BIFFINS LEE had really so much to do of a forenoon about the Queerest Show on Earth that unless some particular rehearsal was on he did not trouble much to look after any of his people, each one of whom had duties to perform. But about two o'clock in the afternoon of the day following that on which poor Lotty had fled, Mary sought audience of the boss.
'Lotty never returned, sir. She was to stay all night with Crona, and I fully expected her back to breakfast. I am very anxious.'
So was Biffins now.
'Start Chops off at once,' he cried 'to Crona's house to make inquiries.'
Chops was glad of the excuse, and so was Wallace; for the honest dog, at all events, made sure of finding the loved one.
When Chops returned he went directly to Lee's tent.
'Lotty be gone, sir—clean gone hoff.'
'Eh? What! are you mad, boy?'
'W'ich I don't think so, Mr Biffins Lee, an' sir to you.'
'Does not Crona know anything about it?'
'Twixt you an' me an the dooroocoolie, Mr Lee, an' you needn't let it go no furder, I think that it was Crona 'erself that sent Miss Lotty away to live with a great-grandaunt of hers.'
'Great-grandaunt of whom, you fool?'
'Why, Crona's as ever was!'
'Don't stand there and cheek me, or I'll break every bone in your ugly carcass.'
'An' that ain't callin' me my lord, is it, sir?'
'Go and find her, I tell you. Find her, find her. Can't you see I'm a ruined man if she returns not, and the show is ruined?'
'Not much it ain't, boss. You still has me, as Micawber's wife said to 'im. An' you has Bruin an' the Living Skeleting.'
'Go and find Lot, I tell you. You are in the plot. I feel sure you are.'
'Do you now?'
'You—you—you'—— Biffins couldn't find a word strong enough to fling at the fat boy.
'Suppose,' said Chops, with provoking coolness, 'that I says I sha'n't. An' suppose I sings like this 'ere:
Biffins Lee had a huge iron paper-weight in his hand, and this he launched at Chops's head with all his force. Had it struck the boy he never would have breathed again. But he ducked in time, and the weight shivered a huge flower-pot—a property. Chops picked up the paper-weight.
'Now, listen, boss. I gives you warnin'. I'm hoff, an' I takes this 'ere triflin' memento mori with me. An' if ye hattempts to foller'—— Chops balanced the terrible paper-weight on his palm by way of emphasising his words. 'Good-bye, Biffins Lee. Think of me w'en far away. No more at present from your confectionate friend an' lovier trew, Chops, 'is mark. W'ich I is hever a-thinkin' on you, Bill.' And Chops marched straight away and never once looked back.
Biffins threw himself back in his chair. 'Ruined! ruined!' he cried. 'Lotty, my infant prodigy and violinist, gone! And now Chops my merman!'
The very next morning the Belhivey Chronicle came out with a long article headed:
It commenced by describing what is still known as Mermaid Bay, entirely surrounded on three sides by tall, perpendicular rocks on which not even a seamew could find footing. Then it went on to say:
'It will be in the recollection of our worthy fishermen readers that it was here where the mermaid and merman appeared to many people. It was at the time impossible not to believe that these were real denizens of the deep, human though their faces and arms and shoulders were. They appeared suddenly, and as quickly dived and were seen no more.
'But now the bubble has burst, and it is we who have burst it. A curious cave has been found on the wooded grounds of D—— MacD——, Esq., which is always full of water, but which has a wide opening below its rocky side opening into the sea beyond. Any ordinary diver can easily, therefore, take a header, swim through the aperture, and find himself in the open sea under the cliffs; and, there disporting as a mermaid, or a sea-lion if he likes, quite as easily dive and make his way into the cave again.
'And this is precisely what occurred. Then the great tank in the Queerest Show on Earth was a divided one, and built on precisely the same lines. That is all.
'We are sorry for that enterprising showman, Biffins Lee, Esq. He is certainly clever; and if he does as well in his next venture as he has done in this he will be able to marry and settle down for life.
'We are sorry for Lee,' the article concluded; 'but we are still more so for those well-known scientists or savants, Professors A., B., and C., let us call them, who wrote such splendid papers on this mermaid question, and delivered lectures thereon all over the country, thus literally playing into the capacious and rapacious pockets of Biffins Lee. We heartily hope that these scientists may find some handy bag in which to hide their sorely diminished heads.'
