Vellenaux A Novel by Edmund William Forrest (best e book reader TXT) 📕

Of Early Autumn,  Especially That Part Of Devonshire Which We Have

Selected For The Opening And Closing Scene Of Our Story. Vellenaux,  With

Its Varied And Picturesque Styles Of Architecture,  Embosomed,  As It

Were,  In Rich Woodlands,  With A Perfect Amphitheatre Of Hills On Three

Sides,  And Ever And Anon The Soft Breezes Of The Ocean Sweeping Over The

Downs,  And Through The Beech Woods On The Other. It Was,  Indeed,  A

Domain Of Which Any One Might Have Been Proud.

It Was A Lovely Evening,  The Sun Had Just Commenced To Dip Behind The

Crest Of The Adjacent Hills,  And Was Sending Its Golden Rays Through The

Bright Foliage Of The Trees And Down The Long Paths That Led To The

Woods Hard By. Edith Had Strolled,  Book In Hand,  To Her Favourite Knoll,

Beneath A Stately Elm,  And Was Engaged In Reading. Her Two Favourite

Dogs,  Fine Specimens Of The Italian Greyhound,  Chased Each Other In

Circles Which Gradually Grew Smaller Until It Brought Them To The Very

Feet Of Their Mistress. One Placed His Small Smooth Nose In The Little

White Hand That Was Thrown Carelessly On The Moss Grown Roots Beside

Her,  While The Other,  To Attract Her Attention,  Placed His Paw On The

Page She Was Reading And Looked Up In Her Face. Suddenly Their Ears

Elongated And Away They Bounded,  As The Noise Of Horses Hoofs Were Heard

Approaching In Her Direction,  Aroused Her From Her Recumbent Position,

As Julia Barton,  On Her Quiet Little Pony,  Trotted Up. She Was Off In An

Instant,  And Running Up To Her Friend,  Greeted Her In The Animated,

Lively Way,  As Was Her Custom When She Had Anything To Communicate That

She Thought Would Please Or Interest Her. "At Your Studies," She Said,

Taking Up The Volume That Edith Had Let Fall On Her Appearance. "Long

Engagements,  A Tale Of The Affghan War. Oh,  Oh,  Thinking Of Our Old

Playfellow Are We?" And The Merry Girl Laughed Heartily,  "We Shall Soon

Hear More Of Him,  For My Sister-In-Law,  Pauline,  Has Just Most

Unexpectedly Arrived,  And I Wish You To Know Her. She Is Very Charming

And Improves Wonderfully On Acquaintance,  Is Very Good-Natured,  And

Tells Such Funny Stories About The People She Lived Among,  And Has A

Great Deal To Say About Arthur Carlton. You Will Come To The Willows

To-Morrow,  Will You Not,  And Call On Her?" Edith Gave The Required

Assent,  And Julia,  Mounting Her Pony,  Cantered Down The Avenue To The

Lodge Gate,  Where She Was Joined By A Tall,  Gentlemanly Looking Man,

Mounted On A Small Bay Mare,  And The Two Walked Their Horses At An Easy

Pace Down The Green Lane In The Direction Of The Willows,  And Edith

Returned To The House In Time To Dress For Dinner,  Well Pleased With The

Prospect Of Hearing Something Of Him Who Was Scarcely Absent From Her

Thoughts For Any Great Length Of Time. She Did Not Attempt To Analyze

Her Feelings On The Subject. It Was Pleasant To Think Of Her Absent

Friend,  And That Was Sufficient For The Present.

Mr. Barton,  Sen.,  Or Old Mr. Barton As He Was Usually Styled,  For He Was

Upwards Of Eighty Years Of Age,  And Had Been Born In The House He Now

Occupied,  A Good Comfortable And Substantial,  But Old Fashioned

Dwelling,  Which Had Passed From Father To Son For Several Generations.

His Father Had Been What Is Termed A Gentleman Farmer,  And Attended

Personally To The Superintending Of His Acres. His Son,  The Present

Occupant,  Had Followed His Example. He Married Early In Life,  But The

Lady Of His Choice Died Young,  Leaving One Son To Remind The Sorrowing

Widower Of His Loss. This Was Horace Barton,  Whom We Have Already

Introduced; He Chose A Different Field For His Labors,  And Managed To

Secure,  While Yet Young,  On Appointment In India. Our Friend Tom And His

Two Sisters,  Julia And Emily,  Were The Result Of A Second Marriage,  And

Although There Was Every Comfort To Be Had,  And A Good Home For All

During The Life Of The Old Couple,  Yet It Was Absolutely Necessary That

Tom Should Make His Own Road Through Life,  And That The Girls Should,  By

Early Marriage,  Secure For Themselves Suitable Establishments,  As The

Willows Would Fall To Horace On The Death Of His Father,  And It Would

Not Be Many Years Before His Term Of Service In The East Would Expire,

And He Would Then,  Doubtless,  Return To England And Occupy The Old House

In Devonshire.

The Arrival Of Mrs. Horace Barton From Calcutta Had Been Quite

Unexpected At The Willows,  As No Preparatory Letter Had Announced Her

Intentions Or Arrival In England. Nevertheless She Found All Delighted

To Receive Her. She Had Spent The Most Of Her Visit To Europe In The Gay

Capitals Of Paris And London,  And A Couple Of Months Was All The Time

She Could Spare To Remain In Devonshire.

On Her First Visit She Had Not Been Introduced To Miss Effingham,  And

Had Only Caught A Casual Glance At Her While Crossing The Lawn,  As Edith

Was Returning From A Visit To Julia Barton; But On This Occasion Was

Determined To Become Acquainted With Her,  And Find Out If She Really

Deserved The High Encomiums That Had Been Bestowed Upon Her By Arthur

Carlton. She Had Anticipated Seeing A Pretty Lively English Country

Girl,  But Was Totally Unprepared For The Brilliant Beauty And Perfectly

Self-Possessed Manners Of Edith,  And She Always Found An Attentive

Listener In Her To All She Had To Relate On The Subject Of India And

Arthur Carlton Whenever They Met,  Which Was Now Frequent,  For An

Introduction Had Taken Place Between Them Very Shortly After Her

Arrival,  And They Consequently Became On The Most Intimate And Friendly

Footing. The Magnificence Of The Ancestral Dwelling Of The Colemans,

With Its Parks,  Parterres And Grounds,  Was Quite A Novelty To Pauline

Barton,  And With Edith She Traversed The Long Corridors,  Picture

Galleries,  And Armories With Wonderment,  For They Contrasted Strangely

With The Pagodas,  Temples,  And Bungalows In The Country Where The

Greater Part Of Her Life Had Been Spent (For She Had Been Born There),

And She Thought That Edith's Life Must Be One Of Never-Ending Delight,

And For A Time It Was So,  But A Sad Change Was About To Come Over The

Bright Spirit Of Her Dream Of Happiness For A Time,  And Perhaps For

Ever,  And Dash The Cup Of Joyous Light-Heartedness From Her Grasp.

The Event So Much Desired By The Man Of Law Took Place At A Much Earlier

Date Than Had Been Anticipated By That Gentleman,  Or,  Indeed,  By Any One

Of His Acquaintances As The Sequel Will Show.

"Reynolds," Said The Baronet,  One Evening After Dinner,  Some Few Weeks

After His Interview With His Worthy Cousin,  The Heir To The Title,

"Place Candles In My Study,  And You Need Not Wait Up For Me. It Is

Likely That I Shall Sit Writing To A Late Hour." The Old Servant Bowed,

And Retired To Do The Bidding Of His Master.

After Affectionately Wishing His Niece Good-Night,  And A Passing Remark

To Mrs. Fraudhurst,  Sir Jasper Entered His Study,  Closing The Door

Quietly Behind Him.

