Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 332 — page 23: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Spring-Heel Jack. a against your mother, but the truth—when the facts are what I have said, the verdict of the surrounding country is generally that as the two have made their bed, so they must lie. It was so in this case. The cap- tain thought that old Mackay, who sold snuff and tobacco, would be so much honor- ed by the fact of his daughter having mar- ried an officer of his majesty’s Guards, that he would forgive her at once, and spend his money like water, to do the match proper honor. But Sandy Mackay was not like English tradesmen, who adore a lord, He had a notion that his daughter had done wrong to disobey him, and he refused to have anything to do with the pair. And then creditors were pressing the handsome captain, and the regiment was shifted to other quarters. And so the old man saw his daughter no more, and the captain had to do what he could to raise money. He had to sell out and et into a marching regiment which went to India, and there he was, when old Sandy died, and left no will behind him. The money came to Janet by the operation of law, and her husband set to work to spend it as fast as could be done.” Here, as the malicious old lady paused again, George who had been listening atten- tively, put in quietly: ‘«'This is all very interesting, Lady Balcar- ras, and shows that you hated my father cordially, but Ido not see that you are per- forming your promise yet,” The old lady waved her hand airily: ‘*T never forget my promises. It was necessary to tell you what I have, that you might understand what follows. A large ortion of Janet Mackay’s fortune lay in d, in the town of Aberfeldie, and the young couple went to live there. I had mar- ried my lord, just before, and well remem- ber what a fine figure they cut, when they came there, with their curricles and car- riages, when the rest of us were content to live soberly and within our income, as be- comes Christian people. predicted, it was not long before the ex- travagance of the captain Sronight its usual consequences. Money ran short, and they began to sell the land. And about that time came the scandals that I told you of.” George leaned forward as she said this, eager to hear the worst, and the old lady went on in her high-pitched voice, eying him keenly as she spoke, to note the effect of her words. ‘“You know that there are many Gypsies in this country, and a few in Scotland. We do not let them get the upper hand there, as ou do here; and in consequence there are ut few there, and what there are are more noticed. But there are times when even Gypsies are found rich, and the Scotch Gyp- sies are different from any that I have seen here. They engage in all sorts of trades, and accumulate considerable money. One of them was named Mathias Spring—” George started. ‘** What name did you say?” ‘“‘Spring,” said the oldlady calmly. ‘‘ Do you know the name?” George leaned back, rather pale. ‘‘No, nevermind. Ihave heard it before; that is all. Pray proceed.” ‘‘Mathias was a horse-dealer, and well known throughout the country, as a man that could cheat the best jockeys in a bar- gain. But he had a great deal of money, and the captain was very fond of horses, And 60 the story came that Mathias had got the best of the captain, and that Howard was deeply in debt to him. 1 do not know the truth of the matter, or how the Gypsy got the captain in his power; but it was a mat- ter of notoriety that the fine English officer was seen everywhere with the Gypsy, and that he compelled his wife to receive him at her table. And as Mathias was a handsome man—one of the handsomest I ever saw, though he was a Gypsy—it was said that the lady, who was frequently left by her hus- band, for weeks at a time, alone, was more intimate with the handsome Gypsy than a properly conducted lady should be. And er say— ere George rose from his chair, pale, and trembling with anger. “And this was what you allowed me to come here to listen to? You dare to throw doubt on the memory of my mother! And, as we all had’ Woman, it is lucky for you that you ave a woman. But you have a husband, and he | ; shall be answerable for the false reports that — ! man that is worthy to be the first duke in | England, I have told you something that ‘You don’t understand what I am talking | you have spread.” Lady Balcarras stared at him. about, is better you should hear it from me, than to have it thrust on you, by being spread abroad, in the news of the day.” With a strong effort George controlled _ best can.” himself and sat down again. ‘Go on,” he said. Lady Balcarras spoke more rapidly than before, as if she had, for the first time, begun to respect the young man. ‘*T do not insinuate that your mother did anything wrong, sir. This is all that there is of it. At the time you were born your father was away, and when he came back the servants at the house—for servants will gossip, you know—told in the town that he said strange things about you, and refused to look at you. After that the Gypsy was with him all the time, and you were left in Scotland, while the captain went off to the race-courses in England, leaving your mother alone at Aberfeldie. The separation was a matter of public notoriety in the town, and when at last your mother was sent for to England, she left you behind in the care of servants, and you were finally sent to an uncle of your mother’s, where you were Sri the news arrived that your brother was orn.” George, who had been listening more attentively as the story progressed, here shifted his position. He remembered well the first great event in his life, when he was a child, just beginning to be sensible. He remembered the news coming to him, and how he had said, as soon as he saw ‘the dark-eyed child, that it was ‘‘not his brother.” Lady. Balearras noted his interest and said: ‘‘T thought I should find something that would show you that I am telling the trath. You were sent