THE SQUIRE'S STORY (CONCLUSION)
"And so it came about that I returned to the old country, and, out of mere politeness, discovered old Colonel Rawson's address, and called one afternoon. I was ushered into the drawing-room, where sat a lady, whom I at once recognised as my beloved Edith.
"'Harold!' she cried, as she sprang forward.
"I looked at her left hand. There was no ring on the third finger!
"It was, as you, my son, may have suspected, all a mistake (how costly a one you have yet to learn) on my part. The Edith Rawson who had married was not even any relative of my Edith.
"Within three months, though, the latter was a bride.
"In the midst of all my happiness there was one troubling thought that disturbed me more than anyone knew.
"The prophecy contained in the parchment was coming true!
"I mean that prosperity had been promised me for the five-and-twenty years that would elapse before the child which, according to the message sent me in so mysterious a fashion, had then just been born should reach what was evidently considered by his people his majority. Had I not experienced that prosperity in receiving the unexpected legacy and winning for my wife the woman whom I had believed to have proved false to me? But I felt that twenty-five years was a long time. It was no use worrying about a possible calamity in the distant future. And so I forgot the weird prophecy and my connection with India, and settled down to the four years of bliss that were my portion before you, my son, were born, and my darling, in giving you birth, sacrificed her own dear life.
"That was not prosperity, you will say; and I agree to a certain extent. But if she had not died perhaps I might, and then—if there was anything in the prophecy—the doom of the girl Lilla might have fallen upon her instead of upon me. But to proceed with my actual narrative.
"It was nearly four years after my Edith's death when I received a letter bearing an Indian stamp and a blurred postmark that I was unable to decipher. It was addressed to me at the War Office, with instructions to be forwarded, in a shaky handwriting—the work, probably, of an old man; and the sheet contained in the dirty, thin envelope bore the single word—'Remember!'
"My feelings on receiving this epistle from a world that I had come to hope was dead to me were indescribable. I had learned from Sir Bromley some years before that the police believed Lilla was dead, since another queen had been appointed for the district over which my enchantress had held nominal sway, and thus I had put less belief in the prophecy contained in the parchment letter; but now, with the knowledge that my existence had not been forgotten by the Thugs, a great fear for my life came upon me.
"It was impossible for me to change my name, as my friends would have required some explanation of my conduct, and such explanation I should not feel inclined to give. One thing I could do—I could become a civilian, and give up all connection with the army. This I accordingly did. I took the Manse at Northden, in Yorkshire, managed to persuade people to call me and address me as Squire instead of Major Carrington, dropped the latter title altogether, and as my friends died or were lost sight of, I found as years went by that my connection with the Indian Army or any other army was unknown, or, at any rate, forgotten. The name Carrington I knew was no rare one, and I accordingly hoped that I should never be recognised as the Major Carrington who had visited the Madras opium den, and fallen a victim to the charms of the queen of the Thugs.
"Eight years passed after the receipt of the letter from India; then one day I caught sight of a paragraph in the agony column of the Telegraph, which caused me to shudder and dream of all manner of horrible things for months. The paragraph consisted only of a couple of words, and, I found, it had appeared for a week in every London paper.
"This was it—'Carrington, remember!'
"For fear of revealing my identity I took no steps to inquire at the offices of the newspapers whence the instructions for the insertion of the message had come. I should probably have done myself no good by making such inquiries.
"I knew well what those harmless-looking words meant. Sixteen years had passed since I had found the parchment in the deserted roadway. Only nine remained.
"From that day forward I have had no real peace of mind. Perhaps I have appeared harsh to you, my boy. Have I not had cause enough to make me irritable? I have made a point of never mentioning your mother to you, for several reasons. In the first place, it would be most painful for me to do so. In the second, you might have discovered that Miss Edith Rawson (had I told you your mother's maiden name) had married a Major Carrington. An explanation would then have been necessary, and I had no wish to burden you with the secret which has ruined my life.
"The third message from across the seas reached me a few months ago, and was the cause of all the precautions I adopted. It was, as before, a paragraph in the agony column of the leading London newspapers, and ran—'Carrington, the bhuttote (strangler) left Madras to-day.'
"Possibly, those who had heard the queer name were puzzled by the message. You will understand how plain it was to me. It meant that my doom was sealed; that from that day forward I was in the position of a hunted criminal—to be hunted down by a more tireless, more terrible sleuth-hound than any that Scotland Yard possesses.
"The rest you know, or most of it. How the son of 'Lilla' found me out I cannot say. As I have stated, the marvellous powers possessed by these Thugs are terrible, beyond the realisation of the ordinary European. That he has done so you know. Now you know, too, why I would tell you nothing about my secret, why I would not assist you in your investigations, why I would not allow a detective to enter my house. What good would a hundred detectives do when this creature is so determined to slay me at any cost? The attack on the moor is known to you. It is but a few hours since that happened. I am writing these words in the full anticipation of their being perused by you, my son, within a few days, though I have requested that this book shall not be opened until after my death. Thank God, I have never been coward enough to take my life, and lay you open to the attack of the avenger. If you have ever wondered whether my secret in any respect concerned your dear mother or your birth, set your mind at rest, and do not despise