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diff --git a/28435-h/28435-h.htm b/28435-h/28435-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5db6ad7 --- /dev/null +++ b/28435-h/28435-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,32868 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of THE CRYPTOGRAM by James De Mille +</title> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cryptogram, by James De Mille + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cryptogram + A Novel + +Author: James De Mille + +Release Date: March 29, 2009 [EBook #28435] +Last updated: September 23, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRYPTOGRAM *** + + + + +Produced by Marlo Dianne + + + + + +</pre> + +<img src="images/front-illo.png" alt="These Are My Dearest Children."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "These Are My Dearest Children."] +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THE +CRYPTOGRAM. +<br> +<br> +A Novel. +<br> +<br> +By James De Mille, +<br> +<br> +Author of +"The Dodge Club," "Cord and Creese," "The American Baron," etc. +<br> +<br> +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +New York: +Harper & Brothers, Publishers, +Franklin Square. +1872 +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER I. +<br> +<br> +TWO OLD FRIENDS. +<br> +<br> +Chetwynde Castle was a large baronial mansion, belonging to the +Plantagenet period, and situated in Monmouthshire. It was a grand old +place, with dark towers, and turrets, and gloomy walls surmounted +with battlements, half of which had long since tumbled down, while +the other half seemed tottering to ruin. That menacing ruin was on +one side of the structure concealed beneath a growth of ivy, which +contrasted the dark green of its leaves with the sombre hue of the +ancient stones. Time with its defacing fingers had only lent +additional grandeur to this venerable pile. As it rose there +--"standing with half its battlements alone, and with five hundred +years of ivy grown"--its picturesque magnificence and its air of hoar +antiquity made it one of the noblest monuments of the past which +England could show. +<br> +<br> +All its surroundings were in keeping with the central object. Here +were no neat paths, no well-kept avenues, no trim lawns. On the +contrary, every thing bore the unmistakable marks of neglect and +decay; the walks were overgrown, the terraces dilapidated, and the +rose pleasaunce had degenerated into a tangled mass of bushes and +briers. It seemed as though the whole domain were about to revert +into its original state of nature; and every thing spoke either of +the absence of a master, or else of something more important +still--the absence of money. +<br> +<br> +The castle stood on slightly elevated ground; and from its gray stone +ivy-covered portal so magnificent was the view that the most careless +observer would be attracted by it, and stand wonder-struck at the +beauty of the scene, till he forgot in the glories of nature the +deficiencies of art. Below, and not far away, flowed the silvery Wye, +most charming of English streams, winding tortuously through fertile +meadows and wooded copses; farther off lay fruitful vales and rolling +hills; while in the distance the prospect was bounded by the giant +forms of the Welsh mountains. +<br> +<br> +At the moment when this story opens these beauties were but faintly +visible through the fast-fading twilight of a summer evening; the +shadows were rapidly deepening; and the only signs of life about the +place appeared where from some of the windows at the eastern end +faint rays of light stole out into the gloom. +<br> +<br> +The interior of the castle corresponded with the exterior in +magnificence and in ruin--in its picturesque commingling of splendor +and decay. The hall was hung with arms and armor of past generations, +and ornamented with stags' heads, antlers, and other trophies of the +chase; but rust, and mould, and dust covered them all. Throughout the +house a large number of rooms were empty, and the whole western end +was unfurnished. In the furnished rooms at the eastern end every +thing belonged to a past generation, and all the massive and +antiquated furniture bore painful marks of poverty and neglect. Time +was every where asserting his power, and nowhere was any resistance +made to his ravages. Some comfort, however, was still to be found in +the old place. There were rooms which were as yet free from the +general touch of desolation. Among these was the dining-room, where +at this time the heavy curtains were drawn, the lamps shone out +cheerily, and, early June though it was, a bright wood-fire blazed on +the ample hearth, lighting up with a ruddy glow the heavy panelings +and the time-worn tapestries. Dinner was just over, the dessert was +on the table, and two gentlemen were sitting over their wine--though +this is to be taken rather in a figurative sense, for their +conversation was so engrossing as to make them oblivious of even the +charms of the old ancestral port of rare vintage which Lord Chetwynde +had produced to do honor to his guest. Nor is this to be wondered at. +Friends of boyhood and early manhood, sharers long ago in each +other's hopes and aspirations, they had parted last when youth and +ambition were both at their height. Now, after the lapse of years, +wayworn and weary from the strife, they had met again to recount how +those hopes had been fulfilled. +<br> +<br> +The two men were of distinguished appearance. Lord Chetwynde was of +about the medium size, with slight figure, and pale, aristocratic +face. His hair was silver-white, his features were delicately +chiseled, but wore habitually a sad and anxious expression. His whole +physique betokened a nature of extreme refinement and sensibility, +rather than force or strength of character. His companion, General +Pomeroy, was a man of different stamp. He was tall, with a high +receding brow, hair longer than is common with soldiers; thin lips, +which spoke of resolution, around which, however, there always dwelt +as he spoke a smile of inexpressible sweetness. He had a long nose, +and large eyes that lighted up with every varying feeling. There was +in his face both resolution and kindliness, each in extreme, as +though he could remorselessly take vengeance on an enemy or lay down +his life for a friend. +<br> +<br> +As long as the servants were present the conversation, animated +though it was, referred to topics of a general character; but as soon +as they had left the room the two friends began to refer more +confidentially to the past. +<br> +<br> +"You have lived so very secluded a life," said General Pomeroy, "that +it is only at rare intervals that I have heard any thing of you, and +that was hardly more than the fact that you were alive. You were +always rather reserved and secluded, you know; you hated, like +Horace, the _profanum vulgus_, and held yourself aloof from them, and +so I suppose you would not go into political life. Well, I don't know +but that, after all, you were right." +<br> +<br> +"My dear Pomeroy," said Lord Chetwynde, leaning back in his chair, +"my circumstances have been such that entrance into political life +has scarcely ever depended on my own choice. My position has been so +peculiar that it has hardly ever been possible for me to obtain +advancement in the common ways, even if I had desired it. I dare say, +If I had been inordinately ambitious, I might have done something; +but, as it was, I have done nothing. You see me just about where I +was when we parted, I don't know how many years ago." +<br> +<br> +"Well, at any rate," said the General, "you have been spared the +trouble of a career of ambition. You have lived here quietly on your +own place, and I dare say you have had far more real happiness than +you would otherwise have had." +<br> +<br> +"Happiness!" repeated Lord Chetwynde, in a mournful tone. He leaned +his head on his hand for a few moments, and said nothing. At last he +looked up and said, with a bitter smile: +<br> +<br> +"The story of my life is soon told. Two words will embody it +all--disappointment and failure." +<br> +<br> +General Pomeroy regarded his friend earnestly for a few moments, and +then looked away without speaking. +<br> +<br> +"My troubles began from the very first," continued Lord Chetwynde, in +a musing tone, which seemed more like a soliloquy than any thing +else. "There was the estate, saddled with debt handed down from my +grandfather to my father. It would have required years of economy and +good management to free it from encumbrance. But my father's motto +was always _Dum vivimus vivamus_ and his only idea was to get what +money he could for himself, and let his heirs look out for +themselves. In consequence, heavier mortgages were added. He lived in +Paris, enjoying himself, and left Chetwynde in charge of a factor, +whose chief idea was to feather his own nest. So he let every thing +go to decay, and oppressed the tenants in order to collect money for +my father, and prevent his coming home to see the ruin that was going +on. You may not have known this before. I did not until after our +separation, when it all came upon me at once. My father wanted me to +join him in breaking the entail. Overwhelmed by such a calamity, and +indignant with him, I refused to comply with his wishes. We +quarreled. He went back to Paris, and I never saw him again. +<br> +<br> +"After his death my only idea was to clear away the debt, improve the +condition of the tenants, and restore Chetwynde to its former +condition. How that hope has been realized you have only to look +around you and see. But at that time my hope was strong. I went up to +London, where my name and the influence of my friends enabled me to +enter into public life. You were somewhere in England then, and I +often used to wonder why I never saw you. You must have been in +London. I once saw your name in an army list among the officers of a +regiment stationed there. At any rate I worked hard, and at first all +my prospects were bright, and I felt confident in my future. +<br> +<br> +"Well, about that time I got married, trusting to my prospects. She +was of as good a family as mine, but had no money." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde's tone as he spoke about his marriage had suddenly +changed. It seemed as though he spoke with an effort. He stopped for +a time, and slowly drank a glass of wine. "She married me," he +continued, in an icy tone, "for my prospects. Sometimes you know it +is very safe to marry on prospects. A rising young statesman is often +a far better match than a dissipated man of fortune. Some mothers +know this; my wife's mother thought me a good match, and my wife +thought so too. I loved her very dearly, or I would not have +married--though I don't know, either: people often marry in a whim." +<br> +<br> +General Pomeroy had thus far been gazing fixedly at the opposite +wall, but now he looked earnestly at his friend, whose eyes were +downcast while he spoke, and showed a deeper attention. +<br> +<br> +"My office," said Lord Chetwynde, "was a lucrative one, so that I was +able to surround my bride with every comfort; and the bright +prospects which lay before me made me certain about my future. After +a time, however, difficulties arose. You are aware that the chief +point in my religion is Honor. It is my nature, and was taught me by +my mother. Our family motto is, _Noblesse oblige_, and the full +meaning of this great maxim my mother had instilled into every fibre +of my being. But on going into the world I found it ridiculed among +my own class as obsolete and exploded. Every where it seemed to have +given way to the mean doctrine of expediency. My sentiments were +gayly ridiculed, and I soon began to fear that I was not suited for +political life. +<br> +<br> +"At length a crisis arrived. I had either to sacrifice my conscience +or resign my position. I chose the latter alternative, and in doing +so I gave up my political life forever. I need not tell the +bitterness of my disappointment. But the loss of worldly prospects +and of hope was as nothing compared with other things. The worst of +all was the reception which I met at home. My young, and as I +supposed loving wife, to whom I went at once with my story, and from +whom I expected the warmest sympathy, greeted me with nothing but +tears and reproaches. She could only look upon my act with the +world's eyes. She called it ridiculous Quixotism. She charged me with +want of affection; denounced me for beguiling her to marry a pauper; +and after a painful interview we parted in coldness." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde, whose agitation was now evident, here paused and +drank another glass of wine. After some time he went on: +<br> +<br> +"After all, it was not so bad. I soon found employment. I had made +many powerful friends, who, though they laughed at my scruples, still +seemed to respect my consistency, and had confidence in my ability. +Through them I obtained a new appointment where I could be more +independent, though the prospects were poor. Here I might have been +happy, had it not been for the continued alienation between my wife +and me. She had been ambitions. She had relied on my future. She was +now angry because I had thrown that future away. It was a death-blow +to her hopes, and she could not forgive me. We lived in the same +house, but I knew nothing of her occupations and amusements. She went +much into society, where she was greatly admired, and seemed to be +neglectful of her home and of her child. I bore my misery as best I +could in silence, and never so much as dreamed of the tremendous +catastrophe in which it was about to terminate." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde paused, and seemed overcome by his recollections. +<br> +<br> +"You have heard of it, I suppose?" he asked at length, in a scarce +audible voice. +<br> +<br> +The General looked at him, and for a moment their eyes met; then he +looked away. Then he shaded his eyes with his hand and sat as though +awaiting further revelations. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde did not seem to notice him at all. Intent upon his own +thoughts, he went on in that strange soliloquizing tone with which he +had begun. +<br> +<br> +"She fled--" he said, in a voice which was little more than a +whisper. +<br> +<br> +"Heavens!" said General Pomeroy. +<br> +<br> +There was a long silence. +<br> +<br> +"It was about three years after our marriage," continued Lord +Chetwynde, with an effort. "She fled. She left no word of farewell. +She fled. She forsook me. She forsook her child. My God! Why?" +<br> +<br> +He was silent again. +<br> +<br> +"Who was the man?" asked the General, in a strange voice, and with an +effort. +<br> +<br> +"He was known as Redfield Lyttoun. He had been devoted for a long +time to my wretched wife. Their flight was so secret and so +skillfully managed that I could gain no clew whatever to it--and, +indeed, it was better so--perhaps--yes--better so." Lord Chetwynde +drew a long breath. "Yes, better so," he continued--"for if I had +been able to track the scoundrel and take his life, my vengeance +would have been gained, but my dishonor would have been proclaimed. +To me that dishonor would have brought no additional pang. I had +suffered all that I could. More were impossible; but as it was my +shame was not made public--and so, above all--above all--my boy was +saved. The frightful scandal did not arise to crush my darling boy." +<br> +<br> +The agitation of Lord Chetwynde overpowered him. His face grew more +pallid, his eyes were fixed, and his clenched hands testified to the +struggle that raged within him. A long silence followed, during which +neither spoke a word. +<br> +<br> +At length Lord Chetwynde went on. "I left London forever," said he, +with a deep sigh. +<br> +<br> +"After that my one desire was to hide myself from the world. I wished +that if it were possible my very name might be forgotten. And so I +came back to Chetwynde, where I have lived ever since, in the utmost +seclusion, devoting myself entirely to the education and training of +my boy. +<br> +<br> +"Ah, my old friend, that boy has proved the one solace of my life. +Well has he repaid me for my care. Never was there a nobler or +a more devoted nature than his. Forgive a father's emotion, my +friend. If you but knew my noble, my brave, my chivalrous boy, you +would excuse me. That boy would lay down his life for me. In all his +life his one thought has been to spare me all trouble and to brighten +my dark life. Poor Guy! He knows nothing of the horror of shame that +hangs over him--he has found out nothing as yet. To him his mother is +a holy thought--the thought of one who died long ago, whose memory he +thinks so sacred to me that I dare not speak of her. Poor Guy! Poor +Guy!" +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde again paused, overcome by deep emotion. "God only +knows," he resumed, "how I feel for him and for his future. It's a +dark future for him, my friend. For in addition to this grief which I +have told you of there is another which weighs me down. Chetwynde is +not yet redeemed. I lost my life and my chance to save the estate. +Chetwynde is overwhelmed with debt. The time is daily drawing near +when I will have to give up the inheritance which has come down +through so long a line of ancestors. All is lost. Hope itself has +departed. How can I bear to see the place pass into alien hands?" +<br> +<br> +"Pass into alien hands?" interrupted the General, in surprise. "Give +up Chetwynde? Impossible! It can not be thought of." +<br> +<br> +"Sad as it is," replied Lord Chetwynde, mournfully, "it must be so. +Sixty thousand pounds are due within two years. Unless I can raise +that amount all must go. When Guy comes of age he must break the +entail and sell the estate. It is just beginning to pay again, too," +he added, regretfully. "When I came into it it was utterly +impoverished, and every available stick of timber had been cut down; +but my expenses have been very small, and if I have fulfilled no +other hope of my life, I have at least done something for my +ground-down tenantry; for every which I have saved, after paying +the interest, I have spent on improving their homes and farms, so +that the place is now in very good condition, though I have been +obliged to leave the pleasure-grounds utterly neglected." +<br> +<br> +"What are you going to do with your son?" asked the General. +<br> +<br> +"I have just got him a commission in the army," said Lord Chetwynde. +"Some old friends, who had actually remembered me all these years, +offered to do something for me in the diplomacy line; but if he +entered that life I should feel that all the world was pointing the +finger of scorn at him for his mother's sake; besides, my boy is too +honest for a diplomat. No--he must go and make his own fortune. A +viscount with neither money, land, nor position--the only place for +him is the army." +<br> +<br> +A long silence followed. Lord Chetwynde seemed to lose himself among +those painful recollections which he had raised, while the General, +falling into a profound abstraction, sat with his head on one hand, +while the other drummed mechanically on the table. As much as half an +hour passed away in this manner. The General was first to rouse +himself. +<br> +<br> +"I arrived in England only a few months ago," he began, in a quiet, +thoughtful tone. "My life has been one of strange vicissitudes. My +own country is almost like a foreign land to me. As soon as I could +get Pomeroy Court in order I determined to visit you. This visit was +partly for the sake of seeing you, and partly for the sake of asking +a great favor. What you have just been saying has suggested a new +idea, which I think may be carried out for the benefit of both of us. +You must know, in the first place, I have brought my little daughter +home with me. In fact, it was for her sake that I came home--" +<br> +<br> +"You were married, then?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, in India. You lost sight of me early in life, and so perhaps +you do not know that I exchanged from the Queen's service to that of +the East India Company. This step I never regretted. My promotion was +rapid, and after a year or two I obtained a civil appointment. From +this I rose to a higher office; and after ten or twelve years the +Company recommended me as Governor in one of the provinces of the +Bengal Presidency. It was here that I found my sweet wife. +<br> +<br> +"It is a strange story," said the General, with a long sigh. "She +came suddenly upon me, and changed all my life. Thus far I had so +devoted myself to business that no idea of love or sentiment ever +entered my head, except when I was a boy. I had reached the age of +forty-five without having hardly ever met with any woman who had +touched my heart, or even my head, for that matter. +<br> +<br> +"My first sight of her was most sudden and most strange," continued +the General, in the tone of one who loved to linger upon even the +smallest details of the story which he was telling--"strange and +sudden. I had been busy all day in the audience chamber, and when at +length the cases were all disposed of, I retired thoroughly +exhausted, and gave orders that no one should be admitted on any +pretext whatever. On passing through the halls to my private +apartment I heard an altercation at the door. My orderly was speaking +in a very decided tone to some one. +<br> +<br> +"'It is impossible,' I heard him say. 'His Excellency has given +positive orders to admit no one to-day.' +<br> +<br> +"I walked on, paying but little heed to this. Applications were +common after hours, and my rules on this point were stringent. But +suddenly my attention was arrested by the sound of a woman's voice. +It affected me strangely, Chetwynde. The tones were sweet and low, +and there was an agony of supplication in them which lent additional +earnestness to her words. +<br> +<br> +"'Oh, do not refuse me!' the voice said. 'They say the Resident is +just and merciful. Let me see him, I entreat, if only for one +moment.' +<br> +<br> +"At these words I turned, and at once hastened to the door. A young +girl stood there, with her hands clasped, and in an attitude of +earnest entreaty. She had evidently come closely veiled, but in her +excitement her veil had been thrown back, and her upturned face lent +an unspeakable earnestness to her pleading. At the sight of her I was +filled with the deepest sympathy. +<br> +<br> +"'I am the Resident,' said I. 'What can I do for you?' +<br> +<br> +"She looked at me earnestly, and for a time said nothing. A change +came over her face. Her troubles seemed to have overwhelmed her. She +tottered, and would have fallen, had I not supported her. I led her +into the house, and sent for some wine. This restored her. +<br> +<br> +"She was the most beautiful creature that I ever beheld," continued +the General, in a pensive tone, after some silence. "She was tall and +slight, with all that litheness and grace of movement which is +peculiar to Indian women, and yet she seemed more European than +Indian. Her face was small and oval, her hair hung round it in rich +masses, and her eyes were large, deep, and liquid, and, in addition +to their natural beauty, they bore that sad expression which, it is +said, is the sure precursor of an early death. Thank God!" continued +the General, in a musing tone, "I at least did something to brighten +that short life of hers. +<br> +<br> +"As soon as she was sufficiently recovered she told her story. It was +a strange one. She was the daughter of an English officer, who having +fallen in love with an Indian Begum gave up home, country, and +friends, and married her. Their daughter Arauna had been brought up +in the European manner, and to the warm, passionate, Indian nature +she added the refined intelligence of the English lady. When she was +fourteen her father died. Her mother followed in a few years. Of her +father's friends she knew nothing, and her mother's brother, who was +the Rajah of a distant province, was the only one on whom she could +rely. Her mother while dying charged her always to remember that she +was the daughter of a British officer, and that if she were ever in +need of protection she should demand it of the English authorities. +After her mother's death the Rajah took her away, and assumed the +control of all her inheritance. At the age of eighteen she was to +come into possession, and as the time drew near the Rajah informed +her that he wished her to marry his son. But this son was detestable +to her, and to her English ideas the proposal was abhorrent. She +refused to marry him. The Rajah swore that she should. At this she +threatened that she would claim the protection of the British +government. Fearful of this, and enraged at her firmness, he confined +her in her rooms for several months, and at length threatened that if +she did not consent he would use force. This threat reduced her to +despair. She determined to escape and appeal to the British +authorities. She bribed her attendants, escaped, and by good fortune +reached my Residency. +<br> +<br> +"On hearing her story I promised that full justice should be done +her, and succeeded in quieting her fears. I obtained a suitable home +for her, and found the widow of an English officer who consented to +live with her. +<br> +<br> +"Ah, Chetwynde, how I loved her! A year passed away, and she became +my wife. Never before had I known such happiness as I enjoyed with +her. Never since have I known any happiness whatever. She loved me +with such devotion that she would have laid down her life for me. She +looked on me as her savior as well as her husband. My happiness was +too great to last. +<br> +<br> +"I felt it--I knew it," he continued, in a broken voice. "Two years +my darling lived with me, and then--she was taken away. +<br> +<br> +"I was ill for a long time," continued the General, in a gentle +voice. "I prayed for death, but God spared me for my child's sake. I +recovered sufficiently to attend to the duties of my office, but it +was with difficulty that I did so. I never regained my former +strength. My child grew older, and at length I determined to return +to England. I have come here to find all my relatives dead, and you, +the old friend of my boyhood, are the only survivor. One thing there +is, however, that imbitters my situation now. My health is still very +precarious, and I may at any moment leave my child unprotected. She +is the one concern of my life. I said that I had come here to ask a +favor of you. It was this, that you would allow me to nominate you as +her guardian in case of my death, and assist me also in finding any +other guardian to succeed you in case you should pass away before she +reached maturity. This was my purpose. But after what you have told +me other things have occurred to my mind. I have been thinking of a +plan which seems to me to be the best thing for both of us. +<br> +<br> +"Listen now to my proposal," he said, with greater earnestness. "That +you should give up Chetwynde is not to be thought of for one moment. +In addition to my own patrimony and my wife's inheritance I have +amassed a fortune during my residence in India, and I can think of no +better use for it than in helping my old friend in his time of need." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde raised his hand deprecatingly. +<br> +<br> +"Wait--no remonstrance. Hear me out," said the General. "I do not ask +you to take this as a loan, or any thing of the kind. I only ask you +to be a protector to my child. I could not rest in my grave if I +thought that I had left her unprotected." +<br> +<br> +"What!" cried Lord Chetwynde, hastily interrupting him, "can you +imagine that it is necessary to buy my good offices?" +<br> +<br> +"You don't understand me yet, Chetwynde; I want more than that. I +want to secure a protector for her all her life. Since you have told +me about your affairs I have formed a strong desire to see her +betrothed to your son. True, I have never seen him, but I know very +well the stock he comes from. I know his father," he went on, laying +his hand on his friend's arm; "and I trust the son is like the +father. In this way you see there will be no gift, no loan, no +obligation. The Chetwynde debts will be all paid off, but it is for +my daughter; and where could I get a better dowry?" +<br> +<br> +"But she must be very young," said Lord Chetwynde, "if you were not +married until forty-five." +<br> +<br> +"She is only a child yet," said the General. "She is ten years old. +That need not signify, however. The engagement can be made just as +well. I free the estate from all its encumbrances; and as she will +eventually be a Chetwynde, it will be for her sake as well as your +son's. There is no obligation." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde wrung his friend's hand. +<br> +<br> +"I do not know what to say," said he. "It would add years to my life +to know that my son is not to lose the inheritance of his ancestors. +But of course I can make no definite arrangements until I have seen +him. He is the one chiefly interested; and besides," he added, +smilingly, "I can not expect you to take a father's estimate of an +only son. You must judge him for yourself, and see whether my account +has been too partial." +<br> +<br> +"Of course, of course. I must see him at once," broke in the General. +"Where is he?" +<br> +<br> +"In Ireland. I will telegraph to him tonight, and he will be here in +a couple of days." +<br> +<br> +"He could not come sooner, I suppose?" said the General, anxiously. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde laughed. "I hardly think so--from Ulster. But why such +haste? It positively alarms me, for I'm an idle man, and have had my +time on my hands for half a lifetime." +<br> +<br> +"The old story, Chetwynde," said the General, with a smile; +"petticoat government. I promised my little girl that I would be back +tomorrow. She will be sadly disappointed at a day's delay. I shall be +almost afraid to meet her. I fear she has been a little spoiled, poor +child; but you can scarcely wonder, under the circumstances. After +all, she is a good child though; she has the strongest possible +affection for me, and I can guide her as I please through her +affections." +<br> +<br> +After some further conversation Lord Chetwynde sent off a telegram to +his son to come home without delay. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER II. +<br> +<br> +THE WEIRD WOMAN. +<br> +<br> +The morning-room at Chetwynde Castle was about the pleasantest one +there, and the air of poverty which prevailed elsewhere was here lost +in the general appearance of comfort. It was a large apartment, +commensurate with the size of the castle, and the deep bay-windows +commanded an extensive view. +<br> +<br> +On the morning following the conversation already mentioned General +Pomeroy arose early, and it was toward this room that he turned his +steps. Throughout the castle there was that air of neglect already +alluded to, so that the morning-room afforded a pleasant contrast. +Here all the comfort that remained at Chetwynde seemed to have +centred. It was with a feeling of intense satisfaction that the +General seated himself in an arm-chair which stood within the deep +recess of the bay-window, and surveyed the apartment. +<br> +<br> +The room was about forty feet long and thirty feet wide. The ceiling +was covered with quaint figures in fresco, the walls were paneled +with oak, and high-backed, stolid-looking chairs stood around. On one +side was the fire-place, so vast and so high that it seemed itself +another room. It was the fine old fire-place of the Tudor or +Plantagenet period--the unequaled, the unsurpassed--whose day has +long since been done, and which in departing from the world has left +nothing to compensate for it. Still, the fireplace lingers in a few +old mansions; and here at Chetwynde Castle was one without a peer. +It was lofty, it was broad, it was deep, it was well-paved, it was +ornamented not carelessly, but lovingly, as though the hearth was the +holy place, the altar of the castle and of the family. There was room +in its wide expanse for the gathering of a household about the fire; +its embrace was the embrace of love; and it was the type and model of +those venerable and hallowed places which have given to the English +language a word holier even than "Home," since that word is "Hearth." +<br> +<br> +It was with some such thoughts as these that General Pomeroy sat +looking at the fire-place, where a few fagots sent up a ruddy blaze, +when suddenly his attention was arrested by a figure which entered +the room. So quiet and noiseless was the entrance that he did not +notice it until the figure stood between him and the fire. It was a +woman; and certainly, of all the women whom he had ever seen, no one +had possessed so weird and mystical an aspect. She was a little over +the middle height, but exceedingly thin and emaciated. She wore a cap +and a gown of black serge, and looked more like a Sister of Charity +than any thing else. Her features were thin and shrunken, her cheeks +hollow, her chin peaked, and her hair was as white as snow. Yet the +hair was very thick, and the cap could not conceal its heavy white +masses. Her side-face was turned toward him, and he could not see +her fully at first, until at length she turned toward a picture which +hung over the fire-place, and stood regarding it fixedly. +<br> +<br> +It was the portrait of a young man in the dress of a British officer. +The General knew that it was the only son of Lord Chetwynde, for whom +he had written, and whom he was expecting; and now, as he sat there +with his eyes riveted on this singular figure, he was amazed at the +expression of her face. +<br> +<br> +Her eyes were large and dark and mysterious. Her face bore +unmistakable traces of sorrow. Deep lines were graven on her pale +forehead, and on her wan, thin cheeks. Her hair was white as snow, +and her complexion was of an unearthly grayish hue. It was a +memorable face--a face which, once seen, might haunt one long +afterward. In the eyes there was tenderness and softness, yet the +fashion of the mouth and chin seemed to speak of resolution and +force, in spite of the ravages which age or sorrow had made. She +stood quite unconscious of the General's presence, looking at the +portrait with a fixed and rapt expression. As she gazed her face +changed in its aspect. In the eyes there arose unutterable longing +and tenderness; love so deep that the sight of it thus unconsciously +expressed might have softened the hardest and sternest nature; while +over all her features the same yearning expression was spread. +Gradually, as she stood, she raised her thin white hands and clasped +them together, and so stood, intent upon the portrait, as though she +found some spell there whose power was overmastering. +<br> +<br> +At the sight of so weird and ghostly a figure the General was +strangely moved. There was something startling in such an apparition. +At first there came involuntarily half-superstitious thoughts. He +recalled all those mysterious beings of whom he had ever heard whose +occupation was to haunt the seats of old families. He thought of the +White Lady of Avenel, the Black Lady of Scarborough, the Goblin Woman +of Hurst, and the Bleeding Nun. A second glance served to show him, +however, that she could by no possibility fill the important post of +Family Ghost, but was real flesh and blood. Yet even thus she was +scarcely less impressive. Most of all was he moved by the sorrow of +her face. She might serve for Niobe with her children dead; she might +serve for Hecuba over the bodies of Polyxena and Polydore. The +sorrows of woman have ever been greater than those of man. The widow +suffers more than the widower; the bereaved mother than the bereaved +father. The ideals of grief are found in the faces of women, and +reach their intensity in the woe that meets our eyes in the Mater +Dolorosa. This woman was one of the great community of sufferers, and +anguish both past and present still left its traces on her face. +<br> +<br> +Besides all this there was something more; and while the General was +awed by the majesty of sorrow, he was at the same time perplexed by +an inexplicable familiarity which he felt with that face of woe. +Where, in the years, had he seen it before? Or had he seen it before +at all; or had he only known it in dreams? In vain he tried to +recollect. Nothing from out his past life recurred to his mind which +bore any resemblance to this face before him. The endeavor to recall +this past grew painful, and at length he returned to himself. Then he +dismissed the idea as fanciful, and began to feel uncomfortable, as +though he were witnessing something which he had no business to see. +She was evidently unconscious of his presence, and to be a witness of +her emotion under such circumstances seemed to him as bad as +eaves-dropping. The moment, therefore, that he had overcome his +surprise he turned his head away, looked out of the window, and +coughed several times. Then he rose from his chair, and after +standing for a moment he turned once more. +<br> +<br> +As he turned he found himself face to face with the woman. She had +heard him, and turned with a start, and turning thus their eyes met. +<br> +<br><img src="images/13.png" alt="She Turned Toward A Picture Which Hung Over The +Fire-Place, And Stood Regarding It Fixedly."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "She Turned Toward A Picture Which Hung Over The +Fire-Place, And Stood Regarding It Fixedly."] +<br> +<br> +If the General had been surprised before, he was now still more so at +the emotion which she evinced at the sight of himself. She started +back as though recoiling from him; her eyes were fixed and staring, +her lips moved, her hands clutched one another convulsively. Then, by +a sudden effort, she seemed to recover herself, and the wild stare of +astonishment gave place to a swift glance of keen, sharp, and eager +scrutiny. All this was the work of an instant. Then her eyes dropped, +and with a low courtesy she turned away, and after arranging some +chairs she left the room. +<br> +<br> +The General drew a long breath, and stood looking at the doorway in +utter bewilderment. The whole incident had been most perplexing. +There was first her stealthy entry, and the suddenness with which she +had appeared before him; then those mystic surroundings of her +strange, weird figure which had excited his superstitious fancies; +then the idea which had arisen, that somehow he had known her before; +and, finally, the woman's own strong and unconcealed emotion at the +sight of himself. What did it all mean? Had he ever seen her? Not +that he knew. Had she ever known him? If so, when and where? If so, +why such emotion? Who could this be that thus recoiled from him at +encountering his glance? And he found all these questions utterly +unanswerable. +<br> +<br> +In the General's eventful life there were many things which he could +recall. He had wandered over many lands in all parts of the world, +and had known his share of sorrow and of joy. Seating himself once +more in his chair he tried to summon up before his memory the figures +of the past, one by one, and compare them with this woman whom he had +seen. Out of the gloom of that past the ghostly figures came, and +passed on, and vanished, till at last from among them all two or +three stood forth distinctly and vividly; the forms of those who had +been associated with him in one event of his life; that life's first +great tragedy; forms well remembered--never to be forgotten. He saw +the form of one who had been betrayed and forsaken, bowed and crushed +by grief, and staring with white face and haggard eyes; he saw the +form of the false friend and foul traitor slinking away with averted +face; he saw the form of the true friend, true as steel, standing +up solidly in his loyalty between those whom he loved and the Ruin +that was before them; and, lastly, he saw the central figure of +all--a fair young woman with a face of dazzling beauty; high-born, +haughty, with an air of high-bred grace and inborn delicacy; but the +beauty was fading, and the charm of all that grace and delicacy +was veiled under a cloud of shame and sin. The face bore all that +agony of woe which looks at us now from the eyes of Guido's Beatrice +Cenci--eyes which disclose a grief deeper than tears; eyes whose +glance is never forgotten. +<br> +<br> +Suddenly there came to the General a Thought like lightning, which +seemed to pierce to the inmost depths of his being. He started back +as he sat, and for a moment looked like one transformed to stone. At +the horror of that Thought his face changed to a deathly pallor, his +features grew rigid, his hands clenched, his eyes fixed and staring +with an awful look. For a few moments he sat thus, and then with a +deep groan he sprang to his feet and paced the apartment. +<br> +<br> +The exercise seemed to bring relief. +<br> +<br> +"I'm a cursed fool!" he muttered. "The thing's impossible--yes, +absolutely impossible." +<br> +<br> +Again and again he paced the apartment, and gradually he recovered +himself. +<br> +<br> +"Pooh!" he said at length, as he resumed his seat, "she's insane, or, +more probably, _I_ am insane for having had such wild thoughts as I +have had this morning." +<br> +<br> +Then with a heavy sigh he looked out of the window abstractedly. +<br> +<br> +An hour passed and Lord Chetwynde came down, and the two took their +seats at the breakfast-table. +<br> +<br> +"By-the-way," said the General at length, after some conversation, +and with an effort at indifference, "who is that very +singular-looking woman whom you have here? She seems to be about +sixty, dresses in black, has very white hair, and looks like a Sister +of Charity." +<br> +<br> +"That?" said Lord Chetwynde, carelessly. "Oh, that must be the +housekeeper, Mrs. Hart." +<br> +<br> +"Mrs. Hart--the housekeeper?" repeated the General, thoughtfully. +<br> +<br> +"Yes; she is an invaluable woman to one in my position." +<br> +<br> +"I suppose she is some old family servant." +<br> +<br> +"No. She came here about ten years ago. I wanted a housekeeper, she +heard of it, and applied. She brought excellent recommendations, and +I took her. She has done very well." +<br> +<br> +"Have you ever noticed how very singular her appearance is?" +<br> +<br> +"Well, no. Is it? I suppose it strikes you so as a stranger. I never +noticed her particularly." +<br> +<br> +"She seems to have had some great sorrow," said the General, slowly. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, I think she must have had some troubles. She has a melancholy +way, I think. I feel sorry for the poor creature, and do what I can +for her. As I said, she is invaluable to me, and I owe her positive +gratitude." +<br> +<br> +"Is she fond of Guy?" asked the General, thinking of her face as he +saw it upturned toward the portrait. +<br> +<br> +"Exceedingly," said Lord Chetwynde. "Guy was about eight years old +when she came. From the very first she showed the greatest fondness +for him, and attached herself to him with a devotion which surprised +me. I accounted for it on the ground that she had lost a son of her +own, and perhaps Guy reminded her in some way of him. At any rate she +has always been exceedingly fond of him. Yes," pursued Lord +Chetwynde, in a musing tone, "I owe every thing to her, for she once +saved Guy's life." +<br> +<br> +"Saved his life? How?" +<br> +<br> +"Once, when I was away, the place caught fire in the wing where Guy +was sleeping. Mrs. Hart rushed through the flames and saved him. She +nearly killed herself too--poor old thing! In addition to this she +has nursed him through three different attacks of disease that seemed +fatal. Why, she seems to love Guy as fondly as I do." +<br> +<br> +"And does Guy love her?" +<br> +<br> +"Exceedingly. The boy is most affectionate by nature, and of course +she is prominent in his affections. Next to me he loves her." +<br> +<br> +The General now turned away the conversation to other subjects; but +from his abstracted manner it was evident that Mrs. Hart was still +foremost in his thoughts. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER III. +<br> +<br> +THE BARTER OF A LIFE. +<br> +<br> +Two evenings afterward a carriage drove up to the door of Chetwynde +Castle, and a young man alighted. The door was opened by the old +butler, who, with a cry of delight, exclaimed: +<br> +<br> +"Master Guy! Master Guy! It's welcome ye are. They've been lookin' +for you these two hours back." +<br> +<br> +"Any thing wrong?" was Guy's first exclamation, uttered with some +haste and anxiety. +<br> +<br> +"Lord love ye, there's naught amiss; but ye're welcome home, right +welcome, Master Guy," said the butler, who still looked upon his +young master as the little boy who used to ride upon his back, and +whose tricks were at once the torment and delight of his life. +<br> +<br> +The old butler himself was one of the heirlooms of the family, and +partook to the full of the air of antiquity which pervaded the place. +He looked like the relic of a by-gone generation. His queue, +carefully powdered and plaited, stood out stiff from the back of his +head, as if in perpetual protest against any new-fangled notions of +hair-dressing; his livery, scrupulously neat and well brushed, was +threadbare and of an antediluvian cut, and his whole appearance was +that of highly respectable antediluvianism. As he stood there with +his antique and venerable figure his whole face fairly beamed with +delight at seeing his young master. +<br> +<br> +"I was afraid my father might be ill," said Guy, "from his sending +for me in such a hurry." +<br> +<br> +"Ill?" said the other, radiant. "My lord be better and cheerfuler +like than ever I have seen him since he came back from Lunnon--the +time as you was a small chap, Master Guy. There be a gentleman +stopping here. He and my lord have been sittin' up half the night +a-talkin'. I think there be summut up, Master Guy, and that he be +connected with it; for when my lord told me to send you the telegram +he said as it were on business he wanted you, but," he added, looking +perplexed, "it's the first time as ever I heard of business makin' a +man look cheerful." +<br> +<br> +Guy made a jocular observation and hurried past him into the hall. As +he entered he saw a figure standing at the foot of the great +staircase. It was Mrs. Hart. She was trembling from head +to foot and clinging to the railing for support. Her face was pale as +usual; on each cheek there was a hectic flush, and her eyes were +fastened on him. +<br> +<br> +"My darling nurse!" cried Guy with the warm enthusiastic tone of a +boy, and hurrying toward her he embraced her and kissed her. +<br> +<br> +The poor old creature trembled and did not say a single word. +<br> +<br> +"Now you didn't know I was coming, did you, you dear old thing?" said +Guy. "But what is the matter? Why do you tremble so? Of course you're +glad to see your boy. Are you not?" +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart looked up to him with an expression of mute affection, +deep, fervent, unspeakable; and then seizing his warm young hand in +her own wan and tremulous ones, she pressed it to her thin white lips +and covered it with kisses. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, come now," said Guy, "you always break down this way when I come +home; but you must not--you really must not. If you do I won't come +home at all any more. I really won't. Come, cheer up. I don't want to +make you cry when I come home." +<br> +<br> +"But I'm crying for joy," said Mrs. Hart, in a faint voice. "Don't be +angry." +<br> +<br> +"You dear old thing! Angry?" exclaimed Guy, affectionately. "Angry +with my darling old nurse? Have you lost your senses, old woman? But +where is my father? Why has he sent for me? There's no bad news, I +hear, so that I suppose all is right." +<br> +<br> +"Yes, all is well," said Mrs. Hart, in a low voice. "I don't know why +you were sent for, but there is nothing bad. I think your father sent +for you to see an old friend of his." +<br> +<br> +"An old friend?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes. General Pomeroy," replied Mrs. Hart, in a constrained voice. +"He has been here two or three days." +<br> +<br> +"General Pomeroy! Is it possible?" said Guy. "Has he come to England? +I didn't know that he had left India. I must hurry up. Good-by, old +woman," he added, affectionately, and kissing her again he hurried up +stairs to his father's room. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde was there, and General Pomeroy also. The greeting +between father and son was affectionate and tender, and after a few +loving words Guy was introduced to the General. He shook him heartily +by the hand. +<br> +<br> +"I'm sure," said he, "the sight of you has done my father a world of +good. He looks ten years younger than he did when I last saw him. You +really ought to take up your abode here, or live somewhere near him. +He mopes dreadfully, and needs nothing so much as the society of an +old friend. You could rouse him from his blue fits and ennui, and +give him new life." +<br> +<br> +Guy then went on in a rattling way to narrate some events which had +befallen him on the road. As he spoke in his animated and +enthusiastic way General Pomeroy scanned him earnestly and narrowly. +To the most casual observer Guy Molyneux must have been singularly +prepossessing. Tall and slight, with a remarkably well-shaped head +covered with dark curling hair, hazel eyes, and regular features, his +whole appearance was eminently patrician, and bore the marks of +high-breeding and refinement; but there was something more than this. +Those eyes looked forth frankly and fearlessly; there was a joyous +light in them which awakened sympathy; while the open expression of +his face, and the clear and ringing accent of his fresh young voice, +all tended to inspire confidence and trust. General Pomeroy noted all +this with delight, for in his anxiety for his daughter's future he +saw that Guy was one to whom he might safely intrust the dearest idol +of his heart. +<br> +<br> +"Come, Guy," said Lord Chetwynde at last, after his son had rattled +on for half an hour or more, "if you are above all considerations of +dinner, we are not. I have already had it put off two hours for you, +and we should like to see some signs of preparation on your part." +<br> +<br> +"All right, Sir. I shall be on hand by the time it is announced," +said Guy, cheerily; "you don't generally have to complain of me in +that particular, I think." +<br> +<br> +So saying, Guy nodded gayly to them and left the room, and they +presently heard him whistling through the passages gems from the last +new opera. +<br> +<br> +"A splendid fellow," said the General, as the door closed, in a tone +of hearty admiration. "I see his father over again in him. I only +hope he will come into our views." +<br> +<br> +"I can answer for his being only too ready to do so," said Lord +Chetwynde, confidently. +<br> +<br> +"He exceeds the utmost hopes that I had formed of him," said the +General. "I did not expect to see so frank and open a face, and such +freshness of innocence and purity." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde's face showed all the delight which a fond father +feels at hearing the praises of an only son. +<br> +<br> +Dinner came and passed. The General retired, and Lord Chetwynde then +explained to his son the whole plan which had been made about him. It +was a plan which was to affect his whole life most profoundly in its +most tender part; but Guy was a thoughtless boy, and received the +proposal like such. He showed nothing but delight. He never dreamed +of objecting to any thing. He declared that it seemed to him too good +to be true. His thoughts did not appear to dwell at all upon his own +share in this transaction, though surely to him that share was of +infinite importance, but only on the fact that Chetwynde was saved. +<br> +<br> +"And is Chetwynde really to be ours, after all?" he cried, at the end +of a burst of delight, repeating the words, boy-like, over and over +again, as though he could never tire of hearing the words repeated. +After all, one can not wonder at his thoughtlessness and enthusiasm. +Around Chetwynde all the associations of his life were twined. Until +he had joined the regiment he had known no other home; and beyond +this, to this high-spirited youth, in whom pride of birth and name +rose very high, there had been from his earliest childhood a bitter +humiliation in the thought that the inheritance of his ancestors, +which had never known any other than a Chetwynde for its master, must +pass from him forever into alien hands. Hitherto his love for his +father had compelled him to refrain from all expression of his +feelings about this, for he well knew that, bitter as it would be for +him to give up Chetwynde, to his father it would be still worse--it +would be like rending his very heartstrings. Often had he feared that +this sacrifice to honor on his father's part would be more than could +be endured. He had, for his father's sake, put a restraint upon +himself; but this concealment of his feelings had only increased the +intensity of those feelings; the shadow had been gradually deepening +over his whole life, throwing gloom over the sunlight of his joyous +youth; and now, for the first time in many years, that shadow seemed +to be dispelled. Surely there is no wonder that a mere boy should be +reckless of the future in the sunshine of such a golden present. +<br> +<br> +When General Pomeroy appeared again, Guy seized his hand in a burst +of generous emotion, with his eyes glistening with tears of joy. +<br> +<br> +"How can I ever thank you," he cried, impetuously, "for what you have +done for us! As you have done by us, so will I do by your +daughter--to my life's end--so help me God!" +<br> +<br> +And all this time did it never suggest itself to the young man that +there might be a reverse to the brilliant picture which his fancy was +so busily sketching--that there was required from him something more +than money or estate; something, indeed, in comparison with which +even Chetwynde itself was as nothing? No. In his inexperience and +thoughtlessness he would have looked with amazement upon any one who +would have suggested that there might be a drawback to the happiness +which he was portraying before his mind. Yet surely this thing came +most severely upon him. He gave up the most, for he gave himself. To +save Chetwynde, he was unconsciously selling his own soul. He was +bartering his life. All his future depended upon this hasty act of a +moment. The happiness of the mature man was risked by the thoughtless +act of a boy. If in after-life this truth came home to him, it was +only that he might see that the act was irrevocable, and that he must +bear the consequences. But so it is in life. +<br> +<br> +That evening, after the General had retired, Guy and his father sat +up far into the night, discussing the future which lay before them. +To each of them the future marriage seemed but a secondary event, an +accident, an episode. The first thing, and almost the only thing, was +the salvation of Chetwynde. Those day-dreams which they had cherished +for so many years seemed now about to be realized, and Chetwynde +would be restored to all its former glory. Now, for the first time, +each let the other see, to the full, how grievous the loss would have +been to him. +<br> +<br> +It was not until after all the future of Chetwynde had been +discussed, that the thoughts of Guy's engagement occurred to his +father. +<br> +<br> +"But, Guy," said he, "you are forgetting one thing. You must not in +your joy lose sight of the important pledge which has been demanded +of you. You have entered upon a very solemn obligation, which we both +are inclined to treat rather lightly." +<br> +<br> +"Of course I remember it, Sir; and I only wish it were something +twenty times as hard that I could do for the dear old General," +answered Guy, enthusiastically. +<br> +<br> +"But, my boy, this may prove a severe sacrifice in the future," +said Lord Chetwynde, thoughtfully. +<br> +<br> +"What? To marry, father? Of course I shall marry some time; and as to +the question of whom, why, so long as she is a lady (and General +Pomeroy's daughter must be this), and is not a fright (I own I hate +ugly women), I don't care who she is. But the daughter of such a man +as that ought to be a little angel, and as beautiful as I could +desire. I am all impatience to see her. By-the-way, how old is she?" +<br> +<br> +"Ten years old." +<br> +<br> +"Ten years!" echoed Guy, laughing boisterously. "I need not distress +myself, then, about her personnel for a good many years at any rate. +But, I say, father, isn't the General a little premature in getting +his daughter settled? Talk of match-making mothers after this!" +<br> +<br> +The young man's flippant tone jarred upon his father. "He had good +reasons for the haste to which you object, Guy," said Lord Chetwynde. +"One was the friendlessness of his daughter in the event of any thing +happening to him; and the other, and a stronger motive (for under any +circumstances I should have been her guardian), was to assist your +father upon the only terms upon which he could have accepted +assistance with honor. By this arrangement his daughter reaps the +full benefit of his money, and he has his own mind at ease. And, +remember, Guy," continued Lord Chetwynde, solemnly, "from this time +you must consider yourself as a married man; for, although no altar +vow or priestly benediction binds you, yet by every law of that Honor +by which you profess to be guided, you are bound _irrevocably_." +<br> +<br> +"I know that," answered Guy, lightly. "I think you will never find me +unmindful of that tie." +<br> +<br> +"I trust you, my boy," said Lord Chetwynde, "as I would trust +myself." +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER IV. +<br> +<br> +A STARTLING VISITOR. +<br> +<br> +After dinner the General had retired to his room, supposing that Guy +and the Earl would wish to be together. He had much to think of. +First of all there was his daughter Zillah, in whom all his being was +bound up. Her miniature was on the mantle-piece of the room, and to +this he went first, and taking it up in his hands he sat down in an +arm-chair by the window, and feasted his eyes upon it. His face bore +an expression of the same delight which a lover shows when looking at +the likeness of his mistress. At times a smile lighted it up, and so +wrapt up was he in this that more than an hour passed before he put +the picture away. Then he resumed his seat by the window and looked +out. It was dusk; but the moon was shining brightly, and threw a +silvery gleam over the dark trees of Chetwynde, over the grassy +slopes, and over the distant hills. That scene turned his attention +in a new direction. The shadows of the trees seemed to suggest the +shadows of the past. Back over that past his mind went wandering, +encountering the scenes, the forms, and the faces of long ago--the +lost, the never-to-be-forgotten. It was not that more recent past of +which he had spoken to the Earl, but one more distant--one which +intermingled with the Earl's past, and which the Earl's story had +suggested. +<br> +<br> +It brought back old loves and old hates; it suggested memories which +had lain dormant for years, but now rose before him clothed in fresh +power, as vivid as the events from which they flowed. There was +trouble in these memories, and the General's mind was agitated, and +in his agitation he left the chair and paced the room. He rang for +lights, and after they came he seated himself at the table, took +paper and pens, and began to lose himself in calculations. +<br> +<br> +Some time passed, when at length ten o'clock came, and the General +heard a faint tap at the door. It was so faint that he could barely +hear it, and at first supposed it to be either his fancy or else one +of the death-watches making a somewhat louder noise than usual. He +took no further notice of it, but went on with his occupation, when +he was again interrupted by a louder knock. This time there was no +mistake. He rose and opened the door, thinking that it was the Earl +who had brought him some information as to his son's views. +<br> +<br> +Opening the door, he saw a slight, frail figure, dressed in a +nun-like garb, and recognized the housekeeper. If possible she seemed +paler than usual, and her eyes were fixed upon him with a strange +wistful earnestness. Her appearance was so unexpected, and her +expression so peculiar, that the General involuntarily started back. +For a moment he stood looking at her, and then, recovering with an +effort his self-possession, he asked: +<br> +<br> +"Did you wish to see me about any thing, Mrs. Hart?" +<br> +<br> +"If I could speak a few words to you I should be grateful," was the +answer, in a low, supplicating tone. +<br> +<br> +"Won't you walk in, then?" said the General, in a kindly voice, +feeling a strange commiseration for the poor creature, whose face, +manner, and voice exhibited so much wretchedness. +<br> +<br> +The General held the door open, and waited for her to enter. Then +closing the door he offered her a chair, and resumed his former seat. +But the housekeeper declined sitting. She stood looking strangely +confused and troubled, and for some time did not speak a word. The +General waited patiently, and regarded her earnestly. In spite of +himself he found that feeling arising within him which had occurred +in the morning-room--a feeling as if he had somewhere known this +woman before. Who was she? What did it mean? Was he a precious old +fool, or was there really some important mystery connected with Mrs. +Hart? Such were his thoughts. +<br> +<br> +Perhaps if he had seen nothing more of Mrs. Hart the Earl's account +of her would have been accepted by him, and no thoughts of her would +have perplexed his brain. But her arrival now, her entrance into his +room, and her whole manner, brought back the thoughts which he had +before with tenfold force, in such a way that it was useless to +struggle against them. He felt that there was a mystery, and that the +Earl himself not only knew nothing about it, but could not even +suspect it. But _what_ was the mystery? That he could not, or perhaps +dared not, conjecture. The vague thought which darted across his mind +was one which was madness to entertain. He dismissed it and waited. +<br> +<br> +At last Mrs. Hart spoke. +<br> +<br> +"Pardon me, Sir," she said, in a faint, low voice, "for troubling +you. I wished to apologize for intruding upon you in the +morning-room. I did not know you were there." +<br> +<br> +She spoke abstractedly and wearily. The General felt that it was not +for this that she had thus visited him, but that something more lay +behind. Still he answered her remark as if he took it in good faith. +He hastened to reassure her. It was no intrusion. Was she not the +housekeeper, and was it not her duty to go there? What could she +mean? +<br> +<br> +At this she looked at him, with a kind of solemn yet eager scrutiny. +"I was afraid," she said, after some hesitation, speaking still in a +dull monotone, whose strangely sorrowful accents were marked and +impressive, and in a voice whose tone was constrained and stiff, but +yet had something in it which deepened the General's perplexity--"I +was afraid that perhaps you might have witnessed some marks of +agitation in me. Pardon me for supposing that you could have troubled +yourself so far as to notice one like me; but--but--I--that is, I am +a little--eccentric; and when I suppose that I am alone that +eccentricity is marked. I did not know that you were in the room, and +so I was thrown off my guard." +<br> +<br> +Every word of this singular being thrilled through the General. He +looked at her steadily without speaking for some time. He tried to +force his memory to reveal what it was that this woman suggested to +him, or who it was that she had been associated with in that dim and +shadowy past which but lately he had been calling up. Her voice, +too--what was it that it suggested? That voice, in spite of its +constraint, was woeful and sad beyond all description. It was the +voice of suffering and sorrow too deep for tears--that changeless +monotone which makes one think that the words which are spoken are +uttered by some machine. +<br> +<br> +Her manner also by this time evinced a greater and a deeper +agitation. Her hands mechanically clasped each other in a tight, +convulsive grasp, and her slight frame trembled with irrepressible +emotion. There was something in her appearance, her attitude, her +manner, and her voice, which enchained the General's attention, and +was nothing less than fascination. There was something yet to come, +to tell which had led her there, and these were only preliminaries. +This the General felt. Every word that she spoke seemed to be a mere +formality, the precursor of the real words which she wished to utter. +What was it? Was it her affection for Guy? Had she come to ask about +the betrothal? Had she come to look at Zillah's portrait? Had she +come to remonstrate with him for arranging a marriage between those +who were as yet little more than children? But what reason had she +for interfering in such an affair? It was utterly out of place in one +like her. No; there was something else, he could not conjecture what. +<br> +<br> +All these thoughts swept with lightning speed through his mind, and +still the poor stricken creature stood before him with her eyes +lowered and her hands clasped, waiting for his answer. He roused +himself, and sought once more to reassure her. He told her that he +had noticed nothing, that he had been looking out of the window, and +that in any case, if he had, he should have thought nothing about it. +This he said in as careless a tone as possible, willfully misstating +facts, from a generous desire to spare her uneasiness and set her +mind at rest. +<br> +<br> +"Will you pardon me, Sir, if I intrude upon your kindness so far as +to ask one more question?" said the housekeeper, after listening +dreamily to the General's words. "You are going away, and I shall not +have another opportunity." +<br> +<br> +"Certainly," said the General, looking at her with unfeigned +sympathy. "If there is any thing that I can tell you I shall be happy +to do so. Ask me, by all means, any thing you wish." +<br> +<br> +"You had a private interview with the Earl," said she, with more +animation than she had yet shown. +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Pardon me, but will you consider it impertinence if I ask you +whether it was about your past life? I know it is impertinent; but +oh, Sir, I have my reasons." Her voice changed suddenly to the +humblest and most apologetic accent. +<br> +<br> +The General's interest was, if possible, increased; and, if there +were impertinence in such a question from a housekeeper, he was too +excited to be conscious of it. To him this woman seemed more than +this. +<br> +<br> +"We were talking about the past," said he, kindly. "We are very old +friends. We were telling each other the events of our lives. We +parted early in life, and have not seen one another for many years. +We also were arranging some business matters." +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart listened eagerly, and then remained silent for a long time. +<br> +<br> +"His old friend," she murmured at last; "his old friend! Did you find +him much altered?" +<br> +<br> +"Not more than I expected," replied the General, wonderingly. "His +secluded life here has kept him from the wear and tear of the world. +It has not made him at all misanthropical or even cynical. His heart +is as warm as ever. He spoke very kindly of you." +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart started, and her hands involuntarily clutched each other +more convulsively. Her head fell forward and her eyes dropped. +<br> +<br> +"What did he say of me?" she asked, in a scarce audible voice, and +trembling visibly as she spoke. +<br> +<br> +The General noticed her agitation, but it caused no surprise, for +already his whole power of wondering was exhausted. He had a vague +idea that the poor old thing was troubled for fear she might from +some cause lose her place, and wished to know whether the Earl had +made any remarks which might affect her position. So with this +feeling he answered in as cheering a tone as possible: +<br> +<br> +"Oh, I assure you, he spoke of you in the highest terms. He told me +that you were exceedingly kind to Guy, and that you were quite +indispensable to himself." +<br> +<br> +"'Kind to Guy'--'indispensable to him,'" she repeated in low tones, +while tears started to her eyes. She kept murmuring the words +abstractedly to herself, and for a few moments seemed quite +unconscious of the General's presence. He still watched her, on his +part, and gradually the thought arose within him that the easiest +solution for all this was possible insanity. Insanity, he saw, would +account for every thing, and would also give some reason for his own +strange feelings at the sight of her. It was, he thought, because he +had seen this dread sign of insanity in her face--that sign only less +terrible than that dread mark which is made by the hand of the King +of Terrors. And was she not herself conscious to some extent of this? +he thought. She had herself alluded to her eccentricity. Was she not +disturbed by a fear that he had noticed this, and, dreading a +disclosure, had come to him to explain? To her a stranger would be an +object of suspicion, against whom she would feel it necessary to be +on her guard. The people of the house were doubtless accustomed to +her ways, and would think nothing of any freak, however whimsical; +but a stranger would look with different eyes. Few, indeed, were the +strangers or visitors who ever came to Chetwynde Castle; but when one +did come he would naturally be an object of suspicion to this poor +soul, conscious of her infirmity, and struggling desperately against +it. Such thoughts as these succeeded to the others which had been +passing through the General's mind, and he was just beginning to +think of some plan by which he could soothe this poor creature, when +he was aware of a movement on her part which made him look up +hastily. Her eyes were fastened on his. They were large, luminous, +and earnest in their gaze, though dimmed by the grief of years. Tears +were in them, and the look which they threw toward him was full of +agony and earnest supplication. That emaciated face, that snow-white +hair, that brow marked by the lines of suffering, that slight figure +with its sombre vestments, all formed a sight which would have +impressed any man. The General was so astonished that he sat +motionless, wondering what it was now that the diseased fancy of one +whom he still believed to be insane would suggest. It was to him that +she was looking; it was to him that her shriveled hands were +outstretched. What could she want with him? +<br> +<br><img src="images/19.png" alt="But The Woman, With A Low Moan, Flung Herself On The Floor Before Him."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "But The Woman, With A Low Moan, Flung Herself On The +Floor Before Him."] +<br> +<br> +She drew nearer to him while he sat thus wondering. She stooped +forward and downward, with her eyes still fixed on his. He did not +move, but watched her in amazement. Again that thought which the +sight of her had at first suggested came to him. Again he thrust it +away. But the woman, with a low moan, suddenly flung herself on the +floor before him, and reaching out her hands clasped his feet, and he +felt her feeble frame all shaken by sobs and shudders. He sat +spell-bound. He looked at her for a moment aghast. Then he reached +forth his hands, and without speaking a word took hers, and tried to +lift her up. She let herself be raised till she was on her knees, and +then raised her head once more. She gave him an indescribable look, +and in a low voice, which was little above a whisper, but which +penetrated to the very depths of his soul, pronounced one single +solitary word,---. +<br> +<br> +The General heard it. His face grew as pale and as rigid as the face +of a corpse; the blood seemed to leave his heart; his lips grew +white; he dropped her hands, and sat regarding her with eyes in which +there was nothing less than horror. The woman saw it, and once more +fell with a low moan to the floor. +<br> +<br> +"My God!" groaned the General at last, and said not another word, but +sat rigid and mute while the woman lay on the floor at his feet. The +horror which that word had caused for some time overmastered him, and +he sat staring vacantly. But the horror was not against the woman who +had called it up, and who lay prostrate before him. She could not +have been personally abhorrent, for in a few minutes, with a start, +he noticed her once more, and his face was overspread by an anguish +of pity and sympathy. He raised her up, he led her to a couch, and +made her sit down, and then sat in silence before her with his face +buried in his hands. She reclined on the couch with her countenance +turned toward him, trembling still, and panting for breath, with her +right hand under her face, and her left pressed tightly against her +heart. At times she looked at the General with mournful inquiry, and +seemed to be patiently waiting for him to speak. An hour passed in +silence. The General seemed to be struggling with recollections that +overwhelmed him. At last he raised his head, and regarded her in +solemn silence, and still his face and his eyes bore that expression +of unutterable pity and sympathy which dwelt there when he raised her +from the floor. +<br> +<br> +After a time he addressed her in a low voice, the tones of which were +tender and full of sadness. She replied, and a conversation followed +which lasted for hours. It involved things of fearful moment--crime, +sin, shame, the perfidy of traitors, the devotion of faithful ones, +the sharp pang of injured love, the long anguish of despair, the +deathless fidelity of devoted affection. But the report of this +conversation and the recital of these things do not belong to this +place. It is enough to say that when at last Mrs. Hart arose it was +with a serener face and a steadier step than had been seen in her for +years. +<br> +<br> +That night the General did not close his eyes. His friend, his +business, even his daughter, all were forgotten, as though his soul +were overwhelmed and crushed by the weight of some tremendous +revelation. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br><img src="images/20.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER V. +<br> +<br> +THE FUTURE BRIDE. +<br> +<br> +It had been arranged that Guy should accompany General Pomeroy up to +London, partly for the sake of arranging about the matters relating +to the Chetwynde estates, and partly for the purpose of seeing the +one who was some day to be his wife. Lord Chetwynde was unable to +undergo the fatigue of traveling, and had to leave every thing to his +lawyers and Guy. +<br> +<br> +At the close of a wearisome day in the train they reached London, and +drove at once to the General's lodgings in Great James Street. The +door was opened by a tall, swarthy woman, whose Indian nationality +was made manifest by the gay-colored turban which surmounted her +head, as well as by her face and figure. At the sight of the General +she burst out into exclamations of joy. +<br> +<br> +"Welcome home, sahib; welcome home!" she cried. "Little missy, her +fret much after you." +<br> +<br> +"I am sorry for that, nurse," said the General, kindly. As he was +speaking they were startled by a piercing scream from an adjoining +apartment, followed by a shrill voice uttering some words which ended +in a shriek. The General entered the house, and hastened to the room +from which the sounds proceeded, and Guy followed him. The uproar was +speedily accounted for by the tableau which presented itself on +opening the door. It was a tableau extremely vivant, and represented +a small girl, with violent gesticulations, in the act of rejecting a +dainty little meal which a maid, who stood by her with a tray, was +vainly endeavoring to induce her to accept. The young lady's +arguments were too forcible to admit of gainsaying, for the servant +did not dare to venture within reach of either the hands or feet of +her small but vigorous opponent. The presence of the tray prevented +her from defending herself in any way, and she was about retiring, +worsted, from the encounter, when the entrance of the gentlemen gave +a new turn to the position of affairs. The child saw them at once; +her screams of rage changed into a cry of joy, and the face which had +been distorted with passion suddenly became radiant with delight. +<br> +<br> +"Papa! papa!" she cried, and, springing forward, she darted to his +embrace, and twined her arms about his neck with a sob which her joy +had wrung from her. +<br> +<br> +"Darling papa!" she cried; "I thought you were never coming back. How +could you leave me so long alone?" and, saying this, she burst into a +passion of tears, while her father in vain tried to soothe her. +<br> +<br> +At this strange revelation of the General's daughter Guy stood +perplexed and wondering. Certainly he had not been prepared for this. +His _fiancée_ was undoubtedly of a somewhat stormy nature, and in the +midst of his bewilderment he was conscious of feeling deeply +reconciled to her ten years. +<br> +<br> +At length her father succeeded in quieting her, and, taking her arms +from his neck, he placed her on his knee, and said: +<br> +<br> +"My darling, here is a gentleman waiting all this time to speak to +you. Come, go over to him and shake hands with him." +<br> +<br> +At this the child turned her large black eyes on Guy, and scanned him +superciliously from head to foot. The result seemed to satisfy her, +for she advanced a few steps to take the hand which he had smilingly +held out; but a thought seemed suddenly to strike her which arrested +her progress half-way. +<br> +<br> +"Did _he_ keep you, papa?" she said, abruptly, while a jerk of her +head in Guy's direction signified the proper noun to which the +pronoun referred. +<br> +<br> +"He had something to do with it," answered her father, with a smile. +<br> +<br> +"Then I sha'n't shake hands with him," she said, resolutely; and, +putting the aforesaid appendages behind her back to prevent any +forcible appropriation of them, she hurried away, and clambered up on +her father's knee. The General, knowing probably by painful +experience the futility of trying to combat any determination of this +very decided young lady, did not attempt to make any remonstrance, +but allowed her to establish herself in her accustomed position. +During this process Guy had leisure to inspect her. This he did +without _any_ feeling of the immense importance of this child's +character to his own future life, without thinking that this little +creature might be destined to raise him up to heaven or thrust him +down to hell, but only with the idle, critical view of an +uninterested spectator. Guy was, in fact, too young to estimate the +future, and things which were connected with that future, at their +right value. He was little more than a boy, and so he looked with a +boy's eyes upon this singular child. +<br> +<br> +She struck him as the oddest little mortal that he had ever come +across. She was very tiny, not taller than many children of eight, +and so slight and fragile that she looked as if a breath might blow +her away. But if in figure she looked eight, in face she looked +fifty. In that face there was no childishness whatever. It was a +thin, peaked, sallow face, with a discontented expression; her +features were small and pinched, her hair, which was of inky +blackness, fell on her shoulders in long, straight locks, without a +ripple or a wave in them. She looked like an elf, but still this +elfish little creature was redeemed from the hideousness which else +might have been her doom by eyes of the most wonderful brilliancy. +Large, luminous, potent eyes--intensely black, and deep as the depths +of ocean, they seemed to fill her whole face; and in moments of +excitement they could light up with volcanic fires, revealing the +intensity of that nature which lay beneath. In repose they were +unfathomable, and defied all conjecture as to what their possessor +might develop into. +<br> +<br> +All this Guy noticed, as far as was possible to one so young and +inexperienced; and the general result of this survey was a state of +bewilderment and perplexity. He could not make her out. She was a +puzzle to him, and certainly not a very attractive one. When she had +finally adjusted herself on her father's knee, the General, after the +fashion of parents from time immemorial, asked: +<br> +<br> +"Has my darling been a good child since papa has been away?" +<br> +<br> +The question may have been a stereotyped one. Not so the answer, +which came out full and decided, in a tone free alike from penitence +or bravado, but giving only a simple statement of facts. +<br> +<br> +"No," she said, "I have not been a good girl. I've been very naughty +indeed. I haven't minded any thing that was said to me. I scratched +the ayah, and kicked Sarah. I bit Sarah too. Besides, I spilt my rice +and milk, and broke the plates, and I was just going to starve myself +to death." +<br> +<br> +At this recital of childish enormities, with its tragical ending, Guy +burst into a loud laugh. The child raised herself from her father's +shoulder, and, fixing her large eyes upon him, said slowly, and with +set teeth: +<br> +<br> +"I hate you!" +<br> +<br> +She looked so uncanny as she said this, and the expression of her +eyes was so intense in its malignity, that Guy absolutely started. +<br> +<br> +"Hush," exclaimed her father, more peremptorily than usual; "you must +not be so rude." +<br> +<br> +As he spoke she again looked at Guy, with a vindictive expression, +but did not deign to speak. The face seemed to him to be utterly +diabolical and detestable. She looked at him for a moment, and then +her head sank down upon her father's shoulder. +<br> +<br> +The General now made an effort to turn the conversation to where it +had left off, and reverting to Zillah's confession he said: +<br> +<br> +"I thought my little girl never broke her word, and that when she +promised to be good while I was away, I could depend upon her being +so." +<br> +<br> +This reproach seemed to touch her. She sprang up instantly and +exclaimed, in vehement tones: +<br> +<br> +"It was you who broke your promise to me. You said you would come +back in two days, and you staid four. I did keep my word. I was good +the first two days. Ask the ayah. When I found that you had deceived +me, then I did not care." +<br> +<br> +"But you should have trusted me, my child," said the General, in a +tone of mild rebuke. "You should have known that I must have had +some good reason for disappointing you. I had very important business +to attend to--business, darling, which very nearly affects your +happiness. Some day you shall hear about it." +<br> +<br> +"But I don't want to hear about any thing that will keep you away +from me," said Zillah, peevishly. "Promise never to leave me again." +<br> +<br> +"Not if I can help it, my child," said the General, kissing her +fondly. +<br> +<br> +"No; but promise that you won't at all," persisted Zillah. "Promise +never to leave me at all. Promise, promise, papa; promise--promise." +<br> +<br> +"Well," said the General, "I'll promise to take you with me the next +time. That will do, won't it?" +<br> +<br> +"But I don't want to go away," said this sweet child; "and I won't go +away." +<br> +<br> +The General gave a despairing glance at Guy, who he knew was a +spectator of this scene. He felt a vague desire to get Guy alone so +as to explain to him that this was only occasional and accidental, +and that Zillah was really one of the sweetest and most angelic +children that ever were born. Nor would this good General have +consciously violated the truth in saying so; for in his heart of +hearts he believed all this of his loved but sadly spoiled child. The +opportunity for such explanations did not occur, however, and the +General had the painful consciousness that Guy was seeing his future +bride under somewhat disadvantageous circumstances. Still he trusted +that the affectionate nature of Zillah would reveal itself to Guy, +and make a deep impression upon him. +<br> +<br> +While such thoughts as these were passing through his mind, and +others of a very varied nature were occurring to Guy, the maid Sarah +arrived to take her young charge to bed. The attempt to do so roused +Zillah to the most active resistance. She had made up her mind not +to yield. "I won't," she cried--"I won't go to bed. I will never go +away from papa a single instant until that horrid man is gone. I know +he will take you away again, and I hate him. Why don't you make him +go, papa?" +<br> +<br> +At this remark, which was so flattering to Guy, the General made a +fresh effort to appease his daughter, but with no better success than +before. Children and fools, says the proverb, speak the truth; and +the truth which was spoken in this instance was not very agreeable to +the visitor at whom it was flung. But Guy looked on with a smile, and +nothing in his face gave any sign of the feelings that he might have. +He certainly had not been prepared for any approach to any thing of +this sort. On the journey the General had alluded so often to that +daughter, who was always uppermost in his mind, that Guy had expected +an outburst of rapturous affection from her. Had he been passed by +unnoticed, he would have thought nothing of it; but the malignancy of +her look, and the venom of her words, startled him, yet he was too +good-hearted and considerate to exhibit any feeling whatever. +<br> +<br> +Sarah's effort to take Zillah away had resulted in such a complete +failure that she retired discomfited, and there was rather an awkward +period, in which the General made a faint effort to induce his +daughter to say something civil to Guy. This, however, was another +failure, and in a sort of mild despair he resigned himself to her +wayward humor. +<br> +<br> +At last dinner was announced. Zillah still refused to leave her +father, so that he was obliged, greatly to his own discomfort, to +keep her on his knee during the meal. When the soup and fish were +going on she was comparatively quiet; but at the first symptoms of +entrées she became restive, and popping up her quaint little head to +a level with the table, she eyed the edibles with the air of an +habitué at the Lord Mayor's banquet. Kaviole was handed round. This +brought matters to a crisis. +<br> +<br> +"A plate and a fork for me, Thomas," she ordered, imperiously. +<br> +<br> +"But, my darling," remonstrated her father, "this is much too rich +for you so late at night." +<br> +<br> +"I like kaviole," was her simple reply, given with the air of one who +is presenting an unanswerable argument, and so indeed it proved to +be. +<br> +<br> +This latter scene was re-enacted, with but small variations, +whenever any thing appeared which met with her ladyship's approval; +and Guy found that in spite of her youth she was a decided +connoisseur in the delicacies of the table. Now, to tell the truth, +he was not at all fond of children; but this one excited in him a +positive horror. There seemed to be something in her weird and +uncanny; and he found himself constantly speculating as to how he +could ever become reconciled to her; or what changes future years +could make in her; and whether the lapse of time could by any +possibility develop this impish being into any sort of a presentable +woman. From the moment that he saw her he felt that the question of +beauty must be abandoned forever; it would be enough if she could +prove to be one with whom a man might live with any degree of +domestic comfort. But the prospect of taking her at some period in +the future to preside over Chetwynde Castle filled him with complete +dismay. He now began to realize what his father had faintly +suggested--namely, that his part of the agreement might hereafter +prove a sacrifice. The prospect certainly looked dark, and for a +short time he felt somewhat downcast; but he was young and hopeful, +and in the end he put all these thoughts from him as in some sort +treacherous to his kind old friend, and made a resolute +determination, in spite of fate, to keep his vow with him. +<br> +<br> +After anticipating the dessert, and preventing her father from taking +cheese, on the ground that she did not like it, nature at last took +pity on that much enduring and long suffering man, and threw over the +daughter the mantle of sweet unconsciousness. Miss Pomeroy fell +asleep. In that helpless condition she was quietly conveyed from her +father's arms to bed, to the unspeakable relief of Guy, who felt, as +the door closed, as if a fearful incubus had been removed. +<br> +<br> +On the following morning he started by an early train for Dublin, so +that on this occasion he had no further opportunity of improving his +acquaintance with his lovely bride. Need it be said that the loss was +not regretted by the future husband? +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> <img src="images/23.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER VI. +<br> +<br> +TWO IMPORTANT CHARACTERS. +<br> +<br> +About five years passed away since the events narrated in the last +chapter. The General's household had left their London lodgings not +long after Guy's visit, and had removed to the family seat at Pomeroy +Court, where they had remained ever since. During these years Guy had +been living the life common with young officers, moving about from +place to place, going sometimes on a visit to his father, and, on the +whole, extracting an uncommonly large amount of enjoyment out of +life. The memory of his betrothal never troubled him; he fortunately +escaped any affair of the heart more serious than an idle flirtation +in a garrison town; the odd scene of his visit to General Pomeroy's +lodgings soon faded into the remote past; and the projected marriage +was banished in his mind to the dim shades of a remote future. As for +the two old men, they only met once or twice in all these years. +General Pomeroy could not manage very well to leave his daughter, and +Lord Chetwynde's health did not allow him to visit Pomeroy. He often +urged the General to bring Zillah with him to Chetwynde Castle, but +this the young lady positively refused to consent to. Nor did the +General himself care particularly about taking her there. +<br> +<br> +Pomeroy Court was a fine old mansion, with no pretensions to +grandeur, but full of that solid comfort which characterizes so many +country houses of England. It was irregular in shape, and belonged to +different periods; the main building being Elizabethan, from which +there projected an addition in that stiff Dutch style which William +and Mary introduced. A wide, well-timbered park surrounded it, beyond +which lay the village of Pomeroy. +<br> +<br> +One morning in June, 1856, a man came up the avenue and entered the +hall. He was of medium size, with short light hair, low brow, light +eyes, and thin face, and he carried a scroll of music in his hand. He +entered the hall with the air of an habitué, and proceeded to the +south parlor. Here his attention was at once arrested by a figure +standing by one of the windows. It was a young girl, slender and +graceful in form, dressed in black, with masses of heavy black hair +coiled up behind her head. Her back was turned toward him, and he +stood in silence for some time looking toward her. At last he spoke: +<br> +<br> +"Miss Krieff--" +<br> +<br> +The one called Miss Krieff turned and said, in an indifferent +monotone: "Good-morning, Mr. Gualtier." +<br> +<br> +Turning thus she showed a face which had in it nothing whatever of +the English type--a dark olive complexion, almost swarthy, in fact; +thick, luxuriant black hair, eyes intensely black and piercingly +lustrous, retreating chin, and retreating narrow forehead. In that +face, with its intense eyes, there was the possibility of rare charm +and fascination, and beauty of a very unusual kind; but at the +present moment, as she looked carelessly and almost sullenly at her +visitor, there was something repellent. +<br> +<br> +"Where is Miss Pomeroy?" asked Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"About, somewhere," answered Miss Krieff, shortly. +<br> +<br> +"Will she not play to-day?" +<br> +<br> +"I think not." +<br> +<br> +"Why?" +<br> +<br> +"The usual cause." +<br> +<br> +"What?" +<br> +<br> +"Tantrums," said Miss Krieff. +<br> +<br> +"It is a pity," said Gualtier, dryly, "that she is so irregular in +her lessons. She will never advance." +<br> +<br> +"The idea of her ever pretending to take lessons of any body in any +thing is absurd," said Miss Krieff. "Besides, it is as much as a +teacher's life is worth. You will certainly leave the house some day +with a broken head." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier smiled, showing a set of large yellow teeth, and his small +light eyes twinkled. +<br> +<br> +"It is nothing for me, but I sometimes think it must be hard for you, +Miss Krieff," said he, insinuatingly. +<br> +<br> +"Hard!" she repeated, and her eyes flashed as she glanced at +Gualtier; but in an instant it passed, and she answered in a soft, +stealthy voice: "Oh yes, it is hard sometimes; but then dependents +have no right to complain of the whims of their superiors and +benefactors, you know." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier said nothing, but seemed to wait further disclosures. After +a time Miss Krieff looked up, and surveyed him with her penetrating +gaze. +<br> +<br> +"You must have a great deal to bear, I think," said he at last. +<br> +<br> +"Have you observed it?" she asked. +<br> +<br> +"Am I not Miss Pomeroy's tutor? How can I help observing it?" was the +reply. +<br> +<br> +"Have I ever acted as though I was dissatisfied or discontented, or +did you ever see any thing in me which would lead you to suppose that +I was otherwise than contented?" +<br> +<br> +"You are generally regarded as a model of good-nature," said +Gualtier, in a cautious, noncommittal tone. "Why should I think +otherwise? They say that no one but you could live with Miss +Pomeroy." +<br> +<br> +Miss Krieff looked away, and a stealthy smile crept over her +features. +<br> +<br> +"Good-nature!" she murmured. A laugh that sounded almost like a sob +escaped her. Silence followed, and Gualtier sat looking abstractedly +at his sheet of music. +<br> +<br> +"How do you like the General?" he asked, abruptly. +<br> +<br> +"How could I help loving Miss Pomeroy's father?" replied Miss Krieff, +with the old stealthy smile reappearing. +<br> +<br> +"Is he not just and honorable?" +<br> +<br> +"Both--more too--he is generous and tender. He is above all a fond +father; so fond," she added, with something like a sneer, "that all +his justice, his tenderness, and his generosity are exerted for the +exclusive benefit of that darling child on whom he dotes. I assure +you, you can have no idea how touching it is to see them together." +<br> +<br> +"Do you often feel this tenderness toward them?" asked Gualtier, +turning his thin sallow face toward her. +<br> +<br> +"Always," said Miss Krieff, slowly. She rose from her chair, where +she had taken her seat, and looked fixedly at him for some time +without one word. +<br> +<br> +"You appear to be interested in this family," said she at length. +Gualtier looked at her for a moment--then his eyes fell. +<br> +<br> +"How can I be otherwise than interested in one like you?" he +murmured. +<br> +<br> +"The General befriended you. He found you in London, and offered you +a large salary to teach his daughter." +<br> +<br> +"The General was very kind, and is so still." +<br> +<br> +Miss Krieff paused, and looked at him with keen and vigilant +scrutiny. +<br> +<br> +"Would you be shocked," she asked at length, "if you were to hear +that the General had an enemy?" +<br> +<br> +"That would altogether depend upon who the enemy might be." +<br> +<br> +"An enemy," continued Miss Krieff, with intense bitterness of +tone--"in his own family?" +<br> +<br> +"That would be strange," said Gualtier; "but I can imagine an enemy +with whom I would not be offended." +<br> +<br> +"What would you think," asked Miss Krieff, after another pause, +during which her keen scrutinizing gaze was fixed on Gualtier, "if +that enemy had for years been on the watch, and under a thin veil of +good-nature had concealed the most vengeful feelings? What would you +say if that enemy had grown so malignant that only one desire +remained, and that was--to do some injury in some way to General +Pomeroy?" +<br> +<br> +"You must tell me more," said Gualtier, "before I answer. I am fully +capable of understanding all that hate may desire or accomplish. But +has this enemy of whom you speak _done_ any thing? Has she found out +any thing? Has she ever discovered any way in which her hate may be +gratified?" +<br> +<br> +"You seem to take it for granted that his enemy is a woman!" +<br> +<br> +"Of course." +<br> +<br> +"Well, then, I will answer you. She _has_ found out something--or, +rather, she is in the way toward finding out something--which may yet +enable her to gratify her desires." +<br> +<br> +"Have you any objections to tell what that may be?" asked Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +Miss Krieff said nothing for some time, during which each looked +earnestly at the other. +<br> +<br> +"No," said she at last. +<br> +<br> +"What is it?" +<br> +<br> +"It is something that I have found among the General's papers," said +she, in a low voice. +<br> +<br> +"You have examined the General's papers, then?" +<br> +<br> +"What I said implied that much, I believe," said Miss Krieff, coolly. +<br> +<br> +"And what is it?" +<br> +<br> +"A certain mysterious document." +<br> +<br> +"Mysterious document?" repeated Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"What?" +<br> +<br> +"It is a writing in cipher." +<br> +<br> +"And you have made it out?" +<br> +<br> +"No, I have not." +<br> +<br> +"Of what use is it, then?" +<br> +<br> +"I think it may be of some importance, or it would not have been kept +where it was, and it would not have been written in cipher." +<br> +<br> +"What can you do with it?" asked Gualtier, after some silence. +<br> +<br> +"I do not yet see what I can do with it, but others may." +<br> +<br> +"What others?" +<br> +<br> +"I hope to find some friend who may have more skill in cryptography +than I have, and may be able to decipher it." +<br> +<br> +"Can you not decipher it at all?" +<br> +<br> +"Only in part." +<br> +<br> +"And what is it that you have found out?" +<br> +<br> +"I will tell you some other time, perhaps." +<br> +<br> +"You object to tell me now?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"When will you tell me?" +<br> +<br> +"When we are better acquainted." +<br> +<br> +"Are we not pretty well acquainted now?" +<br> +<br> +"Not so well as I hope we shall be hereafter." +<br> +<br> +"I shall wait most patiently, then," said Gualtier, earnestly, "till +our increased intimacy shall give me some more of your confidence. +But might you not give me some general idea of that which you think +you have discovered?" +<br> +<br> +Miss Krieff hesitated. +<br> +<br> +"Do not let me force myself into your confidence," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"No," said Miss Krieff, in that cold, repellent manner which she +could so easily assume. "There is no danger of that. But I have no +objection to tell you what seems to me to be the general meaning of +that which I have deciphered." +<br> +<br> +"What is it?" +<br> +<br> +"As far as I can see," said Miss Krieff, "it charges General Pomeroy +with atrocious crimes, and implicates him in one in particular, the +knowledge of which, if it be really so, can be used against him with +terrible--yes, fatal effect. I now can understand very easily why he +was so strangely and frantically eager to betroth his child to the +son of Lord Chetwynde--why he trampled on all decency, and bound his +own daughter, little more than a baby, to a stranger--why he +purchased Guy Molyneux, body and soul, for money. All is plain from +this. But, after all, it is a puzzle. He makes so high a profession +of honor that if his profession were real he would have thought of a +betrothal any where except _there_. Oh, if Lord Chetwynde only had +the faintest conception of this!" +<br> +<br> +"But what is it?" cried Gualtier, with eager curiosity, which was +stimulated to the utmost by Miss Krieff's words and tones. +<br> +<br> +"I will tell you some other time," said Miss Krieff, resuming her +repellent tone--"not now. If I find you worthy of my confidence, I +will give it to you." +<br> +<br> +"I will try to show myself worthy of it," said Gualtier, and, after a +time, took his departure, leaving Miss Krieff to her thoughts. +<br> +<br> +Now, who was this Miss Krieff? She was an important member of the +numerous household which the General had brought with him from India. +She had been under his guardianship since her infancy; who she was no +one knew but the General himself. Her position was an honorable one, +and the General always treated her with a respect and affection that +were almost paternal. Thus her life had been passed, first as +playmate to Zillah, whom she exceeded in age by about four years, and +afterward as companion, friend, almost sister, to the spoiled child +and wayward heiress. +<br> +<br> +Hilda Krieff was a person of no common character. Even in India her +nature had exhibited remarkable traits. Child as she then was, her +astuteness and self-control were such as might have excited the +admiration of Macchiavelli himself. By persistent flattery, by the +indulgence of every whim, and, above all, by the most exaggerated +protestations of devotion, she had obtained a powerful influence over +Zillah's uncontrolled but loving nature; and thus she had gradually +made herself so indispensable to her that Zillah could never bear to +be separated from one who so humored all her whims, and bore her most +ungovernable fits of passion with such unvarying sweetness. Hilda had +evidently taken her lesson from the General himself; and thus Zillah +was treated with equal servility by her father and her friend. +<br> +<br> +Personally, there was some general resemblance between the two girls; +though in Hilda the sallow hue of ill health was replaced by a clear +olive complexion; and her eyes, which she seldom raised, had a +somewhat furtive manner at times, which was altogether absent from +Zillah's clear frank gaze. Hilda's voice was low and melodious, never +even in the abandon of childish play, or in any excitement, had she +been known to raise its tones; her step was soft and noiseless, and +one had no idea that she was in the room till she was found standing +by one's side. +<br> +<br> +Zillah's maid Sarah described in her own way the characteristics of +Hilda Krieff. +<br> +<br> +"That Injun girl," she said, "always giv her a turn. For her part she +preferred Missy, who, though she did kick uncommon, and were awful +cantankerous to manage, was always ready to make it up, and say as +she had been naughty. For my part," concluded Sarah, "I am free to +confess I have often giv Missy a sly shake when she was in one of +them tantrums, and I got the chance, and however that girl can be +always meek spoken even when she has books a-shied at her head is +more than I can tell, and I don't like it neither. I see a look in +them eyes of hers sometimes as I don't like." +<br> +<br> +Thus we see that Hilda's Christian-like forgiveness of injuries met +with but little appreciation in some quarters. But this mattered +little, since with the General and Zillah she was always in the +highest favor. +<br> +<br> +What had these years that had passed done for Zillah? In personal +appearance not very much. The plain sickly child had developed into a +tall ungainly girl, whose legs and arms appeared incessantly to +present to their owner the insoluble problem--What is to be done with +us? Her face was still thin and sallow, although it was redeemed by +its magnificent eyes and wealth of lustrous, jet-black hair. As to +her hair, to tell the truth, she managed its luxuriant folds in a +manner as little ornamental as possible. She would never consent to +allow it to be dressed, affirming that it would drive her mad to sit +still so long, and it was accordingly tricked up with more regard to +expedition than to neatness; and long untidy locks might generally be +seen straggling over her shoulders. Nevertheless a mind possessed of +lively imagination and great faith might have traced in this girl the +possibility of better things. +<br> +<br> +In mental acquirements she was lamentably deficient. Her mind was a +garden gone to waste; the weeds flourished, but the good seed refused +to take root. It had been found almost impossible to give her even +the rudiments of a good education. Governess after governess had come +to Pomeroy Court; governess after governess after a short trial had +left, each one telling the same story: Miss Pomeroy's abilities were +good, even above the average, but her disinclination to learning was +so great--such was the delicately expressed formula in which they +made known to the General Zillah's utter idleness and +selfishness--that she (the governess) felt that she was unable to do +her justice; that possibly the fault lay in her own method of +imparting instruction, and that she therefore begged to resign the +position of Miss Pomeroy's instructress. Now, as each new teacher had +begun a system of her own which she had not had time to develop, it +may be easily seen that the little knowledge which Zillah possessed +was of the most desultory character. Yet after all she had something +in her favor. She had a taste for reading, and this led her to a +familiarity with the best authors. More than this, her father had +instilled into her mind a chivalrous sense of honor; and from natural +instinct, as well as from his teachings, she loved all that was noble +and pure. Medieval romance was most congenial to her taste; and of +all the heroes who figure there she loved best the pure, the +high-souled, the heavenly Sir Galahad. All the heroes of the +Arthurian or of the Carlovingian epopee were adored by this wayward +but generous girl. She would sit for hours curled up on a window-sill +of the library, reading tales of Arthur and the knights of the Round +Table, or of Charlemagne and his Paladins. Fairy lore, and whatever +else our medieval ancestors have loved, thus became most familiar to +her, and all her soul became imbued with these bright and radiant +fancies. And through it all she learned the one great lesson which +these romances teach--that the grandest and most heroic of all +virtues is self-abnegation at the call of honor and loyalty. +<br> +<br> +The only trouble was, Zillah took too grand a view of this virtue to +make it practically useful in daily life. If she had thus taken it to +her heart, it might have made her practice it by giving up her will +to those around her, and by showing from day to day the beauty of +gentleness and courtesy. This, however, she never thought of; or, if +it came to her mind, she considered it quite beneath her notice. Hers +was simply a grand theory, to carry out which she never dreamed of +any sacrifice but one of the grandest character. +<br> +<br> +The General certainly did all in his power to induce her to learn; +and if she did not, it was scarcely his fault. But, while Zillah thus +grew up in ignorance, there was one who did profit by the +instructions which she had despised, and, in spite of the constant +change of teachers which Zillah's impracticable character had +rendered necessary, was now, at the age of nineteen, a refined, +well-educated, and highly-accomplished young lady. This was Hilda +Krieff. General Pomeroy was anxious that she should have every +possible advantage, and Zillah was glad enough to have a companion in +her studies. The result is easily stated. Zillah was idle, Hilda was +studious, and all that the teachers could impart was diligently +mastered by her. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER VII. +<br> +<br> +THE SECRET CIPHER. +<br> +<br> +Some time passed away, and Gualtier made his usual visits. Zillah's +moods were variable and capricious. Sometimes she would languidly +declare that she could not take her lesson; at other times she would +take it for about ten minutes; and then, rising hastily from the +piano, she would insist that she was tired, and refuse to study any +more for that day. Once or twice, by an extreme effort, she managed +to devote a whole half hour, and then, as though such exertion +was superhuman, she would retire, and for several weeks afterward +plead that half hour as an excuse for her negligence. All this +Gualtier bore with perfect equanimity. Hilda said nothing; and +generally, after Zillah's retirement, she would go to the piano +herself and take a lesson. +<br> +<br> +These lessons were diversified by general conversation. Often they +spoke about Zillah, but very seldom was it that they went beyond +this. Miss Krieff showed no desire to speak of the subject which they +once had touched upon, and Gualtier was too cunning to be obtrusive. +So the weeks passed by without any renewal of that confidential +conversation in which they had once indulged. +<br> +<br> +While Zillah was present, Hilda never in any instance showed any sign +whatever of anger or impatience. She seemed not to notice her +behavior, or if she did notice it she seemed to think it a very +ordinary matter. On Zillah's retiring she generally took her place at +the piano without a word, and Gualtier began his instructions. It was +during these instructions that their conversation generally took +place. +<br> +<br> +One day Gualtier came and found Hilda alone. She was somewhat +_distrait_, but showed pleasure at seeing him, at which he felt both +gratified and flattered. "Where is Miss Pomeroy?" he asked, after the +usual greetings had been exchanged. +<br> +<br> +"You will not have the pleasure of seeing her to-day," answered +Hilda, dryly. +<br> +<br> +"Is she ill?" +<br> +<br> +"Ill? She is never ill. No. She has gone out." +<br> +<br> +"Ah?" +<br> +<br> +"The General was going to take a drive to visit a friend, and she +took it into her head to accompany him. Of course he had to take her. +It was very inconvenient--and very ridiculous--but the moment she +proposed it he assented, with only a very faint effort at dissuasion. +So they have gone, and will not be back for some hours." +<br> +<br> +"I hope you will allow me to say," remarked Gualtier, in a low voice, +"that I consider her absence rather an advantage than otherwise." +<br> +<br> +"You could hardly feel otherwise," said Hilda. "You have not yet got +a broken head, it is true; but it is coming. Some day you will not +walk out of the house. You will be carried out." +<br> +<br> +"You speak bitterly." +<br> +<br> +"I feel bitterly." +<br> +<br> +"Has any thing new happened?" he asked, following up the advantage +which her confession gave him. +<br> +<br> +"No; it is the old story. Interminable troubles, which have to be +borne with interminable patience." +<br> +<br> +There was a long silence. "You spoke once," said Gualtier at last, in +a low tone, "of something which you promised one day to tell me--some +papers. You said that you would show them some day when we were +better acquainted. Are we not better acquainted? You have seen me now +for many weeks since that time, and ought to know whether I am worthy +to be trusted or not." +<br> +<br> +"Mr. Gualtier," said Hilda, frankly, and without hesitation, "from my +point of view I have concluded that you are worthy to be trusted. I +have decided to show you the paper." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier began to murmur his thanks, Hilda waved her hand. "There is +no need of that," said she. "It may not amount to any thing, and then +your thanks will be thrown away. If it does amount to something you +will share the benefit of it with me--though you can not share the +revenge," she muttered, in a lower tone. +<br> +<br> +"But, after all," she continued, "I do not know that any thing can be +gained by it. The conjectures which I have formed may all be +unfounded." +<br> +<br> +"At any rate, I shall be able to see what the foundation is," said +Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"True," returned Hilda, rising; "and so I will go at once and get the +paper." +<br> +<br> +"Have you kept it ever since?" he asked. +<br> +<br> +"What! the paper? Oh, you must not imagine that I have kept the +original! No, no. I kept it long enough to make a copy, and returned +the original to its place." +<br> +<br> +"Where did you find it?" +<br> +<br> +"In the General's private desk." +<br> +<br> +"Did it seem to be a paper of any importance?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes; it was kept by itself in a secret drawer. That showed its +importance." +<br> +<br> +Hilda then left the room, and in a short time returned with a +paper in her hand. +<br> +<br> +"Here it is," she said, and she gave it to Gualtier. Gualtier took +it, and unfolding it, he saw this: +<br> +<br> +Gualtier took this singular paper, and examined it long and +earnestly. Hilda had copied out the characters with painful +minuteness and beautiful accuracy; but nothing in it suggested to +him any revelation of its dark meaning, and he put it down with a +strange, bewildered air. +<br> +<br> +"What is it all?" he asked. "It seems to contain some mystery, +beyond a doubt. I can gather nothing from the characters. They are +all astronomical signs; and, so far as I can see, are the signs of +the zodiac and of the planets. Here, said he, pointing to the +character [Sun image], is the sign of the Sun; and here, pointing to +[Libra image], is Libra; and here is Aries, pointing to the sign +[Aries image]. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Hilda; "and that occurs most frequently." +<br> +<br> +"What is it all?" +<br> +<br> +"I take it to be a secret cipher." +<br> +<br> +"How?" +<br> +<br> +"Why, this--that these signs are only used to represent letters of +the alphabet. If such a simple mode of concealment has been used the +solution is an easy one." +<br> +<br> +"Can you solve cipher alphabets?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, where there is nothing more than a concealment of the letters. +Where there is any approach to hieroglyphic writing, or syllabic +ciphers, I am baffled." +<br> +<br> +"And have you solved this?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"I thought you said that you had, and that it contained charges +against General Pomeroy." +<br> +<br> +"That is my difficulty. I have tried the usual tests, and have made +out several lines; but there is something about it which puzzles me; +and though I have worked at it for nearly a year, I have not been +able to get to the bottom of it." +<br> +<br> +"Are you sure that your deciphering is correct?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Why not?" +<br> +<br> +"Because it ought to apply to all, and it does not. It only applies +to a quarter of it." +<br> +<br> +"Perhaps it is all hieroglyphic, or syllabic writing." +<br> +<br> +"Perhaps so." +<br> +<br> +"In that case can you solve it?" +<br> +<br> <img src="images/27.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +"No; and that is one reason why I have thought of you. Have you ever +tried any thing of the kind?" +<br> +<br><img src="images/28.png" alt="'What Is It All?' He Asked."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "'What Is It All?' He Asked."] +<br> +<br> +"No; never. And I don't see how you have learned any thing about it, +or how you have been able to arrive at any principle of action." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, as to that," returned Hilda, "the principle upon which I work is +very simple; but I wish you to try the solution with your own unaided +ingenuity. So, simple as my plan is, I will not tell you any thing +about it just now." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked again at the paper with an expression of deep +perplexity. +<br> +<br> +"How am I even to begin?" said he. "What am I to do? You might as +well ask me to translate late the Peschito version of the Syriac +gospels, or the Rig-Veda." +<br> +<br> +"I think," said Hilda, coolly, "that you have sufficient ingenuity." +<br> +<br> +"I have," said Gualtier; "but, unfortunately, my ingenuity does not +lie at all in this direction. This is something different from any +thing that has ever come in my way before. See," he said, pointing to +the paper, "this solid mass of letters. It is a perfect block, an +exact rectangle. How do you know where to begin? Nothing on the +letters shows this. How do you know whether you are to read from left +to right, or from right to left, like Hebrew and Arabic; or both +ways, like the old Greek Boustrephedon; or vertically, like the +Chinese; or, for that matter, diagonally? Why, one doesn't know even +how to begin!" +<br> +<br> +"That must all be carefully considered," said Hilda. "I have weighed +it all, and know every letter by heart; its shape, its position, and +all about it." +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Gualtier, "you must not be at all surprised if I fail +utterly." +<br> +<br> +"At least you will try?" +<br> +<br> +"Try? I shall be only too happy. I shall devote to this all the time +that I have. I will give up all my mind and all my soul to it. I will +not only examine it while I am by myself, but I will carry this paper +with me wherever I go, and occupy every spare moment in studying it. +I'll learn every character by heart, and think over them all day, and +dream about them all night. Do not be afraid that I shall neglect it. +It is enough for me that _you_ have given this for me to attempt its +solution." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier spoke with earnestness and impetuosity, but Hilda did not +seem to notice it at all. +<br> +<br> +"Recollect," she said, in her usual cool manner, "it is as much for +your interest as for mine. If my conjecture is right, it may be of +the utmost value. If I am wrong, then I do not know what to do." +<br> +<br> +"You think that this implicates General Pomeroy in some crime?" +<br> +<br> +"That is my impression, from my own attempt at solving it. But, as I +said, my solution is only a partial one. I can not fathom the rest of +it, and do not know how to begin to do so. That is the reason why I +want your help." +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER VIII. +<br> +<br> +DECIPHERING. +<br> +<br> +Many weeks passed away before Gualtier had another opportunity of +having a confidential conversation with Miss Krieff. Zillah seemed to +be perverse. She was as capricious as ever as to her music: some days +attending to it for five minutes, other days half an hour; but now +she did not choose to leave the room. She would quit the piano, and, +flinging herself into a chair, declare that she wanted to see how +Hilda stood it. As Hilda seated herself and wrought out elaborate +combinations from the instrument, she would listen attentively, and +when it was over she would give expression to some despairing words +as to her own stupidity. +<br> +<br> +Yet Gualtier had opportunities, and he was not slow to avail himself +of them. Confidential intercourse had arisen between himself and Miss +Krieff, and he was determined to avail himself of the great advantage +which this gave him. They had a secret in common--she had admitted +him to her intimacy. There was an understanding between them. Each +felt an interest in the other. Gualtier knew that he was more than an +ordinary music-teacher to her. +<br> +<br> +During those days when Zillah persistently staid in the room he made +opportunities for himself. Standing behind her at the piano he had +chances of speaking words which Zillah could not hear. +<br> +<br> +Thus: "Your fingering there is not correct, Miss Krieff," he would +say in a low tone. "You must put the second finger on G. I have not +yet deciphered it." +<br> +<br> +"But the book indicates the third finger on G. Have you tried?" +<br> +<br> +"It is a blunder of the printer. Yes, every day--almost every hour of +every day." +<br> +<br> +"Yet it seems to me to be natural to put the third finger there. Are +you discouraged?" +<br> +<br> +"Try the second finger once or twice, this way;" and he played a few +notes. "Discouraged? no; I am willing to keep at it for an indefinite +period." +<br> +<br> +"Yes, I see that it is better. You must succeed. I was three months +at it before I discovered any thing." +<br> +<br> +"That passage is _allegro_, and you played it _andante_. I wish you +would give me a faint hint as to the way in which you deciphered it." +<br> +<br> +"I did not notice the directions," responded Miss Krieff, playing the +passage over again. +<br> +<br> +"Will that do? No, I will give no hint. You would only imitate me +then, and I wish you to find out for yourself on your own principle." +<br> +<br> +"Yes, that is much better. But I have no principle to start on, and +have not yet found out even how to begin." +<br> +<br> +"I must pay more attention to 'expression,' I see. You say my 'time' +is correct enough. If you are not discouraged, you will find it out +yet." +<br> +<br> +"Your 'time' is perfect. If it is possible, I will find it out. I am +not discouraged." +<br> +<br> +"Well, I will hope for something better the next time, and now don't +speak about it any more. The 'brat' is listening." +<br> +<br> +"_Allegro_, _allegro_; remember, Miss Krieff. You always confound +_andante_ with _allegro_." +<br> +<br> +"So I do. They have the same initials." +<br> +<br> +Such was the nature of Gualtier's musical instructions. These +communications, however, were brief and hurried, and only served to +deepen the intimacy between them. They had now mutually recognized +themselves as two conspirators, and had thus become already +indispensable to one another. +<br> +<br> +They waited patiently, however, and at length their patient waiting +was rewarded. One day Gualtier came and found that Zillah was unwell, +and confined to her room. It was the slightest thing in the world, +but the General was anxious and fidgety, and was staying in the room +with her trying to amuse her. This Miss Krieff told him with her +usual bitterness. +<br> +<br> +"And now," said she, "we will have an hour. I want to know what you +have done." +<br> +<br> +"Done! Nothing." +<br> +<br> +"Nothing?" +<br> +<br> +"No, nothing. My genius does not lie in that direction. You might as +well have expected me to decipher a Ninevite inscription. I can do +nothing." +<br> +<br> +"Have you tried?" +<br> +<br> +"Tried! I assure you that for the last month the only thing that I +have thought of has been this. Many reasons have urged me to decipher +it, but the chief motive was the hope of bringing to you a complete +explanation." +<br> +<br> +"Have you not made out at least a part of it?" +<br> +<br> +"Not a part--not a single word--if there are words in it--which I +very much doubt." +<br> +<br> +"Why should you doubt it?" +<br> +<br> +"It seems to me that it must consist of hieroglyphics. You yourself +say that you have only made out a part of it, and that you doubt +whether it is a valid interpretation. After all, then, your +interpretation is only partial--only a conjecture. Now I have not +begun to make even a conjecture. For see--what is this?" and Gualtier +drew the well-thumbed paper from his pocket. "I have counted up all +the different characters here, and find that they are forty in +number. They are composed chiefly of astronomical signs; but sixteen +of them are the ordinary punctuation marks, such as one sees every +day. If it were merely a secret alphabet, there would be twenty-six +signs only, not forty. What can one do with forty signs? +<br> +<br> +"I have examined different grammars of foreign languages to see if +any of them had forty letters, but among the few books at my command +I can find none; and even if it were so, what then? What would be the +use of trying to decipher an inscription in Arabic? I thought at one +time that perhaps the writer might have adopted the short-hand +alphabet, but changed the signs. Yet even when I go from this +principle I can do nothing." +<br> +<br> +"Then you give it up altogether?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, altogether and utterly, so far as I am concerned; but I still +am anxious to know what you have deciphered, and how you have +deciphered it. I have a hope that I may gain some light from your +discovery, and thus be able to do something myself." +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Miss Krieff, "I will tell you, since you have failed so +completely. My principle is a simple one; and my deciphering, though +only partial, seems to me to be so true, as far as it goes, that I +can not imagine how any other result can be found. +<br> +<br> +"I am aware," she continued, "that there are forty different +characters in the inscription. I counted them all out, and wrote them +out most carefully. I went on the simple principle that the writer +had written in English, and that the number of the letters might be +disregarded on a first examination. +<br> +<br> +"Then I examined the number of times in which each letter occurred. I +found that the sign [Aries image] occurred most frequently. Next was +[Gemini image]; next [Taurus image]; and then [Cancer image], and +[Leo image], and [Libra image], and [Sagittarius image], and [Mars +image]." Miss Krieff marked these signs down as she spoke. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier nodded. +<br> +<br> +"There was this peculiarity about these signs," said Miss Krieff, +"that they occurred all through the writing, while the others +occurred some in the first half and some in the second. For this +inscription is very peculiar in this respect. It is only in the +second half that the signs of punctuation occur. The signs of the +first half are all astronomical. +<br> +<br> +"You must remember," continued Miss Krieff, "that I did not think of +any other language than the English. The idea of its being any +dialect of the Hindustani never entered my head. So I went on this +foundation, and naturally the first thought that came to me was, what +letters are there in English which occur most frequently? It seemed +to me if I could find this out I might obtain some key, partially, at +any rate, to the letters which occurred so frequently in this +writing. +<br> +<br> +"I had plenty of time and unlimited patience. I took a large number +of different books, written by standard authors, and counted the +letters on several pages of each as they occurred. I think I counted +more than two hundred pages in this way. I began with the vowels, and +counted up the number of times each one occurred. Then I counted the +consonants." +<br> +<br> +"That never occurred to me," said Gualtier. "Why did you not tell +me?" +<br> +<br> +"Because I wanted you to decipher it yourself on your own principle. +Of what use would it be if you only followed over my track? You would +then have come only to my result. But I must tell you the result of +my examination. After counting up the recurrence of all the letters +on more than two hundred pages of standard authors, I made out an +average of the times of their recurrence, and I have the paper here +on which I wrote the average down." +<br> +<br> +And Miss Krieff drew from her pocket a paper which she unfolded and +showed to Gualtier. On it was the following: +<br> +<br> +AVERAGE OF LETTERS. +<br> +<br> +E.....222 times per page. N.....90 times per page.<br> +T.....162 times per page. L.....62 times per page.<br> +A.....120 times per page. D.....46 times per page.<br> +H.....110 times per page. C.....42 times per page.<br> +I..J..109 times per page. U..V..36 times per page.<br> +S.....104 times per page. B.....36 times per page.<br> +O.....100 times per page. W.....30 times per page.<br> +R.....100 times per page. G.....30 times per page. +<br> +<br> +"The rest," said Miss Krieff, "occur on the average less than thirty +times on a page, and so I did not mark them. 'F,' 'P,' and 'K' may be +supposed to occur more frequently than some others; but they do not. +<br> +<br> +"'E,' then," she continued, "is the letter of first importance in the +English language. 'A,' and 'T,' and 'H,' are the next ones. Now there +are some little words which include these letters, such as 'the.' +'And' is another word which may be discovered and deciphered, it is +of such frequent occurrence. If these words only can be found, it is +a sign at least that one is on the right track. There are also +terminations which seem to me peculiar to the English language; such +as 'ng,' 'ing,' 'ed,' 'ly,' and so on. At any rate, from my studies +of the Italian, French, and German, and from my knowledge of +Hindustani, I know that there are no such terminations in any of the +words of those languages. So you see," concluded Miss Krieff, with a +quiet smile, "the simple principle on which I acted." +<br> +<br> +"Your genius is marvelously acute!" exclaimed Gualtier, in +undisguised admiration. "You speak of your principle as a _simple_ +one, but it is more than I have been able to arrive at." +<br> +<br> +"Men," said Miss Krieff, "reason too much. You have been imagining +all sorts of languages in which this may have been written. Now, +women go by intuitions. I acted in that way." +<br> +<br> +"Intuitions!" exclaimed Gualtier. "You have reasoned out this thing +in a way which might have done honor to Bacon. You have laid down a +great principle as a foundation, and have gone earnestly to work +building up your theory. Champollion himself did not surpass you." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier's tone expressed profound admiration. It was not idle +compliment. It was sincere. He looked upon her at that moment as a +superior genius. His intellect bowed before hers. Miss Krieff saw the +ascendency which she had gained over him; and his expressions of +admiration were not unwelcome. Admiration! Rare, indeed, was it that +she had heard any expressions of that kind, and when they came they +were as welcome as is the water to the parched and thirsty ground. +Her whole manner softened toward him, and her eyes, which were +usually so bright and hard, now grew softer, though none the less +bright. +<br> +<br> +"You overestimate what I have done," said she, "and you forget that +it is only partially effected." +<br> +<br> +"Whether partially or not," replied Gualtier, "I have the most +intense curiosity to see what you have done. Have you any objections +to show it to me? Now that I have failed by myself, the only hope +that I have is to be able to succeed through your assistance. You can +show your superiority to me here; perhaps, in other things, I may be +of service to you." +<br> +<br> +"I have no objections," said Miss Krieff. "Indeed I would rather show +you my results than not, so as to hear what you have to say about +them. I am not at all satisfied, for it is only partial. I know what +you will say. You will see several reasons, all of which are very +good, for doubting my interpretation of this writing." +<br> +<br> +"I can assure you that I shall doubt nothing. After my own +disgraceful failure any interpretation will seem to me to be a work +of genius. Believe me any interpretation of yours will only fill me +with a sense of my own weakness." +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Miss Krieff, after a pause, "I will show you what I have +done. My papers are in my room. Go and play on the piano till I come +back." +<br> +<br> +Saying this she departed, and was absent for about a quarter of an +hour or twenty minutes, and then returned. +<br> +<br> +"How is Miss Pomeroy?" asked Gualtier, turning round on the +piano-stool and rising. +<br> +<br> +"About the same," said Miss Krieff. "The General is reading Puss in +Boots to her, I believe. Perhaps it is Jack and the Bean Stalk, or +Beauty and the Beast. It is one of them, however. I am not certain +which." +<br> +<br> +She walked up to a centre-table and opened a paper which she held in +her hand. Gualtier followed her, and took a seat by her side. +<br> +<br> +"You must remember," said Miss Krieff, "that this interpretation of +mine is only a partial one, and may be altogether wrong. Yet the +revelations which it seemed to convey were so startling that they +have produced a very deep impression on my mind. I hoped that you +would have done something. If you had arrived at a solution similar +to mine, even if it had been a partial one, I should have been +satisfied that I had arrived at a part of the truth at least. As you +have not done so, nothing remains but to show you what I have done." +<br> +<br> +Saying this, she opened the paper which she held and displayed it to +Gualtier: +<br> +<br> <img src="images/31.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +"In that writing," said she, "there are twenty lines. I have been +able to do any thing with ten of them only, and that partially. The +rest is beyond my conjecture." +<br> +<br> +The paper was written so as to show under each character the +corresponding letter, or what Miss Krieff supposed to be the +corresponding letter, to each sign. +<br> +<br> +"This," said Miss Krieff, "is about half of the signs. You see if my +key is applied it makes intelligible English out of most of the signs +in this first half. There seems to me to be a block of letters set +into a mass of characters. Those triangular portions of signs at each +end, and all the lower part, seem to me to be merely a mass of +characters that mean nothing, but added to conceal and distract." +<br> +<br> +"It is possible," said Gualtier, carefully examining the paper. +<br> +<br> +"It must mean something," said Miss Krieff, "and it can mean nothing +else than what I have written. That is what it was intended to +express. Those letters could not have tumbled into that position by +accident, so as to make up these words. See," she continued, "here +are these sentences written out separately, and you can read them +more conveniently." +<br> +<br> +She handed Gualtier a piece of paper, on which was the following: +<br> +<br> +_Oh may God have mercy on my wretched soul Amen<br> +O Pomeroy forged a hundred thousand dollars<br> +O N Pomeroy eloped with poor Lady Chetwynde<br> +She acted out of a mad impulse in flying<br> +She listened to me and ran off with me<br> +She was piqued at her husband's act<br> +Fell in with Lady Mary Chetwynd<br> +Expelled the army for gaming<br> +N Pomeroy of Pomeroy Berks<br> +O I am a miserable villain_<br> +<br> +<br> +Gualtier read it long and thoughtfully. "What are the initials 'O. +N.?'" +<br> +<br> +"Otto Neville. It is the General's name." +<br> +<br> +Silence followed. "Here he is called O Pomeroy, O N Pomeroy, and N +Pomeroy." +<br> +<br> +"Yes; the name by which he is called is Neville." +<br> +<br> +"Your idea is that it is a confession of guilt, written by this O. N. +Pomeroy himself?" +<br> +<br> +"It reads so." +<br> +<br> +"I don't want to inquire into the probability of the General's +writing out this and leaving it in his drawer, even in cipher, but I +look only at the paper itself." +<br> +<br> +"What do you think of it?" +<br> +<br> +"In the first place your interpretation is very ingenious." +<br> +<br> +"But--?" +<br> +<br> +"But it seems partial." +<br> +<br> +"So it does to me. That is the reason why I want your help. You see +that there are several things about it which give it an incomplete +character. First, the mixture of initials; then, the interchange of +the first and third persons. At one moment the writer speaking of +Pomeroy as a third person, running off with Lady Chetwynde, and again +saying he himself fell in with her. Then there are incomplete +sentences, such as, 'Fell in with Lady Mary Chetwynde--'" +<br> +<br> +"I know all that, but I have two ways of accounting for it." +<br> +<br> +"What?" +<br> +<br> +"First, that the writer became confused in writing the cipher +characters and made mistakes." +<br> +<br> +"That is probable," said Gualtier. "What is another way?" +<br> +<br> +"That he wrote it this way on purpose to baffle." +<br> +<br> +"I think the first idea is the best: if he had wished to baffle he +never would have written it at all." +<br> +<br> +"No; but somebody else might have written it in his name thus +secretly and guardedly. Some one who wished for vengeance, and tried +this way." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier said nothing in reply, but looked earnestly at Miss Krieff. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> <img src="images/32.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER IX. +<br> +<br> +A SERIOUS ACCIDENT. +<br> +<br> +About this time an event took place which caused a total change in +the lives of all at Pomeroy Court. One day, when out hunting, General +Pomeroy met with an accident of a very serious nature. While leaping +over a hedge the horse slipped and threw his rider, falling heavily +on him at the same time. He was picked up bleeding and senseless, and +in that condition carried home. On seeing her father thus brought +back, Zillah gave way to a perfect frenzy of grief. She threw herself +upon his unconscious form, uttering wild ejaculations, and it was +with extreme difficulty that she could be taken away long enough to +allow the General to be undressed and laid on his bed. She then took +her place by her father's bedside, where she remained without food or +sleep for two or three days, refusing all entreaties to leave him. A +doctor had been sent for with all speed, and on his arrival did what +he could for the senseless sufferer. It was a very serious case, and +it was not till the third day that the General opened his eyes. The +first sight that he saw was the pale and haggard face of his +daughter. +<br> +<br> +"What is this?" he murmured, confusedly, and in a faint voice. "What +are you doing here, my darling?" +<br> +<br> +At the sight of this recognition, and the sound of his voice, Zillah +uttered a loud cry of joy, and twined her arms about him in an eager +hunger of affection. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, papa! papa!" she moaned, "you are getting better! You will not +leave me--you will not--you will not!" +<br> +<br> +All that day the doctor had been in the house, and at this moment had +been waiting in an adjoining apartment. The cry of Zillah startled +him, and he hurried into the room. He saw her prostrate on the bed, +with her arms around her father, uttering low, half-hysterical words +of fondness, intermingled with laughter and weeping. +<br> +<br> +"Miss Pomeroy," he said, with some sternness, "are you mad? Did I not +warn you above all things to restrain your feelings?" +<br> +<br> +Instantly Zillah started up. The reproof of the doctor had so stung +her that for a moment she forgot her father, and regarded her +reprover with a face full of astonishment and anger. +<br> +<br> +"How dare you speak so to me?" she cried, savagely. +<br> +<br> +The doctor looked fixedly at her for a few moments, and then +answered, quietly: +<br> +<br> +"This is no place for discussion. I will explain afterward." He then +went to the General's bedside, and surveyed his patient in thoughtful +silence. Already the feeble beginnings of returning consciousness had +faded away, and the sick man's eyes were closed wearily. The doctor +administered some medicine, and after waiting for nearly an hour in +silence, he saw the General sink off into a peaceful sleep. +<br> +<br> +"Now," said he, in a low voice, "Miss Pomeroy, I wish to say +something to you. Come with me." He led the way to the room where he +had been waiting, while Zillah, for the first time in her life, +obeyed an order. She followed in silence. "Miss Pomeroy," said the +doctor, very gravely, "your father's case is very serious indeed, +and I want to have a perfect understanding with you. If you have not +thorough confidence in me, you have only to say so, and I will give +you a list of physicians of good standing, into whose hands you may +safely confide the General. But if, on the contrary, you wish me to +continue my charge. I will only do so on the condition that I am to +be the sole master in that room, and that my injunctions are to be +implicitly attended to. Now, choose for yourself." +<br> +<br> +This grave, stern address, and the idea that he might leave her, +frightened Zillah altogether out of her passion. She looked piteously +at him, and grasped his hand as if in fear that he would instantly +carry out his threat. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, doctor!" she cried, "pray forgive me; do not leave me when dear +papa is so ill! It shall be all as you say, only you will not send me +away from him, will you? Oh, say that you will not!" +<br> +<br> +The doctor retained her hand, and answered very kindly: "My dear +child, I should be most sorry to do so. Now that your father has come +back to consciousness, you may be the greatest possible comfort to +him if you will. But, to do this, you really must try to control +yourself. The excitement which you have just caused him has overcome +him, and if I had not been here I do not know what might have +happened. Remember, my child, that love is shown not by words but by +deeds; and it would be but a poor return for all your father's +affection to give way selfishly to your own grief." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, what have I done?" cried Zillah, in terror. +<br> +<br> +"I do not suppose that you have done him very serious injury," said +the doctor, reassuringly; "but you ought to take warning by this. You +will promise now, won't you, that there shall be no repetition of +this conduct?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, I will! I will!" +<br> +<br> +"I will trust you, then," said the doctor, looking with pity upon her +sad face. "You are his best nurse, if you only keep your promise. So +now, my dear, go back to your place by his side." And Zillah, with a +faint murmur of thanks, went back again. +<br> +<br> +On the following day General Pomeroy seemed to have regained his full +consciousness. Zillah exercised a strong control over herself, and +was true to her promise. When the doctor called he seemed pleased at +the favorable change. But there was evidently something on the +General's mind. Finally, he made the doctor understand that he wished +to see him alone. The doctor whispered a few words to Zillah, who +instantly left the room. +<br> +<br> +"Doctor," said the General, in a feeble voice, as soon as they were +alone, "I must know the whole truth. Will you tell it to me frankly?" +<br> +<br> +"I never deceive my patients," was the answer. +<br> +<br> +"Am I dangerously ill?" +<br> +<br> +"You are." +<br> +<br> +"How long have I to live?" +<br> +<br> +"My dear Sir, God alone can answer that question. You have a chance +for life yet. Your sickness may take a favorable turn, and we may be +able to bring you round again." +<br> +<br> +"But the chances are against me, you think?" +<br> +<br> +"We must be prepared for the worst," said the doctor, solemnly. "At +the same time, there is a chance." +<br> +<br> +"Well, suppose that the turn should be unfavorable, how long would it +be, do you think, before the end? I have much to attend to, and it is +of the greatest important that I should know this." +<br> +<br> +"Probably a month--possibly less," answered the doctor, gravely, +after a moment's thought; "that is, if the worst should take place. +But it is impossible to speak with certainty until, your symptoms are +more fully developed." +<br> +<br> +"Thank you, doctor, for your frankness; and now, will you kindly send +my daughter to me?" +<br> +<br> +"Remember," said the doctor, doubtfully, "that it is of the greatest +possible moment that you be kept free from all excitement. Any +agitation of your mind will surely destroy your last chance." +<br> +<br> +"But I must see her!" answered the General, excitedly. "I have to +attend to something which concerns her. It is her future. I could not +die easily, or rest in my grave, if this were neglected." +<br> +<br> +Thus far the General had been calm, but the thought of Zillah had +roused him into dangerous agitation. The doctor saw that discussion +would only aggravate this, and that his only chance was to humor his +fancies. So he went out, and found Zillah pacing the passage in a +state of uncontrollable agitation. He reminded her of her promise, +impressed on her the necessity of caution, and sent her to him. She +crept softly to the bedside, and, taking her accustomed seat, covered +his hand with kisses. +<br> +<br> +"Sit a little lower, my darling," said the General, "where I may see +your face." She obeyed, still holding his hand, which returned with +warmth her caressing pressure. +<br> +<br> +The agitation which the General had felt at the doctor's information +had now grown visibly stronger. There was a kind of feverish +excitement in his manner which seemed to indicate that his brain was +affected. One idea only filled that half-delirious brain, and this, +without the slightest warning, he abruptly began to communicate to +his daughter. +<br> +<br> +"You know, Zillah," said he, in a rapid, eager tone which alarmed +her, "the dearest wish of my heart is to see you the wife of Guy +Molyneux, the son of my old friend. I betrothed you to him five years +ago. You remember all about it, of course. He visited us at London. +The time for the accomplishment of my desire has now arrived. I +received a letter from Lord Chetwynde on the day of my accident, +telling me that his son's regiment was shortly to sail for India. I +intended writing to ask him to pay us a visit before he left; but +now," he added, in a dreamy voice, "of course he must come, and--he +must marry you before he goes." +<br> +<br> +Any thing more horrible, more abhorrent, to Zillah than such +language, at such a time, could not be conceived. She thought he was +raving. +<br> +<br> +A wild exclamation of fear and remonstrance started to her lips; but +she remembered the doctor's warning, and by a mighty effort repressed +it. It then seemed to her that this raving delirium, if resisted, +might turn to madness and endanger his last chance. In her despair +she found only one answer, and that was something which might soothe +him. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, dear papa," she said, quietly; "yes, we will ask him to come +and see us." +<br> +<br> +"No, no," cried the General, with feverish impatience. "That will not +do. You must marry him at once--to-day--to-morrow--do you hear? There +is no time to lose." +<br> +<br> +"But I must stay with you, dearest papa, you know," said Zillah, +still striving to soothe him. "What would you do without your little +girl? I am sure you can not want me to leave you." +<br> +<br> +"Ah, my child!" said the General, mournfully, "I am going to leave +_you_. The doctor tells me that I have but a short time to live; and +I feel that what he says is true. If I must leave you, my darling, I +can not leave you without a protector." +<br> +<br> +At this Zillah's unaccustomed self-control gave way utterly. Overcome +by the horror of that revelation and the anguish of that discovery, +she flung her arms around him and clung to him passionately. +<br> +<br> +"You shall not go!" she moaned. "You shall not go; or if you do you +must take me with you. I can not live without you. You know that I +can not. Oh, papa! papa!" +<br> +<br> +The tones of her voice, which were wailed out in a wild, despairing +cry, reached the ears of the doctor, who at once hurried in. +<br> +<br> +"What is this?" he said, sharply and sternly, to Zillah. "Is this +keeping your promise?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, doctor!" said Zillah, imploringly, "I did not mean to--I could +not help it--but tell me--it is not true, is it? Tell me that my +father is not going to leave me!" +<br> +<br> +"I will tell you this," said he, gravely. "You are destroying every +chance of his recovery by your vehemence." +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked up at him with an expression of agony on her face such +as, accustomed as he was to scenes of suffering, he had but seldom +encountered. +<br> +<br> +"I've killed him, then!" she faltered. +<br> +<br> +The doctor put his hand kindly on her shoulder. "I trust not, my poor +child," said he; "but it is my duty to warn you of the consequences +of giving way to excessive grief." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, doctor! you are quite right, and I will try very hard not to +give way again." +<br> +<br> +During this conversation, which was low and hurried, General Pomeroy +lay without hearing any thing of what they were saying. His lips +moved, and his hands picked at the bed-clothes convulsively. Only one +idea was in his mind--the accomplishment of his wishes. His +daughter's grief seemed to have no effect on him whatever. Indeed, he +did not appear to notice it. +<br> +<br> +"Speak to her, doctor," said he, feebly, as he heard their voices. +"Tell her I can not die happy unless she is married--I can not leave +her alone in the world." +<br> +<br> +The doctor looked surprised. "What does he mean?" he said, taking +Zillah aside. "What is this fancy? Is there any thing in it?" +<br> +<br> +"I'm sure I don't know," said Zillah. "It is certainly on his mind, +and he can't be argued or humored out of it. It is an arrangement +made some years ago between him and Lord Chetwynde that when I grew +up I should marry his son, and he has just been telling me that he +wishes it carried out now. Oh! what--what _shall_ I do?" she added, +despairingly. "Can't you do something, doctor?" +<br> +<br> +"I will speak to him," said the latter; and, approaching the bed, he +bent over the General, and said, in a low voice: +<br> +<br> +"General Pomeroy, you know that the family physician is often a kind +of father-confessor as well. Now I do not wish to intrude upon your +private affairs; but from what you have said I perceive that there is +something on your mind, and if I can be of any assistance to you I +shall be only too happy. Have you any objection to tell me what it is +that is troubling you?" +<br> +<br> +While the doctor spoke the General's eyes were fixed upon Zillah with +feverish anxiety. "Tell her," he murmured, "that she must consent at +once--at once," he repeated, in a more excited tone. +<br> +<br> +"Consent to what?" +<br> +<br> +"To this marriage that I have planned for her. She knows. It is with +the son of my old friend, Lord Chetwynde. He is a fine lad, and comes +of a good stock. I knew his father before him. I have watched him +closely for the last five years. He will take care of her. He will +make her a good husband. And I--shall be able to die--in peace. But +it must be done--immediately--for he is going--to India." +<br> +<br> +The General spoke in a very feeble tone, and with frequent pauses. +<br> +<br> +"And do you wish your daughter to go with him? She is too young to be +exposed to the dangers of Indian life." +<br> +<br> +This idea seemed to strike the General very forcibly. For some +minutes he did not answer, and it was with difficulty that he could +collect his thoughts. At last he answered, slowly: +<br> +<br> +"That is true--but she need not accompany him. Let her stay with +me--till all is over--then she can go--to Chetwynde. It will be her +natural home. She will find in my old friend a second father. She can +remain with him--till her husband returns." +<br> +<br> +A long pause followed. "Besides," he resumed, in a fainter voice, +"there are other things. I can not explain--they are private--they +concern the affairs of others. But if Zillah were to refuse to marry +him--she would lose one-half of her fortune. So you can understand my +anxiety. She has not a relative in the world--to whom I could leave +her." +<br> +<br> +Here the General stopped, utterly exhausted by the fatigue of +speaking so much. As for the doctor, he sat for a time involved in +deep thought. Zillah stood there pale and agitated, looking now +at her father and now at the doctor, while a new and deeper anguish +came over her heart. After a while he rose and quietly motioned to +Zillah to follow him to the adjoining room. +<br> +<br> +"My dear child," said he, kindly, when they had arrived there, "your +father is excited, but yet is quite sane. His plan seems to be one +which he has been cherishing for years; and he has so thoroughly set +his heart upon it that it now is evidently his sole idea. I do not +see what else can be done than to comply with his wishes." +<br> +<br> +"What!" cried Zillah, aghast. +<br> +<br> +"To refuse," said the doctor, "might be fatal. It would throw him +into a paroxysm." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, doctor!" moaned Zillah. "What do you mean? You can not be in +earnest. What--to do such a thing when darling papa is--is dying!" +<br> +<br> +Sobs choked her utterance. She buried her face in her hands and sank +into a chair. +<br> +<br> +"He is not yet so bad," said the doctor, earnestly, "but he is +certainly in a critical state; and unless it is absolutely +impossible--unless it is too abhorrent to think of--unless any +calamity is better than this--I would advise you to try and think if +you can not bring yourself to--to indulge his wish, wild as it may +seem to you. There, my dear, I am deeply sorry for you; but I am +honest, and say what I think." +<br> +<br> +For a long time Zillah sat in silence, struggling with her emotions. +The doctor's words impressed her deeply; but the thing which he +advised was horrible to her--abhorrent beyond words. But then there +was her father lying so near to death--whom, perhaps, her +self-sacrifice might save, and whom certainly her selfishness would +destroy. She could not hesitate. It was a bitter decision, but she +made it. She rose to her feet paler than ever, but quite calm. +<br> +<br> +"Doctor," said she, "I have decided. It is horrible beyond words; +but I will do it, or any thing, for his sake. I would die to save +him; and this is something worse than death." +<br> +<br> +She was calm and cold; her voice seemed unnatural; her eyes were +tearless. +<br> +<br> +"It seems very hard," she murmured, after a pause; "I never saw +Captain Molyneux but once, and I was only ten years old." +<br> +<br> +"How old are you now?" asked the doctor, who knew not what to say to +this poor stricken heart. +<br> +<br> +"Fifteen." +<br> +<br> +"Poor child!" said he, compassionately; "the trials of life are +coming upon you early; but," he added, with a desperate effort at +condolence, "do not be so despairing; whatever may be the result, you +are, after all, in the path of duty; and that is the safest and the +best for us all in the end, however hard it may seem to be in the +present." +<br> +<br> +Just then the General's voice interrupted his little homily, sounding +querulously and impatiently: "Zillah! Zillah!" +<br> +<br> +She sprang to his bedside: "Here I am, dear papa." +<br> +<br> +"Will you do as I wish?" he asked, abruptly. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Zillah, with an effort at firmness which cost her dear. +Saying this, she kissed him; and the beam of pleasure which at this +word lighted up the wan face of the sick man touched Zillah to the +heart. She felt that, come what might, she had received her reward. +<br> +<br> +"My sweetest, dutiful child," said the General, tenderly; "you have +made me happy, my darling. Now get your desk and write for him at +once. You must not lose time, my child." +<br> +<br> +This unremitting pressure upon her gave Zillah a new struggle, but +the General exhibited such feverish impatience that she dared not +resist. So she went to a Davenport which stood in the corner of the +room, and saying, quietly, "I will write here, papa," she seated +herself, with her back toward him. +<br> +<br> +"Are you ready?" he asked. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, papa." +<br> +<br> +The General then began to dictate to her what she was to write. It +was as follows: +<br> +<br> +"MY DEAR OLD FRIEND,--I think it will cause you some grief to hear +that our long friendship is about to be broken up. My days, I fear, +are numbered." +<br> +<br> +Zillah stifled the sobs that choked her, and wrote bravely on: +<br> +<br> +"You know the sorrow which has blighted my life; and I feel that I +could go joyfully to my beloved, my deeply mourned wife, if I could +feel that I was leaving my child--her child and mine--happily +provided for. For this purpose I should like Guy, before he leaves +for India, to fulfill his promise, and, by marrying my daughter, give +me the comfort of knowing that I leave her in the hands of a husband +upon whom I can confidently rely." +<br> +<br> +But at this point Zillah's self-control gave way. She broke down +utterly, and, bowing her head in her hands on the desk, burst forth +into a passion of sobs. +<br> +<br> +The poor child could surely not be blamed. Her nature was impassioned +and undisciplined; from her birth every whim had been humored, and +her wildest fancies indulged to the utmost; and now suddenly upon +this petted idol, who had been always guarded so carefully from the +slightest disappointment, there descended the storm-cloud of sorrow, +and that too not gradually, but almost in one moment. Her love for +her father was a passion; and he was to be taken from her, and she +was to be given into the hands of entire strangers. The apparent +calmness, almost indifference, with which her father made these +arrangements, cut her to the quick. She was too young to know how +much of this eagerness was attributable entirely to disease. He +appeared to her as thinking of only his own wishes, and showing no +consideration whatever for her own crushing grief, and no +appreciation of the strength of her affection for him. The +self-sacrificing father had changed into the most selfish of men, who +had not one thought for her feelings. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Zillah!" cried her father, reproachfully, in answer to her last +outburst of grief. She rose and went to his bedside, struggling +violently with her emotion. +<br> +<br> +"I can not write this, dearest papa," she said, in a tremulous voice; +"I have promised to do just as you wish, and I will keep my word; but +indeed, indeed, I can not write this letter. Will it not do as well +if Hilda writes it?" +<br> +<br> +"To be sure, to be sure," said the General, who took no notice of her +distress. "Hilda will do it, and then my little girl can come and sit +beside her father." +<br> +<br> +Hilda was accordingly sent for. She glided noiselessly in and took +her place at the Davenport; while Zillah, sitting by her father, +buried her head in the bed-clothes, his feeble hands the while +playing nervously with the long, straggling locks of her hair which +scattered themselves over the bed. The letter was soon finished, for +it contained little more than what has already been given, except the +reiterated injunction that Guy should make all haste to reach Pomeroy +Court. It was then sent off to the post, to the great delight of the +General, whose mind became more wandering, now that the strain which +had been placed upon it was removed. +<br> +<br> +"Now," said he, in a flighty way, and with an eager impetuosity which +showed that his delirium had increased, "we must think of the +wedding--my darling must have a grand wedding," he murmured to +himself in a low whisper. +<br> +<br> +A shudder ran through Zillah as she sat by his side, but not a sound +escaped her. She looked up in terror. Had every ray of reason left +her father? Was she to sacrifice herself on so hideous an altar +without even the satisfaction of knowing that she had given him +pleasure? Then she thought that perhaps her father was living again +in the past, and confounding this fearful thing which he was planning +for her with his own joyous wedding. Tears flowed afresh, but +silently, at the thought of the contrast. Often had her ayah +delighted her childish imagination by her glowing descriptions of the +magnificence of that wedding, where the festivities had lasted for a +week, and the arrangements were all made on a scale of Oriental +splendor. She loved to descant upon the beauty of the bride, the +richness of her attire, the magnificence of her jewels, the grandeur +of the guests, the splendor of the whole display--until Zillah had +insensibly learned to think all this the necessary adjuncts of a +wedding, and had built many a day-dream about the pomp which should +surround hers, when the glorious knight whom the fairy tales had led +her to expect should come to claim her hand. But at this time it was +not the sacrifice of all this that was wringing her heart. She gave +it not even a sigh. It was rather the thought that this marriage, +which now seemed inevitable, was to take place here, while her heart +was wrung with anxiety on his account--here in this room--by that +bedside, which her fears told her might be a bed of death. There lay +her father, her only friend--the one for whom she would lay down her +life, and to soothe whose delirium she had consented to this +abhorrent sacrifice of herself. The marriage thus planned was to take +place thus; it was to be a hideous, a ghastly mockery--a frightful +violence to the solemnity of sorrow. She was not to be married--she +was to be sold. The circumstances of that old betrothal had never +been explained to her; but she knew that money was in some way +connected with it, and that she was virtually bought and sold like a +slave, without any will of her own. Such bitter thoughts as these +filled her mind as she sat there by her father's side. +<br> +<br> +Presently her father spoke again. "Have you any dresses, Zillah?" +<br> +<br> +"Plenty, papa." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, but I mean a wedding-dress--a fine new dress; white satin my +darling wore; how beautiful she looked! and a veil you must have, and +plenty of jewels--pearls and diamonds. My pet will be a lovely +bride." +<br> +<br> +Every one of these words was a stab, and Zillah was dumb; but her +father noticed nothing, of this. It was madness, but, like many cases +of madness, it was very coherent. +<br> +<br> +"Send for your ayah, dear," he continued; "I must talk to her--about +your wedding-dress." +<br> +<br> +Zillah rang the bell. As soon as the woman appeared the General +turned to her with his usual feverish manner. +<br> +<br> +"Nurse," said he, "Miss Pomeroy is to be married at once. You must +see--that she has every thing prepared--suitably--and of the very +best." +<br> +<br> +The ayah stood speechless with amazement. This feeling was increased +when Zillah said, in a cold monotone: +<br> +<br> +"Don't look surprised, nurse. It's quite true. I am to be married +within a day or two." +<br> +<br> +Her master's absurdities the ayah could account for on the ground of +delirium; but was "Little Missy" mad too? Perhaps sorrow had turned +her brain, she thought. At any rate, it would be best to humor them. +<br> +<br> +"Missy had a white silk down from London last week, Sir." +<br> +<br> +"Not satin? A wedding-dress should be of satin," said the General. +<br> +<br> +"It does not matter, so that it is all white," said the nurse, with +decision. +<br> +<br> +"Doesn't it? Very well," said the General. "But she must have a veil, +nurse, and plenty of jewels. She must look like my darling. You +remember, nurse, how she looked." +<br> +<br> +"Indeed I do, sahib, and you may leave all to me. I will see that +Missy is as fine and grand as any of them." +<br> +<br> +The ayah began already to feel excited, and to fall in with this wild +proposal. The very mention of dress had excited her Indian love of +finery. +<br> +<br> +"That is right," said the General; "attend to it all. Spare no +expense. Don't you go, my child," he continued, as Zillah rose and +walked shudderingly to the window. "I think I can sleep, now that my +mind is at ease. Stay by me, my darling child." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, papa, do you think I would leave you?" said Zillah, and she came +back to the bed. +<br> +<br> +The doctor, who had been waiting until the General should become a +little calmer, now administered an anodyne, and he fell asleep, his +hand clasped in Zillah's, while she, fearful of making the slightest +movement, sat motionless and despairing far into the night. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER X. +<br> +<br> +A WEDDING IN EXTREMIS. +<br> +<br> +Two days passed; on the second Guy Molyneux arrived. Lord Chetwynde +was ill, and could not travel. He sent a letter, however, full of +earnest and hopeful sympathy. He would not believe that things were +as bad as his old friend feared; the instant that he could leave he +would come up to Pomeroy Court; or if by God's providence the worst +should take place, he would instantly fetch Zillah to Chetwynde +Castle; and the General might rely upon it that, so far as love and +tenderness could supply a father's place, she should not feel her +loss. +<br> +<br> +On Guy's arrival he was shown into the library. Luncheon was laid +there, and the housekeeper apologized for Miss Pomeroy's absence. +Guy took a chair and waited for a while, meditating on the time when +he had last seen the girl who in a short time was to be tied to him +for life. The event was excessively repugnant to him, even though he +did not at all realize its full importance; and he would have given +any thing to get out of it; but his father's command was sacred, and +for years he had been bound by his father's word. Escape was utterly +impossible. The entrance of the clergyman, who seemed more intent on +the luncheon than any thing else, did not lessen Guy's feelings of +repugnance. He said but little, and sank into a fit of abstraction, +from which he was roused by a message that the General would like to +see him. He hurried up stairs. +<br> +<br> +The General smiled faintly, and greeted him with as much warmth as +his weak and prostrated condition would allow. +<br> +<br> +"Guy, my boy," said he, feebly, "I am very glad to see you." +<br> +<br> +To Guy the General seemed like a doomed man, and the discovery gave +him a great shock, for he had scarcely anticipated any thing so bad +as this. In spite of this, however, he expressed a hope that the +General might yet recover, and be spared many years to them. +<br> +<br> +"No," said the General, sadly and wearily; "no; my days are numbered. +I must die, my boy; but I shall die in peace, if I feel that I do not +leave my child uncared for." +<br> +<br> +Guy, in spite of his dislike and repugnance, felt deeply moved. +<br> +<br> +"You need have no fear of that, Sir," he went on to say, in solemn, +measured tones. "I solemnly promise you that no unhappiness shall +ever reach her if I can help it. To the end of my life I will try to +requite to her the kindness that you have shown to us. My father +feels as I do, and he begged me to assure you, if he is not able to +see you again, as he hopes to do, that the instant your daughter +needs his care he will himself take her to Chetwynde Castle, and will +watch over her with the same care and affection that you yourself +would bestow; and she shall leave his home only for mine." +<br> +<br> +The General pressed his hand feebly. "God bless you!" he said, in a +faint voice. +<br> +<br> +Suddenly a low sob broke the silence which followed. Turning hastily, +Guy saw in the dim twilight of the sick-room what he had not before +observed. It was a girl's figure crouching at the foot of the bed, +her head buried in the clothes. He looked at her--his heart told him +who it was--but he knew not what to say. +<br> +<br> +The General also had heard that sob. It raised no pity and compassion +in him; it was simply some new stimulus to the one idea of his +distempered brain. "What, Zillah!" he said, in surprise. "You here +yet? I thought you had gone to get ready." +<br> +<br> +Still the kneeling figure did not move. +<br> +<br> +"Zillah," said the General, querulously, and with an excitement in +his feeble voice which showed how readily he might lapse into +complete delirium--"Zillah, my child, be quick. There is no time to +lose. Go and get ready for your wedding. Don't you hear me? Go and +dress yourself." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, papa!" moaned Zillah, in a voice which pierced to the inmost +heart of Guy, "will it not do as I am? Do not ask me to put on finery +at a time like this." Her voice was one of utter anguish and despair. +<br> +<br> +"A time like this?" said the General, rousing himself +somewhat--"what do you mean, child? Does not the Bible say, Like as a +bride adorneth herself--for her husband--and ever shall be--world +without end--amen--yes--white satin and pearls, my child--oh +yes--white pearls and satin--we are all ready--where are you, my +darling?" Another sob was the only reply to this incoherent speech. +Guy stood as if petrified. In his journey here he had simply tried to +muster up his own resolution, and to fortify his own heart. He had +not given one thought to this poor despairing child. Her sorrow, her +anguish, her despair, now went to his heart. Yet he knew not what to +do. How gladly he would have made his escape from this horrible +mockery--for her sake as well as for his own! But for such escape he +saw plainly there was no possibility. That delirious mind, in its +frenzy, was too intent upon its one purpose to admit of this. He +himself also felt a strange and painful sense of guilt. Was not he to +a great extent the cause of this, though the unwilling cause? Ah! he +thought, remorsefully, can wrong be right? and can any thing justify +such a desecration as this both of marriage and of death? At that +moment Chetwynde faded away, and to have saved it was as nothing. +Willingly would he have given up every thing if he could now have +said to this poor child--who thus crouched down, crushed by a woman's +sorrow before she had known a woman's years--"Farewell. You are free. +I will give you a brother's love and claim nothing in return. I will +give back all, and go forth penniless into the battle of life." +<br> +<br> +But the General again interrupted them, speaking impatiently: "What +are you waiting for? Is not Zillah getting ready?" +<br> +<br> +Guy scarcely knew what he was doing; but, obeying the instincts of +his pity, he bent down and whispered to Zillah, "My poor child, I +pity you, and sympathize with you more than words can tell. It is an +awful thing for you. But can you not rouse yourself? Perhaps it would +calm your father. He is getting too excited." +<br> +<br> +Zillah shrunk away as though he were pollution, and Guy at this +resumed his former place in sadness and in desperation, with no other +idea than to wait for the end. +<br> +<br> +"Zillah! Zillah!" cried the General, almost fiercely. +<br> +<br> +At this Zillah sprang up, and rushed out of the room. She hurried up +stairs, and found the ayah in her dressing-room with Hilda. In the +next room her white silk was laid out, her wreath and veil beside it. +<br> +<br> +"Here's my jewel come to be dressed in her wedding-dress," said the +ayah, joyously. +<br> +<br> +"Be quiet!" cried Zillah, passionately. "Don't dare to say any thing +like that to me; and you may put all that trash away, for I'm not +going to be married at all. I can't do it, and I won't. I hate him! I +hate him! I hate him! I hate him!" +<br> +<br> +These words she hissed out with the venom of a serpent. Her +attendants tried remonstrance, but in vain. Hilda pointed out to her +the handsome dress, but with no greater success. Vainly they tried to +plead, to coax, and to persuade. All this only seemed to strengthen +her determination. At last she threw herself upon the floor, like a +passionate child, in a paroxysm of rage and grief. +<br> +<br> +The unwonted self-control which for the last few days she had imposed +upon herself now told upon her in the violence of the reaction which +had set in. When once she had allowed the barriers to be broken down, +all else gave way to the onset of passion; and the presence and +remonstrances of the ayah and Hilda only made it worse. She forgot +utterly her father's condition; she showed herself now as selfish in +her passion as he had shown himself in his delirium. Nothing could be +done to stop her. The others, familiar with these outbreaks, retired +to the adjoining room and waited. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile the others were waiting also in the room below. The doctor +was there, and sat by his patient, exerting all his art to soothe him +and curb his eagerness. The General refused some medicine which he +offered, and declared with passion that he would take nothing +whatever till the wedding was over. To have used force would have +been fatal; and so the doctor had to humor his patient. The family +solicitor was there with the marriage settlements, which had been +prepared in great haste. Guy and the clergyman sat apart in +thoughtful silence. +<br> +<br> +Half an hour passed, and Zillah did not appear. On the General's +asking for her the clergyman hazarded a remark intended to be +pleasant, about ladies on such occasions needing some time to adorn +themselves--a little out of place under the circumstances, but it +fortunately fell in with the sick man's humor, and satisfied him for +the moment. +<br> +<br> +Three-quarters of an hour passed. "Surely she must be ready now," +said the General, who grew more excited and irritable every moment. A +messenger was thereupon dispatched for her, but she found the door +bolted, and amidst the outcry and confusion in the room could only +distinguish that Miss Pomeroy was not ready. This message she +delivered without entering into particulars. +<br> +<br> +An hour passed, and another messenger went, with the same result. It +then became impossible to soothe the General any longer. Guy also +grew impatient, for he had to leave by that evening's train; and if +the thing had to be it must be done soon. He began to hope that it +might be postponed--that Zillah might not come--and then he would +have to leave the thing unfinished. But then he thought of his +father's command, and the General's desire--of his own promise--of +the fact that it must be done--of the danger to the General if it +were not done. Between these conflicting feelings--his desire to +escape, and his desire to fulfill what he considered his +obligations--his brain grew confused, and he sat there impatient for +the end--to see what it might turn out to be. +<br> +<br> +Another quarter of an hour passed. The General's excitement grew +worse, and was deepening into frenzy. Dr. Cowell looked more and more +anxious, and at last, shrewdly suspecting the cause of the delay, +determined himself to go and take it in hand. He accordingly left his +patient, and was just crossing the room, when his progress was +arrested by the General's springing up with a kind of convulsive +start, and jumping out of bed, declaring wildly and incoherently that +something must be wrong, and that he himself would go and bring +Zillah. The doctor had to turn again to his patient. The effort was a +spasmodic one, and the General was soon put back again to bed, where +he lay groaning and panting; while the doctor, finding that he could +not leave him even for an instant, looked around for some one to send +in his place. Who could it be? Neither the lawyer nor the clergyman +seemed suitable. There was no one left but Guy, who seemed to the +doctor, from his face and manner, to be capable of dealing with any +difficulty. So he called Guy to him, and hurriedly whispered to him +the state of things. +<br> +<br> +"If the General has to wait any longer, he will die," said the +doctor. "_You'll_ have to go and bring her. You're the only person. +You _must_. Tell her that her father has already had one fit, and +that every moment destroys his last chance of life. She must either +decide to come at once, or else sacrifice him." +<br> +<br> +He then rang the bell, and ordered the servant to lead Captain +Molyneux to Miss Pomeroy. Guy was thus forced to be an actor where +his highest desire was to be passive. There was no alternative. In +that moment all his future was involved. He saw it; he knew it; but +he did not shrink. Honor bound him to this marriage, hateful as it +was. The other actor in the scene detested it as much as he did, but +there was no help for it. Could he sit passive and let the General +die? The marriage, after all, he thought, had to come off; it was +terrible to have it now; but then the last chance of the General's +life was dependent upon this marriage. What could he do? +<br> +<br> +What? A rapid survey of his whole situation decided him. He would +perform what he considered his vow. He would do his part toward +saving the General's life, though that part was so hard. He was calm, +therefore, and self-possessed, as the servant entered and led the way +to Zillah's apartments. The servant on receiving the order grinned in +spite of the solemnity of the occasion. He had a pretty clear idea of +the state of things; he was well accustomed to what was styled, in +the servants' hall, "Missy's tantrums;" and he wondered to himself +how Guy would ever manage her. He was too good a servant, however, to +let his feelings be seen, and so he led the way demurely, and +knocking at Zillah's door, announced: +<br> +<br> +"Captain Molyneux." +<br> +<br> +The door was at once opened by the ayah. +<br> +<br> +At that instant Zillah sprang to her feet and looked at him in a fury +of passion. "_You_!" she cried, with indescribable malignancy. +"_You_! _You_ here! How dare _you_ come here? Go down stairs this +instant! If it is my money you want, take it all and begone. I will +never, never, never, marry you!" +<br> +<br> +For a moment Guy was overcome. The taunt was certainly horrible. He +turned pale, but soon regained his self-possession. +<br> +<br> +"Miss Pomeroy," said he, quietly, yet earnestly, "this is not the +time for a scene. Your father is in the utmost danger. He has waited +for an hour and a quarter. He is getting worse every moment. He made +one attempt to get out of bed, and come for you himself. The doctor +ordered me to come, and that is why I am here." +<br> +<br> +"I don't believe you!" screamed Zillah. "You are trying to frighten +me." +<br> +<br> +"I have nothing to say," replied Guy, mournfully. "Your father is +rapidly getting into a state of frenzy. If it lasts much longer he +will die." +<br> +<br> +Guy's words penetrated to Zillah's inmost soul. A wild fear arose, +which in a moment chased away the fury which had possessed her. Her +face changed. She struck her hands against her brow, and uttered an +exclamation of terror. +<br> +<br> +"Tell him--tell him--I'm coming. Make haste," she moaned. "I'll be +down immediately. Oh, make haste!" +<br> +<br> +She hurried back, and Guy went down stairs again, where he waited at +the bottom with his soul in a strange tumult, and his heart on fire. +Why was it that he had been sold for all this--he and that wretched +child? +<br> +<br> +But now Zillah was all changed. Now she was as excited in her haste +to go down stairs as she had before been anxious to avoid it. She +rushed back to the bedroom where Hilda was, who, though unseen, had +heard every thing, and, foreseeing what the end might be, was now +getting things ready. +<br> +<br> +"Be quick, Hilda!" she gasped. "Papa is dying! Oh, be quick--be +quick! Let me save him!" +<br> +<br> +She literally tore off the dress that she had on, and in less than +five minutes she was dressed. She would not stop for Hilda to arrange +her wreath, and was rushing down stairs without her veil, when the +ayah ran after her with it. +<br> +<br> +"You are leaving your luck, Missy darling," said she. +<br> +<br> +"Ay--that I am," said Zillah, bitterly. +<br> +<br> +"But you will put it on, Missy," pleaded the ayah. "Sahib has talked +so much about it." +<br> +<br> +Zillah stopped. The ayah threw it over her, and enveloped her in its +soft folds. +<br> +<br> +"It was your mother's veil, Missy," she added. "Give me a kiss for +her sake before you go." +<br> +<br> +Zillah flung her arms around the old woman's neck. +<br> +<br> +"Hush, hush!" she said. "Do not make me give way again, or I can +never do it." +<br> +<br> +At the foot of the stairs Guy was waiting, and they entered the room +solemnly together--these two victims--each summoning up all that +Honor and Duty might supply to assist in what each felt to be a +sacrifice of all life and happiness. But to Zillah the sacrifice was +worse, the task was harder, and the ordeal more dreadful. For it was +her father, not Guy's, who lay there, with a face that already seemed +to have the touch of death; it was she who felt to its fullest extent +the ghastliness of this hideous mockery. +<br> +<br> +But the General, whose eyes were turned eagerly toward the door, +found in this scene nothing but joy. In his frenzy he regarded them +as blessed and happy, and felt this to be the full realization of his +highest hopes. +<br> +<br> +"Ah!" he said, with a long gasp; "here she is at last. Let us begin +at once." +<br> +<br> +So the little group formed itself around the bed, the ayah and Hilda +being present in the back-ground. +<br> +<br> +In a low voice the clergyman began the marriage service. Far more +solemn and impressive did it sound now than when heard under +circumstances of gayety and splendor; and as the words sank into +Guy's soul, he reproached himself more than ever for never having +considered the meaning of the act to which he had so thoughtlessly +pledged himself. +<br> +<br> +The General had now grown calm. He lay perfectly motionless, gazing +wistfully at his daughter's face. So quiet was he, and so fixed was +his gaze, that they thought he had sunk into some abstracted fit; but +when the clergyman, with some hesitation, asked the question, +<br> +<br> +"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" the General +instantly responded, in a firm voice, "I do." Then reaching forth, he +took Zillah's hand, and instead of giving it to the clergyman, he +himself placed it within Guy's, and for a moment held both hands in +his, while he seemed to be praying for a blessing to rest on their +union. +<br> +<br> +The service proceeded. Solemnly the priest uttered the warning: +"Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder." +Solemnly, too, he pronounced the benediction--"May ye so live +together in this life that in the world to come ye shall have life +everlasting." +<br> +<br> +And so, for better or worse, Guy Molyneux and Zillah Pomeroy rose +up--_man and wife_! +<br> +<br> +After the marriage ceremony was over the clergyman administered the +Holy Communion--all who were present partaking with the General; and +solemn indeed was the thought that filled the mind of each, that ere +long, perhaps, one of their number might be--not figuratively, but +literally--"with angels and archangels, and all the company of +heaven." +<br> +<br> +After this was all over the doctor gave the General a soothing +draught. He was quite calm now; he took it without objection; and it +had the effect of throwing him soon into a quiet sleep. The clergyman +and the lawyer now departed; and the doctor, motioning to Guy and +Zillah to leave the room, took his place, with an anxious +countenance, by the General's bedside. The husband and wife went into +the adjoining room, from which they could hear the deep breathing of +the sick man. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/40.png" alt="The Clergyman Began The Marriage Service."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "The Clergyman Began The Marriage Service."] +<br> +<br> +It was an awkward moment. Guy had to depart in a short time. That +sullen stolid girl who now sat before him, black and gloomy as a +thunder-cloud, was _his wife_. He was going away, perhaps forever. He +did not know exactly how to treat her; whether with indifference as a +willful child, or compassionate attention as one deeply afflicted. On +the whole he felt deeply for her, in spite of his own forebodings of +his future; and so he followed the more generous dictates of his +heart. Her utter loneliness, and the thought that her father might +soon be taken away, touched him deeply; and this feeling was evident +in his whole manner as he spoke. +<br> +<br> +"Zillah," said he, "our regiment sails for India several days sooner +than I first expected, and it is necessary for me to leave in a short +time. You, of course, are to remain with your father, and I hope that +he may soon be restored to you. Let me assure you that this whole +scene has been, under the circumstances, most painful, for your sake, +for I have felt keenly that I was the innocent cause of great sorrow +to you." +<br> +<br> +He spoke to her calmly, and as a father would to a child, and at the +same time reached out his hand to take hers. She snatched it away +quickly. +<br> +<br> +"Captain Molyneux," said she, coldly, "I married you solely to please +my father, and because he was not in a state to have his wishes +opposed. It was a sacrifice of myself, and a bitter one. As to you, I +put no trust in you, and take no interest whatever in your plans. But +there is one thing which I wish you to tell me. What did papa mean by +saying to the doctor, that if I did not marry you I should lose +one-half of my fortune?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah's manner at once chilled all the warm feelings of pity and +generosity which Guy had begun to feel. Her question also was an +embarrassing one. He had hoped that the explanation might come later, +and from his father. It was an awkward one for him to make. But +Zillah was looking at him impatiently. +<br> +<br> +"Surely," she continued in a stern voice as she noticed his +hesitation, "that is a question which I have a right to ask." +<br> +<br> +"Of course," said Guy, hastily. "I will tell you. It was because more +than half your fortune was taken to pay off the debt on Chetwynde +Castle." +<br> +<br> +A deep, angry, crimson flush passed over Zillah's face. +<br> +<br> +"So that is the reason why I have been sold?" she cried, impetuously. +"Well, Sir, your manoeuvring has succeeded nobly. Let me congratulate +you. You have taken in a guileless old man, and a young girl." +<br> +<br> +Guy looked at her for a moment in fierce indignation. But with a +great effort he subdued it, and answered, as calmly as possible: +<br> +<br> +"You do not know either my father or myself, or you would be +convinced that such language could not apply to either of us. The +proposal originally emanated entirely from General Pomeroy." +<br> +<br> +"Ah?" said Zilla, fiercely. "But you were base enough to take +advantage of his generosity and his love for his old friend. Oh!" she +cried, bursting into tears, "that is what I feel, that he could +sacrifice me, who loved him so, for your sakes. I honestly believed +once that it was his anxiety to find me a protector." +<br> +<br> +Guy's face had grown very pale. +<br> +<br> +"And so it was," he said, in a voice which was deep and tremulous +from his strong effort at self-control. "He trusted my father, and +trusted me, and wished to protect you from unprincipled +fortune-hunters." +<br> +<br> +"_Fortune-hunters_!" cried Zillah, her face flushed, and with +accents of indescribable scorn. "Good Heavens! What are _you_ if you +are not this very thing? Oh, how I hate you! how I hate you!" +<br> +<br> +Guy looked at her, and for a moment was on the point of answering her +in the same fashion, and pouring out all his scorn and contempt. But +again he restrained himself. +<br> +<br> +"You are excited," he said, coolly. "One of these days you will find +out your mistake. You will learn, as you grow older, that the name of +Chetwynde can not be coupled with charges like these. In the mean +time allow me to advise you not to be quite so free in your language +when you are addressing honorable gentlemen; and to suggest that your +father, who loved you better than any one in the world, may possibly +have had _some_ cause for the confidence which he felt in us." +<br> +<br> +There was a coolness in Guy's tone which showed that he did not think +it worth while to be angry with her, or to resent her insults. But +Zillah did not notice this. She went on as before: +<br> +<br> +"There is one thing which I will never forgive." +<br> +<br> +"Indeed? Well, your forgiveness is so very important that I should +like to know what it is that prevents me from gaining it." +<br> +<br> +"The way in which I have been deceived!" burst forth Zillah, +fiercely, "if papa had wished to give you half of his money, or all +of it, I should not have cared a bit. I do not care for that at all. +But why did nobody tell me the truth? Why was I told that it was out +of regard to _me_ that this horror, this frightful mockery of +marriage, was forced upon me, while my heart was breaking with +anxiety about my father; when to you I was only a necessary evil, +without which you could not hope to get my father's money; and the +only good I can possibly have is the future privilege of living in a +place whose very name I loathe, with the man who has cheated me, and +whom all my life I shall hate and abhor? Now go! and I pray God I may +never see you again." +<br> +<br> +With these words, and without waiting for a reply, she left the room, +leaving Guy in a state of mind by no means enviable. +<br> +<br> +He stood staring after her. "And that thing is mine for life!" he +thought; "that she-devil! utterly destitute of sense and of reason! +Oh, Chetwynde, Chetwynde! you have cost me dear. See you again, my +fiend of a wife! I hope not. No, never while I live. Some of these +days I'll give you back your sixty thousand with interest. And you, +why you may go to the devil forever!" +<br> +<br> +Half an hour afterward Guy was seated in the dog-cart bowling to the +station as fast as two thorough-breds could take him; every moment +congratulating himself on the increasing distance which was +separating him from his bride of an hour. +<br> +<br> +The doctor watched all that night. On the following morning the +General was senseless. On the next day he died. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XI. +<br> +<br> +A NEW HOME. +<br> +<br> +Dearly had Zillah paid for that frenzy of her dying father; and the +consciousness that her whole life was now made over irrevocably to +another, brought to her a pang so acute that it counterbalanced the +grief which she felt for her father's death. Fierce anger and bitter +indignation nation struggled with the sorrow of bereavement, and +sometimes, in her blind rage, she even went so far as to reproach her +father's memory. On all who had taken part in that fateful ceremony +she looked with vengeful feelings. She thought, and there was reason +in the thought, that they might have satisfied his mind without +binding her. They could have humored his delirium without forfeiting +her liberty. They could have had a mock priest, who might have read a +service which would have had no authority, and imposed vows which +would not be binding. On Guy she looked with the deepest scorn, for +she believed that he was the chief offender, and that if he had been +a man of honor he might have found many ways to avoid this thing. +Possibly Guy as he drove off was thinking the same, and cursing his +dull wit for not doing something to delay the ceremony or make it +void. But to both it was now too late. +<br> +<br> +The General's death took place too soon for Zillah. Had he lived she +might have been spared long sorrows. Had it not been for this, and +his frantic haste in forcing on a marriage, her early betrothal might +have had different results. Guy would have gone to India. He would +have remained there for years, and then have come home. On his return +he might possibly have won her love, and then they could have settled +down harmoniously in the usual fashion. But now she found herself +thrust upon him, and the very thought of him was a horror. Never +could the remembrance of that hideous mockery at the bedside of one +so dear, who was passing away forever, leave her mind. All the +solemnities of death had been outraged, and all her memories of the +dying hours of her best friend were forever associated with +bitterness and shame. +<br> +<br> +For some time after her father's death she gave herself up to the +motions of her wild and ungovernable temper. Alternations of savage +fury and mute despair succeeded to one another. To one like her there +was no relief from either mood; and, in addition to this, there was +the prospect of the arrival of Lord Chetwynde. The thought of this +filled her with such a passion of anger that she began to meditate +flight. She mentioned this to Hilda, with the idea that of course +Hilda would go with her. +<br> +<br> +Hilda listened in her usual quiet way, and with a great appearance of +sympathy. She assented to it, and quite appreciated Zillah's +position. But she suggested that it might be difficult to carry out +such a plan without money. +<br> +<br> +"Money!" said Zillah, in astonishment. "Why, have I not plenty of +money? All is mine now surely." +<br> +<br> +"Very likely," said Hilda, coolly; "but how do you propose to get it? +You know the lawyer has all the papers, and every thing else under +lock and key till Lord Chetwynde comes, and the will is read; +besides, dear," she added with a soft smile, "you forget that a +married woman can not possess property. Our charming English law +gives her no rights. All that you nominally possess in reality +belongs to your husband." +<br> +<br> +At this hated word "husband," Zillah's eyes flashed. She clenched her +hands, and ground her teeth in rage. +<br> +<br> +"Be quiet!" she cried, in a voice which was scarce audible from +passion. "Can you not let me forget my shame and disgrace for one +moment? Why must you thrust it in my face?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda's little suggestion thus brought full before Zillah's mind one +galling yet undeniable truth, which showed her an insurmountable +obstacle in the way of her plan. To one utterly unaccustomed to +control of any kind, the thought added fresh rage, and she now sought +refuge in thinking how she could best encounter her new enemy, Lord +Chetwynde, and what she might say to show how she scorned him and his +son. She succeeded in arranging a very promising plan of action, and +made up many very bitter and insulting speeches, out of which she +selected one which seemed to be the most cutting, galling, and +insulting which she could think of. It was very nearly the same +language which she had used to Guy, and the same taunts were repeated +in a somewhat more pointed manner. +<br> +<br> +At length Lord Chetwynde arrived, and Zillah, after refusing to see +him for two days, went down. She entered the drawing-room, her heart +on fire, and her brain seething with bitter words, and looked up to +see her enemy. That enemy, however, was an old man whose sight was +too dim to see the malignant glance of her dark eyes, and the fierce +passion of her face. Knowing that she was coming, he was awaiting +her, and Zillah on looking up saw him. That first sight at once +quelled her fury. She saw a noble and refined face, whereon there was +an expression of tenderest sympathy. Before she could recover from +the shock which the sight of such a face had given to her passion he +had advanced rapidly toward her, took her in his arms, and kissed her +tenderly. +<br> +<br> +"My poor child," he said, in a voice of indescribable sweetness--"my +poor orphan child, I can not tell how I feel for you; but you belong +to me now. I will try to be another father." +<br> +<br> +The tones of his voice were so full of affection that Zillah, who was +always sensitive to the power of love and kindness, was instantly +softened and subdued. Before the touch of that kiss of love and those +words of tenderness every emotion of anger fled away; her passion +subsided; she forgot all her vengeance, and, taking his hand in both +of hers, she burst into tears. +<br> +<br> +The Earl gently led her to a seat. In a low voice full of the same +tender affection he began to talk of her father, of their old +friendship in the long-vanished youth, of her father's noble nature, +and self-sacrificing character; till his fond eulogies of his dead +friend awakened in Zillah, even amidst her grief for the dead, a +thousand reminiscences of his character when alive, and she began to +feel that one who so knew and loved her father must himself have been +most worthy to be her father's friend. +<br> +<br> +It was thus that her first interview with the Earl dispelled her +vindictive passion. At once she began to look upon him as the one who +was best adapted to fill her father's place, if that place could ever +be filled. The more she saw of him, the more her new-born affection +for him strengthened, and during the week which he spent at Pomeroy +Court she had become so greatly changed that she looked back to her +old feelings of hate with mournful wonder. +<br> +<br> +In due time the General's will was read. It was very simple: Thirty +thousand pounds were left to Zillah. To Hilda three thousand pounds +were left as a tribute of affection to one who had been to him, as he +said, "like a daughter." +<br> +<br> +Hilda he recommended most earnestly to the care and affection of Lord +Chetwynde, and desired that she and Zillah should never be separated +unless they themselves desired it. To that last request of his dying +friend Lord Chetwynde proved faithful. He addressed Hilda with +kindness and affection, expressed sympathy with her in the loss of +her benefactor, and promised to do all in his power to make good the +loss which she had suffered in his death. She and Zillah, he told +her, might live as sisters in Chetwynde Castle. Perhaps the time +might come when their grief would be alleviated, and then they would +both learn to look upon him with something of that affection which +they had felt for General Pomeroy. +<br> +<br> +When Hilda and Zillah went with the Earl to Chetwynde Castle there +was one other who was invited there, and who afterward followed. This +was Gualtier. Hilda had recommended him; and as the Earl was very +anxious that Zillah should not grow up to womanhood without further +education, he caught at the idea which Hilda had thrown out. So +before leaving he sought out Gualtier, and proposed that he should +continue his instructions at Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"You can live very well in the village," said the Earl. "There are +families there with whom you can lodge comfortably. Mrs. Molyneux is +acquainted with you and your style of teaching, and therefore I would +prefer you to any other." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier bowed so low that the flush of pleasure which came over his +sallow face, and his smile of ill-concealed triumph, could not be +seen. +<br> +<br> +"You are too kind, my lord," he said, obsequiously. "I have always +done my best in my instructions, and will humbly endeavor to do so in +the future." +<br> +<br> +So Gualtier followed them, and arrived at Chetwynde a short time +after them, bearing with him his power, or perhaps his fate, to +influence Zillah's fortunes and future. +<br> +<br> +Chetwynde Castle had experienced some changes during these years. The +old butler had been gathered to his fathers, but Mrs. Hart still +remained. The Castle itself and the grounds had changed wonderfully +for the better. It had lost that air of neglect, decay, and ruin +which had formerly been its chief characteristic. It was no longer +poverty-stricken. It arose, with its antique towers and venerable +ivy-grown walls, exhibiting in its outline all that age possesses of +dignity, without any of the meanness of neglect. It seemed like one +of the noblest remains which England possessed of the monuments of +feudal times. The first sight of it elicited a cry of admiration from +Zillah; and she found not the least of its attractions in the figure +of the old Earl--himself a monument of the past--whose figure, as he +stood on the steps to welcome them, formed a fore-ground which an +artist would have loved to portray. +<br> +<br> +Around the Castle all had changed. What had once been little better +than a wilderness was now a wide and well-kept park. The rose +pleasaunce had been restored to its pristine glory. The lawns were +smooth-shaven and glowing in their rich emerald-green. The lakes and +ponds were no longer overgrown with dank rushes; but had been +reclaimed from being little better than marshes into bright expanses +of clear water, where fish swam and swans loved to sport. Long +avenues and cool, shadowy walks wound far away through the groves; +and the stately oaks and elms around the Castle had lost that ghostly +and gloomy air which had once been spread about them. +<br> +<br> +Within the Castle every thing had undergone a corresponding change. +There was no attempt at modern splendor, no effort to rival the +luxuries of the wealthier lords of England. The Earl had been content +with arresting the progress of decay, and adding to the restoration +of the interior some general air of modern comfort. Within, the scene +corresponded finely to that which lay without; and the medieval +character of the interior made it attractive to Zillah's peculiar +taste. +<br> +<br> +The white-faced, mysterious-looking housekeeper, as she looked sadly +and wistfully at the new-comers, and asked in a tremulous voice which +was Guy's wife, formed for Zillah a striking incident in the arrival. +To her Zillah at once took a strong liking, and Mrs. Hart seemed to +form one equally strong for her. From the very first her affection +for Zillah was very manifest, and as the days passed it increased. +She seemed to cling to the young girl as though her loving nature +needed something on which to expend its love; as though there was a +maternal instinct which craved to be satisfied, and sought such +satisfaction in her. Zillah returned her tender affection with a +fondness which would have satisfied the most exigeant nature. She +herself had never known the sweetness of a mother's care, and it +seemed as though she had suddenly found out all this. The discovery +was delightful to so affectionate a nature as hers; and her +enthusiastic disposition made her devotion to Mrs. Hart more marked. +She often wondered to herself why Mrs. Hart had "taken such a fancy" +to her. And so did the other members of the household. Perhaps it was +because she was the wife of Guy, who was so dear to the heart of his +affectionate old nurse. Perhaps it was something in Zillah herself +which attracted Mrs. Hart, and made her seek in her one who might +fill Guy's place. +<br> +<br> +Time passed away, and Gualtier arrived, in accordance with the Earl's +request. Zillah had supposed that she was now free forever from all +teachers and lessons, and it was with some dismay that she heard of +Gualtier's arrival. She said nothing, however, but prepared to go +through the form of taking lessons in music and drawing as before. +She had begun already to have a certain instinct of obedience toward +the Earl, and felt desirous to gratify his wishes. But whatever +changes of feeling she had experienced toward her new guardian, she +showed no change of manner toward Gualtier. To her, application to +any thing was a thing as irksome as ever. Perhaps her fitful efforts +to advance were more frequent; but after each effort she used +invariably to relapse into idleness and tedium. +<br> +<br> +Her manner troubled Gualtier as little as ever. He let her have her +own way quite in the old style. Hilda, as before, was always present +at these instructions; and after the hour devoted to Zillah had +expired she had lessons of her own. But Gualtier remarked that, for +some reason or other, a great change had come over her. Her attitude +toward him had relapsed into one of reticence and reserve. The +approaches to confidence and familiarity which she had formerly made +seemed now to be completely forgotten by her. The stealthy +conversations in which they used to indulge were not renewed. Her +manner was such that he did not venture to enter upon his former +footing. True, Zillah was always in the room now, and did not leave +so often as she used to do, but still there were times when they were +alone; yet on these occasions Hilda showed no desire to return to +that intimacy which they had once known in their private interviews. +<br> +<br><img src="images/44.png" alt="The White-Faced, Mysterious-Looking Housekeeper Asked In A Tremulous Voice Which was Guy's Wife."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "The White-Faced, Mysterious-Looking Housekeeper Asked +In A Tremulous Voice Which was Guy's Wife."] +<br> +<br> +This new state of things Gualtier bore meekly and patiently. He was +either too respectful or too cunning to make any advances himself. +Perhaps he had a deep conviction that Hilda's changed manner was but +temporary, and that the purpose which she had once revealed might +still be cherished in her heart. True, the General's death had +changed the aspect of affairs; but he had his reasons for believing +that it could not altogether destroy her plans. He had a deep +conviction that the time would come one day when he would know what +was on her mind. He was patient. He could wait. So the time went on. +<br> +<br> +As the time passed the life at Chetwynde Castle became more and more +grateful to Zillah. Naturally affectionate, her heart had softened +under its new trials and experiences, and there was full chance for +the growth of those kindly and generous emotions which, after all, +were most natural and congenial to her. In addition to her own +affection for the Earl and for Mrs. Hart, she found a constraint on +her here which she had not known while living the life of a spoiled +and indulged child in her own former home. The sorrow through which +she had passed had made her less childish. The Earl began in reality +to seem to her like a second father, one whom she could both revere +and love. +<br> +<br> +Very soon after her first acquaintance with him she found out that by +no possibility could he be a party to any thing dishonorable. Finding +thus that her first suspicions were utterly unfounded, she began to +think it possible that her marriage, though odious in itself, had +been planned with a good intent. To think Lord Chetwynde mercenary +was impossible. His character was so high-toned, and even so +punctilious in its regard to nice points of honor, that he was not +even worldly wise. With the mode in which her marriage had been +finally carried out he had clearly nothing whatever to do. Of all her +suspicions, her anger against an innocent and noble-minded man, and +her treatment of him on his first visit to Pomeroy Court, she now +felt thoroughly ashamed. She longed to tell him all about it--to +explain why it was that she had felt so and done so--and waited for +some favorable opportunity for making her confession. +<br> +<br> +At length an opportunity occurred. One day the Earl was speaking of +her father, and he told Zillah about his return to England, and his +visit to Chetwynde Castle; and finally told how the whole arrangement +had been made between them by which she had become Guy's wife. He +spoke with such deep affection about General Pomeroy, and so +feelingly of his intense love for his daughter, that at last Zillah +began to understand perfectly the motives of the actors in this +matter. She saw that in the whole affair, from first to last, there +was nothing but the fondest thought of herself, and that the very +money itself, which she used to think had "purchased her," was in +some sort an investment for her own benefit in the future. As the +whole truth flashed suddenly into Zillah's mind she saw now most +clearly not only how deeply she had wronged Lord Chetwynde, but +also--and now for the first time--how foully she had insulted Guy by +her malignant accusations. To a generous nature like hers the shock +of this discovery was intensely painful. Tears started to her eyes, +she twined her arms around Lord Chetwynde's neck, and told him the +whole story, not excepting a single word of all that she had said to +Guy. +<br> +<br> +"And I told him," she concluded, "all this--I said that he was a mean +fortune-hunter; and that you had cheated papa out of his money; and +that I hated him--and oh! will you ever forgive me?" +<br> +<br> +This was altogether a new and unexpected disclosure to the Earl, and +he listened to Zillah in unfeigned astonishment. Guy had told him +nothing beyond the fact communicated in a letter--that "whatever his +future wife might be remarkable for, he did not think that amiability +was her forte." But all this revelation, unexpected though it was, +excited no feeling of resentment in his mind. +<br> +<br> +"My child," said he, tenderly, though somewhat sadly, "you certainly +behaved very ill. Of course you could not know us; but surely you +might have trusted your father's love and wisdom. But, after all, +there were a good many excuses for you, my poor little girl--so I +pity you very much indeed--it was a terrible ordeal for one so young. +I can understand more than you have cared to tell me." +<br> +<br> +"Ah, how kind, how good you are!" said Zillah, who had anticipated +some reproaches. "But I'll never forgive myself for doing you such +injustice." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, as to that," said Lord Chetwynde; "if you feel that you have +done any injustice, there is one way that I can tell you of by which +you can make full reparation. Will you try to make it, my little +girl?" +<br> +<br> +"What do you want me to do?" asked Zillah, hesitatingly, not wishing +to compromise herself. The first thought which she had was that he +was going to ask her to apologize to Guy--a thing which she would by +no means care about doing, even in her most penitent mood. Lord +Chetwynde was one thing; but Guy was quite another. The former she +loved dearly; but toward the latter she still felt resentment--a +feeling which was perhaps strengthened and sustained by the fact that +every one at Chetwynde looked upon her as a being who had been placed +upon the summit of human happiness by the mere fact of being Guy's +wife. To her it was intolerable to be valued merely for his sake. +Human nature is apt to resent in any case having its blessings +perpetually thrust in its face; but in this case what they called a +blessing, to her seemed the blackest horror of her life; and Zillah's +resentment was all the stronger; while all this resentment she +naturally vented on the head of the one who had become her husband. +She could manage to tolerate his praises when sounded by the Earl, +but hardly so with the others. Mrs. Hart was most trying to her +patience in this respect; and it needed all Zillah's love for her to +sustain her while listening to the old nurse as she grew eloquent on +her favorite theme. Zillah felt like the Athenian who was bored to +death by the perpetual praise of Aristides. If she had no other +complaint against him, this might of itself have been enough. +<br> +<br> +The fear, however, which was in her mind as to the reparation which +was expected of her was dispelled by Lord Chetwynde's answer: +<br> +<br> +"I want you, my child," said he, "to try and improve yourself--to get +on as fast as you can with your masters, so that when the time comes +for you to take your proper place in society you may be equal to +ladies of your own rank in education and accomplishments. I want to +be proud of my daughter when I show her to the world." +<br> +<br> +"And so you shall," said Zillah, twining her arms again about his +neck and kissing him fondly. "I promise you that from this time +forward I will try to study." +<br> +<br> +He kissed her lovingly. "I am sure," said he, "that you will keep +your word, my child; and now," he added, "one thing more: How much +longer do you intend to keep up this 'Lord Chetwynde?' I must be +called by another name by you--not the name by which you called your +own dear father--that is too sacred to be given to any other. But +have I not some claim to be called 'Father,' dear? Or does not my +little Zillah care enough for me for that?" +<br> +<br> +At this the warm-hearted girl flung her arms around him once more and +kissed him, and burst into tears. +<br> +<br> +"Dear father!" she murmured. +<br> +<br> +And from that moment perfect confidence and love existed between +these two. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br><img src="images/46.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XII. +<br> +<br> +CORRESPONDENCE. +<br> +<br> +Time sped rapidly and uneventfully by. Guy's letters from India +formed almost the only break in the monotony of the household. Zillah +soon found herself, against her will, sharing in the general +eagerness respecting these letters. It would have been a very strong +mind indeed, or a very obdurate heart, which could have remained +unmoved at Lord Chetwynde's delight when he received his boy's +letters. Their advent was also the Hegira from which every thing in +the family dated. Apart, however, from the halo which surrounded +these letters, they were interesting in themselves. Guy wrote easily +and well. His letters to his father were half familiar, half filial; +a mixture of love and good-fellowship, showing a sort of union, so to +speak, of the son with the younger brother. They were full of humor +also, and made up of descriptions of life in the East, with all its +varied wonders. Besides this, Guy happened to be stationed at the +very place where General Pomeroy had been Resident for so many years; +and he himself had command of one of the hill stations where Zillah +herself had once been sent to pass the summer. These places of which +Guy's letters treated possessed for her a peculiar interest, +surrounded as they were by some of the pleasantest associations of +her life; and thus, from very many causes, it happened that she +gradually came to take an interest in these letters which increased +rather than diminished. In one of these there had once come a note +inclosed to Zillah, condoling with her on her father's death. It was +manly and sympathetic, and not at all stiff. Zillah had received it +when her bitter feelings were in the ascendant, and did not think of +answering it until Hilda urged on her the necessity of doing so. It +is just possible that if Hilda had made use of different arguments +she might have persuaded Zillah to send some sort of an answer, if +only to please the Earl. The arguments, however, which she did use +happened to be singularly ill chosen. The "husband" loomed largely in +them, and there were very many direct allusions to marital authority. +As these were Zillah's sorest points, such references only served to +excite fresh repugnance, and strengthen Zillah's determination not to +write. Hilda, however, persisted in her efforts; and the result was +that finally, at the end of one long and rather stormy discussion, +Zillah passionately threw the letter at her, saying: +<br> +<br> +"If you are so anxious to have it answered, do it yourself. It is a +world of pities he is not your husband instead of mine, you seem so +wonderfully anxious about him." +<br> +<br> +"It is unkind of you to say that," replied Hilda, in a meek voice, +"when you know so well that my sympathy and anxiety are all for you, +and you alone. You argue with me as though I had some interest in it; +but what possible interest can it be to me?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, well, dearest Hilda," said Zillah, instantly appeased; "I'm +always pettish; but you won't mind, will you? You never mind my +ways." +<br> +<br> +"I've a great mind to take you at your word," said Hilda, after a +thoughtful pause, "and write it for you. It ought to be answered, and +you won't; so why should I not do the part of a friend, and answer it +for you?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah started, and seemed just a little nettled. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, I don't care," she said, with assumed indifference. "If you +choose to take the trouble, why I am sure I ought to be under +obligations to you. At any rate, I shall be glad to get rid of it so +long as I have nothing to do with it. I suppose it must be done." +<br> +<br> +Hilda made some protestations of her devotion to Zillah, and some +further conversation followed, all of which resulted in this--that +_Hilda wrote the letter in Zillah's name_, and signed that name _in +her own hand_, and under Zillah's own eye, and with Zillah's +half-reluctant, half-pettish concurrence. +<br> +<br> +Out of this beginning there flowed results of an important character, +which were soon perceived even by Zillah, though she was forced to +keep her feelings to herself. Occasional notes came afterward from +time to time for Zillah, and were answered in the same way by Hilda. +All this Zillah endured quietly, but with real repugnance, which +increased until the change took place in her feelings which has been +mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, when she at length +determined to put an end to such an anomalous state of things and +assert herself. It was difficult to do so. She loved Hilda dearly, +and placed perfect confidence in her. She was too guileless to dream +of any sinister motive in her friend; and the only difficulty of +which she was conscious was the fear that Hilda might suspect the +change in her feelings toward Guy. The very idea of Hilda's finding +this out alarmed her sensitive pride, and made her defer for a long +time her intent. At length, however, she felt unable to do so any +longer, and determined to run the risk of disclosing the state of her +feelings. +<br> +<br> +So one day, after the receipt of a note to herself, a slight degree +more friendly than usual, she hinted to Hilda rather shyly that she +would like to answer it herself. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, I am so glad, darling!" cried Hilda, enthusiastically. "It will +be so much nicer for you to do it yourself. It will relieve me from +embarrassment, for, after all, my position was embarrassing--writing +for you always--and then, you know, you will write far better letters +than I can." +<br> +<br> +"It will be a Heaven-born gift, then," returned Zillah, laughing, "as +I never wrote a letter in my life." +<br> +<br> +"That is nothing," said Hilda. "I write for another; but you will be +writing for yourself, and that makes all the difference in the world, +you know." +<br> +<br> +"Well, perhaps so. You see, Hilda, I have taken a fancy to try my +hand at it," said Zillah, laughingly, full of delight at the ease +with which she had gained her desire. "You see," she went on, with +unusual sprightliness of manner, "I got hold of a 'Complete +Letter-Writer' this morning; and the beauty, elegance, and even +eloquence of those amazing compositions have so excited me that I +want to emulate them. Now it happens that Guy is the only +correspondent that I have, and so he must be my first victim." +<br> +<br> +So saying, Zillah laughingly opened her desk, while Hilda's dark eyes +regarded her with sharp and eager watchfulness. "You must not make it +too eloquent, dear," said she. "Remember the very commonplace +epistles that you have been giving forth in your name." +<br> +<br> +"Don't be alarmed," said Zillah. "If it is not exactly like a child's +first composition we shall all have great cause for thankfulness." +<br> +<br> +So saying, she took out a sheet of paper. +<br> +<br> +"Here," said she, "is an opportunity of using some of this +elaborately monogrammed paper which poor darling papa got for me, +because I wanted to see how they could work my unpromising 'Z' into a +respectable cipher. They have made it utterly illegible, and I +believe that is the great point to be attained." +<br> +<br> +Thus rattling on, she dated her letter, and began to write. She wrote +as far as +<br> +<br> +"MY DEAR GUY"--Then she stopped, and read it aloud.--"This is really +getting most exciting," she said, in high good-humor. "Now what comes +next? To find a beginning--there's the rub. I must turn to my +'Complete Letter-Writer.' Let me see. '_Letter from a Son at +School_'--that won't do. '_From a Lady to a Lover returning a +Miniature_--nor that. '_From a Suitor requesting to be allowed to pay +his attentions to a Lady_'--worse and worse. '_From a Father +declining the application of a Suitor for his Daughter's +hand_'--absurd! Oh, here we are--'_From a Wife to a Husband who is +absent on urgent business_.' Oh, listen, Hilda!" and Zillah read: +<br> +<br> +"'_BELOVED AND HONORED HUSBAND,--The grief which wrung my heart at +your departure has been mitigated by the delight which I experienced +at the receipt of your most welcome letters_.' Isn't that delightful? +Unluckily his departure didn't wring my heart at all, and, worse +still, I have no grief at his absence to be mitigated by his letters. +Alas! I'm afraid mine must be an exceptional case, for even my +'Complete Letter-Writer,' my vade-mecum, which goes into such +charming details, can not help me. After all I suppose I must use my +own poor brains." +<br> +<br> +After all this nonsense Zillah suddenly grew serious. Hilda seemed to +understand the cause of her extravagant volatility, and watched her +closely. Zillah began to write, and went on rapidly, without a +moment's hesitation; without any signs whatever of that childish +inexperience at which she had hinted. Her pen flew over the paper +with a speed which seemed to show that she had plenty to say, and +knew perfectly well how to say it. So she went on until she had +filled two pages, and was proceeding to the third. Then an +exclamation from Hilda caused her to look up. +<br> +<br> +"My dear Zillah," cried Hilda, who was sitting in a chair a little +behind her, "what in the world are you thinking of? From this +distance I can distinguish your somewhat peculiar caligraphy--with +its bold down strokes and decided 'character,' that people talk +about. Now, as you know that I write a little, cramped, German hand, +you will have to imitate my humble handwriting, or else I'm afraid +Captain Molyneux will be thoroughly puzzled--unless, indeed, you tell +him that you have been employing an amanuensis. That will require a +good deal of explanation, but--" she added, after a thoughtful pause, +"I dare say it will be the best in the end." +<br> +<br> +At these words Zillah started, dropped her pen, and sat looking at +Hilda perfectly aghast. "I never thought of that," she murmured, and +sat with an expression of the deepest dejection. At length a long +sigh escaped her. "You are right, Hilda," she said. "Of course it +will need explanation; but how is it possible to do that in a letter? +It can't be done. At least I can't do it. What shall I do?" +<br> +<br> +She was silent, and sat for a long time, looking deeply vexed and +disappointed. +<br> +<br> +"Of course," she said at last, "he will have to know all when he +comes back; but that is nothing. How utterly stupid it was in me not +to think of the difference in our writing! And now I suppose I must +give up my idea of writing a letter. It is really hard--I have not a +single correspondent." +<br> +<br> +Her deep disappointment, her vexation, and her feeble attempt to +conceal her emotions, were not lost upon the watchful Hilda. But the +latter showed no signs that she had noticed any thing. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, don't give it up!" she answered, with apparent eagerness. "I +dare say you can copy my hand accurately enough to avoid detection. +Here is a note I wrote yesterday. See if you can't imitate that, and +make your writing as like mine as possible." +<br> +<br> +So saying she drew a note from her pocket and handed it to Zillah. +The other took it eagerly, and began to try to imitate it, but a few +strokes showed her the utter impossibility of such an undertaking. +She threw down the pen, and leaning her head upon her hand, sat +looking upon the floor in deeper dejection than ever. +<br> +<br> +"I can't copy such horrid cramped letters," she said, pettishly; "why +should you write such a hand? Besides, I feel as if I were really +forging, or doing something dreadful. I suppose," she added, with +unconcealed bitterness of tone, "we shall have to go on as we began, +and you must be _Zillah Molyneux_ for some time longer." +<br> +<br> +Hilda laughed. +<br> +<br> +"Talk of forging!" she said. "What is forging if that is not? But +really, Zillah, darling, you seem to me to show more feeling about +this than I ever supposed you could possibly be capable of. Are you +aware that your tone is somewhat bitter, and that if I were sensitive +I might feel hurt? Do you mean by what you said to lay any blame to +me?" +<br> +<br> +She spoke so sadly and reproachfully that Zillah's heart smote her. +At once her disappointment and vexation vanished at the thought that +she had spoken unkindly to her friend. +<br> +<br> +"Hilda!" she cried, "you can not think that I am capable of such +ingratitude. You have most generously given me your services all this +time. You have been right, from the very first, and I have been +wrong. You have taken a world of trouble to obviate the difficulties +which my own obstinacy and temper have caused. If any trouble could +possibly arise, I only could be to blame. But, after all, none can +arise. I'm sure Captain Molyneux will very readily believe that I +disliked him too much when he first went away to dream of writing to +him. He certainly had every reason for thinking so." +<br> +<br> +"Shall you tell him that?" said Hilda, mildly, without referring to +Zillah's apologies. +<br> +<br> +"Certainly I shall," said Zillah, "if the opportunity ever arises. +The simple truth is always the easiest and the best. I think he is +already as well aware as he can be of that fact; and, after all, why +should I, or how could I, have liked him under the circumstances? I +knew nothing of him whatever; and every thing--yes, every thing, was +against him." +<br> +<br> +"You know no more of him now," said Hilda; "and yet, though you are +very reticent on the subject, I have a shrewd suspicion, my darling, +that you do not dislike him." +<br> +<br> +As she spoke she looked earnestly at Zillah as if to read her inmost +soul. +<br> +<br> +Zillah was conscious of that sharp, close scrutiny, and blushed +crimson, as this question which thus concerned her most sacred +feelings was brought home to her so suddenly. But she answered, as +lightly as she could: +<br> +<br> +"How can you say that, or even hint at it? How absurd you are, Hilda! +I know no more of him now than I knew before. Of course I hear very +much about him at Chetwynde, but what of that? He certainly pervades +the whole atmosphere of the house. The one idea of Lord Chetwynde is +Guy; and as for Mrs. Hart, I think if he wished to use her for a +target she would be delighted. Death at such hands would be bliss to +her. She treasures up every word he has ever spoken, from his +earliest infancy to the present day." +<br> +<br> +"And I suppose that is enough to account for the charm which you seem +to find in her society," rejoined Hilda. "It has rather puzzled me, I +confess. For my own part I have never been able to break through the +reserve which she chooses to throw around her. I can not get beyond +the barest civilities with her, though I'm sure I've tried to win her +good-will more than I ever tried before, which is rather strange, +for, after all, there is no reason whatever why I should try any +thing of the kind. She seems to have a very odd kind of feeling +toward me. She looks at me sometimes so strangely that she positively +gives me an uncomfortable feeling. She seems frightened to death if +my dress brushes against hers. She shrinks away. I believe she is not +sane. In fact, I'm sure of it." +<br> +<br> +"Poor old Mrs. Hart!" said Zillah. "I suppose she does seem a little +odd to you; but I know her well, and I assure you she is as far +removed from insanity as I am. Still she is undoubtedly queer. Do you +know, Hilda, she seems to me to have had some terrible sorrow which +has crushed all her spirit and almost her very life. I have no idea +whatever of her past life. She is very reticent. She never even so +much as hints at it." +<br> +<br> +"I dare say she has very good reasons," interrupted Hilda. "Don't +talk that way about her, dear Hilda. You are too ill-natured, and I +can't bear to have ill-natured things said about the dear old thing. +You don't know her as I do, or you would never talk so." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Zillah--really--you feel my little pleasantries too much. It was +only a thoughtless remark." +<br> +<br> +"She seems to me," said Zillah, musingly, after a thoughtful silence, +"to be a very--very mysterious person. Though I love her dearly, I +see that there is some mystery about her. Whatever her history may be +she is evidently far above her present position, for when she does +allow herself to talk she has the manner and accent of a refined +lady. Yes, there is a deep mystery about her, which is utterly beyond +my comprehension. I remember once when she had been talking for a +long time about Guy and his wonderful qualities, I suddenly happened +to ask her some trivial question about her life before she came to +Chetwynde; but she looked at me so wild and frightened, that she +really startled me. I was so terrified that I instantly changed the +conversation, and rattled on so as to give her time to recover +herself, and prevent her from discovering my feelings." +<br> +<br> +"Why, how very romantic!" said Hilda, with a smile. "You seem, from +such circumstances, to have brought yourself to consider our very +prosaic housekeeper as almost a princess in disguise. I, for my part, +look upon her as a very common person, so weak-minded, to say the +least, as to be almost half-witted. As to her accent, that is +nothing. I dare say she has seen better days. I have heard more than +once of ladies in destitute or reduced circumstances who have been +obliged to take to housekeeping. After all, it is not bad. I'm sure +it must be far better than being a governess." +<br> +<br> +"Well, if I am romantic, you are certainly prosaic enough. At all +events I love Mrs. Hart dearly. But come, Hilda, if you are going to +write you must do so at once, for the letters are to be posted this +afternoon." +<br> +<br> +Hilda instantly went to the desk and began her task. Zillah, however, +went away. Her chagrin and disappointment were so great that she +could not stay, and she even refused afterward to look at the note +which Hilda showed her. In fact, after that she would never look at +them at all. +<br> +<br> +Some time after this Zillah and Mrs. Hart were together on one of +those frequent occasions which they made use of for confidential +interviews. Somehow Zillah had turned the conversation from. Guy in +person to the subject of her correspondence, and gradually told all +to Mrs. Hart. At this she looked deeply shocked and grieved. +<br> +<br> +"That girl," she said, "has some secret motive." +<br> +<br> +She spoke with a bitterness which Zillah had never before noticed in +her. +<br> +<br> +"Secret motive!" she repeated, in wonder; "what in the world do you +mean?" +<br> +<br> +"She is bad and deceitful," said Mrs. Hart, with energy; "you are +trusting your life and honor in the hands of a false friend." +<br> +<br> +Zillah started back and looked at Mrs. Hart in utter wonder. +<br> +<br> +"I know," said she at last, "that you don't like Hilda, but I feel +hurt when you use such language about her. She is my oldest and +dearest friend. She is my sister virtually. I have known her all my +life, and know her to her heart's core. She is incapable of any +dishonorable action, and she loves me like herself." +<br> +<br> +All Zillah's enthusiastic generosity was aroused in defending against +Mrs. Hart's charge a friend whom she so dearly loved. +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart sadly shook her head. +<br> +<br> +"My dear child," said she, "you know I would not hurt your feelings +for the world. I am sorry. I will say nothing more about _her_, since +you love her. But don't you feel that you are in a very false +position?" +<br> +<br> +"But what can I do? There is the difficulty about the handwriting. +And then it has gone on so long." +<br> +<br> +"Write to him at all hazards," said Mrs. Hart, "and tell him every +thing." +<br> +<br> +Zillah shook her head. +<br> +<br> +"Well, then--will you let me?" +<br> +<br> +"How can I? No; it must be done by myself--if it ever is done; and as +to writing it myself--I can not." +<br> +<br> +Such a thought was indeed abhorrent. After all it seemed to her in +itself nothing. She employed an amanuensis to compose those formal +notes which went in her name. And what fault was there? To Mrs. Hart, +whose whole life was bound up in Guy, it was impossible to look at +this matter except as to how it affected him. But Zillah had other +feelings--other memories. The very proposal to write a "confession" +fired her heart with stern indignation. At once all her resentment +was roused. Memory brought back again in vivid colors that hideous +mockery of a marriage over the death-bed of her father, with +reference to which, in spite of her changed feelings, she had never +ceased to think that it might have been avoided, and ought to have +been. Could she stoop to confess to this man any thing whatever? +Impossible! +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart did not know Zillah's thoughts. She supposed she was trying +to find a way to extricate herself from her difficulty. So she made +one further suggestion. +<br> +<br> +"Why not tell all to Lord Chetwynde? Surely you can do that easily +enough. He will understand all, and explain all." +<br> +<br> +"I can not," said Zillah, coldly. "It would be doubting my +friend--the loving friend who is to me the same as a sister--who is +the only companion I have ever had. She is the one that I love +dearest on earth, and to do any thing apart from her is impossible. +You do not know her--I do--and I love her. For her I would give up +every other friend." +<br> +<br> +At this Mrs. Hart looked sadly away, and then the matter of the +letters ended. It was never again brought up. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XIII. +<br> +<br> +POMEROY COURT REVISITED. +<br> +<br> +Over a year had passed away since Zillah had come to live at +Chetwynde Castle, and she had come at length to find her new home +almost as dear to her as the old one. Still that old home was far +from being forgotten. At first she never mentioned it; but at length +as the year approached its close, there came over her a great longing +to revisit the old place, so dear to her heart and so well +remembered. She hinted to Lord Chetwynde what her desires were, and +the Earl showed unfeigned delight at finding that Zillah's grief had +become so far mitigated as to allow her to think of such a thing. So +he urged her by all means to go. +<br> +<br> +"But of course you can't go just yet," said he. "You must wait till +May, when the place will be at its best. Just now, at the end of +March, it will be too cold and damp." +<br> +<br> +"And you will go with me--will you not?" pleaded Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"If I can, my child; but you know very well that I am not able to +stand the fatigue of traveling." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, but you must make an effort and try to stand it this time. I can +not bear to go away and leave you behind." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde looked affectionately down at the face which was +upturned so lovingly toward his, and promised to go if he could. So +the weeks passed away; but when May came he had a severe attack of +gout, and though Zillah waited through all the month, until the +severity of the disease had relaxed, yet the Earl did not find +himself able to undertake such a journey. Zillah was therefore +compelled either to give up the visit or else to go without him. She +decided to do the latter. Roberts accompanied her, and her maid +Mathilde. Hilda too, of course, went with her, for to her it was as +great a pleasure as to Zillah to visit the old place, and Zillah +would not have dreamed of going any where without her. +<br> +<br><img src="images/50.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +Pomeroy Court looked very much as it had looked while Zillah was +living there. It had been well and even scrupulously cared for. The +grounds around showed marks of the closest attention. Inside, the old +housekeeper, who had remained after the General's death, with some +servants, had preserved every thing in perfect order, and in quite +the same state as when the General was living. This perfect +preservation of the past struck Zillah most painfully. As she +entered, the intermediate period of her life at Chetwynde seemed to +fade away. It was to her as though she were still living in her old +home. She half expected to see the form of her father in the hall. +The consciousness of her true position was violently forced upon her. +With the sharpness of the impression which was made upon her by the +unchanged appearance of the old home, there came another none less +sharp. If Pomeroy Court brought back to her the recollection of the +happy days once spent there, but now gone forever, it also brought to +her mind the full consciousness of her loss. To her it was _infandum +renovare dolorem_. She walked in a deep melancholy through the dear +familiar rooms. She lingered in profound abstraction and in the +deepest sadness over the mournful reminders of the past. She looked +over all the old home objects, stood in the old places, and sat in +the old seats. She walked in silence through all the house, and +finally went to her own old room, so loved, so well remembered. As +she crossed the threshold and looked around she felt her strength +give way. A great sob escaped her, and sinking into a chair where she +once used to sit in happier days, she gave herself up to her +recollections. For a long time she lost herself in these. Hilda had +left her to herself, as though her delicacy had prompted her not to +intrude upon her friend at such a moment; and Zillah thought of this +with a feeling of grateful affection. At length she resumed to some +degree her calmness, and summoning up all her strength, she went at +last to the chamber where that dread scene had been enacted--that +scene which seemed to her a double tragedy--that scene which had +burned itself in her memory, combining the horror of the death of her +dearest friend with the ghastly farce of a forced and unhallowed +marriage. In that place a full tide of misery rushed over her soul. +She broke down utterly. Chetwynde Castle, the Earl, Mrs. Hart, all +were forgotten. The past faded away utterly. This only was her true +home--this place darkened by a cloud which might never be dispelled. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, papa! Oh, papa!" she moaned, and flung herself upon the bed +where he had breathed his last. +<br> +<br> +But her sorrow now, though overwhelming, had changed from its old +vehemence. This change had been wrought in Zillah--the old, +unreasoning passion had left her. A real affliction had brought out, +by its gradual renovating and creative force, all the good that was +in her. That the uses of adversity are sweet, is a hackneyed +Shakspeareanism, but it is forever true, and nowhere was its truth +more fully displayed than here. Formerly it happened that an ordinary +check in the way of her desires was sufficient to send her almost +into convulsions; but now, in the presence of her great calamity, she +had learned to bear with patience all the ordinary ills of life. Her +father had spoiled her; by his death she had become regenerate. +<br> +<br> +This tendency of her nature toward a purer and loftier standard was +intensified by her visit to Pomeroy Court. Over her spirit there came +a profounder earnestness, caught from the solemn scenes in the midst +of which she found herself. Sorrow had subdued and quieted the wild +impulsive motions of her soul. This renewal of that sorrow in the +very place of its birth, deepened the effect of its first presence. +This visit did more for her intellectual and spiritual growth than +the whole past year at Chetwynde Castle. +<br> +<br> +They spent about a month here. Zillah, who had formerly been so +talkative and restless, now showed plainly the fullness of the change +that had come over her. She had grown into a life far more serious +and thoughtful than any which she had known before. She had ceased to +be a giddy and unreasoning girl. She had become a calm, grave, +thoughtful woman. But her calmness and gravity and thoughtfulness +were all underlaid and interpenetrated by the fervid vehemence of her +intense Oriental nature. Beneath the English exterior lay, deep +within her, the Hindu blood. She was of that sort which can be calm +in ordinary life--so calm as to conceal utterly all ordinary workings +of the fretful soul; but which, in the face of any great excitement, +or in the presence of any great wrong, will be all overwhelmed and +transformed into a furious tornado of passionate rage. +<br> +<br> +Zillah, thus silent and meditative, and so changed from her old self, +might well have awakened the wonder of her friend. But whatever Hilda +may have thought, and whatever wonder she may have felt, she kept it +all to herself; for she was naturally reticent, and so secretive that +she never expressed in words any feelings which she might have about +things that went on around her. If Zillah chose to stay by herself, +or to sit in her company without speaking a word, it was not in Hilda +to question her or to remonstrate with her. She rather chose to +accommodate herself to the temper of her friend. She could also be +meditative and profoundly silent. While Zillah had been talkative, +she had talked with her; now, in her silence, she rivaled her as +well. She could follow Zillah in all her moods. +<br> +<br> +At the end of a month they returned to Chetwynde Castle, and resumed +the life which they had been leading there. Zillah's new mood seemed +to Hilda, and to others also, to last much longer than any one of +those many moods in which she had indulged before. But this proved to +be more than a mood. It was a change. +<br> +<br> +The promise which she had given to the Earl she had tried to fulfill +most conscientiously. She really had striven as much as possible to +"study." That better understanding, born of affection, which had +arisen between them, had formed a new motive within her, and rendered +her capable of something like application. But it was not until after +her visit to Pomeroy Court that she showed any effort that was at all +adequate to the purpose before her. The change that then came over +her seemed to have given her a new control over herself. And so it +was that, at last, the hours devoted to her studies were filled up by +efforts that were really earnest, and also really effective. +<br> +<br> +Under these circumstances, it happened that Zillah began at last to +engross Gualtier's attention altogether, during the whole of the time +allotted to her; and if he had sought ever so earnestly, he could not +have found any opportunity for a private interview with Hilda. What +her wishes might be was not visible; for, whether she wished it or +not, she did not, in any way, show it. She was always the same--calm, +cool, civil, to her music-teacher, and devoted to her own share of +the studies. Those little "asides" in which they had once indulged +were now out of the question; and, even if a favorable occasion had +arisen, Gualtier would not have ventured upon the undertaking. He, +for his part, could not possibly know her thoughts: whether she was +still cherishing her old designs, or had given them up altogether. He +could only stifle his impatience, and wait, and watch, and wait. But +how was it with her? Was she, too, watching and waiting for some +opportunity? He thought so. But with what aim, or for what purpose? +That was the puzzle. Yet that there was something on her mind which +she wished to communicate to him he knew well; for it had at last +happened that Hilda had changed in some degree from her cool and +undemonstrative manner. He encountered sometimes--or thought that he +encountered--an earnest glance which she threw at him, on greeting +him, full of meaning, which told him this most plainly. It seemed to +him to say: Wait, wait, wait; when the time comes. I have that to say +which you will be glad to learn. What it might be he knew not, nor +could he conjecture; but he thought that it might still refer to the +secret of that mysterious cipher which had baffled them both. +<br> +<br> +Thus these two watched and waited. Months passed away, but no +opportunity for an interview arose. Of course, if Hilda had been +reckless, or if it had been absolutely necessary to have one, she +could easily have arranged it. The park was wide, full of lonely +paths and sequestered retreats, where meetings could have been had, +quite free from all danger of observation or interruption. She needed +only to slip a note into his hand, telling him to meet her at some +place there, and he would obey her will. But Hilda did not choose to +do any thing of the kind. Whatever she did could only be done by her +in strict accordance with _les convenances_. She would have waited +for months before she would consent to compromise herself so far as +to solicit a stolen interview. It was not the dread of discovery, +however, that deterred her; for, in a place like Chetwynde, that need +not have been feared, and if she had been so disposed, she could have +had an interview with Gualtier every week, which no one would have +found out. The thing which deterred her was something very different +from this. It was her own pride. She could not humble herself so far +as to do this. Such an act would be to descend from the position +which she at present occupied in his eyes. To compromise herself, or +in any way put herself in his power, was impossible for one like her. +It was not, however, from any thing like moral cowardice that she +held aloof from making an interview with him; nor was it from any +thing like conscientious scruples; nor yet from maidenly modesty. It +arose, most of all, from pride, and also from a profound perception +of the advantages enjoyed by one who fulfilled all that might be +demanded by the proprieties of life. Her aim was to see Gualtier +under circumstances that were unimpeachable--in the room where he had +a right to come. To do more than this might lower herself in his +eyes, and make him presumptuous. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XIV. +<br> +<br> +NEW DISCOVERIES. +<br> +<br> +At last the opportunity came for which they had waited so long. For +many months Zillah's application to her studies had been incessant, +and the Earl began to notice signs of weariness in her. His +conscience smote him, and his anxiety was aroused. He had recovered +from his gout, and as he felt particularly well he determined to take +Zillah on a long drive, thinking that the change would be beneficial +to her. He began to fear that he had brought too great a pressure to +bear on her, and that she in her new-born zeal for study might carry +her self-devotion too far, and do some injury to her health. Hilda +declined going, and Zillah and the Earl started off for the day. +<br> +<br> +On that day Gualtier came at his usual hour. On looking round the +room he saw no signs of Zillah, and his eyes brightened as they fell +on Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"Mrs. Molyneux," said she, after the usual civilities, "has gone out +for a drive. She will not take her lesson to-day." +<br> +<br> +"Ah, well, shall I wait till your hour arrives, or will you take your +lesson now?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, you need not wait," said Hilda; "I will take my lesson now. I +think I will appropriate both hours." +<br> +<br> +There was a glance of peculiar meaning in Hilda's eyes which Gualtier +noticed, but he cast his eyes meekly upon the floor. He had an idea +that the long looked for revelation was about to be given, but he did +not attempt to hasten it in any way. He was afraid that any +expression of eagerness on his part might repel Hilda, and, +therefore, he would not endanger his position by asking for any +thing, but rather waited to receive what she might voluntarily offer. +<br> +<br> +Hilda, however, was not at all anxious to be asked. Now that she +could converse with Gualtier, and not compromise herself, she had +made up her mind to give him her confidence. It was safe to talk to +this man in this room. The servants were few. They were far away. No +one would dream of trying to listen. They were sitting close together +near the piano. +<br> +<br> +"I have something to say to you," said Hilda at last. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked at her with earnest inquiry, but said nothing. +<br> +<br> +"You remember, of course, what we were talking about the last time we +spoke to one another?" +<br> +<br> +"Of course, I have never forgotten that." +<br> +<br> +"It was nearly two years ago," said Hilda, "At one time I did not +expect that such a conversation could ever be renewed. With the +General's death all need for it seemed to be destroyed. But now that +need seems to have arisen again." +<br> +<br> +"Have you ever deciphered the paper?" asked Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"Not more than before," said Hilda. "But I have made a discovery of +the very greatest importance; something which entirely confirms my +former suspicions gathered from the cipher. They are additional +papers which I will show you presently, and then you will see whether +I am right or not. I never expected to find any thing of the kind. I +found them quite by chance, while I was half mechanically carrying +out my old idea. After the General's death I lost all interest in the +matter for some time, for there seemed before me no particular +inducement to go on with it. But this discovery has changed the whole +aspect of the affair." +<br> +<br> +"What was it that you found?" asked Gualtier, who was full of +curiosity. "Was it the key to the cipher, or was it a full +explanation, or was it something different?" +<br> +<br> +"They were certain letters and business papers. I will show them to +you presently. But before doing so I want to begin at the beginning. +The whole of that cipher is perfectly familiar to me, all its +difficulties are as insurmountable as ever, and before I show you +these new papers I want to refresh your memory about the old ones. +<br> +<br> +"You remember, first of all," said she, "the peculiar character of that +cipher writing, and of my interpretation. The part that I +deciphered seemed to be set in the other like a wedge, and while this +was decipherable the other was not." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier nodded. +<br> +<br> +"Now I want you to read again the part that I deciphered," said +Hilda, and she handed him a piece of paper on which something was +written. Gualtier took it and read the following, which the reader +has already seen. Each sentence was numbered. +<br> +<br> +1._ Oh may God have mercy on my wretched soul Amen_<br> +2. _O Pomeroy forged a hundred thousand dollars_<br> +3. _O N Pomeroy eloped with poor Lady Chetwynde_<br> +4. _She acted out of a mad impulse in flying_<br> +5. _She listened to me and ran off with me_<br> +6. _She was piqued at her husband's act_<br> +7. _Fell in with Lady Mary Chetwynd_<br> +8. _Expelled the army for gaming_<br> +9. _N Pomeroy of Pomeroy Berks_<br> +10. _O I am a miserable villain_<br> +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked over it and then handed it back. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said he, "I remember, of course, for I happen to know every +word of it by heart." +<br> +<br> +"That is very well," said Hilda, approvingly. "And now I want to +remind you of the difficulties in my interpretation before going on +any further. +<br> +<br> +"You remember that these were, first, the con fusion in the way of +writing the name, for here there is 'O Pomeroy,' 'O N Pomeroy,' and +'N Pomeroy,' in so short a document. +<br> +<br> +"Next, there is the mixture of persons, the writer sometimes speaking +in the first person and sometimes in the third, as, for instance, +when he says, '_O N Pomeroy_ eloped with poor Lady Chetwynde;' and +then he says, 'She listened to _me_ and ran off with me.' +<br> +<br> +"And then there are the incomplete sentences, such as, 'Fell in with +Lady Mary Chetwynd'--'Expelled the army for gaming.' +<br> +<br> +"Lastly, there are two ways in which the lady's name is spelled, +'Chetwynde,' and 'Chetwynd.' +<br> +<br> +"You remember we decided that these might be accounted for in one of +two ways. Either, first, the writer, in copying it out, grew confused +in forming his cipher characters; or, secondly, he framed the whole +paper with a deliberate purpose to baffle and perplex." +<br> +<br> +"I remember all this," said Gualtier, quietly. "I have not forgotten +it." +<br> +<br> +"The General's death changed the aspect of affairs so completely," +said Hilda, "and made this so apparently useless, that I thought you +might have forgotten at least these minute particulars. It is +necessary for you to have these things fresh in your mind, so as to +regard the whole subject thoroughly." +<br> +<br> +"But what good will any discovery be now?" asked Gualtier, with +unfeigned surprise. "The General is dead, and you can do nothing." +<br> +<br> +"The General is dead," said Hilda; "but the General's daughter +lives." +<br> +<br> +Nothing could exceed the bitterness of the tone in which she uttered +these words. +<br> +<br> +"His daughter! Of what possible concern can all this be to her?" +asked Gualtier, who wished to get at the bottom of Hilda's purpose. +<br> +<br> +"I should never have tried to strike at the General," said Hilda, "if +he had not had a daughter. It was not him that I wished to harm. It +was _her_." +<br> +<br> +"And now," said Gualtier, after a silence, "she is out of your reach. +She is Mrs. Molyneux. She will be the Countess of Chetwynde. How can +she be harmed?" +<br> +<br> +As he spoke he looked with a swift interrogative glance at Hilda, and +then turned away his eyes. +<br> +<br> +"True," said Hilda, cautiously and slowly; "she is beyond my reach. +Besides, you will observe that I was speaking of the past. I was +telling what I wished--not what I wish." +<br> +<br> +"That is precisely what I understood," said Gualtier. "I only asked +so as to know how your wishes now inclined. I am anxious to serve you +in any way." +<br> +<br> +"So you have said before, and I take you at your word," said Hilda, +calmly. "I have once before reposed confidence in you, and I intend +to do so again." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier bowed, and murmured some words of grateful acknowledgment. +<br> +<br> +"My work now," said Hilda, without seeming to notice him, "is one of +investigation. I merely wish to get to the bottom of a secret. It is +to this that I have concluded to invite your assistance." +<br> +<br> +"You are assured of that already, Miss Krieff," said Gualtier, in a +tone of deep devotion. "Call it investigation, or call it any thing +you choose, if you deign to ask my assistance I will do any thing and +dare any thing." +<br> +<br> +Hilda laughed harshly. +<br> +<br> +"In truth," said she, dryly, "this does not require much daring, but +it may cause trouble--it may also take up valuable time. I do not ask +for any risks, but rather for the employment of the most ordinary +qualities. Patience and perseverance will do all that I wish to have +done." +<br> +<br> +"I am sorry, Miss Krieff, that there is nothing more than this. I +should prefer to go on some enterprise of danger for your sake." +<br> +<br> +He laid a strong emphasis on these last words, but Hilda did not seem +to notice it. She continued, in a calm tone: +<br> +<br> +"All this is talking in the dark. I must explain myself instead of +talking round about the subject. To begin, then. Since our last +interview I could find out nothing whatever that tended to throw any +light on that mysterious cipher writing. Why it was written, or why +it should be so carefully preserved, I could not discover. The +General's death seemed to make it useless, and so for a long time I +ceased to think about it. It was only on my last visit to Pomeroy +Court that it came to my mind. That was six or eight months ago. +<br> +<br> +"On going there Mrs. Molyneux gave herself up to grief, and scarcely +ever spoke a word. She was much by herself, and brooded over her +sorrows. She spent much time in her father's room, and still more +time in solitary walks about the grounds. I was much by myself. Left +thus alone, I rambled about the house, and one day happened to go to +the General's study. Here every thing remained almost exactly as it +used to be. It was here that I found the cipher writing, and, on +visiting it again, the circumstances of that discovery naturally +suggested themselves to my mind." +<br> +<br> +Hilda had warmed with her theme, and spoke with something like +recklessness, as though she was prepared at last to throw away every +scruple and make a full confidence. The allusion to the discovery of +the cipher was a reminder to herself and to Gualtier of her former +dishonorable conduct. Having once more touched upon this, it was +easier for her to reveal new treachery upon her part. Nevertheless +she paused for a moment, and looked with earnest scrutiny upon her +companion. He regarded her with a look of silent devotion which +seemed to express any degree of subserviency to her interests, and +disarmed every suspicion. Reassured by this, she continued: +<br> +<br> +"It happened that I began to examine the General's papers. It was +quite accidental, and arose merely from the fact that I had nothing +else to do. It was almost mechanical on impart. At any rate I opened +the desk, and found it full of documents of all kinds which had been +apparently undisturbed for an indefinite period. Naturally enough I +examined the drawer in which I had found the cipher writing, and was +able to do so quite at my leisure. On first opening it I found only +some business papers. The cipher was no longer there. I searched +among all the other papers to find it, but in vain. I then concluded +that he had destroyed it. For several days I continued to examine +that desk, but with no result. It seemed to fascinate me. At last, +however, I came to the conclusion that nothing more could be +discovered. +<br> +<br> +"All this time Mrs. Molyneux left me quite to myself, and my search +in the desk and my discouragement were altogether unknown to her. +After about a week I gave up the desk and tore myself away. Still I +could not keep away from it, and at the end of another week I +returned to the search. This time I went with the intention of +examining all the drawers, to see if there was not some additional +place of concealment. +<br> +<br> +"It is not necessary for me to describe to you minutely the various +trials which I made. It is quite enough for me now to say that I at +last found out that in that very private drawer where I had first +discovered the cipher writing there was a false bottom of very +peculiar construction. It lay close to the real bottom, fitting in +very nicely, and left room only for a few thin papers. The false +bottom and the real bottom were so thin that no one could suspect any +thing of the kind. Something about the position of the drawer led me +to examine it minutely, and the idea of a false bottom came to my +mind. I could not find out the secret of it, and it was only by the +very rude process of prying at it with a knife that I at length made +the discovery." +<br> +<br> +She paused. +<br> +<br> +"And did you find any thing?" said Gualtier, eagerly. +<br> +<br> +"I did." +<br> +<br> +"Papers?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes. The old cipher writing was there--shut up--concealed carefully, +jealously--doubly concealed, in fact. Was not this enough to show +that it had importance in the eyes of the man who had thus concealed +it? It must be so. Nothing but a belief in its immense importance +could possibly have led to such extraordinary pains in the +concealment of it. This I felt, and this conviction only intensified +my desire to get at the bottom of the mystery which it incloses. And +this much I saw plainly--that the deciphering which I have made +carries in itself so dread a confession, that the man who made it +would willingly conceal it both in cipher writing and in secret +drawers." +<br> +<br><img src="images/54.png" alt="The Old Cipher Writing Was There."