CHAPTER XXIII
The next day it was known in camp that the wounded man was sinking.There was a general feeling of pity for the girl who was believed to behis daughter, but none for the man himself, owing to his having beendetected cheating--one of the deepest of crimes in a community where allmen gambled more or less.
The next morning it was known that he was dead. He was buried a fewhours later. Had he died in good odour, the whole camp would havefollowed him to his grave; but not one would attend the funeral of adetected cheat, and Murdoch had to hire six men to carry theroughly-made coffin to a cleared spot among the pines that had been setapart as the graveyard of the camp. He himself followed, the onlymourner, and those who saw the little procession pass through the campremarked on Murdoch's stern and frowning face. When the body wasconsigned to the earth--without prayer or ceremony--Murdoch went down towhere Ned was at work.
'Come round this evening,' he said; 'there is a lot to tell you.'
When he went into the saloon in the evening, Murdoch beckoned him intothe inner room. Having closed the door, he placed a bottle, a jug ofwater, and two tumblers upon the table.
'Now,' he said, 'sit down. I have a long story and a bad one to tellyou. As I said the other night, I am not a good man, Captain Hampton. Ihave been mixed up in all sorts of shady transactions on the turf athome, and if I had not made a bolt for it should have got seven yearsfor nobbling a horse. I was among a pretty bad lot at New Orleans, andmany a sailor was hocussed and robbed at my place, and I pretty nearcaused your murder; and yet, I tell you, if I had known what ablack-hearted villain that man Warbles--or, as he says his name reallyis, Truscott--was, I would have shot him rather than have taken hishand. First, will you tell me how much you know of him?'
Ned Hampton told what he knew of the man; of his disappointment at hisnot obtaining his father's position of steward at Mr. Hawtrey's, of thethreats he had made, and how, as it seemed, he carried out those threatsby first giving rise to the rumours that Miss Hawtrey was at the mercyof some one who held damaging letters of hers, and then by causing Lindato personate her in the commission of audacious thefts.
'You don't know half of it,' Murdoch said; 'he told it all to her andme, boasting of the vengeance he had taken. You were a boy of eight whenMr. Hawtrey's wife died--do you remember anything about it?'
'Very little,' Ned replied, after sitting for a minute or two--trying torecall the past. 'I remember there was a great talk about it. She died aweek or two after Miss Hawtrey was born. I remember there was a shock,or a loss, or something of that sort, but I do not remember more thanthat. Oh, yes, I do; I remember there was another baby, and that somehowshe and her nurse were drowned.'
'Yes, that was it. Truscott was at the bottom of it; he told us he hadbeen watching for his chance. It seems that when the twins came themother could not nurse them. Two women were obtained as foster mothers;Truscott got hold of one of them. I believe from what he said she hadbelonged to the place, but had been away in London and had only returneda month or two, and had had a baby which had died a day or two beforeMrs. Hawtrey's were born, and although she had no character they wereglad enough to secure her services in the emergency. Truscott, as Isaid, got hold of her and bribed her heavily to consent to carry out hisorders. One evening she pretended to get drunk. She was of coursedischarged, but being apparently too drunk to be turned out on a wet andwild night, as it happened to be, she was put in a room upstairs and wasto be sent away first thing in the morning.
'The two babies slept in cradles in their mother's room. In the morningthe one she had nursed was gone and so was the woman. The latter'sbonnet was found at the end of the garden which ran down to the Thames.The supposition naturally was that she had awoke half-sobered in themorning, with sense enough to remember how she had disgraced herself,and had determined to drown herself and the child. The river wasdragged; the woman's shawl was found caught in a bush dipping into thewater, and a torn garment which was recognised as that in which the babyhad been put to bed was fished out of the river miles down. The woman'sbody was never found, but the river was in flood and it might have beenswept out to sea in a few hours. A little baby's body was cast ashorebelow Kew. It could not be identified, but no doubts were entertainedthat it was the one they were in search of, and it was buried with Mrs.Hawtrey, for whom the excitement and shock had been too much.'
Captain Hampton had listened with growing excitement to the story.
