This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the information in books and make it universally accessible. https://books.google.com mti ■ ■ mini 600072304M i • " ' Am I too late — am T too late, after all? Are you married ?' "—P. 26. [Front RALPH THE BAILIFF AND OTHER TALES BY THE AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," (5rV. , i5r¥. , frv\ LONDON: WARD, LOCK, & TYLER, WARWICK HOUSE PATERNOSTER ROW. All Rights of Translation arc Krstri'cii.'] II 600072304M *l ' Am I too late— am I too late, after all? Are you married ':' "— 1\ 26. [Front. RALPH THE BAILIFF AND OTHER TALES AUTHOR OK "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," ........ LONDON: U>, LOCK, & TYLER, WARWICK HOUSE PATERNOSTER ROW. All Rights of Translation are Rrsrrrrit.'] EALPH THE BAILIFF AUD OTHER TALES BY THE AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," "AURORA FLOYD," ETC. ETC. ETC. ^V.t>V^ LONDON WARD, LOCK, AND TYLER WARWICK HOUSE, rATERNOSTER ROW [All rights reserved] 2-S~0 ur> $~o . LONDON : ROBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS, PANCrAS rOAD, M.TT. CONTENTS. ■ mi- EALPH THE BAILIFF : PACt ch. i. The Funeral op the Elder Sox 1 ii. A Shadow that hears 8 ih. The Visitor at the Rectory 19 rv. The Wedding-day 23 v. A cheerless Hearth 29 vi. In the Dead of the Night 35 vii. Master and Slave 39 viii. The last Chance 47 CAPTAIN THOMAS 55 THE COLD EMBRACE 69 MY DAUGHTERS 79 THE MYSTERY AT FERNWOOD 88 SAMUEL LOWGOOD'S REVENGE 121 THE LAWYER'S SECRET: ch. i. In a Lawyer's Office ... ... 139 ii. In which a Secret is revealed 146 in. After the Honeymoon 151 rv. At Baldwin Court 160 v. From London to Paris 174 vi. Horace Margrave's Confession 182 MY FIRST HAPPY CHRISTMAS . ... .200 IT CONTENTS. LOST AND FOUND : pi0K ch. I. Picture-dealing 213 ii. Gin 221 in. The Mark upon Georgey's Arm 228 iv. The Foster-brothers 238 v. The Gentleman Jockey who rode Devilshoof . 247 vi. The King is dead : long live the King ! . 256 vii. Lost 262 viii. A new Life and a new Love 268 IX. A PRECAUTIONARY STEP 277 x. The Die is cast 280 xi. Before the Wedding 282 xn. Gervoise Palgrave's Curse 286 xiii. The Sound of the Waterfall 292 xrv. An uninvited Guest 303 xv. Hidden in the Dead Woman's Hand .... 309 xvi. The Detective Science 320 xvii. Hunting up the Past 327 xviii. Ethel's Visitor 341 xix. A Friend in Need 345 xx. Humphrey's Confession 354 xxi. Identified 366 xxii. The Parting of the Foster-brothers . 370 xxiii. The Last of Gervoise Palgrave . .376 EVELINE'S VISITANT 383 FOUND IN THE MUNIMENT CHEST 394 HOW I HEAKD MY OWN WILL READ 411 RALPH THE BAILIFF CHAPTER I. THE FUNERAL OF THE ELDER SON. A drizzling rain fell upon the long grass and the moss-grown tombstones of the churchyard of Olney, a village in Lincoln shire, Every now and then, beaten down by this incessant rain, a dead leaf fell from one of a row of sycamores, which bor dered the low churchyard wall, and dropped heavily upon the graves beneath the trees. No gleam of sunshine relieved the dull gray of the Sep tember sky. A cluster of villagers and village children, grouped to gether at one angle of the irregular stone-wall, drew their wet clothes closer round them, and shivered as if this Septem ber had been January. From one side of the churchyard sounded the monotonous voice of the curate, reading the funeral service. At the white gate, on the other side of the church, waited three mourning-coaches, surrounded by another group of vil lage children, who, regardless of the perpetual rain, stood staring open-mouthed at the long-tailed black horses and the solemn-visaged charioteers. The funeral service ended, the chief mourner walked slowly through the churchyard, followed by the seven or eight gentlemen who had been present at the ceremony. 2 EALPH THE BAILIFF. The grief of that chief mourner was evident to all; his hollow eyes were dry and tearless, and he walked along the narrow path, looking straight before him, with an air of gloomy abstraction. He took his seat in one of the coaches, accompanied by his uncle, a gray-haired old farmer, and the Tillage attorney. " You must bear up — you must bear up, my dear Dudley," said the gray-haired man, as the mourning-coach lumbered along the uneven paving of Olney High-street. " I will, Uncle Richard ; but it's harder to bear than I ever thought it would be," said the chief mourner ; and to the surprise of his companions he let down the window at his side, and, putting out his head, looked back at the church yard they had left. He remained in this position till a turn in the street completely hid the burial-ground from his view, and then drawing in his head, he closed the window with a short sigh. " Poor boy, he wants to have a last look at his brother's grave," said the gray-haired man to the lawyer, while his nephew looked out of the carriage-window. After this the chief mourner sat silent and motionless, looking fixedly out at the flat high-road, and the dripping leaves and shivering cattle in the wet fields. He was a man of one-and-twenty, but looked much older. He had a fair complexion, a small straight nose, very red, womanish lips, a slightly-receding chin, a low forehead, large blue eyes, and light auburn hair. He was rather handsome, and was generally said to have a most prepossessing counte nance. He was the younger son of the late Arthur Carleon, gen tleman farmer, and proprietor of the Grey Farm, an estate of some importance in the estimation of the simple Olney folks. The dwelling-house of this Grey Farm stood a mile away from the high-road, and the pathway leading to it lay by the side of a river — a narrow, dismal river, on which coal-barges went up and down between Grimsby and Lincoln. The lands of the farm, which consisted of three hundred THE FUNERAL OF THE ELDER SON. 8 and eighty acres, lay flat and low on the border of this river, stretching down to the shelving bank, and only divided by this bank from the water, which constantly overflowed the meadows nearest to the river-side. Along this bank the three mourning-coaches drove slowly and carefully, — a road dangerous at the best of times; at night doubly dangerous. Half-an-hour's driving brought the dismal cortege to the gates of the garden in front of the farmhouse. The mourners alighted, and silently assembled in a long, low, oak-panelled apartment, furnished in the ponderous fashion of half a cen tury ago. The Carleons were one of the oldest families in Lincoln shire. The house of the Grey Farm was filled with portraits of fine gentlemen, in doublets and hose; soldiers who had fallen at Bosworth and Flodden ; cavaliers who had fought at Worcester, and brave soldiers and loyal gentlemen who had helped to beat the rebels on Marston Moor ; but for the last hundred and fifty years the sword had been exchanged for the ploughshare, and the Carleons had been farmers from father to son. The estate of the Grey Farm — which was so called from having originally belonged to a body of the order of Grey Friars, who built an abbey upon the land — was bought, in 1 700, by a younger son of the house of Carleon, the elder branch of which becoming extinct, all other estates belonging to the family had fallen into Chancery, and the Carleons had sunk into simple gentlemen farmers. Dudley Carleon walked to the wide fireplace, in which a dull flame struggled with the thick smoke from a mass of black coal. The young man leant against the angle of the high chimney-piece, and turned his face away from the other gentlemen, whom his gloomy silence considerably embar rassed. A young woman, the principal female servant, dressed, like her master, in the deepest mourning, busied herself in handiDg about wine and cake. After taking it to the visitors, she offered it to Dudley Carleon ; but the young man, hear 4 RALPH THE BAILIFF. ing the jingle of the glasses at his elbow, looked tip suddenly, and shook his head with an impatient gesture. He was very pale, and his eyes were surrounded by dark circles, which gave the light-blue eyes a strangely-haggard appearance. One of the gentlemen, an attorney from Olney, read the will of the deceased. It was very simple. Martin Carleon had had nothing to bestow but the farm and homestead, on which he was born, and on which he had lived his short life of three-and-twenty years. He had died of an ague, produced, according to the doctors, by the fatal dampness of the Grey Farm. Young, handsome, vigorous, and athletic, the farmer had succumbed, after a lingering illness, under this painful and exhausting disease. He had never married, and Dudley was his only brother ; so no one had ever felt any doubt as to who would inherit his property. The estate, though it had gone straight down from father to son for a hundred and fifty years, had never been entailed, and the will of Martin's father had left no provision for the event of the young man's dying childless ; but the attachment between the brothers was known to have been so sincere, that this will was looked upon as a mere form.