The Squire of Lonsdale ... With original illustrations by J. A. Symington

Front matter

RECENT WORKS OF FICTION. Uniform with this volume in price and sty le. THE DUCHESS LASS. By Caroline Masters, Author of ' The Shuttle of Fate.' With Illustrations by Lancelot Speed. 1 Many of the scenes are brought out with vivid dramatic force.' Birmingham Post. THE SHUTTLE OF FATE. By Caroline Masters. With original Illustrations by Lancelot Speed. ' We have not for a long time read a more interesting and faithful story of Lancashire life.' — Manchester Guardian. GOD'S WINE PRESS. A Novel. By Arthur Jenkinson. With original Illustrations by W. Cubitt Cooke. ' The story is one that will be read by people of all ages,' says the Chester Courant, ' but abave all by the young, with feelings of enthusiasm.' THE SQUIRE OF LONSDALE. He grew excited, and, pointing to the Don, swore that Philip Darrington should yet be drowned within its depths.

Front. p. 264. FRED I ighis reserved.] • ited, and, poinli ■.. should yet be d THE SQUIRE OF LONSDALE. BY EDITH C. KENYON, AUTHOR of 'which was the heiress?' 'the stranger artist,' 'the old violin,' 'a poor relation,' etc WITH ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. AYTON SYMINGTON. LONDON : FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. AND NEW YORK. 1897. [All rights reserved.] CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. ENGAGED ...... - g II. AN ILL DEED - - - - - 22 III. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT - - - 33 iv. Philip's forgiveness - - - - 44 V. IN A GARDENER'S COTTAGE - - - 53 VI. BURRAGE SINKS STILL LOWER - - 67 VII. NO EVIDENCE - - - - 76 VIII. A TALK WITH LOIS - - ■ 87 IX. IN THE SUMMER-TIME - - - - 95 X. THE COLLABORATORS' LITERARY SUCCESS - 109 XI. BURRAGE MAKES MORE MISCHIEF - - IlS XII. MAY'S LITTLE PLOT - - - - 1 28 XIII. AN OLD MAN'S SORROW - - - - 137 XIV.

THE RECTORY BURNT DOWN - - - 1 48 XV. BURRAGE'S GREAT DANGER - - - 1 62 XVI. AN UNACCEPTABLE OFFER . - - - 1 69 XVII. HURLED DOWN THE CLIFF - - - 177 XVIII. DISCOVERED AT LENGTH- - - - 1 87 XIX. THE LOST HEIR OF LONSDALE - - - 202 XX. JUDITH DISCLOSES ERNEST'S PARENTAGE - 2IO CONTENTS VIII CHAPTER PAGE XXI. IN CANADA ... - - 224 XXII. PHILIP'S RETURN ----- 238 XXIII. A CONFESSION OF LOVE - - - - 252 XXIV. OVERCOME WITH EVIL - - - - 2 59 XXV. TROUBLES THICKEN ... - 267 XXVI. AT THE HALL ----- 275 XXVII. ARRESTED ------ 287 XXVIII. A DARK HOUR ----- 298 XXIX. ERNEST'S TRIAL - - - - - 31.3 XXX. ' ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL '- - - 329 XXXI. DROWNED IN THE DON ... - 34g THE SQUIRE OF LONSDALE

Chapter I. Engaged

' Mellow Autumn, charged with bounteous fruit, Her lavish pomp and ripe magnificence.' Wordsworth : The Excursion. MAY ! May ! It is too cold for you to sit out there ! What are you thinking of?' ' I don't feel cold,' replied May quickly, turning her pretty, blushing face towards the sister, who was hurrying up to her as she spoke. ' Dreaming again ?' said the other laughingly. ' Well, I suppose there is some excuse for it now, as " he " has come home. But, all the same, you need not get cold with sitting out there. Come and walk about with me. I want to talk to you.' May rose at once, and, twining her arm lovingly within the other girl's, said deprecatingly : ' Well, Lois, he hasn't been home for so long. And, if I do dream a little, I'm sure it does no harm. I'm always ready to have a talk with you, dear.' io THE SQUIRE OF LONSDALE ' Happy child !' exclaimed Lois, with a little motherly air that softened the expression of a face which was somewhat rugged and stern in feature.

