"Insult--robbery--disgrace!" continued Sir Murray, without heeding him.

"Everything, in his revenge for my unhappy marriage, he heaped upon my head. Twice, for long s.p.a.ces of time, I exiled myself; till now, when, after twenty years, I come back to spend the rest of my days in peace in my old home, I find my enemy's son grown up and ready, the moment I plant foot upon the English sh.o.r.e, to waylay me, and accost Miss Gernon with his impertinent persecution. I warned you--I sought in every way to discourage you; your own heart must have told you that every word addressed to that girl was an insult to me, and that, even would I have stooped low enough to have permitted it, any union was impossible; and, still finding in her her mother's weakness--the weakness your vile parent betrayed--you persevered. You knew, too, that she was engaged-- that I had made arrangements for a suitable marriage; and, doubtless, you found in that a good lever for moving her--telling her that she was the victim of paternal persecution. Dishonour, dishonour, dishonour! in every step dishonour, trickery, and deceit; winning upon her, by clandestine meetings, till I find that she has stooped so low as to suffer, here in a public thoroughfare, in the presence even of a menial, a low groom, what I myself witnessed--what has, before now, become the ribald jest of the servants in the Castle. I do not ask you to refrain; that, I know, is useless. I do not ask you to plead the excuse you have ready--the paltry drivellings of your _love_, as you would doubtless call it. Son of a base and cowardly trickster, you inherit all your father's villainy, and I would horsewhip you as I would some base groom, only that I look upon you as too low--too contemptible even for that!"

He paused for a few minutes, as if for breath, scowling the while at Brace Norton, who, with flushed face and set teeth, stood bearing it all, whispering that one name again and again, as a talisman to guard him from forgetting himself, and, in some furious outburst of pa.s.sion, striking down to his feet the lying denouncer of his family.

"I know that it is in vain to appeal to you as I would to an honourable man," continued Sir Murray, pale with rage, "and here you drive me to my last resource; for sooner than that weak, drivelling girl should be your wife, I would see her in her coffin! But I have no need for that: plastic as wax in your hands, she can be plastic as clay in mine. I can mould her to my wishes, in spite of all you have done. I can treat you in the same way, even to making you give her up--now, at once, before you leave this ground. I have kept this shaft for the last, wishing to try all else first; and had I had to deal with an honourable man--with an officer and gentleman," he said sarcastically, "this shaft would never have been loosed."

"Look here, Sir Murray Gernon," exclaimed Brace, now thoroughly roused, "I am a frank, plain-spoken sailor. The deck of a man-of-war is no school for polish and etiquette; but I tell you this to your teeth, that you know that what you have said to me this day is a base, calumnious tissue of cruelty, such as no gentleman should have uttered. Nay, it is my turn now; I listened to you in silence, you shall hear me. You know my father to be an honourable man; you know, too, that my love for your child has been the result of no plotting and planning, but of circ.u.mstances alone. You know how accident has thrown us together, and before Heaven I vow that man never loved woman with a purer--a holier love. I say it now before you, without shame, without fear, for I am proud of it--proud, too, of knowing that my love is returned. Do you, with all your pride, imagine that young hearts are to be directed here or there according to your wish or whim? You know better; and that we cannot govern ourselves in such matters. I leave here for sea in a few days' time, and I tell you what I have told her; that I bind her by no promises, that I ask nothing, merely time--time to clear away these clouds that overshadow our youth--"

"Have you nearly finished?" exclaimed Sir Murray, interrupting him; and his old mocking smile appeared upon his face.

"Yes," said Brace, sadly; "I have done, Sir Murray. I hope some day that you will know me better. But I tell you this: that so long as life is in me I'll never give her up; and, what is more," he added fiercely, "I know she will be true to me, even without the tie of promise or troth!"

"I told you that this was my last arrow, and I fly it reluctantly,"

hissed Sir Murray, as he leaned towards the young man; "before I loose the string, I ask you will you give up all pretension to the hand of that child?"

"No!" exclaimed Brace.

"It is an arrow whose flight will be sharp and aim sure, young man. I warn you that it will quiver in your heart, and its barbs will rankle there for life. Once more, will you give her up, and come here no more?"

"No!"

"Will you not for your mothers sake? But there, I know the baseness of your heart. Isa Gernon, and the prospect of Merland Castle and its many acres, are not to be given up so easily. I knew your answer; but, in a fit of madness, I thought I would give you, as you are young, one chance of playing the honourable man. You will not give her up, then?"

