How He Won Her. A novel

Front matter

HOW HE WON HER & fLobtl. BY MRS. EILOART, AUTHOR OF "THE curate's DISCIPLINE," "JUST A WOMAN," " THE LOVE THAT LIVED," "SOME OF OUR GIRLS," ETC, ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. ICjmbmt : SAMUEL TINSLEY & CO., 10, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND 1879. \All Rights Reserved]. CONTENTS OF VOL. III. CHAPTER PAGE I. NEVER A LITTLE 1 II. DICK'S SEARCH - - - - 18 III. A FAMILY PARTY - - - - 29 IV. AN AWKWARD GUEST - - -45 V. JEM O'BRIEN IN TROUBLE - - - 58 vi. jem's bargain - - - 73 VII. jem's bargain kept - - - 88 VIII. BY THE RIVER - - - - 103 IX. MRS. THWA1TES IN TOWN - - - 116 X. GUY'S TRIUMPH - - - - 129 XI. THE OLD HOME - - - - 137 XII. MR. SNARK'S BARGAIN - - - Contents. iv CHAPTER PAGE. XIII. THE OTHER FELLOW - - - - 159 XIV. GUY'S TASK ----- 169 XV. MR. SNARK IS BUSY - - - - 175 XVI. DICK'S TEMPER TRIED - 185 XVII.

MRS. THWAITES AGGRIEVED - - 199- XVIII. SPIDER AND FLY ... - 205 XIX. EACH GOING TO HIS DOOM - - - 223 XX. HOW THE DOOM CAME - - - 234 XXI. THE FINISH .... HOW HE WON HEE.

Chapter I. Never

A LITTLE. Reuben Deane sat alone in his own room, busy with many painful thoughts. He had been ill for a fortnight, and this was the first day he had left his bed. The shock of finding his secret hiding-place discovered, and his documents and title-deeds abstracted, had been too much for a frame already weakened by old age. But he had rallied, and was himself again, with as clear a brain, and as resolute a will, as ever. The deeds had gone. The key of their vol. hi. hiding-place had never left his possession for a second ; the lock was of the best, and there were no signs that it had been tampered with. Nothing in the woodwork of the cupboard, nothing in the brickwork ofthe house outside, where he had sent Guy to inspect. It was an inexplicable mystery. If magic had been at work, the theft could not have been wrought more deftly.

The theft did not mean ruin. If he lost the Chalcombe estates, to which these stolen deeds proved his right, he would have more than enough for his own needs, and to give Eunice a moderate portion ; but he had set his heart upon endowing her with these lands. Her husband should be Squire of Chalcombe. She, his next of kin, the one being connected with him by blood, should reign as mistress in the house from which he had been thought unworthy to take a wife. He brooded night and day over his disappointment. He devised all manner of schemes for the restoration of his missing papers. He was for ever tormenting his brain as to the author of the theft. Mr. Chalcombe would have had a strong motive, but he was not the man to carry out such a scheme. Mr. Glynne had a stronger ; but then, a subtly, cleverly-contrived robbery hke this was not in his way at aU. ' He would shoot me ina duel if only he could hold the pistol straight,' thought Reuben, ' or he would knock me down, if he had the chance, on a dark night, but this is alto gether another affair.

This is a planned robbery, and the cleverest robbery that ever I heard of ; and Mr. Glynne is as incapable as the Squire of doing it. He was a much poorer man through this robbery, but that was nothing to the mor tification, the disappointment, he expe rienced. At one moment he felt as if it would kill him ; at the next, he determined 35—2 to live a hundred years but he would see the end of it. Any way, he would have the closet examined by some one better versed in such matters than himself, and, having found how the theft had been committed, he miffht form some guess as to who it was that had committed it ; and, seeling so far better as to be able to sit up, he had sent for Guy Thurstone to tell him as much. Like every one who has to do with illness, Guy entreated the patient not to distress himself, to take things easy till he was better, and not to worry himself about what could not be helped.

Then the old man burst forth : ' Guy Thurstone, I shall think you are a fool if }tou talk like that ! I will never rest, and I will never leave off distressing myself, as you call it, till I get those papers back, or see the man hung who has stolen them. Yes, hung, sir,hung! What! Are men to be robbed of their hard-earned savings, that they have toiled for night and day, and there is to be no justice done 1 Is my girl to be robbed of the dowry I meant for her, and am I to take it calmly, and hope the evil doer will go free ? No, I'm not made of milk and water, Guy Thurstone — neither are you. If you had been — if I hadn't seen that, when you thought you had a right to bear a grudge, you would bear it, I should never have warmed to you as I did ; no, not even if you had been your mother's son ten times over.

