The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel

"Hush, mother!" said the girl. "Be comforted. I will never leave you. No power can part us."

With a supreme effort of will, Mr. Temple tore himself from the contemplation of the shameful discovery, and the likely consequences of the exposure.

"Come, Arthur," he said, holding out his trembling hand to his son; "this is no place for us."

His voice was weak and wandering, and he seemed to have suddenly grown ten years older.

Arthur did not stir from the side of Mrs. Lenoir.

"Come, I say!" cried Mr. Temple petulantly; "have you no consideration for me? It can all be explained; we will talk over the matter when we are alone."

"We must talk of it now," said Arthur solemnly, "with God's light shining upon us, and before His House of Prayer."

A high purpose shone in the young man's face, and his manner was sad and earnest. He took Mrs. Lenoir's hand with infinite tenderness and respect:

"Will you answer, with truth, what I shall ask you?"

"As truthfully as I would speak in presence of my Maker!" replied Mrs. Lenoir, with downcast head.

"This gentleman is my father. What is he to you?"

"He is the father of my dear child, torn from me by a cruel fraud, and now, thank God, Oh, thank God! restored to me by a miracle. He should have been my husband. When he prevailed upon me to fly with him-I loved him, and was true to him in thought and deed, as God is my Judge! – he promised solemnly to marry me."

"And then-"

"I can say no more," murmured Mrs. Lenoir with sobs that shook the souls of all who heard; "he deserted me, and left me to shame and poverty. O, my child!" she cried, turning her streaming eyes to the Duchess, "tell me that you forgive me!"

"It is not you who need forgiveness, mother," sobbed the Duchess, falling into her mother's arms.

A terrible silence ensued, broken by the querulous voice of Mr. Temple:

"This woman's story is false. Arthur, will you take her word against mine? Remember what I have done for you-think of the love I bear you! Do nothing rash, I implore you! Say, if you like, that she has not lied. I will be kind to her, and will see that her life is passed in comfort. Will that content you?" He paused between every sentence for his son to speak, but no sound passed Arthur's lips. From the depths of his soul, whose leading principles were honour and justice, the young man was seeking for the right path. Exasperated by his silence, Mr. Temple continued, and in a rash moment said: "What can she adduce but her bare word? What evidence that the girl is my child?"

A voice from the rear of the group supplied the proof he asked for. It was Richards who spoke.

"I can give the evidence. The girl is your child."

Mr. Temple turned upon him with a look of fear, and the eyes of all were directed to Richards' face.

The scene had produced so profound an effect upon the man that, holding the last link required to complete the chain, he was impressed with a superstitious dread that a judgment would fall upon him if he held back at this supreme moment.

"The child is yours. Before you instructed me to ascertain the particulars concerning Seth Dumbrick's life, I had made the discovery. It was I who took the child to Rosemary Lane, and left her there."

"You traitor!" cried Mr. Temple, almost frenzied; "you have deceived and betrayed me!"

"You told me," said Richards, in a dogged voice, "that you wished the child placed in such a position in life that she should never be able to suspect who was her father, and I did the best I could. You employed me to do your dirty work, and I did it, and was paid for it. And when, to try you, I told you that your child had died, you expressed in your manner so little pity, that, having learned to know you, I thought it as well not to undeceive you."

The last link was supplied, and the chain was complete. This disclosure effected a startling change in Mr. Temple's demeanour. He drew himself up haughtily. "Arthur, I command you to come with me."

"I cannot obey you, sir," said Arthur sadly and firmly. "You have broken the tie which bound us. I will never enter your house again; nor will I share your dishonour. Justice shows me the road where duty lies, and I will follow it."

He held out his hand to the Duchess; she accepted it, and clasped it in love and wonder; and passing his disengaged arm around Mrs. Lenoir's waist, he turned his back upon his father, and took the road which justice pointed out to him.

* * * * * *

But a short distance from the country place in which Seth Dumbrick and the children of his adoption spent their holiday, is a pretty and comfortable residence standing in its own grounds. Here lives Nelly Marston and her daughter, no longer bearing the name of the Duchess of Rosemary Lane, but the more simple and natural one of Kate. Happily the faults of our young heroine are not uneradicable, and under the loving ministration of her devoted mother she is gradually developing a sweetness and simplicity of nature which will bear good fruit in the future. The long-suffering mother is happy beyond her wildest hopes, and night and morning she bends her knees in gratitude, and offers up prayers of thankfulness for the life of love she is enjoying. That she is enabled to live this life in ease and comfort is due to Arthur Temple, who, having some private fortune of his own through a legacy left to him in childhood, is able in this way to make some compensation to the trusting woman whom his father betrayed. He comes to the happy home at intervals, and calls Kate his sister, and pays to Kates' mother a respect in which something of reverence finds a place. To this home, also, every fortnight, come Seth Dumbrick and Sally, from Saturday afternoon to Monday morning, and at rarer intervals Nelly Marston and her daughter pay visits to Rosemary Lane, and pass happy hours in Seth's cellar.

So much for the present. What lies in the future?

It may be that Arthur Temple and his father may become reconciled, but the old ties are broken, and in the son's future the father shall play no part. The father's head is no longer erect and proud: his sin has found him out, and his dearest hopes are crushed. It is just.

It may be that our heroine may meet with a man who will woo her honourably, and that when she has children of her own, the better lessons which her mother is imparting will prove to be indeed the best blessing which could fall to her lot.

But it cannot be that Nelly Marston's happiness shall be greater than it is at present. It is full and perfect, and the past is atoned for. Despite the verdict which too censorious people might pass upon her, Nelly Marston's home is a home of innocence and virtue.

THE END