Biffins Lee was reading this staggerer, as he called it, for the second time when Crona herself was announced. She had Joe on her shoulder. It was Mary who had ushered her in.
'I think, Mary,' said Biffins, not unkindly but sadly, 'Crona would like to see me alone.'
Mary curtseyed and retired.
Now, what passed between Crona and Biffins Lee at this time hardly affects this ower true tale to any great degree. So the chief details of the interview may be omitted. But towards its close Biffins Lee turned towards Crona.
'And,' he said, 'supposing that I refuse point-blank to do as you tell me, Miss'——
'Stop!' cried his interviewer; 'I am Crona, and you are Biffins Lee—er—for the present. As to your refusing my offer—for an offer, and a good one it is—when you have time to consider you will not dream of such a thing. I do not apprehend any obstinacy on your part, Mr—Biffins Lee. I will call again to-morrow for your answer.'
She was about to leave when Lee called to her. 'Stay, stay,' he said. 'I will not require to ask you to call to-morrow. I shall give you my answer now.'
'And that is?'
'Wise man! Better is a handful with quietness than both hands full with vexation of spirit.'
. . . . . . .
A fortnight passed away. Chops was still staying with Crona and her pets. His bedroom was a very sweet little room, and it looked right away over the wide, heathy moor, where so often he had wandered with Lotty and Wallace. Ah, but Wallace was here his constant companion, and often the poor dog listened and seemed to know what Chops said when he told him that before very long they would both go and see Lotty herself, and be happy as the day is long.
About the same time, moreover, at a tiny but pretty village by the sea, on the south-west coast of England, a little unpretentious show was opened, and hither had you wandered, reader, you would have met more than one acquaintance: Mary, Skeleton, Bruin, the dooroocoolie, and even Biffins Lee himself.
How are the mighty fallen! Well, it is true that the showman had come down a bit in the world, and that the establishment could no longer be called the Queerest Show on Earth in the absence of those two most valuable properties, Lotty and Chops. Still, there was no visible difference in Biffins. He had neither lost his voice nor his pomposity, which would have been a pity—for Biffins Lee. He had sly ways of doing things, and he managed to have it believed by the fishermen and rustic population that he had run through a vast fortune, if not two, and had lately lost valuable property. The latter part of the story was true enough, but it was stage 'property.' However, he had set the ball a-rolling. They say a rolling stone gathers no moss. Well, that depends upon what the stone is. For instance, the boy or girl who has a living to make, if not possessed of staying-power and steadfastness, will never become honoured and rich—never, never, never, as Lotty would say. On the other hand:
No matter how good and generous one is in this world, nor how much good he or she does, people will be ungrateful. But set the stone of gossip or scandal a-rolling, and see if it doesn't gather moss. From being a man who had sustained severe losses, Biffins Lee was soon exalted to the dignity of a nobleman in disguise only amusing himself with keeping a show until such time as he could arise in all his strength and glory to sweep from its false foundation one of the highest aristocratic families in Britain.
'You might see by his looks,' said one female gossip to another, as they stood by the village well, 'that he is something above the common.'
'Ay, indeed, Mr Lee looks a duke in disguise at the very least,' quoth her crony.
So Biffins Lee's show began to look up again, and he managed to secure varieties every fortnight.
. . . . . . .
Lotty's new home in Highgate Heath was an ideal little place—for a London suburb, that is. There was nothing of the romance of the forest and moor about it, and the gipsy lass may have missed the glamour of the sea. There was a charming morsel of a garden that now in the sweet summer days was very pretty, and full of choice flowers. The forest was represented by two tall trees, which, as London smoke swept over even Highgate Heath, always wept wet soot after rain, and the ocean was a great stone saucer in which goldfish swam. But there was the nattiest morsel of a summer-house imaginable, all surrounded with honeysuckle and roses.
Chops, senior, was really a quiet, inoffensive, and kind-hearted man, and his wife the daintiest morsel of a laundry-woman ever seen. Then Lotty's parlour, as her one room was called, was very tidy, neat, and clean. Quite a girl's room, in fact, and never lacked flowers in it. It was
Apart from the fact that Antony, Wallace, and Chops were not here, the little gipsy lass was happier than ever she had been in her life before. No tiresome rehearsals, no scoldings when doing her best, no worry nor care. This cottage gave her perfect rest.
