swiftly. "And who is, according to your reading of this newly discovered will, the rightful heir." He took a turn up and down the room, then stopped to face the vicar who was fidgeting on the hearth rug. "You must turn your house upside down to find the will, Mr. Leigh, and it must be handed over to our family lawyers, so that Mallien may be placed in possession of the property forthwith."

"Rupert, I implore you not to act hastily or foolishly. Say nothing about this belated testament, which will do Mallien more harm than good considering his greedy and misanthropic nature. I will look for it and will give it to you. Throw it into the chest again."

"No! no! no! I would never have a moment's peace if I did that. I know that Mallien is not the man to have too much money, but I can't help that. If he is the rightful heir, he must enter into his kingdom. Besides, if I marry Dorinda, the property will come back to me, representing the younger branch."

"If Mallien gets the property," said Mr. Leigh deliberately, "he will not allow you to marry Dorinda."

"I can trust her," said Rupert curtly.

"Quite so. But you will have no money to marry her, and Mallien will cut her off with a shilling. He is quite capable of doing so."

Hendle knew this well enough and reflected for a few moments. "Say nothing to Mallien or to anyone," he remarked finally, "until you find the will and we can look over it together."

"Oh, I shall certainly hold my tongue," said the vicar quickly. "Believe me, it is only my esteem for you which makes me urge you not to notice the will. Sleep on the question, Rupert, for the morning is wiser than the night. This matter will remain strictly between ourselves. Now good night; good night."

Hendle shook hands, not objecting to the vicar's abrupt departure, and when alone groaned over the unexpected fulfilment of his premonition.