Esther Dunbar; or, Vengeance is Mine

Front matter

ESTHER DUNBAR OR Dengeance is fllMne "IN A MINUTE SHE WAS CAREERING AWAY OVER THE OTHER SIDE." [A ESTHER DUNBAR OR Dengeance ie sIDine BY ELIZA F. POLLARD AUTHOR OF "THE WHITE DOVE OF AMRITZIR," ,(A GENTLEMAN OF ENGLAND, "ROGER THE RANGER," ETC, ETC " The man most man, with tenderest human hands Works best for men— as God in Nazareth." LONDON S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO. 8 & 9 PATERNOSTER ROW V CONTENTS. CHAPTER PACE I. THE AWAKENING, 7 II. ORA PRO NOBIS, 13 III. THE NEW LIFE, 20 IV. "THE HOMES OF MERRY ENGLAND," . . 24 v. "young men and maidens," .... 29 VI. LOVE AND HOPE, 34 VII. THE HUNT, 40 VIII. LOVE AND LIFE, 45 IX. SHADOWS, 51 X. "NOT FOR ME," 57 XI. MIND TO MIND, 6l XII. HEART TO HEART, 66 XIII. A LOST HERITAGE, 72 XIV. A FATHER'S POLICY, 79 XV. RASH FOR LOVE, 84 XVI. "WHO SHALL SHUT OUT FATE?" ... 89 XVII.

THE WIDOW AND FATHERLESS, ... 94 XVIII. "FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE," .... 98 XIX. " O LOVE, LOVE, LOVE ! " 105 XX. TRACKED, UO XXI. IN SUSPENSE, 117 XXII. FEAR, 124 XXIII. "I HAVE LOVED YOU," 1 29 XXIV. "WHERE SHOULD I STEER?" . . . -135 XXV. THE ALTERED CHEQUE, 139 XXVI. TOO TRUE, 1 42 XXVII. FOR LOVE ! 144 XXVIII. GONE, VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XXIX. STANDING IN THE BREACH, . . . -154 XXX. LOST, 1 58 XXXI. IN VAIN, l6l XXXII. AMONG THE ROSES, 165 XXXIII. AT BAY, 172 XXXIV. FINIS, 179 XXXV. "RING OUT THE MARRIAGE PEAL," . . .184 XXXVI. ADRIFT, 188 XXXVII. RETROSPECTION, 191 XXXVIII. TOO LATE, I96 XXXIX. GLIMMERINGS, 203 XL. IN VAIN, 208 XLI. CONJUGAL, 2l6 XLII. WITHOUT HOPE, 220 XLIII. FRIENDSHIP, 225 XLIV. STILL LIFE, 231 XLV. "CHARITY NEVER FAILETH,': .... 236 XLVI. THE WORLD, 242 XLVII. ONCE MORE, 249 XLVIII.

REVELATIONS, 254 XLIX. "THE SERPENT'S TRAIL," 260 L. HAND, NOT HEART, 265 LI. CHAINS, 269 LII. AN APPARITION, 274 LIII. THE CHILDREN, 2Sl LIV. THE BOY HERO, 2S6 LV. "HER ALL," 291 LVI. " OUR FATHER," 294 LVII. ALONE, 3OI LVIII. COMPLICATIONS, 304 LIX. ACROSS THE SEA, 308 LX. "IT HAS COST DEAR," 312 LXI. "THE FIREFLY," 316 LXII. THE CLOUDS DISPERSE,

Chapter I. The Awakening

OVER the level pasture swept the hounds in full cry. The run had been a fast one, and only a couple of horsemen were in the same field with the pack, while far behind, scarlet and black patches on the hill-side indicated the rest of the straggling hunt. A small oak copse bounded the field through which the hounds were racing; with one accord they dashed up the bank — and checked ! baying at the figure of a young girl who leant against a tree, her hands full of the richly tinted bramble leaves she had been seeking. For a moment she laughed, amused at the unexpected inroad, but her expression changed to one of fear as the hot, excited hounds, wet mouthed and angry eyed, pressed round her. Her fright was not for long ; the leading horseman, a young fellow of twenty-eight or thirty, leapt his wiry bay thoroughbred over the rail into the covert, and throwing himself off, lashed and chided the hounds into order.

