George Canterbury's will ... Copyright edition, etc

Front matter

a NoiKi. B v MRS. HENRY WOOD, AUTHOR OF "east LVnne," "the channings," "johnny ludlow," ETC. gbixlgsfiftj) CTfjousanD. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, publisTjrvs in ©rtiintn to p?rr fHnjfsfu tljc ©UWH. {All rijhti rcsiretdti CONTENTS. CHAPTER ,.AGE I. In the Evening Light ... ... ... ... i II. Down at Chilling ... ... ... ... 17 III. With Lady Kage ... ... ... ... 24 IV. Keziah Dawkes ... ... ... ... 36 V. Called up ey Telegram ... ... ... ... 4S VI. Under the Moonlit Sky ... ... ... 59 VII. Entering a New Home .. ... ... ... 74 Mil. A Terrible Fear ... ... ... ... S7 IX. Sunshine gone out for ever ... ... ... 102 X. Coming Home ... ... ... ... 117 XI. In the Evening Paper ... ... ... ... 131 XII. The Shadow of the Future.. ... ... 143 XIH. At the Rock ... ... ... ... ... 162 XIV. A Solemn Warning ... .. ... ... 174 XV.

Disinherited ... ... ... ... ... 1S9 XVI. String round again ... ... ... ... 199 XVII. Love at Last ... ... ... ... ... 203 XVIII. The Funeral ... ... ... ... 220 XIX. Wore Vigorous than ever ... ... ... 232 XX. A Painful Interview ... ... ... CONTENTS. VI CHAPTER PAGE XXI. Captain Dawkes in Town ... ... ... 259 XXII. Playing for High Stakes ... .. 267 XXIII. Breaking the News to Belle ... ... 278 XXIV. At Mrs. Richard Dunn's ... ... ... 2S8 XXV. At the Festive Board ... ... ... 299 XXVI. Mrs. Garston's Purchase ... ... 311 XXVII. Not quite Heartless... ... ... ... 321 XXVIII. A Few Whispered Words ... ... 32S XXIX. Called out of the Reception-room ... ... 338 XXX. An Old Warning recalled ... ... 346 XXXI. Very Unsatisfactory... ... ... ... 355 XXXII. Mrs. Dawkes at Home ... ... ... 361 XXXIII.

A Flood of Sunlight ... ... ... 374 XXXIV. "Died in a Fit" ... ... ... ... 3S2 XXXV. Enshrouded in Mystery ... ... ... 394 XXXVI. The Postern-door ... ... ... 407 XXXVII. In the South Wing ... ... ... ... 419 XXXVIII. On the Watch ... ... ... ... 432 XXXIX. Searching for Fencing-sticks ... ... 446 XL. The Lawyer's Secret Visit ... ... 459 XLI. The Last and Final Will ... .. ... 469 XLII. Conclusion ... ... ... ...

Chapter I. In The Evening Light

Nothing could be more beautiful. The sun was sinking in the west, casting its rays on the long line of blue, transparent water. It shone on the white sails of the pleasure-boats, on the fishing-craft putting out for their night's work ; it brought into clearer view the fine vessels passing far away on their course ; it played on the chain of mountains that terminated the prospect to the right, stretching their undulating outlines miles into the distance. Calm, soothing still. The turbulent waves were unseen this evening ; the froth and foam rose not. All the world seemed to be at rest from its troubles, its sinful passions and petty strifes, as if it would instil into men's hearts a fortetaste of that peace which shall be realized only in heaven. The place, Little Bay, was a small quiet Welsh watering place, where the bathing was good, the air bracing, and the sea-view of great extent.

Little frequented in those earlier days, it was of small pretensions and very reasonable, enter taining no prevision of the fashionable resort it was destined afterwards to become. Within a large open bow-window, partly looking out on the scene that one of them so loved, partly listening to the desultory talk of a gentleman who stood outside leaning on its frame, were two girls. She who was next to him, answering his repartees before they were well spoken, was richly dressed in charming blue silk and lace — a fair, bright girl of seventeen, in appearance almost a child ; her laughing eyes of a dark George Canterbury's Will. blue, her hair dark brown and luxuriant, her cheeks rivalling the hue of the damask rose — altogether as lovely a vision of beauty as ever enthralled the senses of man.

The other was very nice-looking also, but of quieter aspect. A gentle girl, she, just nineteen, with large shy hazel eyes, hair of a lighter shade of brown, a complexion fair and rather pale — a soft sweet face that was pleasant to look upon. She was taller than her com panion, and yet not more than of middle height ; her dress was a simple muslin, costing at most but a few shillings. You cannot judge by dress of the ways and means of its wearer, as all the world knows. The richly-dressed girl in her blue silk and its costly Honiton — Caroline Kage — had been straitened in means all her life, and never expected to be lifted out of the straits except by some fortunate marriage ; the other would probably inherit at least a hundred thousand pounds, for she was one of the daughters of the rich Mr. Canterbury, of Chilling.

