The Stronger Will

Front matter

Aldersyde. By Annie S. Swan. At Any Cost. By Edward Garrett. Bits from Blinkbonny. By John Strathesk. Cartowrie; or, Among Lothian Folk. By Annie S. Swan. Gertrude Ellerslie : A Story of Two Years. By Mrs Meldrum. Glenairlie; or, The Last of the Græmes. By Robina F. Hardy. The Laird' s Secret. By Jane H. Jamieson. More Bits from Blinkbonny. By John Strathesk. Preston Tower; or, Will He No' Come Back Again ? By Jessie M. E. Saxby. NeU Willox : A Story of Edinburgh in the Days of Queen Marie. By Jessie M'Laren. Morning Mists. By Mrs Meldrum. Hazell & Sons, Brewers. By Annie S. Swan. Marriage and Home Life. By Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, D.D. Being an English Edition of " The Marriage Ring." Adele's Love. The Story of a Faithful Little Heart. By Maude M. Butler. Matthew Dale, Farmer. By Mrs Sanders.

Kate and Jean. The History of Two Young and Independent Spinsters narrated by their Landlady By Jessie M. E. Saxby. I he Lady of the Manoe.— Page 40. Frontispiece. BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, author of "dorothy's vocation," "Oliver langton's ward," "clive's conquest," " syd's new pony,* " daring dot," etc, etc. OLIPHANT, ANDERSON & FERRIER, EDINBURGH; And 24 OLD BAILEY, LONDON. 1890, BOOKS BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN. Dorothy's Vocation. Crown Svo. Illustrated. 2s. Oliver Langton's Ward. Grown 8vo. Illustrated. 2s. The Stronger Will. Crown Svo. Illustrated. 2s. 6d. Syd's New Pony. Es. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. 6d. The Witch of the Quarry Hut. Ex. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. 6d. Daring Dot. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. 4d. Clive's Conquest. Fcap. Svo. Cloth. 4d. CONTENTS. CHAPTER rAGE I. INTRODUCTORY, ..... 5 II. MRS. FREER's FAMILY, . . . .16 III.

STANHOPE AND FREER, . . . ,24 IV. MARCH WOOD, . . .... 38 V. THE LADY OF THE MANOR, . . . .5] VI. A PASSAGE AT ARMS, . . . .63 VII. FAREWELLS, . . . . . .73 VIII. AT HAWKSHOLD, . . . . .8*1 IX. FLORENCE'S PICNIC, ... .94 X. HUBERT MORRISON, ..... 114 XI. A DEFEAT, ...... 127 XII. A SUMMONS, . . . . . .142 XIII. AN ACCIDENT, . . . . .155 CONTENTS. IV CHAPTER PAGE XIV. REFRACTORY RUDOLF, . . . .173 XV. A WARNING, ..... 188 XVI. A CONFIDENCE, ..... 201 XVII. A GHOST IN THE YEW WALK, . . .211 XVIIL AN EXPLOSION, ..... 222 XIX. DEPARTURE, ..... 238 XX. BATTLES, ...... 253 XXI. MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE, 262 XXII. A SURPRISE, ..... 272 XXIII. THE MARCHWOOD POST-BAG, . . . 287 XXIV. FLORENCE, . . ...

Chapter I. Introductory

§Y dear Florence, the thing is quite out The young lady thus addressed looked down with a provoking air of unconcern at the tapestry-work she held in her hands, and then, glancing up at the severe frowning face of her interlocutor, she asked innocently — "Why so, Uncle Oliver? Is Marchwood too small ? " Mr. Cadwallader frowned impatiently. " You talk like a child, Florence," he said, with visible irritation of manner. " You talk as though the housing of a houseful of strangers were the merest detail ia the world. You ought at your age to know better." Florence's eyebrows went up, and her lips curved to one of her provoking smiles ; but as she met the perplexed and troubled gaze of her guardian fixed upon her, with something of appeal under lying its frowning impatience, her face changed instantly, softening to an expression peculiarly sweet, despite its latent resolution.