" A nasty experience," he said ; " I hope you are not much frightened. We have been racing for upwards of ten minutes, and they over-ran the scent, I fancy, at the last fence, but we couldn't stop them on the grass. There 's old George ! he's got them in hand again," he added more to himself than to the lady, and she noted, with an amused smile, how impulsively he turned to re-mount, and then checked himself, and again spoke to her. " You are all right now ? Can I help you in any way ? " " Indeed, no, I am all right, thank you, and very grateful for your timely appearance. I never experienced a hunt from the fox's point of view before, but there 's no harm done. Hark ! they 're running." A faint cry in the far corner of the field, and the cheer ing voice of the old huntsman, proclaimed the fact.

The young fellow was in the saddle in a moment, and Esther Dunbar watched him cantering slowly and warily to the point towards which the hounds were making — noted the easy swing of his hunter as it cleared the fence, and listened till the horn sounded faintly in the distance and the last straggler had found his way across country, or on to the safer road. Then she let herself slip down upon the green grass, just as she had been lying when the hounds broke in upon her meditations, or rather into her dreamland. " I wonder who he is ? " she thought, idly. It was but a new incident in the new life which had suddenly dawned upon her. For only within the last two months had she become an inmate of Champion Court, the residence of Thomas Champion, land-owner and gentleman farmer in the county of Wiltshire ; and her advent was in this wise.

From her earliest childhood, as far back as she could remember, Esther Dunbar had lived with her grandfather, George Champion, in a little, lonely, outlying village on the Welsh coast. The inhabitants of St. Cray's were all fisher men, from father to son, most of them incapable even of speaking English. Why George Champion had come to dwell amongst them no one knew, and, after the first few months, no one cared to inquire. He had bought a piece of land upon which stood two dilapidated cottages. These he had restored and made habitable, and, with artistic taste, had given them a certain rustic beauty : ivy and virginia creeper covered the walls and stretched upwards, in the course of years, over the low thatched roof. With the help of a man-of-all-work, he had himself planned and laid out the grounds — the one luxury he allowed himself was a wealth of flowers.

He dug, he pruned, he laboured like a common man, combating the rude climate ; and succeeded in making this little out-of-the-way corner of the earth, at least in the summer months, gorgeous in floral beauty. He was a silent, taciturn man, a recluse and a scholar. THE AWAKENING. 9 When not working in his garden, he was absorbed in study. The cottage possessed but one sitting-room, which he had furnished as a library, the walls of which were literally covered with books; and here till. far into the night his lamp might be seen burning, and he bending over book or manuscript. For four years he had led this life. The only other inmates of his home, John and Susan Jones, man and wife, who together did the outdoor and indoor work, at the expiration of those four years knew no more of their master's concerns than they did the first day he took them into his service.

He received no letters, except in answer to his horti cultural orders, or on literary business ; he had cut himself off from the world. To the poor who came to him for help he gave uninquiringly ; whether justly or unjustly seemed alike indifferent to him. No word of sympathy ever passed his lips, but neither could anyone remember hearing from George Champion a harsh or repelling speech. One morning the postman left a foreign-looking letter at the cottage. Susan, taking it to her master, saw his colour change. He remained shut up in his study for the space of two hours ; then he came forth, and, as quietly as if it were a most ordinary event, he announced his intention of absenting himself for a week, gave some directions to John about the garden, desired Susan to pack what was necessary in an old portmanteau she would find in a closet in his room, and in the afternoon walked with John to the nearest village, some twelve miles distant, from whence a coach started for a market town.