She was tall and finely built ; the shape of her head and her carriage were grand and majestic. Her eyes were dark and large, and she wore a quantity of soft black hair, so tightly coiled round her head as not to spoil its fine outline. May was nearly twenty, and a year younger. She was a complete contrast. Small-featured, slender, and rather short, she was very pretty, with a lovely pink-and-white complexion. She had been a little spoilt, and a certain wilful, but captivating, turn of the rosy lips revealed the fact. The girls, who were orphans, had lived from infancy with their maternal grandfather, the Rev. George Duncan, Rector of Lonsdale, a village in the West Riding of Yorkshire, on the banks of the Don. The old man, who had passed through many sorrows, was very good to them in his way, which was, how ever, somewhat prim and old-fashioned, and they had been fairly well educated.

The Rectory was surrounded with fine old yew and oak trees, which added to its beauty, though they impaired the healthfulness of the habitation. A long, rambling, old-fashioned garden, full of cosy corners and unexpected nooks and lovers' walks, in all of which rustic seats had been placed, led down to the riverside, where there was a boathouse, and a boat that the girls could row themselves. A pretty walk along one side of the river led across a few fields to the village. Near the Rectory, and on the north side of its garden, stood the old gray church ENGAGED 11 in its ancient God's-acre, where mouldering tomb stones, shaded by yews, spoke of the long-forgotten dead. An old Hall in the village, and a substantially-built square house, that was known for miles round as being the abode of the only doctor in the place, were, with the exception of one or two of the larger farm houses, the most remarkable buildings.

The village school stood a little way out of the village, and about half-way between it and the church and Rectory. It was near the riverside, and was by no means an im posing-looking building, but was sufficiently large for the hundred or so of children who attended it. There was no school-house ; but a couple of rooms over the school, and one which had really been intended for a class-room, answered the purpose fairly well, by providing the shelter of a roof for the village dominie. ' When is " he " coming ?' asked Lois, as she and May paced up and down the gravel walk. ' To-day — soon, I hope,' answered May, smiling. ' It's so nice to think he's going to stay and live at Lonsdale !' ' I should think so, happy girl V And Lois gave a little sigh. ' Yes, it's awfully jolly to be engaged, and to feel that you are really first with one person, and that the dearest man in the world !' exclaimed May rapturously.

Then, suddenly changing her tone, she cried in accents of pity, ' Poor Lois ! how I pity you when I think that you have no lover !' Lois shook off the clinging arm with a gesture of anger. ' Keep your pity until it is wanted !' she said rather brusquely ; and then, more gently, as she saw May looked hurt, ' Don't worry yourself about me. I can stand alone. It's all very well for you to have a lover, May, a little bit of a thing like you ; but pray leave me to myself.' ' That's just it !' cried May, with a little pout. ' You're so strong and self-sufficient and independent. I can't imagine a man falling in love with you ! Why, with your books and everlasting work, you are happy and content — you need nothing else. Mr. Jackson said so. We ' She hesitated. ' Yes, go on ! What did Mr. Jackson say ?' asked the other a little sharply. ' How could you talk me over with him?' she added reproachfully. ' I was not talking you over,' said May ; ' and if you think such a thing, I shall not tell you any thing.' ' Ah, well, you may please yourself,' retorted Lois with well-assumed indifference. ' Well, then, he was saying that you were fast developing into a literary woman, and afterwards he said something about literary women not generally marrying.

I forget how he put it exactly, but I know he meant you would not be likely to marry, because he said it was such a pity.' Lois looked vexed. ' But literary women do marry,' she said. ' Look at Mrs. Oliphant, Mrs. Trollope, Mrs. Henry Wood, and hosts more.' ' But you are not a marrying woman,' persisted May ; ' Philip says so.' ENGAGED 13 'Well, I should hope I'm not!' cried Lois, with a touch of defiance in her tone. ' I can't stand nonsense. Life is too serious.' And a grave look crept into her big eyes. May laughed. It might please Lois to call it nonsense, but for all that love was very sweet. But, then, how could Lois know ? Poor, plain, matter of-fact Lois, as she generally considered her. They were now almost at the bottom of the garden, near the old boathouse, moss-grown and gray with age.

