CHAPTER XIII.

A MISSING LINK.

AS letters were few and far between in those days, when they did come, they were very warmly appreciated. Therefore the arrival of a letter from Master Guy was an event in which the whole population of the Falcon Range felt impelled to manifest singular personal interest. But not being favoured as a body with a survey of such letter, and its contents being issued in small details from divers independent authorities, it was not surprising that, by the time the news it conveyed had circulated from the drawing room to servants' hall, through stables and gardens, round the villages of Falcon Range and Pine-wood End, large farms and small cottages, the original statements were somewhat altered, and scarcely so recognisable as even the grey-bearded man who left the place of his birth a simple stripling.

It must have been with infinite amazement that the recipient of one particular letter heard some days afterwards that the Pope had laid violent hands upon her son, that he had narrowly escaped an auto-da-fé, was rescued by a regiment of black savages, and safely lodged in the land of Luther. The tale might be a predecessor of "The Three Black Crows," but certainly belonged to that family, and the crows had no reason to be ashamed of the relationship. It was an important letter, for after careful perusal thereof, the heads of the mansion solemnly started on an exploring expedition through the whole immediate premises, without communicating its special object to anyone.

From garret to cellar, through galleries and chambers, servants' offices and out-buildings, went the Squire and Mistress Hazelwood, followed by Mrs. Falconer, who seemed even less eager in the search than they.

But whatever they wanted, they did not find, and were again seated in consultation when Evelyn and Maude, who had been engaged all day in the school at Pine-wood End, returned home accompanied by Mr. Herbert, without whose sympathy few events transpired concerning the interests of the family at The Moat.

A letter from Guy! And his elder friends looking grave and perplexed over it! This was enough to damp the bright spirit of Evelyn, to bring Maude in loving anxiety to her mother's side, and detain the pastor from his solitary parsonage.

The contents were eagerly listened to. First came a rapid sketch of the circumstances under which Guy had been obliged to quit Rome. He was, however, perfectly safe now, continuing his studies among some fine collections of art in Germany, proposing to remain some months there, and work his way round by northern capitals towards home.

But to the matter of Phœbe and her communications, the main object of the letter was devoted. Afraid to trust the pocket-book itself to the chances of safe transit by post, he had copied the few entries of importance.

"February 10th, 17—. Signed the document required by my wife's trustees, settling the disposal of her property, given up to me in consideration of an annual rent charge upon my estates at Falcon Range, for her use during her life, and to devolve at her death upon our younger son."

"June 7th, 17—. Received my wife's legacy under her father's will, the disposal thereof provided for by a deed previously executed, and in the hands of her trustees."

"January 12th, 18—. By consent of trustees, my son Guy's commission and outfit deducted from his interest in his mother's property."

"May 5th, 18—. Attorney dead. Papers sent to Falcon Range."

Then in a tremulous hand, and written with lead pencil, appeared on a blank page the following:

"December 5th, 18—. If my son Geoffrey should not do justice to his brother's family, a document hidden in the secret drawer of an old bureau in my room at The Moat House, will reveal his obligation to do so. The trustees are dead, and no new ones were appointed, but my daughter-in-law, Guy's widow, can act for her children."

Evelyn looked anxiously from her mother to her father, and Mrs. Falconer.

"You have found this deed, of course?" said she. "Where is the old bureau?"

"We do not know," said Mr. Hazelwood; "we are afraid it may have been turned out with lumber that gave place to more modern wares when we opened the rooms that had been shut up so many years."

"We must search every hole and corner. Come, Maude! Help us, Mr. Herbert. Let us go first to the tapestry chamber. It is just like that old Judge Jeffery's wickedness to hide such a treasure in his ghostly haunts."

"Stay, Evelyn," said Mrs. Hazelwood; "your father thinks we must proceed cautiously at present: we know not what else this old secretaire may have contained, nor what inducement the present possessor may have for destroying or secreting it, if indeed it yet exists."

"You can rummage the premises at your leisure, young damsels," said the Squire, "but let nothing of this document go forth among others, until the time suits; then I will raise the county to find it."

"Dear Mrs. Falconer," said Evelyn, "we shall scour the county with one idea for the next three months. I am certain I have seen just such old furniture in many a cottage, and we shall certainly find it at last."

Thus cautioned, the earlier portion of Guy's epistle was all that underwent transformation through the social circles of Falcon Range, whilst at least six diligent individuals became more than ever indefatigable in cottage visits, and long rides to distant farmsteads.

Letters were despatched to obtain tidings of the nurse Phœbe, as her testimony would be all important in case of legal proceedings, and a restless spirit took possession of the lately calm and peaceful inmates of The Moat.

"Will it make much difference to them all, father," asked Evelyn, "if this paper should be found?"

"It won't quite buy back The Moat," said the Squire, smiling, "but it will make them sufficiently independent to do as they please, and I am afraid will make Mrs. Falconer insist upon renting the cottage instead of accepting it from us, as our offering of gratitude for all she has done for you."

"It is a lovely place, dear father, and enough to tempt her from The Moat; but I hope she will not go: I want a great deal of teaching yet to make me fit for anything."

"Fit for what?" laughed the Squire. "Is my little wench turning sentimental?"

"Fit to be Squire and Madam Hazelwood's daughter, sir," replied she,—"an honour which all our village folk loyally desire me worthily to apprehend."

"Fit or not, I suppose we have to make the best of it now, young mistress," said her father, who sometimes scarcely seemed to think further improvement needful; "so you had better convince Mrs. Falconer that your education is not completed yet. She belongs to The Moat as much as the stateliest tree on the estate, and whether she gets her rights or not, I hope she will not reject our gratitude. She promised your mother that she make no change until Guy comes home, by which time the cottage will be dry and safe, and the garden in fine order,—a fitting present from us all, I trow."

Evelyn quite agreed, as she stood with him in view of the charming little residence which he and her mother had planned and caused to be erected on one of the beautiful green slopes in the park, in anticipation of the time when they might no longer be permitted to contest with her the point of a change of dwelling.

"Such a great rambling place as The Moat House," he remarked, "ought to shelter a colony instead of a family; it is a charity to help us keep the rooms aired; but of course she is his right to wish that Master Guy should come back to a home of his own. Those last pictures of his are sold at a price that has surprised her, it seems, and his own talents are likely to make the lad independent in time."

As the noun "lad" was not preceded by the offensive old adjective of former comments, Miss Hazelwood bore with it calmly, though it did strike her that possibly Guy might by this time have outgrown the extremely juvenile appellation.

"When are you going to advertise for information about the bureau, father?" she asked.

"As soon as I obtain proper advice on the value of the entries in the old book, and the safest way of proceeding, my lass. I hoped Mr. Herbert, who is going to London shortly, would make this inquiry for us, but he is strangely backward for once. I suppose he is afraid of the lawyers."

Evelyn had a different thought on the same subject, but she did not venture to expound it.

What if Mr. Herbert would rather that Maude Falconer remained portionless! She could understand the strange mingling of selfishness and generosity which might influence his heart, and deter him from instituting very active measures to restore her lost inheritance.

So Mr. Hazelwood himself went once again to pay his compliments to London in a fog, mentally expatiating on the dismal fact of candles and twinkling lamps at hours when the sun ought to have been shining, and probably was shining everywhere else.

Mr. Penacre could transact business of great importance in a fog, by candle-light, and only smiled kindly on the grumblers at whose expense he sat the chief part of his life perched on a stool at his desk.

He read attentively the copy from the pocket-book and the portion of Guy's letter in reference thereto, which the Squire laid before him, rubbed his brow, inked a pen, and wastefully dried it on the tail of his coat, laid it down again, rubbed his hands, and finally faced his visitor with a look of innocent inquiry and a chilling—

"Well, sir?"

"Well, sir," repeated the Squire, impatiently, "what do you make of it?"

"A rather singular circumstance as it has come round, certainly," said Mr. Penacre, calmly; "but you are of course aware that this memorandum has no legal weight. The poor old man must have been labouring under some delusion, and unable to remember facts. His son Mr. Geoffrey assured me that the document in question was destroyed after some satisfactory transaction between the parties concerned."