A fortnight later he returned in a hired vehicle, but not alone. To her profound astonishment, as she went forward to meet him, Susan saw that he held in his arms, wrapped in shawls, a child. Quietly he gave it to her, saying : " This child is Esther Dunbar, my grandchild ; do for her all that is necessary — she is your charge," and, without further explanation, he entered his study and closed the door. Susan judged the little one to be about four years old, but she never really knew, and never dared ask her age. She cared for the child according to her lights, and the child grew and prospered, picking up knowledge as best she could, subject to no regular teaching, no shadow of discipline, growing as the flowers grow, unconsciously, in perfect beauty. Indeed, for the first few years George Champion paid far less attention to this living blossom than to those in his garden.

She did not seem to feel the neglect. Susan gave the little body all the care it needed — warmed and clothed it, fed and loved it in her way. Esther seldom crossed the threshold of the study, but was sure to be at hand when her grandfather issued forth, and would trot beside him, fetching, carrying, divining with wonderful intuition his unexpressed wishes. He never talked to her, seldom took any notice of her, save by a rare smile or a pat on the soft dark hair. She was nearly eight years old before he thought of teaching her, but from the day he bade her come into his study, and quietly, as a matter of course, set her her first little task, life changed for Esther. He taught her coldly, earnestly, with marvellous patience but without enthusiasm ; and she learnt in just the same way, acquiring easily and retaining well, for her mind was fresh and strong, and she had nothing to distract her attention, even if it had been inclined to wander.

Com panions she had none. The first elements mastered, George Champion never paused to consider Esther's sex, but educated her as he would have done a boy. Greek and Latin, algebra, mathe matics, modern and ancient histories, and, as she grew older, French and German. Steadily, but with relentless determination, he forced her up the steep, often dry, paths of knowledge, and she went forward, never stopping to think if it were pleasant, never dreaming that there could be any other life. And as she grew in years she became, after a fashion, her grandfather's companion, not in any social way by exchange of mutual thought — George Champion had seemingly no need of that — but as fellow-workers, as master and disciple. He had trained her, formed her mind; he knew each groove of it, and she understood him almost by instinct, and so she became his amanuensis, his referee.

It was a strange sight to see the young girl working patiently beside the old man, hour after hour, until a sense of weariness would come over her ; then, without comment, she would lay down pen or book, and go out into the flower-scented garden ; or, wandering farther down to the sea-shore, walk for miles along the THE AWAKENING. 11 coast ; or, sometimes, idly inclined, lie on the beach watching the ever-changing ocean and the fishing-smacks which went and came incessantly. Occasionally she exchanged greetings with the fishermen, or with the women and children as she strolled home through the little hamlet, refreshed and bright, lips and cheeks glowing a soft, rosy hue. They all loved her, and in their way admired her — the men with a sense of protecting power ; and the women, with their unreasoning instinct of motherhood, fostered her, in their deep, unexpressed sympathy with her loneliness.

At seventeen, Esther Dunbar was a woman with much knowledge of books and things, in the abstract, but utterly ignorant of what life meant. The world was a blank to her, but yet she did not feel it. From morning to night she was occupied, not mechanically — in which case of necessity there would have been a void — but with all her mental powers engrossed and strained to the utmost, to meet the almost hourly demands her grandfather made upon her mind and intellect. For the literary world knew George Champion as one of the learned men of the day, and the works emanating from his pen were in high esteem, not only in England, but in France and Germany. He was a profound scholar and a deep thinker. But his place in our story is only of importance in so far as it affects Esther ; soon it was to know him no more !

His race was nearly run. Though not even now an old man, his hair was white, and his figure bent — he could have been hardly more than middle-aged when he first came to St. Cray's and secluded himself from the world. The likeness between himself and Esther was striking. They both had the same pure classical features, the same dark grey eyes. When Esther looked at herself in her mirror, she knew that she in nothing resembled the people around her, but rather those old prints of the women of Ancient Greece ; her complexion, uncared for, was yet transparent and soft of colouring, her hair of a rich deep brown, which she coiled round her small exquisitely-shaped head, as her prototypes had done before her. She had no other models, and she sought for none. The dark lindsey serge dresses, in materials such as the peasants wore, were fashioned much after the same style, in straight, soft folds, not hiding the natural grace of form and shape.

