the type of all that was innocent and angelic, had proved herself not only capricious, but cunning, selfish, mean, less deserving of love than contempt. If he could but bear this impression upon his mind, there would be a hope of his recovering the heart he had so inconsiderately sacrificed. He registered a mental vow to do this, and then turned his thoughts towards his father. Against him he was all anger. He had no doubt the threat had been carried out; the will had been made that very morning. The minuteness of Mrs Mainwarings information, even to the exact amount of his own legacy, left him no room to question its correctness. How she had obtained it he neither knew nor cared. She was sharp-witted enough to have placed herself in communication with his fathers solicitor, whom he supposed to have made the will. But he did not stay to speculate upon this. His thoughts were all turned upon the testator himself, who by that single stroke had deprived him at once of his love and his living.
In the agony of his soul he could not see how his father had befriended him how he had saved him from a fate far worse than disinheritance. His contempt for the cruel coquette was not yet decided enough for this.
His fathers threat had been only conditional. He might look forward to a chance of the will being revoked. He might not be restored to full favour. There would be some punishment for his disobedience, which was as complete as if his suit had succeeded. But such a grand penalty would scarce be exacted. It was not compatible with the indulgence he had already experienced.
A meaner spirit would have reasoned thus. Nigel Harding would have done so, and sought restoration to the paternal favour he had forfeited. Not so Henry. His pride had been touched stung to the quick; and in the midst of his mortification, with his soul suffering from its thwarted passion, while pursuing the path homeward he resolved that his fathers house should know him no more.
And he kept this resolution. On reaching the park-gates, instead of entering, he walked on to the nearest inn, and thence took a fly to the nearest railway station.
In another hour he was in the midst of the great metropolis, with no thought of ever again returning to the green Chiltern Hills, or the shire of Buckingham.
Chapter Twelve Self-Exiled
Where is he? asked the General, drawing the napkin across his breast.
Nigel knew not. Of course the maiden aunt could not tell. With her the scapegrace was not a favourite, and she took no heed of his movements. The butler was questioned, but did not know where Master Henry had gone. Nigel could only say he had seen him take the path towards the cottage of the Mainwarings; and a frown darkened his brow as he imparted the intelligence.
He may have stayed for dinner, added the elder brother; Mrs Mainwaring makes him so welcome.
She wont after awhile, said the General, with a smile that to some extent relieved the frown also visible in his face.
Nigel looked at his father, but forbore asking for an explanation. He seemed to divine something that gave him relief, for the shadow upon his brow became sensibly lighter.
Upon that subject the conversation dropped; nor would it have been resumed again during dinner, but that before the meal ended a communication came into the room, through the medium of the butler. It was in the shape of a note, evidently scrawled in haste, and upon paper that could only have come from the escritoire of a cottage or a country inn. From the latter it had issued the Hare and Hounds, a hostelry that stood not far from the gates of General Hardings park, on the high road to London. There was no postmark the letter having been hand-carried.
Hurried as was the scrawl of the superscription, the General recognised it as the handwriting of his son Henry. The shadow returned to his countenance as he tore open the envelope. It grew darker as he deciphered the contents of the note enclosed therein. They were as follows:
Father,I say father, since I cannot dissimulate my real thoughts by prefixing the epithet dear, when this reaches you I shall be on the road to London, and thence heaven knows where; but never more to return to a house which, by your own decreeing, can no longer be a home for me. I could have borne my disinheritance, for perhaps I deserve it; but the consequences to which it has led are too cruel for me to think of you otherwise than with anger. The deed is now done, and let that be an end of it. I write to you only to say that, since by the terms of your will I may some day become the fortunate recipient of a thousand pounds, perhaps you will have no objection to pay it to me now, deducting, if you please, the usual interest which I believe can be calculated according to the rules of the Insurance societies. A thousand pounds at your death which I hope may be far distant would scarce be worth waiting for. Now, it would serve my purpose, since I am determined to go abroad and seek fortune under some more propitious sky than that which extends over the Chiltern Hills. But if I do not find the sum at your London lawyers within three days, subject to my order, I shall make my way abroad all the same. I am not likely ever to ask for it again. So, father, you may choose in this matter, whether to oblige me or not; and perhaps my kind brother Nigel, whose counsels you are so ready to take, may help you in determining the choice.
Henry Harding.