The lawyer bowed his very best bow, but was bound to enter protest against the calm a.s.sumption of the claimant.

"Let us leave that question," Sir Duncan said; "the time would fail us to discuss that now. But one thing I surely may insist upon as the proper heir of my grandfather. I may desire you to produce for my inspection that deed in pursuance of his marriage settlement, which has for so many years lain concealed."

"With pleasure I will do so, Sir Duncan Yordas (presuming that any such deed exists), upon the production of an order from the Court either of King's Bench or of Common Pleas."

"In that case you would be obliged to produce it, and would earn no thanks of mine. But I ask you to lay aside the legal aspect; for no action is pending, and perhaps never will be. I ask you, as a valued adviser of the family, and a trustworthy friend to its interests--as a gentleman, in fact, rather than a mere lawyer--to do a wise and amicable thing. You can not in any way injure your case, if a law case is to come of it, because we know all about the deed already. We even have an abstract of it as clear as you yourself could make, and we have discovered that one of the witnesses is still alive. I have come to you myself in preference to employing a lawyer, because I hope, if you meet me frankly, to put things in train for a friendly and fair settlement.

I am not a young man; I have been disappointed of any one to succeed me, and I wish to settle my affairs in this country, and return to India, which suits me better, and where I am more useful. My sisters have not behaved kindly to me; but that I must try to forgive and forget. I have thought matters over, and am quite prepared to offer very liberal terms--in short, to leave them in possession of Scargate, upon certain conditions and in a certain manner."

"Really, Sir Duncan," Mr. Jellicorse exclaimed, "allow me to offer you a pinch of snuff. You are pleased with it? Yes, it is of quite superior quality. It saved the life of a most admirable fellow, a henchman of your family--in fact, poor Jordas. The power of this snuff alone supported him from freezing--"

"At another time I may be highly interested in that matter," the visitor replied, without meaning to be rude, but knowing that the man of law was making pa.s.ses to gain time; "just at present I must ask you to say yes or no. If you wish me to set my offer plainly before you, and so relieve the property of the cost of a hopeless struggle--for I have taken the opinion of the first real property counsel of the age--you will, as a token of good faith and of common-sense, produce for my inspection that deed-poll of November 15, 1751."

Poor Mr. Jellicorse was desperately driven. He looked round the room, to seek for any interruption. He went to the window, and pretended to see another visitor knocking at the door. But no help came; he must face it out himself; and Sir Duncan, with his quiet resolution, looked more stern than his violent father.

"I think that before we proceed any further," said the lawyer, at last sitting down, and taking up a pen and trying what the nib was like, "we really should understand a little where we are already. My own desire to avoid litigation is very strong--almost unprofessionally so--though the first thing consulted by all of us naturally is the pocket of our client--"

"Whether it will hold out, I suppose." Sir Duncan Yordas departed from his dignity in saying this, and was sorry as soon as he had said it.

"That is the vulgar impression about us, which it is our duty to disdain. But without losing time upon that question, let me ask, what shall I put down as your proposition, sir?"

"There is nothing to put down. That is just the point. I do not come here with any formal proposition. If that had been my object, I would have brought a lawyer. What I say is that I have the right to see that deed. It forms no part of my sisters' t.i.tle-deeds, but even destroys their t.i.tle. It belongs to me, it is my property, and only through fraud is it now in your hands. Of course we can easily wrest it from you, and must do so if you defy me. It rests with you to take that risk. But I prefer to cut things short. I pledge myself to two things--first, to leave the doc.u.ment in your possession; and next, to offer fair and even handsome terms when you have met me thus fairly. Why should you object?

For we know all about it. Never mind how."

Those last three words decided the issue. Even worse than the fear of breach of trust was the fear of treason in the office, and the lawyer's only chance of getting clew to that was to keep on terms with this Sir Duncan Yordas. There had been no treason whatever in the office; neither had anything come out through the proctorial firm in York, or Sir Walter Carnaby's solicitors; but a note among longheaded Duncombe's papers had got into the hands of Mordacks. Of that, however, Mr. Jellicorse had no idea.

"Sir Duncan Yordas, I will meet you as you come," he said, with his good, fresh-colored face, as honest as the sun when the clouds roll off.

"It is an unusual step on my part, and perhaps irregular. But rather than destroy the prospect of a friendly compromise, I will strain a point, and candidly admit that there is an instrument open to an interpretation which might, or might not, be in your favor."

"That I knew long ago, and more than that. My demand is--to see it, and to satisfy myself."

"Under the circ.u.mstances, I am half inclined to think that I should be disposed to allow you that privilege if the doc.u.ment were in my possession."

"Now, Mr. Jellicorse," Sir Duncan answered, showing his temper in his eyes alone, "how much longer will you trifle with me? Where is that deed?"