And he who talked to them — Thomas Kage? He was a barrister by profession, and had to work hard for his living, not expecting to be helped by so much as a shilling from any one in the world. A slight-made man, appearing from this circumstance almost of middle height, but not so in reality. His hair and eyes were dark ; his face, nothing to boast of, was honest, genial, true. People called Thomas Kage " plain," and plain he was, judging him by the severe lines of beauty ; but the countenance was a good countenance, carrying its own index straight to the hearts of discerning men. It was the third week in September ; they had gone to the seaside the third week in August ; so that for a month now he and these two girls had been daily, almost hourly companions. The result was one that is not rare.

Which of the two had learnt to love him most, it would be difficult to say. Millicent Canterbury had never met him in her life before; Caroline Kage had, though not frequently: he and she were cousins several degrees removed. " Why are you so serious, Miss Canterbury ? " he suddenly asked, bending his head forward to look at her where she sat a little back from the window. "Am I serious?" she returned, a pink blush mantling her smooth cheek at his words, and she bent her too-conscious face to hide it. " At least, you are silent." " I was listening to you and Caroline." " I think you generally prefer listening to talking," he said, a smile of rare sweetness breaking over his lips. That smile was the one sole beauty of Thomas Kage's face, redeeming it from the reproach of plainness while it lasted.

"Do I?" Do I ! Carelessly though the words were given, Millicent Canterbury knew that the charge was true, and the pink blush increased to crimson. When in his presence, she could no more have been outspoken than a mute : her love for him was earnest, real, passionate ; and this same love, as most of us know, chains the lips when in the presence of its idol. "And do you agree with Caroline or with me?" " With you," Millicent was obliged to confess, for she was of a straightforward nature, knowing nothing of evasion ; but the avowal caused the crimson to glow yet more ; " for I feel sure Mrs. Kage will not allow us to go." They had been discussing a projected sail for the morrow, these two girls, with Miss Annesley as companion, who was staying with them, and Mr. Kage as protector. Caroline spoke of it as an event decided ; he had quietly declared it would turn out "all moonshine."

" You will see," continued Miss Kage — " Leta, what in the world are you blushing for? — And I think it is exceedingly wicked of you, Thomas, to throw cold water on what I propose." Thomas Kage laughed. " Cold water ! Ah, Caroline, if you only knew how hot the water I would throw, if it would bring the sail ! " he pursued in tones of graver meaning. "The prospect of taking you is delightful, but it will not be realized. As Miss Canterbury says, your mother would not permit it." " It is so stupid of her to be afraid of the water," said Caro line hastily. " As if people were drowned in a calm sea." He made no reply, only glanced at her, and something like emotion passed over her lovely face. She was conscious, and he was conscious, that Mrs. Kage's veto would not be laid upon the expedition on account of any danger they might incur, although it was true that she was a coward in regard to the water, but because she was beginning to dread this frequent and close companionship.

" Mrs. Kage regards the sea as a treacherous ogre, waiting ahvays to swallow up the unwary who may venture on it, you know, Caroline," he remarked indifferently, as he opened a book he held, and turned over its pages. " What will you say to me to-morrow morning if I meet you with the news that I have persuaded mamma into consenting?" " I shall say you are the dearest cousin in the world " " That's easily said, when you have no other," she petulantly interrupted. "And the most clever of diplomatists," he continued. " You should let a man finish, Caroline. I wish you success, but I have no hope that the wish will be realized." " What kind of wish do you call that, pray ? " " A faithless one, I suppose." " Just so. And I will convict you of shame when I bring you mamma's consent." "So be it, Caroline," he answered. — "And you, Miss Canterbury ?

You have not said you will go. Will you ? " "Yes, I — I think so," was the reply, given with some hesitation. " I don't much care for the sea." " Why, I have heard you say that you love the sea." " I love to look at it. Seeing it as we do from these windows, I cannot imagine anything in the world more beautiful. I could look at it for ever, and not weary; watching its changing colours ; speculating on the vessels ; seeing what they do in the little boats cruising off the land. My love for the sea is something strange. But on it I am almost as great a coward as Mrs. Kage ; and in rough weather I am ill." He laughed. Caroline Kage spoke rather testily. " There's no particular necessity for your going into raptures over the sea, Leta, if you do love it." " No," said Leta meekly, " of course not."

