Chapter 30

THE FINAL LETTER TO A LONDON FRIEND.

Dear Jack,

This is the last letter you will receive from the dell wherein I have camped so long. The days of my roving are over. No longer shall I trudge beside Simon through the long summer days, nor camp under the stars, nor read Lavengro by the red light of an outdoor fire. Shortly will you behold me as a sober, married man, and as such I must conform to the prejudices of civilization. The consulate of Plancus is at an end, my friend, and the days of Bohemian wanderings are over. I would regret them even more than I do, were not the present happier than the past.

Great events have taken place since I last advised you of my adventures. I shall never disbelieve in palmistry again, nor shall I, even in the smallest degree, doubt the power of Romany hags to forecast the future. If you remember, I was doubtful in my last letter as to the chances of further fulfilment of Mother Jericho's prediction. I am a sceptic no longer, for, in the most marvellous way, every word of it has come true. What think you of that? "There are more things in heaven or earth----" But the quotation is threadbare. I shall not insult your understanding by repeating the whole.

I now know all the mysteries, Jack, which have so long puzzled me. I was right in supposing there was a connection between Tim, Miss Linisfarne, and Dr. Merle. There is a very close connection which concerns Meg and concerns me. What it is you shall now hear, so prepare your sceptical mind for tales of wonder.

In my last epistle I told you how Miss Linisfarne stood aloof when her plans were overturned, and shut herself up in the Court. Meg--tender-hearted girl as she is--regretted that one to whom she owed much should be thus estranged and lonely. She consulted both Mr. Jarner and myself as to the advisability of seeking a reconciliation with Miss Linisfarne, and we--suspecting no danger--approved of her resolution. Would that we had forbidden the visit, for it led to nothing but evil! Yet it fulfilled the prophecy, so I suppose was to be. Certainly it was out of our powers to advert the decrees of Fate. Fire and flame--false father--false mother! There is the riddle, Jack, and here is the interpretation thereof.

Meg went to the Court one evening, at six o'clock, and saw Miss Linisfarne, who professed herself glad to be reconciled. Nay, more, she pretended to approve of the marriage, and said she would give Meg a wedding present. This was none other than the portrait of my ancestor, Sir Alurde, whom I so greatly resemble. It was very kind of her offering it to Meg, especially as it belonged to me! But, mark you, the cunning of the woman! She asserted that she had seen me in the interval, and had asked and obtained my permission to give the portrait. This statement, I need hardly tell you, was pure invention.

Naturally enough Meg believed her story, and went with her to the west wing, where Miss Linisfarne had removed the picture. It was in a small room, slashed to pieces, and in that room the mad woman--for she was quite mad--locked up my poor darling, and set fire to the place. Whether it was by accident or design, I do not know; but she soon had the Court in a blaze. It is now completely gutted, and only the bare walls stand to show where the house once stood. The home of my ancestors is gone, but I care nothing for that. Meg is safe, and for that alone I am thankful.

Tinker Tim was at the fire, and saved Miss Linisfarne. I rescued Meg by the merest accident. The brave girl wrenched out the bars of her prison-house, and climbed out. I saw her hanging on to the ivy which overgrows this part of the house, and by some miracle--for I cannot tell you how I did it--I extricated her from the perilous situation. We went to see after Miss Linisfarne, and then received a surprise.

I know you won't believe it, Jack, for I was sceptical myself, until convinced by hearing the story in detail. Meg is not the daughter of Dr. Merle. You must remember how I wondered that so fine a nature, so beautiful a girl, could have for parent so contemptible a specimen of humanity. My wonder was legitimate. She is not Merle's daughter, but the child of Miss Linisfarne and Tinker Tim. There, sir, what do you think of that for a startling piece of news? I am so astonished myself that as yet I can hardly believe it. Nevertheless, it is perfectly true. Here is the story. More wonderful than any yet invented by fiction-mongers.

Some twenty-five, or it may be more, years ago Tinker Tim--whose other name, by the way, is Lovel--was a handsome young gipsy. He was more ambitious than the rest of his race, and wished to be great. A strange thing for a Romany, for, as a rule, they are content with their humble condition and wandering life. Tim, however, left the tents of his people and went among the Gorgios. He had plenty of money left to him by his father, who was a noted prizefighter. He told no one that he was a gipsy, and, owing to his foreign looks, was supposed to be some Eastern prince. This is not to be wondered at, for, as you know, the Romany originally came from India many hundred years ago. Desiring to learn what pleasure there was in the life of a Gorgio, Tim encouraged the idea, and by a lavish use of his money managed to see a good deal of society. All this sounds extraordinary, but I believe it to be true. Though only a vagabond gipsy, Tim is a splendid looking man, and has a remarkably keen brain. I can quite well imagine that he could pass himself off for an Eastern prince, and gull society for at least a season. This is what occurred. He was much made of by the fashionable world, and while the lion of the season met with Miss Linisfarne.

