“How do you mean?” inquired McShane.

  “I put a person of the name of Rushbrook in possession of a large fortune. I asked our young friend’s sister whether he could be any relation; but she said no.”

  “Young Rushbrook had no sister, I am sure,” interrupted McShane.

  “I now recollect,” continued Mr Trevor, “that this person who came into the fortune stated that he had formerly held a commission in the army.”

  “Then, depend on it, it’s Rushbrook himself, who has given himself brevet rank,” replied McShane. “Where is he now?”

  “Down in Dorsetshire,” said Mr Trevor. “He succeeded to the Austin estates, and has taken the name.”

  “’Tis he— ’tis he — I’ll swear to it,” cried McShane. “Phillaloo! Murder and Irish! the murder’s out now. No wonder this gentleman wouldn’t return my visit, and keeps himself entirely at home. I beg your pardon, Mr Trevor, but what sort of a looking personage may he be, for as I have said, I have never seen this Mr Austin?”

  “A fine, tall, soldierly man; I should say rough, but still not vulgar; dark hair and eyes, aquiline nose; if I recollect right—”

  “’Tis the man!” exclaimed O’Donahue.

  “And his wife — did you see her?” asked McShane.

  “No I did not,” replied Mr Trevor.

  “Well, I have seen her very often,” rejoined McShane; “and a very nice creature she appears to be. I have never been in their house in my life. I called and left my card, that’s all; but I have met her several times; however, as you have not seen her, that proves nothing; and now, Mr Trevor, what do you think we should do?”

  “I really am not prepared to advise; it is a case of great difficulty; I think, however, it would be advisable for you to call upon young Rushbrook, and see what you can obtain from him; after that, if you come here to-morrow morning, I will be better prepared to give you an answer.”

  “I will do as you wish, sir; I will call upon my friend first, and my name’s not McShane if I don’t call upon his father afterwards.”

  “Do nothing rashly, I beg,” replied Mr Trevor; “recollect you have come to me for advice, and I think you are bound at least to hear what I have to propose before you act.”

  “That’s the truth, Mr Trevor; so now with many thanks, we will take our leave, and call upon you to-morrow.”

  McShane and O’Donahue then proceeded to the gaol, and demanded permission to see our hero.

  “There are two ladies with him, just now,” said the gaoler; “they have been there these three hours, so I suppose they will not be much longer.”

  “We will wait, then,” replied O’Donahue.

  In about a quarter of an hour Mrs Austin and Mary made their appearance; the former was closely veiled when she entered the gaoler’s parlour, in which O’Donahue and McShane were waiting. It had not been the intention of Mrs Austin to have gone into the parlour, but her agitation and distress had so overcome her that she could scarcely walk, and Mary had persuaded her as she came down to go in and take glass of water. The gentlemen rose when she came in; she immediately recognised McShane, and the sudden rush into her memory of what might be the issue of the meeting, was so overwhelming, that she dropped into a chair and fainted.

  Mary ran for some water, and while she did so, McShane and O’Donahue went to the assistance of Mrs Austin. The veil was removed; and, of course, she was immediately recognised by McShane, who was now fully convinced that Austin and Rushbrook were one and the same person.

  Upon the first signs of returning animation, McShane had the delicacy to withdraw, and making a sign to the gaoler, he and O’Donahue repaired to the cell of our hero. The greeting was warm on both sides. McShane was eager to enter upon the subject; he pointed out to Joey that he knew who committed the murder; indeed, plainly told him, that it was the deed of his father. But Joey, as before, would admit nothing; he was satisfied with their belief in his innocence, but, having made up his mind to suffer, could not be persuaded to reveal the truth, and McShane and O’Donahue quitted the cell, perceiving that, unless most decided steps were taken, without the knowledge of our hero, there was no chance of his being extricated from his melancholy fate. Struck with admiration at his courage and self-devotion towards an unworthy parent, they bade him farewell, simply promising to use all their endeavours in his behalf.

