That Mainwaring Affair - A. Maynard Barbour (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📗

your kind words; I shall never forget them; and, however the battle goes, I can feel there is one, at least, whose friendship and confidence are mine, can I not?"

"Most assuredly, Mr. Mainwaring. But why do you speak as though there were a possibility of defeat or failure? I am so confident that you will win, after the story of your life that you have given me, that I am all impatience to learn the outcome of the contest, just as having read one chapter in some thrilling romance I am eager for the next."

He smiled at her comparison. "Real life, as well as romance, sometimes contains startling surprises, Miss Carleton. The next chapter might prove less pleasant."

She looked keenly into his face for a moment, and her manner became as serious as his own.

"There must be something," she said, "of which you have not told me; if so, I will not ask your confidence until you choose to bestow it, nor do I trust you, personally, any the less. It only seemed to me, with your prospects of success, and the great wealth and enviable position so soon to become yours, there could be no unpleasant anticipations for the future."

A bitter smile crossed his face, as he inquired in low, tense tones, "Of what avail are wealth and position to one who finds an insurmountable barrier placed between himself and all that he holds most precious on earth?"

"I fear I do not understand you," she replied. "I cannot imagine any barriers surrounding you; and did they exist, my judgment of you would be that you would find some way to surmount or destroy them."

"There are some barriers, some fetters," he said, gently, "against which humanity, even at its best, is powerless."

"Yes," she answered, a touch of sadness in her voice; "and there are sometimes sorrows and troubles in which even the closest and warmest friendship is powerless to aid or comfort."

"Don't allow yourself to think that of your friendship for me," he said, quickly. "Assured of your confidence and sympathy, I shall be ten times stronger to face whatever the future may bring. If I succeed in what I am about to undertake, I shall one day tell you all that your friendship has been worth to me. If I fail, the thought that you believe in me and trust me, while it will not be all that I could wish, may be all that I can ask."

"And if you should fail," she queried, slowly, "would you give me no opportunity to show you, and others, my confidence in you, even then?"

"My dear Miss Carleton," he replied, in tones tremulous with suppressed feeling, "much as I appreciate your kindness, I would never, now or at any future time, willingly mar your life or your happiness by asking you to share any burden which might be laid upon me. I would at least leave you to go your way in peace, while I went mine."

"And I?" she asked, reproachfully. "Would it contribute to my happiness, do you think, to remember the sorrow and suffering which I was not allowed to share?"

"Could you not forget?"

"Never!"

The young man sprang to his feet abruptly, his face working with emotion, and took two or three turns about the room. At last he paused, directly in front of her, and, folding his arms, stood looking down into the beautiful eyes that met his own so unflinchingly. He was outwardly calm, but the smouldering fire which seemed to gleam in his dark eyes told of intense mental excitement.

"Miss Carleton," he said, slowly, in low tones, but yet which vibrated through her whole being, "you are almost cruel in your kindness; you will yet make a coward of me!"

"I have no fear of that," she answered, quietly.

"Yes, a coward! Instead of remaining silent as I intended, and keeping my trouble within my own breast, you will compel me in self-defence to say that which will only give you pain to hear, thereby adding to my own suffering."

"Perhaps you misjudge," she replied, and her voice had a ring of pathos in it; "any word of explanation—no matter what—would be less hard for me to endure than this suspense."

"God knows I would make full explanation if I could, but I cannot, and I fear there is nothing I can say that will not add to your suspense. Miss Carleton, you must need no words from me to tell you that I love you. I have loved you almost from the first day of our meeting, and whatever life may have in store for me, you, and you alone, will have my love. But, loving you as I do, could I have looked forward to the present time, could I for one moment have foreseen what was awaiting me, believe me, you should never have known by word or look, or any other sign, of my love."

He paused a moment, then continued. "If that were all, I might have borne it; I could have locked my love forever within my own heart, and suffered in silence; but the fact that you have given me some reason to believe that you were not wholly indifferent to me,—the thought that I might in time have won your love,—makes the possibilities of the future a thousand times harder to bear. It is harder to forego the joys of Paradise when once you have had a glimpse within! It was to this I alluded when I spoke of the insurmountable barrier placed between myself and all that I hold holiest and best on earth!"

"But I do not understand!" she cried, her lovely color deepening and her eyes glowing with a new light, until Harold Mainwaring confessed to himself that never had he seen her so beautiful. "What barrier could ever exist between you and me?"

For an instant he looked at her in silence, an agony of love and longing in his eyes; then drawing himself up to his full height, he said, slowly,—

"Not until I can stand before you free and clear from the faintest shadow of the murder of Hugh Mainwaring, will I ever ask for that most precious gift of your love!"

