"By whom is that, Lord Brompton? Ah! I see, Lord d"Eyncourt. His name is on the t.i.tle-page."
"An eccentric Victorian poet," said the young man, "of much account in his own day, if I mistake not."
"I never heard of him," said Maggie, "but I am little of an antiquarian.
It is pretty, though."
"I remember," said he, "that we as children used to act theatricals here in those old clothes, duds we ransacked from the closets."
"But where is the ghost? I want to see the ghost!" cried the girl, tossing aside the last bit of tarnished finery. "What is this?" she continued, seizing the end of a beam which had become loosened and projected from the wall.
"You will have the house about our ears if you persist," he cried, as a shower of crumbled stone and mortar followed her investigation.
"Well, it is my house, Lord Brompton; I have the right if I choose to."
"Why remind me of my misfortunes, Miss Windsor?"
"Come and help me, then."
"I wish I might be your helpmate forever," he said. She turned and looked at him, slightly disconcerted, and then said: "I was wrong. The women of to-day need no help from any one."
She gave the beam a strong wrench, as though to vindicate her a.s.sertion.
It yielded and disclosed a kind of box or recess set into the wall. She plunged therein her hand, and drew forth a handsome sword of rich and subtle workmanship and antique design. "There," she cried, "am I not right?"
Maggie took it to the light. Around the hilt was wrapped a scroll, which she was about to read, when, with a sudden fancy, she paused and said, "What am I doing? These are family secrets, and meant, perhaps, only for your eyes, Lord Brompton."
"Read it, I beg," said he. She obeyed him. In a faint, feminine hand, which resembled a field of corn bowed by the wind, were written these words:
"My grandfather"s sword. MARIAN RIPON."
"The ghost--it is the ghost"s own work," they cried together.
"And this sword," said he, "belonged to my namesake, the cavalier."
"But look--look." Maggie had been staring at the opposite side of the paper.
Geoffrey took it from her hand.
"Kind hearts are more than coronets And simple faith than Norman blood."
For a moment they looked at one another in speechless surprise.
"Kneel, Lord Brompton," she said at length. He did so, and taking a scarf from among the pile of vestments she girded the sword about him with fantastic grace. "Rise, Geoffrey Ripon, knight, and Earl of Brompton."
"You are forever my sovereign." He kissed her hand. She blushed sweetly, and turning said, "Enough of the past and its customs. We each have a present to face, and mine for the nonce is Jawkins. He must need my directions."
Thus it happened that when Lord Brompton next entered the porter"s lodge in which he dwelt, he was girded with the sword of his ancestors.
CHAPTER IV.
JARLEY JAWKINS.
The library of Ripon House was an apartment panelled in oak, blackened by time and smoke. The high and richly carved mantelpiece bore the arms of the Ripon family, three wolves on a field, or, surmounted by a wild man from Borneo rampant, bearing a battle-axe, gules. Shelves which once were filled with fine books were then empty, the void being covered by old tapestries. The furniture was old and gaunt, save for a few modern soft-cushioned chairs which seemed to have been recently deposited there, and were, by the brilliant color of their coverings, not at all in harmony with the faded tapestries of their high-backed and carven predecessors. On one of the gaunt old chairs Abraham Windsor was seated, holding in his right hand the London _Times_, which slowly issued from a "ticker" upon the table at his side. After looking sharply at the financial news, which just then was being recorded in the "Thunderer,"
he glanced quickly toward the door, as if he expected some one to enter.
Abraham Windsor was a man of sixty, and each year seemed to have left its impress upon the man who had battled through it, so that he seemed his own living history, and by close observation you might read of a youth of scant schooling in books, not spent among folks of gentle breeding, nor protected from the world, but left to shift for itself against the numerous kicks and scanty half pence of the hard world; then one might discern the period of restless scheming and speculation, and finally the look of successful yet of unsatisfied ambition. Still his face was not a hard and stern one, but shrewd and kindly. He seemed a man who would drive careful bargains, but who was too large-minded and honest to be mean or overreaching. His large head was thatched with thick, bristling iron-gray hair, his face was swarthy and clean-shaven, his black eyes were deep-set and keen, his nose prominent, yet well-shaped, and his mouth firm and resolute, having a humorous curve; he was plainly dressed in a black broadcloth suit which hung loosely over his bony frame. He threw down the ribbons upon the floor with an impatient gesture, and watched the news of the world, as it coiled at his feet in the white spirals, for a moment; then he arose from his chair and touched an electric k.n.o.b. Instantly a stately footman in a dark livery and a powdered wig entered the room.
"Mr. Jawkins has arrived?" Mr. Windsor asked.
"No, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Has Miss Windsor returned from her walk?"
"She has come into the house, sir."
"Has Mr. Jawkins sent word when we are to expect him?"
"Yes, sir; we are awaiting him every moment, sir. I think I hear wheels now, sir."
"Very well; ask him to come to me here when he is at leisure."
The tall footman bowed and noiselessly left the room, and Mr. Windsor picked up the _Times_ and looked at it for a moment. Presently a short, pudgy man in travelling dress, with thin, smoothly-brushed hair, mutton-chop whiskers and a very red face, was ushered into the room, and Mr. Windsor stretched out his hand in welcome.
"Mr. Jawkins, I believe?"
"Yes, Mr. Windsor; I am Jarley Jawkins, very much at your service."
"Glad to see you, Jawkins," said the American; "take a cigar, won"t you?
I will ring for some whiskey and water if you care for a snifter."
"I beg to be excused," replied Jawkins, deprecatingly. "You American gentlemen must have the const.i.tutions of horses; you seem to be able to smoke and take "snifters," as you drolly call them, at all hours, but I really cannot do it, you know. Do you find things to suit you here, Mr.
Windsor? I could have given you many finer houses; to tell you the truth, I was rather surprised when you chose Ripon House out of my list.
There is so little furniture in it that my men have not been able to put in all the necessary articles yet, but it will be wholly in order in a few hours."
"Yes; your men seem very busy," replied Mr. Windsor. "The upper floors are all ready, but I have been driven into this room on the ground floor this morning."
"Oh! dear me, what a pity, sir," said Mr. Jawkins, looking around the room. "It is very bare and uncomfortable; but you will not know the room when my fellows are through with it. You will have one of the finest collections of books here in all England in a few hours. I have purchased the Marquis of Queensberry"s collection, and ordered them sent here. Nothing gives so good an effect of color in a room as a library of handsome books, you know. They have turned the _Times_ on, I see," he remarked, pointing to the ticker. "I saw in it this morning that Richard Lincoln and his daughter were to be your guests here. Your friend, sir, I suppose? He certainly is not down in my list; great man, sir, but not one of us."
"Mr. Lincoln is one of the men whom I most highly respect in the world,"
answered Mr. Windsor, curtly. "When do you expect the people in your list to arrive?"
"Oh, they will come at all hours," answered Jawkins. "I must send a lot of traps to the station to meet them. Have you been out to the stables, sir? I have sent you one of the finest studs in all England. Do you hunt, Mr. Windsor?"