But it must not be supposed that Lotty was going to lead an idle life. Nothing could have been farther from the child's thoughts. She was determined to pay her own way—to pave her own way, in fact, and to walk thereon. Mrs Oak had wanted Lotty to make her house her home as long as she pleased. But while thanking her and promising to come and see her often, she could not see her way to accept the kind offer. Her spirit of independence forbade. She determined to become a teacher of French and music.
That word 'determined' is a strong one; but London is a stony-hearted mother even to the very cleverest of girls. Lotty stuck her little card in the parlour window inviting pupils. But, alas! pupils did not come. Chops's little sister Mariar was the only one she had at present; and although the child was clever and smart, and Chops's parents pretended that the tuition she was receiving was quite enough to pay for Lotty's board, our Lotty was not of the same opinion.
But she was not the girl to let down her heart. So one evening she took her violin case and walked quietly out. Quite a mile townwards walked she, and then in a quiet but genteel street she began to play. For a time not a soul came near her. Oh! but souls came at last, and perhaps they were really souls, for Lotty was playing her best selected things, and it was charming to listen to her. She turned as red as an adjoining postbox when her first money was pressed into her hand, and was a little astonished to find it was a crooked sixpence with a hole in it. It came from a horny hand too. 'That'll change your luck, my love,' said the sturdy giver, and went trudging off before Lotty could thank him.
Whether the crooked sixpence had anything to do with it or not, her luck did change, and she played every night after this in the same neighbourhood, and at the end of a week she had earned five-and-twenty beautiful white shillings, to say nothing of the bent sixpence.
One day she ventured forth in the forenoon, and while playing her sweetest an unsavoury-looking man, in a bowler hat and wearing an unwholesome-looking coat, walked up to her. He had not even the good manners to wait until she had finished her piece, but tapped her somewhat rudely on the shoulder.
'Beg your pardon—er—but what is your age, my girl?'
'Thirteen next week,' said Lotty, wondering what he meant.
'Ah, that means twelve. Ahem! I'm a board school officer. What standard?'
'What standard? I—I don't know what you mean, sir!'
'Ah, I thought not. Never been to school, eh?'
'N—no—that is'——
'That'll do. Now, your address? Don't tell me a fib, 'cause I'll find out. I can follow you.'
Lotty's cheek burned with shame. All the independence of her spirit rose in rebellion now.
'I shall not give my address, never, never, never. I don't know you, sir. Follow me if you please, but I never tell lies.'
A tall, rather handsome gentleman now stepped out of the crowd and took immediate charge of the situation. 'Have you got your card, fellow?' he said to the man in the bowler.
'Well—no, not exactly, but here's an envelope.'
Lotty's newly found friend recoiled a little when he looked at it.
'The child,' he said 'will permit me to go home with her; you, sir, may follow at a respectful distance.—Come, dear, give me your hand.'
When the board school officer did come to the cottage he was received with politeness, but—had his answer; and the gentleman who had come to Lotty's assistance was very much delighted to find that she had received the best of education. Indeed, he gave proof of this by engaging her as a day-teacher of music and French to his own children.
That crooked sixpence had surely brought luck in its wake.
IT was a happy day for Lotty on which Chops returned to the cottage abode of his parents after so many weary wanderings. Not so romantic, certainly, would his life be now as it had been in wayside camp or caravan—it might even be a somewhat prosaic one; for, instead of being a gipsy any more, Chops was about to become a citizen and end probably in becoming a man of substance. Well, he had been a boy of substance, at all events; and although it was nearly a month since Lotty had seen him, he did not appear to have lost flesh to any appreciable extent. But to find his little companion so happy, and so much at home at his mother's cottage, and even on a fair way to earn a good livelihood, made honest Chops beam with joy.
It was not long after this that the lad's father apprenticed him to a draper to get a thorough insight into the business. And the shop was not a long way off, so that Chops came home regularly every night, and when he had a half-day's holiday he spent it with Lotty. The girl was not ashamed, but glad to go out with him, despite the cheeky London boys, who were by no means dilatory in drawing attention to the fact that her companion had to a trifling extent exceeded the limits of the ordinarily obese. The crispness of their remarks, however, did not annoy Chops at all.
