A Woman Tempted Him

Front matter

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON WITH THE RED EAGLE. ' One seldom comes upon a more successful or satisfactory essay in the department of historical romance.' — Scotsman. 'A good story is generally better for having an historical basis, and Mr. Westall's story, good as it would be in any case, has an additional charm from the fact that it is true to history throughout- . . . Full of exciting incidents. ... It is a book that does the reader good, for it is sensational without being the least improbable, and those who take it up are hardly likely to lay it down again until the last line is reached.' — Lloyd's. 1 It never lags or fails to entertain ; is as full of hairbreadth escapes and perils by flood and field as the most jaded of romance-readers could desire.' — Manchester Times. ' Mr. Westall made a choice singularly happy when he selected Tyrol as the scene of his new tale, and Hofer and his companions as the heroes of it. . . .

We have read the story with great interest, and feel sure that no one who likes the stirring adventures of brave men will find one page of it dull.'— Glasgow Herald. ' A fine historical romance.' — Pall Mall Gazette. ' With vivacity, dexterity, and resource, Mr. Westall has described the imaginary adventures of an English officer who played a conspicuous part in the Tyrolese insur rection ofthe First Napoleon's days. . . . The manner of writing, as befits the soldier who tells the tale, is simple and unpretentious. . . . For those who care more for a dashing story than for the subtler graces of construction, " With the Red Eagle " may safely be prescribed.'- Morning Leader. ' Mr. Westall has made a fine choice of subject, and has contrived to handle it very prettily. . . . The book deserves much praise.

There is a freshnes in some ofthe mountain pictures which the cavalier romances now pouring from the press so abundantly often lack.' — Daily Chronicle. ' The style of the story is excellent, vivid, and terse throughout, and especially adapted to the vigour of the numerous battle scenes. The magnificent scenic background is, without over-elaboration, admirably suggested ; whilst the character-delineation of the hero and his colleagues is everywhere distinct and masterly.' — Manchester Courier. ' All his energy, all his pains, have gone to the re-creating of the real men who figure in his pages ; and here he is well and successfully employed. The Tyrolese struggle for liberty in the early years of this century is a stirring and an unhackneyed subject, and Mr. Westall treats it vividly and picturesquely.

Prologue

...... 1 I. STARTLING NEWS . . . . .10 II. HUSBAND AND WIFE . . . .21 III. ' QUIPS AND CRANKS ' . . . .30 IV. ' SOMETHING MAY HAPPEN ' . . .40 v. lady Mildred's proposal . . .50 VI. ESMERALDA . . . . .59 VII. AT MAY COTTAGE . . . . .69 VIII. STICKING TO THE SHIP . . . .80 IX. WHERE THE SUNLIGHT FELL . . .88 X. AFTER THE HUNT . . . . .101 xi. lady Mildred's dream . . . .109 XII. ON TENTER-HOOKS . . . . 1 1 6 XIII. A PORTENTOUS SUMMONS . . . .125 XIV. ESMERALDA INDIGNANT . . . .137 XV. RATHER BOYISH . . . . .148 XVI. BOB BARNED SMELLS A RAT . . .155 XVII. THE BOLT FALLS . . . . . l65 XVIII. AN ULTIMATUM . . . . .172 XIX. AN INTERRUPTED TETE-A-TtlE . . .180 XX. A STARTLING PROPOSAL . . . .188 CONTENTS VIII CHAPTES r*OE XXI. SANTA ALPINA . . • • .198 XXII. PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT . . • • 208 XXIII.

SURPRISES . . • • • .217 XXIV. A TOBOGGAN RACE .... 227 xxv. Reuben's lovemaking .... 236 XXVI. A HOLE IN THE ICE . . • - 245 XXVII. A PARTING SHOT ..... 253 XXVIII. A WINDFALL ..... 262 XXIX. A DEAD CUT . . ■ • .271 XXX. 'AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS ' . . . 281 XXXI. CONFESSIONS .....

PROLOGUE.