Oh, it is a blessed thing there are righteous laws to punish thieves and evil-doers ! Why, if there had not been, that good woman, Mrs. Glynne, would have been tortured to death before this by that vile reprobate, her husband.' ' Mrs. Glynne is a widow, sir !' ' Is she, sir V said the old man, testily. 1 That is news to me, and perhaps before lonoshe may have cause to feel that she is a wife indeed ! We shall see— we shall see !' he added, half to himself, his thoughts turning into another channel. Guy left him to himself while he was summoning up his own courage, and at last, plunging desperately into the subject, he said : ' You spoke of the loss of Miss Clare's dowry, sir V ' Yes, sir, I did,' said the old man, almost fiercely. ' I want her to marry well, and I don't want her to go penniless to the man she marries.' ' She is a fortune in herself,' said Guy, warmly. ' She'd be the better for a fortune with herself !' was the answer. ' I don't want my girl to go empty-handed to any one.

But I am getting tired now. I think you had better go. I want to save my strength, and nurse my strength, for I have plenty of hard work before me. I've got to bring the fellow who stole my papers to the gallows — and see my girl,' he added, in a lower voice, ' at Chalcombe.' He sank back in his chair, and closed his eyes, as if he wished to sleep, and Guy left the room. He saw a glimmer of light from the drawing-room opposite, the door being partly open, and, knocking, heard the voice he most wished to hear, telling him to come in. By the large bay-window sat Eunice, with the moonlight shining on her — -just one lamp at a distance, too far away to give her any light by which to read or work. She had been watching the river bathed in the silvery whiteness of the moon, for the last hour, and thinking, it may be, that perhaps her prince would come and look on it.

Here was her prince. He had just come from her guardian — he was holding her hand in his, and they were looking at the clouds and the loveliness ofthe night, together, and she was uttering some commonplaces about Mary Ann having gone to London to see Miss Watts, and the improvement in her uncle's health, Guy — did he know it? — holding her hand all the while. ' My uncle will be a much poorer man for this loss,' she said presently, 'but I wish he would not take it to heart as he does ; if he does not get those papers back, he will never be himself again.' Guy kept her hand, still. ' He will be a poorer man. Will that make much difference to you V ' No ; I am well and strong now. I can do without the luxuries that my good uncle has been so pleased to give me. It was of him I was thinking,' said Eunice — trying, very gently however, to draw her hand away from Guy.

He only held it all the tighter, and said : ' It was you of whom / Avas thinking — shall I tell you my thoughts ?' She looked down. The moon, though it bathed her in its soft silvery sheen, showed nothing of the blushes that were burning her cheeks. But Guy felt that she was trembling, and drew her closer to him. ' I thought that perhaps you might be contented with a different home to that which your uncle had expected for you. He wishes to see you the mistress of Chal combe, and your husband would have been its squire. When I first heard that, I hardly dared hope that I might ever win you ; but now that it is possible Chalcombe may never be yours at all, I think I may, at least, dare to tell you that — that — I should be the proudest, the happiest fellow in the world, if I thought there would ever be a chance of my winning you as my own.

Only a chance — only a hope ! Don't you think in time you could care for me a little ? I would work so hard to make you a home not quite unworthy of you — if I thought that some day you would share it. Eunice, couldn't you learn to love me just a little V ' Never,' softly yet firmly said, with a lowered head and blushes as burning as ever the moon looked on. ' Never !' he repeated despairingly, and dropped her hand. ' Never,' she said again — ' never a little. Oh ! have you never guessed it ? Guy, I have loved you for years — but never a little. I loved you when you carried me — a poor sickly child, so weak and plain, so conscious of my unlovableness and plain ness. You were the first, besides my uncle and Mrs. Glynne, who had ever seemed to think that I was worth the caring for ; and as time went on, you were always showing me kindness.

Oh ! you can't think what it was to be such a " poor ugly little toad," as some people called me, and have the bravest and handsomest in the town — the one who, twice over, had saved my uncle's life — going out of his way to help a poor little cripple like myself. Yes, you helped me, and were tender and pitiful, even when you hated my uncle, and thought you had good cause for your hatred. If I had been pretty, and bright, and winning, like other children, I should have thought nothing of it ; but I had nothing — nothing to win your kindness. It was your goodness and your tenderness that did it ; and so I loved you, year after year, making you my prince and my hero, praying for you every night of my life, and thinking of you every day. Oh, Guy ! never ask me, after this, to love you a little !' With all the rapture of passion and delight tingling through Guy's veins, there was something of shame and abasement.

