Her Two Millions

Front matter

NEW WORKS OF FICTION AT ALL LIBRARIES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY. A MODERN MAGICIAN. By Fitzgerald Molloy. 3 vols. GRETCHEN. By Rita. 3 vols. THROUGH GREEN GLASSES. By F. M. Allen. 1 vol. JOHN 0' LONDON. By Somervillb Gibney. 1 vol. SCHEHEREZADE: a London Night's Entertainment. By Florence Warden. 3 vols. A SECRET INHERITANCE. By B. L. Farjeon. 3 vols. THE STORY OF ANTONY GRACE. By George Manvillb Fenn. 1 vol. A MODERN CIRCE. By the Author of "Molly Bawn." 3 vols. WARD & DOWNEY, PUBLISHERS, LONDON. BY WILLIAM WESTALL, Author of " Red Ryvington," " The Phantom City," " Two Pinches of Snuff," etc. IX THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : WARD AND DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. 1887. [All rights reserved.'] PRINTED BY KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES CONTENTS.

OIIAr. PAGE I. — An Arrival 1 II. — A Departure ..... 8 III. — Another Departure .... 18 IV — Ten Years Afterwards ... 22 V. — Warton's Proposal .... 34 VI. — Bar Cronies 50 VII.— Cora 59 VIII. — This Balmaines .... 69 IX. — More Troubles .... 73 X.— Saintly Sam 79 XI. — Lizzie Hardy ..... 85 XII. — Farewells ..... 96 XIII. — Artful and Higginbottom . . . 108 XIV. — A Successful Journalist . . . 116 XV.— The "Helvetic News" . . .126 XVI.— Corfe 135 XVII. — The Pension Guichard . . . 144 XVIII. — Leyland and Mayo . . . 152 XIX. — On the Lake ..... 1G5 XX. — Harman's Breakfast . . . 174 XXI. — Colonel Bevis . ... . .184 XXII. — Balmaine Learns Something . . 191 XXIII. — Mademoiselle Leonino . . . 204 XXIV.— Corfe is Curious .... 222 XXV. — An Unexpected Arrival . . . i NEW BOOKS AT ALL LIBRARIES.

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Chapter I. An

AltRIA'AL. It is past midnight. A serene moon, set in a purple sky, shines over the Lago Maggiore, crowning with a golden aureole the snow-crested peaks of the Helvetic Alps, and beaming benignly on the towers of Locarno and the shores of the Lake. But Locarno sleeps, the streets are deserted, and a small boat, which follows swiftly in the wake of the moonbeams, approaches the jetty unperceived. It contains four men ; two are rowing, the third is steering and minding the sail; the fourth lies huddled up in the bottom of the boat, his ban daged head resting on a cushion, his pale face streaked with blood. When his companions, all of whom wear red shirts, have made fast the boat to the jetty, they lift him tenderly out, and two, placing themselves on either side of their wounded comrade, half lead, half carry him to an inn a few hundred paces from VOL. I. • the landing place.

The doors are closed and all is silent within, but a strong pull at the bell brings a head speedily to one of the upper windows. "Who is there?" "We, and Leonino is hurt. Come down and open quickly." The next moment the doors are thrown open and a stout little man, with nothing much on save a white shirt, appears at the threshold in a state of great excitement. " Dreadful, dreadful ! " he exclaims. " Poor Signor Leonino, is he much hurt ? How did it happen ? I knew it would come to this at last. Yet better so than that he should fall into the hands of those thrice accursed Tedeschi. But tell me how it happened afterwards. Let us get him up-stairs at once. And here, Maximilano (shouting), fetch the doctor immediately. Go, running ; tell Dr. Fadio to come quickly. I hope you are not in pain, dear Leonino.