. On a May morning when the century was still young, a tall, spare, elderly man, with a fresh, clean-shaven face, grizzled hair, and keen gray eyes under bushy brows, crossed from Holborn to Lincoln's Inn Fields by the Great Turnstile. He wore knee-breeches, which seemed to have seen much service, wellsaved worsted hosen, a yellow waistcoat, and a blue coat with brass buttons and broad lappels. His neck was encased in a high stock, his head covered with a shabby, broadbrimmed beaver. He carried a big knobstick, and his general appearance was rustic and uncouth, yet he neither stared about him nor lingered at shop windows as country folk are wont to do, but went straight to his destination, a lawyer's office at the south-west corner of the Fields. ' Is Mr. Scholes in ?' he asked abruptly, in a harsh voice. ' Yes, sir,1 answered the clerk, who thereupon descended from his high stool and ushered the client into an inner room, where at a table covered with papers sat a dapper, dark-complexioned gentleman, with lively eyes, an intelli gent face, and an alert manner. ' 'How do you do, Mr. Fairlight?

Pray sit down, said he, when they had shaken hands. ' I want you to do a bit of a job for me, Mester Scholes,' said Fairlight, resting both hands on his knobstick, which he had planted firmly between his knees. ' I shall be delighted, my dear sir. Pray, what is it f answered and asked the lawyer, inking his pen and pre paring to make notes. • Well, it's just this 'ere, Mester Scholes. I've bought t' Greenleaves estate, and I want you to do th' conveyance and what else is needful to make it reyt mine.' The lawyer dropped his pen and looked at his client in blank surprise. Was the man out of his mind ? ' The Greenleaves estate ! What, all of it ?' he ex claimed. ' Ay, all on't,' responded Fairlight dryly. ' It was advertised to be offered in one lot at th' start, and I bought t' lot.' ' Why, the reserve was two hundred thousands pounds.' ' And t' lot fell to me at two hundred and ten thousand pounds, and it'll be well laid out.

Here's t' receipt for t' deposit — twenty thousand five hundred.' ' I congratulate you, Mr. Fairlight. It is a fine pro perty, and by no means dear at the price,' added Scholes deferentially, yet still inwardly marvelling ; for though he knew the old man was well-to-do, he had never valued him at more than fifteen or twenty thousand. ' It's dashed cheap at t' price, and it'll be worth a sight more one of these days, mark me if it isn't.' ' Not a doubt of it. It's a fine property, and if you want to raise money on it — say a hundred and fifty

PROLOGUE.

3 thousand, at four and a half per cent, or so — I dare say it could be managed.' * Nay, I'm no borrower. I draw interest ; I don't pay it. That's a rule I made at th' start, and I mean to abide by it, Mester Scholes. T' brass will be ready as soon as you are. One half on't is in t' Bank of England now, and t'other i' Counsels. I'm not one o' them as stretches their arms further than their coat-sleeves '11 reach. So, if you'll just fix it up ' ' Certainly ; it shall have our best attention," answered the lawyer with increased deference. ' The solicitors for the vendors are, I believe ' ' Stokes and Stubbs, Gray's Inn.' 'Exactly. I will communicate with them at once.' ' I gav' 'em your name. Be as sharp about it as you can, and don't run me up a big bill. I came to you because I liked t' way you did that bit o' business for me last year, and if you do this job reyt, maybe I'll come to you again.' ' We shall do our best, Mr. Fairlight, we shall do our best, and I think you will have no fault to sind with our charges.

My partner, Mr. Coacher, like myself, is a youn« man, and you may be sure we shall not risk the loss of so valuable a client as yourself by anything like sharp practice.' 'That is what I thought. I don't like owd firms. They are as slow as tortuses, and fleeces you into t' bargain. I know, because I've been fleeced mysen.' ' There will be nothing of that sort in this office, Mr. Fairlight, and if you have any more money to invest, we have several highly eligible properties placed in our hands for sale, and there are others in the market as to which we shall be only too glad to advise you.' 1—2 The old man's eyes contracted suspiciously. Scholes wanted to know how much he was worth, and he was not going to tell him. ' Thank you kindly, but I neither asks nor takes advice about investments. I looks out for mysen and sees for mysen, and when I've made my mind up I acts.

