A Woman Put to the Test

Front matter

PRICE ONE SHILLING. A Woman BY PERCY G. EBBUTT. Eontrort : digby and long, publishers, 18, Bouvbeib Street, Fleet Street, E.C. A WOMAN PUT TO THE TEST. A WOMAN PUT TO THE TEST. BY PERCY G. EBBUTT, Author of " Emigrant Life in Kansas." Eoniiott: DTGBY AND LONG, PUBLISHERS, 18, BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. W. Burgess, The Carlyle Press, 23, 24 and 25, Charterhouse Square, London, E.C. CONTENTS. < UAI 1'AGK. I. " THERE'S MANY A SLIP "sWLXT THE CUP AND THE LIP," ... 7 II. "ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR," . . 24 ill. "NOTHING SUCCEEDS LIKE SUCCESS," . 41 IV. "MAKE HAY WHILE THE SUN SHINES," . 58 V. "IT IS A LONG LANE THAT HAS NO TURNING," ..... 79 VI. "THE BEST DESIGNS OF MICE AND MEN AFT GANG AGLEY," 98 VII. "MURDER WILL OUT," .... 118 VIII. "THERE'S A SILVER LINING TO EVERY CLOUD," 13U IX. "MAN PROPOSES, BUT GOD DISPOSES," . 154 X. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL." .

Chapter I

" There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." It was a lovely summer evening, such an even ing as may come but once in a summer. All nature *was still, revelling in her own golden light ; not a breath of air stirred the leaves as they hung in their rich masses on the giant oaks ; there was not a ripple on the wide lake, which, lying as it did among the trees, looked like a mirror set in a frame of emeralds ; even the birds seemed to have forgotten to sing, and save for the faint chirp of the grass-crickets, which was not noticed until listened for, there was not a sound on the balmy air. PUT TO THE TEST. The last rays of the sun were gilding the many turrets and embattled walls of Pierrehurst Castle, as though loth to leave its quaint old keep, when a messenger might have been descried riding as if for dear life across the wide stretch of velvety sward, which, dotted with groups of splendid trees, extended almost as far as the eye could reach on three sides of the stately building.

Ever and anon the rider dis appears behind the clumps of trees — fine sturdy elms, oaks and plane trees, the growth of centuries — and then emerges once more to full view, still urging on his steed as though he were possessed. Presently his approach is noticed, and the servants crowd to the windows and soon are enabled to see that it is a messenger from the telegraph office. What can such haste betoken ? Is it good or ill news ? " 111 news travels fast," says one of the servants ; " pray heaven there's nothing wrong with the young master. ' " 'Deed, an' I hope not, poor dear," says a trusty old servant, who had carried the master in her arms many aud many a time when he was but a child. At last the boy draws near, and they can see by his face that the news is bad. He has been told the contents of the telegram at the little office five miles away, from whence he has travelled ; for the poor old postmaster could not keep it to himself.

" What is it ? It isn't the young master, is it ? " cry two or three together as he comes within hailing distance. The boy gives a melancholy nod, and the next minute the yellow envelope is in the butler's hand. He tears it eagerly open and then reads aloud — " From Captain St. Pierre, Glenruddoch, Perthshire, to William Machell, Butler, Pierre hurst Castle, Pierrehurst — shire. Fearful rail way accident; poor Mr. Hubert killed; Hartin lost his reason ; will write later on ; have let Sir Geoffrey know.' PUT TO THE TEST. The effect of this message upon the group of servants was startling. There was scarce one that did not burst into tears, and there was no mistake about their grief being genuine. They had lost not only a kind indulgent master, but a friend, and in many cases one who had been their playmate and companion from his infancy.

"Poor dear! poor dear!" wailed the old lady before mentioned, " to think of his being cut off in that way. Ah ! but this is a queer world, those that are worst spared go first. Oh ! fancy poor Miss Isabel too ! Why, her heart will break, poor thing, for if ever there was a couple who loved each other truly, it wras our dear young master and Miss Isabel. Oh ! why wasn't the captain sitting where poor Mr. Hubert was ? No one would miss him much." " I s'pose we shall soon get him down here again to lord it over us," remarked another, " for, of course, he is the heir." " He won't lord it over me much, I can tell you," said the butler, "for I'll not stay here under him, sorry as I shall be to leave the old place." " Nor me," " Nor me ! " chime in several others ; evidently Captain St. Pierre was no favourite at the Castle.

