Maud Florence Nellie; or, Don't care!
Page 22
carried it off by ordinary greetings as to theson of a neighbour, whose acquaintance he was ready to make, and Alwynhardly waited a moment before he entered on the matter in hand.
He took out the jewel that he had shown to Edgar in the wood and laid iton the table.
"I can at least return to you this piece of your family property, LadyCarleton," he said.
"My mother's jewel, the ruby bird!" faltered Lady Carleton, hardlyknowing what this implied.
"And," said Alwyn, "I will ask Sir Philip Carleton to be good enough toread these papers."
These contained the confession of Lennox, already alluded to by HarryWhittaker to his aunt, and the attestations of it, of which he had showncopies to the Warrens.
"That Lennox stole the jewels, and returned one of them on his death-bedto me, Whittaker has told some of his relations," said Alwyn, "but themain fact of the matter has only been confided to my father, as you willsee that it would not do to make it public. This Is the substance ofwhat he told me as nearly as possible in his own words:
"`I put the jewels for safety in a hollow tree near the entrance toRavenshurst. I thought they were safer there than in my keeping. Ikept one back to take it up to London, and see if I could dispose of it,but before I could do so the alarm was given. I was afraid to come backwithout a reason, and I went off with my new master, leaving the jewelsin the tree, and thinking they'd either be found (I have never been inEngland since), or I should get a chance of coming back for them. But Iput it off and I put it off. I took service with Mr Alwyn Cunninghambecause I thought I could find out how things had gone; and I hope hewill go home and find the jewels.'"
"This is a most extraordinary story," said Sir Philip.
"It is," said Alwyn. "Of course it rests finally on the unsupportedwords of myself and Whittaker, who alone heard it. These other papersand letters may show what worth is attached to our words in our ownneighbourhood, but that is all."
"Then do you mean to say," ejaculated Sir Philip, "that these missingjewels are--are in an old tree trunk in Ashcroft Wood?"
"Well," said Alwyn, "all I can say is that Lennox said that he put themin one."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Sir Philip.
"But, of course," Alwyn continued, "some one _may_ have lighted on themduring these eight years and carried them off, to say nothing of thedifficulty of finding them. For he had done it, he said, in the dark,and though he could have found the tree himself, he could not tell meanything about it, except that it was near Ravenshurst. You see he wasdying fast, and spoke with great difficulty."
"Do you remember the man, Lily?" asked Sir Philip.
"I think I remember something about a servant who went to America. Oh,Philip, you will have every place searched--you will help MrCunningham? If the jewels could be found! But I don't mind so muchafter all about that if no one is accused falsely."
"As to that," said Sir Philip, "I know Mr Dallas, of Boston, and theBishop of. I knew them when I was once in the States, the year before Imarried. What they say here is quite sufficient to establish the worthof Mr Alwyn Cunningham's testimony and the character of his foreman,who is more concerned in the matter. You will allow me to call on you,Mr Cunningham, and to express my pleasure at your return."
"Thank you," said Alwyn, a little stiffly, for the situation sorelytried his pride. "I am much obliged to you," he added, after a moment.
"And, Alwyn," said Lady Carleton, with tears in her eyes, "can you everforgive me for my silly trick, and for being too frightened to tell ofit at once? Oh, I have never--never forgiven myself."
"I don't think it is easy for any of us to forgive ourselves, LadyCarleton," said Alwyn, "for that night's work. But your share was avery small one."
"The fact is," said Sir Philip, "the thing was never properlyinvestigated. Mr Fletcher was afraid that the silly trick would cometo my ears--too soon. I needn't say--since you know my wife--that I atonce heard of it from her. The chance was lost. But what is to be donenow? You yourself believe this story?"
"Oh yes," said Alwyn, "I do. There was no object in deceiving me. No;I am sure Lennox had not sold the jewels, and made up the story of theold tree."
"We cannot let it get about that the wood is full of diamonds," said SirPhilip.
