by L. T. Meade
himselfwriting, while Edgar studied the long document for some time in silence.
Presently Edgar talked a little about the jewels and the chances oftheir discovery, observing that whoever poked about in the dark or onthe quiet, hunting for them, would certainly get shot by the zealouskeepers who had laid hands on Alwyn.
"There's nothing for it but setting the forest on fire," he said.
"No, no," said Alwyn, "the jewels are not worth a tree of it."
Edgar gave him one of his keen glances, under which the colour mountedto Alwyn's brow.
"My father has given Warren orders to be thorough over it," he said.
Edgar said nothing, and returned to the letter.
"Are--are you writing to Miss Dallas?" he said presently, with a rathershy intonation.
"No; I have not that privilege. To her brother."
"Tell me about her. What's her name?" said Edgar.
Alwyn was nothing loath.
"Corinne is her name," he said; "they use it in America." And then hewent on and told Edgar a great deal, for which there is no space in thisstory, and as he talked his face grew happy and eager, and Edgarlistened a little wistfully.
"Now it will be all right for you?" he said.
"I think so--I hope so. Mr Dallas only wished to be certain that nocomplications could occur in the future. He does trust me, and issatisfied with my position there. My father has said all that isneedful."
"And when shall you go back, Val?" said Edgar.
The bright eyes were still resolute and clear and the voice steady,though with a little strain in it.
Alwyn looked at the white fragile face, and could not find voice for amoment to answer.
"You mustn't stay too long and spoil me," said Edgar, "unless you comeback again very quickly."
Alwyn came nearer and sat down by his side.
"My boy," he said, "you know I did not come home only to clear my wayfor my great hopes. I did come to seek for pardon and to try to undo alittle of the past. There's a long time to make up for; there is nohurry. You need not think about parting yet; that is, if my father--"
Alwyn broke off, and Edgar lay still, twisting his long weak fingersround the hand he was holding.
"I think you might promise to stay--as long as I want you," he said. "Ishall let you go--soon."
"I promise," said Alwyn gently, and again Edgar was silent, till he saidin a different tone:
"Well, that's all as it may be. One must take what comes."
"What is sent," said Alwyn.
"Val," said Edgar after another silence, "it was very curious. Justbefore you came back I dreamed about you. I saw you. I knew youdirectly. But I saw that you were changed; your face was like it isnow--not as it used to be. You _are_ different."
"Yes," said Alwyn, "I am different."
"Tell me," said Edgar.
Perhaps Alwyn had never found anything so hard as to enter on an accountof what some people would call his "experiences" to his brother, but hesaid quietly:
"When I grew to love Corinne I found out what I had made of myself by mylife. Beforehand, I thought since I had pulled myself together and allmy offences had been before I was twenty that all was right. But Ican't tell how, through loving her, my sin against my father, and thebad example I set you, came back upon me. I felt how hard and selfishand callous I had been all along. Whether she cared for me or not, Iwasn't worthy to know she existed."
"Go on," said Edgar, as Alwyn paused, conscious that Edgar was notexactly a comprehending listener.
"Well," said Alwyn, "as for religion, you know I never had thought aboutit. I don't believe as a family, we're given to thinking, and, apartCorinne, young Dallas was a new idea to me. Of course his ways andwords put much into my head. But it was the earthly love that wasgranted to me that showed me what that Higher love might be. And when Ihad once said to my Heavenly Father, `I have sinned,' there was nothingfor it but to come and say the same to my earthly one, even--even if heis less merciful."
Edgar listened with great surprise, but with no doubt whatever of theabsolute sincerity of the speaker.
"Well," he said, "as for me, I've had something to make up my mind to.I was determined no one should say I was beaten. I had to give up thearmy and to know I could never walk, but I've got along and put a goodface on it. `Never say die' is not a bad motto. Well now, you see,I've known for some time that I should _have_ `to say die,' soonerrather than later--very soon, I fancy. When I was last laid up, I madeold Hartford tell me the truth, and I've faced that out too. What mustbe, must."
