The Fortunes of the Farrells

by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

  BERNARD FARRELL'S HEIR.

  "I'm not sorry; I'm _glad_!" cried Mollie, while a rain of tears rolleddown her cheeks. "He was old and was tired, and everyone he loved hadgone before him. It will be like going home to meet them again. He wasgrim and cross and suspicious, but I loved him all the same, and in hisqueer way I am sure that he liked me too. I'm thankful he is at rest!... `Will write details.' Thursday!--that means that she will write onThursday evening. Mrs Thornton is nothing if not businesslike. Weshall hear from her by the second post on Friday. By Friday at teno'clock we shall know our fate. To be, or not to be--that is thequestion. Oh, I hope--I hope he has remembered us a little! There isno chance of inheriting the Court, as we once dreamt of doing; butstill, there is a hope, and it will be a shock to bury it for ever. Iused to feel comparatively indifferent; but the strain of these last sixmonths has made me greedy; while you, you dear goose, who used to be allambition, are in such a ludicrous condition of bliss that you can hardlyrouse yourself to take any interest in the question! What it is to beengaged!"

  Ruth tried to look contrite, but succeeded only in smiling seraphically.

  "When you are perfectly happy it is impossible to be happier, and Ihonestly don't care very much. I should like Uncle Bernard to leave mea nice message, and I shouldn't at all object to a legacy, which wouldprovide my trousseau; but the Court itself would be a white elephant tome now. Donald adores his work, and would not give it up for anyconsideration, so we could never live there ourselves."

  "You might lend it to a poor but deserving family! Astonishing as itmay appear, there are a few other people in the world beside yourselfand Donald, and they are not all going to be married and live happilyever after!"

  This time Ruth did, indeed, look contrite, and that without an effort.

  "Oh, Mollie, I am horribly selfish! Forgive me, darling! I honestly doforget everybody but ourselves sometimes; and it is hateful of me, forwhen I am so happy I ought to be more sympathetic, instead of less. Iam, when I remember! I am so bubbling over with happiness and good-willthat I feel inclined to kiss everyone I meet. But there is so much tobe thought about, and every time we meet there seems to be more, and Iget lost in dreams."

  "Bless your heart, don't apologise to me. I like it!" cried Mollieheartily. "I know your heart is right; and it's a poor thing if loverscan't live in a world of their own for a few weeks of their life. I'mthankful beyond words that your future is settled. But oh, what a helpa few hundreds would be to the rest of us just now! I feel as if Icould hardly live until Friday morning, I am so anxious to hear thenews! And the mysterious condition, Ruth! Do you realise that we shallknow all about it in three more days?"

  "I wonder!" sighed Ruth dreamily. Then, with sudden animation, "If itis good news,--if either of us came in for something really big, MrsThornton would wire! She simply could not wait. She is far tooimpulsive!"

  It was an unfortunate suggestion, as it added tenfold to the strain ofwaiting. The minutes seemed to drag on Thursday afternoon and evening;but no telegram appeared, and Mollie's heart sank heavily. She knewbetter than her sister how difficult it was to make both ends meet, andwhat a long and arduous task it would be to pay off the loans which hadtided the family through their time of need, and she was tired--as anynatural, high-spirited young thing would be--of all work and no play,and eagerly longing for a respite. Mr Farrell had expressly statedthat he would not divide his property; but that did not prohibit smalllegacies, and when he knew that his nearest relations were in straits,surely--surely...

  Mollie was up and dressed even before her usual early hour the nextmorning, for sleep was impossible in such a whirl of nervous anxiety.Ruth kissed her before departing to her work, and said--

  "Rush down to me, dear, if there is anything good to tell. I shall lookout for you about eleven."

  Mollie set about her household duties with great fervour, so as to makethe long hour pass by more quickly. At last ten o'clock struck, andalmost at the same time came the sound of the postman's rat-tat. Sheflew to the door, arriving at the very moment that three letters fellinto the box.