for when the news came of the birth of your brother, and as my lord had, ae about that time, received the posi- tion in the household that he now holds, I went to England. I went to visit your mother, for we had been acquainted in ‘A berfeldie, and in a strange country any one, from one’s own home, of course, is better than a stranger. I went to her house and found her all alone with her servants and the new infant, deserted in the very time when it would seem as if her husband should have been by her.” ‘‘ Well?” said Howard impatiently, seeing that she paused again in her story. ‘‘ What was the purport of your visit, and what did you discover? Can you not see that you are putting me in torture, all the time, or do you wish to do it on purpose?” Lady Balcarras shook her head. ‘*T have no desire to torture any one, sir. It is a sad story, that I have to tell; and, if you had not come to me as you have, | would not tell it at all. I paid your mother a formal visit, but, as soon as she saw me, | she burst into tears, and the sight melted my woman’s heart, We had a confidential con- versation, and she confided to me the fact that the child in her lap was not her own, but that the captain had made her take it, and own it, by the threat of an exposure of the doubt that had been cast on yowr birth. There, sir, now you know all. The man that has taken the fortune of the Duke of Norfolk is not your brother; but neither, oe are you the son of Captain How- ar »» ‘‘And is that all you have to say?” asked the young man, very pale. “That is all. After the revelation made me by your mother, which she made me pledge myself to keep secret—” “And well you have kept the secret!” in- terrupted George, bitterly. ‘‘Had such a secret been intrusted to me, I should never have revealed it while I lived. ‘‘fo what does it tend?" ‘‘ Only to this,” said the old Scotechwoman coldly, ‘‘that Rose Reid is the daughter of a valued friend of mine, and, till the stain is taken from your birth, there is no place for you in the world. The title of duke may yet go to another.” ‘You mean the man who is called my I am only beginning my story. It | ' Sorc ee eee ee ee ee 22 brother,” said George, still more bitterly. ‘That is like your notion of justice.” ‘‘T mean no such thing. If you are the may be of service to you. Your mother told me that your brother was not her son, and that Mathias Spring was its father, and had compelled your father to take it into his house as his own. Work on that, as you CHAPTER XXXIII. THE RESULT OF THE REVELATIONS. As the old lady spoke, she rose from her seat with a severe air, and intimated, by her manner, that the interview was over. George was so stunned by the news that he could hardly realize what he had heard, and it was in a pleading way that he said: ve Lady Balcarras, let me ask one question if you please. Did my mother say that Cap- tain Howard was not my father?’ The old lady pursed up her lips. “She did not. Buton that question I did not press her. She asseverated, in the most solemn manner, that she was innocent of any wrong to your father, and that he had treated her in the most cruel manner, from the time that he found her father would not relent. She hinted that she could tell more, if she dared, but she told me that the truth would never be found out till Mathias tm Pan compelled to tell it.” ‘* Then I will find him and wrin him, if it costs me my life,” said George sol- emnly. ‘‘One question more, and I have done, Lady Balearras. Is this Mathias Spring yet alive, think you, or not?” Lady Balcarras shrugged her shoulders. ‘“*T cannot tell. He wasa Gypsy, and at that time rich; but who knows where he is now? Good-morning, Mr. Howard.” And George went slowly out of the room, as if he were dazzled with the light, and could not see his way plainly. When he got into the garden, he took his way to his quarters, to think over it all. He had known very little of his mother, for she had died soon after the birth of Oliver, and he had but a faint rar! of her, as a gracious, kind creature, who had petted him, and that was all. Now he had learned the truth, that she had been cruelly treated by his father, and that, for some reason, that father had fallen into the power of a Gypsy named Spring. Then he remembered the name of his own orderly, and resolved to ask him if he knew — such person. he resolve was taken as he was going to his quarters, and the first person he saw, as he neared them, was the identical Spring, at the door, scouring away at a belt, as if he had been an orderly all his life. He rose and saluted his master respectfully ; and George who knew the suspicious nature of men of his stamp, said nothing of what was nearest his heart till he had entered the room and taken off his boots, muddy from his long ride. ‘* Wil! your honor have dinner at the mess or here?” asked the orderly. ‘“‘Here,” said Howard. ‘‘ And—by the by, Spring, have you any family?” “Family, your honor?” the Gypsy asked, in return, his eyes indicating surprise. He did not answer the question, and George repeated it, in another form: “Yes. I thought that you might have some father or mother that you might want a leave of absence to visit, for a few hours, occasionally, without running the risk you did, the other day, when you were pun- ished.” The Gypsy seemed to be struck with the kind way in which the thing was put, so he answered without any more hesitation: “Well, yes, your honor, I’ve an old fa- ther and mother, as camps on ‘Amstead ‘Eath, jest about now; but, Lor’ bless yer honor, they don’t care fur me, no more’n to git all they can out of me.” ** Let me see: what did yeu say your fa- ther’s name was? John, like your own?” ‘Not a bit of it, your honor. My father come from ’Ungary, ye know, where there’s a lot of people, and ‘is name’s the same as most of ‘em, out there. Some’s George, and some’s Mathias; but my father ’e took the name of Mathias, ye know.” ‘That's all. Get the dinner, as soon as it out of <S (ECON MICE BONO) (E(@) eo = -— —