'W'ich I'm goin' to go in a buster,' he told Lotty in confidence, 'with athletics, an' work hoff this too solid flesh; an' so, has I grows, I'll put hon manly muscle, an' I think, Miss Lotty, 'ow hall my dreams an' ambitions is bound to come true.'
Then a happy thought occurred to Lotty: she would take Chops under her educational wing and try to teach him to talk grammatically, to put his 'h's' in their right places, and to read and write correctly. And this, she felt a certainty in her own mind, would be to help him up a step or two in the ladder of life. And Chops was delighted when Lotty bought his first books for him out of her own earnings. But she was well rewarded, for the lad became a hard student in his spare time, and a fairly apt pupil.
. . . . . . .
It will be seen further on how Augustus Robb got hold of still another letter written to Aggie by her brother, who was now away touring in his great caravan through Ireland. But Robb did find it, and took good care that the father should see it. And the epistle made an impression on the mind of the proud owner of Manby Hall which was very far indeed from being favourable to his son's future prospects in life. Robb pretended he had not read nor seen this letter, but this is highly improbable.
Mr Blake, senior, said nothing about it for a day or two, then testily, one morning, he remarked, while both he and Robb were riding home after a pleasurable survey of the beautiful estate:
'By the way, nephew, as we have no secrets, I may as well tell you that I feel sorry I haven't another son, and one who would meet my views more in accordance with the true spirit of a county man and a Blake.'
'You must take a more rosy view of things, uncle,' said Robb. 'I have noticed of late that you have not been your old hearty self. I really think, sir, a change for a month or two, say to Norway, with its bracing air, would do you good; and I'm quite certain that when you came back you would look upon Frank as a mere romantic boy who will grow up by-and-by into a sturdy, healthy, sober-minded man.'
'Sober-minded fiddlestick! I tell you this, Gustus, that the boy is father of the man. Now, listen. I have found out, quite by chance you know, that while travelling in his confounded caravan he has met some beautiful gipsy girl in Ireland, and is going to marry her. Loves her "distractedly," he says, whatever on earth that may mean.'
Augustus laughed. He had more reasons than one for laughing.
'She, the gipsy, it would seem, is only nineteen, so it will be, or would be, but a boy and girl match; but—well, I'm not going to stand it, Gustus. Just look around you as we pause on this knoll, Gustus. Did ever you see a more lovely landscape estate in your life? Gaze on those summer woods, the hills, the beeches and pine-trees, that charming lake asleep in the sunshine, and the noble old Manby Hall nestling down yonder among its waving foliage.'
'It is, indeed, very charming, uncle.'
'And to think that this will go to—to—an idiot who has so little reverence for his ancient lineage and the blood of the Blakes that he intends to marry a Romany rye.'
'Don't excite yourself, sir. It is too bad of Frank. Shall I write to him and put it strong?'
'No—perish the thought! Only, if he does make this mésalliance I shall disinherit him.'
Augustus Robb wanted to laugh again, but there was no excuse. So he leant over his saddle and grasped Mr Blake's hand silently. The apparent friendliness of the act was not lost upon the lord of the manor.
'Augustus,' he said presently, 'I believe I am a little low both in spirits and physique. I shouldn't really mind going to Norway for a month or two, now that Mrs Blake is well and strong again; but without a companion I should feel lonely and bored.'
His nephew did not reply. He knew better.
'Come, Gustus, we'll go together.'
'Oh, that would be very delightful!'
'And, mind, you must promise me this: you will stand for S—— at next election, in the Conservative interest, and, my good boy, I'll use all my interest to have you returned.'
An extract from a letter of Aggie's to her brother soon after this throws some light on Antony's intended marriage.
'I did, dear brother,' it ran, 'as you told me, and placed the letter in my boudoir desk, leaving the keys in it, and as I expected there was a mysterious disappearance. But I did firmly believe that father would see it was all fun. But he has taken it in earnest, and so has our beautiful cousin Gustie. He had the impudence to tell me the other day that when he was member for S—— he meant to enter London society in earnest, and have a large house, and that his establishment would be quite incomplete without a mistress.
