By this time the other inmates of the house, including Mrs. Macdonald, had assembled in the doorway in various stages of attire, in a state of consternation and alarm. I had no inkling of what the affair meant; my first thought was to revive Flora. I placed her in a big chair, and the factor hurried off for brandy. Meanwhile Captain Rudstone had waved off the detaining hold of the law clerk. He stood with folded arms, pale to the lips, regarding me with an expression of half-veiled scorn.

Macdonald returned with the liquor, and a small portion of it, forced between Flora’s teeth, quickly brought her round. She insisted on rising, and clung to me for support.

“Has he escaped?” she asked eagerly. “No, there he is!” she pointed to Captain Rudstone. “Liar, thief, impostor!” she said, half-hysterically. “You are unmasked at last—and by a woman! Denzil, the papers!”

“See, I have them!” I replied.

“Then read them—quick!”

“But what does it mean? Explain, Flora!”

“The papers—they will tell all!”

“Wait!” interrupted Captain Rudstone. “Permit me, gentlemen, to end this little comedy with a word. It is very simple. I have played my game, and I have lost—a woman was too sharp for me. I yield to necessity, and throw up my cards. Mr. Carew, I congratulate you. My lord, you are the rightful Earl of Heathermere!” What foolish words were these? I could only stare, dazed and speechless, at those around me—at the mocking face of Captain Rudstone. And he had called me Earl of Heathermere!

“It is true!” cried Flora, breaking the spell of silence. “I knew it.”

“It is madness!” shouted Christopher Burley, whose countenance had turned the color of Parchmont.

“Look at the papers, Carew,” suggested Macdonald.

I examined them with shaking fingers, having first let go of Flora. One was the certificate of marriage of Bertram Carew with the daughter of the factor of Fort Beaver; another was the proof of a birth—my birth. I glanced at the third and largest, and I caught my breath as I saw the first few words. I read on—read to the very end—like a man in a dream. Then I handed the document to the factor.

“I can hardly realize it,” I said, “but it is all there—written plainly. Read it aloud!”

Macdonald did so, and those in the room, Captain Rudstone not excepted, listened with rapt attention. I need not give the contents of the paper word for word, but it meant that my father, Bertram Carew, had been Osmund Maiden—that I was Osmund Maiden’s son and heir. It was all revealed in the letter, which was addressed to me, and was written by my father. In it he told of the family quarrel in England years before, of his voyage to the Canadas in quest of adventure and fortune, of his meeting and subsequent friendship with a young man named Myles Rudstone, of the dispute in the Montreal gambling den, and the shooting of the Frenchman Henri Salvat.

Then followed an account of the flight and journeying of the two—Osmund Maiden and Myles Rudstone—how they traveled in haste from Montreal to Fort Garry, from the fort to the northern wilderness, where they were attacked by a party of treacherous Indians. My father was struck down and left for dead, and was found by the factor of Fort Beaver, who nursed him until he was recovered. Of Myles Rudstone no trace was discovered, and he was believed to have been carried off a prisoner by the Indians. The conclusion of the narrative dealt with my father’s subsequent life up to shortly before his death. From the time he met the factor he took the name of Bertrand Carew, and carefully preserved the secret of his identity. He did this, of course, through fear of the consequences of the Montreal brawl, the result of which he could never have learned. There was also in the letter a reference to the cryptogram at Fort Beaver, and to the receipt for the trunk left at Fort Garry. I omit some personal instructions that would be of less interest to the reader.

Macdonald, having finished reading the paper aloud, returned it to me.

“Bless me, I don’t know what to make of it all!” he exclaimed. “It is bewildering; it beats anything that one reads in fiction!”

“The proofs, Mr. Carew, if you please,” said Christopher Burley.

He spoke in a quick, anxious voice.

I handed the three papers to him and a very brief scrutiny of them seemed to satisfy him.

“They are indisputable,” he declared. “They leave no room for doubt.”

He made me a low bow.

“My lord, pray accept my sincere congratulations,” he added. “I am convinced that you are the real Earl of Heathermere.” I tried to thank him, but the words faltered on my lips. I was beginning to comprehend the amazing, wonderful truth.

“As for this man,” went on the law clerk, pointing to Captain Rudstone, “this detected impostor—”

“I am that no longer, sir,” interrupted the captain. “You will please to remember that I have renounced my claim.”

“But why did you conceive such a daring scheme in the first place?” asked Macdonald. “It will be better for you to make a full confession.”

“I am quite willing to do that,” replied Captain Rudstone. “I will not try your patience long—it is a short story. My first meeting with Osmund Maiden was in Quebec, a few days after his arrival from England. There was a certain resemblance between us, and we took a fancy to each other; we decided to cast our fortunes together. Unluckily, however, we had that row in Montreal—it was I who shot Henri Salvat—and this started us off to the wilderness in a hurry. But you are already aware of these facts, of our brief stop at Fort Garry, and of our adventure with the Indians. I was a prisoner among them for months, and finally I escaped to the south, believing that Osmund Maiden was dead. After that I lived, as I have told you, in the States, England and on the Continent.

