The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-02-06 00:00:00

'CHAPTER
THE END OF ALL.

TirE next morning, at an early hour, Parkins entered
with a grave, startled face the room where his master
paced up and down (he had not been in bed all night,
nor changed the wet clothes he had swum the lake in),
and begged his presence in the hall. Ingestre had a
suspicion of what he was about to see there, and, with
a curling lip, obeyed the summons, for he had no fancy
for the sight he was called upon to witness. And
there surely, in the middle of the hall, lay the dead'
body of Maxall, Domingo weeping over it, and kissing.
the clammy face.
"He was blown over Keighley Bridge last night,
sir," said the butler, "and drowned in the lake. He
was not quite sober when he left the Ingestre Arms,
and Judges warned him from the bridge, but he would
go, and this is what came of it; but how Domingo
came to find him I don't know. You see the nigger
is wringing wet, too."
Then the poor black looked up, and told his tale
most piteously. He had followed his master the night
before, but had lost him in the shadows of the chest-
nut grove. Patiently he had waited there until dawn,
when, to his horror, he saw a hat floating on the lake,
and the boat drifting about. Ile plunged into the
water and swam towards the island, where he made
sure something else belonging to Mr. Ingestre lay, and
then he came upon the body of Maxall, and with the
corpse lashed to him he swam back to shore, and
brought it all the way to the house on his back.
"And oh, massa, now him quite dead, I tell you
secret--can't harm him now. I tell you secret 'bout
Massa Maxall. He am your own child, sare ;he am
my poor sister's child, tare, and yours as well. She
died, tare, long, long 'go: but Massa Ponti took her
son and put him in the little one's place that used to
run about your feet—'member, massa, the little gne
you loved ? "
Domingo evidently stillthought his master George
Ross Ingestre. Edward Maxall turned away. His
punishment was greater than he could bear. The
murderer of his beloved boy Ross was a child of his
own!

That day about noon a letter was put into Lina's
hands. It was from Ingram, and these the contents :
"My OWN,—I set sail for Italy to-night. The
wretch is off; but I am after him, and will hunt him
down liko a dog. Riga has given me full permission.
The order won't protect him, he has broken their laws.
Let all remain at Redfern as it was until I return.
George Ross is still master. Adieu, my heart ! Kind
remembrances to madame and Miss Ingestre."

Three months went on, and Catherine slowly re-
covered from her great illness. She had resolved to
leave England for ever with the baroness, and that
resolve was well known to Edward Maxall. Ile was,
indeed, an altered man now.

The scandal of his contemplated marriage, and the
subsequent discovery it led to, had been in the mouths
of all shire. He had been told to resign his
position as a magistrate, and he had done so with ex-
cellent grace; and given up, beside, every other post
of public trust or emolument he had held. And on
the particular day I speak of, he walked along beneath
the elm avenue, his hands thrust in his pockets, think-
ing of all this, and thinking how life with such shame
would once have been insupportable; but now his
spirit was so broken that he accepted both the life
and the shame without a murmur.
Catherine had fixed this day, too, for her de-
parture, and he had no hope that he should ever see
her face again.
Their intercourse, since she had lain beneath his
roof (scarcely his, though), had been of the most :re-
stricted kind; never had he seen her alone, and never
had he dared to wish it. Deeply injured as she had
ben by him, he felt he had no right even to love her.
He did not anticipate that she would so much as bid
him farewell, and when he thought of this he covered
his face and wept. He was a desolate and heart-
broken man, remember.
When the tears had had their way, and his eyes
looked out again over the spring landscape, he saw
Catherine slowly coming towards him where he stood.
5119 stopped once to gather a primrose growing at the
foot of an elm, and then came certainly towards him.
When he was sure of this, he almost thought it
would have been more merciful not to have hidden
him that last farewell.

She held out her hand, and a faint flush made her
pale face beautiful.
"Will you not take it ? " she said. "Shall we not
part friends?"

Something in her voice, her downcast face, made
aim shiver all over and look at it most eagerly. Only
for an instant; he sighed bitterly, and turned away.
"Not for me—not for me," he muttered; "it never
was mine, and that is the greatest pain."
"What was never yours, Edward?"
"Your love, Catherine—your love I "
"It was.yours."

" Catherfae !"
" AM' IS 11,2 W. Yes. is now !I she repeated, passion-

ately. "I came into your house, saw, and loved you.
No matter what likeness you bore to my dead hus-
band, it was you I loved then, and you I love now. I
have tried to think otherwise, but I cannot. I have
tried to believe you everything that is false and bad,
and I cannot. I have tried to believe you everything
but what I love, and I cannot. I cannot leave you.
I cannot tear myself away from you. I love you, and
must live where you are. I will be your child's
servant as long as I live; but I will love and serve
you, too, for evermore ! "
Then he kneeled down at her feet, beneath the tree,
and clasped both arms round her figure. He lifted
his quivering face to hors, and she stooped down and
tenderly kissed it.
After that she never left him.

A year elapsed and Ingram Ingestre returned to
Redfern. Then Edward Maxall, with his wife and
daughter, went abroad.
He retained only his private fortune, and a hand-
some annuity settled on Catherine by Ingram.
His passionate love flr her never abated; she was
the hope of his life, and became to him even more
than he anticipated.
The man was much changed, but not for tlie worse;
and five years after, when he visited England with
Cle and a little son, to celebrate the birth of an heir to
Redfern, many said that either Italy or his wife had
made the Ingestre of old days a younger and a better
man.

Grave, pale, quiet-eyed Cleland never left her
father. The girl's heart could hold no other love than
his and the beloved brother's.

The exiles are happy and united in themselves, and
Edward Maxall never regrets that he is no longer
George Ross Ingestre of Redfern.
Ingram made an excellent lord of the manor, and
Lina an admirable lady. Somewhat fond of gaiety
and dress, perhaps; showing off her pretty little self
to the best advantage, and wilful to the last; but as
her husband remained utterly blind to these weak-
nesses, they never marred his happiness in any way.
He never told the fate of the creole Ponti ; but none
doubted that through Ingram's means he had been
made to pay the penalty of his crimes.
The baroness still resides at Westwood, and Mr.
Kent visits there very often— on professional matters,
he says.

THE END.