Late in the afternoon at Westminster. The court occupied, as it had been these months past, with the great Farrington trial. It had already lasted so long that the counsel’s opening address was almost forgotten; yet nothing definite had come out. The case for the claimant was approaching conclusion. Mr. Netherpoint, Q.C., held on bravely to the last. Like a true man he was prepared to die game; but it was quite clear that Mr. Quantlet, the leader on the opposite side, was only biding his time to smash Mr. Netherpoint and his case into little bits.

Interest had flagged since the commencement of the trial. It was felt that the whole thing was rather a hollow affair, which must presently collapse utterly. Only the parties to the suit retained their anxiety. Lady Farrington, like the old lady in Jarndice v. Jarndice, sat near Herbert, and still strove, but in vain, to be calm. Sir Rupert Farrington was also in court, his dark face wearing an implacable frown, which deepened as his eyes rested upon the unscrupulous aggressors who sought to rob him of his rights and all he possessed. Herbert Larkins met his glance without quailing, but without any particular buoyancy of expression. He was, in truth, growing a little hopeless, and almost wished the case at an end. Everybody else seemed heartily sick of the thing. Even the presiding judge had yawned distinctly three times in as many minutes; after which he asked his brother Netherpoint when he hoped to conclude.

‘Very shortly, m’lud; there are but two or three additional witnesses—’

‘Material witnesses, I trust? persons prepared to give evidence relative to the issue?’

‘Most decidedly, m’lud, most decidedly. There is Reuben Bosher, and—hey? what d’ye mean? I cannot hear what you say.’

This was to Mr. Bellhouse; who had come behind him, and was whispering rather excitedly, for him, in the counsel’s ear.

‘Delay? impossible. They wouldn’t give us an hour. Out of the question.’

Then a few more hurried words passed between the lawyers; but further conversation was rendered impossible by the impatience and irritability of the judge.

‘What is the meaning of this interruption? It is not to be tolerated. How much longer, may I ask, brother Netherpoint, do you propose to occupy the time of the court? If you have nothing further to bring forward I must beg of you to sit down.’

‘Very important intelligence, m’lud, has arrived; evidence which will probably change the whole complexion of the case. We have just heard of a witness whom I shall require to call—’

‘Is he in attendance?’

‘No, m’lud.’

‘Then he ought to be. We cannot have the time of the court wasted any more. You have had plenty of opportunities; if you lose them it is your own affair.’

‘This witness has only just been heard of, m’lud—’

‘Psha! I shall insist upon your proceeding with the case.’

‘We must move, then, m’lud, for a fresh trial.’

‘Who and what is this witness? and why is he not here?’

‘He is not here because there has not been time to bring him, m’lud. He has been at the Cape of Good Hope for nearly thirty years; far back in the wilds, or veldt, as it is called. I believe—’

‘What is his name?’

Mr. Netherpoint paused and looked round, so as to give everyone full opportunity of hearing what he said.

‘His name, m’lud, is Sir Herbert Farrington.’

There was a sensation in the court.

Lady Farrington, with a half-stifled shriek, seized Herbert convulsively by the hands, and ejaculating ‘I knew it, I knew it,’ swooned away. Sir Rupert Farrington, as he still claimed to be called, half rose in his seat, as if determined to protest against this new and most audacious attempt at fraud; there was a flutter of excitement, a murmur of voices in the body of the court, the solicitors whispered and winked significantly to one another, and the bar generally woke up to give attention to what had long been a threadbare and uninteresting affair.

Meanwhile, the judge had been scanning his notes assiduously; Sir Rupert’s counsel and solicitors had been equally busy with brief and papers, while Mr. Netherpoint and Mr. Bellhouse had continued in close confabulation, and interchanging memoranda and ideas.

‘Sir Herbert Farrington?’ the judge asked, at length, snappishly and garrulously. ‘There is no such person in existence that I am aware of, at present. The young gentleman, who is one of the plaintiffs, has no right to the title until he has proved his claim—’

‘I do not speak of him, m’lud, but of his father.’

‘The father is dead. He disappeared a generation ago,’ said Mr. Quantlet, rising.

‘Pardon me, that assumption is entirely unwarrantable,’ replied Mr. Netherpoint. ‘We undertake to prove the contrary, and will produce the man himself.’

Mr. Quantlet sat down, grumbling loudly. The words ‘personation,’ ‘conspiracy,’ ‘trumped-up witnesses,’ were heard audibly among his complaints.

‘Where is this person?’ asked his lordship. ‘Be good enough to inform the court of all particulars, brother Netherpoint. If you spring a mine like this without giving warning, you owe it to the court to make the fullest explanation.’

‘I am quite ready, m’lud. You shall have the whole story.’

What is now to be told so closely concerns our hero, that it must be given at some length.

After much delay and many rebuffs, Mr. Jimlett’s inquiries had been crowned at length with success. Tracing the line which the gun-runners commonly took, he had been gradually drawn towards the frontier of Natal. While hesitating to pass beyond the boundary, rumours reached him of Englishmen settled among the native tribes; of one in particular, who had risen to some eminence among them, and was reputed rich in wives and cattle. This personage he thought might give him some information; and, not without delay and difficulty, he made his way to his kraal. The object of Jimlett’s inquiries was stated with some caution to the English settler, who had been so long resident in his savage home, that he was almost denationalised. But if the chief had lost many of the customs of civilised life, just as he had discarded the dress, he had assumed in place of it much of that wily caution peculiar to the savage. Jimlett could get nothing out of him for a long time. The chief displayed as much, if not more circumspection than the lawyer’s clerk. It seemed impossible to draw a word out of him. He still spoke English fluently, and was perfectly calm and self-possessed.