To think that he — common humdrum Guy Thurstone — should be so idolised by this most beautiful and stately of young maidens. For the ' ugly little toad ' had grown into a very princess of girls. Even while pouring forth the abundance and fulness of her love, there had been no lowering of that sweet dignity which, some how, seemed always to set her apart and above all other girls, like a young queen. How should he ever be worthy of such love ? How should he ever justify it by becoming what she thought him ? ' I am a poor fellow,' he said presently, ' to what you think me to be, but I will do my best to deserve to be so well thought of. I don't deserve such love as you have given me— no man could ; but it shall not be my fault, Eunice, now you have given yourself to me, if I do not make you the happiest woman in this world.' ' Stop.

I am only half won yet, Guy. I have given you my love — I could not help it ; but I have not given you myself. That is for my uncle to do. I cannot leave him desolate, and he would be very deso late, now, if I were to go. The great scheme of his life has failed. Mr. Chal combe may, yet be able to keep the lands which, in a year or two, would have become my uncle's — which should be his, I know, according to all law and equity.' ' Nothing of that will trouble Mr. Chal combe, if he sees his way to keeping his acres, let Mr. Deane have paid what he may for them,' said Guy. 'No, we must not expect it. Mr. Chal combe has had the full value of his lands, and unless he could have redeemed them in another year — which there was little likeli hood of his doing — they would have become my uncle's. I cannot tell you how he built on this.

I don't say it was right, but I do know that, as far as money goes, he has dealt justly by Mr. Chalcombe, who wanted money very sorely, and might have had harder creditors than my uncle. But still he has built on Chalcombe coming to him — on ending his days there ; and if this is never to be, why, the more reason I should cling to him. I cannot leave him, Guy — I cannot leave him in his old age unless his misfortune is repaired, or he learns how to bear it.' ' You mean unless he gets those papers back, and find the rascals who stole them. That's a difficult task, but I'll try and do it,' said Guy. ' I ought to try and do as much as that for Reuben Deane ; he has done a great deal for me. But if I fail, Eunice V ' I shall love you still — not a little, Guy,' she answered very softly. ' Yes, but love is not enough.

I mean — I mean that, having so much, I want a great deal more. I want you for my wife, Eunice. I want you to share my home. I will do my best, God knows, for your uncle. I would do it, even without the hope of winning you ; but, finding the scoundrels who stole those papers will not of itself be enough. Those deeds may be in ashes by this time, and am I to lose you because, for want of them, your uncle cannot make good his claim to Chalcombe V ' I cannot tell how that may be, Guy. I am not my own to give. I will never marry without his consent, and I do not think, under these altered circumstances, he will give it very easily ; neither, as I said, can I leave him till his loss is either repaired or he has learned to bear it.' What more Guy might have said can never be told, for the cherry-cheeked wait ing-maid came in at last with candles, and in another second she was followed by Mr. Theodore Rae, looking as complacent, as well-dressed, and as pleased with himself, as ever.

He had come from town to learn whether Mr. Deane had heard any tidings of his paper. And then Mary Ann made her How J/r Won Her. appearance, having come back by the same coach that had brought Mr. Ray down. Then Eunice went to stay with her uncle, and Guy took his leave, feeling that the less he saw of Mr. Theodore Rae just then the better for them both. ' Chalcombe will eome to that confounded dandy if those deeds don't turn up, and then, just for the sake of seeing her mistress of the old place, Deane will give my girl to him. That's if she will be given, but she won't. 1 1 alf won already, and all won in time, or I'll know the reason why. I'll go home — I'll tell everything to Dick, and see if, between us, we can't find a way out of this.' And he walked home. The coach was not ready to start when he got to Tuniham Green, and to wait, even a quarter of an hour, in this fever of the blood, this whirl wind of delight that was thrilling his frame and making his heart beat as it had never beaten yet, was impossible.