" Well, we can do nothing but wait until the captain writes further, and makes his arrange ments. Of course, he'll bring poor Mr. Hubert's body home to be laid in the old family vault. I wonder what he'll do about Hartin, poor fellow." Twenty-four hours elapsed before they re ceived any more particulars, and then they had a letter from the captain giving some details of the accident. Hartin the valet had received injuries to his head, and had become so bad that it was necessary to put him under restraint. He would be left in a private lunatic asylum near Perth, and would have every want attended to, and every chance given him for recovery. As regarded j\fr. Hubert's death, he wTas killed instantly, and his face was battered beyond recognition ; therefore it had been necessary to put him in a shell at once.

The body would be brought home for interment and would probably arrive about noon on Wednesday. Captain St. Pierre had been very much shaken himself, but was now quite recovered, and as soon as he had made everything comfortable for Hartin he would accompany the corpse to its resting place. He gave a few directions about the servants going into mourning, and sent a list of whom he would like to have present on the sad occasion of the funeral. He had written to Miss Isabel's father — Sir Geoffrey Beauchamp — and told him the details ofthe terrible affair, and requested him to break the news to his unfortunate daughter. He thought that the funeral should be as quiet as possible, but would like Sir Geoffrey to be asked, with the family solicitor, Mr. Binder, and as many of the nearest gentry as would fill two coaches, but no more.

He would prefer that the funeral was kept as simple and private as possible. Hubert Langley Paston St. Pierre, who had thus been so summarily removed from all the sweets of this life, just when he might fairly have considered himself prepared to taste them, was the only child of the late Baldwin St. Pierre and Lad}* Ethel, both of whom had died when Hubert was but very young. Upon their death the care of the youth had fallen upon his uncle, Captain Hotham St. Pierre, a retired officer, who, although owning a little place a few miles away, now took up his abode at the Castle. This uncle had been a source of continual trouble to Hubert's father for some years, but had recently settled down apparently to behave himself aright. He had married early in life, for the sake of her money, a delicate young girl with a large fortune, which he soon managed to spend, and then when tthis was all gone, by continued cruelty and studied neglect, he had worried his wife into a premature grave.

She left behind her a frail daughter — a timid, nervous little thing, who seemed to be in perpetual dread of offending her father, who, however, seldom deigned to speak a word to her. At this time, Adela St. Pierre was eighteen years of age, but such a fragile little body that she barely looked fifteen. She was extremely fair, with hardly a tinge of colour on her cheeks, had a wealth of light, almost flaxen, hair, and eyes which — well one could hardly tell the colour of them, for she was so timid that it was a difficult matter ever to look full into her eyes. No one could call her plain, for all the St. Pierres were noted for their good looks, but her timidity detracted so much from her appearance, — she was so self-conscious that one forgot to look at her features — that a stranger having seen her but once, could never give the least description of, or hardly pass an opinion concerning, her.

It was plain to every one but Hubert that Captain St. Pierre was trying to bring about a marriage between the cousins, as, since the youno1 man had left college, she was forced into his society on every conceivable opportunity. Scarce a day passed but if Hubert proposed a ride, the captain remarked that Adela looked pale, and a blow would do her good ; and so they would start off together to ride over the moors and through the sunny lanes, side by side, talking about the horses and hounds, the last meet, or forthcoming picnic, the scenery and the weather, and in fact everything but love. For Hubert, with that strange perversity which so often deliberately upsets the calculations of designing parents, preferred to fall over head and ears in love with Miss Isabel Beauchamp, the daughter and heiress of Sir Geoffrey Beauchamp, whose estates joined the Pierrehurst lands.

We do not mean to say that this latter fact had anything to do with Hubert's choice, for he had enough for both, but money usually marries money. Hubert, however, would have married Isabel rich or poor, for her personal attractions and sweet temper were such as to render her a universal favourite. In stature, she was tall — rather above the usual height of women — though not too tall to be graceful. Tall women seldom are graceful, but Isabel was so well proportioned that one did not notice her height. She was very dark, almost tawny of complexion, with that clear pearly lustre that betokens perfect health. Her hair was dark — almost as a Spaniard's — in fact one of the departed baronets had married a Spanish senorita — and her nose and mouth were faultless. But it was her eyes which were after all her chief beauty, if any part or feature could be singled out as chief, where all were beautiful ; but they were so large and lustrous, so dark and yet so bright, that they could not help but attract the most casual observer.

And they were such truthful and trusting eyes ; they seemed to say — at least they did to Hubert — that once having given her love, nothing on earth should turn her from her choice. As for Hubert himself, he was a splendid example of the young English nobleman — for though they bore no title, the family of the St. Pierres was as old and older than many who did, being able to trace their descent to a knight who " came over with the Conqueror," and Hubert, like all his ancestors, would never have given up the old name for the proudest title that could be created. The present representative, therefore, of this good old family, was, at the time of our intro duction, a stalwart young man of twenty-five, standing a clear six feet in his stockings — not more. People above that height usually stoop or get round shouldered, or look ungainly about the arms and legs.