A burst of autumnal sunshine lit up the gleaming water and the green fields and red tiled houses of the village beyond, and made the varying colours decking the hedges and fields more vivid and intense than ever. ' How glorious !' cried Lois, glancing with delight from the river to the richly-coloured foliage of the great beech-trees in the field close by, and then across the spread of green to the red-tiled roofs beyond. ' I love autumn so ! Just for a short time every year the colouring is so beautiful.' ' Ah ! but it means decay,' said a manly voice behind them, and a young man suddenly appeared from the shade of a laurel path. ' I've followed you down from the house,' he explained, as he shook hands ; ' the Rector said I should find you here.' ' Well, I am going,' said Lois abruptly ; ' three are a crowd ;' and, in spite of their protest, she turned to leave them.

The young man looked troubled for a moment. ' It seems unkind not to want her,' he said. But May laughed. ' Oh, she is quite sufficient for herself, I can assure you,' she said. ' Lois likes to be alone. She is never dull. She is not like me. I'm a poor little thing — like that vine which we tried to train up the boathouse on its warmer side — putting out hands to cling to something stronger than myself. I could never stand alone, Philip.' Her lover answered rapturously that she never should whilst he lived, and he leaned against the boathouse, looking down upon her with admiring eyes, whilst she, scarcely knowing what she did, gathered one of the smaller vine leaves, just tinged with crimson round the edge, and put it in his buttonhole. After a little while she remarked : ' Lois and I were just saying what a good thing it is that you have come home for good, and how nice it will be to have you always here.

And now you've got your M.D., you will soon get back your father's practice — everyone will come to you, I suppose, for the sake of the name. The Lorisdale people have always been doctored by a Darrington, within the memory of the oldest inhabitant of the place.' ' Well, yes, I should think they will all come to me now. And, as poor Dr. Nicholls has just died, the Poor Law appointment which my father and grandfather held for over sixty years is vacant, and on my applying for the post, I have not the least doubt the Guardians will elect me. It will answer their purpose so much better to have a man on the spot instead of a Doncaster doctor. I know Nicholls found it difficult to work the district from Don caster. I should say his last illness came on as ENGAGED 15 much from overwork and worry as anything.

It is a good Poor Law appointment, worth £100 a year. And as for the practice, if ever a practice was made for one, this is. For my father and grandfather both practised here, and lived in the house I still occupy.' ' And Dr. Burrage has kept the practice so well together for you this last year, hasn't he ? Every body seems to like him and speak well of him. I should think he hasn't lost you one patient.' ' Not one,' said young Dr. Darrington heartily. ' He's the best of fellows. He might have been working for himself, he has done everything so well. For the whole year, ever since father died, he has toiled to keep things together. He is the best and truest of friends.' 'And he seemed, particularly at first, so happy in the work. But won't it be rather hard for him to have to turn out now you have come home, and leave everything to you ?' May looked rather curiously at her lover as she asked the question.

She was shrewd and clever, and had noticed that the locum tenens who had been engaged to keep together the practice which Philip's father had left to him, until he became fully qualified, had lately seemed dissatisfied at the idea of leaving Lonsdale. ' Oh, but he knew all the time that he would have to do that. When the agreement was made, it was stated that he was only engaged for twelve months for a certain stipend, that he might keep things together until I became able to begin practising as a doctor.' ' Philip,' asked May, with sudden earnestness, ' was that put into writing ? Did you get him to sign an agreement about all that ?' 'Writing? Sign an agreement? Oh dear no!' exclaimed Philip, laughing at the idea. ' Never thought of such a thing ! There wasn't the least need. Burrage is a most honourable man.