  One was of that long, narrow shape, which inevitably foretells a bill; asecond was unmistakably a circular; the third-- Mollie stared at it,turned it over, looked at the postmark, stared at the writing again, ina whirl of bewildered dismay. It could not be an ordinary, unimportantletter from the children's aunt at Brighton! It could not! The thingwas impossible! Yet why, then, the address to Trix, the well-knownwriting--most of all, the horrible postmark?

  She put her hand to her head, wondering if it were true, or only ahorrible nightmare that Mrs Thornton had not written, after all!

  The little mother came creeping out of the dining-room, and, seeing herchild's blanched face, was persistently optimistic. Absurd to give uphope because a letter did not come by the first possible post! Ahundred things might have happened to cause a delay; and, even if it hadbeen posted in time, the post-office was not always infallible.

  Mrs Farrell recalled stories of belated letters from her ownexperience, and related them at length, while Mollie went numbly abouther work. The disappointment was severe, and seemed like a foretaste ofworse to come. Nevertheless, as time went on, her naturally buoyantnature asserted itself, and, as each delivery drew near, excitement grewto fever-pitch.

  One o'clock, and a letter for the maid; three o'clock, and the postmanwalked past the door. Poor Mollie! The sound of his departingfootsteps rang like a knell in her ears, and two hot rebellious tearsrose to her eyes. It did not seem possible that anything would haveprevented the kindly Mrs Thornton from keeping her promise except sheerinability to communicate bad news; and bad news meant that her own nameand Ruth's were not mentioned in the will, and that everything went toVictor Druce. Oh, it was hard to give up so much to so unworthy asupplanter!

  The children came home from school and settled down to their "prep."Mrs Connor retired to her room for a rest, and Mollie took her way toher stepfather's little den to set a match to the fire, and hold anewspaper before it to make it blaze cheerily in preparation for hisreturn. It was one of the pleasures of the day to make the sanctum lookcheery and home-like for the tired man, and to-day there was anadditional impetus in the knowledge that he would share in her owndisappointment.

  Mollie knelt by the grate, holding the newspaper in place--a tired,disheartened little Cinderella, who would have liked to lay her head onthe table and indulge in a good cry. But such luxuries are not for thebrave-hearted; so she resolutely blinked away the rising tears, and,rising to her feet, lighted the crimson-shaded lamp on the writing-table. Its rosy light had a wonderfully beautifying effect on thelittle room, giving an air of luxury to the commonplace furnishings; andwhen the curtains were drawn, and the easy-chair drawn up to the fire,it was as bright and cheerful a little interior as one need wish to see.

  Mollie looked round with a glance of satisfaction, then suddenly rushedinto the hall at the sound of a loud knock at the door. So soon! Shehad not expected the next delivery for another half-hour at least. Noletter appeared in the box; so, with wild visions of a legal missive,registered for greater safety, she threw open the door and peered outinto the night.

  A man's tall figure stood on the step; but it was not the figure of apostman. Mollie leant forward--the light from above shining on cheeksflushed from contact with the fire, and ruffled golden head--leantforward, and stared into his face with incredulous eyes.

  "Mollie!" cried a well-remembered voice, which broke into an eloquenttremor over the name.

  "You!" cried Mollie! "Mr Melland! It can't be! What does it mean?You can't really be here!"

  He laughed at that, and took a step forward, like the masterful Jack ofold.

  "I am here; it is myself, and nobody else! I'll tell you all about itif you will let me in. It's rather cold to-night, you know."

  She held the door wide open at that, and hurried him across
the hallinto the little, pink-lighted room, which she had just prepared foranother's reception. There they stood face to face, staring at eachother for a breathless moment.

  "I thought you were in Raby--"

  "So I was yesterday. I left this morning, and came down by the firsttrain."

  "Mrs Thornton promised to write. I thought you were the postman justnow; and, of course, one cannot help being curious.--Have you come totell us anything nice? Did Uncle Bernard remember us at all?"

  "He has left your sister his wife's rubies. They are very beautiful, Iam told, and of considerable value."