'I know what he meant. And now, Frank, they are both off to Norway, and I sincerely hope father will return alone. The lakes in Norway are very deep, Frank, and the cliffs are very high.'
From this extract it will be seen that Antony had meant merely to play a joke on his cousin, but it was taken seriously.
When, after a long, delightful gipsy ramble in Ireland, Antony returned somewhat unexpectedly to Manby Hall, his father and cousin were still in Norway. He had come back without the 'Gipsy Queen.' In fact, so pleased was he with Ireland that he had made up his mind to return there some day and go roving once more. So he had stored his caravan and sold his horses.
He would have liked very much to have seen his father; but fate forbade, for, as he told his mother and sister, he, Antony, had broken out in a new place. In fact, a wandering spirit had gained an ascendency over his mind, and now he was going abroad, far away to the savage island of New Guinea in short, to see some of the most savage life that exists anywhere in the world. But, first and foremost, and as a mere matter of course, he went to visit the little girl who, young though she was, he cared for more perhaps than he had ever cared for any one. This may not have been wise; but—well, perhaps it was only natural under all the strangely romantic circumstances. And Lotty in her new character really appealed to Antony as much, though probably not more, than she had done as the little gipsy lass.
But now something was going to happen, and there would be a nine days' source of wonder and even amusement for society. A very curious case indeed was to be sifted before a well-known judge of the Probate Court. And so, for the very last time in this story, we will see some of its old actors on the stage, and one at least who is new.
IT surprised nobody who knew him well to be informed that Frank Antony Blake had left England in a sailing ship without bidding good-bye to any one except his very nearest and dearest, including the little gipsy lass, with whom his parting had been most sad and tender. Probably it had taken him only a few minutes to make up his mind, and only a few hours to get ready his kit or outfit, so much a creature of impulse was he. He needed an entire change, he told himself, and he would remain away for a whole year. In the long run, this really extended to four whole years and over.
He had not been gone more than a month, however, before the curious will-case, of which mention has now to be made, became for a short time the talk of the town. Law is a much drier subject to write about than either love or friendship; but even in a romance there are times when it cannot well be avoided.
Until this lawsuit came off—or came on rather, for it dragged out its wearying length for a week—few probably except people living in their own county had ever heard much about the Broxleys of Blankshire. They were a very old family nevertheless, and had as much right as any to say that they had come over with William the Conqueror. Be that as it may, the Broxleys were a county family noted for their love of true English sport—if following the hounds and hunting tame and innocent deer to death be sport—and all manly games.
The family was by no means a prolific one; and going into its back history it was found that there was seldom a direct heir to the estate. An owner would either die a bachelor, or if married leave the world a childless man, so that the rich lands and castles took now and then a leap, as it were, into side branches of the old family. But when the estates passed into the hands of Talbot Broxley, Esq., it was believed that they were at last settled, for he had a splendid healthy young son, the only member of his family, by the way, who was quite independent of the wealth that apparently nothing could keep him out of. He was a great favourite both in town and country, and was engaged to a charming young lady, a cousin of the Marquis of Kingslee. The two seemed very fond of each other, and were the admired of all the gossips on that day when together they rode off to a distant steeplechase. It was the last ride the happy pair ever had, for, mournful to say, young Stanley's horse shied at an urchin who had popped unexpectedly out of a ditch by the wayside; shied and bolted, and that forenoon the rider was carried home dead.
This terrible accident quite broke his father's heart, and so the estates fell into the hands of a comparative stranger, a bachelor who had previous to this been as poor as the proverbial church-mouse. His only brother had died some time before this man's succession, and his baby daughter was sent to a convent to be nursed and reared.
When this bachelor inherited the estates he naturally thought of the child who was then about two years of age, and had her brought from the convent to Broxley Towers. She would be the next heir, and she would be a comfort to him, he believed, as she grew up. And this child was the only one who would stand between the vast wealth of the Broxleys and John Crawford Broxley, a cousin of the bachelor, when that lord of the manor should die. As the owner of Broxley Towers was said to be suffering from some incurable ailment to which the doctors never put a name, the chance of his attaining to anything like old age was a very remote one. They say, however, that watched pots take long to boil; and just because John Crawford wished this man dead, and watched for his demise, he lived.