Better than riding, far, was it to pace along the lonely London road, look up at the stars as if asking them to share his ecstasy, at the moon, who had shone her sweetest at his wedding, and to repeat over and over, and a hundred times over, to himself, ' Never a little, Guy — I can never love you a little.' 36 vol. How He Won Her. 18

Chapter II

dick's SEARCH. Ik ever there was a true friend in this world, it was Dick Thwaites. lie heard all that Guy had to tell him, with the greatest patience, and it took a very long while for Guy to tell him all about Eunice's perfections and his own unwoilhi ness. Dick was thoroughly sympathetic, lie did not, say much. 1 1 was not necessary to do so. Guy was so full of his own doubts, hopes, miseries, and happiness, that Dick, if ho wanted to do so, could hardly put, in a, word. Rut ho did not want; he Listened with an appearance of the greatest interest, and, when Guy had finished, said : ' Now, what we have to do is what we should have done before, if it had not been for the old gentleman's illness — catch the thief ' Exactly,' said Guy. ' If we do it, Dick, I shall be the proudest fellow in the world —and Eunice shall thank you herself.

I am sure she will love you, Dick, as if you were her brother, when once she knows your value ' ' She knows yours, Guy, and that's more to the purpose. I shall run down to Chiswick to-morrow, the first thing, and look well about the place. Then I'll see if I can't hear something about our good friend Mr. Snark. I shall be close to Brentford, and I'll hunt up the constables there, and see if they can't give me some news about him. It wouldn't surprise me at all, Guy, to find that he had something to do with this.' 36—2 //</./. He Won Her. 20 The next morning saw Dick at the old house hy the river-side. And he made a, very different inspection of tho place to any that Guy, or any one who was not a, builder, could havo done. First, he began with the closet, and sounded the floor below and flu wood at the top, arid then he went on tho roof, which he found was of various eleva tions, although a, low parapet wa,ll, running from one side to the other at the hack, partly concealed the (act.

There was nothing over the closet,, and tho greater por tion of Reuben Deane's room, hut, a, large cistern, which had been built for rain water, bad evidently not, heen used for many y< •;.. .., and had heen covered over. Dick found his way into the cistern, taking with him, ;\h assistant, the Irish serving-man, of whom mention has been made before. The man did not like the task, evidently. Se grum bled at going up the ladder to the roof, declaring that was not his work, which was that of ' jintleman's gardener, an' to make meself ginerally usefuL' 'And you're doing it, my fine fellow,' said Dick, with the utmost cheer_dne> he sent him up the ladder before him. ' You ought to climb welL You're not going up with the hod this time.' The Irishman stopped when half way up the ladder, to inform Dick that he had been a gentleman's servant all his hfe, and had never yet demeaned himself by ' comin' down to the level of them brick laving fellows.' 1 You'll be up to the level of one when we're both on the roof,' said Dick, follow in or him with the basket of tools which he had taken the precaution to bring with him from town ; and then, most unwillingly as sisted by the Irishman, Dick set to work, removed the roof from the cistern, and then began to examine the lead flooring. ' You'll be lea vin' the master without a How He Won.

I fer. 22 roof to cover him,' said his unwilling coadjutor. ' I dare say I shall lot daylight in — on more things than one,' .-.aid Dick, significantly. Dick looked very carefully at the leaden flooring of tbe cistern. It had been removed — not SO very long ago- -and replaced by very unworkmanlike hands. >me one has been here,' he -.aid to the Irishman, ' who didn't know hi.-. broil The fellow that last had to do with this piece of lead Isn't worth his salt as a plumber — fit for nothing, I should say, but to be a " jintlo man's servant," and not good for much at that.' 'What are you meanin ! :ed the other, fiercely. 'I mean,' said Dick. ' tl_t it seem queer thing that a faithful servant, such as you, should be at work in the garden and about the place, and not see what was going on at the roof here.

This lead has been taken up, you see, just as I am taking it up now — there, lend a hand; work away at the side there. Now we come to the joists, and good thick ones they are — whoever budt this house never scamped their work — but these joists have been sawn through, and some of them taken away. Now, my good fellow, how could that have been done, and without your knowing anything about it, whde you were at your work in the garden below . ' An' how would I see it, wid this wall be tween me an' them that was afther brakin' into the masther's place below, wid this wall to hide their goin's on V asked the other. ' The wall wouldn't have hidden them while they were picking away at the top of the cistern,' said Dick, ' and I take it they'd have harder work to get that off than we found ; and how is it that you know anvthiug of the master's place beinc •* O __L O How He WTon Her. 24 broken into ?

