The plot succeeded. Atterleigh’s scruples were overcome as easily as the scruples of men in his position without principle to back them generally are, and pressure of a most outrageous sort was brought to bear upon the gentle-minded Mary, with the result that when Mr. Cardus returned from abroad he found his affianced bride the wife of another man, who became in due course the father of Jeremy and Dolly.
This cruel and most unexpected bereavement drove Mr. Cardus partially mad, and when he came to himself there arose in his mind a monomania for revenge on all concerned in bringing it about. It became the passion and object of his life. Directing all his remarkable intelligence and energy to the matter, he early discovered the heinous part that De Talor had played in the plot, and swore to devote his life to the unholy purpose of avenging it. For years he pursued his enemy, trying plan after plan to achieve his ruin, and as one failed fell back upon another. But to ruin a man of De Talor’s wealth was no easy matter, especially when, as in the present instance, the avenger was obliged to work like a mole in the dark, never allowing his enemy to suspect that he was other than a friend. How he ultimately achieved his purpose the reader shall now learn.
Ernest and Dorothy had been married about three weeks, and the latter was just beginning to get accustomed to hearing herself called Lady Kershaw, when one morning a dogcart drove up to the door, and out of it emerged Mr. de Talor.
“Dear me, how Mr. de Talor has changed of late!” said Dorothy, who was looking out of the window.
“How? Has he grown less like a butcher?” asked Ernest.
“No,” she answered; “but he looks like a used-up butcher about to go through the Bankruptcy Court.”
“Butchers never go bankrupt,” said Ernest; and at that moment Mr de Talor came in.
Dorothy was right; the man was much changed. The fat cheeks were flabby and fallen, the insolent air was gone, and he was so shrunken that he looked not more than half his former size.
“How do you do, Lady Kershaw? I saw Cardus ’ad got some one with him, so I drove round to pay my respects and congratulate the bride. Why, bless me. Sir Ernest, you ’ave grown since I saw you last! Ah, we used to be great friends then. You remember how you used to come and shoot up at the Ness” (he had once or twice given the two lads a day’s rabbit-shooting). “But, bless me, I hear that you have become quite a fire-eater since then, and been knocking over the niggers right and left—eh?”
He paused for breath, and Ernest said a few words, not many, for he disliked the man’s flattery as much as in past years he used to dislike his insolence.