THE RIGHTFUL CLAIMANT.
Imagine, if you can, the effect this amazing assertion had upon us. We were stupefied—struck speechless; we could only stare breathlessly, with dilated eyes, at Captain Rudstone. Had we heard aright? Was he really the missing Osmund Maiden? Folding his arms on his breast he returned our scrutiny with a cynical smile.
“He is mad—mad!” gasped Christopher Burley.
The law clerk pointed with trembling hand, and the veins stood out on his forehead like whipcords. His face was of a purple hue.
“Captain Rudstone, is this a jest?” cried the factor, as he rose from his kneeling position. “On my word you will find it a sorry one—”
“It is not a jest, sir.”
“What, do you insist that you are speaking the truth?”
“Certainly,” was the haughty reply. “I repeat it. I am Osmund Maiden!”
“And this is your trunk?”
“I have told you it was.”
“Bless my soul, I never knew the equal of this!” exclaimed Macdonald. “But you can’t expect us to accept such a statement without clear proof.”
“Yes, he must prove it!” Christopher Burley cried hoarsely. “His word is not sufficient; I fear the captain trifles with us. I demand the proofs—quick!”
“They are easily produced,” said Captain Rudstone.
We watched him expectantly as he thrust a hand into an inner pocket of his coat, I with a growing conviction that the right man was found, while on Flora’s face was an expression of aversion and mistrust. He drew out a yellow slip of paper and gave it to the factor.
“I claim my property, sir,” he said curtly.
“The receipt!” cried Macdonald, after a hasty glance. “‘April the 19th, 1788; trunk No. 409’!”
“Is it correct?” exclaimed the law clerk.
“Yes, quite so. Mr. Burley. I know the signature.”
“Perhaps you would like further satisfaction gentlemen,” said the captain; “though, indeed, I think the receipt is all that is called for. But, with your permission, I will open my trunk.”
“Do so, I beg of you,” replied the law clerk. “Show me more proof—more proof!”
“Mr. Burley, did you ever see Osmund Maiden?” asked the captain.
“Only a portrait of him, sir—painted before he left England.”
“Then look sharply at me!”
The law clerk came forward a little, and stared for a moment into Captain Rudstone’s face.
“Good Heavens!” he cried. “I see it—I see it now! You are much changed, but the features are the same. And you have Osmund Maiden’s eyes!”
“Are you satisfied?” said the captain, with a short laugh. “But, wait; I will open the trunk. Do you admit my right to it, Mr. Macdonald?”
“I do, sir. It is certainly your property.”
Captain Rudstone took a small key from his pocket, and knelt beside the trunk. He fitted the key to the lock, turned it, and threw open the lid, revealing to our eager gaze some articles of clothing, and a few letters and papers tied in a packet. He opened the bunch, selected one of the letters, and handed it to the law clerk.
With trembling hands Christopher Burley took the inclosure from the envelope, and glanced over it briefly.
“Written in 1785,” he exclaimed, “to Osmund Maiden by his mother, when he was at the University of Oxford! Gentleman, my quest is at an end. I have found the missing—” His face suddenly turned deathly pale. He staggered, and would have fallen, but for Macdonald, who caught and supported him. “It is nothing,” he muttered faintly. “The excitement—the shock; I shall be better in a moment.”
Just then I happened to glance at Flora, and was startled by her appearance. She was gazing at the letter, which was still in the law clerk’s hand; her cheeks were deeply flushed, and her expression was one of incredulous amazement.
“What is the matter?” I said anxiously.
“Don’t be foolish, Denzil!” she replied, turning her eyes in another direction, and making an effort to speak calmly. “I thought I saw—No, I was mistaken.”
The words were so low that none heard them but myself. I attached no meaning to them at the time, thinking that she was slightly unnerved by the dramatic scene we were witnessing.
But Captain Rudstone—as I remembered afterward—seemed to notice Flora’s agitation. At all events he quickly recovered the letter from the law clerk and restored it to the packet. That he tossed into the trunk, closing and locking the lid, and putting the key in his pocket. Then he rose to his feet.
“I think,” he said, “that I have fully proved my claim”—to which undeniable statement Macdonald and I nodded assent.
“And in the future we are to call you Mr. Osmund Maiden,” said Flora, with a mocking flash in her eyes.
“Yes, he is Osmund Maiden,” hoarsely declared Christopher Burley. “But do you know all—all, sir?” he inquired eagerly.
“I think I do,” replied the captain.
“When we first met in Quebec, months ago, Mr. Burley, I suspected what had brought you to the Canadas. Your own words, you will remember, gave me the clew. I can assure you that I have managed to keep an eye on the London papers for years past. No news of importance has escaped me.”
“But—but why did you not—”
“Why not reveal myself before, you would say? I had a reason, Mr. Burley—one that might have kept my lips sealed indefinitely. But that reason ceased to exist about a month ago, and I was free to follow you to Fort Garry—free to disclose the truth. Are you satisfied, sir?”
“I am content and I am grateful,” replied the law clerk. “I have accomplished the difficult task that brought me across the seas. In this moment of triumph my arduous labors—my wanderings in a barbarous land—count for nothing. They are forgotten.”
With that Christopher Burley rolled his eyes till the whites, showed, and a look of vast importance grew on his smug and shaven face. Then, to my astonishment, he made a low and cringing bow before Captain Rudstone.
“My lord, I congratulate you,” he said proudly. “I greet you as the Earl of Heathermere, of Heathermere Hall, in Surrey—as the heir to an old and honored title, to a vast and rich estate!”
“I greet you as the Earl of Heathermere, of Heathermere Hall, in Surrey—as the heir to an old and honored title, to a vast and rich estate!”