The expression of her face was that of a serious child : no extremes of joy or sorrow had ever swept across it, it was still and calm as the surface of a lake on a summer's evening. But her awaken ing was rude; the storm burst unexpectedly over her head. She had been working somewhat later than usual one night with her grandfather, copying MS. for the next day's post, and had left him still busy at his desk. The following morning she came down, and as usual went straight to the study to dust and arrange it, as was her daily habit. On the threshold she stood transfixed, and a cry of fear parted her lips, for leaning back in his chair, his face quiet and still as if he had been sleeping, lay George Champion.

Chapter II. Ora Pro Nobis

THEY laid him to rest, and Esther returned home alone with John and Susan. She knew of no relations — she had never heard of any ; and, as she sat down on a low chair before the kitchen fire after the funeral, a strange sense of desolation crept over her. With her grandfather all seemed to have gone from her ; she could not realise it at all. The neighbours had been very good, and spared her in every way ; but still the fact remained, her grandfather was lying out yonder in the churchyard, and the house was empty. Death had been to her, up to the present time, a philosophical query; she had read Plato and Socrates, she knew the many arguments on good and evil, on life, death, and immortality; whereas it had all been cold to her before, now what had been but words came to her with a strange realistic power.

"I am the resurrection and the life." He then, her grandfather, had passed out of this land of shadows, " this cave," as Socrates calls the world, " into the pure sunlight of eternal truth, lighted by the idea of good." His soul, freed from its tomb, the mortal body she had just She passed her hand across her brow, surging with thought, as a knock at the front door roused her, and Susan, touching her on the shoulder, said : " Esther, dear, the parson be come to see you." " Oh ! " she answered, rising ; " must I go to him, Susan ? " " In course you must. I have been a-wondering why he ain't come sooner to see after a poor waif like you," she added, in an aggrieved tone. " Why should he ? " said Esther. " He could not change anything, and it is a long way for him to come." Probably the Rev. Edmund Brant had thought the same.

St. Cray's was the farthest of his three outlying parishes, ten ij miles from his own residence. He only performed the ser vice there once a fortnight in the Welsh language, and, beyond the occasional celebration of births, deaths, and marriages, he knew little or nothing of his parishioners. When George Champion had first come to St. Cray's, he had called upon him, hoping to find in him a social companion ; but the coldness with which he was received, the little encouragement given him to renew his visit, effectually prevented him from doing so. It sufficed him that George Champion subscribed largely and generously to all his local charities, and that his purse was never closed to the poor and needy. Of Esther Mr. Brant knew little or nothing ; for a long time he had been ignorant of her very existence, and had only become aware of it by seeing her occasionally in church with Susan.

He had then spoken to her, offered to take her out some day to the vicarage to see his own girls and boys ; but the very proposition had scared Esther, and made her run shy of him ever after. When the news of George Champion's death and the necessity of burying him was officially conveyed to him, the remembrance of the young girl came forcibly before him. " I think I had better ride over and see if anyone is looking after her," he said to his wife. " You have a vestry meeting for to-morrow, and a dinner at Sir Frederick Wardham's, and the next day is Sunday. You cannot go to St. Cray's before Monday," she answered. And on Monday and the following days he was otherwise prevented ; so it came to pass that he did not see Esther until he met the coffin at the lych-gate of the little parish churchyard, and caught sight of the slim, girlish figure walking alone, stern and upright, chief, if not sole, mourner in the little procession.

His heart smote him then, and, as she slowly turned away from the still open grave, he hastened into the vestry to unrobe, and followed her to her now desolate home. He advanced to meet her as she entered the study, and, takin<* both her hands in his, said, kindly : " My dear child, I am so sorry for you, and have come to see if I can be of any help to you." "Thank you," said Esther, allowing herself to be led across the room, and taking the chair he placed for her. ORA PRO NOBIS. 15 An awkward silence followed, broken at last by Mr. Brant asking : " Had your grandfather no relations ? has he left no instructions concerning his property, and how you are to be provided for ? " " I do not know," said Esther. " He never spoke of such things. I suppose I can go on living here ? " "My dear child," said Mr. Brant, "unless we can make sure you are your grandfather's heiress, I am afraid you will have no right to do so ; and those who can prove a better claim will not be long before they make it good.