'Then the child was not drowned, and Linda is Dorothy's twin sister! Iwonder that a suspicion of the truth never occurred to their father. HadI known all these circumstances you are telling me I am sure I shouldhave suspected it. I was convinced by this scoundrel's manner, when hehad an altercation with Mr. Hawtrey at Epsom and threatened him, that hehad already done him some serious injury, though Mr. Hawtrey, when Ispoke to him, declared he was not conscious that he had suffered in anyway at his hands, unless two or three rick-burnings had been his work.
'Certainly, no thought that he could have had any hand in thecatastrophe that caused the death of his wife had ever occurred to him.Had I known that the body of the infant had never been reallyidentified, or that of its nurse found, I should have suspected thetruth as soon as I found that Truscott and Dorothy's double were actingtogether. What an infamous scoundrel, and what a life for the girl. Buthe never could have foreseen that the two sisters would grow up soalike.
'No. He told the poor girl what his intentions had been. The woman whostole her died when the child was four years old, and he then placed herwith a woman whom he had known as a barmaid. She was not only given todrink, but was mixed up with thieves and coiners. His expectation wasthat the girl so placed would necessarily grow up a young thief, and goto the bad in every way; and the vengeance to which he had lookedforward was that Mr. Hawtrey should at last be informed that thisdegraded creature was his daughter. He had the declaration of the womanwho stole her signed by herself in presence of three witnesses. Ofcourse it made no allusion to his agency in the affair, but described itas simply an act of revenge on her part. He intended to testify only tothe fact that he had known this woman, and at her death had taken thechild she had left behind her and placed it with another woman as an actof pure charity. Of course, the part he had played in the matter wouldhave been suspected--indeed, he would have lost half his pleasure had itnot been so--but there would have been no proof against him.'
'It is a horrible business,' Ned Hampton said; 'a fiendish business, andhe had no real ground for any hostility against Mr. Hawtrey. He wouldhave had the appointment his father had held had it not been for his ownmisconduct. His own father, on his deathbed, implored Mr. Hawtrey not toappoint his son, as he would certainly bring disgrace upon his name.'
'Truscott represented that he had been scandalously treated and his liferuined by Hawtrey. I have no doubt the matter really was as you say, buthe had certainly persuaded himself that he was a terribly ill-used man,and spoke with exultation over the revenge he had taken. It was aboutfour years ago that on his going to see the girl in the court in whichhe had placed her--'
'It was Piper's Court, at Chelsea.'
'Why, how on earth did you know that?'
'I have a lad with me who was brought up in that very court, and whorecognised her as soon as he saw her here; in fact he had remarked onthe likeness directly he saw a photograph of her sister.'
'Well, when Truscott noticed the likeness he saw that properly workedthere was money to be made out of it, so he took her from the woman shehad been with and put her with one who had been a governess, but who hadcome to grief somehow and was nearly starving. This woman was to educateher, but was to teach her nothing that could interfere with his plansfor her. I mean nothing of religion or what was right or wrong, oranything of that sort. When he sent her to the woman, the girl hadpromised she would do whatever he wanted her to do if he would have hereducated. So, when the time came, she was perfectly ready to carry outhis scheme. She watched Miss Hawtrey come out from her house
severaltimes, noted the dress she wore, and had one made precisely similar inevery respect, and, as you know, carried out her part perfectly.'
'Her hair is, as you see, rather darker than her sister's, but she fakedit up to the right shade, and the make-up was so good that not only theshopmen but this Mr. Singleton, whom Truscott knew was her sister'sgodfather and a most intimate friend, was also taken in. I tell you,sir, if you had heard the devilish satisfaction with which thatscoundrel went over this story again and again, you would have felt, asI did, a longing to throw yourself upon him and strangle him. I musttell you that Sally had no idea whatever that the girl she representedwould be seriously suspected of having carried out these thefts. Sheknew nothing of Truscott's enmity to Hawtrey. He had told her only thathe knew a young lady to whom she bore such a remarkable likeness that itwould be easy to personate her. Sally herself had suggested that thegirl might be suspected, but he had laughed at the idea and said shecould have no difficulty whatever in showing where she was at the timethat Sally called at the jeweller's and Singleton's. Sally herself isfond, as is natural enough in a girl as good-looking as she is, ofhandsome clothes, and that visit to the shop where she laid in a stockof fine clothes was, she admits, her own suggestion. She has kept herroom since Truscott's death. She did not say a word as he was tellingher his story, but she went as white as death, and got up with a sort ofsob when he finished and went out of the tent without saying a word, andhas not come out of her room since.