You can walk just a little — a very little — and we will support you up-stairs." " I can get one leg before the other, if that is what you mean, Martino," gasps Leonino. " But stand I cannot. Y'es, I shall be glad to get to my room and lie down. My head pains me terribly, and that bullet in my shoulder burns like fire. I shall never get over this, Giacomo." " Don't say that, Signor," says one of the red shirted ones. " Dr. Fadio shall dress your wounds, AN ARRIVAL. 3 and in a month you will he as strong as ever. Come, now, lean on me, put one arm round Umberto's neck — thus, and we will carry you to your room. It is not far off. Courage, steady now ! " The room to which they took him was on the first floor, large, airy, well lighted, and handsomely furnished. In one corner stood a bed on which Leonino was laid.

The man whom he had called Martino, the keeper of the inn, took off his shoes and was proceeding to undress him. " Don't," murmured Leonino. " I feel very much exhausted, let me rest a few minutes." At this moment a woman en deshabille, and with a scared face, glided into the room. "Mon dieu! mon dieu,!" she exclaimed in an intense whisper. " What is this which has taken place ? My poor patron ! Is he killed ? " " Not at all," answered Giacomo sharply. " Dr. Fadio will soon put him to rights. But had you not better go ? The less he is disturbed just now the better — and see, he sleeps." " Is that Gabrielle ? "' asked Leonino feebly, opening his eyes. " Yes, monsieur, it is I, Gabrielle." " Vera ! " " She is quite well and very happy. She is in bed ; shall I bring her ? " " My poor Vera ! Yes, bring her.

But stay, it is a pity to wake the child." U " Do not bring anybody at present, if you please, mademoiselle. Bring rather sponges, hot water, and towels. When I have dressed monsieur's wounds then he may perhaps see his daughter." This in French. The speaker was Dr. Fadio, a tall, middle-aged gentleman, leathern-skinned and lantern-jawed, with bright black eyes and a pleasant smile. He was an old army surgeon, and without more ado he began, deftly and tenderly, to examine his patient's wounds. Gabrielle and Martino stood by to help him. The one held a lamp, the other a basin of water. Near the window, and in the light of the moon, stood the three red-shirted men, with folded arms, looking sadly and sternly on. They were pale, seemed almost overcome with fatigue, and the head of one and the arm of another were bandaged, as if they too had been wounded.

The wound in Leonino's head was long and deep, and as the doctor examined it his face grew very grave. When the hurt had been stitched and plastered he extracted the bullet which was lodged in the shoulder, an operation that did not appear to be attended with any great difficulty. " Who will watch with him ? " asked Fadio in Italian, when all was finished. " I will," siid Gabrielle and Martino. " We will," chorused the red shirts. AN ARRIVAL. 5 "Nonsense," answered the doctor, "you three are fit for nothing but bed. What is the matter with your head, Umberto ? I must see to it presently. Let Gabrielle watch. I shall return at sunrise." Whereupon Fadio beckoned them all to leave the room, and after giving a few directions to Gabrielle, and casting a last look at his patient, he followed them.

" Well, Signor Doctor, what do you think ? " asked Martino, drawing him into a room near the foot of the staircase. " Can you pull him through ? " " I am not sure. He is very badly hurt ; still, neither of his wounds is mortal, and if he had not lost so much blood I should have little fear. The question is whether he can rally. A few hours will tell. How was it, Giacomo ? Another brush with the Austrians ? " " Si, Signor Dottore. It was an attempt to rescue Silvio." " A rash undertaking.' "True; but he and Leonino are great friends, and Leonino risked his life to save a friend, as he has done many a time before. Pietri went in disguise the other day to Laverco, and contrived to communicate with Silvio and convey to him a file and some cord. It was arranged that he should make the attempt last night.

