farther. I have since reproached myself for my lukewarmness, but I acted under the advice of Doctor Spencer. After his abrupt departure, he wrote to me from an hotel in London, saying he was going abroad, and in all probability should not return for two or three years; but Mr. Carteret found out that he was still in town, and sent him a cheque for three hundred pounds. The cheque was returned at once, accompanied by a letter, stating that he would accept nothing from Mrs. Calverley.”
“His conduct is inexplicable!” said Sir Bridgnorth. “But I suppose some effort has been made to communicate with him?”
“Every effort has been made, but without any satisfactory result. He left the hotel I have mentioned with the expressed intention of going abroad. Whether he really did so, we have been unable to discover. We fear he has no resources. We know from Norris, whom he took into his confidence while he was here, that he had very little money.”
“That is dreadful!” exclaimed Sir Bridgnorth. “He was pointed out to me a year or two ago, at Ascot, and I thought him a remarkably fine young man; but I was told he was very wild and extravagant – played and betted heavily.”
“He has been very extravagant, Sir Bridgnorth. Poor papa paid his debts more than once, but could never keep him in bounds. That was the reason why he left him dependent upon mamma.”
“So I understood,” said Sir Bridgnorth; “and I think he did quite right.”
“I am sure he acted for the best,” replied Mildred; “and I am quite certain Mrs. Calverley would have carried out papa’s intentions had she been able, but Chetwynd thwarted their designs by his fiery and ungovernable temper. Heaven knows what will become of him!” she exclaimed, the tears starting to her eyes. “It makes me very unhappy to think of him.”
“I fear I have distressed you,” observed Sir Bridgnorth, much touched. “Perhaps I ought not to have spoken?”
“I thank you sincerely for talking to me about my poor brother,” she replied. “I may appear indifferent to him, but I am not so. I love him dearly, and would do anything for him. But I know not how to proceed. Such is the peculiarity of his temper – such his pride, that if I could find him, he would accept nothing from me if he thought it came from Mrs. Calverley. Even if he were starving, he would refuse aid from her.”
“Well, I must try what I can do,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “He can have no antipathy to me. The first thing is to discover where he is. I will see Carteret, and hear what he has to say.”
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Sir Bridgnorth!” cried Mildred, with effusion. “You are, indeed, a father, both to poor Chetwynd and myself!”
Just then Mrs. Calverley reappeared.
“No more on this subject before mamma, I pray, Sir Bridgnorth!” said Mildred. “It would be painful to her.”
“I will be careful.” he replied.
Mrs. Calverley came to say that luncheon was ready. And they went into the house with her.
IV. PORTRAITS
Mrs. Calverley did not produce quite so favourable an impression upon him, though he thought her very beautiful, and very clever. She seemed to him wanting in heart – perhaps designing.
Taking this view of her character, he came to the conclusion that she had married Mr. Calverley for his money, and possibly might have alienated him from his son.
Three or four of Mildred’s admirers called during the afternoon, and they all seemed surprised at finding Sir Bridgnorth so much at home at Ouselcroft. They could not believe that Mildred had accepted him – yet it looked rather like it.
The young lady, however, did not trouble herself much about them; but, leaving them to stroll about the garden with Mrs. Calverley, she took Sir Bridgnorth to the library, telling him she wanted to show him a picture.
It was the portrait of a very handsome young man, painted by a well-known artist of the day. The features were regular and finely formed, and very haughty in expression. The likeness was excellent, and Sir Bridgnorth recognised it at once.
“‘Tis your brother Chetwynd,” he said, “and wonderfully like him. I should have known it anywhere.”
“He was extremely handsome then,” observed Mildred; “but I fear he must be much changed now. At that time, he thought he should have all his father’s property, and expected to marry the beautiful Teresa Mildmay.”
“Yes; I know the story,” said Sir Bridgnorth, “and do not wonder at his vexation at the double disappointment. He has suffered much for his hasty temper. Things look very dark just now; but let us hope all may come right in the end.”
She then drew his attention to another picture. “Your father. Yes; I see. Time was, when I should have turned away from his portrait; but I have quite forgiven him now.”
“Since poor papa’s death, Mrs. Calverley cannot bear to look at that portrait,” remarked Mildred. “But for my entreaties she would have it put away, and she now rarely enters the room.”
“That is not surprising,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “The portrait awakens painful memories.”
“But I am always pleased to look at it, and I loved papa dearly!” said Mildred. “I often come here by myself, and think I am with him.”
At this juncture, their discourse was interrupted by the sudden entrance of the very last person they expected to see.
V. THE POCKET-BOOK
It was Chetwynd.
He looked pale and haggard, and his features had a sombre and stern expression, very different from that depicted in the canvas before them.
He closed the door after him as he came in, and started on perceiving Sir Bridgnorth, whom he evidently had not expected to find there.
Uttering an exclamation of mingled surprise and delight, Mildred sprang towards her brother, and flung her arms round his neck. While returning her embrace, he said in a low voice, “Who have you got with you?”
“Sir Bridgnorth Charlton,” she replied. “He takes great interest in you, and has just been making inquiries about you.”
“Not many minutes ago, I told your sister it would give me sincere pleasure if I could render you any service,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “I did not expect so soon to have an opportunity of saying the same thing to you. I beg you will look upon me as a friend.”
“I am greatly beholden to you, Sir Bridgnorth,” replied the young man. “I have very few friends left.”
“Mine are not mere idle professions, as you will find, if you choose to put them to the proof,” said Sir Bridgnorth.
“You speak so earnestly and so kindly that I cannot but credit what you say,” rejoined Chetwynd; “and I am the more inclined to believe you, since I have never done you a favour. Indeed, if my recollection serves me right, you have more reason to dislike than to befriend me.”
“Your sister will tell you that the past is forgotten.”
“Sir Bridgnorth has a noble heart,” said Mildred. “You may speak