'I saw her after his death this morning, and it cut me to the heart. Shewas sitting on her bed, and I think she had been sitting there eversince she went into her room, twenty-four hours before. She talked itover with me in a strange hopeless sort of voice, as if the girl who hadbeen brought up in that court in Chelsea had been somebody else. Ibrought her in some tea with some brandy in it, and made her drink it;and she took it just like a little child might. This afternoon I saw thedoctor and told him what sort of a state she was in, and he gave me asleeping mixture which I got her to take, and I peeped in just now andsaw that she was lying asleep on her bed, and I hope she will be betterto-morrow. It has been an awful shock for her.'
'Terrible,' Ned Hampton agreed. 'I could hardly imagine a more dreadfulstory for a woman to hear. She is indeed deeply to be pitied. What areyou thinking of doing?'
'I am not thinking anything about it yet. I suppose she will go back toEngland. As for me, I expect I shall carry on this place. We have beendoing first-rate since we came here three months ago. Of course it won'tbe the same when she has gone. We three were equal partners in it, but Iam sure we shall have no trouble in arranging about that. I don't knowwhat I shall do without her; you will hardly believe me, but the eightor nine months we have been together I have got to love that girl justas if she had been my daughter. You see I always doubted that Truscottmeant fair by her. Of course, he would have used her as long as she wasuseful to him, but he would have thrown her off in a minute if it hadsuited him. She knew I meant fair by her, and when we happened to bealone together she talked to me quite different to what she did to him.It seemed to me that with him she always had in her mind that it was abargain which she was carrying out. She regarded him as her master in asort of way, but I do really think she looked on me as a friend. Shewould not have stayed with us long. At New Orleans she got a partnershipdeed drawn out. She would not move without it, and one of the conditionsshe insisted on was that she could leave us when she liked, and ifTruscott had pressed her to do anything, such as marry a man she did notfancy, or anything of that sort, she would have chucked it up at once.But she has got lots of spirit and pluck, and though, of course, she isawfully cut up at present, she will get over it before long, and sheparticularly begged you would not write to England about all this tillshe has seen you.'
'That I certainly will not do. I don't know that I shall write at all.My idea at present is that it will be better for me to take her home,and then to tell them the story gradually before introducing her tothem. I intended going down to San Francisco and taking passage directto India, but I must give up that idea now. It is clear that she cannotgo by herself, and that I must hand her over to her father.'
It was not until four days later that Ned heard from Murdoch that Linda,as they still called her, would see him next morning. On going in he wasstruck with the change that a week had made. She was paler and thinner,there were dark circles round her eyes and a certain air of timidity hadtaken the place of the somewhat hard expression of self-reliance thathad before characterised her.
'You have heard all the story, Captain Hampton,' she said, 'and I don'tknow that there would be any use going over it again. I have written outa confession of the part I played under the direction of that man, and Iwill sign it in the presence of a magistrate and anyone else you like. Ithank you for the kindness and consideration that you have shown for me,and hope--I do hope with all my heart--that when you go back you willget the reward for the sacrifices you have made for Miss Hawtrey. Idon't think that there is anything else to say.'
'I think there is a good deal to say,' he replied quietly. 'We have toarrange when it will suit you to leave this. I should propose that we godown to San Francisco and take the steamer to Panama and go straighthome from there.'
