Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1913-01-17
CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER Al.
A black night, wild and eerie! black
sea beating upon the coast OF ferny
Lincolnshire. and a sky without star,
but full of wind gusts that came and
went and moaned and raved like splr-
its escaped from the bottomless pit
The London train was due at Deep
moor station in just five minutes and a
half. One or two officials moved ex-
pectantly about the platform, and out
side a close carriage, eXpectant also,
waited in the storm that whist.ed along
the telegraph wires overhead, and
flared the porter's lantern htfully.
Hark! A distant engine shrieks-
the train is coming. Painting ana pull
fing, it rushes into Deepmoor station
Only one passenger alights-a little,
withered man in a gray wig, with
gray coat buttoned up to his chin. A
handbag is his only luggage. The
guard bangs to the door, the engine
screams anew, and off goes the tram
again into the gruesome, windy night.
The little gray man crosses the plat
form to the close carriage. Its driver
waiting beside it, touches his nat.
Good -evening, Harris-how is Sir
Godfrey tonight" says the man.
Poorly, sir, poorly, and anxious
very-to see you, sir" answers the SER
want.
Its a good kind of anxiety, think
he'll be the better for It" mutterS the
gray passenger, and he filings himseit
into the comfortable carriage, which
turns straightway from Deepmoor sta
ton, and rolls off into the darkness.
For a mile or more Harris guides MS
spirited horses along a rain drenched
road on either side of which green
hedge rows and broad acres lay soak
ing under the wild, wet sky, and hnal-
ly approaches wall, black with mass
es of ivy, and surmounted by waving
trees. An iron gate stands open there-
in, and through it goes the carriage,
crunching along the wet gravel OF
drive, under two rows of magnificent
copper beeches. In the darkness the
noble park of Deepmoor cannot be seen
but the little man in the vehicle knows
we'll the treasures inclosed in its
neighboring palings-noble timber and
bosky del.s, fern and bracken, frisky
hares, winged game and red deer-yea,
he knows the value OF every 1oot Oh
ground belonging to this rich Lincoln
shire manor, for he is Sir Godfrey Ar
buckles family solicitor-Mr. Peter
Finch, of London.
The carriage stops before gray
stone house, with gables and turrets
and twisted chimneys-a grand ana
ancient mansion, kept, evidently, with
great care. Mr.. Finch alights, and
tries his hand at the big brass knock
er. A servant in livery opens the door
and conducts the visitor into an OAK
parlor, where a brisk fire is blazing,
and saws: Sir Godfrey is in his bed
chamber. You're to be shown up to
him as soon as you've refreshed your
self, sir"
MIR. Finch is thin of flesh and blood,
and he moves up to the fire, rejoicing
in the prospect Of refreshment. Direct
ly an old butler brings in tray, gar
nished with a cold chicken, game pie
and a bottle of wine. Mr.. Finch re-
gales his inner man, and then prepares
to ascend to Sir Godfrey's chamber.
Up a broad, shallow-s stepped stair he
goes in the wake of the servant, and
across a corridor, where the latter
opens a black oak door, hung on huge
brass, chevron- shaped hinges, and
ushers the London lawyer into the
baronet's presence.
1t is a large, square room, paneled In
oak and made bright with wax lights
and an open fire which burns gayly on
a hearth of Dutch tiles. The carved
Norman bed, of black oak also, and
two centuries o.d, at the very least, Is
covered with a fiowered silk counter
pane, The windows are draped with
curtains of the same. The big chairs
are clawfooted, straight backed; the
floor is bare, save for strips OF bright
carpet laid here and there; brass
bound chest OF drawers stands in a
corner. and in an arm chair before the
fire, sits Sir Godfrey himself-a tall,
cadaverous man, wasted to skeleton,
and wrapped in woolen dressing
gown. On his right side big mastift
is stretched; on his left couple OF
superb hounds; these brutes lift their
heads quickly at the opening OF the
brass hinged door, but, recognizing the
intruder, make no sound.
How do you find yourself tonight,
my lord?" says Mr.. Finch, taking the
big. gaunt hand which the baronet
holds out, and in the grasp of which
his own fingers are quite lost. Better,
1 hope. There's strength In your grip
yet"
The baronet Is a man past fifty,
Manufactured, big -boned, unhand-
some-the Arbuckles of Lincolnshire
were never a comely race. He had red
hair, with streaks Of gray in It; blue
ewes, bitter and sad; a rugged, un-
Welding mouth and a looE of intense
suffering, mental as we'll as physical
Sir Godfrey is diseased in mind as
we'll as body,
NV DAYS are numbered, Finch he
saws wearily. sit down. Thank God
YOU are come! I want to talk to YOU
The servant goes out and leaves the
two together. Mr. Finch draws a
claw footed chair to the hearth oppo-
heard but the rain on the pane and the
wind moaning round the gables and
twisted chimneys.
How still the old house seems-eh
Finch?" shivers the baronet.
Yes" sighs Mr.. Finch.
MY God! 1t was different when the
lads were here-there was racketing
enough then. Three strong, bright
bows, all dead, Finch-not one left. II
| had Just one to lay me In the grave
and wear the name after me l would
not complain. l swear to you, my
heart, Finch, when the last two went
drowned almost before my eyes.
haven't lived since that day. Even
though l should drag on like this fOr
ten, twenty thirty years TO come,
can never really live again"
BE calm. sir" says Mr.. Finch. and
he turns his eyes compassionately
from the great, bony figure writhing IN
the torment of recollection-from the
cadaverous face, on which the sweat OF
agony starts out. 1T was mysterl-
Gus dispensation. You have been great
" afflicted. but let us all try to be re-
signed to the will of Providence, my
lord. May l ask for what purpose yot
have summoned me to Deepmoore to-
night?"
Sir Godfrey looks fiXedly at his law
yer.
Il want to talk with you about m!
heir" he answers.
you mean"-begins Mr.. Finch war
lily. and then pauses.
Il mean the child of Robert Arbuck'
Ie and at-that-waiting -maid!'
Mr.. Finch coughs. but does not ye'
venture to speak. The freight flashes
up on the black oak and polished brass
of the chamber and over the gaunt
weak figure in the arm chair left ir
the midst of his ancestral grandeur
like a blasted tree from which all the
fair young shoots have been Topped
away.
who else should l mean?" he de.
Int lynn ny