and that he must lie upon. It was the suspicion of frauds and tricks of the trade, and, still worse, the company that he lived in. Sam Axworthy hated and tyrannized over him too much to make dissipation alluring; and he was only disgusted by the foul language, coarse manners, and the remains of intemperance worked on in violent temper.
The old man, though helpless and past active vice, was even more coarse in mind and conversation than his nephew; and yet his feebleness, and Sam’s almost savage treatment of him, enlisted Leonard’s pity on his side. In general, the old man was kind to Leonard, but would abuse him roundly when the evidences of his better principles and training, or his allegiance to Dr. May, came forward, and Leonard, though greatly compassionating him, could not always bear his reproaches with patience, and was held back from more attention to him than common humanity required, by an unlucky suggestion that he was currying favour in the hope of supplanting Sam.
‘Old Hardy is the only honest man in the place, I do believe,’ said Leonard. ‘I’ll tell you what, Aubrey, I have made up my mind, there is one thing I will not do. If ever they want to make me a party to any of their cheatings, I’ll be off. That window and the cedar-tree stand very handy. I’ve been out there to bathe in the early summer mornings, plenty of times already, so never you be surprised if some fine day you hear—non est inventus.’
‘And where would you go?’
‘Get up to London, and see if my quarter’s salary would take me out in the steerage to some diggings or other. What would your brother say to me if I turned up at the Grange—New Zealand?’
‘Say! Mention Ethel, and see what he would not say.’
And the two boys proceeded to arrange the details of the evasion in such vivid colouring, that they had nearly forgotten all present troubles, above all when Leonard proceeded to declare that New Zealand was too tame and too settled for him, he should certainly find something to do in the Feejee Isles, where the high spirit of the natives, their painted visages, and marvellous head-dresses, as depicted in Captain Erskine’s voyage, had greatly fired his fancy, and they even settled how the gold fields should rebuild the Market Cross.
‘And when I’m gone, Aubrey, mind you see to Mab,’ he said, laughing.
‘Oh! I thought Mab was to act Whittington’s cat.’
‘I’m afraid they would eat her up; besides, there’s the voyage. No, you must keep her till I come home, even if she is to end like Argus. Would you die of joy at seeing me, eh, little black neb?’
CHAPTER XII
Let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it farther. Macbeth
‘If you please, sir, Master Hardy from the Vintry Mill wants to see you, said a voice at Dr. May’s door early in the morning; and the Doctor completed his dressing in haste, muttering to himself exclamations of concern that the old man’s malady should have returned.
On entering the study, Hardy’s appearance, whiter than even the proverbial hue of his trade, his agitation of feature, confused eye, and trembling lip, inspired fears that the case was more alarming than had been apprehended; but to cheer him, the Doctor began, ‘Frightened about yourself, Master Hardy, eh! You’ve come out without breakfast, and that’s enough to put any man out of heart.’
‘No, sir,’ said the old man, ‘it is nothing about myself; I wish it were no worse; but I’ve not got the heart to go to tell the poor young gentleman, and I thought—’
‘What—what has happened to the boy?’ exclaimed Dr. May, sharply, standing as if ready to receive the rifle shot which he already believed had destroyed Leonard.
‘That’s what we can’t say, sir,’ returned Hardy; ‘but he is gone, no one knows where. And, sir, my poor master was found at five o’clock this morning, in his chair in his sitting-room, stone dead from a blow on the head.’
‘Mind what you are saying!’ shouted the Doctor passionately. ‘You old scoundrel, you don’t mean to tell me that you are accusing the lad!’
‘I accuse nobody, sir,’ said the old man, standing his ground, and speaking steadily, but respectfully, ‘I wouldn’t say nothing to bring any one into trouble if I could help it, and I came to ask you what was to be done.’
‘Yes, yes; I beg your pardon, Hardy, but it sounded enough to overset one. Your poor master murdered, you say!’
Hardy nodded assent.
‘And young Ward missing? Why, the burglars must have hurt the poor fellow in defending his uncle. Have you searched the place?’
‘I never thought of that, sir,’ said Hardy, his countenance much relieved; ‘it would be more like such a young gentleman as Mr. Ward.’
‘Then we’ll get over to the mill as fast as we can, and see what can be done,’ said Dr. May, snatching up his hat and gloves. ‘You come and walk with me to Bankside, and tell me by the way about this terrible business. Good heavens! they’ll have thrown the boy into the river!’
And calling out that his carriage should follow to Bankside, the Doctor dashed up-stairs, and knocked at Ethel’s door. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘there has been a robbery or something at the Vintry Mill. I must go and see Henry Ward about it. Poor old Axworthy is murdered, and I’m terribly afraid Leonard has met with some foul play. You or Mary had better go and see about Ave presently, but don’t believe a word of anything till you see me again.’
And shutting the door, while Ethel felt as if the room were reeling round with her, Dr. May was in a few seconds more hastening along by Hardy’s side, extracting from him the little he had to tell. The old man had been unlocking the door of the mill at five o’clock, when he was summoned by loud shrieks from the window of Mr. Axworthy’s sitting-room, and found that the little maid had been appalled by the sight of her master sunk forward from his gouty chair upon the table, his hair covered with blood. Hardy had been the first to touch him, and to perceive that he had long been dead. The housekeeper, the only other servant who slept in the house, had rushed in half-dressed; but neither nephew appeared. Young Axworthy had gone the previous day to the county races, leaving the time of his return doubtful, and Leonard Ward did not answer when called. It was then found that his room was empty, his bed untouched, and the passage window outside his door left open. The terrified servants held confused consultation, and while the groom had hurried off to give the alarm at Whitford, and ride on in search of Sam Axworthy, Hardy had taken another horse and started to inform Henry Ward, but his heart failing him, he had come to beg the Doctor to break the intelligence to the family.
Dr. May had few doubts that the robbers must have entered by the passage window, and meeting resistance from Leonard, must have dragged him out, and perhaps thrown him from it, then having gone on to their murderous