"Then he knew that such a document did once exist?" remarked the Squire.

"Certainly, certainly, but was quashed by subsequent arrangements, and mutual consent."

"I believe he stated falsely then," said the Squire, warmly, "and the matter must be looked into."

"Well, my dear sir, pray look into it, and what is to be seen? A young gentleman's letter, the writer being chiefly interested; the leaf of an old memorandum-book, which may, or may not, bear the writing of the late Mr. Falconer, and the confused story of an old black nurse, who may, or may not, be honest and sane, and may or may not have interested purposes to serve. No honourable member of the legal profession would undertake such a case. No, my dear sir, first produce this deed, then the witness of the nurse and the pocket-boo will be valuable; for questions would arise on the subject of his mental ability to understand, and his physical power to indite this sentence."

"Did anyone question the elder Mr. Falconer's mental ability and physical power to sign away his estate at the instigation of his childless son?" asked Mr. Hazelwood, sharply.

"I think not. I believe it was freely and fairly done, before competent witnesses."

"Very well, sir. Now be so good as to observe that the date of this last entry in the memorandum-book is the same as that attached to Mr. Falconer's signature on the deeds which transferred the estate of the Falcon Range. If one is open to suspicion, so is the other, seeing that both were written on the same day. Why it may happen, after all, that the proceeding was illegal, and that neither father nor son had any right to sell the estate at all!"

"Oh, pray don't be alarmed about that," said the lawyer: "the sale is valid enough."

"I am not in the least alarmed, sir; only suggesting that your insinuation, if proved, would prove too much, and endanger the whole of Mr. Geoffrey Falconer's proceedings for some years past."

Mr. Penacre contemplated the candle, smoothing his brow as if he were straightening matters in his mind, and conscious that his city notions of the mental calibre of country squires were sustaining a decided shock.

"Well, sir," said he, "the deed must be produced first. Let us see that, for without it, you have no shadow of right to make a claim on the purchase money of the Falcon Range. And even if produced, I fear there is little left now to reward the suit."

"There are other lands yet held in Mr. Falconer's name," said the Squire.

"True, but the last shred of the fine old property passes away almost immediately: the purchase money lies ready, and then the name of the Falconers is expunged from the list of British landowners."

"I protest against any payment to Mr. Falconer of money raised upon the sale of property here, until this claim is investigated and settled," said Mr. Hazelwood; "and I suppose if there is to be litigation, you will prefer to work with funds in hand."

"I certainly shall," said Mr. Penacre, smiling; "at the same time regretting that a gentleman like you should be caught by the popular delusion, which supposes that we only endorse a case which bears our own interests on its title page; however, if people will be wrong-headed, I cannot help it. Produce this deed, and I promise you that Mr. Falconer must look elsewhere for his defence against the widow and the fatherless."

This brought right hands to a hearty clasp, and having arranged the plan of procedure, Mr. Hazelwood was glad to find himself early the next morning on the box-seat of the Royal Mail Coach, with thoughts of home and its welcomes warming his heart.

The passengers breakfasted and dined on the way, and the shades of evening were beginning to gather, and tired travellers to feel cold ana cross, when the coachman dashed into a small village where a single oil lamp just lighted distinguished the wayside inn, and four fresh horses stood ready, with men at their heads, to replace the steaming beasts that had gallantly performed their ten mile task.

Speedily went strap and buckle to their proper places, for there was a kind of emulation among the men at the posting-houses on the roads in those days, with regard to the rapidity with which the operation of "changing horses" could be performed; and many a fee from the coach roof rewarded the zeal of the skilled hostler who thus expedited the journey.

The coachman was gathering up the reins, the guard was taking his last survey, when a woman rushed up past the group or gazing idlers.

"Sir, please, Muster Guard!" she cried. "Wull ye do a kindness for a poor body without any pay, just only for the love of God?"

"Well, what is it?" said the guard gruffly. "Profitable business, any way."

"It's only this, sir. Just when you come up to Oak Lodge—that's the doctor's, sir, three mile off, you know,—please blow your horn sharp, and throw it o'er the gate,—this paper, I mean; it's for him to come and see a poor body as I'm afeard is dying. They'll come out and look when they hears the horn."