"Uncle Oliver," she said, "does it not seem to you a very sad thing that your only sister and her children should still be strangers to you after so many, many years have passed away ? " " That is more Felicia's doing than mine," he answered, coldly. " More ? " " Undoubtedly — if not in the first place, at least afterwards." "Stop," said Florence, looking earnestly at him. " I want to understand the circumstances thoroughly. You have never told me much about the quarrel with your only near relative, but I have heard things from one or another that have given me a pretty clear notion of the situation. May I tell you what I have learned about it ? " Mr. Cadwallader made no reply. " You and your sister, being the only children of INTRODUCTORY. your parents, grew up unusually attached to each other.

Indeed, you were so fond of her that you were bent upon her marrying Mr. Greville's son, your most intimate friend, who was then heir to the Hawkshold property, as you were to that of Marchwood. That match would, you thought, secure to you her constant presence in the immediate neighbourhood, and it was very advisable from a practical standpoint, and Mr. Greville was much in love with Felicia Cadwallader. And then she spoilt all by a run away match with your tutor, Mr. Stanhope, giving lasting offence to her parents and her brother. The former cut her off with little more than the pro verbial shilling ; the latter has never forgiven her. Am I right so far, Uncle Oliver?" " In tbe main, so far as absolute facts go ; but there are things that no one can ever understand who did not live through those years.

I do not wish to speak harshly of Felicia, but she did not behave well at that crisis of her life. She always had a strain of impulsive weakness in her character, and although she had been receiving Greville's attentions almost from childhood, and was tacitly, if not actually, engaged to him, after a six months' acquaintance with Stanhope (who had come to coach me in modern languages before a pro spective foreign tour I proposed to take), she fell desperately in love, and they made a run-away match of it before any one suspected in the least what had happened. My own impression has always been that the secrecy and final elopement were the work of Felicia. Stanhope was a very upright, honourable man — a very fine fellow, whom I liked much, and although poor, he was of good family, and had talents that might have made him, had he lived, a man of mark.

He would not, I believe, have scrupled to ask Miss Cadwallader's hand in marriage had she permitted so bold a move. He knew nothing of the half engagement that bound her to Greville, and I always say it was Felica's doing that he acted as he did. Yet even granting that, his offence remains. He let himself be led into an act that I call distinctly dishonourable. He made this run-away marriage, and if he expected his wife to be recognised by her own family after having been made Mrs. Stanhope under those circumstances, he very much mistook the stuff of which the Cadwalladers are made." A little smile curved Florence's lips at these words, but it passed as she said quietly — "But he died so many, many years ago." " Yes, twenty-five years ago now, after they had been married four years. He died, leaving her with an infant daughter only a few weeks old, and INTRODUCTORY. 9 a boy not yet two.

It was then that I (our parents having died in the interval) offered her a home at Marchwood, which home she deliberately refused." " Perhaps it was natural then," said Florence, thoughtfully, " since you had always declined to recognise her husband." " I renewed that offer a year and a-half later," continued Mr. Cadwallader, " when your father, Florence, my old school chum, Captain Tenant, came here from India after the Mutiny, ill from fever and wounds and a broken heart, his wife dead, and you, his only child, a little helpless mite not six months old. When he died in my house, and I resolved to adopt you as something more than my ward, I wrote to Felicia then — for I was not altogether unmindful of the claims of herself and her children — and I offered her again a home at March wood, and made it very plain that if she accepted it, her children and my ward (in the event of my remaining single) would all be treated alike ; but I made it equally plain that if she still declined re conciliation, I should make no further overtures of the kind, and she must plainly understand that Marchwood would be henceforth nothing to her or hers."