She was then just twenty years of ago, and a very beautiful woman. She fell in love with Tim and he with her. I do not know the details of the courtship, but it ended in a secret marriage performed by a Church of England clergyman. Tim would not be married publicly by a parson, as it would destroy his pretensions as an Eastern prince, and Miss Linisfarne would not be married in any other way. They compromised by a secret marriage, and Tim met his wife on the Continent, where they lived for some time. No one, not even the parents of Miss Linisfarne, knew of the marriage, and as she was abroad with a companion, secretly bribed to keep the marriage quiet, no harm was suspected. Then Tim, in a moment of weakness, told his wife that he was no prince, but only a wandering gipsy. To his surprise her love turned to hate. She considered that she had been tricked, as it had been her desire when the marriage was avowed to appear in London as a princess. She was an ambitious woman, and the discovery of the truth made her wrathful. Both she and her husband had fiery tempers, so in the end they parted. Miss Linisfarne returned to her people, and Tim was left abroad, vowing to revenge himself on his hardhearted wife. You can guess what that revenge was.

About this time Merle, or rather Mallard, came into the story. He was a wealthy young doctor, madly in love with Miss Linisfarne. She, finding she was about to become a mother, accepted his addresses in order to conceal the disgrace. To her parents she confessed the truth, and they, deeming the ceremony with Tim no true marriage, as he was a gipsy, urged on the match with Mallard. All would have gone well had it taken place at once; but Mallard was called away to Italy, where his father was dying, and when he returned Miss Linisfarne had disappeared. The parents refused to tell this lover where she was; but, having unlimited money at his command, he had no difficulty in finding her hiding place. There he learned the truth, for he found she had given birth to a female child. She cynically avowed her connection with Tim, and drove Mallard mad for the time being. He had not at any time a strong brain, and the shock proved too much for him, so for three years he was in a lunatic asylum. When Miss Linisfarne returned to London, and told her parents all, they were so enraged at her folly and disgrace, that they exiled her to Farbis Court, where she spent the remainder of her miserable life. Much as I condemn her conduct, I must confess to a feeling of pity for the agony she endured all those years in the lonely house. If she sinned, she was bitterly punished.

When Mallard came out of the asylum he was a complete wreck, and did not mend matters by taking to opium. He wandered about the world for two years, but found no peace. Then he formed a design of withdrawing from a world which had no further charms for him, since his life had been ruined by a woman. Yet he still loved Miss Linisfarne, and went down to the village where he had learned the truth. He found Miss Linisfarne had gone away, but the child, now five years of age, was still there, and with the child a gipsy who asserted he was the father. This of course was Tim, and with his strong will he soon obtained an ascendency over the weak mind of Mallard. Tim wished to force the mother to bring up her child and train it according to her duty, yet all the time remain in ignorance of the truth. He heard that Miss Linisfarne had gone to Farbis Court, and therefore proposed to Mallard that, as he wished to retire from the world, he also should go there under an assumed name, and adopt Meg--so the child was named--as his daughter. At first Mallard refused, but in the end yielded. The use of opium had already rendered him a tool in the hands of the gipsy, and when Meg was five years of age she was taken down to Farbis with her adopted father.

Their life there you know. Dr. Merle, as he called himself, gave way entirely to his vice of laudanum drinking, and Meg was brought up by the vicar and Miss Linisfarne. Tim, hovering constantly about Farbis, was delighted at the success of his plot. The mother was fulfilling her maternal duties towards the child she had forsaken, and was quite ignorant of the relationship existing between them. Merle never saw her all the time he lived at Farbis, as Tim forbade him to seek her, fearful lest she should learn or guess the truth. Can you imagine a more dramatic situation, Jack? A husband, a wife, a lover, and a child. The husband forcing the lover to father his child, the mother bringing up her own daughter, and training her according to her duty, yet all the while remaining in ignorance of the relationship. Name any novel that can match that, my friend.

How Meg grew up beautiful and strong, how she was educated by her unsuspecting mother and the vicar, I have told you in my former letters. Tim watched over her all the time. What his plans were with regard to his wife I know not. She thought him dead; but he doubtless intended to undeceive her on that point. I suppose he would have confessed his plot some time, and let the mother have her daughter. But the treachery of Miss Linisfarne led to an untimely explanation, and Tim has not told me what he intended to have done had the catastrophe not taken place. It seems horrible that the mother should have plotted the death of her daughter; but, as I said before, she did not know the truth, and, as she is dead, it were kindness to say no more about her.

When Meg was nearly twenty years of age, Tim consulted with Merle as to getting her married. He was proud of his daughter, and wished her to make a good match. Merle could offer no suggestion, as there was no suitor worthy of the girl in the district. Then Chance intervened, and sent Tim the very husband he wanted for his daughter. At this point I come into the story, as you can guess.

It appears that a gipsy was getting a caravan built at the shop where mine was being constructed. He heard that I intended to take to the life of the roads for a time, and knowing that I owned Farbis, where Tim's tribe was encamped--for these vagrants learn things in the most wonderful way--told the Tinker of my proposed expedition. Tim at once selected me as a husband for Meg, thinking truly that if he could only inveigle me to Farbis the girl's beauty would do the rest. Hence his plot. It was he who instructed the gipsies to urge me to visit Farbis, and when I was on my way thither, stationed Mother Jericho in the pine wood to prophesy about Joy coming up through the Gates of Dawn. The visit you know! I met Meg at the Gates of Dawn--fell in love with her, and hope to marry her. Tim's plot has been completely successful. Now you can understand Mother Jericho's talk, and Tim's hints, and Merle's fears. The gipsies knew I was Lord Ardleigh all the time, and, though I did not know it, I was surrounded on all sides by people anxious for me to marry Meg. Mother Jericho's prophecy was but the wishes of Tim put into words.

Yet not all of it! I can understand the prediction as to my meeting Meg--as to the false father and the false mother--that was all designed. But how did the old hag know that Miss Linisfarne would fall in love with me, and what reason had she to foretell fire and flame? No one thought the wretched woman would set fire to the Court. That part of the prophecy I cannot understand, therefore I must admit I have a certain belief in palmistry.

Well, Jack, the end has come. I know all, and, knowing all, am quite content to marry Meg, half-gipsy though she be. Miss Linisfarne is dead, as I told you, so she will be no trouble. Tim prefers his life of tent and road, as his one experiment among the Gorgios ended so disastrously. Yet I hope to see a good deal of him in the future, for though he is but a gipsy, I tell you he is a father-in-law to be proud of.

By Jarner's advice, and with Tim's consent, this strange story is to be told to no one but yourself. There would be no use in publishing it abroad, and Meg will marry me as the daughter of Dr. Merle. That wretched creature will not live long, I fear, as he is in so shattered a condition. He has left all his money to Meg, which is only what she deserves. It will be settled on herself when the marriage takes place. Strange to say, he is nearly as wealthy as I am.

I am coming up to town to see my lawyers, and make settlements on my future wife. Then I will ask you to come here with me in the spring, and see me married to Meg by Parson Jarner. You shall be best man, and Tim shall give the bride away. That office he reserves to himself, and absolutely refuses to give it to Dr. Merle.

Miss Linisfarne is buried, and the Court is destroyed. I shall not rebuild it, but devote any surplus moneys I have to the use of the parish. I mean to raise the villagers out of their present wretched condition, to repair the church and augment the income of Parson Jarner. He, dear old man, refuses to leave Farbis, as he has grown to love the place and the people. So he shall be my almoner, and when my wife and I weary of being Lord and Lady Ardleigh, we shall come down to Farbis to be Dan and Meg. Tim and Parson Jarner and Mother Jericho will be there to welcome us, and we will revive the old Bohemian days which are now at an end.

The old lady is in high glee at the fulfilment of her prophecy, as she well may be. It has given me a pearl of womanhood for my wife. I loved Meg from the first moment I saw her coming up through the Gates of Dawn. All our troubles are, I hope, over, sorrow has departed, and joy has come. I do not think I can do better than end this letter with a verse of Meg's song. It can stand in lieu of a signature.

"The red light flames in the eastern skies,

The dew lies heavy on lea and lawn,

Grief with her anguish of midnight flies,

And Joy comes up through the Gates of Dawn."

THE END.