As to the child, she disappeared most mysteriously one afternoon, and on this disappearance hinges the dénouement of this story.
There was some one else watching until the bachelor should die, and she had waited and watched until at last, about one month after Frank Antony Blake had left the country, his demise was announced, and John Crawford Broxley had proceeded at once to assert his rights to the Broxley estate.
But to the astonishment of every one, suddenly an eminent counsel came forward intent upon proving that John had no more right to the Broxley Towers than he himself had. For till now no one dreamt of anything like opposition to John's claim.
Thus the nine days' wonder came upon the boards.
John Crawford sat in court that morning; no more confident nor self-satisfied individual was present. He was beaming and effulgent.
A man of about six-and-thirty, he was good-looking, well-groomed, and well set-up. He leant back in his seat and complacently watched the proceedings. He believed that these would utterly collapse after a witness or two had been examined.
But the other side had employed probably the most eminent counsel in this country, and the judge himself looked the quintessence of earnest justice. The counsel for the other claimant, John's opponent, was very calm and quiet. He began, indeed, by stating that there was no nearer heir to the estates than John Crawford Broxley, and if reports as to his character were to be credited, he was a vir probus et virtutis, or had been for many years. Unfortunately for him, however, there were certain antecedents that he, counsel, would have to mention for the consideration of the judge. But, nevertheless, the fact remained that John was the nearest heir to Broxley Towers——
The great lawyer paused a few seconds, and many in the court thought that he was about to surrender his case or throw up his brief—'Provided,' he continued 'there was no nearer heir.' He would now have the pleasure of bringing forward as the claimant a young lady whom he could prove was the daughter of the deceased's brother.
There was a buzz of excitement and admiration in the court when—led by Crona the witch, who leant on a long staff and had her raven Joe on her shoulder—Lotty herself, looking radiantly pretty, entered and took her seat shyly beside her fairy godmother.
'This,' proceeded the counsel, 'is the girl who, as a child of some two and a half years, was stolen from the lord of the manor and Broxley Towers.'
John Crawford at this moment lost a good deal of his nonchalance, and leant forward on the bench, eagerly scanning Lotty's face.
Birth-marks on the child's side and left arm were then described, and it seemed to be tacitly admitted that if Lotty had these marks, which were very peculiar, she was undoubtedly the long-lost child.
Captain Paterson of the Nor'lan' Star was a witness now called and questioned, but not cross-examined. He knew Maggie Dyer, nurse at Broxley Hall to the child who would be the nearest heir to the estates on the death of the then lord of the manor. He had known Maggie long before then. Whenever his ship was paid off he used to run down to Broxley, and a friend of his, now first-mate of the Nor'lan' Star, used always to accompany him.
'You were supposed to be wooing Maggie?' said the judge.
'There was precious little supposition about it, my lord.'
'Why did you take the mate with you? It is not usual for a man going a-wooing to take a male companion with him.'
'Only for company's sake, sir. Nothing a sailor hates more than a tedious journey by rail with no one to speak to.'
'Did you go to the Hall?'
'Certainly so, sir. And the mate knew how to pass the time at the village inn while I was away. He is a sailor as well as myself.'
'You saw your intended at the Hall?'
'Yes, in the housekeeper's room; the housekeeper herself being there sometimes—sometimes not.'
'Was this girl Maggie's character unimpeachable, Captain Paterson? She was really a good girl?'
'I'd have knocked the man who dared to doubt it into the middle of next week, sir; and she was good enough to make my wife.'
'You would have heard her speak of the child?'
'Oh yes, and she nearly went out of her mind with grief when it disappeared, and it was soon after this that we became man and wife.'
His brown-bearded mate was the next called. He testified to going down to Broxley with Captain Paterson, and indeed to all he said. Then he was asked about the finding of the little boat at sea, with Lotty therein, and her life on board, and of the captain's wife discovering on the little gipsy lass the birth-marks, and informing her husband and himself; and the witness concluded by informing the court that he considered the whole occurrence simply a ‘’tarposition of Providence, and nothing else.'