He was broadly and squarely made, well developed by all manly exercises, in which, while at college, he had always excelled — not to the exclusion or neglect of his studies, however — was as strong as he was handsome, and as handsome as to be even a proper and fitting husband for the peerless Isabel. He was fair, with frank blue-grey eyes, a fair moustache, short curly hair, and a presence which adorned any society, whether ball-room or hunting-field, Si the private dinner-party or the public assembly, in which he mingled. Added to this he was of the liveliest temperament, good-natured to a fault, and so liberal and kind that perhaps it was a good thing for him that his estates were en tailed. Such a man was Hubert St. Pierre, whom to see was to admire, and whom to know was to love. On the morning that the two gentlemen started for the North, to pay a long promised visit to an old friend of the family up in the Highlands of Scotland, Hubert rode over to Beauchamp Manor to bid Isabel adieu for a couple of weeks.

Upon arriving at the fine old country house he found her dressed in a light morning gown with a freshly-gathered rose at her throat, and looking inexpressibly lovel)'. Breakfast was only just over, in fact Sir Geoffrey was still sitting sipping his coffee over " The Times," but Isabel and Lady Beauchamp had risen. " I must apologize, my dear Lady Beauchamp," said Hubert, " for intruding at such an early hour, but I could not go away without saying adieu to you all, and last night when I had intended to run over, young Hillingworth popped in, and I could not get away." " Pray do not mention it, Hubert, you know how welcome you always are, and I should hope that you would not go without coming over here first. Will you and Isabel like to take a turn in the gardens ? " " It was very good of you, Bertie," said Isabel, when they were pacing the old terrace together, " to take the trouble to ride over this morning.

I am sure you must have but little time to spare." " Good of me ! Why, my darling, I would rather miss a dozen trains than leave without a parting kiss from j-ou. Come, confess now that you expected me ? " " Well, dear, I should have been just a little disappointed if you had gone away without coming." " Bless your little heart for that. Will you always feel the same towards me, Isabel ? " " Always, Bertie ; but why do you ask ? You cannot doubt me ? But stay, you do not look yourself this morning, dear ; have you been worried in anything ? For, if so, you must tell me, for I want you to trust me with your sorrows as well as your joys. What is it, Bertie?" She always called him by that name, though no one else did, it seemed almost too boyish a name except from her lips. " Well, dear, to tell you the truth, I don't look forward to this journey with pleasure.

Some thing seems to warn me against going. I have a sort of presentiment that something will happen ; but it is foolish of me to think about it, or to worry you with it." " Not at all, dear ; but why will you go, if you don't want to ? " " But I do want to ; I have promised for so long to run up there. But I wish it was over and that I was safe back again with you. Perhaps after all though it was but a little night-mare. Anyhow you know that I am not superstitious and don't believe in warnings and omens. But look up in my face, darling, and tell me once more that you will always be mine." " Oh ! Bertie, you know that you are all the world to me. If I never saw you alive again I should always be true to your memory. I will never marry another." " You promise that ? Then I am content. My vague fears were not entirely for myself, but that something would rise up between us.

It may be awfully selfish of me, but if you promise never to marry another man even if I should die, I can look forward with a lighter heart. And now, darling, I must go. Good-bye ! Good-bye ! and God bless you ! " " Good-bye, dear Bertie, and may you come back safe and sound to laugh at your fears. But in any trouble, no matter how dark, remember my promise. You will write from Perth, will you not ? Good-bye, dearest ! " A long passionate kiss and he is gone. Ah ! how httle did she think that the letter from Perth would contain the details of his cruel death ! Hpw Httle she thought that his hand some face would so soon be marred beyond all recognition ! She stands on the terrace and watches him ride away, looking back and waving his hand at every few yards, until a turn in the road is reached.

He checks his horse, and lifts his hat — she flutters her handkerchief in token of fare well, and in another second he is lost to her sight. Did she think it was for so long ? She enters the house, and seeking her own room, repeats to herself again and again, that come what may, if even death, she will be true to her first love, for, in spite of her cheerfulness before him, his fears have partly communicated themselves to her. When Hubert arrived at home, the dog-cart was just being driven up to the door. " Well, Hartin, is all ready ? " " Yes, sir ; I have only just got to strap up Captain St. Pierre's trunk." So Hubert gave his reins to a groom who came running round and stepped up at once into the vehicle. In another minute the captain was ready, and as Adela was away on a visit, there were no leave-takings to delay them.