We were to be there with the boat, and ready to give him a helping hand if he should be pursued by the guard. That was the chief risk, for with a file and a cord anybody could get out of the fort. But the night was too light. Silvio was seen before he had got well out of the dry ditoh, followed and recaptured. We tried to rescue him ; shots were exchanged ; Beppo was killed, Leonino wounded, as you see, and all of us are in want of a little plaister, I think." " Good ; I will plaister you, and then you must each take a glass of wine and go to bed. Y"es, a rash undertaking indeed. The idea of five Red Shirts trying to carry off a prisoner under the very noses of an Austrian demi-brigade ! Nobody but Garibaldi — or a mad Englishman — would have had the audacity to concoct such a scheme, much less to execute it.

The wonder is, you were not all killed or taken." " We were beaten ; but we made them pay dearly," broke in Giacomo fiercely. " We killed four ; Leo nino ran the sergeant of the guard through, just as he got that cut on the head. If it had not been for that we should have been taken. But the sergeant's death seemed to confuse his men, and we profited by their hesitation to shove off. The bullet in Leonino's shoulder was a parting shot. Fortu nately nobody else was hit, or we should not be here. The soldiers did get a boat out and chase us ; but we ran close to the bank, under the shade of AN ARRIVAL. 7 some trees, and they shot past us. Leonino is a fine fellow, doctor, and a true friend to Italy. It would be a thousand pities if he were to die." " I will do my best to keep him alive, Giacomo, both for the sake of Italy and that dear little dark eyed Vera. But man proposes and God disposes, and Leonino is badly hurt and very weak."

Chapter II

A DEPARTURE, Three hours later Dr. Fadio was again with his patient. " Has he slept ? " he asked Gabrielle, who sat by the bedside. " A little," said Leonino, opening his eyes. He was a man in the prime of life, with blue eyes, tawny hair and beard, and a bold, handsome face, but its general expression was that of one who is oppressed with care or cherishes the memory of a great sorrow. " And how do you feel ? " A wistful smile was the answer. " Not very well, I am afraid ? " " Very ill, I never felt like this before. I have got my death-stroke. Poor Vera ! no mother, no father." The doctor counted his patient s pulse and watched him attentively several minutes. " He must have a little beef-tea every hour, Gabrielle, and when he feels faint give him a spoon ful of cognac." " Oui, monsieur."

" Vera ; may I see Vera ? " " Yes, if you will not let yourself get excited ; but only for a few minutes. Y'ou can fetch her, Gabrielle, I will wait." In a few minutes Gabrielle returned, leading by the hand a little girl of some seven years old. The child had a wonderfully sweet face, and though her eyes were dark, her curls were chestnut, and she bore a striking resemblance to Leonino. A smile of deepest love lit up the father's face. " Darling Vera ! " he said. " Lift her up on the bed, Gabrielle ; place her near me." " We will leave you together for a few minutes," said the doctor, glancing at the nurse, and then the two went out of the room. "Are you ill, papa dear?" asked the child in English, as she nestled up to her father, and placed her cheek against his. " Very ill, darling," answered Leonino in the same tongue ; " I have been badly hurt."

" Hurt ! Oh, dear ! Who hurt you ? " " The Austrians." "Those wicked Austrians! How I hate them! Why does not somebody kill them all ? Why don't you kill them, papa ? " "That is not so easy, my pet. I am afraid (they have killed me this time." " No, no, no, papa ! It is not possible. Y'ou must not die. If you die, Vera will die, too." " I will do my best to live for your sake, darling. But it may be a long time before I am better — and if — Gabrielle will take care of you. She is a good woman, and I think loves you, and you love her, do you not ? " " Y'es, dear papa, next to you ; but a long, long way after. I have nobody like you, dear papa." " Well, she shall be your bonne always, if she will, and I think she will. How would you like to go to your grandpapa ? " " No, no ; I never saw him.