Then came good, kind Mrs Paterson herself. Her story took the court back to the time when she became nurse-companion to the child at Broxley Hall. She would willingly have married before; but Mr Paterson, whom she had known and been engaged to for many years, wanted first and foremost to be in a good position, and to walk his own quarterdeck as captain, because then he could take her to sea with him.
'Well,' said counsel, 'tell us briefly about the disappearance of the child. You had been nurse for some little time before this, hadn't you?'
'Yes, sir, and the child was much attached to me.'
'You gave perfect satisfaction?'
'Oh yes, sir, for I stayed on months after the child was stolen, and indeed, I may say, I was married from the Hall.'
'Was a hue and cry raised?'
'Yes, and rewards offered, but all to no purpose.'
'The mystery remained a mystery?'
'That's it, sir.'
'And about the birth-marks?'
'They were there on the infant I nursed, sir, and I found them on the girl Lotty whom we picked up in the North Sea.'
'Is it not possible'—this from the judge—'that the marks on Lotty Lee's side may only be of some fancied resemblance to those on the infant child and heir to Broxley estates?'
'There is no fancy about it, my lord; they are the same. I swear to that.'
'After ten long years and over?'
'Women can remember longer back than that, sir.'
'No doubt, no doubt.'
Mrs Paterson was cross-questioned at some length by John Crawford's counsel, but without causing her to deviate in the slightest from any portion of her strange story.
As to the actual stealing of the infant, it was simplicity itself. She had left her sleeping in a cot and in a room which opened by French windows to a shrubbery. When she returned about an hour later she found the room locked from the inside, and when she raised the alarm and the door was forced the child was gone.
An important witness was an old doctor who had attended the infant, and had examined Lotty as well. He swore to the identity of these strange birth-marks, and was then allowed to retire, being feeble.
That which is here being described so briefly took a very long time to go into, and days passed before the case was decided, even so far.
'We now come to the raison d'être,' the counsel was understood to say; 'but before going further into the case I shall pause here to give John Crawford a chance of withdrawing his claim in favour of my client, and for his own safety's sake.'
Lotty's counsel placed ominous emphasis on the last few words.
There was then an adjournment for luncheon that day; and after the court had reassembled, Crawford's counsel intimated that after what had been said in so pointed and even threatening manner he had advised that the case be continued.
When Crona entered the witness-box, and the raven still perched where he was, a titter of laughter passed round the court; but this was instantly suppressed, and gradually all her story was told in answer to questions put by Lotty's counsel.
She had been an actress on the French stage, she said and swore, about eleven years ago, and a great favourite with the public. Her parts were comedy, with singing and skirt-dancing, and it was at this time that she was introduced to John Crawford Broxley, the man sitting up yonder. He made love to her, and proposed marriage. She had left the stage to be married, and had even gone to church; but herself and party had waited in vain for the bridegroom, who had been married on the previous evening to a young lady with money.
She then described the stealing of the child by John Crawford, and the disposal of it to a common mountebank, who trained and reared her as an infant prodigy.
Crawford's counsel was sitting on nettles, and he thought he now saw his chance; and Lotty's lawyer allowed him to have it, and sat down to listen. There was a smirk of satisfied amusement on the face of the former as he told the judge he only wanted to ask the woman in the mob-cap a question or two.
'Probably,' he said, 'one question will be convincing enough. Ahem!'
Now the raven had been quite silent until this moment; but no sooner had this clever counsel risen and cleared his throat than Joe, bending back his head, gave vent to a low, derisive chuckle, 'Ha, ha, ha!'
'I think, your honour, that bird should be removed.'
Crona promised, however, he should keep quiet, and the counsel proceeded:
'You have told the court, madam, that only eleven years ago you were a gay actress and danseuse?'
Crona nodded.
'And that John Crawford, still a young man, made love to you—to you who are now ninety years old, if a day, so that he at the age of twenty-five must have made love to a lady older than his grandmother.'
Even the jury smiled, and John thought his case was won.
His counsel sat down with a satisfied smirk. But Crona kept standing, and whispered to Lotty's counsel.
'This witness,' said the latter, 'wishes to retire'——
'It is time,' said the other counsel.
But Lotty's counsel turned furiously on him. 'How dare you interrupt me, sir? Retire,' he added, 'not from the case, but for ten minutes to change her dress.'
