Ethel turned indignantly to Brent, as the little figure went off down the path.
"Outrageous!" she cried.
"Poor little wretch." Brent walked to the windows and looked after her. "She's quite pretty."
Ethel looked understandingly at him: "IS she?"
"In a shabby sort of way. Didn't you think so?"
Ethel glared coldly at him.
"I never notice the lower orders. You apparently do."
"Oh, yes—often. They're very interesting—at times." He strained to get a last glimpse of the intruder:
"Do you know, she's the strangest little apparition—"
"She's only a few yards away if you care to follow her!"
Her tone brought Brent up sharply. He turned away from the window and found Ethel—arms folded, eyes flashing—waiting for him. Something in her manner alarmed him. He had gone too far.
"Why, Ethel,"—he said, as he came toward her.
"Suppose my mother had walked in here—or Alaric—instead of that creature? Never do such a thing again."
"I was carried away," he hastened to explain.
"Kindly exercise a little more restraint. You had better go now." There was a finality of dismissal in her tone as she passed him and crossed to the great staircase. He followed her:
"May I call to-morrow?"
"No," she answered decidedly. "Not to-morrow."
"The following day, then," he urged.
"Perhaps."
"Remember—I build on you."
She looked searchingly at him:
"I suppose we ARE worthy of each other."
Through the open windows came the sound of voices.
"Go!" she said imperatively and she passed on up the stairs. Brent went rapidly to the door. Before either he could open it or Ethel go out of sight Alaric burst in through the windows.
"Hello, Brent," he cried cheerfully. "Disturbin' ye?" And he caught Ethel as she was about to disappear: "Or you, Ethel?"
Ethel turned and answered coolly:
"You've not disturbed me."
"I'm just going," said Brent.
"Well, wait a moment," and Alaric turned to the window and beckoned to someone on the path and in from the garden came Mr. Montgomery Hawkes.
"Come in," said the energetic Alaric. "Come in. Ethel, I want you to meet Mr. Hawkes—Mr. Hawkes—my sister. Mr. Brent—Mr. Hawkes." Having satisfactorily introduced everyone he said to Ethel: "See if the mater's well enough to come down, like a dear, will ye? This gentleman has come from London to see her. D'ye mind? And come back yourself, too, like an angel. He says he has some business that concerns the whole family."
Ethel disappeared without a word.
Alaric bustled Hawkes into a chair and then seized the somewhat uncomfortable Brent by an unwilling hand and shook it warmly as he asked:
"MUST you go?"
"Yes," replied Brent with a sigh of relief.
Alaric dashed to the door and opened it as though to speed the visitor on his way.
"So sorry I was out when you called," lied Alaric nimbly. "Run in any time. Always delighted to see you. Delighted. Is the angel wife all well?"
Brent bowed: "Thank you."
"And the darling child?"
Brent frowned. He crossed to the door and turned in the frame and admonished Alaric:
"Please give my remembrances to your mother." Then he passed out. As he disappeared the irrepressible Alaric called after him:
"Certainly. She'll be so disappointed not to have seen you. Run in any time—any time at all." Alaric closed the door and saw his mother and Ethel coming down the stairs.
All traces of emotion had disappeared from Ethel's face and manner. She was once again in perfect command of herself. She carried a beautiful little French poodle in her arms and was feeding her with sugar.
Alaric fussily brought his mother forward.
"Mater, dear," he said; "I found this gentleman in a rose-bed enquiring the way to our lodge. He's come all the way from dear old London just to see you. Mr. Hawkes—my mother."
Mrs. Chichester looked at Hawkes anxiously.
"You have come to see me?"
"On a very important and a very private family matter," replied Hawkes, gravely. "IMPORTANT? PRIVATE?" asked Mrs. Chichester in surprise.
"We're the family, Mr. Hawkes," ventured Alaric, helpfully.
Mrs. Chichester's forebodings came uppermost. After the news of the bank's failure nothing would surprise her now in the way of calamity. What could this grave, dignified-looking man want with them? Her eyes filled.
"Is it BAD news?" she faltered.
"Oh, dear, no," answered Mr. Hawkes, genially.