'I have no home,' she said, 'except this. I have no idea of returning toEngland. I have thought it all over,' she went on, seeing that he wasabout to speak, 'and am sure that it is much the best for everyone. Youknow what I have been--a child brought up in the slums, a little thief,a passer of base coins; since then an adventuress and a thief on alarger scale; last a barmaid. Do you think I would go back and take up aposition as a gentleman's daughter and mix with decent people? I shouldbe miserable. I should know myself to be an impostor. I should feel thatif those I met knew what I really am they would shrink from me withhorror. I cannot imagine a more wretched existence. My father mighttolerate me, but he could not love me. I should cast a shadow on hislife; it would never do. This morning I had a long talk with Murdoch. Hehas behaved as a true friend to me ever since we met; he has always beengood to me, and stood between me and the other. He is ready now to makea sacrifice for me. He will dispose of this business--he has alreadyreceived more than one good offer for it--and will buy a farm down inthe fruit district. I did not ask him to do this; I was quite willing tohave gone down to Sacramento or San Francisco, and to have taken asituation in a shop or an hotel, but he proposed the other plan and Ihave gratefully accepted his offer. There is another thing; I have somemoney. The other got fifteen hundred pounds for the jewels I stole, andthere was a thousand pounds that I got from Mr. Singleton. Mr.Singleton's money we put into the business and Murdoch another fivehundred, the rest of that went on our journey and in getting and fittingup the saloon. In the three months we have been here we have earned justthat money from the takings in the saloon and the money he won ingambling. Of this our share is a thousand, so that I have now the twothousand five hundred which we got from my thefts. This I will hand overto you to pay the people I robbed. We shall still have enough to carryout our plans; Murdoch has his share of the three months' profits, andwe have been offered two thousand pounds for the saloon and business, soyou need feel no uneasiness about that.'
'But your father will never permit it, Miss Hawtrey. I am sure that ifyou will not go home with me he will himself come out to fetch you.'
'It would be useless if he did so,' she said quietly; 'my mind is quitemade up on that point; but I have a prayer to make to you. I implore younever to tell him the truth; let him to the end of his life believe thathis little baby died as he believed, and lies by its mother. That oldgrief is past and over long ago. It was but a babe a few days old, andanother was left him who has been all his heart could wish. What comfortor happiness could he derive by knowing this story--by learning that hischild grew up a gutter girl, a little thief, an adventuress, a swindler?What could I ever do to repay him for this grief and disgrace? In myconfession I have said no word of this, nor is it necessary for yourexp
lanations; you can tell how you met me here, how we got to befriends, how that man was killed, and how, deeply regretting the past, Iwrote the confession of my crime, and you can add that I am resolvedthat henceforth my life shall be a different one, and that I am lookingforward to a quiet and happy life under the protection of a true friend.Surely this will be best for us all--best for my father, best forDorothy, best for me. You may tell her all some day, if you ever winher, as I am sure you will if she is free on your return. Little did Ithink when I saw and studied her walk and manner that she was my sister.Perhaps some day in the far distant she will come to think kindly of thegirl who was what circumstances made her, and who had so little chanceof growing up like herself, and she may even come to write a line to meto tell me so.'
'Here is her portrait,' Ned said, taking it from his pocket. 'As to whatyou ask me, I must think it over before I can promise you.'
'It is very like me,' she said, examining the portrait, 'and yet it'squite unlike. I wonder anyone could have taken me for her. Theexpression is so different. I felt that when I saw her, and I put on aveil, for I knew that I could not look bright, and frank, and happy asshe did. Think it over, Captain Hampton. I am sure you will see that itis best. What possible good could it be for my father to know all this?If I had been stolen from him when I had been older, and he had come tolove me, it would be different. As it is, the truth could only cause himunhappiness.'
Ned Hampton went back to his claim. It had turned out well, and it wasgrowing richer every foot they went down, and had all along beenaveraging two and a half to three ounces for each of the partners. Whentherefore Ned said that he had received news that made him anxious toleave, his mates were perfectly willing to buy his share. They had greatexpectations of the results that it would yield when they neared the bedrock, and they at once offered him a hundred ounces for his share, anoffer which he accepted. He had already laid by an equal sum, and afterpaying his passage and that of Jacob to England or India, would haverecouped himself for all the expenses of his expedition, and he wouldhave some three or four hundred pounds in hand after the sale of thehorses and waggon.
