Only One Love; or, Who Was the Heir. Garvice Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ had taken place; there was a daughter, and she was the heiress of all that immense, untold wealth, except the fifty thousand pounds left to Jack Newcombe, while he – he, Stephen Davenant, the next of kin, the man who had been working, lying, toadying for the money, was left with a set of musty sermons.

      Rage filled his heart; stifling, choking with fury, the disappointed schemer struck the senseless paper with his clinched fist, and ground his teeth at it; then, suddenly, as if by a swift inspiration, he remembered that this accursed will, which would reduce him to beggary, and leave an unknown girl and his hated cousin wealthy, was in his hands; that he and he only knew of its existence. With a sudden revulsion of feeling he sprang to his feet, and held the paper at arm’s length and laughed softly at it, as if it were endued with sense, and could appreciate its helplessness.

      Then he drew the candle near, folded the paper into a third of its size, held it to the candle – and drew it back again, overcome by that fascination which almost invariably exercises itself on such occasions – that peculiar reluctance to destroy the thing whose existence can destroy the possessor.

      The flame flickered and licked the frail paper; the smoke curled round its edge; and yet – and yet he could not destroy it.

      Instead, he sat down, and with clinched teeth unfolded the will and read it – read it again and again, until every word was burned and seared into his brain.

      “Eunice Davenant! Eunice Davenant! Curse her!” he groaned out.

      But even as the words left his lips a sound rose, the unmistakable tap – tap of something – some finger striking the window-pane.

      Biting his bloodless lips to prevent himself calling out in his ecstasy of fear, he thrust the will into his pocket, caught up the candle, swept the curtains aside, and started back.

      The light fell full upon the face of a young girl.

      CHAPTER VIII

      The face at the window was that of a young girl of about two-and-twenty.

      It would be hard to say whether Stephen Davenant was pleased or annoyed by this apparition. That he was surprised there could be no doubt, for he almost dropped the candle in his astonishment, and fumbled at the lock of the window for some moments before he could open it.

      “Laura!” he exclaimed, “can it be you? Great Heavens! Impossible!”

      With a little gasp of relief and suppressed excitement, the girl stepped into the room, and leaned upon his arm, panting with a commingling of weariness and fear.

      “My dear Laura,” he said, still holding the candle, “how did you come here? Why – ”

      “Oh, Stephen, is it really you? I was afraid that I had made some mistake – that I had come all this way – ”

      “You do not mean to say you have come all the way from London alone – alone!”

      “Yes, I have come all the way from London. Do not be angry with me, Stephen. I – I could not wait any longer. It seemed so long! Why did you leave me without a word? I did not know whether you were alive or dead. Three weeks – think, three weeks! How could you do it?”

      “Hush! hush! Do not speak so loud,” he whispered. “Did anyone see you come in?”

      “No one. I have been waiting in the shrubs for – oh, hours! I saw the visitors go away – an old gentleman and a young one – and I saw your shadow behind the blind,” and she pointed to the window. “I have been outside waiting, and dreading to knock in case you should not be alone.”

      “You – you saw my shadow?” he said, with an uneasy smile. “Did you see – I mean, what was I doing?”

      “I did not see distinctly; I was listening for voices. Oh, Stephen, I am so weary!”

      He drew a chair for her, and, motioning her to sit, mixed a glass of brandy-and-water, and stood over her holding her wrist and looking down at her with an uneasy smile.

      “Now,” he said, taking the glass from her, “tell me all about it – how you came, and why? Speak in a whisper.”

      “You don’t need to ask me why, Stephen,” she said, leaning forward and laying her hand upon his arm, her dark eyes fixed on his half-hidden ones. “Why did you leave me so long without a word?”

      “I will tell you directly,” he answered. “Tell me how you came – alone! Great Heaven!”

      “Alone, yes; why not? I was not afraid. I came by the train.”

      “But – but – ” he said, with a little flush and a shifting glance, “how did you know where I was?”

      “You would never guess! You do not deserve that I should tell you. Well, I followed Slummers!”

      “Followed Slummers!” he echoed, with a forced smile.

      “Yes, I met him in the street; you are going to ask me why I did not ask him where you were,” she broke off with a smile and a shake of her head.

      “Because I knew he would not tell me. Stephen, I do not like that man, and he does not like me. Why do you trust him so?”

      “You followed Slummers – well?”

      “To the station. I was behind him when he took his ticket, and I took one for the same place. I was quite close behind him, but he did not see me. I got into the train at the last moment, and I followed him from the station here.”

      “My dear Laura,” he murmured, soothingly; “how rash, how thoughtless!”

      “Was it?” she said. “Perhaps it was. I did not stop to think.”

      “But now – now what are you to do?”

      “Don’t be angry with me, Stephen, now I am here. You must tell me what I am to do.” Then her eyes wandered round the house. “What a large house! Is it yours, Stephen?”

      “Eh?” he said, starting slightly. “I – I – don’t know – I mean it was my uncle’s. I was going to write to-night and tell you where I was, and why I did not write before.”

      “Why didn’t you?” she said, with gentle reproach.

      “Because,” he replied, “I could not – it was impossible. I could not leave the house, and could not trust the letter to a servant. My uncle has been very ill: he – he – lies dead up-stairs.”

      “Up-stairs! Oh, Stephen!”

      “You see,” he exclaimed reproachfully, “that I have a good excuse, that I have not desert – left you without a word for no cause.”

      “Forgive me, Stephen, dear!” she murmured, penitently. “Do not be angry with me. Say you are glad to see me now I have come.”

      “Of course I am glad to see you, but I am not glad you have come, my dear Laura. What am I to do with you? I am not alone here, you know. The house is full of servants; any moment someone may come in. Think of the awkward position in which your precipitancy has placed me – has placed both of us!”

      “I never thought of that – I did not know. Why did you not tell me you were with your uncle? СКАЧАТЬ