The Mynns' Mystery

“Not much like a lover,” muttered Mrs Hampton, watching her in a sidelong way, as her eyes closed more and more, and a long-drawn sigh escaped her breast.

Meanwhile, the front door was heard to close, and there were steps in the hall, as if some one was being shown into the study.

“It is not Mr Harrington,” said Gertrude, starting up; and, as the remembrance of the old housekeeper’s ominous declarations came back, she caught at Mrs Hampton’s outstretched hand.

“Be calm, my dear.”

“But it is some bad news,” whispered Gertrude; and the feeling gained strength as the old housekeeper tapped at the door, and entered, looking wild and scared.

The old lawyer grasped in an instant that something was wrong, and he came forward.

“Leave it to me, my dear,” he said with quick firmness. “Now, Mrs Denton, what is it?”

“A gentleman, sir.”

“To see me?”

“No, sir; he asked to see Miss Gertrude.”

“Well, what does he want? Did he send in a card?”

“No, sir.”

“Then who is he?”

“If you please, sir,” stammered the old woman, “he said he was Master George.”

Chapter Twenty Five

A Difficult Mission

Every one in the room uttered an ejaculation at the housekeeper’s announcement, but the old lawyer remained calm.

“I’ll come and speak to him,” he said. “Don’t be alarmed,” he turned and whispered to Mrs Hampton. “Some mistake of the old woman’s. Try and keep her calm. A messenger, I think.”

As he reached the door, the old woman laid her hand upon his arm, and whispered to him: “But it is not Mr George, sir.”

“No, of course not, woman. A message from him. Where is the gentleman?”

“The dining-room things were not all cleared away, sir, and I showed him into the study.”

Mr Hampton nodded, and in a quiet, business-like way went out, and crossed the hall to the study, where the visitor, a tall, deeply sun-browned, frank-looking young man, who looked hollow-cheeked, as if from some long illness, rose from his seat.

The lawyer bowed.

“I want to see Miss Gertrude Bellwood,” said the visitor.

“I am her nearest friend, sir; and, I may say, I am deputed to hear your business. You come from Mr George Harrington, I presume?”

“Well, no, sir. I only reached Liverpool yesterday, London this afternoon. I am George Harrington.”

“What?”

“You seem surprised. I received letters from my grandfather, asking me, urgently, to return to England. I had made my preparations for returning, when I met with – an accident, and I have been dangerously ill. When I recovered and reached San Francisco, I found another letter announcing my grandfather’s death, and I came on at once.”

The old man looked at his visitor curiously.

“May I ask to whom I am speaking?” continued the young man.

“My name is Hampton, sir. I was the late Mr Harrington’s confidential legal adviser and executor.”

“Oh, indeed. Then that makes matters easy for me. You know everything, then?”

“Yes, I know everything,” said the lawyer, with a very searching look.

“Then my cousin, sir – she has always been spoken of in letters as my cousin, though no relation.”

The lawyer raised his eyebrows a little.

“I am, of course, under the circumstances, anxious to meet her.”

“May I ask under what circumstances, sir?”

“I understood you to say you knew everything, sir. We are betrothed – Miss Gertrude Bellwood is to be my wife.”

Both started, for at that moment Gertrude, whom Mrs Hampton had been unable to restrain, stood in the doorway, with the old lady at her elbow.

She took a couple of steps forward, gazing wildly in the frank, handsome face before her – a face which lit up with satisfaction as it encountered the earnest gaze of the young girl.

“Are you Gertrude?” he exclaimed, advancing with extended hands.

“Stop?” said the old lawyer, interposing, as he tried to master the difficulties of his position. “You will excuse me, sir, but you come here an utter stranger. You are, you say, Mr George Harrington.”

“Certainly. Who doubts it?”

“We will not discuss that matter now, sir. Recollect we live in days when impositions are practised.”

“Oh, I see. Of course. Quite right, my dear sir. As my grandfather’s executor, you are bound to be careful. Pray go on.”

“Mrs Hampton,” faltered Gertrude.

“Hush, my child; be calm,” whispered the old lady.

“Then, perhaps, sir, you will give me some proof that you are the gentleman you say.”

“Proofs? Are any needed?” said the young man laughingly, as if it was absurd that his word should be doubted. “Oh, well, then, first and foremost here I am, George Harrington, my father’s son, happily in the flesh, though I have had a very narrow escape from death.”

“Very good, sir; now some other proof. Gertrude, my child, had you not better retire?”