I've had my eye on t' Greenleaves property for a long while, and when I saw it advertised for sale I knew it was as good as mine. Why, it isn't above five miles off Charing Cross : London never stops growing, and before long will be all over it, specially if they run one of these new railways that way, as they talk of doing. There is a fairish lot o' building on it now ; and leases will be out, some in fifty, other some in sixty years." ' That's a long time, Mr. Fairlight.' ' Only a lifetime. It'll be worth summat to'ard 1890, Greenleaves will — thirty or forty thousand a year, I'll be bound — and if it could only be kept together ' ' So it can. You have a family, I suppose ?' 'A son and two daughters. I know what you mean, but our Daniel isn't t' man to keep it together. He's too keen and has no patience.

If anybodv offered him a goodish price, he'd be for selling there and then. But there's happen a way ?' ' Of course there is a way. You can bar your son from selling the property by making him owner for life. Have you a grandson ?' ' Ay, have I ; and a fine little lad, too — ten year old, name o' Reuben.' ' You can put him in the same position ; leave the property to one unborn — that is to say, to your great grandson, who would, of course, become absolute owner on attaining his majority.'

PROLOGUE.

5 ' Which would be about the time I was thinking on, ten to one— 1890.' ' That depends a good deal on how long your son and grandson live. It might be sooner or a little later.' 'To be sure, to be sure. Well, I think we'll do it that way. It'll be a satisfaction to me to know as Greenleaves cannot be broken up and sold i' lots for a generation or two. But I hope it'll not bring no trouble on them as comes after me.' ' You need have no misgiving on that score, my dear sir. We shall try to draw up your will in such a way as to leave no loophole for litigation.' ' I was not thinking of litigation. I was thinking of that one unborn as '11 come into th' property at last, when as likely as not it'll be worth half a million ; and that's a sight of brass for a young fellow to handle. He'll either be making ducks and drakes on't or be done out on't, and there's many a one — respectable folks as goes to church regular, I mean — as wouldn't stick at committing murder — ay, as would sell their souls to Owd Scrat — for a good deal less than half a million.

I had happen best leave it to a dog's home, or a lunatic asylum, or sum mat o' that sort.' ' Your fears are premature, Mr. Fairlight. The one unborn cannot become absolute owner until the death of his father, who, let us hope, will be your grandson. That may not be until he is well on in life, forty years old or thereabouts.' 'Ay, forty is a good age; if he hasn't learnt sense by that time he never will. Well, put it into black and white, and let me see a draft as soon as you can.' ' Before I can do that I shall require full instructions. You must appoint trustees, and there are probably other mem bers of your family you would like to provide for.' ' I mean to give you instructions ; I know that much,' said the old man testily. ' I want my son to be residuary legatee. I shall leave my two daughters ten thousand apiece— ten thousand's enough for a lass — and as much to Isaac Fairlight, a brother o' mine.

He's t' manager for some brewers, name o' Murgatroyd and Co. I'm t' com pany, and I've t' lion's share. I've no wife — at present.' Mr. Scholes smiled. ' You are probably aware that if you marry again the will you propose to make will become null and void.' 'The deuce it will! I did not know that. Well, I'se not marry again. I'm not going to be at th' expense o' two wills.' ' Good ! Can you oblige me with the names of your daughters and your son and grandson, also of three or four friends who would act as trustees — three is a convenient number, I think.' Mr. Fairlight gave the names, and Mr. Scholes jotted them down. ' One point more, and then I shall be in full possession of your wishes,' said he. ' To whom would you like to devise the property in the event of your grandson dying without issue ?

In the ordinary course it would go to the next-of-kin.' ' That means my brother's family. My daughters is owd maids, they'll never have no childer. But Isaac has both lads and lasses,' ' Exactly, if you have no brother older than he.' ' He's th' only brother I have.' 'So that, in the event of your daughters having no issue, the estate would go to his eldest descendant in the direct line of succession, male or female, as you may direct.'