Florence had never before heard this statement so plainly made. Her colour rose a little as she asked — And her answer ? " Was an explicit refusal." " Perhaps she thought then that the contingency of your not marrying was very remote." " Possibly ; she said nothing as to the grounds on which she based her refusal, but she refused entirely and unequivocally. With much of weakness in her nature, Felicia always had an ingrained obstinacy about her — or had in old days : perhaps it is beaten out of her by now — and she seemed resolved to hug her grievance, and to play the martyr. Later on, when I discovered that she was on the eve of marriage with Dr. Freer, I understood her refusal better. Within two years of her first husband's death she had found a successor in her affections, and the first intimation I had of the event was the notice in the Times."

" But you have helped her substantially since, I know — educated Dr. Freer's eldest son, and cor responded cordially. Now that she is a second time left a widow, why not do more ? " " I have no objection to help Felicia: but March wood — my dear Florence, you don't know what you ask when you suggest to an old man to change the whole current of his life. You and I have had Marchwood to ourselves for nearly a quarter of a century." INTRODUCTORY. 11 Florence's grey eyes sparkled with a look of latent mischief. " A pompous way of putting it, Uncle Oliver ; and now, after this quarter of a century of tete-d teXe, don't you think a new element might with advantage be introduced ? " He looked at her half jealously. " You are not tired of Marchwood, Florence, or of me? She would not answer, but her eyes, despite their mischievous light, shoDe with so much tenderness and love that the old man's face softened to a smile.

" I had thought of settling her at Eastlands. It is a nice little property, and the present tenant's lease will soon be out." " That would be an excellent plan ; and mean time you will have them here on a long visit, and learn to know them well. Uncle Oliver, confess that you are relenting ! " " You forget one great difficulty, Florence." " What is that, Uncle Oliver ? " " If Felicia comes here, what is to become of the Stanhopes ? " Florence looked at him questioningly. " Will they not come too ? " The old man's face contracted suddenly. " No ! " he answered, with some irritation ; "certainly not." Then, after a moment's pause, he added, "At least Marchwood shall never be their home. I suppose they must be tolerated as visitors if their mother comes." " There are two Stanhopes, are there not ?

" asked Florence, feeling her way carefully. " Yes ; the son must be six-and-twenty by this time. Of course he will be doing something for himself. The daughter is a year younger. Possibly she may marry now. I suppose she may have to come with her mother for a time, till we can find some better place for her; but the young fellow I will not have about. Marchwood is nothing to him, nor he to Marchwood. I will show him that plainly enough — insolent young puppy ! " Florence did not smile at this unreasonable and apparently inconsequent outbreak of irritation. She traced to its source the train of thought that had raised Mr. Cadwallader's sudden ire against the man who was his natural heir, but she knew him too well to attempt to argue with him, or even to appear to understand him too well. She knew perfectly that the Marchwood property, which was not entailed, was planned to descend to none of his sister's children.

If her bright colour deepened a very little, at least her voice was admirably under control. "'No!' he answered; 'certainly not.'"— Page 11. INTRODUCTORY. 13 " Of course young Mr. Stanhope will have his own profession by this time. Perhaps he would come with them on the first occasion, and get all the ice broken together. I daresay we shall hardly ever see him ; but it would scarcely be practicable to exclude him from the general amnesty. It would look perhaps rather too marked." Mr. Cadwallader's brow was still sharply con tracted. " Marked or not, I '11 not have him hanging about Marchwood, and giving himself airs here. He shan't have the run of the house in any sense of the word. I '11 speak to Felicia about it : I '11 let him understand my views." " I hardly expect you will require to do anything of the kind, Uncle Oliver," answered Florence, laughing.

"People are not in the way of taking undue advantage in your house ! " The grim face relaxed a little. Florence felt that enough had now been said, and she closed the interview by stepping out upon the terrace, into the clear, cold March sunshine. She had seen from the window the approach of a familiar figure, and in the garden she met a tall, fair-haired, broad-shouldered young man, who was evidently on terms of most familiar friendliness with her. "I saw you coming, Edmund," she said. "I was B THE STRONGER WILL. 14 just concluding a most important interview. You know what I have been plotting and scheming for all these past weeks. Well, I have ventured at last to make a definite proposition ; and if I know him as well as I think I do, my wiles will be triumphant at last. To-day I really do feel as if the thin end of the wedge were inserted."