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: The Old Cipher Writing Was There.] +<br> +<br> +"But of course," said Gualtier, taking advantage of a pause, "you +found something else besides the cipher. With that you were already +familiar." +<br> +<br> +"Yes, and it is this that I am going to tell you about. There were +some papers which had evidently been there for a long time, kept +there in the same place with the cipher writing. When I first found +them I merely looked hastily over them, and then folded them all up +together, and took them away so as to examine them in my own room at +leisure. On looking over them I found the names which I expected +occurring frequently. There was the name of O. N. Pomeroy and the +name of Lady Chetwynde. In addition to these there was another name, +and a very singular one. The name is Obed Chute, and seems to me to +be an American name. At any rate the owner of it lived in America." +<br> +<br> +"Obed Chute," repeated Gualtier, with the air of one who is trying to +fasten something on his memory. +<br> +<br> +"Yes; and he seems to have lived in New York." +<br> +<br> +"What was the nature of the connection which he had with the others?" +<br> +<br> +"I should conjecture that he was a kind of guide, philosopher, and +friend, with a little of the agent and commission-merchant," replied +Hilda. "But it is impossible to find out anything in particular about +him from the meagre letters which I obtained. I found nothing else +except these papers, though I searched diligently. Every thing is +contained here. I have them, and I intend to show them to you without +any further delay." +<br> +<br> +Saying this Hilda drew some papers from her pocket, and handed them +to Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +On opening them Gualtier found first a paper covered with cipher +writing. It was the same which Hilda had copied, and the characters +were familiar to him from his former attempt to decipher them. The +paper was thick and coarse, but Hilda had copied the characters very +faithfully. +<br> +<br> +The next paper was a receipt written out on a small sheet which was +yellow with age, while the ink had faded into a pale brown: +<br> +<br> +"$100,000. NEW YORK, May 10, 1840. +<br> +<br> +"Received from O. N. Pomeroy the sum of one hundred thousand dollars +in payment for my claim. +<br> +<br> +"OBED CHUTE." +<br> +<br> +It was a singular document in every respect; but the mention of the +sum of money seemed to confirm the statement gathered from the cipher +writing. +<br> +<br> +The next document was a letter: +<br> +<br> +"NEW YORK, August 23, 1840. +<br> +<br> +"DEAR SIR,--I take great pleasure in informing you that L. C. has +experienced a change, and is now slowly recovering. I assure you that +no pains shall be spared to hasten her cure. The best that New York +can afford is at her service. I hope soon to acquaint you with her +entire recovery. Until then, believe me, +<br> +<br> +"Yours truly, OBED CHUTE. +<br> +<br> +"Capt. O. N. POMEROY." +<br> +<br> +The next paper was a letter written in a lady's hand. It was very +short: +<br> +<br> +"NEW YORK, September 20, 1840. +<br> +<br> +"Farewell, dearest friend and more than brother. After a long +sickness I have at last recovered through the mercy of God and the +kindness of Mr. Chute. We shall never meet again on earth; but I will +pray for your happiness till my latest breath. +<br> +<br> +"MARY CHETWYNDE." +<br> +<br> +There was only one other. It was a letter also, and was as follows: +<br> +<br> +"NEW YORK, October 10, 1840. +<br> +<br> +"DEAR SIR,--I have great pleasure in informing you that your friend +L. C. has at length entirely recovered. She is very much broken down, +however; her hair is quite gray, and she looks twenty years older. +She is deeply penitent and profoundly sad. She is to leave me +to-morrow, and will join the Sisters of Charity. You will feel with +me that this is best for herself and for all. I remain yours, very +truly, +<br> +<br> +"OBED CHUTE. +<br> +<br> +"Capt. O. N. POMEROY." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier read these letters several times in deep and thoughtful +silence. Then he sat in profound thought for some time. +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Hilda at length, with some impatience, "what do you +think of these?" +<br> +<br> +"What do _you_ think?" asked Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"I?" returned Hilda. "I will tell you what I think; and as I have +brooded over these for eight months now, I can only say that I am +more confirmed than ever in my first impressions. To me, then, these +papers seem to point out two great facts--the first being that of the +forgery; and the second that of the elopement. Beyond this I see +something else. The forgery has been arranged by the payment of the +amount. The elopement also has come to a miserable termination. Lady +Chetwynde seems to have been deserted by her lover, who left her +perhaps in New York. She fell ill, very ill, and suffered so that on +her recovery she had grown in appearance twenty years older. +Broken-hearted, she did not dare to go back to her friends, but +joined the Sisters of Charity. She is no doubt dead long ago. As to +this Chute, he seems to me perhaps to have been a kind of tool of the +lover, who employed him probably to settle his forgery business, and +also to take care of the unhappy woman whom he had ruined and +deserted. He wrote these few letters to keep the recreant lover +informed about her fate. In the midst of these there is the last +despairing farewell of the unhappy creature herself. All these the +conscience-stricken lover has carefully preserved. In addition to +these, no doubt for the sake of easing his conscience, he wrote out a +confession of his sin. But he was too great a coward to write it out +plainly, and therefore wrote it in cipher. I believe that he would +have destroyed them all if he had found time; but his accident came +too quickly for this, and he has left these papers as a legacy to the +discoverer." +<br> +<br> +As Hilda spoke Gualtier gazed at her with unfeigned admiration. +<br> +<br> +"You are right," said he. "Every word that you speak is as true as +fate. You have penetrated to the very bottom of this secret. I +believe that this is the true solution. Your genius has solved the +mystery." +<br> +<br> +"The mystery," repeated Hilda, who showed no emotion whatever at the +fervent admiration of Gualtier--"the mystery is as far from solution +as ever." +<br> +<br> +"Have you not solved it?" +<br> +<br> +"Certainly not. Mine, after all, are merely conjectures. Much more +remains to be done. In the first place, I must find out something +about Lady Chetwynde. For months I have tried, but in vain. I have +ventured as far as I dared to question the people about here. Once I +hinted to Mrs. Hart something about the elopement, and she turned +upon me with that in her eyes which would have turned an ordinary +mortal into stone. Fortunately for me, I bore it, and survived. But +since that unfortunate question she shuns me more than ever. The +other servants know nothing, or else they will reveal nothing. +Nothing, in fact, can be discovered here. The mystery is yet to be +explained, and the explanation must be sought elsewhere." +<br> +<br> +"Where?" +<br> +<br> +"I don't know." +<br> +<br> +"Have you thought of any thing? You must have, or you would not have +communicated with me. There is some work which you wish me to do. You +have thought about it, and have determined it. What is it? Is it to +go to America? Shall I hunt up Obed Chute? Shall I search through the +convents till I find that Sister who once was Lady Chetwynde? Tell +me. If you say so I will go." +<br> +<br> +Hilda mused; then she spoke, as though rather to herself than to her +companion. +<br> +<br> +"I don't know. I have no plans--no definite aim, beyond a desire to +find out what it all means, and what there is in it. What can I do? +What could I do if I found out all? I really do not know. If General +Pomeroy were alive, it might be possible to extort from him a +confession of his crimes, and make them known to the world." +<br> +<br> +"If General Pomeroy were alive," interrupted Gualtier, "and were to +confess all his crimes, what good would that do?" +<br> +<br> +"What good?" cried Hilda, in a tone of far greater vehemence and +passion than any which had yet escaped her. "What good? Humiliation, +sorrow, shame, anguish, for his daughter! It is not on his head that +I wish these to descend, but on hers. You look surprised. You wonder +why? I will not tell you--not now, at least. It is not because she is +passionate and disagreeable; that is a trifle, and besides she has +changed from that; it is not because she ever injured me--she never +injured me; she loves me; but"--and Hilda's brow grew dark, and her +eyes flashed as she spoke--"there are other reasons, deeper than all +this--reasons which I will not divulge even to you, but which yet are +sufficient to make me long and yearn and crave for some opportunity +to bring down her proud head into the very dust." +<br> +<br> +"And that opportunity shall be yours," cried Gualtier, vehemently. +"To do this it is only necessary to find out the whole truth. I will +find it out. I will search over all England and all America till I +discover all that you want to know. General Pomeroy is dead. What +matter? He is nothing to you. But she lives, and is a mark for your +vengeance." +<br> +<br> +"I have said more than I intended to," said Hilda, suddenly resuming +her coolness. "At any rate, I take you at your word. If you want +money, I can supply it." +<br> +<br> +"Money?" said Gualtier, with a light laugh. "No, no. It is something +far more than that which I want. When I have succeeded in my search I +will tell you. To tell it now would be premature. But when shall I +start? Now?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh no," said Hilda, who showed no emotion one way or the other at +the hint which he had thrown out. "Oh no, do nothing suddenly. Wait +until your quarter is up. When will it be out?" +<br> +<br> +"In six weeks. Shall I wait?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Well, then, in six weeks I will go." +<br> +<br> +"Very well." +<br> +<br> +"And if I don't succeed I shall never come back." +<br> +<br> +Hilda was silent. +<br> +<br> +"Is it arranged, then?" said Gualtier, after a time. +<br> +<br> +"Yes; and now I will take my music lesson." +<br> +<br> +And Hilda walked over to the piano. +<br> +<br> +After this interview no further opportunity occurred. Gualtier came +every day as before. In a fortnight he gave notice to the Earl that +pressing private engagements would require his departure. He begged +leave to recommend a friend of his, Mr. Hilaire. The Earl had an +interview with Gualtier, and courteously expressed his regret at his +departure, asking him at the same time to write to Mr. Hilaire and +get him to come. This Gualtier promised to do. +<br> +<br> +Shortly before the time of Gualtier's departure Mr. Hilaire arrived. +Gualtier took him to the Castle, and he was recognized as the new +teacher. +<br> +<br> +In a few days Gualtier took his departure. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XV. +<br> +<br> +FROM GIRLHOOD TO WOMANHOOD. +<br> +<br> +One evening Zillah was sitting with Lord Chetwynde in his little +sanctum. His health had not been good of late, and sometimes attacks +of gout were superadded. At this time he was confined to his room. +<br> +<br> +Zillah was dressed for dinner, and had come to sit with him until the +second bell rang. She had been with him constantly during his +confinement to his room. At this time she was seated on a low stool +near the fire, which threw its glow over her face, and lit up the +vast masses of her jet-black hair. Neither of them had spoken for +some time, when Lord Chetwynde, who had been looking steadily at her +for some minutes, said, abruptly: +<br> +<br> +"Zillah, I'm sure Guy will not know you when he comes back." +<br> +<br> +She looked up laughingly. "Why, father? I think every lineament on my +face must be stereotyped on his memory." +<br> +<br> +"That is precisely the reason why I say that he will not know you. I +could not have imagined that three years could have so thoroughly +altered any one." +<br> +<br> +"It's only fine feathers," said Zillah, shaking her head. "You must +allow that Mathilde is incomparable. I often feel that were she to +have the least idea of the appearance which I presented, when I first +came here, there would be nothing left for me but suicide. I could +not survive her contempt. I was always fond of finery. I have Indian +blood enough for that; but when I remember my combinations of colors, +it really makes me shudder; and my hair was always streaming over my +shoulders in a manner more _negligé_ than becoming." +<br> +<br> +"I do Mathilde full justice," returned Lord Chetwynde. "Your toilette +and coiffure are now irreproachable; but even her power has its +limits, and she could scarcely have turned the sallow, awkward girl +into a lovely and graceful woman." +<br> +<br> +Zillah, who was unused to flattery, blushed very red at this tribute +to her charms, and answered, quickly: +<br> +<br> +"Whatever change there may be is entirely due to Monmouthshire. +Devonshire never agreed with me. I should have been ill and delicate +to this day if I had remained there; and as to sallowness, I must +plead guilty to that. I remember a lemon-colored silk I had, in which +it was impossible to tell where the dress ended and my neck began. +But, after all, father, you are a very prejudiced judge. Except that +I am healthy now, and well dressed, I think I am very much the same +personally as I was three years ago. In character, however, I feel +that I have altered." +<br> +<br> +"No," he replied; "I have been looking at you for the last few +minutes with perfectly unprejudiced eyes, trying to see you as a +stranger would, and as Guy will when he returns. And now," he added, +laughingly, "you shall be punished for your audacity in doubting my +powers of discrimination, by having a full inventory given you. We +will begin with the figure--about the middle height, perhaps a little +under it, slight and graceful; small and beautifully proportioned +head; well set on the shoulders; complexion no longer sallow or +lemon-colored, but clear, bright, transparent olive; hair, black as +night, and glossy as--" +<br> +<br> +But here he was interrupted by Zillah, who suddenly flung her arms +about his neck, and the close proximity of the face which he was +describing impeded further utterance. +<br> +<br> +"Hush, father," said she; "I won't hear another word, and don't you +dare to talk about ever looking at me with unprejudiced eyes. I want +you to love me without seeing my faults." +<br> +<br> +"But would you not rather that I saw your failings, Zillah, than that +I clothed you with an ideal perfection?" +<br> +<br> +"No; I don't care for the love that is always looking out for faults, +and has a 'but' even at the tenderest moments. That is not the love I +give. Perhaps strangers might not think dear papa, and you, and Hilda +absolutely perfect; but I can not see a single flaw, and I should +hate myself if I could." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde kissed her fondly, but sighed as he answered: +<br> +<br> +"My child, you know nothing of the world. I fear life has some very +bitter lessons in store for you before you will learn to read it +aright, and form a just estimate of the characters of the people +among whom you are thrown." +<br> +<br> +"But you surely would not have me think people bad until I have +proved them to be so. Life would not be worth having if one must live +in a constant state of suspicion." +<br> +<br> +"No, nor would I have you think all whom you love to be perfect. +Believe me, my child, you will meet with but few friends in the +world. Honor is an exploded notion, belonging to a past generation." +<br> +<br> +"You may be right, father, but I do not like the doctrine; so I shall +go on believing in people until I find them to be different from what +I thought." +<br> +<br> +"I should say to you, do so, dear--believe as long as you can, and as +much as you can; but the danger of that is when you find that those +whom you have trusted do not come up to the standard which you have +formed. After two or three disappointments you will fall into the +opposite extreme, think every one bad, and not believe in any thing +or any body." +<br> +<br> +"I should die before I should come to that," cried Zillah, +passionately. "If what you say is true, I had better not let myself +like any body." Then, laughing up in his face, she added: +"By-the-way, I wonder if you are safe. You see you have made me so +skeptical that I shall begin by suspecting my tutor. No, don't +speak," she went on, in a half-earnest, half-mocking manner, and put +her hand before his mouth. "The case is hopeless, as far as you are +concerned. The warning has come too late. I love you as I thought I +should never love any one after dear papa." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde smiled, and pressed her fondly to his breast. +<br> +<br> +The steady change which had been going on in Zillah, in mind and in +person, was indeed sufficient to justify Lord Chetwynde's remark. +Enough has been said already about her change in personal appearance. +Great as this was, however, it was not equal to that more subtle +change which had come over her soul. Her nature was intense, +vehement, passionate; but its development was of such a kind that she +was now earnest where she was formerly impulsive, and calm where she +had been formerly weak. A profound depth of feeling already was made +manifest in this rich nature, and the thoughtfulness of the West was +added to the fine emotional sensibility of the East; forming by their +union a being of rare susceptibility, and of quick yet deep feeling, +who still could control those feelings, and smother them, even though +the concealed passion should consume like a fire within her. +<br> +<br> +Three years had passed since her hasty and repugnant marriage, and +those years had been eventful in many ways. They had matured the +wild, passionate, unruly girl into the woman full of sensibility and +passion. They had also been filled with events upon which the world +gazed in awe, which shook the British empire to its centre, and sent +a thrill of horror to the heart of that empire, followed by a fierce +thirst for vengeance. For the Indian mutiny had broken out, the +horrors of Cawnpore had been enacted, the stories of sepoy atrocity +had been told by every English fireside, and the whole nation had +roused itself to send forth armies for vengeance and for punishment. +Dread stories were these for the quiet circle at Chetwynde Castle; +yet they had been spared its worst pains. Guy had been sent to the +north of India, and had not been witness of the scenes of Cawnpore. +He had been joined with those soldiers who had been summoned together +to march on Delhi, and he had shared in the danger and in the final +triumph of that memorable expedition. +<br> +<br> +The intensity of desire and the agony of impatience which attended +his letters were natural. Lord Chetwynde thought only of one thing +for many months, and that was his son's letters. At the outbreak of +the mutiny, a dread anxiety had taken possession of him lest his son +might be in danger. At first the letters came regularly, giving +details of the mutiny as he heard them. Then there was a long break, +for the army was on the march to Delhi. Then a letter came from the +British camp before Delhi, which roused Lord Chetwynde from the +lowest depths of despair to joy and exultation and hope. Then there +was another long interval, in which the Earl, sick with anxiety, +began to anticipate the worst, and was fast sinking into despondency, +until, at last, a letter came, which raised him up in an instant to +the highest pitch of exultation and triumph. Delhi was taken. Guy had +distinguished himself, and was honorably mentioned in the dispatches. +He had been among the first to scale the walls and penetrate into the +beleaguered city. All had fallen into their hands. The great danger +which had impended had been dissipated, and vengeance had been dealt +out to those whose hands were red with English blood. Guy's letter, +from beginning to end, was one long note of triumph. Its enthusiastic +tone, coming, as it did, after a long period of anxiety, completely +overcame the Earl. Though naturally the least demonstrative of men, +he was now overwhelmed by the full tide of his emotions. He burst +into tears, and wept for some time tears of joy. Then he rose, and +walking over to Zillah, he kissed her, and laid his hand solemnly +upon her head. +<br> +<br> +"My daughter," said he, "thank God that your husband is preserved to +you through the perils of war, and that he is saved to you, and will +come to you in safety and in honor." +<br> +<br> +The Earl's words sank deeply into Zillah's heart. She said nothing, +but bowed her head in silence. +<br> +<br> +Living, as she did, where Guy's letters formed the chief delight of +him whom she loved as a father, it would have been hard indeed for a +generous nature like hers to refrain from sharing his feelings. +Sympathy with his anxiety and his joy was natural, nay, inevitable. +In his sorrow she was forced to console him by pointing out all that +might be considered as bright in his prospects; in his joy she was +forced to rejoice with him, and listen to his descriptions of Guy's +exploits, as his imagination enlarged upon the more meagre facts +stated in the letters. This year of anxiety and of triumph, therefore +compelled her to think very much about Guy, and, whatever her +feelings were, it certainly exalted him to a prominent place in her +thoughts. +<br> +<br> +And so it happened that, as month succeeded to month; she found +herself more and more compelled to identify herself with the Earl, to +talk to him about the idol of his heart, to share his anxiety and his +joy, while all that anxiety and all that joy referred exclusively to +the man who was her husband, but whom, as a husband, she had once +abhorred. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XVI. +<br> +<br> +THE AMERICAN EXPEDITION. +<br> +<br> +About three years had passed away since Zillah had first come to +Chetwynde, and the life which she had lived there had gradually come +to be grateful and pleasant and happy. Mr. Hilaire was attentive to +his duty and devoted to his pupil, and Zillah applied herself +assiduously to her music and drawing. At the end of a year Mr. +Hilaire waited upon the Earl with a request to withdraw, as he wanted +to go to the Continent. He informed the Earl, however, that Mr. +Gualtier was coming back, and would like to get his old situation, if +possible. The Earl consented to take back the old teacher; and so, in +a few months more, after an absence of about a year and a half, +Gualtier resumed his duties at Chetwynde Castle, _vice_ Mr. Hilaire, +resigned. +<br> +<br> +On his first visit after his return Hilda's face expressed an +eagerness of curiosity which even her fine self-control could not +conceal. No one noticed it, however, but Gualtier, and he looked at +her with an earnest expression that might mean any thing or nothing. +It might tell of success or failure; and so Hilda was left to +conjecture. There was no chance of a quiet conversation, and she had +either to wait as before, perhaps for months, until she could see him +alone, or else throw away her scruples and arrange a meeting. Hilda +was not long in coming to a conclusion. On Gualtier's second visit +she slipped a piece of paper into his hand, on which he read, after +he had left, the following: +<br> +<br> +"_I will be in the West Avenue, near the Lake, this afternoon at +three o'clock._" +<br> +<br> +That afternoon she made some excuse and went out, as she said to +Zillah, for a walk through the Park. As this was a frequent thing +with her, it excited no comment. The West Avenue led from the door +through the Park, and finally, after a long detour, ended at the main +gate. At its farthest point there was a lake, surrounded by a dense +growth of Scotch larch-trees, which formed a very good place for such +a tryst--although, for that matter, in so quiet a place as Chetwynde +Park, they might have met on the main avenue without any fear of +being noticed. Here, then, at three o'clock, Hilda went, and on +reaching the spot found Gualtier waiting for her. +<br> +<br> +She walked under the shadow of the trees before she said a word. +<br> +<br> +"You are punctual," said she at last. +<br> +<br> +"I have been here ever since noon." +<br> +<br> +"You did not go out, then?" +<br> +<br> +"No, I staid here for you." +<br> +<br> +His tone expressed the deepest devotion, and his eyes, as they rested +on her for a moment, had the same expression. +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked at him benignantly and encouragingly. +<br> +<br> +"You have been gone long, and I dare say you have been gone far," she +said. "It is this which I want to hear about. Have you found out any +thing, and what have you found out?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, I have been gone long," said Gualtier, "and have been far away; +but all the time I have done nothing else than seek after what you +wish to know. Whether I have discovered any thing of any value will +be for you to judge. I can only tell you of the result. At any rate +you will see that I have not spared myself for your sake." +<br> +<br> +"What have you done?" asked Hilda, who saw that Gualtier's devotion +was irrepressible, and would find vent in words if she did not +restrain him. "I am eager to hear." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier dropped his eyes, and began to speak in a cool business +tone. +<br> +<br> +"I will tell you every thing, then, Miss Krieff," said he, "from the +beginning. When I left here I went first to London, for the sake of +making inquiries about the elopement. I hunted up all whom I could +find whose memories embraced the last twenty years, so as to see if +they could throw any light on this mystery. One or two had some faint +recollection of the affair, but nothing of any consequence. At length +I found out an old sporting character who promised at first to be +what I wished. He remembered Lady Chetwynde, described her beauty, +and said that she was left to herself very much by her husband. He +remembered well the excitement that was caused by her flight. He +remembered the name of the man with whom she had fled. It was +_Redfield Lyttoun_." +<br> +<br> +"_Redfield Lyttoun_!" repeated Hilda, with a peculiar expression. +<br> +<br> +"Yes; but he said that, for his part, he had good reason for +believing that it was an assumed name. The man who bore the name had +figured for a time in sporting circles, but after this event it was +generally stated that it was not his true name. I asked whether any +one knew his true name. He said some people had stated it, but he +could not tell. I asked what was the name. He said Pomeroy." +<br> +<br> +As Gualtier said this he raised his eyes, and those small gray orbs +seemed to burn and flash with triumph as they encountered the gaze of +Hilda. She said not a word, but held out her hand. Gualtier +tremblingly took it, and pressed it to his thin lips. +<br> +<br> +"This was all that I could discover. It was vague; it was only +partially satisfactory; but it was all. I soon perceived that it was +only a waste of time to stay in London; and after thinking of many +plans, I finally determined to visit the family of Lady Chetwynde +herself. Of course such an undertaking had to be carried out very +cautiously. I found out where the family lived, and went there. On +arriving I went to the Hall, and offered myself as music-teacher. It +was in an out-of-the-way place, and Sir Henry Furlong, Lady +Chetwynde's brother, happened to have two or three daughters who were +studying under a governess. When I showed him a certificate which the +Earl here was kind enough to give me, he was very much impressed by +it. He asked me all about the Earl and Chetwynde, and appeared to be +delighted to hear about these things. My stars were certainly lucky. +He engaged me at once, and so I had constant access to the place. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/59.png" alt="'You Are Punctual, Said She At Last.'"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "'You Are Punctual, Said She At Last.'"] +<br> +<br> +"I had to work cautiously, of course. My idea was to get hold of some +of the domestics. There was an old fellow there, a kind of butler, +whom I propitiated, and gradually drew into conversations about the +family. My footing in the house inspired confidence in him, and he +gradually became communicative. He was an old gossip, in his dotage, +and he knew all about the family, and remembered when Lady Chetwynde +was born. He at first avoided any allusion to her, but I told him +long stories about the Earl, and won upon his sympathies so that he +told me at last all that the family knew about Lady Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"His story was this: Lord Chetwynde was busy in politics, and left +his wife very much to herself. A coolness had sprung up between them, +which increased every day. Lady Chetwynde was vain, and giddy, and +weak. The Redfield Lyttoun of whom I had heard in London was much at +her house, though her husband knew nothing about it. People were +talking about them every where, and he only was in the dark. At last +they ran away. It was known that they had fled to America. That is +the last that was ever heard of her. She vanished out of sight, and +her paramour also. Not one word has ever been heard about either of +them since. From which I conjecture that Redfield Lyttoun, when he +had become tired of his victim, threw her off, and came back to +resume his proper name, to lead a life of honor, and to die in the +odor of sanctity. What do you think of my idea?" +<br> +<br> +"It seems just," said Hilda, thoughtfully. +<br> +<br> +"In the three months which I spent there I found out all that the +family could tell; but still I was far enough away from the object of +my search. I only had conjectures, I wanted certainty. I thought it +all over; and, at length, saw that the only thing left to do was to +go to America, and try to get upon their tracks. It was a desperate +undertaking; America changes so that traces of fugitives are very +quickly obliterated; and who could detect or discover any after a +lapse of nearly twenty years? Still, I determined to go. There seemed +to be a slight chance that I might find this Obed Chute, who figures +in the correspondence. There was also a chance of tracing Lady +Chetwynde among the records of the Sisters of Charity. Besides, there +was the chapter of accidents, in which unexpected things often turn +up. So I went to America. My first search was after Obed Chute. To my +amazement, I found him at once. He is one of the foremost bankers of +New York, and is well known all over the city. I waited on him +without delay. I had documents and certificates which I presented to +him. Among others, I had written out a very good letter from Sir +Henry Furlong, commissioning me to find out about his beloved sister, +and another from General Pomeroy, to the effect that I was his +friend--" +<br> +<br> +"That was forgery," interrupted Hilda, sharply. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier bowed with a deprecatory air, and hung his head in deep +abasement. +<br> +<br> +"Go on," said she. +<br> +<br> +"You are too harsh," said he, in a pleading voice. "It was all for +your sake--" +<br> +<br> +"Go on," she repeated. +<br> +<br> +"Well, with these I went to see Obed Chute. He was a tall, +broad-shouldered, square-headed man, with iron-gray hair, and a +face--well, it was one of those faces that make you feel that the +owner can do any thing he chooses. On entering his private office I +introduced myself, and began a long explanation. He interrupted me by +shaking hands with me vehemently, and pushing me into a chair. I sat +down, and went on with my explanation. I told him that I had come out +as representative of the Furlong family, and the friend of General +Pomeroy, now dead. I told him that there were several things which I +wished to find out. First, to trace Lady Chetwynde, and find out what +had become of her, and bring her back to her friends, if she were +alive; secondly, to clear up certain charges relative to a forgery; +and, finally, to find out about the fate of Redfield Lyttoun. +<br> +<br> +"Mr. Obed Chute at first was civil enough, after his rough way; but, +as I spoke, he looked at me earnestly, eying me from head to foot +with sharp scrutiny. He did not seem to believe my story. +<br> +<br> +"'Well,' said he, when I had ended, 'is that all?' +<br> +<br> +"'Yes,' said I. +<br> +<br> +"'So you want to find out about Lady Chetwynde, and the forgery, and +Redfield Lyttoun?' +<br> +<br> +"'Yes.' +<br> +<br> +"'And General Pomeroy told you to apply to me?' +<br> +<br> +"'Yes. On his dying bed,' said I, solemnly, 'his last words were: "Go +to Obed Chute, and tell him to explain all."' +<br> +<br> +"'To explain all!' repeated Obed Chute. +<br> +<br> +"'Yes,' said I. '"The confession," said the General, "can not be made +by me. He must make it."' +<br> +<br> +"'The confession!' he repeated. +<br> +<br> +"'Yes. And I suppose that you will not be unwilling to grant a dying +man's request.' +<br> +<br> +"Obed Chute said nothing for some time, but sat staring at me, +evidently engaged in profound thought. At any rate, he saw through +and through me. +<br> +<br> +"'Young man,' said he at last, 'where are you lodging?' +<br> +<br> +"'At the Astor House,' said I, in some surprise. "'Well, then, go +back to the Astor House, pack up your trunk, pay your bill, take your +fare in the first steamer, and go right straight back home. When you +get there, give my compliments' to Sir Henry Furlong, and tell him if +he wants his sister he had better hunt her up himself. As to that +affecting message which you have brought from General Pomeroy, I can +only say, that, as he evidently did not explain this business to you, +I certainly will not. I was only his agent. Finally, if you want to +find Redfield Lyttoun, you may march straight out of that door, and +look about you till you find him.' +<br> +<br> +"Saying this, he rose, opened the door, and, with a savage frown, +which forbade remonstrance, motioned me out. +<br> +<br> +"I went out. There was evidently no hope of doing any thing with Obed +Chute." +<br> +<br> +"Then you failed," said Hilda, in deep disappointment. +<br> +<br> +"Failed? No. Do you not see how the reticence of this Obed Chute +confirms all our suspicions? But wait till you hear all, and I will +tell you my conclusions. You will then see whether I have discovered +any thing definite or not. +<br> +<br> +"I confess I was much discouraged at first at my reception by Obed +Chute. I expected every thing from this interview, and his brutality +baffled me. I did not venture back there again, of course. I thought +of trying other things, and went diligently around among the convents +and religious orders, to see if I could find out any thing about the +fate of Lady Chetwynde. My letters of introduction from Sir H. +Furlong and from Lord Chetwynde led these simple-minded people to +receive me with confidence. They readily seconded my efforts, and +opened their records to me. For some time my search was in vain; but, +at last, I found what I wanted. One of the societies of the Sisters +of Charity had the name of Sister Ursula, who joined them in the year +1840. She was Lady Chetwynde. She lived with them eight years, and +then disappeared. Why she had left, or where she had gone, was +equally unknown. She had disappeared, and that was the end of her. +After this I came home." +<br> +<br><img src="images/61.png" alt="With A Savage Frown He Motioned Me Out."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "With A Savage Frown He Motioned Me Out."] +<br> +<br> +"And you have found out nothing more?" said Hilda, in deep +disappointment. +<br> +<br> +"Nothing," said Gualtier, dejectedly; "but are you not hasty in +despising what I have found out? Is not this something?" +<br> +<br> +"I do not know that you have discovered anything but what I knew +before," said Hilda, coldly. "You have made some conjectures--that is +all." +<br> +<br> +"Conjectures!--no, conclusions from additional facts," said Gualtier, +eagerly. "What we suspected is now, at least, more certain. The very +brutality of that beast, Obed Chute, proves this. Let me tell you the +conclusions that I draw from this: +<br> +<br> +"First, General Pomeroy, under an assumed name, that of Redfield +Lyttoun, gained Lady Chetwynde's love, and ran away with her to +America. +<br> +<br> +"Secondly, he forged a hundred thousand dollars, which forgery he +hushed up through this Obed Chute, paying him, no doubt, a large sum +for hush-money. +<br> +<br> +"Thirdly, he deserted Lady Chetwynde when he was tired of her, and +left her in the hands of Obed Chute. She was ill, and finally, on her +recovery, joined the Sisters of Charity. +<br> +<br> +"Fourthly, after eight years she ran away--perhaps to fall into evil +courses and die in infamy. +<br> +<br> +"And lastly, all this must be true, or else Obed Chute would not have +been so close, and would not have fired up so at the very suggestion +of an explanation. If it were not true, why should he not explain? +But if it be true, then there is every reason why he should not +explain." +<br> +<br> +A long silence followed. Hilda was evidently deeply disappointed. +From what Gualtier had said at the beginning of the interview, she +had expected to hear something more definite. It seemed to her as +though all his trouble had resulted in nothing. Still, she was not +one to give way to disappointment, and she had too much good sense to +show herself either ungrateful or ungracious. +<br> +<br> +"Your conclusions are, no doubt, correct," said she at last, in a +pleasanter tone than she had yet assumed; "but they are only +inferences, and can not be made use of--in the practical way in which +I hoped they would be. We are still in the attitude of inquirers, you +see. The secret which we hold is of such a character that we have to +keep it to ourselves until it be confirmed." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier's face lighted up with pleasure as Hilda thus identified him +with herself, and classed him with her as the sharer of the secret. +<br> +<br> +"Any thing," said he, eagerly--"any thing that I can do, I will do. I +hope you know that you have only to say the word--" +<br> +<br> +Hilda waved her hand. +<br> +<br> +"I trust you," said she. "The time will come when you will have +something to do. But just now I must wait, and attend upon +circumstances. There are many things in my mind which I will not tell +you--that is to say, not yet. But when the time comes, I promise to +tell you. You may be interested in my plans--or you may not. I will +suppose that you are." +<br> +<br> +"Can you doubt it, Miss Krieff?" +<br> +<br> +"No, I do not doubt it, and I promise you my confidence when any +thing further arises." +<br> +<br> +"Can I be of no assistance now--in advising, or in counseling?" asked +Gualtier, in a hesitating voice. +<br> +<br> +"No--whatever half-formed plans I may have relate to people and to +things which are altogether outside of your sphere, and so you could +do nothing in the way of counseling or advising." +<br> +<br> +"At least, tell me this much--must I look upon all my labor as wasted +utterly? Will you at least accept it, even if it is useless, as an +offering to you?" +<br> +<br> +Gualtier's pale sallow face grew paler and more sallow as he asked +this; his small gray eyes twinkled with a feverish light as he turned +them anxiously upon Hilda. Hilda, for her part, regarded him with her +usual calmness. +<br> +<br> +"Accept it?" said she. "Certainly, right gladly and gratefully. My +friend, if I was disappointed at the result, do not suppose that I +fail to appreciate the labor. You have shown rare perseverance and +great acuteness. The next time you will succeed." +<br> +<br> +This approval of his labors, slight as it was, and spoken as it was, +with the air of a queen, was eagerly and thankfully accepted by +Gualtier. He hungered after her approval, and in his hunger he was +delighted even with crumbs. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XVII. +<br> +<br> +A FRESH DISCOVERY. +<br> +<br> +Some time passed away, and Hilda had no more interviews with +Gualtier. The latter settled down into a patient, painstaking +music-teacher once more, who seemed not to have an idea beyond his +art. Hilda held herself aloof; and, even when she might have +exchanged a few confidential words, she did not choose to do so. And +Gualtier was content, and quiet, and patient. +<br> +<br> +Nearly eighteen months had passed away since Zillah's visit to +Pomeroy Court, and she began to be anxious to pay another visit. She +had been agitating the subject for some time; but it had been +postponed from time to time, for various reasons, the chief one being +the ill health of the Earl. At length, however, his health improved +somewhat, and Zillah determined to take advantage of this to go. +<br> +<br> +This time, the sight of the Court did not produce so strong an effect +as before. She did not feel like staying alone, but preferred having +Hilda with her, and spoke freely about the past. They wandered about +the rooms, looked over all the well-remembered places, rode or +strolled through the grounds, and found, at every step, inside of the +Court, and outside also, something which called up a whole world of +associations. +<br> +<br> +Wandering thus about the Court, from one room to another, it was +natural that Zillah should go often to the library, where her father +formerly passed the greater part of his time. Here they chiefly +staid, and looked over the hooks and pictures. +<br> +<br> +One day the conversation turned toward the desk, and Zillah casually +remarked that her father used to keep this place so sacred from her +intrusion that she had acquired a kind of awe of it, which she had +not yet quite overcome. This led Hilda to propose, laughingly, that +she should explore it now, on the spot; and, taking the keys, she +opened it, and turned over some of the papers. At length she opened a +drawer, and drew out a miniature. Zillah snatched it from her, and, +looking at it for a few moments, burst into tears. +<br> +<br> +"It's my mother," she cried, amidst her sobs; "my mother! Oh, my +mother!" +<br> +<br> +Hilda said nothing. +<br> +<br> +"He showed it to me once, when I was a little child, and I often have +wondered, in a vague way, what became of it. I never thought of +looking here." +<br> +<br> +"You may find other things here, also, if you look," said Hilda, +gently. "No doubt your papa kept here all his most precious things." +<br> +<br> +The idea excited Zillah. She covered the portrait with kisses, put it +in her pocket, and then sat down to explore the desk. +<br> +<br> +There were bundles of papers there, lying on the bottom of the desk, +all neatly wrapped up and labeled in a most business-like manner. +Outside there was a number of drawers, all of which were filled with +papers. These were all wrapped in bundles, and were labeled, so as to +show at the first glance that they referred to the business of the +estate. Some were mortgages, others receipts, others letters, others +returned checks and drafts. Nothing among these had any interest for +Zillah. +<br> +<br> +Inside the desk there were some drawers, which Zillah opened. Once on +the search, she kept it up most vigorously. The discovery of her +mother's miniature led her to suppose that something else of equal +value might be found here somewhere. But, after a long search, +nothing whatever was found. The search, however, only became the more +exciting, and the more she was baffled the more eager did she become +to follow it out to the end. While she was investigating in this way, +Hilda stood by her, looking on with the air of a sympathizing friend +and interested spectator. Sometimes she anticipated Zillah in opening +drawers which lay before their eyes, and in seizing and examining the +rolls of papers with which each drawer was filled. The search was +conducted by both, in fact, but Zillah seemed to take the lead. +<br> +<br> +"There's nothing more," said Hilda at last, as Zillah opened the last +drawer, and found only some old business letters. "You have examined +all, you have found nothing. At any rate, the search has given you +the miniature; and, besides, it has dispelled that awe that you spoke +of." +<br> +<br> +"But, dear Hilda, there ought to be something," said Zillah. "I hoped +for something more. I had an idea that I might find something--I +don't know what--something which I could keep for the rest of my +life." +<br> +<br> +"Is not the miniature enough, dearest?" said Hilda, in affectionate +tones. "What more could you wish for?" +<br> +<br> +"I don't know. I prize it most highly; but, still, I feel +disappointed." +<br> +<br> +"There is no more chance," said Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"No; I have examined every drawer." +<br> +<br> +"You can not expect any thing more, so let us go away--unless," she +added, "you expect to find some mysterious secret drawer somewhere, +and I fancy there is hardly any room here for any thing of that +kind." +<br> +<br> +"A secret drawer!" repeated Zillah, with visible excitement. "What an +idea! But could there be one? Is there any place for one? I don't see +any place. There is the open place where the books are kept, and, on +each side, a row of drawers. No; there are no secret drawers here. +But see--what is this?" +<br> +<br> +As Zillah said this she reached out her hand toward the lower part of +the place where the books were kept. A narrow piece of wood projected +there beyond the level face of the back of the desk. On this piece of +wood there was a brass catch, which seemed intended to be fastened; +but now, on account of the projection of the piece, it was not +fastened. Zillah instantly pulled the wood, and it came out. +<br> +<br> +It was a shallow drawer, not more than half an inch in depth, and the +catch was the means by which it was closed. A bit of brass, that +looked like an ornamental stud, was, in reality, a spring, by +pressing which the drawer sprang open. But when Zillah looked there +the drawer was already open, and, as she pulled it out, she saw it +all. +<br> +<br> +As she pulled it out her hand trembled, and her heart beat fast. A +strange and inexplicable feeling filled her mind--a kind of +anticipation of calamity--a mysterious foreboding of evil--which +spread a strange terror through her. But her excitement was strong, +and was not now to be quelled; and it would have needed something +far more powerful than this vague fear to stop her in the search into +the mystery of the desk. +<br> +<br> +When men do any thing that is destined to affect them seriously, for +good or evil, it often happens that at the time of the action a +certain unaccountable premonition arises in the mind. This is chiefly +the case when the act is to be the cause of sorrow. Like the wizard +with Lochiel, some dark phantom arises before the mind, and warns of +the evil to come. So it was in the present case. The pulling out of +that drawer was an eventful moment in the life of Zillah. It was a +crisis fraught with future sorrow and evil and suffering. There was +something of all this in her mind at that moment; and, as she pulled +it out, and as it lay before her, a shudder passed through her, and +she turned her face away. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Hilda, Hilda!" she murmured. "I'm afraid--" +<br> +<br> +"Afraid of what?" asked Hilda. "What's the matter? Here is a +discovery, certainly. This secret drawer could never have been +suspected. What a singular chance it was that you should have made +such a discovery!" +<br> +<br> +But Zillah did not seem to hear her. Before she had done speaking she +had turned to examine the drawer. There were several papers in it. +All were yellow and faded, and the writing upon them was pale with +age. These Zillah seized in a nervous and tremulous grasp. The first +one which she unfolded was the secret cipher. Upon this she gazed for +some time in bewilderment, and then opened a paper which was inclosed +within it. This paper, like the other, was faded, and the ink was +pale. It contained what seemed like a key to decipher the letters on +the other. These Zillah placed on one side, not choosing to do any +more at that time. Then she went on to examine the others. What these +were has already been explained. They were the letters of Obed Chute, +and the farewell note of Lady Chetwynde. But in addition to these +there was another letter, with which the reader is not as yet +acquainted. It was as brown and as faded as the other papers, with +writing as pale and as illegible. It was in the handwriting of Obed +Chute. It was as follows: +<br> +<br> +"NEW YORK, October 20, 1841. +<br> +<br> +"DEAR SIR,--L. C. has been in the convent a year. The seventy +thousand dollars will never again trouble you. All is now settled, +and no one need ever know that the Redfield Lyttoun who ran away with +L. C. was really Captain Pomeroy. There is no possibility that any +one can ever find it out, unless you yourself disclose your secret. +Allow me to congratulate you on the happy termination of this +unpleasant business. +<br> +<br> +"Yours, truly, OBED CHUTE. +<br> +<br> +"Captain O. N. POMEROY." +<br> +<br> +Zillah read this over many times. She could not comprehend one word +of it as yet. Who was L. C. she knew not. The mention of Captain +Pomeroy, however, seemed to implicate her father in some "unpleasant +business." A darker anticipation of evil, and a profounder dread, +settled over her heart. She did not say a word to Hilda. This, +whatever it was, could not be made the subject of girlish confidence. +It was something which she felt was to be examined by herself in +solitude and in fear. Once only did she look at Hilda. It was when +the latter asked, in a tone of sympathy: +<br> +<br> +"Dear Zillah, what is it?" And, as she asked this, she stooped +forward and kissed her. +<br> +<br> +Zillah shuddered involuntarily. Why? Not because she suspected her +friend. Her nature was too noble to harbor suspicion. Her shudder +rather arose from that mysterious premonition which, according to old +superstitions, arises warningly and instinctively and blindly at the +approach of danger. So the old superstition says that this +involuntary shudder will arise when any one steps over the place +which is destined to be our grave. A pleasant fancy! +<br> +<br> +Zillah shuddered, and looked up at Hilda with a strange dazed +expression. It was some time before she spoke. +<br> +<br> +"They are family papers," she said. "I--I don't understand them. I +will look over them." +<br> +<br> +She gathered up the papers abruptly, and left the room. As the door +closed after her Hilda sat looking at the place where she had +vanished, with a very singular smile on her face. +<br> +<br> +For the remainder of that day Zillah continued shut up in her own +room. Hilda went once to ask, in a voice of the sweetest and +tenderest sympathy, what was the matter. Zillah only replied that she +was not well, and was lying down. She would not open her door, +however. Again, before bedtime, Hilda went. At her earnest entreaty +Zillah let her in. She was very pale, with a weary, anxious +expression on her face. +<br> +<br> +Hilda embraced her and kissed her. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my darling," said she, "will you not tell me your trouble? +Perhaps I may be of use to you. Will you not give me your +confidence?" +<br> +<br> +"Not just yet, Hilda dearest. I do not want to trouble you. Besides, +there may be nothing in it. I will speak to the Earl first, and then +I will tell you." +<br> +<br> +"And you will not tell me now?" murmured Hilda, reproachfully. +<br> +<br> +"No, dearest, not now. Better not. You will soon know all, whether it +is good or bad. I am going back to Chetwynde to-morrow." +<br> +<br> +"To-morrow?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Zillah, mournfully. "I must go back to end my suspense. +You can do nothing. Lord Chetwynde only can tell me what I want to +know. I will tell him all, and he can dispel my trouble, or else +deepen it in my heart forever." +<br> +<br> +"How terrible! What a frightful thing this must be. My darling, my +friend, my sister, tell me this--was it that wretched paper?