PROLOGUE.

7 ' Make it male, then. It would be doing a lass no srood to leave her that much. Some rascally spendthrift would be snapping her up for her fortune.' ' And would you like to include in the settlement any other lands, all that you may hereafter acquire ?' ' Ay, you may put that in, and a hundred thousand of Government stock to boot. Dan spends nowt ; he'll soon save enough out of his income to portion his younger children, to say nowt of his being residuary legatee.' ' Good ! I'll draw up a will according to your instructions, which I have carefully noted down, and you shall have a draft in the course of a week or ten days. You have an address in town, I think ?' 'Ay, i' Pall Mall. But I shall be at Halifax next week. That is where I belong to. Andrew Fairlight, Halifax, Yorkshire, will find me.

I'm middling weel known.' ' So that is all, I think. I take it that you are the architect of your own fortunes, Mr. Fairlight ? I don't make the inquiry out of curiosity, but I take a great interest in men who have risen from small beginnings to great wealth, and you are one of the wealthiest men I know.' 'Architect of my own fortunes? Not quite. I in herited a business,' answered Fairlight, and the shrewd old face puckered into a grim smile. 'Ah, indeed ! Well, a good business is often as valuable as a landed estate,' said Scholes briskly. ' What might it be, if it's a fair question ?' ' Well, my father's trade was swopping salt for rags and bones and owd iron, and he left me his connection and his 'oss and cart. Good-day to you, Mester Scholes.' The lawyer, looking rather glum, escorted his client to the door and bowed him obsequiously out.

Shortly afterwards his partner, Mr. Coacher, came in. Scholes told him about the visitor he had just had. ' I was never so surprised in my life as when the old fellow told me he had bought Greenleaves,' he added. ' When he came to us about that lease, I took him for a countryman — a small manufacturer, or something of that sort — who had scraped together a modest competence.' 'So did I; but I heard all about him yesterday, or, rather, a good deal — I doubt whether anybody but himself knows all — and came in to tell you. His rusticity is a good deal put on, and he is as close as an oyster.' ' So I found. But why ?' ' I suppose it is his nature, and I dare say he finds it answer. He likes to pose as a poor man, and people think him unsophisticated and slow-witted until he gets the best of them in a bargain.

You have heard of Andrews and Co. ?' ' The great money-lending firm in Pall Mall ?' ' The same. Well, that's our client's concern ; but he keeps in the background. His ame damnee is a very smart gentleman, of the name of Bamed, who has, no doubt, a share in the profits. Mr. Fairlight lends money largely both in London and in his native Yorkshire.' ' At usurious interest, of course.' ' Well, I don't think he lends much at five per cent, per annum. But they say he has got his connection and made his money by charging more moderate rates than are generally charged by money-lenders. He knows better than to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, and he has had his reward.' ' I should think so indeed. Besides the Greenleaves

PROLOGUE.

9 estate, he is putting a hundred thousand pounds into settlement, and leaving legacies of ten thousand apiece to his brother and his daughters.' 'Not to speak of the large capital he must have em barked in his business. Yes, old Fairlight is a rich man.' ' Rather. The remainder man — the one unborn — will be a lucky fellow. Fairlight says the estate will eventually be worth thirty or forty thousand a year, and I dare say he is right. And then there are the Consols, and if there is a long minority there will be accumulations. So it is quite on the cards that the remainder man will come into fifty thousand a year.' ' As you say, he will be a lucky fellow — a devilish lucky fellow !' quoth Coacher. ' I hope we shall keep the old man as a client, and then we may become the family lawyers and get the management of the estate.' ' Which would be a jolly good thing for the office.' ' Rather ! And I think we shall if we treat him judi ciously and charge him moderately.'