Edmund laughed. " Poor Mr. Cadwallader ! If he only knew how vou were plotting against his peace of mind ! " "He will know all in good time: a day of revela tion will dawn on him at last." Edmund looked very wise. " You know, according to all received precedent, you ought to make a match with the heir, and that would smooth away all difficulties ; but in the present case, I fear it would only add a worse complication." " True," answered Florence, gravely. " I will keep the suggestion in mind, Edmund ; it does credit to your somewhat defective powers of diplomacy. Yet, as you say, I fear such a solution of the difficulty would hardly be soothing to Uncle Oliver." " No ; it would be adding insult to injury, or injury to insult," said Edmund, laughing. " On the whole, I don't think I should quite care INTRODUCTORY. 15 to be in his shoes.

I know exactly how Mr. Cadwallader will look at him, and how he will watch him about." " So do I — exactly. It may be difficile at first, but I mean to get the better of circumstances. And I shall look to you to help me all you can, Edmund, for Rudolf Stanhope is the heir of March wood, and I shall never rest content until he is received as such, and acknowledged before the world."

Chapter II. Mrs

FREER'S FAMILY. WEEK later a letter, bearing the post mark of " Hawkhurst," arrived amongst a number of others at a dull, respectable house in London, situated not far away from the British Museum. The letter arrived at breakfast time, and was opened by the mistress of the house, whose deep widow's weeds proclaimed her recent loss. She read it with eager haste and close attention, her face flushing a little as she did so. Once or twice she raised her eyes and glanced, almost as it seemed, with deprecation, in the direction of her eldest son, who sat opposite to her at the foot of the table. Rudolf Stanhope was undoubtedly very good looking, though there were critics who found fault with the sternness and inflexible determination of the expression of his face as detracting from its attractiveness.

He had particularly fine eyes: very dark and piercing, overhung by a broad, massive brow. The eyebrows, which, like hair and moustache, were of a dark, rich brown, were very thick, and almost met, giving something of a frowning look to the face even in repose. The features were good and regular, and clearly cut, but the squareness of the jaw told its own tale of an iron will, whilst the whole face looked not unfrequently as if carved in flint. His figure was tall, upright, and muscular ; his manner was quiet and refined, yet slightly imperious. He had about him a look of power and intellect that often attracted notice, and although at present his position was only that of private and confidential secretary to Sir Arthur Morrison, M.P., yet he was a young man who was expected by his friends to rise, and who was determined not to dis appoint them.

His sister Violet, though in reality little more than a year his junior, looked very much younger than the brother she resembled. She had the same dark, expressive eyes, and regular, well-chiselled features; but she was slightly built and somewhat fragile-looking, and the expression of her face was not at all like that of Rudolf. One could see at a glance what manner of man he was, but it would take a keener physiognomist to read the curious, some what enigmatic lines of the girl's countenance. There was one vacant place at table; the remain ing three were occupied by a school-boy of fifteen, and by a little boy and girl of ten and eight respect ively. When Harry rose from table to start for school, Mrs. Freer made a sign to the little girl, who at once slipped from her chair, and led the younger brother away.

Cuthbert was blind, having lost his sight four years before, after a sharp attack of fever. When the children were safely out of hearing, Mrs. Freer turned rather anxiously to her eldest son and said, with some hesitation of manner — " I have heard from your Uncle Cadwallader." " I observed it was his handwriting," answered Rudolf, with a slight yet significant hardening of his handsome face. " What has he to say ? " " It is a very kind letter," answered Mrs. Freer, with something of deprecation in her manner. "You are prejudiced against your uncle, Rudolf. I am aware, of course, that you have some cause; but, after all, that was over and done with long before you were old enough to remember anything, and he has always been a kind brother to me — since." " Since my father died, that is," added Rudolf, icily, " but not before.

