II.—­The Sorceries of Bartram-Haugh

One of those fearful aneurisms that lie close to the heart had given way in a moment.  He had fallen, with the dreadful crash I had heard, dead upon the floor.  He fell across the door, which caused a difficulty in opening it.  Mrs. Rusk could not force it open.  No wonder she had given way to terror.  I think I should have lost my reason.

I do not know how those awful days, and still more awful nights, passed over.  Lady Knollys came, and was very kind.  She was odd, but her eccentricity was leavened with strong commonsense; and I have often thought since with gratitude of the tact with which she managed my grief.

I did not know where to write to Dr. Bryerly, to whom I had promised the key, but in accordance with my father’s written directions, his death was forthwith published in the principal London papers.  He came at midnight, accordingly, and on the morrow the will was read.  Except for a legacy of L10,000 to his only brother, Silas Ruthyn, and a few minor legacies to relations and servants, my father had left his whole estate to me, appointing my Uncle Silas my sole guardian, with full parental authority over me until I should have reached the age of twenty-one, up to which time I was to reside under his care at Bartram-Haugh, with the sum of L2,000 paid yearly to him for my suitable maintenance and education.

I was startled by the expression of cousin Monica’s face.  She looked ghastly and angry.

“To whom,” she asked, with an effort, “will the property belong in case—­in case my cousin should die before she comes of age?”

“To the next heir, her uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn.  He’s both heir-at-law and next-of-kin,” replied the attorney.

She was anxious to persuade my uncle to relinquish his guardianship to her; but the evening of the funeral a black-bordered letter came from him, bidding me remain at Knowl until he could arrange for my journey to him.  There was a postscript, which made my cheek tingle.

“Pray present my respects to Lady Knollys, who, I understand, is sojourning at Knowl.  I would observe that a lady who cherishes, I have reason to fear, unfriendly feelings against your uncle is not the most desirable companion for his ward.  But, upon the express condition that I am not made the subject of your discussions, I do not interpose to bring your intercourse to an immediate close.”

“Did I ever hear!  Well, if this isn’t impertinent!” exclaimed Lady Knollys.  “I did not intend to talk about him, but now I will.”  And so it was that I heard the story of that enigmatical person—­martyr, angel, demon—­Uncle Silas, with whom my fate was now so strangely linked.

It was twenty years ago.  He was not a reformed rake, but a ruined one then.  My father had helped him again and again, until his marriage with a barmaid.  After that he allowed him five hundred a year, and the use of his estate of Bartram-Haugh.  Then Mr. Charke, a gentleman of the turf, who was staying with my uncle for Doncaster Races, was found dead in his room—­he had committed suicide by cutting his throat.  And Uncle Silas was suspected of having killed him.