Mr. Jellicorse drew forth his watch, took off his spectacles, and dusted them carefully with a soft yellow handkerchief; then restored them to their double sphere of usefulness, and perused, with some diligence, the time of day. By the law which compels a man to sneeze when another man sets the example, Sir Duncan also drew forth his watch.

"I am trying to make my reply as accurate," said the lawyer, beginning to enjoy the position as a man, though not quite as a lawyer--"as accurate as your candor and confidence really deserve, Sir Duncan. The box containing that doc.u.ment, to which you attach so much importance (whether duly or otherwise is not for me to say until counsel's opinion has been taken on our side), considering the powers of the horse, that box should be about Stormy Gap by this time. A quarter to four by me.

What does your watch say, sir?"

"The deed has been sent for, post-haste, has it? And you know for what purpose?"

"You must draw a distinction between the deed and the box containing it, Sir Duncan. Or, to put it more accurately, betwixt that deed and its casual accompaniments. It happens to be among very old charters, which happen to be wanted for certain excellent antiquarian purposes.

Such things are not in my line, I must confess, although so deeply interesting. But a very learned man seems to have expressed--"

"Rubbish. Excuse me, but you are most provoking. You know, as well as I do, that robbery is intended, and you allow yourself to be made a party to it."

This was the simple truth; and the lawyer, being (by some strange inversion of professional excellence) honest at the bottom, was deeply pained at having such words used, as to, for, about, or in anywise concerning him.

"I think, Sir Duncan, that you will be sorry," he answered, with much dignity, "for employing such language where it can not be resented. Your father was a violent man, and we all expect violence of your family."

"There is no time to go into that question now. If I have wronged you, I will beg your pardon. A very few hours will prove how that is. How and by whom have you sent the box?"

Mr. Jellicorse answered, rather stiffly, that his clients had sent a trusty servant with a light vehicle to fetch the box, and that now he must be half way toward home.

"I shall overtake him," said Sir Duncan, with a smile; "I have a good horse, and I know the shortcuts. Hoofs without wheels go a yard to a foot upon such rocky collar-work."

Without another word, except "Good-by," Sir Duncan Yordas left the house, walked rapidly to the inn, and cut short the dinner his good horse was standing up to. In a very few minutes he was on Tees bridge, with his face toward the home of his ancestors.

It may be supposed that neither his thoughts nor those of the lawyer were very cheerful. Mr. Jellicorse was deeply anxious as to the conflict which must ensue, and as to the figure his fair fame might cut, if this strange transaction should be exposed and calumniated by evil tongues.

In these elderly days, and with all experience, he had laid himself open, not legally perhaps, but morally, to the heavy charge of connivance at a felonious act, and even some contribution toward it. He told himself vainly that he could not help it, that the doc.u.ments were in his charge only until he was ordered to give them up, and that it was no concern of his to antic.i.p.ate what might become of them. His position had truly been difficult, but still he might have escaped from it with clearer conscience. His duty was to cast away drawing-room manners, and warn Miss Yordas that the doc.u.ment she hated so was not her own to deal with, but belonged (in equity at least) to those who were ent.i.tled under it, and that to take advantage of her wrongful possession, and destroy the foe, was a crime, and, more than that, a shabby one. The former point might not have stopped her; but the latter would have done so without fail, for her pride was equal to her daring. But poor Mr.

Jellicorse had felt the power of a will more resolute than his own, and of grand surroundings and exalted style; and his desire to please had confused, and thereby overcome, his perception of the right. But now these reflections were all too late, and the weary brain found comfort only in the shelter of its night-cap.

If a little slip had brought a very good man to unhappiness, how much harder was it for Sir Duncan Yordas, who had committed no offense at all! No Yordas had ever cared a t.i.ttle for tattle--to use their own expression--but deeper mischief than tattle must ensue, unless great luck prevented it. The brother knew well that his sister inherited much of the reckless self-will which had made the name almost a by-word, and which had been master of his own life until large experience of the world, and the sense of responsible power, curbed it. He had little affection for that sister left--for she had used him cruelly, and even now was imbittering the injury--but he still had some tender feeling for the other, who had always been his favorite. And though cut off, by his father's act, from due headship of the family, he was deeply grieved, in this more enlightened age, to expose their uncivilized turbulence.

Therefore he spurred his willing horse against the hill, and up the many-winding ruggedness of road, hoping, at every turn, to descry in the distance the vehicle carrying that very plaguesome box. If his son had been there, he might have told him, on the ridge of Stormy Gap (which commanded high and low, rough and smooth, dark and light, for miles ahead), that Jordas was taking the final turn, by the furthest gleam of the water-mist, whence the stone road labored up to Scargate. But Sir Duncan's eyes--though as keen as an eagle's while young--had now seen too much of the sun to make out that gray atom gliding in the sunset haze.

Upon the whole, it was a lucky thing that he could not overtake the car; for Jordas would never have yielded his trust while any life was in him; and Sir Duncan having no knowledge of him, except as a boy-of-all-work about the place, might have been tempted to use the sword, without which no horseman then rode there. Or failing that, a struggle between two equally resolute men must have followed, with none at hand to part them.