"Well—is it GOOD news?" queried Alaric.
"In a measure," said the lawyer.
"Then for heaven's sake get at it. You've got me all clammy. We could do with a little good news. Wait a minute! Is it by any chance about the BANK?"
"No," replied Mr. Hawkes. He cleared his throat and said solemnly and impressively to Mrs. Chichester:
"It is about your LATE brother—Nathaniel Kingsnorth."
"Late!" cried Mrs. Chichester. "Is Nathaniel DEAD?"
"Yes, madam," said Hawkes gravely. "He died ten days ago."
Mrs. Chichester sat down and silently wept. Nathaniel to have died without her being with him to comfort him and arrange things with him! It was most unfortunate.
Alaric tried to feel sorry, but inasmuch as his uncle had always refused to see him he could not help thinking it may have been retribution. However, he tried to show a fair and decent measure of regret.
"Poor old Nat," he cried. "Eh, Ethel?"
"Never saw him," answered Ethel, her face and voice totally without emotion. "You say he died ten days ago?" asked Mrs. Chichester.
Mr. Hawkes bowed.
"Why was I not informed? The funeral—?"
"There was no funeral," replied Mr. Hawkes.
"No funeral?" said Alaric in astonishment.
"No," replied the lawyer. "In obedience to his written wishes he was cremated and no one was present except the chief executor and myself. If I may use Mr. Kingsnorth's words without giving pain, he said he so little regretted not having seen any of his relations for the last twenty years of his life-time he was sure THEY would regret equally little his death. On no account was anyone to wear mourning for him, nor were they to express any open sorrow. 'They wouldn't FEEL it, so why lie about it?' I use his own words," added Mr. Hawkes, as if disclaiming all responsibility for such a remarkable point of view.
"What a rum old bird!" remarked Alaric, contemplatively.
Mrs. Chichester wept as she said:
"He was always the most unfeeling, the most heartless—the most—"
"Now in his will—" interrupted the lawyer, producing a leather pocket-book filled with important-looking papers: "In his will—" he repeated—
Mrs. Chichester stopped crying:
"Eh? A will?"
"What?" said Alaric, beaming; "did the dear old gentleman leave a will?"
Even Ethel stopped playing with "Pet" and listened languidly to the conversation.
Mr. Hawkes, realising he had their complete interest, went on importantly: "As Mr. Kingsnorth's legal adviser up to the time of his untimely death I have come here to make you acquainted with some of its contents."
He spread a formidable-looking document wide-open on the table, adjusted his pince-nez and prepared to read. "Dear old Nat!" said Alaric reflectively. "Do you remember, mater, we met him at Victoria Station once when I was little more than a baby? Yet I can see him now as plainly as if it were yesterday. A portly, sandy-haired old buck, with three jolly chins."
"He was white toward the end, and very, very thin," said Mr. Hawkes softly.
"Was he?" from Alaric. "Fancy that. It just shows, mater, doesn't it?" He bent eagerly over the table as Hawkes traced some figures with a pencil on one of the pages of the will.
"How much did he leave?" And Alaric's voice rose to a pitch of well-defined interest.
"His estate is valued, approximately, at some two hundred thousand pounds," replied the lawyer.
Alaric gave a long, low whistle, and smiled a broad, comprehensive smile.
Ethel for the first time showed a gleam of genuine interest.
Mrs. Chichester began to cry again. "Perhaps it was my fault I didn't see him oftener," she said.
Alaric, unable to curb his curiosity, burst out with: "How did the old boy split it up?"
"To his immediate relations he left" Mr. Hawkes looked up from the will and found three pairs of eyes fixed on him. He stopped. It may be that constant association with the law courts destroys faith in human nature—but whatever the cause, it seemed to Mr. Hawkes in each of those eyes was reflected the one dominant feeling—GREED. The expression in the family's combined eyes was astonishing in its directness, its barefacedness. It struck the dignified gentleman suddenly dumb.
"Well? Well?" Cried Alaric. "How much? Don't stop right in the middle of an important thing like that. You make me as nervous as a chicken."
Mr. Hawkes returned to the will and after looking at it a moment without reading said:
"To his immediate relations Mr. Kingsnorth left, I regret to say—NOTHING."