Try to think if you ever heard him speak of any relative, anyone bearing his or your name ? " Silently Esther had listened, and now she thought, evidently straining her memory. At last she shook her head, saying : " No, he never spoke of anyone, not even of my father and mother; and I never asked him." " Where did he bank ? " Again Esther shook her head. " He kept his money in that drawer," she answered, pointing to the writing-table. "And the keys?" said Mr. Brant, now deeply concerned at the utter helplessness of the young girl. " In his desk ; " and, rising, she opened it, and gave a couple of keys to Mr. Brant. He held them for a minute in his hand ; then said : "This matter is more serious than you seem aware of, Miss Dunbar ; and I should like to have witnesses to what I am about to do.

Will you call your servants, John and Susan Jones ? " " Her servants ! " They had never been such to her. She had lived with them in perfect apparent equality. They had been her only friends ; but she obeyed, and, going into the kitchen, said quietly : "Mr. Brant wants you both to come into the study." Husband and wife looked at each other, understanding better than she did what was about to take place. " Yes, we will come," they both answered, and followed her. In a few words Mr. Brant told them that he was desirous they should witness his opening their late master's private drawers, for the purpose of discovering if he had left any will or instructions in favour of his grandchild. They acquiesced in his right to do so, and, taking the keys, he opened the drawers Esther had pointed out to him.

There was a considerable sum of ready money, some papers docketed in due order, and at the bottom two envelopes, the one addressed to Thomas Champion, of Champion Court, Porton, Wiltshire ; the other with the superscription, " This is my last will and testament" "I do not think we need look any further," said Mr. Brant, taking possession of the two documents ; and, re-locking the drawer, he gave the keys once more to Esther. " This," he said, " had better be posted without delay — will you see to it, John ? — and this I will keep until Mr. Thomas Champion arrives. He must be either your grandfather's brother or near relative, and is probably your future guardian. Now," he continued, " will you come home with me until it is decided what you are going to do ? My wife and girls will take care of you."

" Thank you," answered Esther, " you are very good, but I would rather stay with Susan. Do you think they will take me away from St. Cray's ? " she asked, with something of fear in her voice. " I cannot tell ; I should hardly think it likely they would leave you here alone. Until the matter is decided, you had better come with me," he answered. " No, thank you, I will remain here. Susan has always taken care of me. I cannot go," and she threw her arms round her old nurse's neck. "Very well, do not distress yourself; in a few days I will return; probably we shall have heard from Mr. Thomas Champion by that time. I will myself write to him." "Thank you," said Esther, placing pen and paper before him ; and in a few words Mr. Brant laid Esther's position graphically before the man who seemed likely from hence forth to be the arbiter of her fate.

Then he took his leave, with renewed promises of a speedy return. For the next few days Esther went and came, restlessly, speaking little, and yet evidently fearful of the dawning future. The letter from Thomas Champion came at last. In answer to Mr. Brant, he stated that he was willing to accept the charge his cousin, George Champion, had left him, ORA PRO NOBIS. 17 that he would be at St. Cray's in the course of the next few days, and that Miss Dunbar had better hold herself in readiness to return with him to Champion Court. Esther heard her fate in silence, but with a sort of shrinking dread. If only Susan could have gone with her ! But that could not be, and she bent to the inevitable. It was less difficult for her when her cousin came, from his very resemblance to her grandfather, as he must have been, before he secluded himself from the world.