We have been friends ever since our student days. He's quite a gentleman. Belongs to a good family ; in deed, I think he's some connection of the Squire's — a distant cousin, or something.' 'Is he?' May looked surprised. 'Why, Mr. Winterton has never taken any notice of him !' she exclaimed. ' I know that, because Dr. Burrage remarked that they had never spoken to each other.' ' That may be. I believe Mr. Winterton hates all his distant relatives because his property will have to go to some of them eventually — that is, when he dies.' ' Ah, he must regret having no son.' ' Yes, of course ; that is why he is so miserable. He lives alone there, hoarding his money and heap ing up riches, and doesn't know who will inherit them when he dies.' ' Why does he hoard so, and exact such big rents from his poor tenants, when he has nothing to gain by getting so much money ?' ' Why, indeed !

I suppose he used to be a spend thrift, and now the reaction has come on and he is a miser. But don't let us waste time by talking of him ; tell me how you have all got on lately.' ' Not quite so well, Philip. The tithes are paid so badly now. Some of the farmers pay nothing, or ENGAGED 17 next to nothing, and grandpapa will not press them. But he looks grave about the future, for he has had to live partly upon his capital for years, and of course that causes him to receive less and less interest.' Philip understood. The living of Lonsdale was a small one at the best, and for some years the tithes had not been paid regularly. Old Mr. Duncan was too generous, and perhaps too proud, to sue for that which was his due ; he would rather suffer in silence. ' What a pity it is money is so scarce,' he said ; ' and men like my father and your grandfather, May, don't know how to save.

I've had nothing but just enough to pay for my education, and the practice, of course, and carriage and furniture from my father. We shall be poor at first, May. But who is that on the other side of the water, looking this way?' he broke off to ask the question abruptly. ' The new schoolmaster, Mr. Jackson,' replied May, following the direction of his eyes ; ' oh, he's such a nice young fellow ! Grandpapa does like him — he's such a help and comfort to him. I don't know what we should do without him. He often comes to the Rectory in the evenings, and when he and grandpapa have finished their business he stays and plays chess with him.' ' Chess ! A village schoolmaster?' ' Yes ; he's not an ordinary schoolmaster. I believe his parents are quite poor people — they live at Brandon — but he's very gentlemanly.

And he's clever. Lois thinks he will be distinguished some day. He writes articles for some of the magazines. Oh, by-the-by, Lois has taken to literature. Mr. Jackson and she talk about it by the hour together, whilst grandpapa is sleeping after his chess,' ' Indeed !' Philip looked astonished. ' And what do you do,' he asked, ' whilst all this is going on ?' There was a little annoyance in his tone. He did not like to hear that another man was so often at the Rectory. ' Oh, I sit and watch his fine intellectual face, and wonder if he is another Lord of Burleigh in disguise, and I dream ' ' For goodness' sake, don't tell me that you sit and admire and dream about this common man — this schoolmaster !' cried Philip. May looked mischievously at him. ' Oh, but I didn't say I dreamt about him,' she said quickly. ' No, my thoughts are generally with one who has loved me most devotedly for years, one who is never jealous of me — grandpapa.' Philip laughed. ' Don't tell me you sit and dream of him,' he said, as a vision of the stately and matter-of-fact old gentleman rose up before his mental gaze ; ' no, you think of me.' ' And if I do— a little — 'A little!' he cried indignantly, and then began to tell her, as lovers do, that the thought of her was ever in his mind, the love of her ever in his heart. ' But,' said May presently, ' to be practical, Philip dear, do you know that you are going to marry a poor girl ?' ' I shall be rich then,' said the young man, taking both her hands in his, and stooping down to kiss them.