A momentary silence fell like a pall over the stricken Chichester family.
Mrs. Chichester rose, indignation flashing from the eyes that a moment since showed a healthy hope.
"Nothing?" she cried incredulously.
"Not a penny-piece to anyone?" ventured Alaric.
The faintest suspicion of a smile flitted across Ethel's face.
Hawkes looked keenly at them and answered:
"I deeply regret to say—nothing."
Mrs. Chichester turned to Ethel, who had begun to stroke "Pet" again.
"His own flesh and blood!" cried the poor lady.
"What a shabby old beggar!" commented Alaric, indignantly.
"He was always the most selfish, the most—" began Mrs. Chichester, when Mr. Hawkes, who bad been turning over the pages of the document before him, gave an ejaculation of relief.
"Ah! Here we have it. This, Mrs. Chichester, is how Mr. Kingsnorth expressed his attitude toward his relations in his last will and testament."
"'I am the only member of the Kingsnorth family who ever made any money. All my precious relations either inherited it or married to get it.'—"
"I assure you—" began Mrs. Chichester.
Alaric checked her: "Half a moment, mater. Let us hear it out to the bitter end. He must have been an amusin' old gentleman!"
Mr. Hawkes resumed: "—'consequently I am not going to leave one penny to relations who are already, well-provided for.'"
Mrs. Chichester protested vehemently:
"But we are NOT provided for."
"No," added Alaric. "Our bank's bust."
"We're ruined," sobbed Mrs. Chichester.
"Broke!" said Alaric.
"We've nothing!" wailed the old lady.
"Not thruppence," from the son.
"Dear, dear," said the lawyer. "How extremely painful."
"PAINFUL? That's not the word. Disgustin' I call it," corrected Alaric.
Mr. Hawkes thought a moment. Then he said: "Under those circumstances, perhaps a clause in the will may have a certain interest and an element of relief."
As two drowning people clinging to the proverbial straws the mother and son waited breathlessly for Mr. Hawkes to go on.
Ethel showed no interest whatever.
"When Mr. Kingsnorth realised that he had not very much longer to live he spoke constantly of his other sister—Angela," resumed Mr. Hawkes.
"Angela?" cried Mrs. Chichester in surprise; "why, she is dead."
"That was why he spoke of her," said Hawkes gravely. "And not a word of me?" asked Mrs. Chichester.
"We will come to that a little later," and Mr. Hawkes again referred to the will. "It appears that this sister Angela married at the age of twenty, a certain Irishman by name O'Connell, and was cut off by her family—"
"The man was an agitator—a Fenian agitator. He hadn't a penny. It was a disgrace—"
Alaric checked his mother again.
Hawkes resumed: "—was cut off by her family—went to the United States of America with her husband, where a daughter was born. After going through many, conditions of misery with her husband, who never seemed to prosper, she died shortly after giving birth to the child." He looked up: "Mr. Kingsnorth elsewhere expresses his lasting regret that in one of his sister's acute stages of distress she wrote to him asking him, for the first time, to assist her. He replied: 'You have made your bed; lie in it.'"
"She had disgraced the family. He was justified," broke in Mrs. Chichester.
"With death approaching," resumed Hawkes, "Mr. Kingsnorth's conscience began to trouble him and the remembrance of his treatment of his unfortunate sister distressed him. If the child were alive he wanted to see her. I made inquiries and found that the girl was living with her father in very poor circumstances in the City of New York. We sent sufficient funds for the journey, together with a request to the father to allow her to visit Mr. Kingsnorth in England. The father consented. However, before the young girl sailed Mr. Kingsnorth died."
"Oh!" cried Alaric, who had been listening intently. "Died, eh? That was too bad. Died before seeing her. Did you let her sail, Mr. Hawkes?"
"Yes. We thought it best to bring her over here and acquaint her with the sad news after her arrival. Had she known before sailing she might not have taken the journey."
"But what was the use of bringing her over when Mr. Kingsnorth was dead?" asked Alaric.
"For this reason," replied Hawkes: "Realising that he might never see her, Mr. Kingsnorth made the most remarkable provision for her in his will."