  Chapter Forty Nine.

  The Interview.

  According to their arrangement, on the following morning, McShane and O’Donahue called upon Mr Trevor, and after half an hour’s consultation, it was at last decided that they should make an attempt to see Austin, and bide the issue of the interview, when they would again communicate with the lawyer, who was to return to town on the following day. They then set off as fast as four horses could convey them, and drove direct to the Hall, where they arrived about six o’clock in the evening.

  It had so happened that Austin had the evening before inquired for his wife. The servant reported to him what Mary had told them, and Austin, who was in a fidgety humour, had sent for the coachman who had driven the carriage, to inquire whether Mrs Austin’s friend was very ill. The coachman stated that he had not driven over to the place in question, but to the nearest post-town, where Mrs Austin had taken a postchaise. This mystery and concealment on the part of his wife was not very agreeable to a man of Mr Austin’s temper; he was by turns indignant and alarmed; and after having passed a sleepless night, had been all the day anxiously waiting Mrs Austin’s return, when the sound of wheels was heard, and the carriage of McShane drove up to the door. On inquiry if Mr Austin was at home, the servants replied that they would ascertain; and Austin, who imagined that this unusual visit might be connected with his wife’s mysterious absence, desired the butler to show in the visitors. Austin started at the announcement of the names, but recovering himself; he remained standing near the table, drawn up to his full height.

  “Mr Austin,” said O’Donahue, “we have ventured to call upon you upon an affair of some importance: as Mr Austin, we have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, but we were formerly, if I mistake not, serving his majesty in the same regiment.”

  “I do not pretend to deny, gentlemen, that you once knew me under different circumstances,” replied Austin, haughtily; “will you please to be seated, and then probably you will favour me with the cause of this visit.”

  “May I inquire of you, Mr Austin,” said McShane, “if you may have happened to look over the newspapers within these few days?”

  “No! and now I recollect — which is unusual — the papers have not been brought to me regularly.”

  “They were probably withheld from you in consequence of the intelligence they would have conveyed to you.”

  “May I ask what that intelligence may be?” inquired Austin, surprised.

  “The trial, conviction, and sentence to transportation for life of one Joseph Rushbrook, for the murder of a man of the name of Byres,” replied McShane; “Mr Austin, you are of course aware that he is your son.”

  “You have, of course, seen the party, and he has made that statement to you?” replied Mr Austin.

  “We have seen the party, but he has not made that statement,” replied O’Donahue; “but do you pretend to deny it?”

  “I am not aware upon what grounds you have thought proper to come here to interrogate me,” replied Austin. “Supposing that I had a son, and that son has as you say been guilty of the deed, it certainly is no concern of yours.”

  “First, with your leave, Mr Austin,” said McShane, “let me prove that he is your son. You were living at Grassford, where the murder was committed; your son ran away in consequence, and fell into the hands of Captain (now General) O’Donahue; from him your son was made over to me, and I adopted him; but having been recognised when at school, by Furness, the schoolmaster of the village, he absconded to avoid being apprehended; and I have never seen him from that time till yesterday morning, when I called upon him, and had an interview as soon as his mother, Mrs Austin, had quitted the cell in Exeter gaol, where he is at present confined.”

  Austin started — here was the cause of Mrs Austin’s absence explained; neither could he any longer refuse to admit that Joey was his son. After a silence of a minute, he replied —

  “I have to thank you much for your kindness to my poor boy, Major McShane; and truly sorry am I that he is in such a dilemma. Now that I am acquainted with it, I shall do all in my power. There are other Rushbrooks, gentlemen, and you cannot be surprised at my not immediately admitting that such a disgrace had occurred to my own family. Of Mrs Austin’s having been with him I assure you I had not any idea; her having gone there puts it beyond a doubt, although it has been carefully concealed from me till this moment.”

  It must not be supposed that, because Austin replied so calmly to Major McShane, he was calm within. On the contrary, from the very first of the interview he had been in a state of extreme excitement, and the struggle to command his feelings was terrible; indeed, it was now so painfully expressed in his countenance, that O’Donahue said —

  “Perhaps, Mr Austin, you will allow me to ring for a little water?”

  “No, sir, thank you,” replied Austin, gasping for breath.

  “Since you have admitted that Joseph Rushbrook is your son, Mr Austin,” continued McShane, “your own flesh and blood, may I inquire of you what you intend to do in his behalf? Do you intend to allow the law to take its course, and your son to be banished for life?”

  “What can I do, gentlemen? He has been tried and condemned: of course if any exertion on my part can avail — but I fear that there is no chance of that.”

  “Mr Austin, if he were guilty I should not have interfered; but, in my opinion, he is innocent; do you not think so?”

  “I do not believe, sir, that he ever would have done such a deed; but that avails nothing, he is condemned.”

  “I grant it, unless the real murderer of the pedlar could be brought forward.”

  “Y–e–s,” replied Austin, trembling.

  “Shall I denounce him, Mr Austin?”

  “Do you know him?” replied Austin, starting on his feet.

  “Yes, Rushbrook,” replied McShane, in a voice of thunder, “I do know him,— ’tis yourself!”

  Austin could bear up no longer, he fell down on the floor as if he had been shot. O’Donahue and McShane went to his assistance; they raised him up, but he was insensible; they then rang the bell for assistance, the servant came in, medical advice was sent for, and McShane and O’Donahue, perceiving there was no chance of prosecuting their intentions, in Mr Austin’s present state, quitted the Hall just as the chaise with Mrs Austin and Mary drove up to the door.

  Chapter Fifty.

  In which it is to be hoped that the Story winds up to the Satisfaction of the Reader.

  It was not for some time after the arrival of the medical men that Mr Austin could be recovered from his state of insensibility, and when he was at last restored to life, it was not to reason. He raved wildly, and it was pronounced that his attack was a brain fever. As, in his incoherent exclamations, the name of Byres was frequently repeated, as soon as the medical assistants had withdrawn, Mrs Austin desired all the servants, with the exception of Mary, to quit the room; they did so with reluctance, for their curiosity was excited, and there was shrugging of the shoulders, and whispering, and surmising, and repeating of the words which had escaped from their unconscious master’s lips, and hints that all was not right passed from one to another in the servants’ hall. In the mean time, Mrs Austin and Mary remained with him; and well it was that the servants had been sent away, if they were not to know what had taken place so long ago, for now Austin played the whole scene over again, denounced himself as a murderer, spoke of his son, and of his remorse, and then he would imagine himself in conflict with Byres — he clenched his fists — and he laughed and chuckled and then would change again to bitter lamentations for the deed which he had done.

  “Oh, Mary, how is this to end?” exclaimed Mrs Austin, after one of the paroxysms had subsided.

  “As guilt always must end, madam,” replied Mary, bursting into tears and clasping her hands,— “in misery.”

  “My dear Mary, do not distress yourself in that manner; you are no longer guilty.”

  “Nor is my master then, madam; for I am sure that he has repented.”

  “Yes, indeed, he has repented most sincerely; one hasty deed has embittered his whole life — he never has been happy since, and never will be until he is in heaven.”

  “Oh, what a happy relief it would be to him!” replied Mary, musing. “I wish that I was, if such wish is not sinful.”

  “Mary, you must not add to my distress by talking in that manner; I want your support and consolation now.”

  “You have a right to demand everything of me, madam,” replied Mary, “and I will do my best, I will indeed. I have often felt this before, and I thank God for it; it will make me more humble.”