"No--_no_! Are you a demon? Why do you tempt me like this?" cried Brace.

"Yes," said Sir Murray, leaning closer and closer towards the young man, whose hot words he did not seem to have heard, so drawn and strange was his aspect--"yes, you will give her up, and I will tell you why: I hate her--yes, bitterly as I hate you; but I have some feeling yet left in me, and I will not see this wrong done. Look here: your path is across the sea; go, and at once. Yours is an honourable calling; try and root out all the base, and be an honourable man. Do not come near Merland again for years; but before you go, write to Isa, and tell her that you give her up, that all is at an end, and that a union is impossible. You have influence with the weak child: tell her, then, as your wish, that she should raise no objection to the match I propose."

"Are you mad, sir?" exclaimed Brace.

"No, young man," said Sir Murray; "but I have suffered enough to make me so. Do as I tell you, since she never can be yours, for--"

He leaned forward, laying one trembling hand upon Brace's shoulder, his face the while drawn and distorted, as he whispered, for a few moments, in the young man's ear.

They were few words to which Sir Murray Gernon's lips gave utterance; but they sent a flash of rage through Brace Norton's heart, as, catching the baronet by the throat, he exclaimed:

"How dare you utter so base--" He said no more; but his hands dropped to his sides, as he seemed to read in the baronet's livid and distorted features the truth of his utterance. For a few moments the young man stood motionless, a sob of horror and despair rending his breast as he struggled for utterance; the next minute, with the same blind, groping pace--the same aspect of misery seen a quarter of a century before on his father's face--an aspect that might have betokened the judgment for a father's sin descending upon the son--Brace Norton, broken-hearted and half-stunned, hurried away.

Book 2, Chapter XIX.

AGAINST HOPE.

Father--mother? Whom could he fly to for advice at such a time? Brace Norton asked himself. To neither. He knew what his father's counsel would be, and that his mother, while sympathising, could not help him.

Reveal the words spoken to him by the baronet he could not. After the first few hours of agony--of bitter agony--that he had suffered, he would not even revert to them himself. He could not but think that Sir Murray had felt what he said to be true; but, for himself, he felt that it was monstrous. He believed that his mother had told him all she knew, and he was ready to cast his life upon the honour and truth of his father. There was no failing of confidence between them, and he reddened with shame at having, even for a moment, credited the baronet's a.s.sertion. Give up Isa? No; not while he had life! His course was plainly enough marked out; he could see it now: it was to be his duty to clear up the mystery that had long hung over Merland Castle, and he would do it. Happiness might yet be the result for him; but even if it were not, there was in the eyes of many yet living a stain upon his fathers fair fame. That stain he would wipe away, even to the convincing of Sir Murray Gernon.

He must, he felt, keep every thought and act from those who were dear to him--the subject was too painful even to be broached in their hearing.

Where, then, should he commence?--for his time was but short ere his vessel would be refitted, and he must join. The old steward, McCray?

No; he had found him close and reserved. Jane--Mrs McCray: the woman of whom Isa always spoke so tenderly--who had nursed her from a child, and had been Lady Gernon's confidential maid? She could help him, perhaps; but would she? He could try, without waiting for Isa.

Brace Norton pondered long as he strove to contrive a plan for seeing Jane, but only to decide at last that he must write.

He wrote a long, earnest appeal, such as he felt he could write in safety to so staunch a friend of Isa's. He told, in frank, earnest terms, of his love, of his sorrow for the dense cloud that existed between the two houses, and of his determination to pierce it. His letter breathed throughout his firm faith in his father's honour--words which, of course, to Jane McCray, would convey the young man's faith in her mistress, though her name was not mentioned; and Brace concluded by imploring Jane to tell him all she knew, keeping back nothing that might aid him in his endeavours to find a clue that should bring to light the causes of the sorrows that had so long overshadowed the houses of Gernon and Norton.

He sent his letter, and waited one--two--three days; on each of which he had the misery of seeing Isa at a distance riding out, accompanied by Lord Maudlaine.

On the fourth day, though, an answer came, written in very guarded language, but all the same, whispering of pity and a plainly-expressed hope that for Isa's sake Mr Brace Norton might be successful in his quest; but help, Mrs McCray said, she could give him none--she had nothing she could tell more than was known already by Mrs Norton.

Simple facts, these; and with one exception--that of Jane's suspicions-- Brace was already well-informed, every word being treasured deeply in his heart.