"Provided for HER and not for—?" began Mrs. Chichester.
"Here is the provision," continued Mr. Hawkes, again reading from the will: "'I hereby direct that the sum of one thousand pounds a year be paid to any respectable well-connected woman of breeding and family, who will undertake the education and up-bringing of my niece, Margaret O'Connell, in accordance with the dignity and tradition of the Kingsnorths'—"
"He remembers a niece he never saw and his own sister—" and Mrs. Chichester once more burst into tears.
"It beats cock-fighting, that's all I can say," cried Alaric. "It simply beats cock-fighting."
Mr. Hawkes went on reading: "'If at the expiration of one year my niece is found to be, in the judgment of my executors, unworthy of further interest, she is to be returned to her father and the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds a year paid her to provide her with the necessities of life. If, on the other hand, she proves herself worthy of the best traditions of the Kingsnorth family, the course of training is to be continued until she reaches the age of twenty-one, when I hereby bequeath to her the sum of five thousand pounds a year, to be paid to her annually out of my estate during her life-time and to be continued after her death to any male issue she may have—by marriage.'"
Mr. Hawkes stopped, and once again looked at the strange family. Mrs. Chichester was sobbing: "And me—his own sister—"
Alaric was moving restlessly about: "Beats any thing I've heard of. Positively anything."
Ethel was looking intently at "Pet's" coat.
Hawkes continued: "'On no account is her father to be permitted to visit her, and should the course of training be continued after the first year, she must not on any account visit her father. After she reaches the age of twenty-one she can do as she pleases.'" Mr. Hawkes folded up the will with the air of a man who had finished an important duty.
Alaric burst out with:
"I don't see how that clause interests us in the least, Mr. Hawkes."
The lawyer removed his pince-nez and looking steadily at Mrs. Chichester said:
"Now, my dear Mrs. Chichester, it was Mr. Kingsnorth's wish that the first lady to be approached on the matter of undertaking the training of the young lady should be—YOU!"
Mrs. Chichester rose in astonishment: "I?"
Alaric arose in anger: "My mother?"
Ethel quietly pulled "Pet's" ear and waited.
Mr. Hawkes went on quietly:
"Mr. Kingsnorth said, 'he would be sure at least of his niece having a strict up-bringing in the best traditions of the Kingsnorths, and that though his sister Monica was somewhat narrow and conventional in ideas'—I use his own words—'still he felt sure she was eminently fitted to undertake such a charge.' There—you have the whole object of my visit. Now—will you undertake the training of the young lady?"
"I never heard of such a thing!" cried Mrs. Chichester furiously.
"Ridiculous!" said Ethel calmly.
"Tush and nonsense," with which Alaric dismissed the whole matter.
"Then I may take it you refuse?" queried the astonished lawyer.
"Absolutely!" from Mrs. Chichester.
"Entirely!" from Ethel.
"I should say so!" and Alaric brought up the rear.
Mr. Hawkes gathered up his papers and in a tone of regret ventured: "Then there is nothing more to be said. I was only carrying out the dead man's wishes by coming here and making the facts known to you. Mr. Kingsnorth was of the opinion that you were well provided for and, that, outside of the sentimental reason that the girl was your own niece, the additional thousand pounds a year might be welcome as, say, pin-money for your daughter."
Ethel laughed her dry, cheerless little laugh. "Ha! Pin-money!"
Alaric grew suddenly grave and drew his mother and sister out of Mr. Hawkes' vicinity.
"Listen, mater—Ethel. It's a cool thousand, you know? Thousands don't grow on raspberry bushes when your bank's gone up. What do ye think, eh?"
Mrs. Chichester brightened:
"It would keep things together," she said.
"The wolf from the door," urged Alaric.
"No charity," chimed in Ethel.
Mrs. Chichester looked from daughter to son. "Well? What do you think?"
"Whatever you say, mater," from Alaric.
"You decide, mamma," from Ethel.
"We might try it for a while, at least," said Mrs. Chichester.
"Until we can look around," agreed Alaric.
"Something may be saved from the wreck," reasoned Mrs. Chichester more hopefully.
"Until I get really started," said Alaric with a sense of climax.