For A Considerable Time He Paced The Room,  With His Hands Crossed Behind

His Back,  As Was His Custom When In A Meditative Mood. Finally,  Seating

Himself At His Escritoire,  He Placed The Massive Silver Candlesticks,

With Their Wax Lights,  In Such A Position That The Glow Would Not Effect

His Sight,  And Arranged His Materials For Writing To Suit Him. For A Few

Moments He Leaned Back In His Chair,  Then Selecting A Small Key From A

Bunch He Always Carried,  Unlocked The Centre Drawer Which Contained Only

A Few Memorandums And Drew It Completely Out. He Next Touched A Small

Spring At The Side,  When A Panel Of The Back Slid Open,  Disclosing An

Aperture From Which He Took The Packet He Had Brought From London The

Evening Previous To The Opening Of Our Story. This Was The Will And

Testament Of Sir Jasper Coleman,  In Which He Had Left His Niece,  Edith

Effingham,  Sole Heiress Of All He Possessed,  With The Exception Of A

Gratuity Of Five Thousand Pounds To Be Paid To His _Protégé_,  Arthur

Carlton,  Within Six Months After His (The Baronet's) Decease,  And To Be

Free From All Legacy Or Other Duties. Having Re-Read The Document,  He

Laid It On The Table Beside Him And Then Commenced Writing.

Sir Jasper Had Thus Acted Without The Knowledge Of His Lawyer,  The Man

With Whom He Had Consulted On Every Other Matter Since His Succession To

The Baronetcy,  Consequently That Gentleman Was In Ignorance Of Any Such

Will Being In Existence. It Had Been Drawn By A Competent Lawyer

Residing In One Of The Suburbs Of London,  And Had Been Properly

Witnessed,  And Was,  In Every Particular,  A Regular,  Complete Document.

The Parties Present On The Occasion Knew Nothing Of Sir Jasper,  Had

Never Heard Of Vellenaux Or Its Owner,  And In All Probability Would

Never Hear Of Him Again,  As There Was No Likelihood Of The Will Being

Contested. Why He Had Acted In This Manner Is Hard To Say.

The Baronet Had Finished His Letter,  And Was Again Musing,  And Muttering

To Himself,  "Ralph Coleman,  You Are An Unprincipled Man. Do You Think

Your Attempt To Coerce My Darling Niece To Listen To Your Suit Has

Escaped Me. You Have Failed In That Quarter And Now Come To Me To Assist

You. Well,  Well As She Is Safe I Can Afford To Forgive You,  And Let You

Have A Couple Of Thousand A Year,  To Enable You To Support Yourself Like

A Gentleman When The Title Descends To You." Here The Baronet Resumed

His Pen And Commenced The Writing Of A Codicil In Behalf Of His Cousin,

Ralph Coleman.

Perfect Tranquility Reigned Throughout The House,  All,  With The

Exception Of Sir Jasper,  Had Retired To Rest,  And There Was No Sound,

Save The Ticking Of The Old-Fashioned Time-Piece,  With Its Monotonous

And Never Varying Tick,  Tick,  And The Scratching Noise Made By The Quill

As It Traced Its Inky Characters On The Yet Incomplete Codicil The

Baronet Was Preparing. The Candles Had Burned Low In Their Sockets,  And

The Fire On The Hearth Had Died Out Unheeded By Him Who Sat Writing Line

After Line. Suddenly A Spasm Seized Him. He,  With Great Difficulty,

Raised Himself From The Stooping Position Over The Escritoire,  But As He

Did So,  Another Spasm,  More Violent Than The First,  Attacked Him. He

Tried To Call For Assistance,  But His Tongue Clove To His Mouth. He Was

Suffocating. He Stretched His Arm Towards The Silver Bell,  Which Stood

On The Table,  But It Was Beyond His Reach. His Head Sank On The Cushion

Of The Chair. His Eyes Closed,  Another