"It would have taken less pluck, my boy, to face the enemy, if you hadgone into the army, than to face your life here," said Alwyn tenderly."I thank God, who made you of that sort of stuff."
Edgar looked somewhat struck by this remark.
"One got through things by saying, `I don't care how they go,'" he said."And so, Alwyn, it's been great good luck to have seen you, and youmustn't stay here if things are not smooth. I shall pull along--soremember you haven't made any rash promises. Corinne mustn't thinkyou're not in a mortal hurry to get back to her."
"Corinne will understand," said Alwyn with a smile. "Come, I mustn'tlet you over-talk yourself. There's Wyn on the terrace."
"I say," exclaimed Edgar, "he has made a spectacle of his little redphiz. Here, Wyn! Are you ready to take me out again?"
"Yes, sir; oh yes, sir. Are you ready to come?"
"Very soon, I hope. And how are all the creatures? Has the fox beenbehaving himself?"
"Yes, sir, but one of the little hedgehogs has got away, and themoor-fowl, sir, I'm sorry to say they constantly diminish. Fatherthinks there's rats about--or a cat, sir."
"Whew! That's a bad look-out. Alwyn, you haven't seen the ZoologicalGardens?"
"Please, sir, should I bring anything up for you and Mr Alwyn to lookat?"
"Let's have the little Scotch terriers. I'm thinking, Wyn, of taking upthose beetles that live in decayed wood--in old trees. You'll have tohunt 'em up for me."
"Very well, sir, but I don't know as even Granny would like _them_about," said Wyn, as he went after the dogs.
"Granny? You have seen old Bunny, Val?"
"Oh yes. That was a real welcome. But, Edgar, surely it could bemanaged for her to come and see you; she wishes it so much."
"I should like to see her again," said Edgar. "I missed her when shewas crippled, too, poor old dear!"
As he spoke, Geraldine, having come back from church and let out Apollo,joined them, and presently Mr Cunningham, walking home by himself,paused a moment in front of the terrace, as a sound, unheard for many ayear, fell on his ears--the clear ringing laugh of his first-born son.So had Alwyn laughed in days before they quarrelled, so had he laughedwhen his mother had been alive to hear him, and when Mr Cunningham, ifa rather cold father, had been at least a proud one.
The three puppies, Apollo, a young fox terrier, and a little rough Skye,were sitting up on their hind legs in a row, under the tuition of Wyn,who squatted on the ground opposite them. Geraldine was looking on,holding her breath with delight, while Alwyn, leaning against the windowby Edgar's side, was laughing heartily and teasing Geraldine about herpet.
"Three to one on the little ruffian! Apollo's nowhere. His back's toolong, and the fox terrier's too frisky. Bravo, Wyn! You ought to keepa circus; they're steady yet."
"I should like to, sir, uncommon, and train the performing dogs, sir,"said Wyn.
"You look as if you had been practising for the clown," said Edgar, ashis father came forward on to the terrace.
Down tumbled the puppies and up jumped Wyn, retreating hastily. Alwyngrew stiff and grave in a moment, offering his father a chair, andGeraldine looked, as she felt, disappointed at the interruption.
Mr Cunningham sat down. It was the first time that the family had beenthus all together, the first time he had seen his three children side byside for more than eight years. He noticed them. He observed thatGeraldine
was growing a tall, stately girl, with the promise ofdistinction if not of beauty. He noticed the hopeless delicacy ofEdgar's look, the son whom he had made his heir; and he looked at thehandsome, grave, strong face of the son he had disinherited, and for thefirst time he confessed to himself that he looked fit, at any rate, tobe the master of Ashcroft.
And why were they all so grave in his presence? That Alwyn should bereserved was right enough, but the others? He had heard them laughingand at case together. He saw Edgar turn naturally to Alwyn to do