At dinner time he received a cheque on the bank of Sacramento, in whichhis partners had deposited their earnings. Jacob was away and he took along walk down the valley thinking over the girl's proposal. Heacknowledged to himself there was much truth in what she said. It wouldbe a heavy blow to Mr. Hawtrey to find that his daughter was alive andhad been so brought up. He would blame himself for having accepted thefact of her death, when by setting on foot inquiries he might possiblyhave discovered the fraud and have rescued her from the fate that hadbefallen her. The discovery would certainly not add to his happiness; onthe contrary, he would deem himself bound to endeavour to induce her toreturn to England, and Hampton was sure he would fail in doing so. Heacknowledged to himself that his sole objection to the plan was that hehimself would to some extent be acting a deceitful part in keeping Mr.Hawtrey in the dark. Certainly he would not be required to tell anabsolute untruth, for as Mr. Hawtrey would not entertain the slightestsuspicion of the real facts, he would ask no questions that would bedifficult to answer. The next day he told Linda that he would act as shewished.
'I felt sure you would do so,' she said; 'it is so much the best way,and you cannot tell what a load it is off my mind. Murdoch and I havebeen talking over the future. He understands that I want to be quitedifferent to what I have been, and he says I may get a clergyman toteach me the things I never learnt, and we will go to church together; Ihave never been inside a church. I am sure we shall be very happy. Heseems as pleased about it as I am. You must always remember, CaptainHampton, that though I have been very bad, I did not know it was wrong,except that I might be put in prison for it. I think I have always triedto do what seemed to be right in a sort of way, only I did not know whatreally was right.'
'I feel sure you have, Linda; I do not blame you for the past, nor do Ithink that anyone who knew all the circumstances would do so.'
'Have you heard from England lately?'
'No, I have not heard since I left. Letters have no doubt been sent toplaces in the East, where I said I might call for them. When I arrivedhere I wrote to a friend, and according to my calculations I may get hisanswer any day. I have been hoping for a letter for some little time.Jacob has called at the post office at Sacramento the last three timeshe has been down there. I am very anxious to hear, and yet you willunderstand I am half afraid of the news the letter will bring me.'
'I don't think you can have bad news in that way, Ned,' she said. 'I maycall you Ned again now, mayn't I? If Dorothy's face does not belie hershe can't be likely to get engaged to another man so soon after breakingoff her engagement with that lord. Does she know you care for her?'
'No,' he said. 'I don't suppose she ever will. As I told you, we did notpart very good friends. She did not forgive me for having doubted her. Ithink she was perfectly right. I ought never to have doubted her,however much appearances might have been against her.'
'I think it was perfectly natural,' she said indignantly; 'if I coulddeceive Mr. Singleton, and be talking to him for a quarter of an hourwithout his suspecting me, it was quite natural that you, who only had aglimpse of me, should have been mistaken.'
'That is true enough,' he said gravely. 'It was natural that I should bemistaken as to her identity, but I ought to have known that, even thoughit was her, she could not have been, as I supposed, trying to preventthe exposure of some act of folly, when she had over and over againdeclared she knew nothing whatever of the matter. I was in factcrediting her with being a determined liar, as well as having been mixedup in some foolish business, and it is only right I should be punishedfor it.'
'If I loved a man,' Linda said stoutly, 'I should forgive him easilyenough, even if he had thought I told a lie.'
'Possibly, Linda; but then, you see, though Dorothy and I were greatfriends, I have no reason in the world to suppose that she did love me,and indeed, at the time she was engaged to be married to some one else.'
Linda shook her head, quite uninfluenced by this argument. She herselfhad been very near loving Ned Hampton, and she felt convinced that thissister, whom she knew so little about, must be sure to do so likewise,especially when she came to know how much he had done for her.
Captain Hampton smiled.
'You forget, Linda, that your sister is a belle in society; that she hadseveral offers before she accepted Lord Halliburn, and is likely to havehad some since. I am a very unimportant personage in her world. In fact,my chances would have been less than nothing if it had not been for myhaving been so much with her while she was a child, and being a sort ofchum of hers, though I was so much older.' There was a movement as ofweights being carried into the place, and he broke off. 'I fancy that isJacob back with the cart. Perhaps he has got a letter for me. Anyletters, Jacob?'
'Three of them.'