"Some one belonging to you, good woman?" asked the Squire, bending down from his perch, his quick ear having caught the sound of poverty, and the plea of the love of God.

"No, sir, only in my cottage. My lad found her on the road, faint with tire and hunger, about two hour agone, and he brought her in, and she do seem right done for, and wants to go on, though she can't stand, poor thing, and her money's all gone. You'll drop the letter. Mr. Guard?—And please blow the horn pretty brisk."

"Stay, my good woman, where does she want to go to?" said Mr. Hazelwood. "Guard, there's room inside. Take her, and I'll settle with you."

"Bless you, sir," cried the woman, "she'd be right glad, but we'd have to carry her, and the poor babe's asleep, so it's too late now. She be very bad, rambling in her head too, and looks awful in her black skin."

"A black woman, did you say?—A stranger and foreigner?" said the Squire.

"We're all ready, please, your honour," said the guard, touching his hat, not disposed to delay for a black beggar's story.

"One moment, friends. Just let us hear how far she wants to go, and perhaps she can be helped somehow. Do you know, good woman, where she was making for when your kind lad found her?"

"Yes, sir, she keeps all the while crying out about some place called 'Moat House,' and one Squire Hazelwoods, and begs to be took there, but it must be a big way off these parts."

Before the sentence was ended, Squire Hazelwood had swung himself from the coach-box to the ground.

"I shall wait here, guard," said he. "Give that letter at the doctor's gate, and if my carriage is waiting for me at 'The Nelson,' tell one of the servants to bring it on here, changing horses if needful, and another to gallop home and say all's well, but I am hindered for a few hours, and shall be with them, please God, to breakfast. Now my portmanteau—all right—good-night, guard."

The astonished coachman and guard pocketed their liberal fees with much respect, privately suggesting to the nearest passengers that anybody in distress was enough to hinder Squire Hazelwood, even if he'd been going to meet the House of Lords.

[Illustration: THE START.]

The passengers wondered, the horn sounded, and the horses pranced gaily off.

"Now, my friend," said the Squire to the equally wondering cottager, "take me where you have sheltered this poor stranger."

A few minutes' walk brought them to a neat little thatched cottage on the roadside, where in a rude cradle by the fire rocked a white baby, and on a settle, wrapped in her Indian shawl and supported by the poor woman's coarse pillow, lay the black nurse in charge, evidently exhausted by over-fatigue.

The best nourishment the little inn afforded carefully administered, and the Squire's kind words of encouragement, seemed to revive her a little.

"Tanks, massa," she murmured, "me bery tankful to you. Just like de dear Lord to send good Samaritan dis way. Oh yes, all good Samaritan in dis nice England. Cheer up, ole Phœbe, she do it all yet."

Then dozing a little, and suddenly starting up, she exclaimed,—

"Whar dat pickaninny? Neber let dem get her." And seeing the babe sleeping peacefully, she sank back again, murmuring, "Neber fear, missy. Phœbe keep going till she find de Moat House. Massa Guy tell her she be took in: den lie down and die quiet. Dis kind 'ooman let her lie and rest till morning."

The doctor's gig was at his door when the horn sounded and the letter was thrown down, and knowing the cottager who had hastily scrawled it as one of his honest humble friends, he drove off at once, taking sundry little possible requirements into account.

And after administering a composing draught to the excited over-wrought patient, he comforted her hostess with the assurance that after a thorough rest, she would be able to continue her journey. And the Squire was not slow to convince the doctor of his appreciation of promptitude and kindness.

The night had closed in when Mr. Hazelwood's carriage arrived at the village, and great was his surprise when the door flew open, and his own Dorothy sprang into his arms.

"Why, Dorothy, my little witch, who told you that I wanted you so much? Here's work to do, my lass, and none can do it so well."

Mistress Hazelwood had taken it into her head to go with the carriage to meet him on the road, and somewhat alarmed at the orders brought by the guard, had driven on with fresh horses at once.

Very much surprised was she at the strange story he told, very much gratified also that in her loving haste to welcome her husband home, she had unconsciously come to his aid in a moment of some perplexity.