‘I don’t see what you are driving at,’ he said, after long fencing. ‘Why not throw your cards down, and be open with me? It’s the best way to deal with a wild man. Who are you looking for really, and why?’

‘I want some one to tell me whether Herbert Farrington, youngest son of the last baronet Farrington, is alive or dead.’

‘But why?’

‘To take up the title and the family property, and see that his son comes into it after him.’

‘His son? He had no son.’

‘How do you know?’

‘His mother died in childbirth; she—’

‘You seem very fully informed. What more do you know?’

‘Nothing—I wish I did.’

‘You have never sought to know, perhaps? Had no business to know?’

‘Perhaps not. Is Lady Farrington still alive?’

‘Certainly; but the title is held by Sir Rupert—’

‘The cousin? I don’t know how many times removed. What right had he to it?’

‘He was the heir-at-law.’

‘Why did Lady Farrington drive her son from home by ill-usage? Poor Herbert! No wonder he fled.’

‘She has regretted it bitterly. She is now doing her utmost to retrieve the wrong she has inflicted. She has welcomed, educated, and been a staunch friend to Herbert’s son. Now that the marriage between Herbert and Ann Orde is proved, another link or two is all we need to establish the younger Herbert as the rightful owner of the title and estates.’

‘He cannot be quite that—not just yet. His father, the long-lost Herbert Farrington, is still alive.’

‘Where is he to be found? Will you take me to him? You shall be liberally rewarded.’

‘I want no reward, and you need not go far. I am the man.’

This was the overwhelming evidence which Mr. Netherpoint proposed to bring, and for which he claimed time from the court. It was conceded, and the case was held over to the following term.

Meanwhile gossip busied itself once more with the case. The news of the missing son was freely discussed. Opinions differed very widely. Some held stoutly that he was the man himself; others that barefaced imposture was meant, and would in the long run be brought home to the parties concerned. It was a repetition of the great Tichborne case, although on a much smaller scale. Then the so-called Herbert Farrington appeared, at first gaunt, wild, unkempt, from his long life in the bush, but unmistakably a gentleman still, and soon resuming the manners and tone proper to his birth and class. He was recognised at once by all survivors. Mr. Bellhouse knew him and could swear to him; so could Mrs. Larkins; the rector of Stickford-le-Clay had no doubt as to his identity. Last of all his mother, whose injustice had driven him forth, fell into his arms, imploring his forgiveness, and declared he was hardly at all changed.

He was in truth her own son. Like her impressionable, flighty, sometimes strange in his demeanour and ways. His whole life was indeed an evidence of these inherited traits. Another less sensitive nature would have given in sooner; but he so bitterly resented his mother’s harshness, that he would never bring himself to hold out his hand to her first. Then in his loneliness and isolation after his wife’s death, of which he had been informed, he broke altogether with the world, and flew to the wilds, from which, as we have seen, he was brought back with extreme difficulty at the eleventh hour.

But he arrived in time to turn the scale, and secure victory for his son’s cause.

Within a month or two of the termination of the trial, Herbert Farrington, bearing now his proper name, returned to the Rock. He was something of a celebrity, as the hero of a great trial which had been decided in his favour, and altogether a different person from the unknown Larkins who had aspired so high. He was well received—with one exception—on every side. He was fÊted and made much of in his own regiment, and received cordial congratulation through the garrison and wherever he went. But General Prioleau was for a long time unforgiving. When an easy-natured man is embittered against any one, he is perhaps more persistent in his dislike than if his temper were more harsh. For a long time he held out against Herbert, and closed his doors to him. But continual dropping will wear a stone; and Mrs. Prioleau, who had now completely changed in her views with regard to Herbert, kept up a continuous flow of eulogistic words, before which the general gradually succumbed. How could he hope to hold his garrison when there were traitors within? He might refuse to see Herbert; but Mrs. Prioleau and Edith met him elsewhere, and the love-making went on in spite of him, under his very nose. Edith, too, when taxed with her misconduct, so plainly gave her father to understand that she would marry Herbert Farrington, and no one else, that the general was compelled at length to give way.

The marriage took place the same year. Captain Mountcharles felt it as a personal affront, and resigned his appointment, so Herbert was presently made aide-de-camp in his place. By degrees the general has been entirely won over by his son-in-law’s devotion to his duties, and brought, although tardily, to acknowledge his worth. Nothing will induce Herbert to resign his profession. His regimental promotion is assured, and as he is keen to take active employment wherever it offers—a desire in which Edith, a true soldier’s wife, always encourages him—he is certain to rise in the service and take high honours eventually as a thoroughly deserving ‘Son of Mars.’

Only a few words are needed to dispose of the remaining characters in this story.

It seemed as though old Lady Farrington felt, when the law-suit was won, that her mission was ended. She died happily, at peace with every one, in the following year. Her son, the new baronet, Sir Herbert Farrington, settled at the Hall for a time; but restlessness soon took possession of him, and he pined for the wilds which had so long been his home. When last heard of by his son Herbert he was at the head of an exploring party somewhere near Lake Tanganyika, and meant to be absent for some years.

As for Mr. Rupert Farrington, he retired into obscurity to eat out his heart with envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness. He was not overburdened with cash; but through young Herbert’s good offices a moderate allowance was made him from the estate, which was to be continued to the little Ernest, Mimie’s son. The Diggles also sank in prestige, and had to be contented with the modest income of a half-pay lieut.-colonel, for the great Cavendish’s private means disappeared in the crash of the tea mart, and Letitia has led him a terrible life ever since.

Last of all, brave old Sergeant Larkins and his worthy wife found themselves established comfortably on a corner of the Farrington estate, where the former grows roses, and the latter points with pride to the boy she once befriended and who now returns her kindness a thousandfold.

THE END.

LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.