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Updated: July 13, 2025
All this while, according to his fellow-traveller's report, the rookery was darkening the air above with undiminished population, and deafening all ears but his with their cawings. But nature has been gently withdrawing such phenomena from the notice of Thomas Westwood's senses, from the time he began to miss the rooks.
One was the conviction that in some way or another he must take Westwood's place give himself up to justice and set Westwood free.
Miss Vane read the accusation in his eyes. She turned aside with an abrupt gesture, half of defiance, half of despair. "I can't help it, Hubert," she said in an undertone. She raised her handkerchief to her eyes and dashed away a tear. "I feel it a wrong to Sydney, to Marion, to the child, that I should try to benefit any of Westwood's family.
The furniture was of good artistic design, the windows were emblazoned in jewel-like colors, the proportions of the rooms were stately as those of an Oxford college hall. Hubert smiled a little at the picture of Westwood's ragged daughter amidst all this magnificence.
Ever dear Mr. Westwood's obliged and faithful To Miss Mitford Florence: December 13, 1850. Did I write a scolding letter, dearest Miss Mitford? So much the better, when people deserve to be scolded. The worst is, however, that it sometimes does them no sort of good, and that they will sit on among the ruins of Carthage, let ever so many messages come from Italy.
To his relatives, to the relatives of the murdered man, the discovery of the truth would be a terrible shock. There was no person except that missing girl, of whom he dared scarcely think who could benefit by the clearing of Andrew Westwood's name. The only gain that would accrue from his confession would be, he considered, a subjective gain to himself.
The school buildings were swathed in purple clematis and roses; there was a pleasant hum of voices, even of laughter, from some of the deep mullioned windows; and he saw a host of children sporting on the lawn in the distance. The scene was bright, peaceful, and joyous. Hubert Lepel felt a momentary thrill of relief; he had done well for Westwood's child he need not reproach himself on that score.
It would never do to let this little wild creature go on roaming about the village, asking questions about her father. And there were better motives at work within the young man's breast. It seemed to him that he had brought a duty on himself that he was at least responsible for Andrew Westwood's forlorn and neglected child.
Vane was discovered lying amongst the springing bracken in the depths of a shadowy copse, shot through the heart. A scrap of rough tweed found in the dead man's hand was said to correspond with a torn corner of Westwood's coat, and the murder was supposed to have been committed by the poacher with a gun which was afterwards found in Westwood's cottage.
She hurried down to Beechfield as soon as she knew of her brother's need; and during the weary days and weeks between Sydney's death and Westwood's trial, she had been invaluable as a friend, helper, and capable mistress of the disorganised household.
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