Leave was given, and in less than five minutes Crona had returned, raven and all. But to the astonishment of all she now stood before the court a young and beautiful lady, much under thirty. She laughed a little.
'I think, my lord, that even John Crawford's counsel will admit that if I was no actress eleven years ago I am a very good specimen of one now.'
'Bravo! bravo!' cried Joe. 'Ha, ha, ha!'
She threw the bird high towards the roof, and there he perched on a bracket defiantly.
'John Crawford,' Crona went on, 'made love to me, promised me marriage, deserted me in a cowardly way, and I have to confess that I swore revenge. I found out about the child-stealing, and knew well that as soon as the lord of the manor died that low-browed man yonder would put in his claim. He thought, as every one else did, that I was a witch. It strikes me, your honour, I have bewitched him to good account.'
She sat down by Lotty, and even the judge could not prevent a buzz of applause.
'I will now,' said our heroine's counsel, 'produce the man who was paid to take away the child, Lotty Broxley—namely, the showman Josiah Radcliffe.'
Then Biffins Lee himself appeared, and at this moment those who had their gaze fixed upon John Crawford noticed that he turned suddenly pale, and, leaning towards his counsel, began to whisper to him in a somewhat agitated manner. His counsel immediately arose.
'My client,' he said, 'wishes to retire from the case.'
'It is time,' this from Lotty's legal adviser, for it was his turn now.
'Ha, ha, ha!' chuckled the raven. 'Set him up. Ho, ho, ho! Set him up. Joe's cross! Ho, ho, ho!'
As he left the court that day, John Crawford was tapped upon the arm by a detective.
'I hold a warrant for your arrest, John Crawford Broxley, for child-stealing.'
And so the nine days' wonder ended, and ends our story with it.
When Crona with her charge alighted from the hansom that had driven them from court to the little cottage of Chops's parents, the first to meet her was Chops himself. The second was Wallace. Ah! what a welcome that dog's was! From the tones of his voice it really seemed as if he were crying and scolding her lovingly at the same time. Why had she gone away so long and left him to break his heart? He would ne'er have gone away from her, and so on, and so forth in a dog's own way.
Distant but wealthy relations of Lotty's were constituted her legal guardians; but the girl determined—and had her own way too, for what is the good of being rich if you don't have your own way?—determined that Crona should be always with her; she and she alone would be her real guardian, her own dear fairy godmother.
It was fully four years after this before Frank Antony returned from his wanderings. But Aggie his sister had told him all the news.
It is needless to say that his father freely forgave the brave and dashing young man who came with firm step up the avenue one fine forenoon. He was now four-and-twenty.
'Father,' he said, 'I've had my fling, and you may do with me as you please.'
'I think, Frank, my boy, I shall choose a bride for you. That will be best, Frank.'
'I think, father,' said the son laughing, 'I'm almost old enough to choose one for myself.—What do you think, mother? Oh, dear old mummy, how sweet you look even through your foolish tears!'
'Well, anyhow, you shall see the young lady we shouldn't mind you marrying,' said his father. 'She is here on a visit; and, lo! yonder she comes.'
A beautiful young girl of nineteen was coming slowly up the garden-path hand in hand with Crona; and Wallace himself next moment had his paws on Antony's shoulder.
Antony made a rush to meet Lotty, with both hands extended.
'What,' he cried, 'my little gipsy lass! Father, you have chosen well. I accept the responsibility.'
. . . . . . .
The honeymoon was spent in the great saloon caravan 'Gipsy Queen.' And it was not one moon only, but many of them, that the happy couple spent in this idyllic and delightful way.
It is needless to say that honest Wallace was one of the party, and he seemed to have become younger than ever now he had all those he loved on earth together.
It would be positively unkind to finish this story without saying a word about good, faithful Chops. He may be found at any time of the day in a large emporium near to St Paul's, and behind the counter where many a good man has served before him, a suave, smiling, and obliging young fellow. It must be confessed that he looks remarkably well in his dark morning coat and patent leather boots, to say nothing of the yard-stick, as he puts the question: 'What will be next, please, ma'am?' There is even a possibility of his being in time to come thrice Lord Mayor of London town. But although he still looms large in private theatricals he will never be an 'Enry Hirving—never, never, never!'
THE END.
Edinburgh: Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited.