"A secret cut into is only half a secret, and—"
"Ah! ah! how stupid I have grown! By all means, we are dealing in fractions, and to get the other half I must either pay or go a-hunting for it."
"And thou, being hot-foot after most precious game, methought 'twould best serve to give thee a clue, as to the value of the secret, that thou couldst determine whether 'twas worth the finding;—whether 'twas worth the leaving off pursuit of that thou art after,"—and the Duke threw open his waistcoat and revealed its lining of rare satin and a pocket that contained a paper written upon in a writing that made Lord Cedric start, for he recognized it as Sir John Penwick's. And there recurred to him the conversation he overheard at the monastery, when one said,—"and once Sir John gets to this country." But nay; his very last words in his own waistcoat pocket? So he spoke out disdainfully,—
"And thou dost embroider thy facings with dead men's autographs?"
"They are the better preserved, my lord," said the Duke, with a smile.
"Then I am to understand the secret doth nearly concern Mistress Pen wick, and if I should show her favour, I would pay well for a sequel to that thou art about to unfold, eh! Duke?"
"Aye, pay well; for the demand will be more than thou dost imagine," and he took the paper and gave it into Cedric's hands.
At a glance Cedric saw that the outside paper only was written on by
Sir John; the inner document, containing the whole story, being made
in a strange hand. And Cedric said to himself,—"Aye, 'tis a ruse.
Sir John is dead and I'll wager on't."
"Thou mayest occupy my chamber, which for the present is here." The
Duke left the anxious Cedric to read at leisure.
Lord Cedric knew 'twas not his Grace's way to waste time on things of no moment, and he therefore apprehended evil and his fingers trembled; his dark eyes grew large as he read; his face changing from red to white as the different emotions were awakened; his white teeth crushing his lips. Sir John Penwick had left England, taking all his worldly goods—which were of no mean value—with him. He settled his possessions in the New World. These in time became very great and he was known as one of the wealthiest men in the locality in which he lived. After six years of married life, a great grief came upon him; his wife died, leaving him a baby girl of five. This so unsettled him—having loved his wife beyond measure—he turned again to warfare, having interest and inclination for naught else. He sent his baby daughter with her nurse, Janet Wadham, to the Ursuline Convent at Quebec, where they remained until coming to England. Sir John travelled about from one country to another, engaging in all kinds of intrigue and war. One Jean La Fosse—a Jesuit priest—had been for many years the tried and true friend of Sir John, having been in his early years a suitor to Lady Penwick. This friendship had grown so stout that when they met again in the New World, Sir John put his possessions, in trust, into La Fosse's keeping. When Sir John was taken prisoner, a sort of treaty had been entered into between the French and English, and hostages were required for prisoners of importance. La Fosse was now holding high office in the ranks of his adopted country—England. Therefore, when hostage was asked by the English for Sir John Penwick, La Fosse saw the chance he had waited for for years, and his John was every inch an Englishman, and since being prisoner of the French, determined as far as possible to place his belongings with his own country. He had thought it all out and wrote his desires to La Fosse. Of course, what belonged to Sir John belonged to England, but his possessions were on French soil and his daughter in a French convent. And now Sir John felt 'twould be an opportunity to place his child forever in the hands of his own country. La Fosse had so shaped affairs, that Sir John was at his mercy, and at Sir John's proposal that his child should be held as hostage for himself, he had answered that the babe was of too tender years to be accepted unless accompanied by lands, tenements and hereditaments. This was a happy thought to Sir John, and his old trust of La Fosse came back. "After all," he thought, "the French would rather give up my child than a man, but my possessions they would never give." So, not suspecting La Fosse's duplicity, he gave him legal right to place his property as hostage also. The child was to remain at the convent, unless England preferred to have her under their own régime. La Fosse was sure Sir John would never again be free and could never, of course, claim his lands. He went so far as to make sure—as sure as was in his power—that Penwick should not be released. He, being a man of shrewdness, at once manipulated affairs without the knowledge of his sovereign or the higher powers about him. In a very short time these possessions were built upon by the Jesuits, who, through La Fosse, claimed all right and title. But La Fosse was forgetful. He never gave the babe a second thought, it being of no consequence whatever. It would, no doubt, sicken and die without a mother's care. He was aware of its whereabouts, but even that in time was forgotten, his mind being occupied by more pertinent thoughts. This was a great victory for the Catholics, whose lands had been confiscated in England, and La Fosse felt he had dealt a master stroke for his religion. But no mortal man can equal Time as an adept in chicanery. He brings forth truths unheard of or dreamt by poor humanity.