" Hartin is a long time over that bag ! " said Hubert. " Oh, here he is. Why, Hartin, where have you been ? " " Well, sir, the partin', I mean the fastening was wonderful hard," said he, as he threw the bag in behind. Possibly the eyes that were fastened on him from one of the upper windows, had something to do with the delay, for Hartin was "keeping company " with the prettiest of the maid-servants. Poor girl ! It was her last parting with him !

Chapter II

" All's fair in love and war." The mail train for the North was rushing through one of the most picturesque parts of that picturesque country — Scotland. Well ! it does that every day. Granted. But it does not daily rush through the picturesque into the terrible, into the awful, into sudden death, as it did on this occasion. The passengers were engaged in the varied occupations usual to travellers : some chatted, some read, some slept, some admired as much of the scenery as they could see, while dashing along at forty miles an hour ; all were careless, thinking of anything but an abrupt departure from this world, when there was a crash, a rush of scalding, hissing steam, and then the whole train went headlong over the embankment amid the shrieks and groans of the dying. The scene was fearful.

Carriages were smashed to atoms and heaped one upon another in the wildest disorder, while the unfortunate pass engers were helplessly lying amid the wreck. Captain St. Pierre was one of the first to be extricated, and was found to be but slightly hurt. Hubert and Hartin were to all appearance quite dead. The former had a nasty cut on his head, and his face and light tweed travelling suit were covered with blood, so that he was barely recog nisable, Hartin was battered about dreadfully, his features being quite disfigured. There were two other people killed, and many seriously in jured. The wonder was not that so many were hurt, but that any should have escaped alive. A short distance up the line was a country hotel, and to this place the sufferers and the bodies were removed as quickly as possible.

The hotel was almost full already, and this sudden influx of visitors, and visitors who could not be denied, taxed its resources to the utmost. The people were very kind, giving up their rooms with pleasure, but there were so many that it was a hard matter to accommodate all. The accident, which was caused by a mass of rock becoming dislodged, and falling upon the line, happened about mid-day, and it was possibly one or two o'clock when the captain was shown into one of the bedrooms of the hotel. The bodies of his two companions were placed upon a bed in the same room, " for," said he, when spoken to upon the matter, " I shall have no objection to occupy the room. I have passed through several hard fought battles, and am not a stranger to death in many forms." One of the doctors who had arrived on the scene had pronounced them beyond all aid, so that there was no reason why, if the captain did not mind, they should not be put in his room.

Captain St. Pierre was in the act of drying his face after a refreshing wash, when he heard or fancied he heard a sound from the bed. He paused and listened. " Yes, surely, that is a sigh." He approached quietly and found, to his intense astonishment, and — must we say it ? — deep morti fication, that Hubert's eyes were open. He smiled faintly, and then relapsed again into his comatose state. No smile lights the face of the captain, but a look of implacable hatred gleams from his cold black eyes. He pauses in inde cision for a full minute, the whole time looking as if he would spring upon the prostrate figure and press out what little life remained. " No," he mutters, " his blood shall not be upon my head, but, by heaven ! he shall not stand in my path any more. A h! how I have looked for a moment like this."

He pauses for a few seconds. " I have it," he cries, " but it is a bold plan, and the risk is great, but the stakes are greater ; Pierrehurst and Isabel may now both be mine." He goes to the door cautiously and fastens it so that he may not be disturbed. He then opens his portmanteau which has been rescued from the train's ruin and brought to the hotel, and takes forth his shaving tackle. What can now be his design ? He is surely not going to shave himself, and his recent declaration forbids one to suppose that he intends violence towards his nephew. He moistens his brush, and then stealthily going to the bedside, passes it over the upper lip of his unconscious relative. What does he mean by this ? Is he mad ? If so, there is method in his madness. He soaps and lathers the fair moustache, and then, with a few strokes of the razor, takes it cleanly off.

A little dust is rubbed over the lip to keep it from appearing too fresh, and then the impedimenta is put up again into the bag. This done, he draws near the two silent figures again and eagerly and carefully examines the body of Hartin. He places his hand over his heart, feels his pulse, and holds a mirror to his nostrils. " That's safe enough," he exclaims ; " there's no fear from that quarter. Dead men tell no tales." After that he hastily divests the corpse of its clothing, then he strips the poor unconscious figure at its side and draws on Hartin's clothes. Hubert's are put upon the dead valet and so far his task is done. " Now, my poor young valet, you may come to as soon as you like." As if Hubert had heard him he opened his eyes again, " Uncle. " " Eh ! what ! what is it, Hartin ? " " Hartin ? what of Hartin, uncle ?