  "Oh, I am glad! Ruth will be pleased; and she will be able to wear themwhen she is married. How beautiful she will look! And--and me?"

  Jack shook his head.

  "Nothing? Not even a word to say he forgave me for coming away?"

  "There is a letter. You will see it later on. What I meant was thatyour name was not mentioned in the will. He left you no legacy."

  Mollie sat down in the easy-chair, and leant her head against thecushions. In spite of all that had passed, in spite of everydetermination to be prepared for the worst, the blow fell with crushingweight. She was conscious of a feeling of physical weakness, as if thebody shared with the mind in grieving over the vanished dream; but shetried bravely to smile and look unconcerned.

  "Then I suppose he--Victor Druce--inherits all?"

  Jack looked at her with anxious eyes.

  "You expected it, didn't you? You are not surprised? It seems to havebeen generally taken for granted for the last six months."

  "Yes; so Mrs Thornton said. If it had been anyone else I should notgrudge it so much. And you are left out too! I wish--oh, I wish it hadbeen different!"

  Jack Melland took a step forward, and bent over her chair.

  "Mollie," he said softly, "shall we console each other? I have beenwaiting until this question was settled before coming to see you. Itseemed an endless time to wait, but I couldn't come till I knew thetruth. How could a poor fellow, with a few beggarly hundreds a year,approach a girl who might be one of the biggest heiresses in thekingdom? But I didn't forget you--I couldn't forget. I have beenthinking of you night and day. It was all the harder to be silent whenyou were in trouble; but it was the straight thing to do. You can'ttell what it means to me to see you again! When you opened the doorjust now, and the lamp-light showed me your little golden head--"

  He broke off, with the same strange quiver in his voice which had markedhis first utterance of her name; but Mollie shrank back still further inher chair, staring at him with troubled eyes.

  "What do you mean? I don't understand!"

  "It's simple enough--only that I love you, and want you to love me inreturn!"

  "But--don't you remember?--you told me about her--the girl you met, andloved at first sight. Suppose you met her again, and felt the same;then you would be sorry if I--"

  "Oh, Mollie, do you mean to say you have remembered all this time, andnever guessed! It was yourself, darling; there never was anyone else!I think I must have cared for you from the first, though I did notrealise it, for I was irritated that I could never get you to beserious. You were like a child out for a holiday--full of fun andmischief--and I wanted to talk of deeper things. Then one day for amoment you showed me a glimpse of your real self--the sweet, womanlyheart that lay beneath the gaiety; and as I looked at your face Irecognised it, Mollie. It was something I had dreamed of when I did notknow I was dreaming, and wanted, without knowing what I wanted! I sawthat look again five minutes after I had told you of my lost love, asyou looked at me and wished me happiness. Why did you look sad, Mollie?Were you--were you sorry at all?"

  Mollie put her hand to her side with a gesture as natural as it wascharming.

  "It hurt," she said simply. "I never, never dreamt that you meant me,and I have tried hard not to think of you ever since; but I didn'tsucceed very well... Why did you always write to Ruth instead of tome?"

  Jack laughed happily, and with a lover's privilege seated himself on thearm of the easy-chair, and took Mollie's hands in his.

  "Because, as I told you before, you darling, I was waiting. And do youreally think you could make up your mind to marry me on next to nothing,and live in a tiny house, and wrestle with the household bills? Do youthink I am worth the sacrifice?"

  Mollie smiled at him, shyly confident.

  "I'm so improvident that I'm afraid I'd marry you on nothing. I haven'ta copper of my own, remember. You will have a penniless bride. Oh, Iwish more than ever that Uncle Bernard had left me something, so that Imight help you! It does seem hard, doesn't it, that Victor Druce shouldget it all?"

  Jack hesitated a moment, tugging at his moustache with his unoccupiedhand.

  "I didn't say that, you know. I never told you that he did."

  "Jack!"

  The name slipped out so naturally on the surprise of the moment thatthere was a prolonged interval in the conversation, while Jackacknowledged the compliment. Then Mollie returned to the attack,laughing and rosy.