Her face blanched at the mere possibility suggested by his words. "But you are innocent!" she cried in swift protest, "and you could prove it, even were suspicion directed against you for a time."

"Even admitting that I were, the taint of suspicion is sometimes as lasting as the stain of crime itself."

She arose and stood proudly facing him. "Do you think I would fear suspicion? To hear from your own lips that you love me and that you are innocent would be enough for me; I would defy the whole world!"

He did not at once reply, and when he spoke it was slowly and reluctantly, as though each word were wrung from him by torture.

"My dear Miss Carleton, even to you I cannot say that I am innocent."

There was a moment's pause, during which she gazed at him, speechless with astonishment; a moment of intense agony to Harold Mainwaring, as he watched whether her faith in him would waver. But she gave no sign, though she scanned his face, as the condemned criminal scans the document handed him as the fateful day approaches, to ascertain whether it contains his pardon or his death sentence.

"Understand me," he said at last, gently, unable longer to endure the terrible silence, "I do not admit that I am in any way guilty, but until I am fully acquitted of any share in or knowledge of the death of Hugh Mainwaring, I can make neither denial nor admission, one way or the other."

"But you still love me?" she inquired, calmly.

"Miss Carleton,—Winifred,—how can you ask? You are, and always will be to me, the one, only woman upon earth."

"That is sufficient," she answered, with a strange, bright smile; "my faith in you is perfect, and faith and love can wait."

"Wait, my love! until when?" he cried.

"If needful, until Eternity's sunlight dispels Earth's shadows! Eternity holds ample compensation for all of Earth's waiting."

"But, my darling," he said, half protesting, while he folded her to his breast, "you know not the risk you may be running; I cannot accept the sacrifice that may be involved."

"My decision is taken, and it is irrevocable," she answered, with an arch smile; then added, "There can be no barriers between us, Harold, for Love will find a way!"

CHAPTER XVIII AN UNFORESEEN FOE

Though nearly six weeks had elapsed since the death of the master of Fair Oaks, and as yet no light had been shed on that mysterious event, the interest of the public mind in the affair had in no wise abated during this brief interim. On the contrary, its curiosity had been so whetted by the partial revelations of the inquest, that it had eagerly followed each step of the legal proceedings leading towards the inevitable contest over the property, ready to hail with delight the appearance of the Mainwaring skeleton when it should step forth from its long hiding to disclose the secrets of the past.

As early as possible, a petition, setting forth the terms and conditions of the last will and testament of Hugh Mainwaring, and praying for letters of administration in accordance therewith to be issued to William H. Whitney, the executor named in said will, had been filed in the district court. A few days thereafter, the petition of Eleanor Houghton Mainwaring, for letters to be issued to Richard Hobson, was also filed. The hearing in the application for letters of administration occupied several days; very little evidence was adduced, however, which had not already been given at the inquest, and in due time an order was issued by the court, appointing Mr. Whitney administrator of the estate, with instructions that the same be adjusted according to the terms of the lost will. From this order, Eleanor Houghton Mainwaring, through her attorney, Hobson, had appealed, and the contest had at last begun.

For greater convenience during the legal proceedings, Ralph Mainwaring had closed the suburban residence, dismissing what servants were no longer needed, though still retaining the new coachman, and had removed to Hugh Mainwaring's city residence, where he and his son made themselves perfectly at home, dining with Mr. Whitney at his club. Mrs. LaGrange, having been compelled to resign her position at Fair Oaks, had also removed to the city and taken apartments in a convenient hotel until the termination of her suit.

The afternoon of the second day since the opening of the case was drawing to a close; the testimony on the appellant's side had been taken, and it was expected that the respondent would be heard on the following day, when an event transpired which completely overthrew all proceedings had thus far, and which promised the waiting public developments as startling as could be desired.

This event was none other than the filing in the district court of a document purporting to be the last will and testament of the father of the deceased Hugh Mainwaring, by the terms of which the Mainwaring estate, as it then existed, together with the bulk of his other property, passed to Harold Scott Mainwaring, an elder son who had been previously disinherited, but was by this will restored to his full rights. With this document, worn and yellow with age, was filed a petition, setting forth the claims of one Harold Scott Mainwaring, the lawful, living, and only son of the said Harold Scott Mainwaring named in the will, but since deceased, and sole heir of the Mainwaring estate, and praying for letters of administration to be issued to George D. Sutherland, attorney for the said lawful heir.

The court adjourned amid intense excitement, just as the newsboys were crying the headlines of the evening papers,—

"A New Heir to the Mainwaring Property! Discovery of Will secreted more than Twenty-five Years! Millions wrongfully withheld from the Rightful Owner!"

Strangely enough, the two most interested in this unexpected turn