ENGA GED 19 But May snatched her hands suddenly away, and turned a little pale with dismay, for again someone had come down the laurel walk, and he was looking at them with eyes which blazed with sudden anger. Philip turned with a little vexation. 'How you startled us, Burrage!' he said; 'is anything the matter ?' Dr. Burrage could not answer for a moment. He raised his hat, and took May's hand in his, but dropped it instantly. He was a very handsome young man, with good features and large blue eyes, brown hair and moustache, and he was tall and well built. Philip, who was only moderately good-looking, and about medium height, seemed suddenly to have grown plainer as he stood beside him, looking at his flushed face. ' I beg your pardon,' said Burrage ; ' I fear I intrude. I did not know — I had no idea — I ' 'Miss Graham and I are engaged to be married,' said Philip quietly. ' Indeed !

I beg to congratulate you both,' said Burrage ; but he said it rather awkwardly. Indeed, Lonsdale seemed to have suddenly lost one of its attractions for him. He had seen much of the Rectory girls, and he admired May immensely. It was too bad of the Lonsdale people not to have told him of this engagement. What a lucky man Philip was ! He had everything that was good awaiting him : a good practice, and therefore a nice income ; a good wife, and therefore a happy home. ' Thank you,' replied Philip, speaking for himself and May ; ' I'm sure we're very much obliged. And I have been saying how very much we owe to you, 2 — Burrage, for your exertions in keeping things to gether while I have been away, and unprepared to practise as a doctor.' ' Ah, well,' said Burrage, somewhat faintly, ' I hope I have done my duty.

That's all.' ' And I hope you'll have a good practice of your own before long,' said May sweetly. ' And that you will be engaged happily too," added Philip. Burrage made a gesture to stop them, and mutter ing something about not being a marrying man, and being very much obliged to them all the same, he turned away and went back into the house. ' He seemed surprised,' said Philip ; ' I wonder he had not heard of our engagement before. I thought he understood I was engaged. I haven't talked of it, certainly. I think a man looks so foolish talking about his love affairs, and ours has been such a long engagement. It was quite a boy and-girl one at first. Still, I wonder no one men tioned it to him.' ' He has been here a good many times,' said May ; ' I think Lois might have told him. She ought to have done so ; but she is like you, dear, she doesn't like to talk about love affairs.

And you know you never gave me a ring until the other day.' ' Ring ! As if our engagement needed any ring!' exclaimed Philip, who cared little about jewellery. ' Well, you know, dear, it lets other people know.' ' How cross he looked !' said Philip, returning to the subject of Burrage's surprise. ' What does it matter to him ?' ENGAGED 21 ' I didn't like his look,' returned May, with a little shiver. ' He wouldn't be a nice man to offend.' Philip laughed. ' What a speech !' he said ; ' could anyone be nice to offend?' ' Well, I think you are rather,' said May ; ' you know, I always think you are nicer after you've been a bit offended !' After this the talk became more and more lover like. And presently Philip opened the boathouse, and took out the boat, a brand new one he had given the sisters.

Then May stepped into it, and sat down to steer, and Philip took both sculls and began to row. Thus they passed leisurely down the river, two happy and intensely alive young people, amidst the emblems of decay as shown by the red, brown, and yellow of the trees on every side of the water. It seemed as if life stretched out smooth and fair before these two beloved and loving ones, and they little knew what lay before them in the future.

Chapter II. An Ill Deed

'Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes, He is a slave, the meanest we can meet.' Wordsworth : Personal Talk. ' ' I that advertisement here again/ said J- Burrage, looking up from the Doncaster Chronicle, which the maid had just brought in the room, to Philip Darrington, who was pacing restlessly to and fro. ' What advertisement ?' asked Philip dreamily. He was thinking about May, and wondering whether, when she was married, she would want much new furniture, or whether she would be content with the old, which had certainly seen much service, but which was in fairly good preservation. ' For a Poor Law medical officer for this district,' answered Burrage gloomily. ' You don't mean to say that the Guardians are advertising ?' exclaimed Philip, waking up now to the realization of his friend's words. ' I do indeed.