He never acknowledged him. As if my father were not every whit his equal — nay, his superior — in everything save wealth." " I know, Rudolf, I know. It is natural you should resent it ; but you cannot quite understand how things were. Oliver is not the narrow-minded, purse-proud man you have always been determined to think him. And now, when without substantial help from him I should not know where to turn, he offers me and mine a home for the present at Marchwood." The veins on Rudolf's forehead swelled ; it seemed as if he would have spoken angrily, but he checked himself, and said, with quiet, sarcastic inflection — " Why could he not afford you substantial help in some other way ? He ought to have made some arrangement by which you at least retained your own independence. I should decline such an offer with scorn."

" You would not if you were a mother with children depending on you," answered Mrs. Freer. " It relieves me from the burden of care and responsibility which is very, very hard wheu a woman is left to bear it alone. It will give to Violet and Cuthbert the country air they often pine for, and although you will lose your present home, you are a man, and well able to take care of your self." " Oh, certainly. I am quite able to take care of myself, and my means will also permit of my making a home for Violet. I cannot suppose she will care to accept the hospitality of Mr. Cadwallader. She is a Stanhope, not a Freer." Violet looked up at her brother with a curious gleam in her dark eyes. "I am included, I see, in the invitation to Marchwood," she said, clearly and decisively, "and to Marchwood I shall certainly go, and if you are wise you will do the same."

" I ! " said Rudolf, and then stopped, as if such a matter were beneath discussion. His face wore a look of haughty displeasure. When he spoke again, it was on a fresh subject. " What I cannot bear to think of," he said, " is the position you will have to occupy in that house. Mr. Cadwallader has neither wife nor child — his sister, then, if she lives under his roof, should of course occupy the place of hostess and mistress. But " — glancing angrily at the letter his mother had handed to him — " that is not the place he offers to you. You and your children are only to be guests, whilst the position of lady of the manor is letained by that chit of a girl, who is neither kith nor kin of his, and has no claim of any kind upon him." " Miss Tenant is his ward and dearly-loved adopted daughter," answered Mrs. Freer.

" We, at least, have no right to complain of her presence as mistress of his house. I had that position offered me once, and I declined it. You have always maintained that I did right." Rudolf bit his lip. He could not contest the point with his mother. She spoke with undoubted justice and moderation, and yet in his heart of hearts the young man felt that the position in Mr. Cadwallader's house occupied by his ward was an insult and an injustice to his mother and her children. Rudolf was not mercenary in any sordid fashion. He had no love of money for its own sake, but he was ambitious, and in the life he was now living he had begun to understand what weight and influence attach to a man who has wealth or " prospects " at his back. He was aware, too, that he himself was looked upon in many quarters as Mr. Cadwallader's heir.

True, the Marchwood property was not entailed, but then the present owner was a childless bachelor, and Rudolf Stanhope, a most promising young man, his natural successor. To any one who knew anything at all about the family — and when there is a large landed property it is curious how many people do know about it — Mrs. Freer's eldest son was looked upon as indubitably the heir ; and, despite his personal sense of antagonism towards his uncle, Rudolf felt that he ought to inherit the Cadwallader estate. Race instincts are strong in old families, and it went against every fibre of the young man's nature to think that the old house should be alienated from those of the Cadwallader blood, and pass to an utter stranger, whom chance had cast upon his uncle's hands. And Rudolf, with all his pride and haughtiness, possessed keener feelings and deeper affections than any one knew.

Quite apart from any personal advantage that might accrue to him, he would very gladly have been on friendly terms with his uncle, a welcome visitor at the old house, where his mother's children ought surely to feel at home. But these feelings were kept so studiously in the background that not even his mother or sister sus pected their existence. He always spoke of Mr. Cadwallader with bitterness or studied coldness, and with absolute indifference about the ancestral home. He was too proud and reserved to allow anybody to suspect his deeper feelings, and he was painfully aware of his rather difficult position as his uncle's natural heir, yet without the least reasonable hope of ever succeeding to the inheritance. But he said not a word as to his sentiments, and neither mother nor sister suspected them.