He was a few years his junior, but looked still younger ; he had the same calm, stately manner, talking but little. He simply explained to Mr. Brant that he had never seen his cousin since they were boys, that they had quite lost sight of each other, that he had only been made aware of his existence by his great literary success, but had never known where to find him. By the will he received a considerable legacy, on the condition of his taking charge of Esther, whom George Champion left sole heiress to the remainder of his fortune, which, though not large, was amply sufficient to provide for her comfortably. What more he said in his letter to his cousin was kept a profound mystery. When Mr. Champion first saw Esther he was greatly struck by her, and still more so when he discovered the style of education she had received.

" My wife will not know what to do with her, how to occupy and amuse her," he said to Mr. Brant ; " my eldest girl is still in the schoolroom, and we are all very ordinary people in our part of the world." " I would not trouble over much about her," answered Mr. Brant ; " let her go her own way at first. She is not in the least aware that her education has been anything extra ordinary, and the fact is that in many things she is utterly ignorant, and will soon find it out for herself. She is very young, has never seen or heard anything of the world, has never had a companion. You will not, I think, have much trouble with her, only you must leave her a certain amount of freedom ; remember, she has never known any authority, has been accustomed, so Susan tells me, to come and go at pleasure."

"There is no reason she should not do the same at Champion Court ; we have not many neighbours, and she can roam about in perfect safety." B "Then you will soon tame her," answered Mr. Brant. " There is nothing like habit and example ; in six months she will have forgotten half her learning, and your daughters will have taught her to dance and play tennis." "It is a more natural state," said Mr. Champion, smiling. " And now, what is to be done ? What do you advise about the house, furniture, and grounds here? There are no instructions left in the will." " Dismantle the house, and sell everything ; I see nothing else to do. The land can be sold or let in lots — in this poor country you will not easily find a purchaser for the whole," answered the vicar. " I think I shall consult my ward's feelings on the sub ject then," said Mr. Champion.

" She may have a fancy for keeping it — it is very pretty ; " and he looked round at the lovely garden, beautiful in these first days of early summer, with the sea stretching out blue and calm in the horizon. " Expensive," said Mr. Brant. "Not very, and she can afford it — at least at present," answered Mr. Champion. " It will be hard for her to leave the place, but harder still if she thinks the old home is quite gone from her. I will go and talk to Esther at once, and find out what she would like." " Then I will take my leave," said Mr. Brant. " I shall see you before you go, and, if I can be of any use, you know where to find me. I shall only be too happy." They shook hands and parted. "A strange family," thought Mr. Brant; "one scarcely knows which predominates in their organisation, head or heart."

Thomas Champion found Esther sitting in the study, and, from very habit, copying some unfinished MS. of her grandfather's. " Why do you do that now ? " he asked. " Because I know he wished it to appear in the Daily Review. It is nearly finished, and from his notes I can tell how he meant to wind up, so I thought I might as well do it." " Come out on the beach with me ; I want to talk to you." Obediently as a little child she followed him. " Are you very fond of St. Cray's ? " he asked. She looked at him, hesitated, then said : " I have never known any other place." ORA PRO NOBIS. 19 He altered his mode of question. "Would you be glad to know that you could come back to it whenever you liked ? that, while you live with me, you have still a home of your own ? " " Do you mean that you will not sell it ? that John and Susan may continue to live here, and that the garden may be still kept beautiful ?

" " If you wish it ; it is yours. I do not say it is a very wise arrangement, but still for the present, if it would make you happier, it shall be so. It will diminish your income somewhat." " My money ! " she exclaimed. " Oh ! I want so little. It is good, very good of you to do this, and I am very grateful," and spontaneously she took his hand and raised it to her lips. He smiled at the unsophisticated expression of feeling, and at the sudden warming into life of what had seemed to him but a beautiful statue. "Then it is settled?" he said, patting her on the head, and, putting her arm within his, began talking to her about his own home and his little girls, as he called them, Ella and Laura, and she listened as to a story. On her return to the house she went straight into the kitchen, and, throwing her arms round Susan's neck, told her what had been decided ; and they rejoiced together in the quiet, still way which the silent master's influence had made habitual to them.