One was in the handwriting of Danvers, another was in a male handwritingunknown, the other in a female hand which he recognised at once, havingreceived several short notes of invitation and appointment from thewriter. With an exclamation of surprise he hurried off to his tent andthere opened it. It contained but a few words--
'My dear Ned,--It was very wrong and wicked of you to go away as you did and keep me in the dark. I have read the postscript of your letter to Mr. Danvers. Come back home at once if you wish to obtain the forgiveness of
'DOROTHY HAWTREY.'
He read it through twice, then his thoughts went back to the letter hehad written to Danvers from New Orleans, and as he recalled thepostscript he had added, he felt his face flush like a girl's under itstan. He read through the letter again and again, and with an exclamationof deep thankfulness put it and the other letters in his pocket, took upthe hat he had thrown down as he entered, and started for a rapid walkup the hill, too excited to remain quiet, and fearing to have thecurrent of his thoughts disturbed even by the entry of Jacob. It was twohours before he returned. H
e went first to the saloon.
'Would you ask Miss Hawtrey if I can speak to her for a minute,Murdoch?'
'Of course I will. Have you got any good news? You look as if you had.'
'The best I could get. It is about her sister.'
Murdoch nodded pleasantly. 'Everything seems to be turning out well.Linda and I are going to settle down to a quiet life till the right mancomes for her, and now you have good news from her sister; this placeseems lucky for us all.'
He tapped at Linda's door. 'Captain Hampton wishes to speak to you for amoment.'
The girl came out at once.
'Your letters are good?'
'They are indeed, Linda. Dorothy has written for me to go home to her.'
'I am glad,' she said heartily, holding out her hand to him. 'It wouldhave been a real grief to me, if after all you have done for Dorothy ithad not been so. It will be very pleasant to think of you as not only myfriend but my brother-in-law, and, as I have seen Dorothy, to be able topicture you in my mind as happy together. Since you were here we havearranged with the store-keeper who has bought the business that he shalltake possession to-morrow, and we shall be ready to start in theafternoon if it will suit you to take us down in your waggon.'
'Certainly; nothing could suit me better. You have not been long inmaking your arrangements.'
'It does not take long in these parts,' Murdoch said; 'we have justsigned a receipt for five hundred ounces of gold, being payment for theEldorado Saloon, its contents and good-will. It was just as simple amatter as for you to sell your share of a claim.'
Jacob was surprised and delighted when, on his master's return, he heardthat he had completely achieved the object of their journey, and thatMurdoch and Linda were going down with him the next day to Sacramento tohave her confession sworn to before a magistrate, and that they shouldthen return at once to England.
'That is first-rate, Captain. I need not go on calling you Ned nolonger, which is a thing I never liked, as being disrespectful andaltogether wrong. You will keep me with you when you get back, won'tyou, Captain?'
'Certainly I will, Jacob; as long as I live and you like to stay with meyou shall do so; but I must try to get you educated and find a betterberth for you than being my servant.'
'I don't want a better berth,' the lad said indignantly; 'I would not bemade a harch-bishop, not if they went down on their bended knees to askme to take the job--not if I could stay with you.'
'Well, I don't suppose you will be tempted that way, Jacob. At any rate,lad, my home will be yours as long as you like to stay with me. We havebeen friends rather than master and servant ever since we left NewOrleans. You nearly lost your life in trying to save mine there, andhave all along proved yourself a good and faithful fellow. Now when wehave had supper you had better go for a stroll through the camp; I havegot two letters to read.'
Danvers' letter, which he first opened, contained nothing of any verygreat interest. He had seen Mr. Hawtrey, who had only been up in townfor a few days, their house having been let for the season, as Mr.Hawtrey told him his daughter, who had been a good deal shaken by anunpleasant adventure they had in Switzerland in the autumn, preferredremaining quietly at home. 'This seems to be altogether in your favour,old fellow. I had heard of the adventure, in which she and two othergirls had a narrow escape for their lives. Halliburn was there at thetime, and was one of the rescuing party. I saw the particulars copiedfrom a Swiss newspaper, and I was afraid at first that affair might comeon again; but it seems he left next day, and there has been no talkabout it since, and this staying down in the country instead of comingup for the season quite seems to put a stopper on that. Hawtrey has paidGilliat for the diamonds. I hope your quest will turn out successful,and that now that you have run them to earth you will get her toconfess; though I don't see exactly how you are going to set about it. Ishall look anxiously for your next letter.'
