A Crooked Path

A Crooked Path

The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Crooked Path, by Mrs. Alexander
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: A Crooked Path A Novel
Author: Mrs. Alexander
Release Date: May 18, 2006 [EBook #18418]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A
CROOKED PATH ***

Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Janet Blenkinship and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

A CROOKED PATH
A NOVEL
BY MRS. ALEXANDER,

Author of "The Wooing O't," "A Life Interest," Etc.

NEW YORK THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, NOS.
72-76 WALKER STREET.

A CROOKED PATH.
CHAPTER I.
"GATHERING CLOUDS."
The London season had not yet reached its height, some years ago,
before the arch admitting to Constitution Hill had been swept back to
make room for the huge, ever-increasing stream of traffic, or the
plebeian 'bus had been permitted to penetrate the precincts of Hamilton
Place. It was the forenoon of a splendid day, one of the earliest of June,
and at that hour the roadway between the entrance to Hyde Park and the
gate then surmounted by the statue of the Duke of Wellington on his
drooping steed was comparatively free, when two gentlemen coming
from opposite directions recognized each other, and paused at the gate
of Apsley House--the elder, a stout, florid man of military aspect,
middle age, and average height, with large gray mustache and small,
slightly bloodshot eyes; the younger, who was tall and bony, might
have been thirty, or even forty, so grave and sedate was his bearing,
although his erect carriage, elastic step, and clear keen dark eyes
suggested earlier manhood.
Both had the indescribable well-groomed, freshly bathed look peculiar
to Englishmen of the "upper ten."
"Ha! Errington! I didn't know you were in town. I thought you were
cruising somewhere with Melford, or rusticating at Garston Hall. I
think your father expected you about this time."
"I don't think so. I was summoned by telegraph from Paris. My father

was seized with a paralysis last week. He had just come up to town, and
for a few days was dangerously ill, but is now slowly recovering."
"Very sorry to hear of it. A man of his stamp would have been of
immense value to the country. He had begun to take a very leading part
in local matters. I trust he will come round."
"I fear he will never be the same again. I doubt if he will be able to
direct his own affairs as he used."
"That's bad! You are not in the business, I believe?"
"No; I never took any part in it. I almost regret I did not. It would, I
imagine, be a relief to my father, now that his mind is less clear, to
know that I was at the helm. But we have a capital man as manager,
quite devoted to the house. I shall get my father down to the country as
soon as I can, and I trust he'll come round."
"No doubt he will. He was wonderfully hale and strong for his years."
"Ay! how d'ye do, Bertie?" interrupted the first speaker, holding out his
hand to a young man who came up from Hyde Park and seemed about
to pass with a smile and a nod. "Who would have thought of meeting
you in these godless regions? I hear you are busy 'slumming' from
morning till night."
"Well, Colonel," returned Bertie--a slight, fair, boyish-looking man--"I
am so far false to my new vocation as to have lost some irrevocable
moments looking at the horses and horsewomen in the Row."
"Aha! the old leaven, my dear boy! You are on the brink of
perdition.--Don't you know Bertie Payne?" he continued, to his newly
met friend. "He was one of my subs before he renounced the devil and
all his works. He was with us at Barrackbore when you were in India."
"I do not think we have met," the other was beginning, when a young
lady--toward whom the Colonel had already cast some sharp, admiring
glances as she stood on the curbstone holding a hand of the smaller of

two little boys in smart sailor suits--uttered a cry of dismay. The elder
child had rushed into the road, as if to stop a passing omnibus, not
seeing that a hansom was coming up at speed.
The young man called Bertie dashed forward, and barely succeeded in
snatching the child from under the wheel. A scramble of horses' feet, an
imprecation or two shouted by the irritated driver,