" " Poor fellow ! you mean what of Mr. Hubert. Why your poor young master is gone." " My master ! what do you mean ? " " I mean that Mr. Hubert is dead, poor fellow." " No, uncle, I am all right ; Hartin must be dead if any one is." " My poor fellow, you must keep quiet. You are hurt, and your mind is disturbed at present. There has been a fearful railway accident, and poor Mr. Hubert has been killed." " But I tell you I am alive." " Yes, yes, Hartin, you are all right, or you soon will be. But I will call for some assistance for you" — saying which the captain left the room. He soon found a doctor in another room attending to one of the injured, and begged him to come and see his poor valet. " He is one of those you pronounced dead, doctor. He has a fearful cut in his head and it seems to have affected his brain.

He is wander ing even now, fancying himself his young master, who lies dead beside him, and he calls me his uncle." " Poor chap ! let's have a look at him. Let's see what we can do ! " They entered the room and found Hubert lying quietly beside the corpse. " Well, friend," said the doctor, " how are we now ? what can we do for you ? I see you have a nasty cut." " My head pains me very much," said Hubert, " and I feel very weak." " He seems pretty sane, now," said the doctor. " Yes," replied the captain ; " he seems better now." "Well, I'll bandage his head up anyhow. Meanwhile, sir, you had better get something to eat. Will you tell one ofthe servants to bring some warm water to this room as you go along, also something light and nourishing for this patient." " Certainly, doctor," said the captain.

" I must leave you for a little time, Hartin, but I am sure you are in good hands." "I thought you said Hartin was dead, uncle." " My poor fellow, pray be quiet, or you will distress yourself." " Come, come," said the doctor, " you must not talk now." " But I must talk; I want to know what it's all about. I want to know what Captain St. Pierre means. He tells me Hubert is dead, but I am Hubert, and I am not dead. Uncle, don't you know me? " " Come, pray do calm yourself, Hartin. Doctor, can't you give him a sleeping draught or something ? perhaps he would wake up all right afterwards." " We'll see, we'll see ; but I don't think you had better stay now. Your presence seems to disquiet him. It sets him thinking too much." " Oh ! I don't like to leave him in his present condition. I will ring the bell for what you want, and stop and see how he gets along."

"Why did you call me Hartin just now, uncle ? that's what I want to know," inquired Hubert, raising himself as well as he could. " Because it's the name your father gave you, I presume. At least, I never heard you called by any other. Why do you call me uncle ? " "I must insist upon your silence, sir, ifyou remain here," said the doctor. " Why do I call you uncle ? " began Hubert again, "because you are my father's brother, and I am your nephew Hubert — Hubert Langley Paston St. Pierre, and well you know it. Is this some vile plot? " " Hush, hush ! Hartin, do compose yourself for heaven's sake, you are excited after your accident. You must rest, and you will be better presently." "Excited, am I? I should think I am excited, when I am told that I am dead. Do you think that I am mad? Or why do you look so strangely at me?

I swear that I am as sane as any of you." "My dear friend," said the doctor, "you must be quiet, or you will certainly do yourself an injury." " I cannot do myself any more harm than you seem to be trying to do me." "Well, here's something for you to drink, it will revive you, and do you good." Hubert drank the potion at a draught, for he was suffer ing by this time from intense thirst, and soon after he sank into a deep sleep, for the doctor had given him a soothing medicine in the drink. " Well, doctor, what do you think of him ? Will he come round ? " said the captain. " It's hard to say, sir, till he wakes again. I hope the sleep will set him right. There is little c doubt but that if he does not wake up aright now, he never will fully recover his proper senses." "Oh! but that is dreadful.

He was such a fine young fellow, and a faithful and devoted servant. By-the-bye, doctor, would you mind if I sent for Dr. Feedewell, the celebrated specia list in these cases ? He is a personal friend of mine, and it will not take him long to run up from Edinburgh." "My dear sir, I should be but too pleased to see him here." "Thank you. I should feel more comfortable after hearing his opinion." " And I shall be glad of his experience also." " He seems quiet now," said the captain, glanc ing at Hubert. " I'll go out and telegraph to Dr. Feedewell, and also to my people at home, to tell them the sad news." " Very well, sir, and as I can do nothing here for a few hours — he will sleep for that time — I will go and see after some of the other patients." " Ah ! certainly, I must not monopolize all your time."