They only saw the set hardness of the lines of his face as he pushed back his chair and walked silently from the room, and heard the bang of the front door which marked his exit from the house. Eyes and ears alike convinced them that there would be no relenting in that quarter.

Chapter III Stanhope And Freer

HAT bang of the door seemed to unloose Mrs. Freer's tongue. She looked across at her daughter with a sigh. " I am afraid that nothing will ever induce Rudolf to lay aside his rooted hostility to his uncle." " We shall know that better," said Violet, quietly, " when we get him to Marchwood." " When ! — if, you mean. I greatly doubt our ever persuading him to come." " He must come — he shall." " Ah, but Rudolf is so singularly determined j) " Then other people must be determined too." " I think you hardly understand your brother's nature, Violet." " On the contrary, it is because I understand it so well that I have such confidence. Has he ever yet failed in dutiful obedience to you ? " " No, never ; he is the best of sons." "Just so; and you may be sure he will do nothing at this juncture to grieve or harass you.

Make a personal favour of this visit to Marchwood, and you will see that you will win the day." Mrs. Freer went away upon her household duties with a less anxious look upon her face, and Violet sat still, deep in thought, her arms resting upon the table. " Foolish, foolish Rudolf ! " she said at length half aloud. " You would throw away your prospects, and every chance of success, rather than make the sacrifice of one fragment of that family pride which shows how close akin you are to our proud uncle. But luckily for you there are those about you who can look after your interests better than you can yourself." Violet's meditation was interrupted at this point by the entrance of another member of the family, who had not, so far, put in an appearance. " Late as usual, Vernon," remarked Violet.

" As usual," he returned, placidly. " Yes, coffee, please. Any news this morning ? " " Yes ; news from Marchwood." The young man gave one quick glance at Violet, and then began leisurely to help himself. Vernon Freer often gave some perplexity to casual acquaintances who knew that his mother had been twice married, and it was with difficulty that they could be made to understand that he was a Freer and not a Stanhope. He was only three years younger than Violet, and was seven years older than his next brother, Harry. He looked decidedly more than his age, and his three years at Oxford had given him an ease and assurance of manner that few youths of his standing acquire. He was tall and well set up, and had a fair share of good looks. He did not possess Rudolfs physical or intellectual powers, nor his air of commanding determination; yet the quiet face and composed manner had a meaning of their own, and there were those amongst the friends of the family who had been known to opine that Vernon Freer was a man more likely to attain his object in life than his more impetuous half-brother, Rudolf Stanhope.

" And what is the news from Marchwood ? " " What mother half expected : an offer to give us all a home at Marchwood, when this house is given up at Easter." Vernon did not look up. He had no appearance of being greatly interested in the news. " I presume the offer will be accepted ? " " Of course ; there is practically no alternative." " You will go with them, I suppose ? " Certainly ; why do you ask ? " For one second the eyes of brother and sister met, and a quick glance passed between them, but neither read anything from the other. " And what does Rudolf say to all this ? " " So far he has said very little." " How does he mean to act ? " " That remains to be proved." Vernon was silent for awhile. It was Violet who asked the next question. " How will this change affect you ? " " It will suit me very well.

I can read for ordination as well at Marchwood as anywhere else. Personally I am very glad that the old coolness should be a thing of the past, and that the breach should be healed. I owe a great deal to our uncle, and have often felt it on my mind to thank him personally for what he has done for me." " Ah, yes, to be sure; he is your godfather, is he not ? He has paid for your education, of course. I had forgotten that." " I doubt if ever I should have got to Oxford without him. I owe a. great deal to our uncle. I am exceedingly glad of a chance to let him know this." The conversation dropped at this point, but Vernon was absorbed in thought during this and many succeeding days. He showed no outward sign of abstraction, but his mind was ceaselessly at work. He knew that there was a comfortable family living in his uncle's gift, of which fact he had not been unmindful when he had elected to enter the Church, and yet it was not entirely on the Rectory at Hawkhurst that his thoughts ran during the days that followed Mr. Cadwallader's invitation.