“And now,” he continued, “I will take up the thread of my narrative in Quebec a few months ago, where I made the acquaintance of Denzil Carew and Christopher Burley. I was struck at once by the remarkable likeness the former bore to Osmund Maiden as I remembered him. As for the law clerk, I suspected what his errand was, and from that time I began to consider the chances of passing myself off for Osmund Maiden. We had been of the same age, not unlike each other, and he had told me every incident of his early life. The thing seemed impossible at first, but when I learned from a paper at Fort York that the Earl of Heathermere and his two elder sons were dead, I was more than ever set on gaining the rich prize.

“And a strange fate played the game into my hands later, as you shall see. You remember the cryptogram at old Fort Beaver, Carew. Well, that gave me something to think about—I had an inkling of the truth then. And soon afterward I found the key to it. How? you will ask. I will tell you. It was in the locket worn by the Indian you shot—the Indian who had killed your father years before. I managed to take it out and conceal it——”

“You stole it!” I cried bitterly.

“Call it that, if you like,” he answered, with a shrug of the shoulders. “I tore up the key, but here is a translation of the cryptogram.”

He handed me a slip of paper, and I read aloud the following:

“That same night,” resumed Captain Rudstone, “when I was on guard at the camp, I slipped away into the storm. I reached Port Beaver the next day, read the cryptogram, and found the papers; with them were the receipt for the trunk at Fort Garry and the key. I was now in possession of proofs which I believed would secure for me the title and estates of the Earl of Heathermere. But I need say no more—you know the rest. I have failed in the hour of triumph, and I accept my defeat with the philosophy that has ever been a part of my nature. If I felt any scruples, Carew, they were on your account. You are a good fellow, and I am glad you have come into your own. As for me I suppose I must pay the penalty of my misdeeds.”

With that the captain finished his story and stood regarding us with an impassive, cynical look on his handsome face. I confess that I pitied him from my heart, as I thought of hia wasted talents, of the months of comradeship we had spent together. Indeed, I had never liked him more than I did at that moment, and yet he would have robbed me without compunction of my birthright.

“This is a serious matter, Captain Rudstone,” Macdonald said sternly. “You have confessed to a great crime. I will decide to-morrow what is to be done with you. For the present I must keep you in safe custody.”

“Quite right, sir,” the captain assented, and a moment later he left the room, walking erect between the factor and Lieutenant Boyd.

“Now for your story,” I said, turning to Flora. “I have not the least idea how—”

“Let me see that ring, Denzil,” she interrupted—“the one you showed me once before.”

I took it from my pocket—the seal ring that had belonged to my father—and the moment he saw it Christopher Burley cried out:

“The Heathermere crest!”

“Yes, the same that was on the letters Captain Rudstone took from the trunk!” exclaimed Flora. “It was this discovery, made at the time, that roused my suspicions. Instead of saying anything about the matter, I determined to watch Captain Rudstone. I crept last night to an empty room adjoining his and observed him through a hole in the wall. He had the papers out, and was talking to himself; but he could not make up his mind to destroy them. To-night, when I heard him pass my door, I slipped to the room again. I was just in time, for he had made a fire in the stove. I knew he was going to burn the papers. I dashed into his room, snatched them from him, and held him at bay with a pistol. I think I fired at him in my excitement, but I fortunately missed. And then—then you came to my assistance.”

“My darling, can you ever forgive me?” I said to her, in a low voice. “You have given me riches and a title, and how basely I repaid your efforts in my behalf! To think that I could have suspected you for a single moment!”

“Hush! it is all forgotten and forgiven,” she replied. “But we had better give each other up, Denzil. You don’t want me for your wife—you, a peer of England, with a long line of noble ancestors!”

My answer satisfied her scruples—the others had meanwhile left the room, and as she lay trembling in my arms, I felt how unworthy I was of all the gifts Heaven had bestowed upon me.

It is time to write Finis. A few more words and the curtain will drop on the story of my life. That night, to my secret delight and to the factor’s great relief, Captain Rudstone effected his escape. He dropped from the window of the room in which he was confined, scaled the stockade and vanished in the wilderness. No search was made for him, and I have heard nothing of him from that day to this. I often think of him, and I would give much to see him once again. He is probably dead, for if he were living now he would be more than eighty years of age.

But to return to Fort Garry. Within a week Flora and I were married, and a fortnight later we started for Quebec, accompanied by Christopher Burley. We reached England toward the close of the summer, and my case was so clear that in a comparatively short time

I was in full possession of my father’s birthright—the title and estates of the Earl of Heathermere. The years rolled on, rich in happiness for my wife and myself, until now three decades separate us from the early life of the Canadas—of that life which we recall so well and love dearly to talk of.

In conclusion, I may say a word or two about the rival companies. In June of 1816 a sharp conflict was fought at Fort Douglas, near Fort Garry, Governor Semple, of the Hudson Bay Company, and twenty-two of his men were killed by the Northwest Company’s force, who themselves suffered little loss. The next year Lord Selkirk came to Canada, raised a force, and arrested most of the leading officials of the Northwest Company, sending them to Quebec for trial. And how the Hudson Bay Company held its own against rivalry and intrigue, how it protected its rights, the reader will find set down in the records of history.

THE END.