The Convict: A Tale

by G. P. R. James

"Dear Sir,

"We have the melancholy task of informing you of the sudden decease, last night, at half-past nine o'clock, of our much respected friend and client, the Rev. Dr. Dudley, which took place at St. John's, just as he was about to retire to rest. Although we know that you will be greatly grieved at this sad event, we are forced to intrude some business upon your attention under the following circumstances. About a fortnight ago, our late respected client, having felt some apoplectic symptoms, judged it right to send for Mr. Emerson, of our firm, in order to make his will, which was in due form signed, sealed, and delivered. He therein appointed you his sole executor, having bequeathed all his property, real and personal, to yourself, with the exception of a few small legacies. He has also requested you to make all the arrangements for his funeral as you may think proper, merely directing that it should be conducted in a plain and unostentatious manner. It is therefore very necessary that you should return to Cambridge as soon as possible, or that you should send your directions by letter. In the mean time we will take all proper steps in the matter, and trust to be honoured with your confidence, as we have been with that of your lamented relative for many years."

The letter was signed by a well-known law firm in Cambridge.

The first emotion in the mind of Edward Dudley was that of deep grief--grief, simple and unalloyed, for the loss of one whom he had truly loved; but the next was a feeling of bereavement. His staff was broken, his support gone, The only one in all the world who had acted a kindly, almost a parental part to him, for long, long years, was no more. He felt, as I have said, bereaved; for although the love of Eda Brandon, that love which had been cherished in secret by both, was a great consolation and a comfort, yet it was so different, both in kind and in degree, from the affection entertained for him by his own relation, that they could not be brought at all into comparison the one with the other. New attachments never wholly compensate for old ties. They fill a different, perhaps a larger place, but they leave the others vacant. He mourned sincerely then; and it was some time before the thought--which would have presented itself much earlier to a worldly mind, came even to his memory--the thought that the riches of the earth, which can never compete, in a generous heart, with those affections which are above the earth, but which influence so much the course of human life and mortal happiness, were now his. That he was no more the impoverished student, seeking by hard labour to recover the position which his family had once maintained. That he was not only independent, but wealthy; and though perhaps not exactly upon a par in point of fortune with the heiress of large hereditary possessions, still no unportioned adventurer, seeking to mend his condition with her gold. He knew that his father's first cousin had himself inherited a very fair estate. He knew that he had held rich benefices and lucrative offices; and he also knew that, though a liberal and a kindly man, he had been also a very prudent one, and had certainly lived far within his income. Thus he was certain of more than a moderate fortune; but although it would be folly to deny that such a conviction was a relief to his mind, still sincere grief was predominant, and he felt that the wealth he had acquired by the loss of a friend could in no degree compensate for the bereavement.

While he thus meditated, he heard a quick but heavy step upon the stairs, the glass doors between the hall and the vestibule bang with a force which might almost have shaken the panes from the frame, and the moment after he saw the figure of Lord Hadley pass the windows of the library. Dudley instantly took up his hat, darted out and looked around; but the young nobleman had disappeared, and seeing one of the gamekeepers who had been out with him and Edgar in the morning, walking slowly away from the house, he stopped him and asked which way the young nobleman had taken. His manner was quick and eager, and the cloud of grief was still upon his brow, so that the man looked at him for a moment with some surprise before he answered. He then pointed out the way, and Dudley was turning at once to follow it, when the butler came out upon the terrace, saying, with a low bow, "Miss Brandon wishes to speak with you for a few moments, sir, if you are not otherwise engaged."

"If the business is not of great importance," said Dudley, "I will be back in ten minutes."

"It is nothing particular, I believe, sir," answered the man; "she has just had a note from Sir Arthur to say he won't be back to dinner. I fancy that is all."

"Then say I will wait upon her in ten minutes," replied Dudley; "I wish to catch Lord Hadley for a moment before he proceeds farther. We have something to speak about which must be settled at once." And he sped upon the way, as the gamekeeper had directed. It was in the direction of the Grange.

Ten minutes elapsed, and Dudley had not returned. A quarter of an hour, half an hour, an hour; and when he came back he was evidently a good deal excited. He calmed himself down, however, as much as possible, and immediately requested an interview with Miss Brandon, who came down and joined him in the library, remaining with him nearly till dinner-time. They were at last interrupted by the priest, who came in search of a book, and shortly after the dressing-bell rang. At the dinner-table, Lord Hadley, who appeared very late, was gloomy and thoughtful. He never addressed a word to Mr. Dudley, and spoke but little to Eda or the priest, who took one end of the table. Edgar Adelon did not at all seek to converse with him; and when any words passed between them, they were as sharp as the customs of society would permit. Dudley was very grave, and if he still took any interest in Lord Hadley's conduct he might not be altogether satisfied to see him drink so much wine. As soon as Eda had quitted the room, however, Dudley rose, saying that, with Mr. Filmer's permission, he would retire, as he was obliged to go out for a short time; and after emptying two more glasses, Lord Hadley also left the table, and the party broke up.

The young peer took his hat in the vestibule, and walked out upon the terrace, asking one of the men who were in the hall if he had seen which way Mr. Dudley took. The man replied, "Up the avenue, my lord;" and Lord Hadley pursued the same path. It was never to return.