"No," returned Alwyn with a laugh; "neither Whittaker nor myself couldresist a little bird's-nesting, but it was, of course, unwise. That waspartly why I wished to make myself known first to my brother. I did notknow then that part of our misfortunes."
"Ah! poor fellow," said Sir Philip, "he is sadly helpless. But yourreturn will be a capital thing for him. His life must be rathersolitary."
"Yes, I fear so," said Alwyn. "I will go back to him now, with manythanks for a most kind reception."
"Lily," said Sir Philip, when their guest was gone, "I believe youngCunningham told the truth and the whole truth, to-day. But I didn't."
"What in the world do you mean, Philip?"
"Why, only yesterday I got a letter from old Dallas, giving a wonderfulaccount of him and his high character out there, but wanting naturallyto know how Mr Cunningham's eldest son came to be there at all. I waswondering what I could say, for it was very evident that he had a reasonfor asking--there's a lady in question, I imagine--when to-day he turnsup."
"Oh, Philip, we _must_ find the jewels!"
"We must; but it passes me to know how to set about it."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
SUNDAY AT HOME.
On the next Sunday morning the bells of Ashcroft Church were ringing foran early celebration of the Holy Communion. Many eyes were turned onAlwyn Cunningham as he walked down the village in the fresh sweetness ofthe summer morning. Such early church-going was not according to MrCunningham's habits, and probably Alwyn was the last person that any oneexpected to see practise it, for the formal confirmation of a carelesspublic schoolboy had never been followed up, and in old days he hadnever been a communicant. The change from former habits was so markedthat the conservative villagers of Ashcroft looked at him verydistrustfully, as if they wondered why he came.
Perhaps Alwyn had forgotten what it was to be the observed of allobservers; perhaps he had learnt that only thus would he obtain the helphe needed in a most painful position. His father had accepted hisstatements as to Lennox's confession, and had allowed such a search forthe jewels as could be made without publicity to be commenced at once.He also acknowledged in a more indirect way that his son had become arespectable member of society, fit to visit at his house; but he did notopen his heart to him, nor forgive him, except in a formal manner.Alwyn felt that his father did not trust him, he knew that hisengagement to an American lady would not tell in his favour, and heguessed that the marked and complete change of attitude as to religiousmatters, the account of which, indeed, had been intended for Edgar only,would be viewed with suspicion. Mr Cunningham, after reading theletter, had touched on no point but the lost jewels, and Alwyn hadaccepted his silence and the situation, and talked diligently when theymet, and at meal times, of general topics.
But when old Mr Murray saw him this morning he wondered if theinaccessible Cunninghams, who had always been so polite, and on suchstiff term with him since his coming to Ashcroft, would approached bythe unlikely channel of the returned exile.
Certainty anything less like the irreverent, light-minded youth whom hehad heard described than Alwyn's serious face could hardly be imagined,and Bessie Warren could not help wondering what he was thinking of, asshe saw him look round before he turned away, as if noting the oncefamiliar scene.
Edgar had been so weak and so much shaken by all that had passed that hehad been content to take his brother's presence for granted, and whenAlwyn realised how very solitary such hours of languor and sufferingmust usually have been, he cared little what his presence there costhimself, if the sight of him made Edgar's eye brighten and gave him anypleasure, however small.
To-day, however, Edgar was better, and his interest and curiosity beganto r
evive. He had been lifted on to his couch by the open window, andhad sent a message to Wyn to bring his black eyes to be looked at, andafter a little space of the eager watching of the outdoor world that wasalways so much to him, he said to Alwyn:
"Where is that letter that you wrote for me? I could read it now, andI'm as much in the dark as the first day I saw you."
"Here it is," said Alwyn; "shall I read it to you or tell you about it?Is your head well enough to read it?"
"Oh yes; I can stop if I'm tired. I had rather have it."
Alwyn gave him the letter, and went on with the one that he was