Brace Norton's brow knit as he thought over again and again the narrative of his mother. If his father would but take counsel with him, and they together tried to investigate the matter, he felt that all would be well; but he dared not broach the subject in his presence, and once more he turned to himself for aid.

There was the disappearance of that cross: what could have become of that? The answer was plain enough--his parents' and his own suspicions must be correct: Gurdon, the old butler, must have stolen it. Sir Murray had accused him of it; and if proper search had been made, no doubt it would have been found. Twenty years transportation he was to suffer, and that period must be up now some time; was it possible that, upon a promise being given him that no further prosecution should follow, and a bribe were supplied, he would afford such information as should prove to the satisfaction of all what had become of the cross?

No doubt he would--_if alive_!

Brace determined to try and trace Gurdon--to see if he had returned to this country; and, leaving home, he sought out the proper official place at which to apply, and learned that John Gurdon had completed his term of servitude, and had then been set at liberty. That was all. He had been set at liberty twelve thousand miles from England; nothing further was known.

"I shall meet him, perhaps, during my cruises," muttered Brace, bitterly; and he returned home utterly disheartened.

Then he turned his attention to the disappearance of Lady Gernon. What had become of her? Elopement was out of the question. Had she, moved thereto by Sir Murray's harsh treatment and cruel suspicions, fled, to pa.s.s the rest of her life somewhere at peace? If so, without doubt, in the course of twenty years, she must have been heard of. That supposition was not likely, and he dismissed it, to give place to a dread fear that, sick of life, she might have sought rest in direct opposition to the divine canon. But Brace could not harbour that thought. Lady Gernon had always been painted to him as too pure-minded, patient, and suffering a woman to fly to such a refuge; she was rather one to suffer and pray for strength to bear it.

"Of what are you thinking, Brace?" said Mrs Norton, tenderly, as, entering his room, she found him brooding over a new suspicion that had entered his mind.

He started as she spoke to him, and tried to drive away his thoughts, and to speak to her cheerfully; but the same dire suspicion came again and again, and at last, as she urged him to speak--to confide in her--he said, almost in a whisper:

"Mother, I was wondering if it were possible that Lady Gernon was murdered!"

Mrs Norton shuddered as she recalled the visit of Jane McCray, and the disclosures she had made--every word of which, in spite of the great lapse of time, now seemed to occur to her as plainly as if they had been spoken but a few hours since.

"Hush, Brace!" she whispered, her face a.s.suming an aspect of horror.

"The idea is too dreadful. Think, too, of what it embraces."

"Yes--yes, I know," he exclaimed, impetuously; "but, mother, this must be cleared up. I will have all brought to light. I should have said nothing but for your questions, rather choosing to pursue my own course."

"But think, Brace--think of Isa. Suppose such a revelation as you seek to make, how then?--consider how it would affect her. My son, had you not better suffer than bring such a charge against her father?"

"Her father--Sir Murray Gernon? I never suspected him of so foul a crime. Mother, you have something you keep back from me. You have suspected him of this, then, perhaps years ago."

Mrs Norton said nothing, but her agitated countenance spoke volumes; and rising from his seat, Brace exclaimed, bitterly:

"Oh! mother--mother. Is there an evil fate hanging over us? Everything seems to militate against my prospects of happiness. If I had never seen her--if I had never seen her!" he groaned.

"Brace, my son, be a man!" exclaimed Mrs Norton, her eyes the while swimming with tears. "You are young yet, and women's hearts are not so frail as novelists would paint them. Wait on and hope. Live in the happy thought that Isa loves you; and, if she be her mother's child, no threat, no persuasion will tempt her to give her hand without her heart.

You are young, very young yet, and time may prove all--may lay bare the secrets of the past. I did suspect him. Promise me that you will hold my words secret as the grave, and that you will make no use of them, for Isa's sake, and I will tell you."

"Mother," said Brace, bitterly, "I would cut off my right hand sooner than speak a word that would injure any one belonging to her. Say what you will, you cannot alter what I see already. It is all plain enough.

My hands are chained, and I must, as you say, live on and hope."

"Yes," he said, after Mrs Norton had told him of Jane's visit, "it is possible that all may have been her hallucinations; and it is as possible that--there--no, it is impossible, and I will not harbour the thought. Mother dear, you must teach me your old resignation, that I may wait patiently for the good time when all shall be made plain; for I will wait, you helping, though,"--he said, with a sad and mournful smile--"that time may not be on this side of the grave!"

Book 2, Chapter XX.