This is the third week the adver tisement has been in the Chronicle, and to morrow is the day on which they will make their decision.' ' I must send in my application at once, then,' exclaimed Philip ; ' and I thank you a thousand times, old fellow,' he added pleasantly, ' for calling my attention to this advertisement. One or two of the Guardians have assured me that, though they would have to advertise as a matter of form, they would only be too glad to elect me in consideration of my good qualifications and my father's long service. Still, they can't elect me unless I apply for it.' ' Of course they can't,' said Burrage, ' and even you, lucky dog as you are to have everything you ask for ! must still go through the necessary formality. But there is the advertisement. You can read it for yourself And, rising, he put the newspaper in Philip's hand, and betook himself to the window, where he stood twisting a cigarette and looking out disconsolately at the incessant rain.

It was the last week of October, and a dark and gloomy one ; during the week there had been a gale of wind, which had stripped the trees of their leaves and robbed the whole countryside of its beautiful colouring, and now wet weather had set in, and it was cold and cheerless out of doors. All day Hubert Burrage had felt the influence of the weather, acting and reacting on his very impressible nature. From his life, during the last two or three weeks, the glorious colouring, the golden light, the roseate hues, seemed to have rolled away, leaving nothing but gloom and ugliness behind. Philip Darrington had asked him to stay a little longer at Lonsdale, that he himself might have leisure to be with May, while Burrage still looked after the practice; and though the latter felt instinc tively that he ought to leave at once, he could not bring himself to do so.

His was not a very strong character; his will was weak, his passions strong, and his principles not of the highest. He had been early left an orphan, and his guardian, an attorney who was more crafty than honourable, had taught him only to do right because it was expedient, safe, and profitable to do it, and to avoid wrong-doing because it might bring him into trouble. As a youth and as a young man Hubert Burrage had acted upon this teaching, but with more mature age came other views of life. Looking round, he saw the ungodly prospering like a green bay-tree, and he began to question, to envy, and to covet. All through that year of patiently-performed work for Philip Darrington doubts had visited him. Why should he toil so hard for another ? What better would he be for it ? Philip was his friend, certainly, but there were very few men who would sacrifice much for a friend, and why should he ?

Still, he had gone on doing his best for Philip's practice, just as he had done his best to get on at school and at the Uni versity. And then Philip came home, full of happiness in his success at having got his M.D., and full of hopes of more happiness in being well settled in life, with a prospect of having a charming wife. And then— and then Hubert began to think it hard that his friend should have so much that was good, and himself so little. Why was Philip so much more fortunate than he ? Was it fair that he should have everything his own way, and his poor locum tenens comparatively nothing? And, as if to make the case worse for Hubert, Philip loved, and was beloved by, the very girl he had taken an immense liking for. Ever since he saw them together in the Rectory garden, and Philip told him of their engagement, a very evil spirit seemed to have entered into Hubert's soul.

He felt wronged, rebellious, and revengeful. He began to remember that he had signed no agreement not to practise as a doctor at Lonsdale ; he began to think of possibilities of pitting himself against Darrington as a general practitioner; he began to wonder if he could, with his physical advantages, ' cut him out,' as he styled it, in other directions as well. All that was worst in his character was aroused ; he was in a dangerous state of mind, ready to be swayed by the most trivial circumstances into doing that which could never be undone. Philip read the advertisement aloud ' " Lonsdale and Upper Grimthorpe Union. — Medical officer wanted for the whole district. Salary £100 a year and usual fees. Candidates must state age, qualifications, and previous experience. Applications must be sent in to Mr. John Mitchell, clerk of the Board, at Doncaster, on or before November the first." 'Well, I suppose I must write a formal application,' he said, ' and it must be sent off to-day.

I had better write it now — what a lucky thing you reminded me ! I might not have thought of it in time.' ' Fool I was to remind him V thought Burrage moodily, staring hard at the steady downpour of rain outside. ' If only he had forgotten to apply, why, I might have done it myself, and then ' He glanced at Philip, who was sitting down at his writing-table, and smiling as he did so, to think how foolish and unbusinesslike being in love was making him. If he had not been in love when he came home, the first step he would have taken would have been to apply for this post, the possession of which was so necessary to secure his position as the only resident medical man at Lonsdale. After his father's death the Guardians of the poor had given the appointment to a Doncaster doctor, named Nicholls, but that had not answered well.