Trevlyn Hold Part 97

"Did you want me?" asked the Squire.

"I beg pardon, sir. It was the other Mr. Rupert Trevlyn that I come up about. He has been so unfortunate as to get into a bit of trouble, sir."

"Oh, that's nothing," said the Squire. "Mr. Chattaway withdraws from the prosecution. In point of fact, if any one prosecuted it must be myself, since the ricks were mine. But I decline to do so. It is not my intention to prosecute my nephew and heir. Mr. Rupert will be the Squire of Trevlyn Hold when I am gone."

"Will he though, sir?" said Mr. Dumps, humbly.

"He will. You may tell your people at the station that I put up with the loss of the ricks. What do you say--the magistrates? The present magistrates and I were boys together, Mr. Constable: companions; and they'll be glad to see me home again; you need not trouble your head about the magistrates. You are all new at the police-station, I expect, since I left the country--in fact, I forget whether there was such a thing as a police-station then or not--but you may tell your superiors that it is not the custom of the Squires of Trevlyn to proclaim what they cannot carry out. The prosecution of Rupert Trevlyn is at an end, and it never ought to have been inst.i.tuted."

"Please, sir, I had nothing to do with it."

"Of course not. The police have not been to blame. I shall walk down to-night, or to-morrow morning, to the station, and put things on a right footing. Your name is Dumps, I think?"

"Yes, sir--at your service."

"Well, Dumps, that's for yourself. Hush! not a word. It's not given to you as a constable, but as an honest man to whom I wish to offer an earnest of my future favour. And now come into the Hold, and take something to eat and drink."

The gratified Dumps, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his heels, and inwardly vowing eternal allegiance to the new Squire, stepped into the Hold, and was consigned to the hospitality of the lower regions. Mr. Chattaway groaned in agony when he heard the kindly orders echoing through the hall--to put before Mr. Dumps everything that was good to eat and drink. That is, he would have groaned, but for the questionable comfort of recollecting that the Hold and its contents no longer belonged to him.

As the Squire was turning round, he encountered Diana.

"I have been inquiring after my nephew's chamber. Is it an airy one?"

"Your nephew's?" repeated Miss Diana, not understanding. "Do you mean Christopher's?"

"I mean Rupert's. Let me see it."

He stepped up the stairs as he spoke, with the air of a man not born to contradiction. Miss Diana followed, wonderingly. The room she showed him was high up, and very small. The Squire threw his head back.

"_This_ his room? I see! it has been all of a piece. This room was a servant's in my time. I am surprised at _you_, Diana."

"It is a sufficiently comfortable room," she answered: "and I used occasionally to indulge him with a fire. Rupert never complained."

"No, poor fellow! complaint would be of little use from him, as he knew.

Is there a large chamber in the house unoccupied? one that would do for an invalid."

"The only large spare rooms in the house are the two given to you,"

replied Miss Diana. "They are the best, as you know, and have been kept vacant for visitors. The dressing-room may be used as a sitting-room."

"I don't want it as a sitting-room, or a dressing-room either," replied the Squire. "I prefer to dress in my bedroom, and there are sufficient sitting-rooms downstairs for me. Let this bed of Rupert's be carried down to that room at once."

"Who for?"

"For one who ought to have occupied the best rooms from the first--Rupert. Had he been properly treated, Diana, he would not have brought this disgrace upon himself."

Miss Diana wondered whether her ears deceived her. "For Rupert!" she repeated. "Where is Rupert? Is he found?"

"He has never been lost," was the curt rejoinder. "He has been all the time within a stone's throw--sheltered by Mark Canham, whom I shall not forget."

She could not speak from perplexity; scarcely knowing whether to believe the words or not.

"Your sister Edith--and James Chattaway may thank fortune that she is his wife, or I should visit the past in a very different manner upon him--and little Maude, and that handsome son of Tom Ryle's, have been in the secret; have visited him in private; stealthily doing for him what they could: but the fear and responsibility have well-nigh driven Edith and Maude to despair. That's where Rupert has been, Diana: where he is.

