The Heart of a Mystery

by T. W. Speight

Edward sat trimming his nails. His manner implied, or so his brother seemed to think, that he either did not care, or did not wish to discuss the matter further, and Clem, on his part, was quite willing to let it drop. He was too used to his brother's little peculiarities of temper and manner to feel in the slightest degree offended at the way his news had been received. He had not deemed it needful to mention that Hermia was only the adopted niece of John Brancker. He felt that the secret was not his own to tell. It would be time enough to reveal it when he and Hermia were man and wife.

"The mention of what I have just told you," he presently resumed, "reminds me of something else which I think it only right that you should be made acquainted with. John Brancker----"

"What of him?" demanded Edward quickly, his apathy gone in a moment.

"He is in great trouble and distress of mind, and well he may be." With that, Clem proceeded to relate all that John in his burst of confidence had told him a few evenings before. Edward listened with the deepest attention. When Clem had ended, he said hotly, "It seems a great shame, an infamous shame, that an innocent man should be so treated. To have such facts brought home to one is enough to make one despair of one's fellow creatures."

"Something ought to be done for him in view of all he has suffered and gone through, but I must confess that at present I don't see what that something ought to be," remarked the younger brother.

"Something must and shall be done," said Edward, emphatically. "Leave the matter with me to think over. I will either call on you, or drop you a line as soon as I see my way."

Although matters with Edward Hazeldine had gone so far well that John Brancker had been acquitted, while his father's shameful secret remained unsuspected by anyone, he was far from being a happy man, far from being able to boast of that peace of mind--untouched by anything more serious than trivial business annoyances--which had been his before his father's death. The secret he carried about with him was the nightmare of his life. Never was there a man less prone than he to introspective brooding, or the creation of imaginary troubles, yet, despite his native strength of mind, despite his persistent reassurances of himself that, after this lapse of time, after the authorities had apparently given up all expectation of ever being able to solve the mystery, and now that the whole affair seemed buried out of sight and done with, anything could ever happen which would reveal it to the world, and therewith the base and ignoble part played by him throughout--despite all this, the secret which he hid up in his breast was like a slow poison working in his blood, unstringing his nervous system, and to some extent, or so it seemed to him, devitalizing his brain. It was as if his ambition were paralyzed. He lived in perpetual dread of he knew not what. Any day, in some mysterious way he could not even guess at, the secret of his father's death might be brought to light. The monstrous injustice of which he had allowed John Brancker to be the victim did not fail to still rankle in his heart, an unhealed sore for which it seemed hopeless to find a cure. And now, on the top of all this, came his brother's communication. What was to be done?

It had been his intention to propose to Miss Winterton early in the new year, but with that black shadow keeping him company wherever he went and refusing to be laid, he had kept putting off the decisive moment from day to day till, for the time being, the opportunity was gone. Lord and Lady Elstree had left Seeham Lodge for Torquay, taking Miss Winterton with them, and the date of their return was uncertain. Edward Hazeldine, although he would have been loth to confess it, was not sorry for the reprieve.

Ten days after their interview, he drove into Ashdown and called on his brother. He had not let the grass grow under his feet in the interim. He had been successful in obtaining the promise of a situation for John Brancker in the office of one of his friends, a London merchant in an extensive way of business. Mr. Lucas, the merchant in question, was under certain obligations to Edward Hazeldine, and had at once acceded to his request to find a stool in his counting-house for John, who was to present himself there on the Monday morning next ensuing. Thereupon he handed his brother a note of introduction, requesting him, at the same time, to see John as soon as possible and give him the note, together with the writer's best wishes for his prosperity and success in his new calling. He felt a singular repugnance to calling in person upon the man to whom his moral cowardice had been the cause of such unmerited suffering. It seemed to him as if he should breathe more freely when John was a hundred miles away.

John gave expression to his gratitude in warm terms for the service Mr. Edward had rendered him, and yet--and yet he felt that it would be very hard to have to break up his little home and sever the many ties which the habitude of years had worn into his daily life till they seemed to have become part and parcel of it. But there was no help for it, and when that is the case to murmur is foolishness. To meet the inevitable with repinings had never been John's way, and it was not so now.