For the Term of His Natural Life | Page 8

find Sir Richard's house a pleasant one to visit,
Armigell; and he should be worth an income to so experienced a
gambler as yourself." Lord Bellasis did visit at Sir Richard's house
during the first year of his cousin's marriage; but upon the birth of the
son who is the hero of this history, he affected a quarrel with the city
knight, and cursing him to the Prince and Poins for a miserly
curmudgeon, who neither diced nor drank like a gentleman, departed,
more desperately at war with fortune than ever, for his old haunts. The
year 1827 found him a hardened, hopeless old man of sixty, battered in
health and ruined in pocket; but who, by dint of stays, hair-dye, and
courage, yet faced the world with undaunted front, and dined as gaily in
bailiff-haunted Belsize as he had dined at Carlton House. Of the
possessions of the House of Wotton Wade, this old manor, timberless
and bare, was all that remained, and its master rarely visited it.
On the evening of May 3, 1827, Lord Bellasis had been attending a
pigeon match at Hornsey Wood, and having resisted the importunities
of his companion, Mr. Lionel Crofton (a young gentleman-rake, whose
position in the sporting world was not the most secure), who wanted
him to go on into town, he had avowed his intention of striking across
Hampstead to Belsize. "I have an appointment at the fir trees on the
Heath," he said.
"With a woman?" asked Mr. Crofton.
"Not at all; with a parson."
"A parson!"
"You stare! Well, he is only just ordained. I met him last year at Bath

on his vacation from Cambridge, and he was good enough to lose some
money to me."
"And now waits to pay it out of his first curacy. I wish your lordship
joy with all my soul. Then, we must push on, for it grows late."
"Thanks, my dear sir, for the 'we,' but I must go alone," said Lord
Bellasis dryly. "To-morrow you can settle with me for the sitting of last
week. Hark! the clock is striking nine. Good night."
* * * * * *
At half-past nine Richard Devine quitted his mother's house to begin
the new life he had chosen, and so, drawn together by that strange fate
of circumstances which creates events, the father and son approached
each other.
* * * * * *
As the young man gained the middle of the path which led to the Heath,
he met Sir Richard returning from the village. It was no part of his plan
to seek an interview with the man whom his mother had so deeply
wronged, and he would have slunk past in the gloom; but seeing him
thus alone returning to a desolated home, the prodigal was tempted to
utter some words of farewell and of regret. To his astonishment,
however, Sir Richard passed swiftly on, with body bent forward as one
in the act of falling, and with eyes unconscious of surroundings, staring
straight into the distance. Half-terrified at this strange appearance,
Richard hurried onward, and at a turn of the path stumbled upon
something which horribly accounted for the curious action of the old
man. A dead body lay upon its face in the heather; beside it was a
heavy riding whip stained at the handle with blood, and an open
pocket-book. Richard took up the book, and read, in gold letters on the
cover, "Lord Bellasis."
The unhappy young man knelt down beside the body and raised it. The
skull had been fractured by a blow, but it seemed that life yet lingered.
Overcome with horror--for he could not doubt but that his mother's

worst fears had been realized--Richard knelt there holding his murdered
father in his arms, waiting until the murderer, whose name he bore,
should have placed himself beyond pursuit. It seemed an hour to his
excited fancy before he saw a light pass along the front of the house he
had quitted, and knew that Sir Richard had safely reached his chamber.
With some bewildered intention of summoning aid, he left the body
and made towards the town. As he stepped out on the path he heard
voices, and presently some dozen men, one of whom held a horse, burst
out upon him, and, with sudden fury, seized and flung him to the
ground.
At first the young man, so rudely assailed, did not comprehend his own
danger. His mind, bent upon one hideous explanation of the crime, did
not see another obvious one which had already occurred to the mind of
the landlord of the Three Spaniards.
"God defend me!" cried Mr. Mogford, scanning by the pale light of the
rising moon the features of the murdered man, "but it is Lord
Bellasis!--oh,