A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3

"'Exactly,' said Baldwin, 'but were I a young man, and rich, and made presents to a young girl, they should not always be flowers which fade in a day, and are flung into the sea. I should think of things more substantial, things that would last and would always retain their value.'

"Upon this hint they were not slow to act. They sent letters to distant towns; they made secret visits to places not so far away as to necessitate their absence for not longer than twenty-four hours, and armed with ornaments and jewels they made their appearance at the lighthouse, and presented them to Avicia. She wore none of them; her father took possession of them, with the remark, 'It would be unbecoming for a single girl to display these gewgaws upon her neck and arms. By and by, when she is a married woman, then will be the time, if other things are in keeping. Meanwhile, I am a safe custodian-and mark you,' he added, with an emphasis which caused me to regard him with abhorrence (for I was present when he said it), 'my daughter has been taught to obey me. My will is her law.'

"They saw not the meaning of the cunning words; I, cooler and more collected, with no blinding, passionate thrills in my pulses, was gifted with a keener insight. I made one slight, impotent attempt to open their eyes, but the manner in which I was met warned me not to repeat it if I wished to be of service to them, and to avert a calamity. He was Avicia's father, and, as such, incapable in their judgment of a mean or sordid act.

"Now for the trap I set, into which I was the only one to fall. I had really, with the best wisdom at my command, reviewed and studied the lamentable position of affairs, and it appeared to me a necessity that one of the brothers must suffer. If he suffered without guilt upon his soul, it would be the be-all and the end-all of the torture. His suffering would be his own, and would not bring misery upon others. And in the light of the inevitable, his honourable feelings and the promptings of conscience-to which I believed both Silvain and Kristel to be amenable-would assist him to bear it in silence, however bitter and poignant it might be. I decided that Silvain was the better able, upon moral grounds, to bear the suffering, although, had it devolved upon me to deliberately contribute to the happiness of only one of the brothers, my choice would have fallen upon Silvain. My scheme was to endeavour to take him from this scene of silent, agonising contention of love. Upon his return he would find matters so far advanced that he would be deterred from advancing another step towards Avicia.

"I opened the matter privately with Silvain.

"'I am called away from you,' I said to him, 'and shall be absent for three or four months.'

"'I am sorry to hear it,' said Silvain. 'Is it imperative?'

"'Yes,' I said, 'it is imperative.'

"'I do not ask you upon what errand you are compelled to leave us,' said Silvain, 'because if the matter were not as private as it is urgent, I think you would confide in me voluntarily. Unhappily,' he added, with a sigh, 'we all have secrets which it is incumbent upon us to conceal even from our dearest friends.'

"I understood the allusion, and my heart bled for him.

"'Silvain,' I said, 'I have grown so accustomed to your society, and if you will forgive me the confession, have grown so to love you, that I shall feel inexpressibly lonely and unhappy without you. Why not accompany me?'

"There was a sad surprise in his eyes as he answered,

"'If it were possible, it would afford me great pleasure. But it is not possible.'

"'Why not?'

"'Do not ask me; you would not understand.'

"'Is it really necessary you should stay here?'

"'Vitally necessary. To leave would snap my heart-strings. I should die.'

"'Silvain,' I said, with all my earnestness, 'sometimes in a man's life there comes a crisis-'

"He stopped me with a firmness and decision which were unanswerable.

"'I do not, I must not seek to know your meaning. Surely you can see that I am suffering. All would be dark, but for the light of one star which illumines the world for me. Not another word. You say you love me. If your love is sincere, you will spare me.'

"'It is because my love is sincere,' I urged, 'that I would give much if I could prevail upon you.'

"But he broke from me and would listen no further.

"'Next I tried Kristel, and found him, as I feared and expected, obdurate and violent. In the interval which elapsed between my speaking to Silvain and Kristel, all the village knew that I was about to leave, and the fishermen, and their wives and children, with whom I had become a general favourite, freely expressed their regret at the prospect of losing me.

"'But I am coming back,' I said with an attempt at gaiety.

"They expressed their joy at hearing this. There was no retreat open to me. Had I manufactured an excuse for staying, I felt that I should have been looked upon with suspicion by Kristel and Silvain. In that case, my possible usefulness would be destroyed, and I could never regain the position of confidence I had gained with them. Therefore I bade them farewell, and much distressed and disturbed took my departure.

"I returned at the end of three weeks, the shortest limit I had set upon my absence. I had written to Kristel and Silvain, announcing my return and expected to be greeted by them upon my arrival. To my disappointment I saw nothing of them, and upon inquiring for them, I was informed that they had gone from the village.

"'Gone!' I cried.

"'Yes,' was the answer, 'disappeared.'

"That was all the satisfaction I obtained from the men in the village, my inquiries being at first confined to them. As a rule, they were not given to tittle-tattle, and accounted it a virtue to hold their tongues. Most of the women followed the lead of the men in this respect, but there were a few gossips among them, and I sought out the most garrulous of the class, who was generously discursive and communicative. She was an old woman whose name I have forgotten, and she tardily enlightened me-to my sorrow and dismay. She commenced in a roundabout fashion.