I love no one like you, dear papa. Let me stay with you always — always." " God Almighty bless you, my darling ! and may the pure spirit of your mother watch over you ! " murmured Leonino in a broken voice. And then he drew the child closer to him, and there followed a long silence. When the doctor and Gabrielle re-entered the room Vera was fast asleep, and Leonino's eyes being closed, he too seemed to sleep. They made a striking picture. The child's bright, rosy face touched one of her father's pale and hollow cheeks, her chestnut hair mingled with his tawny beard, one dimpled arm was round his neck, one little hand was pressed in his. " Let us leave them for a little while," whispered Fadio. " No harm is being done. But prepare the beef-tea. He does not rally much, and unless we keep up his strength he will sink."

In half an hour they returned, and at the doctor's suggestion Leonino reluctantly allowed the child to be taken away to her breakfast. " But you will let me see her again?" he said imploringly. " Certainly, when you have taken your beef-tea and rested awhile. I want you to sleep ; there is no medicine like sleep." The beef-tea taken, Leonino sank wearily on his pillow, shut his eyes, and tried to sleep, and the doctor left him for a while to Gabrielle. After an hour's uneasy slumber Leonino awoke. " Gabrielle ! " " Oui, monsieur. How do you feel yourself ? " " Bad. Give me a taste of that brandy. Ah, that gives one a little strength ; but it won't last long, I fear. I have something to say to you, Gabrielle." " Oui, monsieur." " Y'ou love Vera ? " " As if she were my very own. Have I not brought her up ?

Since her poor mother died has she not been everything to me ? " " And you will be kind to her ? " " Oh, monsieur ! " said the bonne in an injured tone, " how can you ask ? It is doing me a wrong." w " Well, listen. I don't feel as if I should get better, and I judge from the doctor's manner that he thinks as I feel. I have made no will ; but I shall write a few lines to my father, asking him to take charge of Vera, and that you and she may never be separated. Y'ou will take this letter and the child to London, first writing to tell my father what has happened You are paying attention, Gabrielle ? " " Oui, monsieur," said the bonne, wipiDg her eyes, which were red with weeping. " My father isa hard man ; but he will be good to you and Vera for my sake. I have made no will, and shall make none ; but, to prevent the authori ties troubling you afterwards, I will give into your possession now all my money and papers.

If I should get better you can give me them back. Open my trunk ; you will find the keys in my pocket." Gabrielle took the keys and unlocked a large iron bound trunk, which stood in one corner of the room. " Bring my portfolio and the little iron box, which you will find at the bottom, right under my clothes," said Leonino. Gabrielle took these two articles, laid them on the table near her master's bed, and at his request brought writing materials and sealing-wax. Then Leonino, sitting up in bed, wrote a letter to his father, enclosed with it several papers, made the whole up into a packet, and sealed it carefully with his signet ring. " These," he said, taking a packet from the port folio, " are letters from Garibaldi, Mazzini, and other friends engaged in the revolutionary move ment. Destroy them all.

But these " (pointing to a second packet) " are family papers of importance. Be sure you give them all to my father. Y'ou may also find a few bank-notes in the port folio. 1 have always been careless about money — perhaps that is the reason I was never robbed. In the little iron box is also money, both gold and notes — several thousand liras, I think; never mind counting it now. If I don't get better you will, of course, pay Martino and the doctor, and everybody else, and you must give the men who were with me, Giacomo, Guiseppe, and Um berto, each two hundred and fifty liras. Then, after paying your expenses to England and taking five hundred liras as a present for yourself, you will give what there is left to my father, together with the packet. Give it to him with your own hands. Do you understand, Gabrielle ?

" " Perfectly. But pardon me, sir, don't you think this should be put down ? It is a serious charge. Suppose anybody should say that you did not give me this money, that I stole it ! " " I have thought of that. We must have a witness. Call Martino ; but first give me another spoonful of cognac, I feel faint again." When Martino came Leonino explained to him what he had done. " It is better so," said the landlord ; " all the same I think you will recover ; but should you not, I can testify that you gave Mademoiselle Gabrielle this portfolio and this iron box." " And the big box and all there is inside, Martino, I give to you, and this watch. It is not a very valuable one, but it has accompained me in all my wanderings and may serve to remind you some times of your old friend." Martino, who was an Italian refugee and deeply engaged in the revolutionary movement, silently pressed Leonino's hand.

