THE MARE’S NEST.

A great poet has sung of a certain tea-party as sitting ‘all silent and all damned,’ which is going pretty far as a description of social cheerlessness; but they were at tea, and had presumably bread and butter, and possibly even muffins, before them; whereas the little party in Norfolk Street, who sat awaiting the return of William Henry from his problematical patron (for Mr. Albany Wallis, for one, did not believe in his existence), had not even such material comforts to mitigate their embarrassment and ennui. On the table there were only the two deeds, and one of them was in all probability a forgery. Mr. Erin sat drumming his fingers upon it and endeavouring to hide the anxiety which consumed him—a most depressing spectacle. The company, too, were on anything but good terms with one another or with themselves. Mr. Albany Wallis was a just but kind-hearted man; he knew he was right, but he was equally certain that he was uncomfortable. Margaret’s beauty had touched him, and her indignation, however undeserved, distressed him. He felt convinced that she at least was innocent of any confederation with the evildoers, whoever they were.

Now that he had once put hand to the plough, there was no possibility of drawing back; he must needs lay the whole conspiracy bare; but in his heart he cursed the officious malignity of Reginald Talbot, who had set him to work on so unpleasant a task. It was plain that that young gentleman knew how it was all to end. He lay back in his chair, tapping his boot with his cane, and with a grin on his face such as a Cheshire cat might wear who feels a mouse well under her claw. To Mr. Wallis it seemed equally clear that Mr. Frank Dennis also knew. He sat very pale and quiet, but with a face expectant of ill. Every now and then he stole a glance at Margaret, full of ineffable shame and sorrow. As for her, she looked neither to the right nor to the left, but always at the door; her ears were on the stretch for William Henry’s return from the moment that his departing footstep died away. In her face alone was to be seen unshaken confidence; a woman’s faith—so often wasted, as Mr. Wallis thought to himself, upon false and worthless objects.

Presently Mr. Erin glanced at her, and, seeming to gather comfort from her calmness, observed:—

‘I am sorry to detain you, Mr. Wallis, but I think it better for both our sakes that you should remain here till this matter has, one way or another, been settled. It will convince you, at all events, that there is no collusion.’

‘A very proper arrangement, sir, and one that does you infinite credit,’ returned the other courteously. ‘One word from your son’s friend—that is, if, as I believe, he must needs give up his case—will be all that is necessary, so that we shall not have to wait long.’

‘The gentleman may not be at home,’ suggested Margaret.

‘True,’ answered Mr. Wallis with a bow. In his heart he thought that the gentleman was not at all likely to be at home, but there was nothing in his tone that implied it.

‘Perhaps,’ said Mr. Erin, ‘in order to pass the time, you would like to examine the other Shakespearean documents in my possession?’

There was a world of significance, had the other only known it, in the manner in which the antiquary thus expressed himself. The idea of looking at these treasures ‘in order to pass the time’ would, an hour ago, have seemed to him little short of blasphemy.

‘As you please, sir,’ returned Mr. Wallis indifferently; ‘though you will pardon me for saying that if the note of hand turns out to be—a—that is, unauthentic, it will destroy the credibility of all the rest.’

‘It will affect it, no doubt,’ admitted the antiquary.

‘On the other hand,’ observed Margaret in her clear tones, ‘if the evidence should be the other way, it will proportionately strengthen their claims.’

f262

‘Undoubtedly,’ replied Mr. Wallis. He could offer that modicum of encouragement with perfect safety, and he was well pleased to have the opportunity of doing so. ‘Believe me, young lady,’ he went on with earnest gentleness, ‘that it would give me the sincerest gratification to find your confidence justified by the result.’

Then he sat down, indifferent-eyed, but with a pretence of interest, to the Profession that Mr. Erin had spread out upon the table. It was a cheerless proceeding. The very exhibitor himself, it was plain, had but little heart for the performance; instead of expatiating with an unction that might well have been called ‘extreme’ on the precious revelation, he only put in a word or two. If he had apprehensions such as he had never before experienced of a visitor’s criticism, they were, however, unfounded. Mr. Wallis perhaps did not think it worth while to make objections, since a few more minutes at most must needs see the imposture out; it would have been like quarrelling with a man upon his deathbed. He even allowed that the document was ‘interesting,’ though, as he made the observation to Margaret and not to her uncle, it is probable that it rather expressed his wish to please her than his real sentiments. His position was somewhat similar to that of Eloise when taking the veil.

Yet then to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the Cross my eyes were fixed, but you,
Not grace, nor zeal, love only was my call.

For though, of course, the old lawyer was not in love with Margaret, he had a much greater admiration for her than for the sacred relic. Still, in spite of himself, habit induced him to give some considerable attention to the document; even if it was a forgery it was curious, and, at all events, anything was better than sitting with his hands before him watching those uncomfortable faces. That of Mr. Samuel Erin was at present particularly so, for his visitor’s eye was travelling towards the ‘leaffee tree,’ a weak point, which he felt under the circumstances in a very ill condition to defend, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

‘There is Willie!’ cried Margaret, starting to her feet.

