The Mynns' Mystery

“No, Mr Hampton,” said Gertrude firmly.

“That’s quite right,” said the young man, giving her a keen, earnest look, so full of pleased admiration that Gertrude trembled, and her eyes fell. There was something so new in that look. “If any one ought to stay here, Miss Bellwood, it should be you. Well, Mr Hampton, you want proofs?”

“Yes, sir – the letters, for instance.”

“I have only the one I received. The others were stolen from me.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, sir, with everything of value that I possessed. Hang it all, man, don’t look so sceptical.”

“I beg pardon, sir. Go on. Of course you see I must have proof that you are the gentleman you represent yourself to be.”

“Well, let me see. I disposed of everything I had before I went upon a hunting expedition, all but a few necessaries, and bought other things suitable for my expedition. These, I regret to say, I have lost, and but for the kindness of some people in the West, I should not have been able to get here.”

“Then you have nothing you can show?” said the old lawyer.

Gertrude looked wildly and inquiringly at their visitor, for vaguely it seemed as if some one had been holding out to her a hand to save her from a fate from which she shrank more and more as the hours glided by, but that, after all, this stretched-out hand was only a delusion and a snare.

“Well, no,” said their visitor, with his broad brow puckering up with perplexity. “You see,” – and he gave all a frank, half-smiling look, which won upon Mrs Hampton, though she received it in the most stony way – “I came here to-night all eager, and expecting to be received with open arms, and you all look like ice, and treat me as if I were an impostor. No, sir, I have no proofs; and, for the moment, I don’t know how to establish my identity. Of course it will be all right. I can only say now that I am George Harrington.”

Gertrude, in spite of herself, gave him a pitying glance, to which he responded by one so bold and masterful that he felt for the moment as if held, and the colour, which had been absent from her cheeks for weeks, slowly began to mantle there.

“Here, stop a bit, sir. This is The Mynns. I came and stayed here once.”

“Ah!” said the lawyer slowly; “then you recollect all about the place?”

“No,” said the young man thoughtfully, “I was such a little kidling. No; I don’t recollect anything. I don’t know, though; have you any portrait of the old man? I might remember him.”

“Was that anything like him?” said the lawyer, pointing to an oil painting of Gertrude’s father, which was over the mantelpiece.

“No; not a bit,” said the young man shortly. “Not a bit.”

Gertrude’s spirits rose a little, as in secret she began to wish that their visitor’s words were true, though she did not doubt it herself.

“Shall we walk into the dining-room?” said the lawyer; “there are several portraits there.”

“By all means. I want to clear my character, ladies. Rather hard on a man to be taken for a trickster and a cheat.”

“No one accuses you, sir, of being either,” said the old lawyer gravely. “I am one of the executors of Mr Harrington’s will, and I have a duty, greater than you realise, to perform.”

He led the way to the dining-room, where their visitor immediately fixed his eyes on the portrait of the late owner of The Mynns, to the exclusion of three other portraits on the walls.

“That’s more like what I should have taken the old man to be; but no, no, no. It would be a contemptible sham for me to pretend to recognise him, so I give that up at once. Look here, sir, can’t you – or can’t you, Miss Gertrude, cross-examine me a bit about my father and mother, and our family history?”

“Yes,” said the old lawyer; and he put a series of questions, all of which were instantly answered.

“This is all very satisfactory, sir, but I want more proof. Let me see; the late Mr Harrington gave you a watch, did he not?”

The question was asked in a slow, peculiar way, and Gertrude darted a searching look at the unmoved countenance before her.

“A watch? Gave me a watch, sir? No. The boot was on the other foot.”

Gertrude’s face lighted up again. She hardly dared to confess it, but she wanted, more and more, for this one to prove that he was the true George Harrington whom she was to love and honour.

“Oh! You gave him a watch, I am to understand?”

“Yes, with a chain made out of nuggets. The case was made of gold I found. I sent it because the old man always girded at my father for gold-hunting, and it was to show him what we could do. But will you not sit down, ladies?” he added, with a rather rough, but natural courtesy.

“Perhaps you will take a seat, too, sir,” said the old lawyer, who was impressed favourably by his visitor’s manner, and felt a lingering hope that his tale might be true, though all the while upon his guard against imposition.

“I will with pleasure, for I am tired. Stop a moment?” he cried excitedly; “I recollect that old girl. She used to take lumps of sugar, melt them in a wax-candle, and let yellow drops of the sweet fall on a piece of writing-paper. You ask her presently. By Jove!” he cried laughingly, “think of my remembering that.”

Gertrude’s heart gave a great throb, and she dared not meet the frank, merry eyes directed at her.

“Humph?” ejaculated the lawyer, scanning the face before him narrowly, and always to be met by a frank, manly look. “I find I am supposed to be wrong, then, about the watch?”

“Oh, yes, sir, you were wrong there. Why, by Jove! the old man wrote and told me he should leave me that watch.”

“There was the series of remittances then, sir,” continued the lawyer. “You will allow, then, that the late Mr Harrington made you an allowance?”

“I agree that this is a trap, Mr Lawyer,” said the young man; “but that was a thoroughly confidential matter, upon which we will not speak. Yes; have it your way if you like – the old man used to keep me.”

“Humph! I wish my co-executor was here,” said the lawyer, after a pause.

“So do I, sir, if it would simplify matters. All this is very unpleasant, of course.”

“More so, sir, than you imagine.”

“Well, pray tell me what to do. Here have I come to claim my heritage and my – I beg pardon,” he said quickly, with an admiring look at Gertrude, “my wife and my heritage, and the lady does not so much as shake hands with me.”

Gertrude, in spite of herself, gave him an apologetic look.

“And you treat me as if I were a scoundrel.”

“I am compelled to look upon your claim, sir, with suspicion.”

“Well, sir, you are a lawyer; perhaps you will let me retain your services on my behalf.”

“Certainly not, sir. You are attacking, I am for the defence.”

“Very well then, sir, I must get another advocate, I suppose, and oust you from your position.”

He paused for a few moments, and looked fixedly at Gertrude, and his gaze intensified, not in boldness, but in respectful ardour, as he slowly rose, and, with a sigh of satisfaction, held out his hand to her.

“Gertrude Bellwood,” he said, “I am a rough man; I have lived a wild pioneering life where, for the most part, I have rarely seen woman, but I inherited from my sweet, dear mother’s teaching a feeling of veneration for her, as one whom it is our duty to look upon with chivalrous respect. Frankly, I came here to-night, ready to claim the property my grandfather has bequeathed me, and to set the lady he wished me to wed quite free to follow her own bent. I feel it is my duty to do this, but I shall wait a while; meantime, I venture to think that you do not look upon me as an impostor. I am George Harrington, and though I now offer you my hand, it is only for the first friendly clasp. You will shake hands with me?”

Gertrude’s eyes were fixed on his, and held there as if fascinated. She did not speak, but looked at him wildly. But at last slowly, and in the midst of an utter silence, she said faintly: