The Trespasser | Page 7

away in the dust; here Gaston Belward
had been sleeping in effigy since Naseby Field. A romantic light came
into his face. Again, why not? Even in the Hudson's Bay country and in
the Rocky Mountains, he had been called, "Tivi, The Man of the
Other." He had been counted the greatest of Medicine Men--one of the
Race: the people of the Pole, who lived in a pleasant land, gifted as
none others of the race of men. Not an hour before Jacques had asked
him where he got "the other." No man can live in the North for any
time without getting the strain of its mystery and romance in him.
Gaston waved his hand to the tomb, and said half-believingly:
"Gaston Robert Belward, come again to your kingdom."
He turned to go out, and faced the rector of the parish,--a bent, benign-
looking man,--who gazed at him astonished. He had heard the strange
speech. His grave eyes rested on the stalwart stranger with courteous
inquiry. Gaston knew who it was. Over his left brow there was a scar.
He had heard of that scar before. When the venerable Archdeacon
Varcoe was tutor to Ian and Robert Belward, Ian, in a fit of anger, had
thrown a stick at his brother. It had struck the clergyman, leaving a
scar.
Gaston now raised his hat. As he passed, the rector looked after him,
puzzled; the words he had heard addressed to the effigy returning. His

eyes followed the young man to the gate, and presently, with a quick
lifting of the shoulders, he said:
"Robert Belward!" Then added: "Impossible! But he is a Belward."
He saw Gaston mount, then entered and went slowly up the aisle. He
paused beside the tomb of that other Belward. His wrinkled hand rested
on it.
"That is it," he said at last. "He is like the picture of this Sir Gaston.
Strange."
He sighed, and unconsciously touched the scar on his brow. His
dealings with the Belwards had not been all joy. Begun with youthful
pride and affectionate interest, they had gone on into vexation, sorrow,
failure, and shame. While Gaston was riding into his kingdom, Lionel
Henry Varcoe was thinking how poor his life had been where he had
meant it to be useful. As he stood musing and listening to the music of
the choir, a girl came softly up the aisle, and touched him on the arm.
"Grandfather, dear," she said, "aren't you going to the Court? You have
a standing invitation for this night in the week. You have not been there
for so long."
He fondled the hand on his arm.
"My dearest, they have not asked me for a long time."
"But why not to-night? I have laid out everything nicely for you--your
new gaiters, and your D. C. L. coat with the pretty buttons and cord."
"How can I leave you, my dear? And they do not ask you!"
The voice tried for playfulness, but the eyes had a disturbed look.
"Me? Oh! they never ask me to dinner-you know that. Tea and formal
visits are enough for Lady Belward, and almost too much for me. There
is yet time to dress. Do say you will go. I want you to be friendly with
them."

The old man shook his head.
"I do not care to leave you, my dearest."
"Foolish old fatherkins! Who would carry me off?--'Nobody, no, not I,
nobody cares for me.'" Suddenly a new look shot up in her face.
"Did you see that singular handsome man who came from the
church--like some one out of an old painting? Not that his dress was so
strange; but there was something in his face--something that you would
expect to find in--in a Garibaldi. Silly, am I not? Did you see him?"
He looked at her gravely.
"My dear," he said at last, "I think I will go after all, though I shall be a
little late."
"A sensible grandfather. Come quickly, dear." He paused again.
"But I fear I sent a note to say I could not dine."
"No, you did not. It has been lying on your table for two days."
"Dear me--dear me! I am getting very old."
They passed out of the church. Presently, as they hurried to the rectory
near by, the girl said:
"But you haven't answered. Did you see the stranger? Do you know
who he is?"
The rector turned, and pointed to the gate of Ridley Court. Gaston and
Brillon were just entering. "Alice," he said, in a vague, half-troubled
way, "the man is a Belward, I think."
"Why, of course!" the girl replied with a flash of excitement. "But he's
so dark, and foreign-looking! What Belward is he?"
"I do not know yet, my dear."

"I shall be up