"'You see, sir,' the old soul said, 'there's no telling what there is in man or woman till they are set loose. Tie a young girl up, keep her from mixing with folk, and prevent her from making friends, and frolicking a bit in a harmless way, with girls and boys of her own age, and likely as not mischief will come of it. Not that I believe there's any harm in her.'

"'In her!' I exclaimed. 'In whom?'

"'In Avicia, of course. I don't say it's her fault, but beauty's a snare. You see, sir, she was brought up wrong. 'Twas not her fault but her misfortune that her mother died when she was a little one-too little to remember anything of her who suckled her. Then said we to her father, the keeper of the lighthouse, "You and a babe are not a match. Being a man, you are an ignoramus in the ways of a child, who hasn't yet learnt to prattle. Let her come among us, and we will rear her for you, and make a bright woman of her." For even then, young as she was, we women knew that she was going to grow up beautiful. Men think all babes alike, but we know better. Avicia's father would not have it so. "My child shall not leave my side," said he. "She will be better off without a parcel of women about her." We settled it among ourselves that he was too mean and stingy to do as we wanted, thinking it would cost him something. He's a rare close-fisted man is Baldwin, and fairly dotes on gold-though, as he declares he will live and die on the lighthouse, it's hard to say what good all the gold in the world could do him. We offered to take the babe for nothing, but even that he wouldn't listen to, being suspicious that we had designs on him. So Avicia was left with him, and he brought her up in his lonely home, in which no child but his own has ever set foot. Give the devil his due-which isn't saying much, for if you don't give it him he'll be quick enough in taking it, and a bit over if he's got the chance-Baldwin didn't let Avicia grow in ignorance; he taught her useless things, such as reading and writing, and perhaps the child didn't miss much, in her own reckoning, by not mixing with us. Anyhow, there she was, a maid as beautiful as can be found, sea-born and sea-bred, fit for a lighthouse and for nothing else. That didn't stand in the way of the young men in the village falling in love with her, but she would have nothing to say to one of them, and as they received no encouragement from her father to woo her, they let her alone. Our men are not of the sort to go puking and sighing over a woman. It's a fair match when they come together, and the men don't always get the best of it. We take care of that. But when you and your gentlemen friends came among us-and you're likely men the three of you-we saw how the cat jumped. There was a fat fish to hook, and Baldwin set about it. Let him alone for setting a line-but it can't be denied that he'd a rare bait at the end of it. "Which one is it?" asked we of one another when we were talking about it. None of us could decide. We had only two to guess one from, for we saw that you weren't being fished for, and still we couldn't decide whether it was Master Silvain or Master Kristel. They were both mad in love with her pretty face, and, being brothers, we thought it a pity, for love is like a poison. However, it was for them to settle it, and settled it is, one way or another.'

"'How?' I asked, in a whirl of apprehension.

"'That,' replied the old woman, 'is what we're waiting to find out.'

"'It is true that my friends have left the village, is it not?'

"'There's nothing truer.'

"I saw that she had not imparted to me all she knew, and that she was enjoying herself at my expense by doling it slowly out. My mood was too impatient for crumbs, and I said, if she were not more swiftly communicative, that I would go immediately to the lighthouse, where I could doubtless obtain from Avicia information of the movements of Silvain and Kristel. The old woman laughed, and said I must seek elsewhere for Avicia.

"'I thought I told you,' she said, 'that Avicia had also disappeared. Be a little patient, and you will know everything. You're lucky, for I'm the only one in the village that can tell you things.'

"I had no choice; I was compelled to be patient, and, related in my own words, this is what I learnt:

"After my departure the wooing of Kristel and Silvain had become more fierce, and they were aware that they were rivals. It may or may not have been that Avicia had given and confessed her love to one of the brothers, but upon this point there was not even the evidence of hearsay, and my perplexity and distress were the greater because of my ignorance. Avicia came more frequently from the lighthouse to the village, and always in the company of both Kristel and Silvain. These visits were made during the day, and in the evening the brothers, having dispensed with the service of the boatmen they had engaged, were in the habit of rowing Avicia home. One night, upon the return of Silvain and Kristel to the village, the old woman from whom I obtained these particulars overheard them conversing. She was unable to fix the identity of each speaker, for the night was dark, and she could not distinguish the voices as coming from either the one or the other. I could well excuse her for this, because, if I had been in her place, and concealed as she was, I myself should have been in doubt of the particular speaker who, for the moment, engaged my attention. This is what she overheard:

"'It is time to put an end to this. I have suffered in silence too long, and I can no longer bear my sufferings. Why do you bar my path to happiness?'

"'Why do you bar mine? I love Avicia.'

"'I also love her.'

"'You have concealed it from me.'

"'Have you not done the same by me?'

"'How, then, could I suspect that you were my rival?'

"'How could I?'

"'You madden me by your retorts. Can you not understand that you are driving me to desperation? She is the light of my life!'

"'And of mine!'

"That was all she heard. They moved away out of sight, and she was afraid to follow.