I have not long come from him."

Anger blazed forth from the eyes of Miss Diana Trevlyn. "And why could not Edith have communicated the fact to me?" she cried. "I could have done for him better than they."

"Perhaps not," significantly replied the Squire: "considering that Chattaway was ruler of Trevlyn Hold, and you have throughout upheld his policy. But Trevlyn has another ruler now, and Rupert a protector."

Miss Diana made no reply. She was too vexed to make one. Turning away, she flung a shawl over her shoulders, and marched onwards to the lodge, to pay a visit to the unhappy Rupert.

CHAPTER LIX

NEWS FOR MAUDE

You should have seen the procession going up the avenue. Not that first night; but in the broad glare of the following noon-day. How Squire Trevlyn contrived to make things straight with the superintendent, Bowen, he best knew. Poor misguided Rupert was a free man again, and Policeman Dumps was busiest of all in helping to move him.

The easiest carriage the Hold afforded was driven to the lodge. A shrunken, emaciated object Rupert looked as he tottered down the staircase, Squire Trevlyn standing below to catch him if he made a false step, George Ryle, ready with his protecting arm, and Mr. King, talkative as ever, following close behind. Old Canham stood leaning on his stick, and Ann curtsied behind the door.

"It is the proudest day of my life, Master Rupert, to see you come to your rights," cried old Mark, stepping forward.

"Thank you for all, Mark!" cried Rupert, impulsively, as he held out his hand. "If I live, you shall see that I can be grateful."

"You'll live fast enough now," interposed the Squire in his tone of authority. "If King does not bring you round in no time, he and I shall quarrel."

"Good-bye, Ann," said Rupert. "I owe you more than I can ever repay. She has waited on me night and day, Uncle Rupert; has lain on that hard settle at night, and had no other bed since I have been here. She has offended all her employers, to stop at home and attend on me."

Poor Ann Canham's tears were falling. "I shall get my places back, sir, I dare say. All I hope is, that you'll soon be about again, Master Rupert--and that you'll please excuse the poor accommodation father and me have been obliged to give you."

Squire Trevlyn stood and looked at her. "Don't let it break your heart if the places don't come back to you. What did you earn? ten shillings a week?"

"Oh, no, sir! Poor folks like us couldn't earn such a sum as that."

"Mr. Rupert will settle that upon you from to-day. Don't be overcome, woman. It is only fair, you know, that if he has put your living in peril, he should make it good to you."

She was too overcome to answer; and the Squire stepped out with Rupert and found himself in the midst of a crowd. The incredible news of his return had spread far and wide, and people of all grades were flocking to the Hold to welcome him home. Old men, friends of the late Squire; middle-aged men, who had been hot-headed youths when he, Rupert, went away to exile and supposed death; younger ones, who had been children then and could not remember him, all were there. The chairman of the magistrates' bench himself helped Rupert into the carriage. He shook hands twenty times with the Squire, and linked his arm with that gentleman's to accompany him to the Hold. The carriage went at a foot-pace, Mr. King inside it with Rupert. "Go slowly; he must not be shaken," were the surgeon's orders to the coachman.

The spectators looked on at the young heir as he leaned his head back in the carriage, which had been thrown open to the fine day. The air seemed to revive Rupert greatly. They watched him as he talked with George Ryle, who walked with his arm on the carriage door; they pressed round to get a word with him. Rupert, emanc.i.p.ated from the close confinement, the terrible _dread_, felt as a bird released from its cage, and his spirits went up to fever-heat.

He held out his hands to one and another; and laughingly told them that in a week's time he should be in a condition to run a race with the best of them. "But you needn't expect him," put in Mr. King, by way of warning. "Before he is well enough to run races, I shall order him off to a warmer climate."

As Rupert stepped out of the carriage, he saw, amongst the sea of faces pressing round, one face that struck upon his notice above all others, in its yearning, earnest sympathy, and he held out his hand impulsively.

It was that of Jim Sanders, and as the boy sprang forward he burst into tears.

"You and I must be better friends than ever, Jim. Cheer up. What's the matter?"