I didn't say a word about it. Has Mr. Deane told you of his losses, and asked you to help him find the thief V The Irishman's eyes fairly glared, and he gave one glance at the wall which had formed one side of the cistern, that was enough to show Dick that, had that wall been a little lower, he might have reached the ground in another fashion than by the ladder. He removed the joists easily enough ; they were sawn ready to his hand, as he observed to the Irishman, who now made no pretence of helping. ' It must have taken some time to do this job,' he said, when he had laid the joists on one side, and came to the goodly piece of oak which formed the roof of Reuben Deane's treasure-closet, and found that too had been cut away, then carefully replaced and fastened down. ' Whoever did it set to work in the night, most likely,' said his companion, sullenly. ' Then they must have had a fine moon light night for the purpose,' said Dick.

No one could see them from the front of the house, along which ran three fairsized rooms ; but at the back there was, on the upper floor — as is so often the case in old houses — a great waste of space and material, so that a moderate room might have been put where there was nothing but this long-disused cistern. But how any one could have removed, first its leaden roof, and then its leaden flooring, cut away the joists beneath, and the upper surface of the cupboard, without being overheard by Reuben Deane in the room below, or perceived by his trusty man-servant in the garden at the back of the house, was a puzzle — the former especially, till Dick remembered that Mr. Deane had been laid up in London for a couple of days — time enough for cunning hands to do their work, especially with that trusty Hibernian to help them. ' I've learned quite enough now,' he said, when he had so tar replaced things that the cupboard below would be weather-tight. • "With Mr. Deane's leave, I'll send down a couple of men to morrow to make a good job of this.

Londoners will do better than fellows from the neighbourhood. But what we have to do,' and Dick bent his eyes sternly on his companion, ' is to catch the thief and hang him at Tyburn tree, unless he tells us who set him on to take what he found in the cupboard below us.' The Irishman turned away, ' You'll be a clever man if ye find him,' he muttered. ' He'll be a clever man if I don't,' said Dick. ' Hallo, fellow, what are you doing with the ladder V ' Going down it,' was the sullen answer. ' I'm not wanted here.' ' I'll go first, if you please,' said Dick, and down he went. When the Irishman reached the bottom, he found' a constable with a pair of hand cuffs in attendance. Dick had been wiser than when he went with Guy in search of Lawyer Snark, and had not come unaccom panied from London.

But Jem O'Brien was obstinately mute. He knew nothing of the theft, he declared ; he was a hard working man, and had always done his duty as a gintleman's servant. A little change passed over his face when Dick whispered to him : ' Mr. Deane will give a thousand pounds reward if those papers are forthcoming — and ask no questions.' Jem's face seemed to lighten for a moment ; then he shook his haed. ' Whoever took them would have burned them by this time. As for me,' he added, as if inspired by a sudden recollection of what propriety required at his hands, ' I'm as innicent as the babe unborn.' And then he marched doggedly away with the constable.

Chapter III

A FAMILY PARTY. Mrs. Glynne sat alone that day in the drawing-room at Bedford Row. The baby was better. She had done what she was wanted to come up from the country for, and now, though neither her son nor her daughter-in-law said as much, she knew that they could very well dispense with her longer stay with them ; so she was going on the morrow. Her boxes were packed up, her place in the coach taken, and every thing had seemed ready for her departure the next morning, when her daughter-in law, on coming down to breakfast, had said that George had a bad cold, and if it had not been that Mrs. Glynne's place was taken, she thought she would have asked her to stay and help her nurse him. But an hour or two in bed, and a hot posset, did such wonders for the pseudoinvalid, that Mrs. George thought herself justified in leaving him and going to Russell Square, to her mamma's, especially as Mrs. Glynne was there to keep the drawing room fire in, and see that dear.

George, when he came down, did not sit in draughts. So Mrs. Glynne, who had meant to do a great many things on this her last day in town, found herself expected to stay in and take care of her son, as she had done of his baby, and to see that there was a good fire ready for him to come down to. There might have been pleasanter ways of spending the morning, but neither Mr. nor Mrs. George thought of that. Mrs. George was good enough for the man she had married. Like many young women with small brains, and hearts to match, she had a vague, unreasoning jealousy of everything and everybody connected with her husband before his marriage. Her friends, her relations, should suffice for both. It was not that she loved the man she had married, so very much— she had never really loved any one in the world but herself; and her father, her mother, her sisters, were only valued inasmuch as, belonging to her, there could be no people in the world like them.