  The fever continued for many days, during which time Mr Austin was attended solely by his wife and Mary; the latter had written to our hero, stating the cause of her absence from him in so trying a period, and she had received an answer, stating that he had received from very good authority the information that he was not likely to leave the country for some weeks, and requesting that Mary would remain with his mother until his father’s dangerous illness was decided one way or the other he stated that he should be perfectly satisfied if he only saw her once before his departure, to arrange with her relative to her affairs, and to give her legal authority to act for him, previously to his removal from the country. He told her that he had perceived an advertisement in the London papers, evidently put in by his friends at Portsmouth, offering a handsome reward to any one who could give any account of him — and that he was fearful that some of those who were at the trial would read it, and make known his position; he begged Mary to write to him every day if possible, if it were only a few lines, and sent his devoted love to his mother. Mary complied with all our hero’s requests, and every day a few lines were despatched; and it was now ascertained by the other domestics, and by them made generally known, that a daily correspondence was kept up with a prisoner in Exeter gaol, which added still more mystery and interest to the state of Mr Austin. Many were the calls and cards left at the Hall, and if we were to inquire whether curiosity or condolence was the motive of those who went there, we are afraid that the cause would, in most cases, have proved to have been the former. Among others, O’Donahue and McShane did not fail to send every day, waiting for the time when they could persuade Austin to do justice to his own child.

  The crisis, as predicted by the medical attendants, at last arrived, and Mr Austin recovered his reason; but, at the same time, all hopes of his again rising from his bed were given over. This intelligence was communicated to his wife, who wept and wished, but dared not utter what she wished; Mary, however took an opportunity, when Mrs Austin had quitted the room, to tell Mr Austin, who was in such a feeble state that he could hardly speak, that the time would soon come when he would be summoned before a higher tribunal, and conjured him, by the hopes he had of forgiveness, now that the world was fading away before his eyes, to put away all pride, and to do that justice to his son which our hero’s noble conduct towards him demanded — to make a confession, either in writing or in presence of witnesses, before he died — which would prove the innocence of his only child, the heir to the property and the name.

  There was a straggle, and a long one, in the proud heart of Mr Austin before he could consent to this act of justice. Mary had pointed out the propriety of it early in the morning, and it was not until late in the evening, after having remained in silence and with his eyes closed for the whole day, that Austin made a sign to his wife to bend down to him, and desired her in a half-whisper to send for a magistrate. His request was immediately attended to; and in an hour the summons was answered by one with whom Austin had been on good terms. Austin made his deposition in few words, and was supported by Mary while he signed the paper. It was done; and when she would have removed the pen from his fingers, she found that it was still held fast, and that his head had fallen back; the conflict between his pride and this act of duty had been too overpowering for him in his weak condition, and Mr Austin was dead before the ink of his signature had time to dry.

  The gentleman who had been summoned in his capacity of magistrate, thought it advisable to remove from the scene of distress without attempting to communicate with Mrs Austin in her present sorrow. He had been in conversation with O’Donahue and McShane at the time that he was summoned, and Mr Austin’s illness and the various reports abroad had been there canvassed. O’Donahue and McShane had reserved the secret; but when their friend was sent for, anticipating some such result would take place, they requested him to return to them from the Hall: he did so, and acquainted them with what had passed.

  “There’s no time to lose, then,” said McShane; “I will, if you please, take a copy of this deposition.”

  O’Donahue entered into a brief narrative of the circumstances and the behaviour of our hero; and, as soon as the copy of the deposition had been attested by the magistrate, he and McShane ordered horses, and set off for London. They knocked up Mr Trevor at his private house in the middle of the night, and put the document into his hands.

  “Well, Major McShane, I would gladly have risen from a sick bed to have had this paper put into my hands; we must call upon the Secretary of State to-morrow, and I have no doubt but that the poor lad will be speedily released, take possession of his property, and be an honour to the county.”

  “An honour to old England,” replied McShane; “but I shall now wish you good night.”

  McShane, before he went to bed, immediately wrote a letter to Mrs Austin, acquainting her with what he had done, and the intentions of Mr Trevor, sending it by express; he simply stated the facts, without any comments.