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I believe the conversion of the owner of Vange Abbey is in your hands no more than a matter of time." "May I ask what his name is?" "Certainly. His name is Lewis Romayne." "When do you introduce me to him?" "Impossible to say. I have not yet been introduced myself." "You don't know Mr. Romayne?" "I have never even seen him."
But in this case, events declared themselves in my favor. Lady Berrick's last reserves of strength had given way. She had been brought to London in a dying state while we were at Vange Abbey. Romayne was summoned to his aunt's bedside on the third day of our residence at the hotel, and was present at her death. The impression produced on his mind roused the better part of his nature.
"What brings you to London at this time of year?" I asked. "The fatality that pursues me," he answered grimly. "I am one of the unluckiest men living." He was thirty years old; he was not married; he was the enviable possessor of the fine old country seat, called Vange Abbey; he had no poor relations; and he was one of the handsomest men in England.
Let me entreat our reverend brethren to preserve perfect tranquillity of mind, in spite of this circumstance. The owner of Vange Abbey is not married yet. If patience and perseverance on my part win their fair reward, Miss Eyrecourt shall never be his wife. But let me not conceal the truth. In the uncertain future that lies before us, I have no one to depend on but myself.
The first Vanderwater's name was not Vanderwater; it was Vange Bill Vange, the son of Yergis Vange, the machinist, and Laura Carnly, the washerwoman. Young Bill Vange was strong. He might have remained with the slaves and led them to freedom; instead, however, he served the masters and was well rewarded. He began his service, when yet a small child, as a spy in his home slave pen.
Our return to this house is perhaps the cause. I don't complain; I have had a long release." She threw her arms round his neck. "We will leave Vange to-morrow," she said. It was firmly spoken. But her heart sank as the words passed her lips. Vange Abbey had been the scene of the most unalloyed happiness in her life. What destiny was waiting for her when she returned to London?
He has lately returned to London, and is living quite alone at a private hotel. For some reason which I am not acquainted with, he keeps away from Vange Abbey the very place, as I should have thought, for a studious man." Penrose began to be interested. "Have you been to the Abbey?" he said. "I made a little excursion to that part of Yorkshire, Arthur, not long since.
One night in the absence of the present proprietor, or, I should rather say, the present usurper, of the estate the lake at Vange was privately dragged, with a result that proved the bishop's conjecture to be right. Read those valuable documents.
"What have you got in your hand? A letter?" "Yes. Addressed to you and not opened yet." He took it out of her hand, and threw it carelessly on a sofa near him. "Never mind that now! Let us talk." He paused, and kissed her, before he went on. "My darling, I think you must be getting tired of Vange?" "Oh, no! I can be happy anywhere with you and especially at Vange.
Only last summer, one of our bishops, administering a northern diocese, spoke of these circumstances to a devout Catholic friend, and said he thought it possible that the precaution taken by the monks at Newstead might also have been taken by the monks at Vange. The friend, I should tell you, was an enthusiast.
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