The other letter was from Mr. Singleton; it was not a long one. Itbegan, 'My dear Ned,--I write to tell you that Hawtrey has very properlyso far disregarded your instructions that, though he kept his promise tothe letter by saying nothing, he yielded to Dorothy's insistence andallowed her to read your letter to Danvers, which the latter hadforwarded to him. If he had not done so I should have told her all aboutit myself. I considered all along that you had acted like a young fool,and I should have done what I thought best for you. As it was I can tellyou that mischief very nearly came of our holding our tongues. However,things are put straight now; and though Dorothy does not say much I amsure she has been fretting ever since she heard of that affair at NewOrleans. My advice to you is to come home at once. Of course, if youhave arranged this affair all the better, but I don't anticipate thatyou will succeed in that. When you get back Hawtrey will write to herand offer her a round sum and a promise that no steps shall ever betaken in the matter if she will sign a confession. You had better getthe name and address of some solicitor at Sacramento, to act asHawtrey's agent in the matter. I have told Dorothy that I am going towrite to you, and asked if she had any message to send. She said she hadnot, but she laughed and coloured, and I should not be at all surprisedif you get a note from the young woman at the same time that you receivethis. I know she heartily regrets her folly before you went away. I musttell you, my dear boy, that I have made some pecuniary arrangementsregarding you; and that if Dorothy is willing to take you, you will meetwith no objection on the part of her father.'
There was no necessity to write, for Ned Hampton travelled to England asfast as his letter would have done. He telegraphed his arrival as soonas he landed and followed his message immediately. Ned Hampton alwayssaid that his wife married him without his even proposing to her. Noproposal indeed was necessary; the matter was settled the moment he wentinto the room where she was awaiting him, and she ran into his armswithout a word. It was not until they were at dinner that the object ofNed's long absence was alluded to. Then, when the servants had left theroom, he said, 'I have brought home an engagement present for you,Dorothy,' and he handed her Linda's confession.
Mr. Hawtrey never knew the truth as to the person who had played thepart of Dorothy's double, and, contented with his daughter beingcompletely cleared, asked no questions concerning her. Dorothy, however,was much more curious, and was with difficulty put off until she becameMrs. Hampton. She was very pitiful over the story when it was told toher.
'Oh, Ned,' she cried, 'how dreadful; and it might just as well have beenI who was carried away and brought up in that misery. Of course, she wasnot to be blamed. How could she have been different? It is wonderful sheshould have been as nice as you say she was. Of course, I shall writeher a long letter. I don't know about keeping it from father; butperhaps it is best, as she was such a little baby when he lost her, andit would be an awful grief to him to think how she suffered.'
Dorothy wrote very frequently, and letters came back telling of Linda'squiet, happy life; but Dorothy was not fully contented until three yearslater she learned that her sister had married a thriving young settleron a neighbouring farm, and that there was every prospect that thetrials and troubles of her early life would be atoned for by happinessin the future.
The year after Dorothy's marriage she was delighted to hear from AdaFortescue that she had become engaged to Captain Armstrong, and she andNed went up to town specially to be present at the wedding.
Years afterwards the sisters met, for after Mr. Hawtrey's death nothingwould satisfy Dorothy but a voyage across the Atlantic, and a journey bythe newly constructed line to California. The likeness between thesisters had increased, for the hard look in Linda's face had died away,and had been succeeded by one of quiet happiness, and Captain Hamptondeclared that he should hardly know them apart, and that Linda was nowindeed _Dorothy's Double_.
THE END.
NEW LIBRARY NOVELS.
THE ONE TOO MANY. By E. Lynn Linton. 3 vols.
IN DIREST PERIL. By David Christie Murray. 3 vols.
THE TIGER LILY: a Tale of Two Passions.
By G. Manville Fenn. 2 vols.
THE RED-HOUSE MYSTERY. By Mrs. Hungerford, 2 vols.
THE COMMON ANCESTOR. By John Hill. 3 vols.
DOROTHY'S DOUBLE. By G. A. Henty. 3 vols.
CHRISTINA CHARD. By Mrs. Campbell Praed. 3 vols.
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