Trevlyn Hold Part 92

"I am; but not risen from the dead," he answered, taking the hands she held out. "Which of them are you? Maude?"

"No; Diana. Oh, Rupert! I thought it was my father."

It was indeed him they had for so many years believed to be dead; Rupert Trevlyn, the runaway. He had come home to claim his own; come home in his true character; Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold.

But Mr. Chattaway, in his worse and wildest dreams, had never bargained for this!

CHAPTER LVI

DOUBTS CLEARED AT LAST

Many a painting has been handed down to posterity whose features bore not a t.i.the of the interest presented at that moment in the old hall of the Trevlyns. The fine figure of the stranger, standing with the air of a chieftain, conscious of his own right; the keen gaze of Miss Diana, regarding him with puzzled equanimity; and the slow horror of conviction that was rising to the face of Mr. Chattaway. Behind all, stealing in by a side-door, came the timid steps, the pale questioning looks of Mrs.

Chattaway, not yet certain whether the intruder was an earthly or a ghostly visitor.

Mr. Chattaway was the first to recover himself. He looked at the stranger with a face that strove to be haughty, and would have given the whole world to possess the calm equanimity of the Trevlyns, the unchanged countenance of Miss Diana; but his leaden face wore its worst and greenest tinge, his lips quivered as he spoke--and he was conscious of it.

"_Who_ do you say you are? Squire Trevlyn? He has been in his grave long ago. We do not tolerate impostors here."

"I hope you do not," was the reply of the stranger, turning his face full on the speaker. "_I_ will not in future, I can tell you that. True, James Chattaway: one Squire Trevlyn is in his grave; but he lives again in me. I am Rupert Trevlyn, and Squire of Trevlyn Hold."

Yes, it was Rupert Trevlyn. The young Rupert Trevlyn of the old days; the runaway heir. He, whom they had so long mourned as dead (though perhaps none had mourned very greatly), had never died, and now had come home, after all these years, to claim his own.

Mr. Chattaway backed against the wall, and stood staring with his livid face. To contend was impossible. To affect to believe that it was not Rupert Trevlyn and the true heir, next in legal succession to his father, the old Squire, would have been child's play. The well-remembered features of Rupert grew upon his memory one by one.

Putting aside that speaking likeness to the Squire, to the Trevlyns generally, Mr. Chattaway, now that the first moments of surprise were over, would himself have recognised him. He needed not the acknowledgment of Miss Diana, the sudden recognition of his wife, who darted forward, uttering her brother's name, and fell sobbing into his arms, to convince him that it was indeed Rupert Trevlyn, the indisputable master from henceforth of Trevlyn Hold.

He leaned against the wall, and took in all the despair of his position.

The latent fear so long seated in his heart, that he would some time lose Trevlyn Hold, had never pointed to _this_. In some far-away mental corner Chattaway had vaguely looked forward to lawsuits and contentions between him and its claimant, poor Rupert, son of Joe. He had fancied that the lawsuits might last for years, he meanwhile keeping possession, perhaps up to the end. Never had he dreamed that it would suddenly be wrested from him by indisputable right; he had never believed that he himself was the usurper; that a nearer and direct heir, the Squire's son, was in existence. The Squire's will, leaving Trevlyn Hold to his eldest son, had never been cancelled.

And this was the explanation of the letters from Connell, Connell and Ray, which had so annoyed Mr. Chattaway and puzzled his wife. "Rupert Trevlyn was about to take up his own again--as Squire of Trevlyn Hold."

True; but it was this Rupert Trevlyn, not that one.

The explanation he might have entered into is of little moment to us; the bare fact is sufficient. It was an explanation he gave only partially to those around, descending to no details. He had been s.h.i.+pwrecked at the time of his supposed death, and knew that an account of his death had been sent home. That was true. Why he had suffered it to remain uncontradicted he did not explain; and they could only surmise that the crime of which he had been suspected kept him silent. However innocent he knew himself to be, whilst others at home believed him guilty he was not safe, and he had never known until recently that his reputation had been cleared. So much he did say. He had been half over the world, he told them, but had lived chiefly in South America, where he had made a handsome fortune.

"And whose children are these?" he asked, as he pa.s.sed into the drawing-room, where the sea of wondering faces was turned upon him.

"_You_ should be James Chattaway's daughter," he cried, singling out Octave, "for you have the face of your father over again."

"I am Miss Chattaway," she answered, drawing from him with a scornful gesture. "Papa," she whispered, going up to the cowed, shrinking figure, who had followed in the wake of the rest, "who is that man?"

"Hush, Octave! He has come to turn us out of our home."

Octave gazed as one suddenly blinded. She saw the strange likeness to the Trevlyns, and it flashed into her mind that it must be the Uncle Rupert, risen from the supposed dead, of whom she had heard so much. She saw him notice her two sisters; saw him turn to Maude, and gaze earnestly into her face.

"You should be a Trevlyn. A softer, fairer face than Joe's, but the same outlines. What is your name, my dear?"

"Maude Trevlyn, sir."

"Ay. Joe's child. Have you any brothers or sisters?"

"One brother."

Squire Trevlyn--we must give him his t.i.tle henceforth--looked round the room, as if in search of the brother. "Where is he?"

Maude s.h.i.+vered; but he waited for an answer, and she gave it. "He is not here, sir."

"And now tell me a little of the past," he cried, wheeling round on his sister Diana. "Who is the reigning master of Trevlyn Hold?"

She indicated Chattaway with her finger. "He is."

"He! Who succeeded my father--in my place?"

"He did. James Chattaway."

"Then where was Joe?"

"Joe was dead. He had died a few months previously."

"Leaving--how many children did you say--two?"

"Two--Maude and Rupert."

"The latter still an infant, I presume, at the time of my father's death?"

"Quite an infant."

"Nevertheless, he was Squire of Trevlyn Hold, failing me. Why did he not succeed?"

There came no answer. He looked at them all in succession; but even Miss Diana Trevlyn's undisturbable equanimity was shaken for the moment. It was Mr. Chattaway who plucked up courage to reply, and he put on as bold a front as he could.

"Squire Trevlyn judged it well to will the estate to me. What would a child in petticoats do, reigning at Trevlyn Hold?"

"He might have reigned by deputy. Where is Rupert? I must see him!"

But had they been keen observers they might have detected that Squire Trevlyn put the questions not altogether with the tone of a man who seeks information. In point of fact he was as wise as they were as to the princ.i.p.al events which had followed on the Squire's death. He had remained in London two or three weeks since landing; had gathered all the information that could be afforded him by Connell and Connell, and had himself dictated the letters which had so upset Mr. Chattaway; more than that, he had, this very morning, halted at Barmester, on his way to Trevlyn Hold, had seen Mr. Peterby, and gleaned many details. One thing Mr. Peterby had not been able to tell him, whether the unfortunate Rupert was living or dead.

"Where is Maude?" he suddenly asked.

Maude stepped forward, somewhat surprised.

"Not you, child. One who must be thirty good years older than you. My sister, Maude Trevlyn."

"She married Thomas Ryle, of the Farm," answered Miss Diana, who had rapidly determined to be the best of friends with her brother. "It was not a fitting match for her, and she entered upon it without our consent; nay, in defiance of us all. She lives there still; and--and--here she is!"

For once in her life Miss Diana was startled into betraying surprise.

There, coming in at the door, was her sister Maude, Mrs. Ryle; and she had not been at the Hold for years and years.