They called her "Leta" almost always. When a little child, before she was able to speak plain, she had so pronounced her own name Millicent. The appellation had never left her, and never would now. The sun went down in a blaze of gold. The clear and beautiful opal tints, seen only in the north-west sky, succeeded to it ; and still Thomas Kage stood on. Suddenly, as if prompted by some momentary recollection, he removed his arms from the window to look at his watch ; and Caroline saw the movement with a jealous eye and failing heart. It seemed to foreshadow his departure ; and she would willingly have kept him by her side for ever. " Why do you not come in, Thomas ? The idea of having stayed outside all this time ! " " I cannot come in, now. I promised my mother to be with her for tea." " How many more evenings will you tell us that ?

Your mother is very exacting." " Never was there a mother less so," he rejoined emphatically, a glow on his honest face. " But she likes to have me with her at tea ; and I have been keeping her waiting for it. Tire some syrens, both of you, to enchain a fellow so, and cause him to forget the hour-glass. Farewell, and reformation to you." He turned down the gravel-path with a quick step — the house stood back in a garden — passed through the gate, and nodded gaily as he raised his hat. It was as if a shadow had fallen on the hearts of both ; and they listened in silence and sadness to the echo of his fleet footsteps. He had set off running as though he were a schoolboy. Rounding a bend of the road, a lady came into view, and he had to slacken speed. It was Miss Annesley ; she had come to Little Bay with Mrs. Kage.

" Are you bound for Mrs. Garston's ? " she stopped to ask. " Not now. I am hastening home to my mother." " That is well," returned Miss Annesley, quaintly. " Had you been going to Mrs. Garston, I should have said, don't go. She is cross this evening; cross with you." "I know I ought to have gone there," he confessed, a smile breaking over his face. " That's it, I suppose ? " " That is it. And I was charged to tell you, if we by chance met, that she would not receive you now until to morrow. She means it, Mr. Kage." "Very well. I'll go and make my peace with her then. Thank you. Farewell for the present." Resuming his quick pace, he gained the door of a pretty cottage, also facing the sea. A staid, hard woman of fifty, as tall as a maypole, admitted him. "You have kept your mother waiting a long while, Mr. Thomas," was the greeting he received, delivered with a severe countenance.

" She'd not let the tea be made till you came in." "I am very sorry, Dorothy," he answered, never thinking, as most men at his age would, that it was nearly time Dorothy left off her lectures. She had nursed him when a baby, and been his mother's ever-faithful attendant since, through good and ill, for eight-and-twenty years. "I did not happen to look at my watch, and the time slipped on." " I think I'd leave the coming home to meals an open question, if I were you, sir, while we are here. My lady ought to have had her tea early this evening, for she's a fearful bad headache come on." Keeping the " meals " waiting by so much as five minutes was in the catalogue of Dorothy's cardinal sins ; and Thomas Kage was aware he had not been strictly punctual of late. "A headache!" he repeated in some surprise; for Lady Kage was not subject to the malady.

"Yes, she have," said Dorothy, as Thomas went in. At the open window of the sitting-room sat Lady Kage — a gentle, thoughtful woman, with a countenance as good as his own, and a voice as sweet. She had only reached the age which women are apt to call middle life ; but she was in ill health, and her delicate face looked careworn. " My darling mother ! " he said, kissing her fondly ; " I am so sorry." " Sorry for what, Thomas ?" " For keeping you waiting tea. Why did you not take it ? Dorothy says your head aches." She kept his hand in hers ; and her eyes, looking up to his, were full of smiles. " Dorothy has been talking, I see." " That she has ; giving it me well. But you ought to have had your tea, mother dear. You don't know how these things pain me." "They need not, Thomas." " They do, though, and bring hometo me all my selfish ingratitude.

If I were wanting my tea, and you out, I should be sure to order it without thought of you." "That you would not, if you expected me home; no, though your head were splitting for want of it. And mine is not." " I don't know how I came to let the time slip on, unheeded. I was talking with Miss Canterbury and Caroline. What can have given you a headache, mother ? " " I think I walked too far this morning. I mean to have a whole day's rest to-morrow indoors." It may almost be said that Lady Kage answered mechani cally ; for her thoughts, as she spoke, were far away. The time had slipped on, unheeded, "talking with Miss Canterbury and Caroline." Mr. Kage's apologies of late had been so similar to this present one, that the suspicion, hovering in his mother's mind, grew greater and greater. That he must be learning to love one of those two young ladies she felt as sure of as though she could read into his heart.

Which of them was it ? Dorothy brought in the tea-tray, and placed it on the side of the table farthest from her mistress. " Mr. Thomas can pour it out this evening, as you feel ill, my lady," decided she, with the privileged authority of one accustomed to have her way. — "It's quite ready, sir." He laughed as he sat down, saying he hoped he should not put the cream and sugar into the tea-pot instead of the cups. Thomas Kage had not roughed it in chambers or lodgings as three-fourths of the young men have : his mother's home in London was his home, and his mother indulgently did all things for him. The world little guessed how very simple the home was, or how utterly happy they were in it. Mother and son have rarely been so bound in heart together. Awkwardly as most unaccustomed men, Thomas Kage served his mother with her tea first, and then poured out his own.

He was quite unconscious that his cup was consequently the stronger of the two. He would have given her every good at his own expense that this world can bestow, and thought it no sacrifice. "You say you have been with the two young ladies this evening ? " observed Lady Kage. " Are you sure I have given you enough cream and sugar ? -Yes, I have been with them." "As usual — as usual, Thomas. Are you drifting into love for either of them ? " " Mother ! " It was all very well to say " Mother ! " and to say it with a start; but Lady Kage could not avoid seeing that her son's face grew red and conscious as a girl's. She knew now that she was not mistaken. He upset some water on the tea-tray, in a sudden effort to drown the tea-pot. " Which of the two is it, Thomas ? " she quietly asked. By this time he was recovering self-possession and equanimity.

He looked at his mother in the twilight, and then, pausing, sent his good, dark, candid eyes rather far out to sea through the open window. " Mother, I think you are mistaken ; I hope you are. The maddest thing I could do would be to fall in love with any girl, no matter whom she might be. It may be years — years and years — before my circumstances enable me to think of a wife, if they ever do." "That is just it, Thomas. Otherwise " "Otherwise I might be at liberty to fall in love to-morrow," he said, with a laugh. "Ah, yes; we all have to bend to circumstances." Lady Kage did not give up her opinion, but would not seem to pursue it. " Which of the two, if either, would your choice have fallen upon, Thomas ? Miss Canterbury ? " " Miss Canterbury ! " he echoed in surprise so genuine that something like a chill struck across his mother's heart, and destroyed a vision that had been rearing itself in fondness before her mind.

"You must be dreaming, mother dear. Miss Canterbury will count her fortune by scores of thousands, perhaps by hundreds of thousands. Old Canterbury may be worth a million." " If Millicent Canterbury is rich in wealth, you are rich in worth, Thomas. A union between you would not be unequal." He smiled, and shook his head at the thought of his mother's partiality; but his answer was given in a tone of decision. " It would be so unequal, mother, that I should never attempt to entertain it for a moment — no, not though I were dying of love for her. But the thought of loving Millicent Canterbury has never entered my head ; so be at ease." "I could not have wished a better wife for you than Millicent Canterbury ; I never met a sweeter girl," spoke Lady Kage. " As to Caroline, Millicent is worth a thousand of her."

" Caroline is as poor as I am ; and therefore, to speak of marriage in connection with her, would be talking nonsense," returned Mr. Kage, an embarrassment in his tone that his mother did not like to hear, for it betrayed too surely where his affections lay. And then ensued a silence. Thomas broke it. Lifting his head, after a pause, he looked full at his mother in the deepening twilight, as if he deemed it well to set the matter at rest, for himself as well as for her. " I was twenty-seven last July, mother, as you know, and I am earning so little at my profession, as you also know, getting on so slowly in it — not at all, in fact — that the chances are I may attain forty years without being able to keep a wife as I should like to keep her. Believe me, therefore, there is no danger, no hope that I can, or shall, fall in love to any purpose.

I may cast a fancy here or there, but nothing is likely to result from it." "I should not wish you to fall into hopeless love," spoke Lady Kage, in low tones. " Nor I. But if I did, I could bear it." The beautiful opal tints in the clear north-western sky grew less distinct in the fading light. Lady Kage, her head growing more painful, went up to bed ; and Thomas sat alone, with his own reflections. No, there might be no thought of marriage for him. As to this pleasant dream he had been lately falling into, why, let him dream on while he might, it would not be for so very long. In October the seaside party would disperse, he and his mother for London, the others for their far-away home. And then? Then would come for him the old working life again, during which he should forget — forget, or pretend to do so.

And she " Are there no lights wanted here ? " The interruption came from Dorothy. She had opened the door, cross still, to ask the question ; and Thomas Kage awoke out of himself to find it was as dark as it would be that night. No, no lights yet. The clock was striking eight, and he put on his hat and went out. Calm, warm, light and lovely was the night. The clear sky was luminous, the lights from the different vessels on the sea shone like stars. Passing down a turning, he came to a house that, in comparison with the cottage rented by his mother, looked like a mansion. A footman answered his knock. " Has Mrs. Garston retired to her room ? " " No, sir, not yet." " Say to her, then, with my kind regards, that I will come to see her after breakfast in the morning." Regard for the very old lady prompted him to come and say this.