She felt assured, since so short a time had elapsed, that he had found his friend of the Temple at home; but what was the news he had brought with him?

One glance at the young fellow as he entered the room was sufficient for her. It was good news.

The eye of love is an auger that can pierce the heart, if not the soul; but to the other members of the party William Henry’s face told nothing. It did not indeed wear the expression of defeat, but still less did it exhibit triumph or exultation. It had the same quiet, almost indifferent air that it habitually wore when the Shakespearean discoveries were under discussion; but the pallor which anxiety had caused in it when he left the house upon his apparently hopeless errand was gone; with a quiet smile he drew forth a paper from his pocket, and handed it to Mr. Wallis.

‘You are quite right, sir,’ he said, ‘and yet you have not put my friend in the wrong. It is the case of the chameleon.’

‘What is this?’ asked Mr. Wallis, a question which, having unfolded the paper, he proceeded to answer himself, in tones of the greatest amazement. ‘Why, this is John Hemynge over again—the real John Hemynge!’

‘And yet, I suppose, not more real than the other,’ said William Henry quietly. ‘The simple explanation is that there were two of them.’

‘Two of them!’ exclaimed Mr. Erin, looking much like the ‘gay French mousquetaire’ (only not ‘gay’) when he saw the ghost of his victim on one side of his bed, and her twin sister in the flesh on the other.

‘This paper, I see, is an account of some theatrical disbursements,’ observed Mr. Wallis, biting his lips in much perplexity. ‘That reminds me that the note of hand was upon a similar subject. You don’t mean to tell me that these Hemynges were, not only both of the same name, but of the same calling—actors?’

‘I tell you nothing, sir, of my own knowledge,’ answered William Henry drily, ‘for I know nothing about the matter. I went to my patron with the story you bade me tell him, that you possessed an authentic signature of Shakespeare’s friend Hemynge; that it was altogether different from the one appended to the note of hand I had found in his keeping, and that therefore the latter was a forgery. He only smiled, and said, “How very like a commentator!” Then he opened a little chest filled with theatrical memoranda. “There is nothing here of much value,” he said, “for I have examined them; but, as it happens, there is something to put the gentleman’s mind at rest as to any question of fraud.” Then he gave me this paper, the signature of which he bade me to ask you to compare with that on your mortgage deed. It is identical, is it not?’

‘It certainly appears to be so,’ admitted Mr. Wallis.

‘Well, according to my patron’s account, there were in Shakespeare’s time two John Hemynges: the one—your John Hemynge—connected with Shakespeare’s own theatre, “The Globe;” the other, whose receipt is appended to the note of hand, the manager of the “Curtain” Theatre. The former, it seems, was called the Tall John Hemynge, the latter the Short. If you care to know more about them, I am instructed to say that my friend is prepared to give you every information.’

As his eye fell upon the lawyer’s chap-fallen face, William Henry could not deny himself a smile of triumph; but as regarded his uncle and Margaret, Mr. Wallis observed that the young fellow did not so much as even glance at them—a circumstance which the lawyer attributed to a very natural cause; it was not they, but he, who had doubted of his good faith, so that in their case he had nothing to exult over. He felt very much abashed and disconcerted; nor was his embarrassment decreased when Margaret thus addressed him:—

‘You will not forget, Mr. Wallis,’ she said gravely, ‘what was said just now of the change which would take place in your opinion of us, in case this matter should not turn out so unfavourably as you expected.’

‘Nay, pardon me, young lady,’ returned the lawyer, gallantly, ‘I have never harboured any opinion of you otherwise than favourable; my observation referred to these other documents, which indeed, I frankly confess, I am now prepared to consider in a much less prejudiced light. For the present I must take my leave, but in the meantime let me express my thanks to you, Mr. Erin, for the kind reception I have met with, and to withdraw, without reserve, any expression I may have let fall which may be construed into a reflection upon your good faith, or upon that of any member of your family.’

For a moment it occurred to Mr. Erin that here was an opportunity for snatching an ally from the enemy’s camp, by getting Mr. Albany Wallis to add his name to the list of believers, but on the whole he decided not to do so, upon the ground of the danger of the experiment. If Miss Margaret Slade, however, had asked Mr. Wallis the favour, it is doubtful whether he would not have acceded to her request. He felt such a brute at having given her distress of mind by his unmannerly suspicions that he would have made almost any sacrifice in reparation of them. He retired with a profusion of bows and excuses, while Mr. Reginald Talbot followed in silence at his heels like a whipped dog, who, professing to find a hare in her form, has only found a mare’s nest.