Mrs. Chichester turned to her daughter: "Ethel?"
"Whatever you decide, mamma."
Mrs. Chichester thought a moment—then decided "I'll do it," she said determinedly. "It will be hard, but I'll do it." She went slowly and deliberately to Mr. Hawkes, who by this time had disposed of all his documents and was preparing to go. A look in Mrs. Chichester's face stopped him. He smiled at her. "Well?" he asked.
"For the sake of the memory of my dead sister, I will do as Nathaniel wished," said Mrs. Chichester with great dignity and self-abnegation.
Mr. Hawkes breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good!" he said. "I'm delighted. It is splendid. Now that you have decided so happily there is one thing more I must tell you. The young lady is not to be told the conditions of the will, unless at the discretion of the executors should, some crisis arise. She will be to all intents and purposes—your GUEST. In that way we may be able to arrive at a more exact knowledge of her character. Is that understood?"
The family signified severally and collectively that it was.
"And now," beamed the lawyer, happy at the fortunate outcome of a situation that a few moments before seemed so strained, "where is your bell?"
Alaric indicated the bell.
"May I ring?" asked the lawyer.
"Certainly," replied Alaric.
Mr. Hawkes rang.
Alaric watched him curiously: "Want a sandwich or something?"
Hawkes smiled benignly on the unfortunate family and rubbed his hands together self-satisfiedly:
"Now I would like to send for the young lady,—the heiress."
"Where is she?" asked Mrs. Chichester.
"She arrived from New York this morning and I brought her straight here. I had to call on a client, so I gave her your address and told her to come here and wait."
At the word "wait" an uneasy feeling took possession of Ethel. That was the word used by that wretched-looking little creature who had so rudely intruded upon her and Brent. Could it be possible—?
The footman entered at that moment.
The lawyer questioned him.
"Is there a young lady waiting for Mr. Hawkes?"
"A YOUNG LADY, sir? No, sir." answered Jarvis. Mr. Hawkes was puzzled. What in the world had become of her? He told the cabman distinctly where to go.
Jarvis opened the door to go out, when a thought suddenly occurred to him. He turned back and spoke to the lawyer:
"There's a young person sitting in the kitchen: came up and knocked at the door and said she had to wait until a gentleman called. Can't get nothin' out of her." Hawkes brightened up.
"That must be Miss O'Connell," he said. He turned to Mrs. Chichester and asked her if he might bring the young lady in there.
"My niece in the kitchen!" said Mrs. Chichester to the unfortunate footman. "Surely you should know the difference between my niece and a servant!"
"I am truly sorry, madam," replied Jarvis in distress, "but there was nothing to tell."
"Another such mistake and you can leave my employment," Mrs. Chichester added severely.
Jarvis pleaded piteously:
"Upon my word, madam, no one could tell."
"That will do," thundered Mrs. Chichester. "Bring my niece here—at once."
The wretched Jarvis departed on his errand muttering to himself: "Wait until they see her. Who in the world could tell she was their relation."
Mrs. Chichester was very angry.
"It's monstrous!" she exclaimed.
"Stoopid!" agreed Alaric. "Doocid stoopid."
Ethel said nothing. The one thought that was passing through her mind was: "How much did that girl hear Brent say and how much did she see Mr. Brent do?"
Hawkes tried to smooth the misunderstanding out.
"I am afraid it was all my fault," he explained. "I told her not to talk. To just say that she was to wait. I wanted to have an opportunity to explain matters before introducing her."
"She should have been brought straight to me," complained Mrs. Chichester. "The poor thing." Then with a feeling of outraged pride she said: "My niece in kitchen. A Kingsnorth mistaken for a servant!"
The door opened and Jarvis came into the room. There was a look of half-triumph on his face as much as to say: "Now who would not make a mistake like that? Who could tell this girl was your niece?"
He beckoned Peg to come into the room.
Then the Chichester family received the second shock they had experienced that day—one compared with which the failure of the bank paled into insignificance. When they saw the strange, shabby, red-haired girl slouch into the room, with her parcels and that disgraceful-looking dog, they felt the hand of misfortune had indeed fallen upon them.
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