this, a frantic desire to discover and do justice to her injured son possessed Lady Farrington, to the exclusion of all other objects in life. The family lawyers were called in; detectives, public and private, were employed; advertisements were inserted in the agony columns of the journals with the largest circulation in the world. As substantial rewards were offered, numbers of sons were promptly forthcoming. But not one of them was the right one; nor was any information which could be relied upon obtained, neither as to whether Herbert Farrington himself was alive or dead, or whether, in the latter case, he had left any heirs. Lady Farrington endured another and a more bitter disappointment than any she had hitherto experienced in life.
It was not till long after the death of her husband and her occupation of Farrington Court, that the old theory as to the existence of a grandson was revived by her. Why or wherefore no one could understand. Had she come upon any traces of the long-lost son? Or was it merely that her mind, in its increasing weakness, worked back into old grooves? Be the cause what it might, Lady Farrington seemed at times strangely positive that she should find the missing dear one, or his representative, after all. She often hinted, darkly and mysteriously, that there was a great surprise in store for Sir Rupert. Something he little expected would assuredly come to pass when matters were properly ripe. There was no hurry. It was better to make all sure before the mine was sprung. No link in the chain must be wanting. But all would be ready ere long. Then let Sir Rupert look to himself.
All this gave the baronet, who was really the man in possession, but little uneasiness. As the next heir, he had heard long ago of the eager inquiries for the missing Herbert; and although he had resented them then, he had accepted their impotent conclusion as an unanswerable proof that his presumptive rights were not to be impugned. On the death of Sir Algernon his title had not been disputed, and he had succeeded, as a matter of course. Lady Farrington had made no protest. There was no shadow of foundation for a protest. And if not then, would any person in his sober senses think of disputing his rights now, when he had a firm grip of the title, property, and place? Only an old mad woman would harbour such an idea. Even she would hardly dare to raise the question openly, after such a lapse of years. And who would believe her if she did?
He told her so, very roughly, when her allusions became more and more significant. He warned her too that ‘she had better be careful what she said or did. It was a fact well known to the whole country-side that she was quite unable to take care of herself, that she was not responsible for her actions, that her proper place was an asylum, and she might come to that yet if—’
One day, when he had been taunting thus longer and more bitterly than usual, she was goaded into making an incautious reply.
‘The cup is nearly full to the brim, Rupert. Your time is fast drawing to a close.’
‘What new craze is this, Lady Farrington?’ he said, laughing scornfully, but with a black look on his face.
Sir Rupert’s was a hard dark face, with full eyes rather prominent, and a long, drooping, black moustache. When he looked black it was not a pleasant face to see.
‘It is nothing new, Rupert. I have waited patiently, hopefully. I thought the end would never come. It is near at hand now, although the consummation has been long delayed.’
‘Your ladyship’s language is, as usual, clear and perspicuous, yet you will forgive me if I ask you to explain.’
‘Listen,’ she said, as she laid her hand upon his arm, and hissed out her words slowly one by one. ‘Within a few short months, nay weeks, whenever I choose, I can produce the rightful heir of the Farringtons; and he shall come to his own.’
‘This is mere rhapsody, mere raving. You cannot touch me, you know that.’
‘I can, ay, and I will, miserable fool! You have not the shadow of a claim to the title and estates. My grandson, Herbert’s son, lives, and you must make way for him.’
‘Psha! Herbert’s son? How do you know that? What proof have you?’
‘The youth himself. He has been under my charge these five years past, and more. I found him—I myself found him. I knew I could not err. He had Herbert’s eyes, he is Herbert’s image; he—’
‘He must have more proof than this if he is to make good his case in a court of law,’ said Sir Rupert coolly.
‘I know it, and the proof shall be forthcoming. Every link in the chain.’
‘All right. If it is to be war to the knife, so let it be. But I tell you plainly that no one will believe a word you say.’
‘They will believe my beautiful boy, my own Herbert’s boy, when they hear his story from his own sweet lips. He shall come forward himself when the occasion is ripe for him to speak.’
‘Where is he now?’ asked Sir Rupert, carelessly, but with deeply cunning intent.
She laughed in his face.
‘No, no, Sir Rupert, I am not to be so easily beguiled. He is safe, quite safe, to be produced at exactly the right time.’
Sir Rupert gave her another fierce look, which boded her no good, but he said nothing more. He was not exactly disconcerted by her positive assertions, which he only half believed, yet his peace of mind had been rudely assailed. That he must discover the whereabouts of this mysterious claimant, and test the accuracy of Lady Farrington’s far-fetched statements, was clear. It was equally clear that he must, if possible, put a gag upon the old woman, and remove her where she could work no further harm.
CHAPTER III.
’TWIXT CUP AND LIP.
Hercules Albert—or Herbert, as he was henceforth to be called—was not a little taken aback by the sudden change in his circumstances, which followed Lady Farrington’s supposed recognition of him. To be measured for a suit of black cloth, which befitted best the Larkins’ notion of gentility; to have a brand new box, painted green, with sundry new shirts, new boots, and a broad-brimmed wide-awake hat, all his own; these were so many delicious surprises, the full effect of which was fully borne in upon him by the openly-expressed envy of the rest of the family. But it was a wrench to him when the time came to leave his home—the only one he had ever known—to lose the companionship of his playmates, and the warm, though roughly-expressed, affection of the sergeant and his wife.
‘Be a man, Herkles,’ the sergeant had said, as the boy stood snivelling at the door of the casemated room, which represented the whole of the Larkins’ establishment. ‘Eat your cake.’ They had provided him with a huge slice of bun-loaf, upon which little Sennacherib Larkins, a freebooter like his Assyrian sponsor, had made many inroads while Herbert’s attention was distracted by the new cares of property and the pangs of making his adieux.
‘Eat your cake, and keep up your heart; me and the missus’ll be over to see you before the month’s out, and we’ll bring Rechab and Senn and Jemimer Ann.’
‘It’s all for your own good, Herbert,’ said Mrs. Larkins. ‘They’re going to make a gentleman of you. You’ll get learning, and Latin, and French mathematics; and by and by you’ll be an officer, perhaps, and live like a lord.’
The prospect was brilliant, but remote.