He was too much affected to speak. " My wife's watch, Gabrielle," said Leonino, after a short pause, " her miniature and mine you will keep for Vera and give them to her when — when she is older." Gabrielle bent her head in token of assent. " Poor Vera, poor child ! I am trusting you with all that is most precious to me, Gabrielle, but you are a good woman ; you will be faithful to your trust, and Vera will not be ungrateful. And — and — tell my father how I died, and give him my love. We did not always get on very well together, but he is an old man, and this will be a great shock to him." A few minutes later Dr. Fadio came. When he had examined his patient he looked concerned. " You have been letting him talk too much," he said, turning to Gabrielle. " Did I not tell you " " Don't blame her," interrupted Leonino wearily, " it is all my own doing.

I do not know whether I shall live, and 1 had instructions to give her and something — a mere trifle — to write." " You have actually been writing ! The worst thing you could do." " Never mind, doctor ; my mind is easier now, and that must be better for my body, you know, and I promise you that I will sin no more." " If you do I shall not answer for the consequences. And now, Gabrielle, we must dress his wounds." When this was done Leonino asked if Vera might come to him again. "You need not be afraid," he remarked, seeing that Fadio hesitated ; " her presence does not excite, it soothes me." "Very well, let her come. But except for a word or two now and then when you want some thing, I must absolutely forbid talking. See that he obeys, Mademoiselle Gabrielle, quietness is essential." " Don't fear, doctor," said Leonino, with a melancholy smile, " you may count on my obedience.

I shall be quiet enough, soon." Fadio glanced at Gabrielle, and she went with him to the door. "I fear he is worse — decidedly weaker," he whispered. " Y'ou should not quit his bedside with out leaving somebody in your place. Y'ou had better " (raising his voice) " fetch Mademoiselle Vera at once. I will wait until you return." In a few minutes the bonne returned with the child, who crept to the old place by her father's side. Leonino looked at her lovingly, put his arm round her and laid her face close to his. Gabrielle told her little charge that papa's head ached and she must not talk, and then sat down. The bonne was tired with watching and heavy with loss of rest ; before long her eyelids closed with their own weight, and she sank into a sound sleep. A few moments afterwards, as it seemed to her, though in reality two or three hours, she was roused by a touch on the shoulder; looking up she saw the dark face of Dr. Fadio.

"A nurse should not slumber at her post," he said sternly. " Take the child away." Vera was sleeping by her father's side, and the father slept the sleep of death. The nurse gently disengaged the girl from the dead man's grasp, and took her into her arms. " Come with me, ma fille cherie, papa is tired." " Yes, Gabrielle, but I must first kiss him. Do let me kiss him." And then the child pressed her warm and rosy mouth to the cold and pallid cheek of her once father. She raised her head with a look of affright. " Oh, what is it ? " she gasped ; " what is it ? He does not look at me — he is cold — he does not open his eyes ! Papa ! papa ! Oh, Gabrielle, he does not speak to me, and his mouth is open ! " " Come with me, my poor motherless darling ; your father will never speak again. Y'ou have only me now. Oh, my poor master ! he was so good, so good to everybody, and everybody loved him." VOL. I. •j

Chapter III. Another Departure

Three days later Leonino was buried. All the Italian exiles in Locarno and many of the townsfolk followed his body to the grave, for though not Italian born, he had fought and bled in the cause of Italian liberty, and lost his life in a bold attempt to free from his bonds one of the most eminent of Italian patriots. Gabrielle carried out faithfully her late master's wishes — saw him buried, discharged all his debts, and paid the two hundred and fifty liras apiece to Leonino's three companions in the unfortunate ex pedition to Laverco. She was making preparations for departure, and meant, a day or two after the funeral, to leave by the diligence for Fluelen, en route for England. As yet, however, she had not written to apprise Leonino's father of his son's death. She had been too much occupied ; and the disposal of the money she had found in the portfolio and the cash-box gave her great concern.