  "You asked if I were surprised. You said everyone had taken it forgranted!"

  "Exactly; so I did. But for once everyone was mistaken. Druce has notcome in for the property."

  "Then, who--who--"

  "Someone equally unworthy--an ungracious rascal of a fellow calledMelland. It is all mine, Mollie--all that there is to leave!"

  And then Jack did a pretty thing--a thing that he would have sneered atas high-flown and sentimental a few months before; but no man reallyknows himself or his capabilities till he loves and is beloved. Heslipped off his seat, and knelt on the floor at Mollie's feet.

  "And I have come to you," he said gravely, "to ask you to share it withme, for it's worth nothing, and worse than nothing, if I have not you bymy side!"

  He held out his hand as he spoke, and Mollie laid hers in it, while herface confronted him, white and tense with excitement.

  "I can't--I can't believe it!" she gasped. "It is too wonderful! Youand me! That lovely, lovely place; and we the masters of it, able to doas we like--just as we like, all the summer days, and the winter days,and the beautiful spring, and no more anxiety and trouble! Jack--Jack!"

  Her head went down on his shoulder, and he held her fast while she sheda few natural tears of joy and thankfulness.

  "My poor girl--my dear girl! Yes, it is all over, and the money is asmuch yours as mine. I feel sure Mr Farrell meant it to be so, and thatyou will find something to that effect in this letter he has left you.He discovered my secret before I left Raby, and said plainly how much hewished it success. There, darling, read your letter! I hope you mayfind some kind words to comfort your heart."

  Mollie broke open the envelope, which he handed to her. It was a solemnbusiness, reading a message from the dead, and her big eyes looked quiteawestruck as they scanned the page. There were only a few words,written in a small, tremulous hand:--

  "My dear Mollie,--I leave you nothing, hoping that you may share all. That is my strong wish, and I believe I am helping on your happiness by an apparent neglect. Try to forgive me for refusing your last request. It would have been easier to consent, but I considered that a short period of anxiety would be a blessing in disguise, if it showed you who were your true friends. If a man comes forward and offers you his love in the days of obscurity and poverty, that man's love is worth having. I hope and believe it will come to you. I thank you for your kindness to an old man. Forgive him for all his offences, foremost among them an unfounded suspicion.--Your friend and kinsman, Bernard Farrell."

  "There! You see how right I was?" cried Jack in triumph. "In effect,we are joint heirs, and have equally free hands in the disposal of themoney. You must settle an income on your mother which will ensure heragainst anxiety, and then you can come away with an easy mind, and helpme to turn into a country squire and learn my duties to the tenants.You told me once that he would be hard-worked if he were conscient
ious,and I want to do the thing well while I am about it. This is December.I mean to be married in January, at latest!"

  Mollie laughed, but with a somewhat tremulous sound. The change ofscene which had taken place within the last quarter of an hour was socomplete, so extraordinary, that she felt dazed by the shock. Not onlyhad undreamed-of happiness come to herself, but with it such relief andease for all belonging to her, that they would rejoice equally withherself. It did indeed seem more like a dream than a reality, as, withJack's arm round her waist and her head resting contentedly upon Jack'sshoulder, they drifted off into one of those delightful conversationswhich follow all happy betrothals.

  "Do you remember?" queried Jack. "Do you remember?" echoed Mollie."What did you mean when you said?"

  "How did you feel when you heard?"

  "When did you first begin?"

  "And are you quite sure you will never, never--" It is all as old as thehills, and as new as to-morrow morning, though each separate pair oflovers imagine in their innocence that they own the exclusive monopoly.

  "Jack!" cried Mollie at last, sitting suddenly upright and clasping herhands in amaze. "Jack, imagine it! All this time I have forgotten themost thrilling part of all. The condition--the mysterious condition!What was it? What did you do, or leave undone, which made you differentfrom the rest of us?"

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

  CONCLUSION.

