shady avenue of chestnuts, that ledacross the broad Park towards the village. Yes, he loved Liane, andcome what might he would marry her. Soon his father would pass away;then he would be free to act as he chose. After all, he was pleasedthat he had not given a false pledge to a dying man. At least he hadbeen frank.
His brother John had never been his friend, therefore he knew that soonhe must leave Stratfield. One thing he regretted to part from was thelibrary, that fine old room in which he now stood, where he had spent somany long and studious days, and where he had sought refuge almost dailyfrom his father's ill-temper. With hands deep in his pockets, he gazedslowly around the old place with its cosy armchairs and bigwriting-table, then sighed heavily.
He was thinking of his father's angry declaration, "Erle Brooker'sdaughter shall never become a Stratfield." What did he mean? Werethose words uttered because of some absurd prejudice, or was he actuallyaware of something which both Liane and Nelly had carefully striven toconceal? Again he glanced at his watch. The hour was fleeting. Soonhis well-beloved would weary of waiting and return home.
He pressed the electric button, and at once his summons was answered bya neat maid.
"Tell Morton to saddle the bay mare and hold her ready. I may want toride," he said.
"Yes, sir," the girl answered, surprised at his unusual brusqueness.
The door closed, and again he was alone.
"At least I'll try and overtake her," he murmured. "I must see herto-night at all hazards," and as the sunlight faded he paced the roomfrom door to window, his chin resting upon his breast.
Soon the door again slowly opened, and the old solicitor entering,closed it after him.
"It is my painful duty to tell you, Mr George, that your father haspassed quietly away," he said, with that professionally solemn air thatlawyers can assume when occasion demands.
The young man standing with his back turned, gazing out upon the Park,made no response.
"Before he drew his last breath I asked him three times whether he wouldsee you again, but he firmly declined. You caused him the most intensedispleasure by your refusal to grant his request," the solicitorcontinued.
"Am I not my own master, Harrison?" the young man snapped, turning tohim sharply.
"Certainly," the other answered, raising his grey eyebrows. "I admitthat I have no right whatever to interfere with your private affairs,but I certainly cannot regard your attitude and your father's subsequentaction without considerable regret."
"What do you mean?"
"Apart from my professional connection with the Stratfield estate I havebeen, you will remember, a friend of your father's through many years,therefore it pains me to think that in Sir John's dying moments youshould have done this."
George Stratfield glanced quickly at the white-haired lawyer. Then hesaid,--
"I suppose my father has treated me badly at his death, as he didthroughout his life."
"Yes."
"Well, let me know the worst," the young man exclaimed, sighing; "Heavenknows, I don't expect very much."
"When the will is formally read you will know everything," the otheranswered drily.
"A moment ago you said you were a friend of my father's. Surely if youare you will not keep me in suspense regarding my future."
"Suspense is entirely unnecessary," answered the lawyer, his sphinx-likeface relaxing into a cold smile.
"Why?"
"Well, unfortunately, you need not expect anything."
"Not anything?" gasped the young man, blankly. "Then am I penniless?"
The solicitor nodded, and opening a paper he had held behind him onentering, said,--
"When you had left the room half-an-hour ago Sir John expressed a desireto make an addition to his will, and entirely against my inclinationmade me write what you see here. He signed it while still in his rightmind, the two doctors witnessing it. It is scarcely a professionalproceeding to show it to you at this early stage, nevertheless, perhaps,as you are the son of my old friend, and it so closely concerns yourfuture welfare, you may as well know the truth at once. Read foryourself."
George took the paper in his trembling fingers and read the six longlines of writing, the ink of which was scarcely yet dry. Three times heread them ere he could understand their exact purport. The cold formalwords crushed all joy from his heart, for he knew, alas! that the womanhe loved could never be his.
It was the death-warrant to all his hopes and aspirations. He could notnow ask Liane to be his wife.
With set teeth he sighed, flung down the will upon the table with anangry gesture, and casting himself again into his armchair, sat staringstraight before him without uttering a word.
In addition to being cruel and unjust the codicil was certainly of amost extraordinary character. By it there was bequeathed to "my sonGeorge Basil Stratfield" the sum of one hundred thousand pounds on onecondition only, namely, that within two years he married Mariette,daughter of a certain Madame Lepage, whose address was given as 89, RueToullier, Paris. If, however, it was discovered that Mariette wasalready married, or if she refused to accept the twenty thousand poundsthat were to be offered her on condition that she consented to marry hisson, then one-half the amount, namely, 50,000 pounds, was to be paid bythe executors to George, and the remaining 50,000 pounds, together withthe 20,000 pounds, was to revert to his elder brother.
"It certainly is a most extraordinary disposition," old Mr Harrisonreflected aloud, taking up the will again, and re-reading the words hehad written at his dead client's dictation.
"How does my father think I can marry a woman I've never seen?" criedthe son. "Why, the thing's absolutely absurd. He must have been insanewhen he ordered you to write such a preposterous proposal."
"No, he was entirely in his right mind," answered the elder man, calmly."I must confess myself quite as surprised as you are; nevertheless, itis certain that unless you offer marriage to this mysterious youngperson you will obtain nothing."
"It is my father's vengeance," the son cried, in a tone full ofbitterness and disappointment. "I desire to marry Liane, the woman Iadore, and in order to prevent me he seeks to bind me to some unknownFrenchwoman."
"Well, in any case, effort must be made to find her," Harrison observed."You surely will not let fifty thousand pounds slip through yourfingers. There is a chance that she is already married, or that shewill refuse the twenty thousand pounds which I shall be compelled tooffer her."
"But I will only marry Liane," George cried, impetuously.
"My dear young man, yours is a mere foolish fancy. You cannot, nay youmust not, render yourself a pauper merely because of this girl, whohappens to have attracted you just for the moment. In a year's time youwill regard the matter from a common-sense point of view. Your propercourse is to give up all thought of the young lady, and unite with me inthe search for this mysterious Mariette Lepage."
"I decline to abandon Liane," George answered with promptness. "If I ama pauper, well, I must bear it. My ruin is, I suppose, the last of myfather's eccentricities. I'm the scapegoat of the family."
"It is, nevertheless, my duty to advise you," the elder man went on,standing before the empty fireplace with his arms folded. "In any caseI shall be compelled to find this woman. Have you never heard your latefather speak of any family of the name of Lepage?"
"Never. He has not been out of England for twenty years, therefore Isuppose it's someone he knew long ago. What could have been hisobject?"
"As far as I could glean it was twofold. First, he believed that thefact of having left this sum just beyond your reach would cause youintense chagrin; and, secondly, that if you did not marry this unknownwoman, you will still be unable to marry the girl against whom he heldsuch a strange deep-rooted objection."
"Why did he object to her, Harrison? Tell me confidentially what youknow," urged the young man earnestly.
"I only know what he told me a few days ago," the solicitor replied."He said he had ascertained that y
ou had taken many clandestine walksand rides with Liane Brooker, and he declared that such a woman was nofitting wife for you."
"Did he give any further reason?" the other demanded.
"None. He merely said that if you declined to abandon all thought ofher you should not have a penny."
"And he has kept his word," observed George, gloomily.
"Unfortunately it appears so."
"He was unjust--cruelly unjust!" George protested. "I strove hard atthe Bar, and had already obtained a few briefs when he recalled me hereto be his companion. He would not allow me to follow my profession, yethe has now cast me adrift