Chapter I. Startling News

Rosetree Rectory was as charming an abode as you would wish to see : clad in greenery and embowered in trees, and fronted with green meadows, which sloped towards a bab bling brook edged with willows. The acclivity on the other side was crowned with a high wood, which often in the season rang with the blast of horns and the bay of hounds, for hard by was a favourite meet of the Essex hunt. The church, dating from pre-Reformation times, was dark with the moss of ages, and its square ivy-mantled tower rose nobly above the tree-tops, like the embattled keep of some ancient castle. The Rectory was approached by an avenue of chestnuts, whose leaves were a mass of green and gold, the spacious lawn was adorned with rare shrubs, and the garden re splendent with flowers. The house itself was straggling and picturesque, all corners and gables, with many windows, most of them framed in ivy, and was so large withal as to be more like a squire's mansion than a parson's dwelling.

But the general effect was so pleasant, so suggestive of peace, happiness, and repose, that few wayfarers passed thereby who did not think that the dwellers were folk to be envied, and that the parson was one of the most for tunate of men. Moreover, as things go, the living was a good one, worth, according to the Clerical Directory, nearly six hundred pounds a year, and as the population of the parish was only three hundred, the Rev. Cyril Fairlight had neither many responsibilities nor much work. Perhaps the pleasantest room in the house was the morning-room. It had two windows, one of which looked into the flower-garden, while the other commanded a fine view of swelling uplands, verdant meadows, and waving cornfields. In this room on a certain autumn morning not long ago, a young man was pacing to and fro, now and then pausing to look out of a window, glance at the ormolu clock which was ticking on the mantelpiece, or gaze at one of the pictures that hung on the walls.

Somewhat above middle height, broad-shouldered and well built, with light hair and a tawny moustache, a broad forehead, blue eyes, and a well-shaped nose, he was good enough looking for a man. But his face was the face of a dweller in towns and a keepei of late hours, sallow and worn, yet eager and intelligent withal, and denoting an energetic character and a sanguine temperament. Richard Lyle was his name. Presently the door opened, admitting a maid who brought letters and a newspaper, which she placed on the sideboard. ' Here's one for you, Mr. Lyle,' said she, handing it to him. As Lyle read the letter his face darkened. ' Hang the fellow !' he exclaimed mentally. ' Couldn't he have let me alone for three days. Shall I never have a quiet mind again ? How did he find out I was here, I wonder ?

Inquired at my rooms, I suppose. The next time I go out of town for the week-end, I'll take good care not to leave my address.' Whereupon, after reading the unwelcome missive a second time, he tore it up and threw the fragments into the sire. At the same time the door opened again and there entered a tall young woman with a shapely sigure and a winsome face, more winsome than handsome, albeit Mabel Fane was well favoured and fair to see. Her features were slightly aquiline, her eyes hazel, her hair dark, and her complexion pure, though for beauty, perhaps, too pale. She had a gracious presence, too, and her smile, when she greeted Lyle, was like a ray of sunshine. ' Good-morning, darling,' he said, taking her hand and giving her a kiss. ' So good of you to come down before the others ! The gong has not gone yet, and they are always a bit late on a Monday morning, and no wonder ; eight o'clock is an unearthly hour for breakfast.' ' It just suits me, though.

I must go up to town by the 9.30 train.' ' So soon, dear ? ' Yes, and I am thankful it is no sooner. If it were not that I have no lesson in Harley Street to-day, I should have to leave at 8.30.' ' I shall go with you, of course. Poor Mab ! It is hard for you to have to slave as you do, and if ' ' Not at all. I am far better off" than many, and only too glad that I can keep myself by my work and help my mother.' ' But you have had a hard struggle, and even now have many an anxious moment. Suppose your health were to fail. I shudder to think of it. If Quips and Cranks would only catch on it would be all right. We could marry and be free from care.' Miss Fane smiled dubiously. ' Why not say be happy ever after ?' she returned. ' We must not expect too much. Even if we were free from care on our own account, we could not help feeling for those who ai*e less fortunate than ourselves.' ' That is true, but we might at least hope to be free from sordid money cares and continual worry,' said Lyle, thinking of the letter he had just received. ' My poor Richard !