When the horseman came to the foot of the long steep pull leading up to the stronghold of his race, he just caught a glimpse of the car turning in at the entrance of the court-yard. "They have half an hour's start of me," he thought, as he drew up behind a rock, that the house might not descry him; "if I ride up in full view, I hurry the mischief. Philippa will welcome me with the embers of my t.i.tle. She must not suspect that the matter is so urgent. n.o.body shall know that I am coming. For many reasons I had better try the private road below the Scarfe."

CHAPTER LII

THE SCARFE

Jordas, without suspicion of pursuit, had allowed no gra.s.s to grow under the feet of Marmaduke on the homeward way. His orders were to use all speed, to do as he had done at the lawyer's private door, and then, without baiting his horse, to drive back, reserving the nose-bag for some very humpy halting-place. There is no such man, at the present time of day, to carry out strict orders, as the dogman was, and the chance of there being such a one again diminishes by very rapid process.

Marmaduke, as a horse, was of equal quality, reasoning not about his orders, but about the way to do them.

There was no special emergency now, so far as my lady Philippa knew; but the manner of her mind was to leave no s.p.a.ce between a resolution and its execution. This is the way to go up in the world, or else to go down abruptly; and to her the latter would have been far better than to halt between two opinions. Her plan had been shaped and set last night, and, like all great ideas, was the simplest of the simple. And Jordas, who had inklings of his own, though never admitted to confidence, knew how to carry out the outer part.

"When the turbot comes," she said to Welldrum, as soon as her long sight showed her the trusty Jordas beginning the home ascent, "it is to be taken first out of the car, and to my sister's sitting-room; the other things Jordas will see to. I may be going for a little walk. But you will at once carry up the turbot. Mrs. Carnaby's appet.i.te is delicate."

The butler had his own opinion upon that interesting subject. But in her presence it must be his own. Any attempt at enlargement of her mind by exchange of sentiment--such as Mrs. Carnaby permitted and enjoyed--would have sent him flying down the hill, pursued by square-toed men prepared to add elasticity to velocity. Therefore Welldrum made a leg in silence, and retreated, while his mistress prepared for her intended exploit. She had her beaver hat and mantle ready by the shrubbery door--as a little quiet postern of her own was called--and in the heavy standing desk, or "secretary," of her private room she had stored a flat basket, or frail, of stout flags, with a heavy clock weight inside it.

"Much better to drown the wretched thing than burn it," she had been saying to herself, "especially at this time of year, when fires are weak and telltale. And parchment makes such a nasty smell; Eliza might come in and suspect it. But the Scarfe is a trusty confidant."

Mistress Yordas, while sure that her sister (having even more than herself at stake) would approve and even applaud her scheme, was equally sure that it must be kept from her, both for its own sake and for hers.

And the sooner it was done, the less the chance of disturbing poor Eliza's mind.

The Scarfe is a deep pool, supposed to have no bottom (except, perhaps, in the very bowels of the earth), upon one of the wildest head-waters of the Tees. A strong mountain torrent from a desolate ravine springs forth with great ferocity, and sooner than put up with any more stabs from the rugged earth, casts itself on air. For a hundred and twenty feet the water is bright, in the novelty and the power of itself, striking out freaks of eccentric flashes, and even little sun-bows, in fine weather.

But the triumph is brief; and a heavy retribution, created by its violence, awaits below. From the tossing turmoil of the fall two white volumes roll away, with a clash of waves between them, and sweeping round the craggy basin, meet (like a snowy wreath) below, and rush back in coiling eddies flaked with foam. All the middle is dark deep water, looking on the watch for something to suck down.

What better duty, or more pious, could a hole like this perform, than that of swallowing up a lawyer; or, if no such morsel offered, then at least a lawyer's deeds? Many a sheep had been there ingulfed, and never saluted by her lambs again; and although a lawyer by no means is a sheep (except in his clothing, and his eyes perhaps), yet his doings appear upon the skin thereof, and enhance its value more than drugs of Tyre.

And it is to be feared that some fleeced clients will not feel the horror which they ought to feel at the mode pursued by Mistress Yordas in the delivery of her act and deed.

She came down the dell, from the private grounds of Scargate, with a resolute face, and a step of strength. The clock weight, that should know time no more, was well imbosomed in the old deed-poll, and all st.i.tched firmly in the tough brown frail, whose handles would help for a long strong cast. Towering crags, and a ridge of jagged scaurs, shut out the sunset, while a thicket of dwarf oak, and the never-absent bramble, ap.r.o.ned the yellow dugs of shale with brown. In the middle was the caldron of the torrent, called the "Scarfe," with the sheer trap-rock, which is green in the sunlight, like black night flung around it, while a snowy wreath of mist (like foam exhaling) circled round the basined steep, or hovered over the chasm.