  "Aha!" cried Jack. "I wondered when you were coming to that! It wasindeed something of which we could never have thought! Mr Farrell hadlearnt by sad experience that real happiness cannot be purchased bymoney, so had determined to leave his fortune to the one who cared forit least--that is to say, to the one who put other things first--love--whole-hearted, disinterested love, such as he himself had felt for hisbeautiful wife; and honest work, enjoyed for its own sake more than forwhat it will bring! Ruth was out of the running from the start, for sheshowed so plainly that, to her, money meant happiness. There must havebeen a time when he wavered in favour of Druce, who played his partremarkably well; but on the whole, it was my obstinate, ungracious selfwhich approached nearest to his ideal. He knew that I loved you, butthat I should never venture to ask you to be my wife if you were a greatheiress; so as he himself writes, he left you nothing, hoping that youwould share all. I want you literally to realise that, darling--and tofeel that the money belongs as much to you as to me!"

  Mollie smiled at him in her sunny, candid fashion.

  "Oh, I shall!" she said simply. "I mean to. There are so many thingsthat I want to do for the dear people here, and they would like thembetter if they came from me. Uncle Bernard was a dear, sweet old thingto scheme for our happiness, and I adore him for it. I certainly putlove before money, for I would marry you if we had to play an organ inthe streets or sing sentimental ditties out of tune, but it will be likea fairy tale to live in the Court--with you!"

  "It will, indeed! I don't feel indifferent to fortune any longer nowthat it has brought us together. When the Will was read aloudyesterday, I did not know whether I was standing on my head or my heels.I rushed down to the vicarage, and good little Mrs Thornton cried uponmy neck, literally she did, Mollie!"

  Mollie smiled at him with love-lit eyes.

  "But oh, Jack, there's something else--Victor? What about him? Was heterribly disappointed? Did he get nothing?"

  "No! not a cent!"

  "Did Uncle Bernard leave no word of explanation or good-bye?"

  "There was no note, but there was an envelope and an--an enclosure,"said Jack gravely.

  He put his hand in his waistcoat-pocket and drew from his pocket-book anunmounted photograph.

  "Druce opened this in the library after the Will was read, stared at itfor a moment, then threw it in the fire, and dashed out of the room. Itfell on the grate and the lawyer picked it up and gave it to me."

  He held out the photograph as he spoke, and Mollie bent eagerly over it.It was Ruth's missing picture of the library at the Court--one of thelongtime exposures which she had taken on the eventful morning when thedesk had been opened in the squire's absence. The nearer part of theinterior was clear and distinct, but the further half was blurred as ifsomething had moved while the plate was still exposed, while leaningover the open desk was a man's figure, dim and blurred indeed, butrecognisable in a flash as that of Victor Druce!

  Mollie's face was white to the lips as she raised it to meet Jack'sglance, and he put his arm round her protectingly.

  "Yes; I knew you would be shocked! It is easy to see what happened.After Druce went out, ostensibly for the day, he slunk back unseen, andentered the library by the window. The blur across the picture shows inwhich direction he crossed to the desk. Meantime, Ruth had put hercamera in position, and as the exposure would be a long one in such adark room, she had gone away and left it there. Druce would nevernotice the little camera perched on a side-table, and when he heard Ruthreturning he, no doubt, hid himself hastily behind the curtains; but hehad remained sufficiently long at the desk to give a definite impressionof his figure. The camera was discovered after you left, and the squirehad the plates developed in the village. He must have had the curiosityto examine them before sending them on, and one can imagine his feelingsupon finding the solution of the mystery which had troubled him so much.I have no sympathy for Mr Victor Druce; I am only profoundly thankfulthat Ruth escaped his clutches. Don't let us talk of him any more. Wewant only pleasant subjects on this great night, sweetheart!"

  "And there are so many pleasant subjects to think of. It will be such alovely experience to play fairy godmother to people who have had a badtime; the first of all comes the dear pater. There's his key in thelatch! Be nice to him, Jack; he has been so good to us!"

  "Come, then!" said Jack, rising, and holding out his hand towards her."Let us go to meet him together, and you shall tell him that he has anew son, and that all his troubles are at an end?"

  THE END.