There were many bank-notes in the portfolio, mixed up with ANOTHER DEPARTURE. 19 sundry political papers, whose existence Leonino had apparently forgotten. The sum in her hands was large. To her, who reckoned in francs and liras it seemed enormous. She did not know how she should secure it on the journey, and was in mortal terror of being robbed. Had she consulted Martino he would probably have advised her to buy a draft on London or Paris ; but she was peasant-bred, and having all a peasant's shrewdness and distrust, kept her own counsel, and even told the landlord that the disposable balance, after all had been paid, was not very much. After much cogita tion she hit upon the ingenious device of stitching the bank-notes inside her stays and putting the gold into her boots, which she hid among her clothes, and placed in the very bottom of her trunk.

This done she proceeded to write to Leonino's father. Gabrielle was a young woman of fair education, rather a nursery governess than an ordinary nurse, and she spoke English fairly. But speaking is one thing, writing quite another, and the framing of the letter cost her both time and trouble. She had hardly finished and addressed it when a letter was brought to her. It was rudely sealed, and the direction was written in a large, sprawling hand, but it bore a post-mark Gabrielle well knew, and she opened it with a feeling made up of pleasurable expectation and self-reproach, for it was a longtime since she last wrote to her people. •>* HER TWO MILLIONS. The letter was long, and as she read it her face grew graver and graver. The tidings it brought occupied her mind to the exclusion of everything else, and the letter to Mr. Hardy was never finished.

She was roused from her reverie by the entrance of Vera, who, Uke herself, wore deep mourning. The child's pale face and the dark circles round her eyes showed how sorely she grieved for her dead father. Throwing her arms round Gabrielle's neck, she sobbed as if her little heart would break. The bonne took the child on her lap and soothed her. "When are we going, Gabrielle?" she said as soon as she could speak. " It is dreadful here now poor papa is gone. I went past his room just now ; they are taking out all the things, and he is not there — he is not there ! Oh, Gabrielle, my heart is breaking ! Let us go ! let us go ! " " We will go to-morrow. I did not think of leaving until Thursday; but it will perhaps be better to start to-morrow. Come with me to the post office, and we will take our places.

The walk will do us both good." Martino and several other of Leonino's friends saw them off. " You will write from London," said the landlord, as he wrung Gabrielle's hand, " and tell us of your safe arrival ? It is rather a long journey ; but you have travelled before, and are quite able to take ANOTHER DEPARTURE. 21 care of yourself and the little one. If you should ever need a friend do not forget that Andrea Martino holds all that he has at the disposal of Leonino's daughter. Bon voyage." And then, amid a babel of stamping horses, cracking whips, tinkling bells, and shouting stable men, the huge diligence, with Gabrielle and Vera weeping in the coupe", moved off towards Bellin zona. " I shall never see them again," muttered Martino, as he walked with sad eyes towards his house. " Poor Leonino ! poor little girl !

" CHAPTEE IV. TEN YEARS AFTERWARDS. A meeting in the club-room of the " Cock," in the town of Calder. The inn was old, and — though an attempt had been made to modernise it by substituting plate glass windows for the more picturesque if less light giving diamond-shaped panes of other days — so was the room. The ceiling was low, and ribbed with oaken rafters, the oaken door black with age, and there were oaken settles and chairs that a collector would have been glad to buy with money and fair words. Many a feast and dance and merrymaking has there been in the old club-room ; its rafters have rung with the shouts and songs and laughter of many generations of roystering Calderites ; and ajs much drink has been " consumed on the premises," as would float a fleet of ironclads. But the present meeting, as the absence of glasses testifies, is not of a festive character.