The Heart of a Mystery

by T. W. Speight

It was not till some time after she had made him happy that he ventured to ask Miss Winterton for an explanation of one point which had always been a mystery to him, namely, by what means she had been led to believe that his father had committed suicide. Her explanation was a very simple one.

It has been mentioned that Ephraim Judd had two sisters, one of whom, at the time of his illness and death, was in service at Seaham Lodge, while the other, Eliza by name, was at home, waiting till she could obtain another situation. Eliza, who had a large measure of the curiosity which was so marked a trait of her brother's character, was penetrated by a strong desire to ascertain what it was Ephraim had to say to Doctor Hazeldine which no one else must be allowed to hear. Ephraim's room was divided from the next room by a pair of folding doors, behind which Eliza took up a position as listener, the next time Doctor Hazeldine called. She could not hear all that passed, but she heard what she took for a positive statement by her brother that Mr. Hazeldine's death was the result of his own act. Like Ephraim, she was close of tongue, and she spoke of what she had heard to no one but her sister. This sister was a favorite of Miss Winterton, filling among other duties, those of maid to her, and she it was who repeated the story Eliza had told her. As a consequence, Miss Winterton at once sent for Eliza, and then bound both the girls to secrecy; and, so far as was known, neither of them had broken the promise they had then given her. At the same time that Miss Winterton told all this to Edward, she led him to understand that, had he frankly confided to her when he first proposed what at that time he believed to be the truth about his father, her answer might have been a different one. It had been his secrecy in the matter, not the manner of his father's death, which, for the time being, had turned her against him.

To Frank Derison a few parting words are due.

As week by week his balance at the Ashdown Savings Bank kept on melting away, he vowed to himself, not once but a hundred times--generally when on his way home with empty pockets--that he would never cross the threshold of the "Bons Frères" again. But by the time next evening, or the evening after that, had come round, he was again under the influence of the fatal fascination, so that even while telling himself he would not go, his feet would lead him, almost as it seemed in his own despite, in the direction of the railway station; and when once he got as far as that he knew there was no going back for him. At length the day came when he drew his last sovereign out of the Bank, yet even then he lacked the strength of mind to put his foot down and say resolutely to himself: "Not a single step further will I advance on the pleasant but delusive path which has already led me to the brink of ruin." Instead of that, he began to borrow money here and there among his many friends and acquaintances, but chiefly from Mr. Howes. Mr. Howes was a bachelor, and a thrifty man to boot, and had a pleasant little banking-account of his own. He made no demur about lending Frank a few pounds now and again, being careful to take his I.O.U. in return. In all probability the young man would one day be taken into partnership, and Mr. Howes calculated that whatever sums he might now disburse in the way of loans would be repaid him many times over, if not in one form then in another, after that event should have come to pass. It is to be said in his favor that, although he sometimes wondered why Frank stood in need of such frequent loans, he had not the remotest suspicion of the purpose to which the money was really put. Since Mr. Avison had spoken to him, Frank had to all seeming developed into one of the most sober and steady-going of Bank officials. As already stated, all his gambling was done at Dulminster.

But by this time the "Bons Frères" Club had acquired for itself a very unenviable reputation among the more staid circles of Dulminster society. More than one promising young man had ruined himself, or had been ruined by others--it came to the same thing in the end--in that cosy octagon room built out at the back of the Club, where so many pleasant fellows forgathered night after night. By-and-bye it began to be whispered about that the place was little better than a den of thieves. Thus it came to pass that one day an information was sworn against the Club by the father of a youngster who had come to grief within its walls, the consequence of which was that the same night the police made a raid on the premises, and not content with seizing the whole of the gambling plant, they marched everyone they found there to the police-station, where names and addresses were taken down, and a summons handed to each delinquent to appear next morning before the magistrates. Among those thus taken red-handed was Frank Derison. From that moment, as he knew full well, his career at the Bank was at an end. Such an escapade was one of those things which Mr. Avison was the last man in he world to overlook; indeed, Frank never went near him afterwards. Two days later, without saying a word to anyone, he took the train for London and enlisted.

This little affair of Frank's happened about a fortnight before Richard Varrel's confession was made public. When Mr. Avison read the confession in his morning paper, he saw the way open to him for an act of reparation, which he had been longing for some time to carry into effect, but which his pride--in this instance, surely, a very foolish sort of pride--had hitherto kept him from doing. Now, however, he wrote a very gracious note to John Brancker, in which the latter was asked to call upon the Banker without delay. It will be sufficient to record the result of the meeting, which was that John was asked to accept the position of junior partner in the firm.

But little more remains to be told.

It was a great mortification to poor Mrs. Hazeldine, and one which it took her some time to recover from, to find that both Lady Glendoyle and the Hon. Mrs. Gore-Bandon, after calling twice upon her--their carriages and liveried servants waiting for them at the door meanwhile--dropped her as easily and quietly as they had taken her up. Whether their calls in the first instance had originated in a feeling of sympathy for her in her great affliction, not unmixed, it may be, with a hardly acknowledged wish to ascertain the particulars of the late tragedy at the fountain-head, or whether they discovered certain qualities in Mrs. Hazeldine which seemed to render it desirable that they should not cultivate her further, were points best known to themselves, and as to which they took nobody into their confidence. In any case, the fact remained the same--the widow saw them no more.

After a time--that is to say, when her husband had been dead about half a year--Mrs. Hazeldine, at Fanny's prompting and instigation, began to receive such of her friends and acquaintances as chose to favor her with their company to five o'clock tea. It was a species of mild dissipation, such as she would not have ventured upon during her husband's lifetime; but she was not long in discovering that it imparted a zest to existence undreamed of before.

Mrs. Hazeldine could not afford to keep a carriage, and being naturally indolent, she had a great distaste for walking exercise, while she was one of those women who have a perpetual craving for society, and whose mental exigencies, so to call them, are not satisfied without an ample supply of gossip--not for the world would one call it scandal--and a knowledge of all that is happening within the limited round of their acquaintance, from the arrival of Mrs. A.'s latest baby to the appearance at church of Mrs. Z. in a new and ultrafashionable bonnet.