I fear Quips and Cranks is not catching on ; yet it ought. I don't think there could be a brighter little paper.' ' Oh, it ought — there can be no question of that ; and it would if we could spend more money in advertising and original illustrations. I should not have had anything to do with it if Lorimer, who led me into the thing, had not agreed to put in five hundred to my five hundred.' ' And hasn't he ?' ' No, only a hundred. I ought to have insisted on his planking the money down before we began operations ; but he kept promising and promising, and I was fool enough to believe him. I'd like to break his confounded neck.' 'You mean you are very angry, and anger is a bad counsellor ; perhaps the poor man is less to blame than you think. He may have expected to get the money, and been disappointed.' ' That's what he says ; but he told me he was sure of it, and if I had known he was not I would not have gone into it.

But quarrelling would only make bad worse, and by pulling together we may turn the corner, after all. And, to give him his due, Lorimer is clever and industrious.' ' You think that with additional capital the paper could be made a success ?' ' I'm sure. A few hundreds laid out in advertising would make Quips and Cranks a property.' ' Wouldn't Cyril help you ?' ' Cyril is a good fellow, and would if he could, but it is all he can do to make both ends meet. I dare say, if the truth were known, he is a bit behind himself.' ' With his income ?' 'His income is less than people think. The living, which is supposed to be worth six hundred pounds a year, does not net him five hundred pounds. His private income is perhaps a little more, but this place costs a lot to keep up. The last Rector enlarged the grounds and stables, built glass houses, and I don't know what besides, and if they are not kept in order there will be heavy dilapidation claims for somebody to pay, and Cyril likes to do the thing well.' 'And Edith is house-proud, and I fear rather extra vagant.

I do hope they are not living beyond their income. Of all burdens, I think debt must be the most galling.' As Lyle knew only too well, though he was careful not to say so, and he experienced a sense of relief when Mr. Fairlight's appearance on the scene terminated a conversation which he was beginning to find embarrassing. A tall, big-boned man, with well-cut features, a brown face, a genial smile, and a hearty manner, was the Rector of Rose tree. The only sign of clericalism about him was a white necktie, which contrasted rather oddly with his knicker bocker suit of gray tweed. 'Sorry we are late; Edith will be down in a minute. But as Mabel is going by the 9.30, we had better begin,' said he, drawing his chair to the table. ' I, too, am going by the 9.30 train,' remarked Lyle, as he followed his host's example. ' So soon !

I thought you meant to stay till to-morrow.' ' Do, Richard ! It would do you good,' urged Miss Fane. ' You are not looking at all well, and I can easily travel alone. It is nothing of a journey.' ' All the same, I think I had better go. Quips and Cranks wants a good deal of looking after just now, and duty is duty.' ' Well, you know best. But you must come again soon, and I will get you a day's shooting ; or we will go to a meet of the hounds, whichever you like best. Ah ! here comes Edith at last.' After bidding her guests good-morning, the lady of the house took her place at the head of the table, which had been temporarily occupied by Miss Fane. Mrs. Fairlight was petite and pretty, and with her auburn hair, pink cheeks, and white skin, bright blue eyes and sprightly manner, looked so much younger than her years that she was sometimes spoken of by superficial observers as the parson's girl-wife.

Others, who knew her better, and marked the squareness of her chin and the firmness of her mouth, said that she had an exceptionally strong will, and led her husband by the nose. Which may have been true, for he loved her passionately and was as easy-going as she was energetic and alert. ' Are there any letters ?' she asked. ' None at all for you, and none of any moment for me ; only two begging letters and a money-lender's circular,' answered the Rector, who, while he sipped his coffee, was reading the Times. ' Is there anything of moment in the paper, then ? Cyril will read the paper at breakfast, whatever I say. Isn't he rude ? I wish you would speak to him, Mabel.1 ' I think all men are alike in that respect. They seem to enjoy their paper more than their breakfast. It would be a pity to deny them so great a pleasure,' returned Miss Fane. ' What news, Cyril ?' ' There seems to be trouble brewing in the East.' ' That's no news.