Mrs. Garston was eighty years of age. Never had living man a kinder heart than Thomas Kage, and he was grieved to have failed in his customary visit to her. And he departed on his way again. On the lawn before Mrs. Kage's house, flitting about, were the two girls. Mr. Kage joined them. Now they stood together at the railings, watching the aforesaid lights, and tracking the vesels on their silent course ; now they paced the walks, now rested on the green bench under the mulberry-tree. But the same low, unconsciously-tender interchange of con verse was ever there. The companionship, becoming all too sweet, was not interrupted. Every minute, every hour as they went by, only added strength to the links of the chain by which Fate was binding the three hearts together indissolubly, but in an untoward fashion, as it is in the nature of Fate to do.

" Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands ; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands." They would have lingered on until midnight, but at nearly ten o'clock out came Miss Annesley. She was a good and true young woman, wanting some years of thirty, amiable, prudent, sensible, and calm of temperament; as it is only right the daughter of an earnest clergyman should be. " Mrs. Kage is so vexed that you should be out of doors. She wishes you to come in at once." " Oh, mamma has woke up at last, has she ? " responded Caroline, carelessly. "A little the worse in temper for her long sleep, I suppose." " You must know, Caroline, that it is time you did come in," said Miss Annesley. " There, don't preach, Sarah ; we are coming." And Milli cent was the first to hasten in.

Years and years before — say thirty — an officer who had risen rapidly in India, Colonel Sir Charles Kage, K.C.B., came home on a three years' leave, with his wife and little daughter. He was without connections, in the sense that the word is generally understood, only possessing a few simple relatives. But a K.C.B. is sure to find friends; and Sir Charles's London residence was soon overflowing with them. Amidst others, frequenting it, was a peer who had nearly come to the end of his income — his children having considerably assisted in its disposal — and consequently he put off a small portion of his superfluous pride : Lord Gunse. The object which had chiefly brought Sir Charles Kage home was the ill-health of his wife. Just for a few weeks she rallied, but only to sink again; and in less than six months from the day of their landing in England, she died.

The little girl, Charlotte, was six years old then, and Sir Charles immediately took a young lady into his house as her governess. She was a Miss Carr, a gentle, retiring, unpretending girl, who kept herself in all humility out of the way of Sir Charles's guests, and learnt to love the little Charlotte. If the guests by chance saw her, they took no notice of her. Lord Gunse and Lady Gunse and the Honourable Misses Gunse quite ignored her. In point of fact those aristocratic people, had they con descended to think of the nursery governess at all, would have classed her as a domestic. She was of no family ; perhaps had never had as much as a father and mother. Lady Gunse and the Misses Gunse were at that time very much at Sir Charles Kage's house, consoling the bereaved widower. It was thought by the maid-servants (who are generally shrewd observers) that their master might have had any one of the three honourable young ladies for the asking.

A fine man of only five-andforty, a K.C.B. already, and with plenty of service before him, would be a prize undoubtedly in the matrimonial market. What, then, must have been the shocked indignation of this noble family to awake one morning to the news of Sir Charles Kage's marriage ? Just twelve months after the death of his wife he quietly led to church the nursery governess, saying nothing to any one. When taxed with his crime by Lord Gunse (out of pure regard for Sir Charles, of course, and his blighted interests), the brave soldier wrung the peer's hand, and avowed that the excellent qualities of Maria Carr had won his esteem and love, and that he could not have given the little Charlotte a more loving and admirable mother had he chosen from the whole world. Of course she was young ; he did not deny that ; but every year as it went by would remedy the defect.

"She is of no family," groaned the wrathful peer. " No family ! " repeated Sir Charles. " My dear lord, she is of as good a family as my own." And thus the patient, humble governess, Maria Carr, had become the second Lady Kage. Poor young wife ! A child was born to her in due course, a little boy, who was named Thomas Charles Carr, and she was the happiest of the happy. Sir Charles waited for the christen ing, and then went back to India, for his leave was up. Lady Kage did not accompany him. He was tender of her, as though she were some rare and precious plant, and he knew she was scarcely yet strong enough to bear the fatigue of travel. ln the course of the year she and Charlotte and the boy-baby should come out to him, he said ; and so they parted. Parted to meet no more in this world, for Sir Charles Kage died very soon after regaining India.