Phœbe was now on the cottager's bed, calmed into restful slumber, while her kind friends arranged for such accommodation as the cottage and the little inn afforded, until morning should announce the result.

She then opened her eyes wonderingly on the sweet face that was watching for her waking, and that no anxiety should disturb her. Mrs. Hazelwood had taken the child in her arms, that she might be instantly assured of its safety.

"Phœbe been dreaming 'bout de angels," she said. "Is der come take care oh dear missy's chile?"

"The Lord of angels has sent friends to take care of her and of you," said the lady softly; "and you must lie still until you feel quite able to move with comfort."

Then she laid her hand upon the black brow, and felt the yet feverish pulse, while the kind hostess came forward with a tempting breakfast.

"Phœbe get up; 'shamed to lie like big log; can walk now bery quick again."

But poor Phœbe found that her powers would not justify her words, and dismay succeeded her hopeful smile.

"Must go on to de Moat House,—must, must find it soon," she said imploringly. "Massa Guy help poor Phœbe if him know."

"We shall help you, Phœbe; we will take you there as soon as you can travel: you are the very person they want to find."

"Tank de Lord! Massa Guy dere?"

"No, he is still abroad, but safe and well."

"Him safe eberywhere, lady, 'cause him de Lord's chile; him b'lieve de Lord's word. Can't no real bad happen to dem dat loves de Lord. Phœbe bery wrong to fink she die on de road, and missy's dear chile in her arms. No, no, Him not 'low dat."

And drawing the little one to her, she covered it with kisses.

"Then you would like to go on this morning, and rest when you reach The Moat?" said the lady.

"But all de money gone, lady; only chile's few tings left. Whar be dey?" she suddenly exclaimed, with a look of alarm, and feeling for some great pockets.

"All right dere," said she, subsiding contentedly again. "Now, dear lady, you de Lord's angel, and Phœbe do what she tell."

Judging that, notwithstanding her enfeebled state, it would be wise to obtain as speedily as possible the complete rest and comforts of which she stood in need, Mrs. Hazelwood hastened preparations for departure, and the poor black woman was as tenderly "settled in the carriage as if she had been a white lady," the admiring villagers said; while "the real lady" took charge of the child; and after liberally rewarding all who had shared in the act of genuine charity, the Squire turned his horses' heads towards home.

Anxious faces were looking out at Falcon Range, where The Moat interests had become everybody's interests, and the gatekeeper and his wife were on the watch for the carriage.

"All well, Bennett," said the master, meeting the inquiring look with a smile as he drove in.

"Thank God, sir!" said Bennett, reverently lifting his hat. "They'll be mortal glad up at the house, for Miss Evelyn and Miss Maude have been down many a time this morning to listen for your coming."

"We have all cause to be thankful for wonderful things, Bennett," said the Squire.

"Aye, and for things that ain't wonderful, too," said Bennett to his wife, as he closed the gates; "and one of them is, that if there's a good turn to be done, he's the one to do it. I say, wife, didn't you catch sight of a queer bundle in the shay corner? There's some poor body as wanted a lift, I'll be bound, for he'd never pass such on the king's highway without lending a hand."

The wife had noticed, and moreover she noticed that the "bundle" had a curious dark top to it, unlike anything she had ever seen, but if it should even be one of the savages who had helped to rescue Master Guy in his Popish perils, he would surely be welcomed by the whole clan of the Falcon Range as warmly as by the family at The Moat House.

Poor Phœbe was perfectly bewildered at the open doors of the hall, when a youthful resemblance of the lady she already reverenced flew into the Squire's arms with a cry of delight, and another differently, but not less, attractive, greeted Mistress Hazelwood with equal warmth, while an older lady of calm and graceful mien received with smiling astonishment the infant held out to her, and then gazed at Phœbe's dark face with something of dawning comprehension of the fact.

"Dis de Moat House? Dis Massa Guy's moder?" cried Phœbe, clasping her hands with joy. "No 'casion tell, dem like as two stars ob de sky. What for de kind Lord bless ole Phœbe like dis at last?"

[Illustration]