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Zillah. "And now, dearest, goodnight. Leave me--I am very +miserable." +<br> +<br> +Hilda kissed her again. +<br> +<br> +"Darling, I would not leave you, but you drive me away. You have no +confidence in your poor Hilda. But I will not reproach you. +Goodnight, darling." +<br> +<br> +"Good-night, dearest." +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XVIII. +<br> +<br> +A SHOCK. +<br> +<br> +The discovery of these papers thus brought the visit to Pomeroy Court +to an abrupt termination. The place had now become intolerable to +Zillah. In her impatience she was eager to leave, and her one thought +now was to apply to Lord Chetwynde for a solution of this dark +mystery. +<br> +<br> +"Why, Zillah," he cried, as she came back; "what is the meaning of +this? You have made but a short stay. Was Pomeroy Court too gloomy, +or did you think that your poor father was lonely here without you? +Lonely enough he was--and glad indeed he is to see his little +Zillah." +<br> +<br> +And Lord Chetwynde kissed her fondly, exhibiting a delight which +touched Zillah to the heart. She could not say any thing then and +there about the real cause of her sudden return. She would have to +wait for a favorable opportunity, even though her heart was +throbbing, in her fierce impatience, as though it would burst. She +took refuge in caresses and in general remarks as to her joy on +finding herself back again, leaving him to suppose that the gloom +which hung around Pomeroy Court now had been too oppressive for her, +and that she had hurried away from it. +<br> +<br> +The subject which was uppermost in Zillah's mind was one which she +hardly knew how to introduce. It was of such delicacy that the idea +of mentioning it to the Earl filled her with repugnance. For the +first day she was distrait and preoccupied. Other days followed. Her +nights were sleepless. The Earl soon saw that there was something on +her mind, and taxed her with it. Zillah burst into tears and sat +weeping. +<br> +<br> +"My child," said the Earl, tenderly. "This must not go on. There can +not be anything in your thoughts which you need hesitate to tell me. +Will you not show some confidence toward me?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked at him, and his loving face encouraged her. Besides, +this suspense was unendurable. Her repugnance to mention such a thing +for a time made her silent; but at last she ventured upon the dark +and terrible subject. +<br> +<br> +"Something occurred at Pomeroy Court," she said, and then stopped. +<br> +<br> +"Well?" said the Earl, kindly and encouragingly. +<br> +<br> +"It is something which I want very much to ask you about--" +<br> +<br> +"Well, why don't you?" said Lord Chetwynde. "My poor child, you can't +be afraid of me, and yet it looks like it. You are very mysterious. +This 'something' must have been very important to have sent you back +so soon. Was it a discovery, or was it a fright? Did you find a dead +body? But what is that you can want to ask me about? I have been a +hermit for twenty years. I crept into my shell before you were born, +and here I have lived ever since." +<br> +<br> +The Earl spoke playfully, yet with an uneasy curiosity in his tone. +Zillah was encouraged to go on. +<br> +<br> +"It is something," said she, timidly and hesitatingly, "which I found +among my father's papers." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde looked all around the room. Then he rose. +<br> +<br> +"Come into the library," said he. "Perhaps it is something very +important; and if so, there need be no listeners." +<br> +<br> +Saying this he led the way in silence, followed by Zillah. Arriving +there he motioned Zillah to a seat, and took a chair opposite hers, +looking at her with a glance of perplexity and curiosity. Amidst this +there was an air of apprehension about him, as though he feared that +the secret which Zillah wished to tell might be connected with those +events in his life which he wished to remain unrevealed. This +suspicion was natural. His own secret was so huge, so engrossing, +that when one came to him as Zillah did now, bowed down by the weight +of another secret, he would naturally imagine that it was connected +with his own. He sat now opposite Zillah, with this fear in his face, +and with the air of a man who was trying to fortify himself against +some menacing calamity. +<br> +<br> +"I have been in very deep trouble," began Zillah, timidly, and with +downcast eyes. "This time I ventured into dear papa's study--and I +happened to examine his desk." +<br> +<br> +She hesitated. +<br> +<br> +"Well?" said the Earl, in a low voice. +<br> +<br> +"In the desk I found a secret drawer, which I would not have +discovered except by the merest chance; and inside of this secret +drawer I found some papers, which--which have filled me with +anxiety." +<br> +<br> +"A secret drawer?" said the Earl, as Zillah again paused. "And what +were these papers that you found in it?" There was intense anxiety in +the tones of his voice as he asked this question. +<br> +<br> +"I found there," said Zillah, "a paper written in cipher. There was a +key connected with it, by means of which I was able to decipher it." +<br> +<br> +"Written in cipher? How singular!" said the Earl, with increasing +anxiety. "What could it possibly have been?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah stole a glance at him fearfully and inquiringly. She saw that +he was much excited and most eager in his curiosity. +<br> +<br> +"What was it?" repeated the Earl. "Why do you keep me in suspense? +You need not be afraid of me, my child. Of course it is nothing that +I am in any way concerned with; and even if it were--why--at any +rate, tell me what it was." +<br> +<br> +The Earl spoke in a tone of feverish excitement, which was so unlike +any thing that Zillah had ever seen in him before that her +embarrassment was increased. +<br> +<br> +"It was something," she went on, desperately, and in a voice which +trembled with agitation, "with which you are connected--something +which I had never heard of before--something which filled me with +horror. I will show it to you--but I want first to ask you one thing. +Will you answer it?" +<br> +<br> +"Why should I not?" said the Earl, in a low voice. +<br> +<br> +"It is about Lady Chetwynde," said Zillah, whose voice had died away +to a whisper. +<br> +<br> +The Earl's face seemed to turn to stone as he looked at her. He had +been half prepared for this, but still, when it finally came, it was +overwhelming. Once before, and once only in his life, had he told his +secret. That was to General Pomeroy. But Zillah was different, and +even she, much as he loved her, was not one to whom he could speak +about such a thing as this. +<br> +<br> +"Well?" said he at last, in a harsh, constrained voice. "Ask what you +wish." +<br> +<br> +Zillah started. The tone was so different from that in which Lord +Chetwynde usually spoke that she was frightened. +<br> +<br> +"I--I do not know how to ask what I want to ask," she stammered. +<br> +<br> +"I can imagine it," said the Earl. "It is about my dishonor. I told +General Pomeroy about it once, and it seems that he has kindly +written it out for your benefit." +<br> +<br> +Bitterness indescribable was in the Earl's tones as he said this. +Zillah shrank back into herself and looked with fear and wonder upon +this man, who a few moments before had been all fondness, but now was +all suspicion. Her first impulse was to go and caress him, and +explain away the cipher so that it might never again trouble him in +this way. But she was too frank and honest to do this, and, besides, +her own desire to unravel the mystery had by this time become so +intense that it was impossible to stop. The very agitation of the +Earl, while it frightened her, still gave new power to her eager and +feverish curiosity. But now, more than ever, she began to realize +what all this involved. That face which caught her eyes, once all +love, which had never before regarded her with aught but tenderness, +yet which now seemed cold and icy--that face told her all the task +that lay before her. Could she encounter it? But how could she help +it? Dare she go on? Yet she could not go back now. +<br> +<br> +The Earl saw her hesitation. +<br> +<br> +"I know what you wish to ask," said he, "and will answer it. Child, +she dishonored me--she dragged my name down into the dust! Do you ask +more? She fled with a villain!" +<br> +<br> +That stern, white face, which was set in anguish before her, from +whose lips these words seemed to be torn, as, one by one, they were +flung out to her ears, was remembered by Zillah many and many a time +in after years. At this moment the effect upon her was appalling. She +was dumb. A vague desire to avert his wrath arose in her heart. She +looked at him imploringly; but her look had no longer any power. +<br> +<br> +"Speak!" he said, impatiently, after waiting for a time. "Speak. Tell +me what it is that you have found; tell me what this thing is that +concerns me. Can it be any thing more than I have said?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah trembled. This sudden transformation--this complete change +from warm affection to icy coldness--from devoted love to iron +sternness--was something which she did not anticipate. Being thus +taken unawares, she was all unnerved and overcome. She could no +longer restrain herself. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, father!" she cried, bursting into tears, and flinging herself at +his feet in uncontrollable emotion. "Oh, father! Do not look at me +so--do not speak so to your poor Zillah. Have I any friend on earth +but you?" +<br> +<br> +She clasped his thin, white hands in hers, while hot tears fell upon +them. But the Earl sat unmoved, and changed not a muscle of his +countenance. He waited for a time, taking no notice of her anguish, +and then spoke, with no relaxation of the sternness of his tone. +<br> +<br> +"Daughter," said he, "do not become agitated. It was you yourself who +brought on this conversation. Let us end it at once. Show me the +papers of which you speak. You say that they are connected with +me--that they filled you with horror. What is it that you mean? +Something more than curiosity about the unhappy woman who was once my +wife has driven you to ask explanations of me. Show me the papers." +<br> +<br> +His tone forbade denial. Zillah said not a word. Slowly she drew from +her pocket those papers, heavy with fate, and, with a trembling hand, +she gave them to the Earl. Scarcely had she done so than she +repented. But it was too late. Beside, of what avail would it have +been to have kept them? She herself had begun this conversation; she +herself had sought for a revelation of this mystery. The end must +come, whatever it might be. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, father!" she moaned, imploringly. +<br> +<br> +"What is it?" asked the Earl. +<br> +<br> +"You knew my dear papa all his life, did you not, from his boyhood?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said the Earl, mechanically, looking at the papers which +Zillah had placed in his hand; "yes--from boyhood." +<br> +<br> +"And you loved and honored him?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Was there ever a time in which you lost sight of one another, or did +not know all about one another?" +<br> +<br> +"Certainly. For twenty years we lost sight of one another completely. +Why do you ask?" +<br> +<br> +"Did he ever live in London?" asked Zillah, despairingly. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said the Earl; "he lived there for two years, and I scarcely +ever saw him. I was in politics; he was in the army. I was busy every +moment of my time; he had all that leisure which officers enjoy, and +leading the life of gayety peculiar to them. But why do you ask? What +connection has all this with the papers?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah murmured some inaudible words, and then sat watching the Earl +as he began to examine the papers, with a face on which there were +visible a thousand contending emotions. The Earl looked over the +papers. There was the cipher and the key; and there was also a paper +written out by Zillah, containing the explanation of the cipher, +according to the key. On the paper which contained the key was a +written statement to the effect that two-thirds of the letters had no +meaning. Trusting to this, Zillah had written out her translation of +the cipher, just as Hilda had before done. +<br> +<br> +The Earl read the translation through most carefully. +<br> +<br> +"What's this?" he exclaimed, in deeper agitation. Zillah made no +reply. In fact, at that moment her heart was throbbing so furiously +that she could not have spoken a word. Now had come the crisis of her +fate, and her heart, by a certain deep instinct, told her this. +Beneath all the agitation arising from the change in the Earl there +was something more profound, more dread. It was a continuation of +that dark foreboding which she had felt at Pomeroy Court--a certain +fearful looking for of some obscure and shadowy calamity. +<br> +<br> +The Earl, after reading the translation, took the cipher writing and +held up the key beside it, while his thin hands trembled, and his +eyes seemed to devour the sheet, as he slowly spelled out the +frightful meaning. It was bad for Zillah that these papers had fallen +into his hands in such a way. Her evil star had been in the ascendant +when she was drawn on to this. Coming to him thus, from the hand of +Zillah herself, there was an authenticity and an authority about the +papers which otherwise might have been wanting. It was to him, at +this time; precisely the same as if they had been handed to him by +the General himself. Had they been discovered by himself originally, +it is possible--in fact, highly probable--that he would have looked +upon them with different eyes, and their effect upon him would have +been far otherwise. As it was, however, Zillah herself had found them +and given them to him. Zillah had been exciting him by her agitation +and her suffering, and had, last of all, been rousing him gradually +up to a pitch of the most intense excitement, by the conversation +which she had brought forward, by her timidity, her reluctance, her +strange questionings, and her general agitation. To a task which +required the utmost coolness of feeling, and calm impartiality of +judgment, he brought a feverish heart, a heated brain, and an +unreasoning fear of some terrific disclosure. All this prepared him +to accept blindly whatever the paper might reveal. +<br> +<br> +As he examined the paper he did not look at Zillah, but spelled out +the words from the characters, one by one, and saw that the +translation was correct. This took a long time; and all the while +Zillah sat there, with her eyes fastened on him; but he did not give +her one look. All his soul seemed to be absorbed by the papers before +him. At last he ended with the cipher writing--or, at least, with as +much of it as was supposed to be decipherable--and then he turned to +the other papers. These he read through; and then, beginning again, +he read them through once more. One only exclamation escaped him. It +was while reading that last letter, where mention was made of the +name Redfield Lyttoun being an assumed one. Then he said, in a low +voice which seemed like a groan wrung out by anguish from his inmost +soul: +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my God! my God!" +<br> +<br> +At last the Earl finished examining the papers. He put them down +feebly, and sat staring blankly at vacancy. He looked ten years older +than when he had entered the dining-room. His face was as bloodless +as the face of a corpse, his lips were ashen, and new furrows seemed +to have been traced on his brow. On his face there was stamped a +fixed and settled expression of dull, changeless anguish, which smote +Zillah to her heart. He did not see her--he did not notice that other +face, as pallid as his own, which was turned toward his, with an +agony in its expression which rivaled all that he was enduring. +No--he noticed nothing, and saw no one. All his soul was taken up now +with one thought. He had read the paper, and had at once accepted its +terrific meaning. To him it had declared that in the tragedy of his +young life, not only his wife had been false, but his friend also. +More--that it was his friend who had betrayed his wife. More yet--and +there was fresh anguish in this thought--this friend, after the +absence of many years, had returned and claimed his friendship, and +had received his confidences. To him he had poured out the grief of +his heart--the confession of life-long sorrows which had been wrought +by the very man to whom he told his tale. And this was the man who, +under the plea of ancient friendship, had bought his son for gold! +Great Heaven! the son of the woman whom he had ruined--and for gold! +He had drawn away his wife to ruin--he had come and drawn away his +son--into what? into a marriage with the daughter of his own mother's +betrayer. +<br> +<br> +Such were the thoughts, mad, frenzied, that filled Lord Chetwynde's +mind as he sat there stunned--paralyzed by this hideous accumulation +of intolerable griefs. What was Zillah to him now? The child of a +foul traitor. The one to whom his noble son had been sold. That son +had been, as he once said, the solace of his life. For his sake he +had been content to live even under his load of shame and misery. For +him he had labored; for his happiness he had planned. And for what? +What? That which was too hideous to think of--a living death--a union +with one from whom he ought to stand apart for evermore. +<br> +<br> +Little did Zillah know what thoughts were sweeping and surging +through the mind of Lord Chetwynde as she sat there watching him with +her awful eyes. Little did she dream of the feelings with which, at +that moment, he regarded her. Nothing of this kind came to her. One +only thought was present--the anguish which he was enduring. The +sight of that anguish was intolerable. She looked, and waited, and at +last, unable to bear this any longer, she sprang forward, and tore +his hands away from his face. +<br> +<br> +"It's not! It's not!" she gasped. "Say you do not believe it! Oh, +father! It's impossible!" +<br> +<br> +The Earl withdrew his hands, and shrank away from her, regarding her +with that blank gaze which shows that the mind sees not the material +form toward which the eyes are turned, but is taken up with its own +thoughts. +<br> +<br> +"Impossible?" he repeated. "Yes. That is the word I spoke when I +first heard that she had left me. Impossible? And why? Is a friend +more true than a wife? After Lady Chetwynde failed me, why should I +believe in Neville Pomeroy? And you--why did you not let me end my +life in peace? Why did you bring to me this frightful--this damning +evidence which destroys my faith not in man, but even in Heaven +itself?" +<br> +<br> +"Father! Oh, father!" moaned Zillah. +<br> +<br> +But the Earl turned away. She seized his hand again in both hers. +Again he shrank away, and withdrew his hand from her touch. She was +abhorrent to him then! +<br> +<br><img src="images/67.png" alt="He Sat Staring Blankly At Vacancy."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "He Sat Staring Blankly At Vacancy."] +<br> +<br> +This was her thought. She stepped back, and at once a wild revulsion +of feeling took place within her also. All the fierce pride of her +hot, impassioned Southern nature rose up in rebellion against this +sudden, this hasty change. Why should he so soon lose faith in her +father? He guilty!--her father!--the noble--the gentle--the +stainless--the true--he! the pure in heart--the one who through all +her life had stood before her as the ideal of manly honor and loyalty +and truth? Never! If it came to a question between Lord Chetwynde and +that idol of her young life, whose memory she adored, then Lord +Chetwynde must go down. Who was he that dared to think evil for one +moment of the noblest of men! Could he himself compare with the +father whom she had lost, in all that is highest in manhood? No. The +charge was foul and false. Lord Chetwynde was false for so doubting +his friend. +<br> +<br> +All this flashed over Zillah's mind, and at that moment, in her +revulsion of indignant pride, she forgot altogether all those doubts +which, but a short time before, had been agitating her own soul +--doubts, too, which were so strong that they had forced her to bring +on this scene with the Earl. All this was forgotten. Her loyalty to +her father triumphed over doubt, so soon as she saw another sharing +that doubt. +<br> +<br> +But her thoughts were suddenly checked. +<br> +<br> +The Earl, who had but lately shrunk away from her, now turned toward +her, and looked at her with a strange, dazed, blank expression of +face, and wild vacant eyes. For a moment he sat turned toward her +thus; and then, giving a deep groan, he fell forward out of his chair +on the floor. With a piercing cry Zillah sprang toward him and tried +to raise him up. Her cry aroused the household. Mrs. Hart was first +among those who rushed to the room to help her. She flung her arms +around the prostrate form, and lifted it upon the sofa. As he lay +there a shudder passed through Zillah's frame at the sight which she +beheld. For the Earl, in falling, had struck his head against the +sharp corner of the table, and his white and venerable hairs were now +all stained with blood, which trickled slowly over his wan pale face. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XIX. +<br> +<br> +A NEW PERPLEXITY. +<br> +<br> +At the sight of that venerable face, as white as marble, now set in +the fixedness of death, whose white hair was all stained with the +blood that oozed from the wound on his forehead, all Zillah's +tenderness returned. Bitterly she reproached herself. +<br> +<br> +"I have killed him! It was all my fault!" she cried. "Oh, save him! +Do something! Can you not save him?" +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart did not seem to hear her at all. She had carried the Earl +to the sofa, and then she knelt by his side, with her arms flung +around him. She seemed unconscious of the presence of Zillah. Her +head lay on the Earl's breast. At last she pressed her lips to his +forehead, where the blood flowed, with a quick, feverish kiss. Her +white face, as it was set against the stony face of the Earl, +startled Zillah. She stood mute. +<br> +<br> +The servants hurried in. Mrs. Hart roused herself, and had the Earl +carried to his room. Zillah followed. The Earl was put to bed. A +servant was sent off for a doctor. Mrs. Hart and Zillah watched +anxiously till the doctor came. The doctor dressed the wound, and +gave directions for the treatment of the patient. Quiet above all +things was enjoined. Apoplexy was hinted at, but it was only a hint. +The real conviction of the doctor seemed to be that it was mental +trouble of some kind, and this conviction was shared by those who +watched the Earl. +<br> +<br> +Zillah and Mrs. Hart both watched that night. They sat in an +adjoining room. But little was said at first. Zillah was busied with +her own thoughts, and Mrs. Hart was preoccupied, and more distrait +than usual. +<br> +<br> +Midnight came. For hours Zillah had brooded over her own sorrows. She +longed for sympathy. Mrs. Hart seemed to her to be the one in whom +she might best confide. The evident affection which Mrs. Hart felt +for the Earl was of itself an inducement to confidence. Her own +affection for the aged housekeeper also impelled her to tell her all +that had happened. And so it was that, while they sat there together, +Zillah gradually told her about her interview with the Earl. +<br> +<br> +But the story which Zillah told did not comprise the whole truth. She +did not wish to go into details, and there were many circumstances +which she did not feel inclined to tell to the housekeeper. There was +no reason why she should tell about the secret cipher, and very many +reasons why she should not. It was an affair which concerned her +father and her family. That her own fears were well founded she dared +not suppose, and therefore she would not even hint about such fears +to another. Above all, she was unwilling to tell what effect the +disclosure of that secret of hers had upon the Earl. Better far, it +seemed to her, it would be to carry that secret to the grave than to +disclose it in any confidence to any third person. Whatever the +result might be, it would be better to hold it concealed between the +Earl and herself. +<br> +<br> +What Zillah said was to the effect that she had been asking the Earl +about Lady Chetwynde; that the mention of the subject had produced an +extraordinary effect; that she wished to withdraw it, but the Earl +insisted on knowing what she had to say. +<br> +<br> +"Oh," she cried, "how bitterly I lament that I said any thing about +it! But I had seen something at home which excited my curiosity. It +was about Lady Chetwynde. It stated that she eloped with a certain +Redfield Lyttoun, and that the name was an assumed one; but what," +cried Zillah, suddenly starting forward--"what is the matter?" +<br> +<br> +While Zillah was speaking Mrs. Hart's face--always pale--seemed to +turn gray, and a shudder passed through her thin, emaciated frame. +She pressed her hand on her heart, and suddenly sank back with a +groan. +<br> +<br> +Zillah sprang toward her and raised her up. Mrs. Hart still kept her +hand on her heart, and gave utterance to low moans of anguish. Zillah +chafed her hands, and then hurried off and got some wine. At the +taste of the stimulating liquor the poor creature revived. She then +sat panting, with her eyes fixed on the floor. Zillah sat looking at +her without saying a word, and afraid to touch again upon a subject +which had produced so disastrous an effect. Yet why should it? Why +should this woman show emotion equal to that of the Earl at the very +mention of such a thing? There was surely some unfathomable mystery +about it. The emotion of the Earl was intelligible--that of Mrs. Hart +was not so. Such were the thoughts that passed through her mind as +she sat there in silence watching her companion. +<br> +<br> +Hours passed without one word being spoken. Zillah frequently urged +Mrs. Hart to go to bed, but Mrs. Hart refused. She could not sleep, +she said, and she would rather be near the Earl. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/69.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +At length Zillah, penetrated with pity for the poor suffering woman, +insisted on her lying down on the sofa. Mrs. Hart had to yield. She +lay down accordingly, but not to sleep. The sighs that escaped her +from time to time showed that her secret sorrow kept her awake. +<br> +<br> +Suddenly, out of a deep silence, Mrs. Hart sprang up and turned her +white face toward Zillah. Her large, weird eyes seemed to burn +themselves into Zillah's brain. Her lips moved. It was but in a +whisper that she spoke: +<br> +<br> +"Never--never--never--mention it again--either to him or to me. It is +hell to both of us!" +<br> +<br> +She fell back again, moaning. +<br> +<br> +Zillah sat transfixed, awe-struck and wondering. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XX. +<br> +<br> +A MODEL NURSE, AND FRIEND IN NEED. +<br> +<br> +Zillah did not tell Hilda about the particular cause of the Earl's +sickness for some time, but Hilda was sufficiently acute to +conjecture what it might be. She was too wary to press matters, and +although she longed to know all, yet she refrained from asking. She +knew enough of Zillah's frank and confiding nature to feel sure that +the confidence would come of itself some day unasked. Zillah was one +of those who can not keep a secret. Warm-hearted, open, and +impulsive, she was ever on the watch for sympathy, and no sooner did +she have a secret than she longed to share it with some one. She had +divulged her secret to the Earl, with results that were lamentable. +She had partially disclosed it to Mrs. Hart, with results equally +lamentable. The sickness of the Earl and of Mrs. Hart was now added +to her troubles; and the time would soon come when, from the +necessities of her nature, she would be compelled to pour out her +soul to Hilda. So Hilda waited. +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart seemed to be completely broken down. She made a feeble +attempt to take part in nursing the Earl, but fainted away in his +room. Hilda was obliged to tell her that she would be of more use by +staying away altogether, and Mrs. Hart had to obey. She tottered +about, frequently haunting that portion of the house where the Earl +lay, and asking questions about his health. Zillah and Hilda were the +chief nurses, and took turns at watching. But Zillah was +inexperienced, and rather noisy. In spite of her affectionate +solicitude she could not create new qualities within herself, and in +one moment make herself a good nurse. Hilda, on the contrary, seemed +formed by nature for the sick-room. Stealthy, quiet, noiseless, she +moved about as silently as a spirit. Every thing was in its place. +The medicines were always arranged in the best order. The pillows +were always comfortable. The doctor looked at her out of his +professional eyes with cordial approval, and when he visited he gave +his directions always to her, as though she alone could be considered +a responsible being. Zillah saw this, but felt no jealousy. She +humbly acquiesced in the doctor's decision; meekly felt that she had +none of the qualities of a nurse; and admired Hilda's genius for that +office with all her heart. Added to this conviction of her own +inability, there was the consciousness that she had brought all this +upon the Earl--a consciousness which brought on self-reproach and +perpetual remorse. The very affection which she felt for Lord +Chetwynde of itself incapacitated her. A good nurse should be cool. +Like a good doctor or a good surgeon, his affections should not be +too largely interested. It is a mistake to suppose that one's dear +friends make one's best nurses. They are very well to look at, but +not to administer medicine or smooth the pillow. Zillah's face of +agony was not so conducive to recovery as the calm smile of Hilda. +The Earl did not need kisses or hot tears upon his face. What he did +need was quiet, and a regular administration of medicines presented +by a cool, steady hand. +<br> +<br> +The Earl was very low. He was weak, yet conscious of all that was +going on. Zillah's heart was gladdened to hear once more words of +love from him. The temporary hardness of heart which had appalled her +had all passed away, and the old affection had returned. In a few +feeble words he begged her not to let Guy know that he was sick, for +he would soon recover, and it would only worry his son. Most of the +words which he spoke were about that son. Zillah would have given any +thing if she could have brought Guy to that bedside. But that was +impossible, and she could only wait and hope. +<br> +<br> +Weeks passed away, and in the interviews which she had with Hilda +Zillah gradually let her know all that had happened. She told her +about the discovery of the papers, and the effect which they had upon +the Earl. At last, one evening, she gave the papers to Hilda. It was +when Zillah came to sit up with the Earl. Hilda took the papers +solemnly, and said that she would look over them. She reproached +Zillah for not giving her her confidence before, and said that she +had a claim before any one, and if she had only told her all about it +at Pomeroy Court, this might not have happened. All this Zillah felt +keenly, and began to think that the grand mistake which she had made +was in not taking Hilda into her confidence at the very outset. +<br> +<br> +"I do not know what these papers may mean," said Hilda; "but I tell +you candidly that if they contain what I suspect, I would have +advised you never to mention it to Lord Chetwynde. It was an awful +thing to bring it all up to him." +<br> +<br> +"Then you know all about it?" asked Zillah, wonderingly. +<br> +<br> +"Of course. Every body knows the sorrow of his life. It has been +public for the last twenty years. I heard all about it when I was a +little girl from one of the servants. I could have advised you to +good purpose, and saved you from sorrow, if you had only confided in +me." +<br> +<br> +Such were Hilda's words, and Zillah felt new self-reproach to think +that she had not confided in her friend. +<br> +<br> +"I hope another time you will not be so wanting in confidence," said +Hilda, as she retired. "Do I not deserve it?" +<br> +<br> +"You do, you do, my dearest!" said Zillah, affectionately. "I have +always said that you were like a sister--and after this I will tell +you every thing." +<br> +<br> +Hilda kissed her, and departed. +<br> +<br> +Zillah waited impatiently to see Hilda again. She was anxious to know +what effect these papers would produce on her. Would she scout them +as absurd, or believe the statement? When Hilda appeared again to +relieve her, all Zillah's curiosity was expressed in her face. But +Hilda said nothing about the papers. She urged Zillah to go and +sleep. +<br> +<br> +"I know what you want to say," said she, "but I will not talk about +it now. Go off to bed, darling, and get some rest. You need it." +<br> +<br> +So Zillah had to go, and defer the conversation till some other time. +She went away to bed, and slept but little. Before her hour she was +up and hastened back. +<br> +<br> +"Why, Zillah," said Hilda, "you are half an hour before your time. +You are wearing yourself out." +<br> +<br> +"Did you read the papers?" asked Zillah, as she kissed her. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Hilda, seriously. +<br> +<br> +"And what do you think?" asked Zillah, with a frightened face. +<br> +<br> +"My darling," said Hilda, "how excited you are! How you tremble! Poor +dear! What is the matter?" +<br> +<br> +"That awful confession!" gasped Zillah, in a scarce audible voice. +<br> +<br> +"My darling," said Hilda, passing her arm about Zillah's neck, "why +should you take it so to heart? You have no concern with it. You are +Guy Molyneux's wife. This paper has now no concern with you." +<br> +<br> +Zillah started back as though she had been stung. Nothing could have +been more abhorrent to her, in such a connection, than the suggestion +of her marriage. +<br> +<br> +"You believe it, then?" +<br> +<br> +"Believe it! Why, don't you?" said Hilda, in wondering tones. "You +_do_, or you would not feel so. Why did you ask the Earl? Why did you +give it to me? Is it not your father's own confession?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah shuddered, and burst into tears. +<br> +<br> +"No," she cried at last; "I do not believe it. I will never believe +it. Why did I ask the Earl! Because I believed that he would dispel +my anxiety. That is all." +<br> +<br> +"Ah, poor child!" said Hilda, fondly. "You are too young to have +trouble. Think no more of this." +<br> +<br> +"Think of it! I tell you I think of it all the time--night and day," +cried Zillah, impetuously. "Think of it! Why, what else can I do than +think of it?" +<br> +<br> +"But you do not believe it?" +<br> +<br> +"No. Never will I believe it." +<br> +<br> +"Then why trouble yourself about it?" +<br> +<br> +"Because it is a stain on my dear papa's memory. It is undeserved--it +is inexplicable; but it is a stain. And how can I, his daughter, not +think of it?" +<br> +<br> +"A stain!" said Hilda, after a thoughtful pause. "If there were a +stain on such a name, I can well imagine that you would feel anguish. +But there is none. How can there be? Think of his noble life spent in +honor in the service of his country! Can you associate any stain with +such a life?" +<br> +<br> +"He was the noblest of men!" interrupted Zillah, vehemently. +<br> +<br> +"Then do not talk of a stain," said Hilda, calmly. "As to Lord +Chetwynde, he, at least, has nothing to say. To him General Pomeroy +was such a friend as he could never have hoped for. He saved Lord +Chetwynde from beggary and ruin. When General Pomeroy first came back +to England he found Lord Chetwynde at the last extremity, and +advanced sixty thousand pounds to help him. Think of that! And it's +true. I was informed of it on good authority. Besides, General +Pomeroy did more; for he intrusted his only daughter to Lord +Chetwynde--" +<br> +<br> +"My God!" cried Zillah; "what are you saying? Do you not know, +Hilda, that every word that you speak is a stab? What do you mean? Do +you dare to talk as if my papa has shut the mouth of an injured +friend by a payment of money? Do you mean me to think that, after +dishonoring his friend, he has sought to efface the dishonor by gold? +My God! you will drive me mad. You make my papa, and Lord Chetwynde +also, sink down into fathomless depths of infamy." +<br> +<br> +"You torture my words into a meaning different from what I intended," +said Hilda, quietly. "I merely meant to show you that Lord +Chetwynde's obligations to General Pomeroy were so vast that he ought +not even to suspect him, no matter how strong the proof." +<br> +<br> +Zillah waved her hands with a gesture of despair. +<br> +<br> +"No matter how strong the proof!" she repeated. "Ah! There it is +again. You quietly assume my papa's guilt in every word. You have +read those papers, and have believed every word." +<br> +<br> +"You are very unkind, Zillah. I was doing my best to comfort you." +<br> +<br> +"Comfort!" cried Zillah, in indescribable tones. +<br> +<br> +"Ah, my darling, do not be cross," said Hilda, twining her arms +around Zillah's neck. "You know I loved your papa only less than you +did. He was a father to me. What can I say? You yourself were +troubled by those papers. So was I. And that is all I will say. I +will not speak of them again." +<br> +<br> +And here Hilda stopped, and went about the room to attend to her +duties as nurse. Zillah stood, with her mind full of strange, +conflicting feelings. The hints which Hilda had given sank deep into +her soul. What did they mean? Their frightful meaning stood revealed +full before her in all its abhorrent reality. +<br> +<br> +Reviewing those papers by the light of Hilda's dark interpretation, +she saw what they involved. This, then, was the cause of her +marriage. Her father had tried to atone for the past. He had made +Lord Chetwynde rich to pay for the dishonor that he had suffered. He +had stolen away the wife, and given a daughter in her place. She, +then, had been the medium of this frightful attempt at readjustment, +this atonement for wrongs that could never be atoned for. Hilda's +meaning made this the only conceivable cause for that premature +engagement, that hurried marriage by the death-bed. And could there +be any other reason? Did it not look like the act of a remorseful +sinner, anxious to finish his expiation, and make amends for crime +before meeting his Judge in the other world to which he was +hastening? The General had offered up every thing to expiate his +crime--he had given his fortune--he had sacrificed his daughter. What +other cause could possibly have moved him to enforce the hideous +mockery of that ghastly, that unparalleled marriage? +<br> +<br> +Beneath such intolerable thoughts as these, Zillah's brain whirled. +She could not avoid them. Affection, loyalty, honor--all bade her +trust in her father; the remembrance of his noble character, of his +stainless life, his pure and gentle nature, all recurred. In vain. +Still the dark suspicion insidiously conveyed by Hilda would obtrude; +and, indeed, under such circumstances, Zillah would have been more +than human if they had not come forth before her. As it was, she was +only human and young and inexperienced. Dark days and bitter nights +were before her, but among all none were more dark and bitter than +this. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXI. +<br> +<br> +A DARK COMMISSION. +<br> +<br> +These amateur nurses who had gathered about the Earl differed very +much, as may be supposed, in their individual capacities. As for Mrs. +Hart, she was very quickly put out of the way. The stroke which had +prostrated her, at the outset, did not seem to be one from which she +could very readily recover. The only thing which she did was to +totter to the room early in the morning, so as to find out how the +Earl was, and then to totter hack again until the next morning. Mrs. +Hart thus was incapable; and Zillah was not very much better. Since +her conversation with Hilda there were thoughts in her mind so new, +so different from any which she had ever had before, and so frightful +in their import, that they changed all her nature. She became +melancholy, self-absorbed, and preoccupied. Silent and distrait, she +wandered about the Earl's room aimlessly, and did not seem able to +give to him that close and undivided attention which he needed. Hilda +found it necessary to reproach her several times in her usual +affectionate way; and Zillah tried, after each reproach, to rouse +herself from her melancholy, so as to do better the next time. Yet, +the next time she did just as badly; and, on the whole, acquitted +herself but poorly of her responsible task. +<br> +<br> +And thus it happened that Hilda was obliged to assume the supreme +responsibility. The others had grown more than ever useless, and she, +accordingly, grew more than ever necessary. To this task she devoted +herself with that assiduity and patience for which she was +distinguished. The constant loss of sleep, and the incessant and +weary vigils which she was forced to maintain, seemed to have but +little effect upon her elastic and energetic nature. Zillah, in spite +of her preoccupation, could not help seeing that Hilda was doing +nearly all the work, and remonstrated with her accordingly. But to +her earnest remonstrances Hilda turned a deaf ear. +<br> +<br> +"You see, dear." said she, "there is no one but me. Mrs. Hart was +herself in need of a nurse, and you are no better than a baby, so how +can I help watching poor dear Lord Chetwynde?" +<br> +<br> +"But you will wear yourself out," persisted Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, we will wait till I begin to show signs of weariness," said +Hilda, in a sprightly tone. "At present, I feel able to spend a great +many days and nights here." +<br> +<br> +Indeed, to all her remonstrances Hilda was quite inaccessible, and it +remained for Zillah to see her friend spend most of her time in that +sick-room, the ruling spirit, while she was comparatively useless. +She could only feel gratitude for so much kindness, and express that +gratitude whenever any occasion arose. While Hilda was regardless of +Zillah's remonstrances, she was equally so of the doctor's warnings. +That functionary did not wish to see his best nurse wear herself out, +and warned her frequently, but with no effect whatever. Hilda's +self-sacrificing zeal was irrepressible and invincible. +<br> +<br> +While Hilda was thus devoting herself to the Earl with such tireless +patience, and exciting the wonder and gratitude of all in that little +household by her admirable self-devotion, there was another who +watched the progress of events with perfect calmness, yet with deep +anxiety. Gualtier was not able now to give his music lessons, yet, +although he no longer could gain admission to the inmates of Castle +Chetwynde, his anxiety about the Earl was a sufficient excuse for +calling every day to inquire about his health. On those inquiries he +not only heard about the Earl, but also about all the others, and +more particularly about Hilda. He cultivated an acquaintance with the +doctor, who, though generally disposed to stand on his dignity toward +musicians, seemed to think that Gualtier had gained from the Earl's +patronage a higher title to be noticed than any which his art could +give. Besides, the good doctor knew that Gualtier was constantly at +the Castle, and naturally wished to avail himself of so good an +opportunity of finding out all about the internal life of this noble +but secluded family. Gualtier humored him to the fullest extent, and +with a great appearance of frankness told him as much as he thought +proper, and no more; in return for which confidence he received the +fullest information as to the present condition of the household. +What surprised Gualtier most was Hilda's devotion. He had not +anticipated it. It was real, yet what could be her motive? In his own +language--What game was the little thing up to? This was the question +which he incessantly asked himself, without being able to answer it. +His respect for her genius was too great to allow him for one moment +to suppose that it was possible for her to act without some deep +motive. Her immolation of self, her assiduity, her tenderness, her +skill, all seemed to this man so many elements in the game which she +was playing. And for all these things he only admired her the more +fervently. That she would succeed he never for a moment doubted; +though what it was that she might be aiming at, and what it was that +her success might involve, were inscrutable mysteries. +<br> +<br> +What game is the little thing up to? he asked himself, +affectionately, and with tender emphasis. What game? And this became +the one idea of his mind. Little else were his thoughts engaged in, +except an attempt to fathom the depths of Hilda's design. But he was +baffled. What that design involved could hardly have been discovered +by him. Often and often he wished that he could look into that +sick-chamber to see what the "little thing was up to." Yet, could he +have looked into that chamber, he would have seen nothing that could +have enlightened him. He would have seen a slender, graceful form, +moving lightly about the room, now stooping over the form of the sick +man to adjust or to smooth his pillow, now watchfully and warily +administering the medicine which stood near the bed. Hilda was not +one who would leave any thing to be discovered, even by those who +might choose to lurk in ambush and spy at her through a keyhole. +<br> +<br> +But though Hilda's plans were for some time impenetrable, there came +at last an opportunity when he was furnished with light sufficient to +reveal them--a lurid light which made known to him possibilities in +her which he had certainly not suspected before. +<br> +<br> +One day, on visiting Chetwynde Castle, he found her in the chief +parlor. He thought that she had come there purposely in order to see +him; and he was not disappointed. After a few questions as to the +Earl's health, she excused herself, and said that she must hurry back +to his room; but, as she turned to go, she slipped a piece of paper +into his hand, as she had done once before. On it he saw the +following words: +<br> +<br> +"_Be in the West Avenue, at the former place, at three o'clock_." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier wandered about in a state of feverish impatience till the +appointed hour, marveling what the purpose might be which had induced +Hilda to seek the interview. He felt that the purpose must be of +far-reaching importance which would lead her to seek him at such a +time; but what it was he tried in vain to conjecture. +<br> +<br> +At last the hour came, and Gualtier, who had been waiting so long, +was rewarded by the sight of Hilda. She was as calm as usual, but +greeted him with greater cordiality than she was in the habit of +showing. She also evinced greater caution than even on the former +occasion, and led the way to a more lonely spot, and looked all +around most carefully, so as to guard against the possibility of +discovery. When, at length, she spoke, it was in a low and guarded +voice. +<br> +<br> +"I am so worn down by nursing," she said, "that I have had to come +out for a little fresh air. But I would not leave the Earl till they +absolutely forced me. Such is my devotion to him that there is an +impression abroad through the Castle that I will not survive him." +<br> +<br> +"Survive him? You speak as though he were doomed," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"He--is--very--low," said Hilda, in a solemn monotone. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier said nothing, but regarded her in silence for some time. +<br> +<br> +"What was the cause of his illness?" he asked at length. "The doctor +thinks that his mind is affected." +<br> +<br> +"For once, something like the truth has penetrated that heavy brain." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know any thing that can have happened?" asked Gualtier, +cautiously. +<br> +<br> +"Yes; a sudden shock. Strange to say, it was administered by Mrs. +Molyneux." +<br> +<br> +"Mrs. Molyneux!" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"I am so completely out of your sphere that I know nothing whatever +of what is going on. How Mrs. Molyneux can have given a shock to the +Earl that could have reduced him to his present state, I can not +imagine." +<br> +<br> +"Of course it was not intentional. She happened to ask the Earl about +something which revived old memories and old sorrows in a very +forcible manner. He grew excited--so much so, indeed, that he +fainted, and, in falling, struck his head. That is the whole story." +<br> +<br> +"May I ask," said Gualtier, after a thoughtful pause, "if Mrs. +Molyneux's ill-fated questions had any reference to those things +about which we have spoken together, from time to time?" +<br> +<br> +"They had--and a very close one. In fact, they arose out of those +very papers which we have had before us." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked at Hilda, as she said this, with the closest +attention. +<br> +<br> +"It happened," said Hilda, "that Mrs. Molyneux, on her last visit to +Pomeroy Court, was seized with a fancy to examine her father's desk. +While doing so, she found a secret drawer, which, by some singular +accident, had been left started, and a little loose--just enough to +attract her attention. This she opened, and in it, strange to say, +she found that very cipher which I have told you of. A key +accompanied it, by which she was able to read as much as we have +read; and there were also those letters with which you are familiar. +She took them to her room, shut herself up, and studied them as +eagerly as ever either you or I did. She then hurried back to +Chetwynde Castle, and laid every thing before the Earl. Out of this +arose his excitement and its very sad results." +<br> +<br> +"I did not know that there were sufficient materials for +accomplishing so much," said Gualtier, cautiously. +<br> +<br> +"No; the materials were not abundant. There was the cipher, with +which no one would have supposed that any thing could be done. Then +there were those other letters which lay with it in the desk, which +corroborated what the cipher seemed to say. Out of this has suddenly +arisen ruin and anguish." +<br> +<br> +"There was also the key," said Gualtier, in a tone of delicate +insinuation. +<br> +<br> +"True," said Hilda; "had the key not been inclosed with the papers, +she could not have understood the cipher, or made any thing out of +the letters." +<br> +<br> +"The Earl must have believed it all." +<br> +<br> +"He never doubted for an instant. By the merest chance, I happened to +be in a place where I saw it all," said Hilda, with a peculiar +emphasis. "I thought that he would reject it at first, and that the +first impulse would be to scout such a charge. But mark this"--and +her voice grew solemn--"there must have been some knowledge in his +mind of things unknown to us, or else he could never have been so +utterly and completely overwhelmed. It was a blow which literally +crushed him--in mind and body." +<br> +<br> +There was a long silence. +<br> +<br> +"And you think he can not survive this?" asked Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"No," said Hilda, in a very strange, slow voice, "I do not +think--that--he--can--recover. He is old and feeble. The shock was +great. His mind wanders, also. He is sinking slowly, but surely." +<br> +<br> +She paused, and looked earnestly at Gualtier, who returned her look +with one of equal earnestness. +<br> +<br> +"I have yet to tell you what purpose induced me to appoint this +meeting," said she, in so strange a voice that Gualtier started. But +he said not a word. +<br> +<br> +Hilda, who was standing near to him, drew nearer still. She looked +all around, with a strange light in her eyes. Then she turned to him +again, and said, in a low whisper: +<br> +<br> +"I want you to get me something." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked at her inquiringly, but in silence. His eyes seemed +to ask her, "What is it?" +<br> +<br> +She put her mouth close to his ear, and whispered something, heard +only by him. But that low whisper was never forgotten. His face +turned deathly pale. He looked away, and said not a word. +<br> +<br> +"Good-by," said Hilda; "I am going now." She held out her hand. He +grasped it. At that moment their eyes met, and a look of intelligence +flashed between them. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXII. +<br> +<br> +THE JUDAS KISS. +<br> +<br> +It has already been said that the Earl rallied a little so to +recognize Zillah, all his old affection was exhibited, and the +temporary aversion which he had manifested during that eventful time +when he had seen the cipher writing had passed off without leaving +any trace of its existence. It was quite likely indeed that the whole +circumstance had been utterly obliterated from his memory, and when +his eyes caught sight of Zillah she was to him simply the one whom he +loved next best to Guy. His brain was in such a state that his +faculties seemed dulled, and his memory nearly gone. Had he +remembered the scene he would either have continued to regard Zillah +with horror, or else, if affection had triumphed over a sense of +injury, he would have done something or said something in his more +lucid intervals to assure Zillah of his continued love. But nothing +of the kind occurred. He clung to Zillah like a child, and the few +faint words which he addressed to her simply recognized her as the +object of an affection which had never met with an interruption. They +also had reference to Guy, as to whether she had written to him yet, +and whether any more letters had been received from him. A letter, +which came during the illness, she tried to read, but the poor weary +brain of the sick man could not follow her. She had to tell him in +general terms of its contents. +<br> +<br> +For some weeks she had hoped that the Earl would recover, and +therefore delayed sending the sad news to Guy. But at length she +could no longer conceal from herself the fact that the illness would +be long, and she saw that it was too serious to allow Guy to remain +in ignorance. She longed to address him words of condolence, and +sympathized deeply with him in the anxiety which she knew would be +felt by a heart so affectionate as his. +<br> +<br> +And now as she thought of writing to him there came to her, more +bitterly than ever, the thought of her false position. She write! She +could not. It was Hilda who would write. Hilda stood between her and +the one she wished to soothe. In spite of her warm and sisterly +affection for her friend, and her boundless trust in her, this +thought now sent a thrill of vexation through her; and she bitterly +lamented the chain of events by which she had been placed in such a +position. It was humiliating and galling. But could she not yet +escape? Might she not even now write in her own name explaining all? +No. It could not be--not now, for what would be the reception of such +explanations, coming as they would with news of his father's illness! +Would he treat them with any consideration whatever? Would not his +anxiety about his father lead him to regard them with an impatient +disdain? But perhaps, on the other hand, he might feel softened and +accept her explanation readily, without giving any though to the +strange deceit which had been practiced for so long a time. This gave +her a gleam of hope; but in her perplexity she could not decide, so +she sought counsel from Hilda as usual. Had Mrs. Hart being in the +possession of her usual faculties she might possibly have asked her +advice also; but, as it was, Hilda was the only one to whom she could +turn. +<br> +<br> +Hilda listened to her with that sweet smile, and that loving and +patient consideration, which she always gave to Zillah's confidences +and appeals. +<br> +<br> +"Darling," said she, after a long and thoughtful silence, "I +understand fully the perplexity which you feel. In fact, this letter +_ought_ to come from you, and from you only. I'm extremely sorry that +I ever began this. I'm sure I did it from the _very best_ motives. +Who could ever have dreamed that it would become so embarrassing? And +now I don't know what to do--that is, not just now." +<br> +<br> +"Do you think he would be angry at the deceit?" +<br> +<br> +"Do you yourself think so?" asked Hilda in reply. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/74.png" alt="Hilda Writes To Guy Molyneux."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: Hilda Writes To Guy Molyneux.] +<br> +<br> +"Why, that is what I am afraid of; but then--isn't it possible that +he might be--softened, you know--by anxiety?" +<br> +<br> +"People don't get softened by anxiety. They get impatient, angry with +the world and with Providence. But the best way to judge is to put +yourself in his situation. Suppose you were in India, and a letter +was written to you by your wife--or your husband, I suppose I should +say--telling you that your father was extremely ill, and that he +himself had been deceiving you for some years. The writing would be +strange--quite unfamiliar; the story would be almost incredible; you +wouldn't know what to think. You'd be deeply anxious, and yet half +believe that some one was practicing a cruel jest on you. For my +part, if I had an explanation to make I would wait for a time of +prosperity arid happiness. Misfortune makes people so bitter." +<br> +<br> +"That is the very thing that I'm afraid of," said Zillah, +despairingly. "And--oh dear, what _shall_ I do?" +<br> +<br> +"You must do one thing certainly, and that is write him about his +father. You yourself must do it, darling." +<br> +<br> +"Why, what do you mean? You were just now showing me that this was +the very thing which I could not do." +<br> +<br> +"You misunderstand me," said Hilda, with a smile. "Why, do you +really mean to say that you do not see how easy it is to get out of +this difficulty?" +<br> +<br> +"Easy! It seems to me a terrible one." +<br> +<br> +"Why, my darling child, don't you see that after you write your +letter I can _copy_ it? You surely have nothing so very private to +say that you will object to that. I suppose all that you want to do +is to break the news to him as gently and tenderly as possible. You +don't want to indulge in expressions of personal affection, of +course." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my dearest Hilda!" cried Zillah, overjoyed. "What an owl I am +not to have thought of that! It meets the whole difficulty. I +write--you copy it--and it will be _my_ letter after all. How I could +have been so stupid I do not see. But I'm always so. As to any +private confidences, there is no danger of any thing of that kind +taking place between people who are so very peculiarly situated as we +are." +<br> +<br> +"I suppose not," said Hilda, with a smile. +<br> +<br> +"But it's such a bore to copy letters." +<br> +<br> +"My darling, can any thing be a trouble that I do for you? Besides, +you know how very fast I write." +<br> +<br> +"You are always so kind," said Zillah, as she kissed her friend +fondly and tenderly. "I wish I could do something for you; but--poor +me!--I don't seem able to do any thing for any body--not even for the +dear old Earl. What wouldn't I give to be like you!" +<br> +<br> +"You are far better as you are, darling," said Hilda, with perhaps a +double meaning in her words. "But now go and write the letter, and +bring it to me, and I will copy it as fast as I can, and send it to +the post." +<br> +<br> +Under these circumstances that letter was written. +<br> +<br> +The Earl lingered on in a low stage, with scarcely any symptoms of +improvement. At first, indeed, there was a time when he had seemed +better, but that passed away. The relapse sorely puzzled the doctor. +If he had not been in such good hands he might have suspected the +nurse of neglect, but that was the last thing that he could have +thought of Hilda. Indeed, Hilda had been so fearful of the Earl's +being neglected that she had, for his sake, assumed these +all-engrossing cares. Singularly enough, however, it was since her +assumption of the chief duties of nursing him that the Earl had +relapsed. The doctor felt that nothing better in the way of nursing +him could be conceived of. Zillah thought that if it had not been for +Hilda the Earl would scarcely have been alive. As for Hilda herself, +she could only meekly deprecate the doctor's praises, and sigh to +think that such care as hers should prove so unavailing. +<br> +<br> +The Earl's case was, indeed, a mysterious one. After making every +allowance for the shock which he might have experienced, and after +laying all possible stress upon that blow on his head which he had +suffered when falling forward, it still was a subject of wonder to +the doctor why he should not recover. Hilda had told him in general +terms, and with her usual delicacy, of the cause of the Earl's +illness, so that the doctor knew that it arose from mental trouble, +and not from physical ailment. Yet, even under these circumstances, +he was puzzled at the complete prostration of the Earl, and at the +adverse symptoms which appeared as time passed on. +<br> +<br> +The Earl slept most of the time. He was in a kind of stupor. This +puzzled the doctor extremely. The remedies which he administered +seemed not to have their legitimate effect. In fact they seemed to +have no effect, and the most powerful drugs proved useless in this +mysterious case. +<br> +<br> +"It must be the mind," said the doctor to himself, as he rode home +one day after finding the Earl in a lower state than usual. "It must +be the mind; and may the devil take the mind, for hang me if I can +ever make head or tail of it!" +<br> +<br> +Yet on the night when the doctor soliloquized in this fashion a +change had come over the Earl which might have been supposed to be +for the better. He was exceedingly weak, so weak, indeed, that it was +only with a great effort that he could move his hand; but he seemed +to be more sensible than usual. That "mind" which the doctor cursed +seemed to have resumed something of its former functions. He asked +various questions; and, among others, he wished to hear Guy's last +letter. This Hilda promised he should hear on the morrow. Zillah was +there at the time, and the Earl cast an appealing glance toward her; +but such was her confidence in Hilda that she did not dream of doing +any thing in opposition to her decision. So she shook her head, and +bending over the Earl, she kissed him, and said, "To-morrow." +<br> +<br> +The Earl, by a great effort, reached up his thin, feeble hand and +took hers. "You will not leave me?" he murmured. +<br> +<br> +"Certainly not, if you want me to stay," said Zillah. +<br> +<br> +The Earl, by a still greater effort, dragged her down nearer to him. +"Don't leave me with _her_," he whispered. +<br> +<br> +Zillah started at the tone of his voice. It was a tone of fear. +<br> +<br> +"What is it that he says?" asked Hilda, in a sweet voice. +<br> +<br> +The Earl frowned. Zillah did not see it however. She looked back to +Hilda and whispered, "He wants me to stay with him." +<br> +<br> +"Poor dear!" said Hilda. "Well, tell him that you will. It is a whim. +He loves you, you know. Tell him that you'll stay." +<br> +<br> +And Zillah stooped down and told the Earl that she would stay. +<br> +<br> +There was trouble in the Earl's face. He lay silent and motionless, +with his eyes fixed upon Zillah. Something there was in his eyes +which expressed such mute appeal that Zillah wondered what it might +be. She went over to him and sat by his side. He feebly reached out +his thin hand. Zillah took it and held it in both of hers, kissing +him as she did so. +<br> +<br> +"You will not leave me?" he whispered. +<br> +<br> +"No, dear father." +<br> +<br> +A faint pressure of her hand was the Earl's response, and a faint +smile of pleasure hovered over his thin lips. +<br> +<br> +"Have you written to Guy?" he asked again. +<br> +<br> +"Yes. I have written for him to come home," said Zillah, who meant +that Hilda had written in her name; but, in her mind, it was all the +same. +<br> +<br> +The Earl drew a deep sigh. There was trouble in his face. Zillah +marked it, but supposed that he was anxious about that son who was +never absent from his thoughts. She did not attempt to soothe his +mind in any way. He was not able to keep up a conversation. Nor did +she notice that the pressure on her hand was stronger whenever Hilda, +with her light, stealthy step, came near; nor did she see the fear +that was in his face as his eyes rested upon her. +<br> +<br> +The Earl drew Zillah faintly toward him. She bent down over him. +<br> +<br> +"Send her away," said he, in a low whisper. +<br> +<br> +"Who? Hilda?" asked Zillah, in wonder. +<br> +<br> +"Yes. You nurse me--_you_ stay with me." +<br> +<br> +Zillah at once arose. "Hilda," said she, "he wants me to stay with +him to-night. I suppose he thinks I give up too much to you, and +neglect him. Oh dear, I only wish I was such a nurse as you! But, +since he wishes it, I will stay tonight; and if there is any trouble +I will call you." +<br> +<br> +"But, my poor child," said Hilda, sweetly, "you have been here all +day." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, well, it is his wish, and I will stay here all night." +<br> +<br> +Hilda remonstrated a little; but, finding that Zillah was determined, +she retired, and Zillah passed all that night with the Earl. He was +uneasy. A terror seemed to be over him. He insisted on holding +Zillah's hand. At times he would start and look fearfully around. Was +it Hilda whom he feared? Whatever his fear was, he said nothing; but +after each start he would look eagerly up at Zillah, and press her +hand faintly. And Zillah thought it was simply the disorder of his +nervous system, or, perhaps, the effect of the medicines which he had +taken. As to those medicines, she was most careful and most regular +in administering them. Indeed, her very anxiety about these +interfered with that watchfulness about the Earl himself which was +the chief requisite. Fully conscious that she was painfully irregular +and unmethodical, Zillah gave her chief thought to the passage of the +hours, so that every medicine should be given at the right time. +<br> +<br> +It was a long night, but morning came at last, and with it came +Hilda, calm, refreshed, affectionate, and sweet. +<br> +<br> +"How has he been, darling?" she asked. +<br> +<br> +"Quiet," said Zillah, wearily. +<br> +<br> +"That's right; and now, my dearest, go off and get some rest. You +must be very tired." +<br> +<br> <img src="images/76.png" alt="The Earl Gasped--'Judas!'"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "The Earl Gasped--'Judas!'"] +<br> +<br> +So Zillah went off, and Hilda remained with the Earl. +<br> +<br> +Day was just dawning when Zillah left the Earl's room. She stooped +over him and kissed him. Overcome by fatigue, she did not think much +of the earnest, wistful gaze which caught her eyes. Was it not the +same look which he had fixed on her frequently before? +<br> +<br> +The Earl again drew her down as she clasped his hand. She stooped +over him. +<br> +<br> +"I'm afraid of _her_," he said, in a low whisper. "Send Mrs. Hart." +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart? The Earl did not seem to know that she was ill. No doubt +his mind was wandering. So Zillah thought, and the idea was natural. +She thought she would humor the delirious fancy. So she promised to +send Mrs. Hart. +<br> +<br> +"What did he say?" asked Hilda, following Zillah out. Zillah told her +according to her own idea. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, it's only his delirium," said Hilda. "He'll take me for you when +I go back. Don't let it trouble you. You might send Mathilde if you +feel afraid; but I hardly think that Mathilde would be so useful here +as I." +<br> +<br> +"_I_ afraid? My dear Hilda, can I take his poor delirious fancy in +earnest? Send Mathilde? I should hardly expect to see him alive +again." +<br> +<br> +"Alive again!" said Hilda, with a singular intonation. +<br> +<br> +"Yes; Mathilde is an excellent maid, but in a sick-room she is as +helpless as a child. She is far worse than I am. Do we ever venture +to leave him alone with her?" +<br> +<br> +"Never mind. Do you go to sleep, darling, and sweet dreams to you." +<br> +<br> +They kissed, and Zillah went to her chamber. +<br> +<br> +It was about dawn, and the morning twilight but dimly illumined the +hall. The Earl's room was dark, and the faint night light made +objects only indistinctly perceptible. The Earl's white face was +turned toward the door as Hilda entered, with imploring, wistful +expectancy upon it. As he caught sight of Hilda the expression turned +to one of fear--that same fear which Zillah had seen upon it. What +did he fear? What was it that was upon his mind? What fearful thought +threw its shadow over his soul? +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked at him for a long time in silence, her face calm and +impassive, her eyes intent upon him. The Earl looked back upon her +with unchanged fear--looking back thus out of his weakness and +helplessness, with a fear that seemed intensified by the +consciousness of that weakness. But Hilda's face softened not; no +gleam of tenderness mitigated the hard lustre of her eyes; her +expression lessened not from its set purpose. The Earl said not one +word. It was not to her that he would utter the fear that was in him. +Zillah had promised to send Mrs. Hart. When would Mrs. Hart come? +Would she ever come, or would she never come? He looked away from +Hilda feverishly, anxiously, to the door; he strained his ears to +listen for footsteps. But no footsteps broke the deep stillness that +reigned through the vast house, where all slept except these two who +faced each other in the sick-room. +<br> +<br> +There was a clock at the end of the corridor outside, whose ticking +sounded dull and muffled from the distance, yet it penetrated, with +clear, sharp vibrations, to the brain of the sick man, and seemed to +him, in the gathering excitement of this fearful hour, to grow louder +and louder, till each tick sounded to his sharpened sense like the +vibrations of a bell, and seemed to be the funeral knell of his +destiny; sounding thus to his ears, solemnly, fatefully, bodingly; +pealing forth thus with every sound the announcement that second +after second out of those few minutes of time which were still left +him had passed away from him forever. Each one of those seconds was +prolonged to his excited sense to the duration of an hour. After each +stroke he listened for the next, dreading to hear it, yet awaiting +it, and all the while feeling upon him the eyes of one of whom he was +to be the helpless, voiceless victim. +<br> +<br> +There had been but a few minutes since Zillah left, but they seemed +like long terms of duration to the man who watched and feared. Zillah +had gone, and would not return. Would Mrs. Hart ever come? Oh, could +Mrs. Hart have known that this man, of all living beings, was thus +watching and hoping for her, and that to this man of all others her +presence would have given a heavenly peace and calm! If she could but +have known this as it was then it would have roused her even from the +bed of death, and brought her to his side though it were but to die +at the first sight of him. But Mrs. Hart came not. She knew nothing +of any wish for her. In her own extreme prostration she had found, +after a wakeful night, a little blessed sleep, and the watcher +watched in vain. +<br> +<br> +The clock tolled on. +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked out through the door. She turned and went out into the +hall. She came back and looked around the room. She went to the +window and looked out. The twilight was fading. The gloom was +lessening from around the dim groves and shadowy trees. Morning was +coming. She went back into the room, and once more into the hall. +There she stood and listened. The Earl followed her with his +eyes--eyes that were full of awful expectation. +<br> +<br> +Hilda came back. The Earl summoned all his strength, and uttered a +faint cry. Hilda walked up to him; she stooped down over him. The +Earl uttered another cry. Hilda paused. Then she stooped down and +kissed his forehead. +<br> +<br> +The Earl gasped. One word came hissing forth--"Judas!" +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXIII. +<br> +<br> +THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. +<br> +<br> +Zillah had scarcely fallen asleep when a shrill cry roused her. She +started up. Hilda stood by her side with wild excitement in her +usually impassive face. A cold thrill ran through Zillah's frame. To +see Hilda in any excitement was an unknown thing to her; but now this +excitement was not concealed. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my darling! my darling!" she cried. +<br> +<br> +"What? what?" Zillah almost screamed. "What is it? What has +happened?" Fear told her. She knew what had happened. One thing, and +one only, could account for this. +<br> +<br> +"He's gone! It's over! He's gone! He's gone! Oh, darling! How can I +tell it? And so sudden! Oh, calm yourself!" And Hilda flung her arms +about Zillah, and groaned. +<br> +<br> +Zillah's heart seemed to stand still. She flung off Hilda's arms, she +tore herself away, and rushed to the Earl's room. Such a sudden thing +as this--could it be? Gone! And it was only a few moments since she +had seen his last glance, and heard his last words. +<br> +<br> +Yes; it was indeed so. There, as she entered that room, where now the +rays of morning entered, she saw the form of her friend--that friend +whom she called father, and loved as such. But the white face was no +longer turned to greet her; the eyes did not seek hers, nor could +that cold hand ever again return the pressure of hers. White as +marble was that face now, still and set in the fixedness of death; +cold as marble was now that hand which hers clasped in that first +frenzy of grief and horror; cold as marble and as lifeless. Never +again--never again might she hold commune with the friend who now was +numbered with the dead. +<br> +<br> +She sat in that room stricken into dumbness by the shock of this +sudden calamity. Time passed. The awful news flashed through the +house. The servants heard it, and came silent and awe-struck to the +room; but when they saw the white face, and the mourner by the +bedside, they stood still, nor did they dare to cross the threshold. +Suddenly, while the little group of servants stood there in that +doorway, with the reverence which is always felt for death and for +sorrow, there came one who forced her way through them and passed +into the room. This one bore on her face the expression of a mightier +grief than that which could be felt by any others--a grief +unspeakable--beyond words, and beyond thought. White-haired, and with +a face which now seemed turned to stone in the fixedness of its great +agony, this figure tottered rather than walked into the room. There +was no longer any self-restraint in this woman, who for years had +lived under a self-restraint that never relaxed; there was no +thought as to those who might see or hear; there was nothing but the +utter abandonment of perfect grief--of grief which had reached its +height and could know nothing more; there was nothing less than +despair itself--that despair which arises when all is lost--as this +woman flung herself past Zillah, as though she had a grief superior +to Zillah's, and a right to pass even her in the terrible precedence +of sorrow. It was thus that Mrs. Hart came before the presence of the +dead and flung herself upon the inanimate corpse, and wound her thin +arms around that clay from which the soul had departed, and pressed +her wan lips upon the cold brow from which the immortal dweller had +passed away to its immortality. +<br> +<br> +In the depths of her own grief Zillah was roused by a cry which +expressed a deeper grief than hers--a cry of agony--a cry of despair: +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my God! Oh, God of mercy! Dead! What? dead! Dead--and no +explanation--no forgiveness!" +<br> +<br> +And Mrs. Hart fell down lifeless over the form of the dead. +<br> +<br> +Zillah rose with a wonder in her soul which alleviated the sorrow of +bereavement. What was this? What did it mean? +<br> +<br> +"Explanation!" "Forgiveness!" What words were these? His +housekeeper!--could she be any thing else? What had she done which +required this lamentation? What was the Earl to her, that his death +should cause such despair? +<br> +<br> +But amidst such thoughts Zillah was still considerate about this +stricken one, and she called the servants, and they bore her away to +her own room. This grief, from whatever cause it may have arisen, was +too much for Mrs. Hart. Before this she had been prostrated. She now +lost all consciousness, and lay in a stupor from which she could not +be aroused. +<br> +<br> +The wondering questions which had arisen in Zillah's mind troubled +her and puzzled her at first; but gradually she thought that she +could answer them. Mrs. Hart, she thought, was wonderfully attached +to the Earl. She had committed some imaginary delinquency in her +management of the household, which, in her weak and semi-delirious +state, was weighing upon her spirits. When she found that he was +dead, the shock was great to one in her weak state, and she had only +thought of some confession which she had wished to make to him. +<br> +<br> +When the doctor came that day he found Zillah still sitting there, +holding the hand of the dead. Hilda came to tell all that she knew. +<br> +<br> +"About half an hour after Zillah left," she said, "I was sitting by +the window, looking out to see the rising sun. Suddenly the Earl gave +a sudden start, and sat upright in bed. I rushed over to him. He fell +back. I chafed his hands and feet. I could not think, at first, that +it was any thing more than a fainting fit. The truth gradually came +to me. He was dead. An awful horror rushed over me. I fled from the +room to Mrs. Molyneux, and roused her from sleep. She sprang up and +hurried to the Earl. She knows the rest." +<br> +<br> +Such was Hilda's account. +<br> +<br> +As for the doctor, he could easily account for the sudden death. It +was _mind_. His heart had been affected, and he had died from a +sudden spasm. It was only through the care of Miss Krieff that the +Earl had lived so long. +<br> +<br> +But so great was Hilda's distress that Zillah had to devote herself +to the task of soothing her. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXIV. +<br> +<br> +A LETTER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. +<br> +<br> +Some weeks passed, and Zillah's grief gradually became lessened. She +was far better able to bear this blow at this time than that first +crushing blow which a few years before had descended so suddenly upon +her young life. She began to rally and to look forward to the future. +Guy had been written to, not by her, but, as usual, by Hilda, in her +name. The news of her father's death had been broken to him as +delicately as possible. Hilda read it to Zillah, who, after a few +changes of expression, approved of it. This letter had the effect of +impressing upon Zillah's mind the fact that Guy must soon come home. +The absence must cease. In any case it could not last much longer. +Either she would have had to join him, or he come back to her. The +prospect of his arrival now stood before her, and the question arose +how to meet it. Was it welcome or unpleasant? After all, was he not a +noble character, and a valiant soldier--the son of a dear friend? +Zillah's woman's heart judged him not harshly, and much of her +thought was taken up with conjectures as to the probable results of +that return. She began at length to look forward to it with hope; and +to think that she might be happy with such a man for her husband. The +only thing that troubled her was the idea that any man, however +noble, should have the right of claiming her as his without the +preliminary wooing. To a delicate nature this was intolerable, and +she could only trust that he would be acceptable to her on his first +appearance. +<br> +<br> +In the midst of these thoughts a letter arrived from Guy, addressed +to that one who was now beyond its reach. Zillah opened this without +hesitation, for Lord Chetwynde had always been in the habit of +handing them to her directly he had read them. +<br> +<br> +Few things connected with those whom we have loved and lost are more +painful, where all is so exquisitely painful, than the reading of +letters by them or to them. The most trivial commonplaces--the +lightest expressions of regard--are all invested with the tenderest +pathos, and from our hearts there seems rung out at every line the +despairing refrain of "nevermore--nevermore." It was thus, and with +blending tears, that Zillah read the first part of Guy's letter, +which was full of tender love and thoughtful consideration. Soon, +however, this sadness was dispelled; her attention was arrested; and +every other feeling was banished in her absorbing interest in what +she read. After some preliminary paragraphs the letter went on thus: +<br> +<br> +"You will be astonished, my dear father, and, I hope, pleased, to +learn that I have made up my mind to return to England as soon as +possible. As you may imagine, this resolve is a sudden one, and I +should be false to that perfect confidence which has always existed +between us, if I did not frankly acquaint you with the circumstances +which have led to my decision. I have often mentioned to you my +friend Captain Cameron of the Royal Engineers, who is superintending +the erection of some fortifications overlooking the mountain pass. +Isolated as we are from all European society, we have naturally been +thrown much together, and a firm friendship has grown up between us. +We constituted him a member of our little mess, consisting of my two +subalterns and myself, so that he has been virtually living with us +ever since our arrival here. +<br> +<br> +"Not very long ago our little circle received a very important +addition. This was Captain Cameron's sister; who, having been left an +orphan in England, and having no near relatives there, had come out +to her brother. She was a charming girl. I had seen nothing of +English ladies for a long time, and so it did not need much +persuasion to induce me to go to Cameron's house after Miss Cameron +had arrived. Circumstances, rather than any deliberate design on my +part, drew me there more and more, till at length all my evenings +were spent there, and, in fact, all my leisure time. I always used to +join Miss Cameron and her brother on their morning rides and evening +walks; and very often, if duty prevented him from accompanying her, +she would ask me to take his place as her escort. She was also as +fond of music as I am; and, in the evening, we generally spent most +of the time in playing or singing together. She played accompaniments +to my songs, and I to hers. We performed duets together; and thus, +whether in the house or out of it, were thrown into the closest +possible intercourse. All this came about so naturally that several +months had passed away in this familiar association before I began +even to suspect danger, either for myself or for her. Suddenly, +however, I awakened to the consciousness of the fact as it was. All +my life was filled by Inez Cameron--all my life seemed to centre +around her--all my future seemed as black as midnight apart from her. +Never before had I felt even a passing interest in any woman. Bound +as I had been all my life, in boyhood by honor, and in early manhood +by legal ties, I had never allowed myself to think of any other +woman; and I had always been on my guard so as not to drift into any +of those flirtations with which men in general, and especially we +officers, contrive to fritter away the freshness of affection. +Inexperience, combined with the influence of circumstances, caused me +to drift into this position; and the situation became one from which +it was hard indeed to extricate myself. I had, however, been on my +guard after a fashion. I had from the first scrupulously avoided +those _galanteries_ and _façons de parler_ which are more usual in +Indian society than elsewhere. Besides, I had long before made +Cameron acquainted with my marriage, and had taken it for granted +that Inez knew it also. I thought, even after I had found out that I +loved her, that there was no danger for her--and that she had always +merely regarded me as a married man and a friend. But one day an +accident revealed to me that she knew nothing about my marriage, and +had taken my attentions too favorably for her own peace of mind. Ah, +dear father, such a discovery was bitter indeed in many ways. I had +to crush out my love for my sake and for hers. One way only was +possible, and that was to leave her forever. I at once saw Cameron, +and told him frankly the state of the case, so far as I was +concerned. Like a good fellow, as he was, he blamed himself +altogether. 'You see, Molyneux,' he said, 'a fellow is very apt to +overlook the possible attractiveness of his own sister.' He made no +effort to prevent me from going, but evidently thought it my only +course. I accordingly applied at once for leave, and to-night I am +about to start for Calcutta, where I will wait till I gain a formal +permit, and I will never see Inez again. I have seen her for the last +time. Oh, father! those words of warning which you once spoke to me +have become fatally true. Chetwynde has been too dearly bought. At +this moment the weight of my chains is too heavy to be borne. If I +could feel myself free once more, how gladly would I give up all my +ancestral estates! What is Chetwynde to me? What happiness can I ever +have in it now, or what happiness can there possibly be to me without +Inez? Besides, I turn from the thought of her, with her refined +beauty, her delicate nature, her innumerable accomplishments, her +true and tender heart, and think of that other one, with her +ungovernable passions, her unreasoning temper, and her fierce +intractability, where I can see nothing but the soul of a savage, +unredeemed by any womanly softness or feminine grace. Oh; father! was +it well to bind me to a Hindu? You will say, perhaps, that I should +not judge of the woman by the girl. But, father, when I saw her first +at ten, I found her impish, and at fifteen, when I married her, she +was no less so, only perhaps more intensified. Fierce words of insult +were flung at me by that creature. My God! it is too bitter to think +of. Her face is before me now, scowling and malignant, while behind +it, mournful and pitying, yet loving, is the pale sweet face of Inez. +<br> +<br> +"But I dare not trust myself further. Never before have I spoken to +you about the horror which I feel for that Hindu. I did not wish to +pain you. I fear I am selfish in doing so now. But, after all, it is +better for you to know it once for all. Otherwise the discovery of it +would be all the worse. Besides, this is wrung out from me in spite +of myself by the anguish of my heart. +<br> +<br> +"Let me do justice to the Hindu. You have spoken of her +sometimes--not often, however, and I thank you for it--as a loving +daughter to you. I thank her for that, I am sure. Small comfort, +however, is this to me. If she were now an angel from heaven, she +could not fill the place of Inez. +<br> +<br> +"Forgive me, dear father. This shall be the last of complaints. +Henceforth I am ready to bear my griefs. I am ready for the +sacrifice. I can not see _her_ yet, but when I reach England I must +see you somehow. If you can not meet me, you must manage to send her +off to Pomeroy, so that I may see you in peace. With you I will +forget my sorrows, and will be again a light-hearted boy. +<br> +<br> +"Let me assure you that I mean to keep my promise made years ago when +I was a boy. It shall be the effort of my life to make my wife happy. +Whether I succeed or not will be another thing. But I must have time. +<br> +<br> +"No more now. I have written about this for the first and the last +time. Give my warmest and fondest love to nurse. I hope to see you +soon, and remain, dear father, +<br> +<br> +"Your affectionate son, +<br> +<br> +"Guy Molyneux." +<br> +<br> +For some time after reading this letter Zillah sat as if stunned. At +first she seemed scarcely able to take in its full meaning. +Gradually, however, it dawned upon her to its widest extent. This, +then, was the future that lay before her, and this was the man for +whose arrival she had been looking with such mingled feelings. Little +need was there now for mingled feelings. She knew well with what +feeling to expect him. She had at times within the depths of her +heart formed an idea that her life would not be loveless; but +now--but now--This man who was her husband, and the only one to whom +she could look for love--this man turned from her in horror; he hated +her, he loathed her--worse, he looked upon her as a Hindu--worse +still, if any thing could be worse, his hate and his loathing were +made eternal; for he loved another with the ardor of a first fresh +love, and his wife seemed to him a demon full of malignity, who stood +between him and the angel of his heart and the heaven of his desires. +His words of despair rang within her ears. The opprobrious epithets +which he applied to her stung her to the quick. Passionate and +hot-hearted, all her woman's nature rose up in arms at this horrible, +this unlooked-for assault. All her pride surged up within her in deep +and bitter resentment. Whatever she might once have been, she felt +that she was different now, and deserved not this. At this moment she +would have given worlds to be able to say to him, "You are free. Go, +marry the woman whom you love." But it was too late. +<br> +<br> +Not the least did she feel Guy's declaration that he would try to +make her happy. Her proud spirit chafed most at this. He was going to +treat her with patient forbearance, and try to conceal his +abhorrence. Could she endure this? Up and down the room she paced, +with angry vehemence, asking herself this question. +<br> +<br> +She who had all her life been surrounded by idolizing love was now +tied for life to a man whose highest desire with regard to her was +that he might be able to endure her. In an agony of grief, she threw +herself upon the floor. Was there no escape? she thought. None? none? +Oh, for one friend to advise her! +<br> +<br> +The longer Zillah thought of her position the worse it seemed to her. +Hours passed away, and she kept herself shut up in her room, refusing +to admit any one, but considering what was best to do. One thing only +appeared as possible under these circumstances, and that was to leave +Chetwynde. She felt that it was simply impossible for her to remain +there. And where could she go? To Pomeroy Court? But that had been +handed over to him as part of the payment to him for taking her. She +could not go back to a place which was now the property of this man. +Nor was it necessary. She had money of her own, which would enable +her to live as well as she wished. Thirty thousand pounds would give +her an income sufficient for her wants; and she might find some place +where she could live in seclusion. Her first wild thoughts were a +desire for death; but since death would not come, she could at least +so arrange matters as to be dead to this man. Such was her final +resolve. +<br> +<br> +It was with this in her mind that she went out to Hilda's room. Hilda +was writing as she entered, but on seeing her she hastily shut her +desk, and sprang forward to greet her friend. +<br> +<br> +"My darling!" said she. "How I rejoice to see you! Is it some new +grief? Will you never trust me? You are so reticent with me that it +breaks my heart." +<br> +<br> +"Hilda," said she, "I have just been reading a letter from Lord +Chetwynde to his father. He is about to return home." +<br> +<br> +Zillah's voice, as she spoke, was hard and metallic, and Hilda saw +that something was wrong. She noticed that Zillah used the words Lord +Chetwynde with stern emphasis, instead of the name Guy, by which she, +like the rest, had always spoken of him. +<br> +<br> +"I am glad to hear it, dear," said Hilda, quietly, and in a cordial +tone; "for, although you no doubt dread the first meeting, especially +under such painful circumstances, yet it will be for your happiness." +<br> +<br> +"Hilda," said Zillah, with increased sternness, "Lord Chetwynde and I +will never meet again." +<br> +<br> +Hilda started back with unutterable astonishment on her face. +<br> +<br> +"Never meet again!" she repeated--"not meet Lord Chetwynde--your +husband? What do you mean?" +<br> +<br> +"I am going to leave Chetwynde as soon as possible, and shall never +again cross its threshold." +<br> +<br> +Hilda went over to Zillah and put her arms around her. +<br> +<br> +"Darling," said she, in her most caressing tones, "you are agitated. +What is it? You are in trouble. What new grief can have come to you? +Will you not tell me? Is there anyone living who can sympathize with +you as I can?" +<br> +<br> +At these accents of kindness Zillah's fortitude gave way. She put her +head on her friend's shoulder and sobbed convulsively. The tears +relieved her. For a long time she wept in silence. +<br> +<br> +"I have no one now in the world but you, dearest Hilda. And you will +not forsake me, will you?" +<br> +<br> +"Forsake you, my darling, my sister? forsake you? Never while I live! +But why do you speak of flight and of being forsaken? What mad +fancies have come over you?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah drew from her pocket the letter which she had read. +<br> +<br> +"Here," she said, "read this, and you will know all." +<br> +<br> +Hilda took the letter and read it in silence, all through, and then +commencing it again, she once more read it through to the end. +<br> +<br> +Then she flung her arms around Zillah, impulsively, and strained her +to her heart. +<br> +<br> +"You understand all now?" +<br> +<br> +"All," said Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"And what do you think?" +<br> +<br> +"Think! It is horrible!" +<br> +<br> +"What would you do?" +<br> +<br> +"I?" cried Hilda, starting up. +<br> +<br> +"I would kill myself." +<br> +<br> +Zillah shook her head. "I am not quite capable of that--not +yet--though it may be in me to do it--some time. But now I can not. +My idea is the same as yours, though. I will go into seclusion, and +be dead to him, at any rate." +<br> +<br> +Hilda was silent for a few moments. Then she read the letter again. +<br> +<br> +"Zillah," said she, with a deep sigh, "it is very well to talk of +killing one's self, as I did just now, or of running away; but, after +all, other things must be considered. I spoke hastily; but I am +calmer than you, and I ought to advise you calmly. After all, it is a +very serious thing that you speak of; and, indeed, are you capable of +such a thing? Whatever I may individually think of your resolve, I +know that you are doing what the world will consider madness; and it +is my duty to put the case plainly before you. In the first place, +then, your husband does not love you, and he loves another--very hard +to bear, I allow; but men are fickle, and perhaps ere many months +have elapsed he may forget the cold English beauty as he gazes on +your Southern face. You are very beautiful, Zillah; and when he sees +you he will change his tone. He may love you at first sight." +<br> +<br> +"Then I should despise him," said Zillah, hotly. "What kind of love +is that which changes at the sight of every new face? Besides, you +forget how he despises me. I am a Hindu in his eyes. Can contempt +ever change into love? If such a miracle could take place, I should +never believe in it. Those bitter words in that letter would always +rankle in my heart." +<br> +<br> +"That is true," said Hilda, sorrowfully. "Then we will put that +supposition from us. But, allowing you never gain your husband's +love, remember how much there is left you. His position, his rank, +are yours by right--you are Lady Chetwynde, and the mistress of +Chetwynde Castle. You can fill the place with guests, among whom you +will be queen. You may go to London during the season, take the +position to which you are entitled there as wife of a peer, and, in +the best society which the world affords, you will receive all the +admiration and homage which you deserve. Beauty like yours, combined +with rank and wealth, may make you a queen of society. Have you +strength to forego all this, Zillah?" +<br> +<br> +"You have left one thing out in your brilliant picture," replied +Zillah. "All this may, indeed, be mine--but--mine on sufferance. If I +can only get this as Lord Chetwynde's wife, I beg leave to decline +it. Besides, I have no ambition to shine in society. Had you urged me +to remember all that the Earl has done for me, and try to endure the +son for the sake of the father, that might possibly have had weight. +Had you shown me that my marriage was irrevocable, and that the best +thing was to accept the situation, and try to be a dutiful wife to +the son of the man whom I called father, you might perhaps for a +moment have shaken my pride. I might have stifled the promptings of +those womanly instincts which have been so frightfully outraged, and +consented to remain passively in a situation where I was placed by +those two friends who loved me best. But when you speak to me of the +dazzling future which may lie before me as Lord Chetwynde's wife, you +remind me how little he is dependent for happiness upon any thing +that I can give him; of the brilliant career in society or in +politics which is open to him, and which will render domestic life +superfluous. I have thought over all this most fully; but what you +have just said has thrown a new light upon it. In the quiet seclusion +in which I have hitherto lived I had almost forgotten that there was +an outside world, where men seek their happiness. Can you think that +I am able to enter that world, and strive to be a queen of society, +with no protecting love around me to warn me against its perils or to +shield me from them? No! I see it all. Under no circumstances can I +live with this man who abhors me. No toleration can be possible on +either side. The best thing for me to do is to die. But since I can +not die, the next best thing is to sink out of his view into +nothingness. So, Hilda, I shall leave Chetwynde, and it is useless to +attempt to dissuade me." +<br> +<br> +Zillah had spoken in low, measured tones, in words which were so +formal that they sounded like a school-girl's recitation--a long, +dull monotone--the monotony of despair. Her face drooped--her eyes +were fixed on the floor--her white hands clasped each other, and she +sat thus--an image of woe. Hilda looked at her steadily. For a moment +there flashed over her lips the faintest shadow of a smile--the lips +curled cruelly, the eyes gleamed coldly--but it was for a moment. +Instantly it had passed, and as Zillah ceased, Hilda leaned toward +her and drew her head down upon her breast. +<br> +<br> +"Ah, my poor, sweet darling! my friend! my sister! my noble Zillah!" +she murmured. "I will say no more. I see you are fixed in your +purpose. I only wished you to act with your eyes open. But of what +avail is it? Could you live to be scorned--live on sufferance? Never! +_I_ would die first. What compensation could it be to be rich, or +famous, when you were the property of a man who loathed you? Ah, my +dear one! what am I saying? But you are right. Yes, sooner than live +with that man I would kill myself." +<br> +<br> +A long silence followed. +<br> +<br> +"I suppose you have not yet made any plans, darling," said Hilda at +last. +<br> +<br> +"Yes I have. A thousand plans at once came sweeping through my mind, +and I have some general idea of what I am to do," said Zillah. "I +think there will be no difficulty about the details. You remember, +when I wished to run away, after dear papa's death--ah, how glad I am +that I did not--how many happy years I should have lost--the question +of money was the insuperable obstacle; but that is effectually +removed now. You know my money is so settled that it is payable to my +own checks at my bankers', who are not even the Chetwyndes' bankers; +for the Earl thought it better to leave it with papa's men of +business." +<br> +<br> +"You must be very careful," said Hilda, "to leave no trace by which +Lord Chetwynde can find you out. You know that he will move heaven +and earth to find you. His character and his strict ideas of honor +would insure that. The mere fact that you bore his name, would make +it gall and wormwood to him to be ignorant of your doings. Besides, +he lays great stress on his promise to your father." +<br> +<br> +"He need not fear," said Zillah. "The dear old name, which I love +almost as proudly as he does, shall never gain the lightest stain +from me. Of course I shall cease to use it now. It would be easy to +trace Lady Chetwynde to any place. My idea is, of course, to take an +assumed name. You and I can live quietly and raise no suspicions that +we are other than we seem. But, Hilda, are you sure that you are +willing to go into exile with me? Can you endure it? Can you live +with me, and share my monotonous life?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked steadily at Zillah, holding her hand the while. +"Zillah," said she, in a solemn voice, "whither thou goest, I will +go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my +people, and thy God my God!" +<br> +<br><img src="images/82.png" alt="Whither Thou Goest, I Will Go."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "Whither Thou Goest, I Will Go."] +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +A deep silence followed. Zillah pressed Hilda's hand and stifled a +half sob. +<br> +<br> +"At any rate," said Hilda, "whoever else may fail, you--you have, at +least, one faithful heart--one friend on whom you can always rely. +No, you need not thank me," said she, as Zillah fondly kissed her and +was about to speak; "I am but a poor, selfish creature, after all. +You know I could never be happy away from you. You know that there is +no one in the world whom I love but you; and there is no other who +loves me. Do I not owe every thing to General Pomeroy and to you, my +darling?" +<br> +<br> +"Not more than I owe to you, dear Hilda. I feel ashamed when I think +of how much I made you endure for years, through my selfish exactions +and my ungovernable temper. But I have changed a little I think. The +Earl's influence over me was for good, I hope. Dear Hilda, we have +none but one another, and must cling together." +<br> +<br> +Silence then followed, and they sat for a long time, each wrapped up +in plans for the future. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXV. +<br> +<br> +CUTTING THE LAST TIE. +<br> +<br> +Fearful that her courage might fail if she gave herself any more time +to reflect on what she was doing, Zillah announced to the household, +before the close of that day, that the shock of Lord Chetwynde's +death rendered a change necessary for her, and that she should leave +home as soon as she could conveniently do so. She also told them of +their master's expected return, and that every thing must be in +readiness for his reception, so that, on her return, she might have +no trouble before her. She gave some faint hints that she might +probably meet him at London, in order to disarm suspicion, and also +to make it easier for Chetwynde himself to conceal the fact of her +flight, if he wished to do so. She never ceased to be thoughtful +about protecting his honor, as far as possible. The few days before +Zillah's departure were among the most wretched she had ever known. +The home which she so dearly loved, and which she had thought was to +be hers forever, had to be left, because she felt that she was not +wanted there. She went about the grounds, visited every favorite +haunt and nook--the spots endeared to her by the remembrance of many +happy hours passed among them--and her tears flowed fast and bitterly +as she thought that she was now seeing them for the last time. The +whole of the last day at Chetwynde she passed in the little church, +under which every Molyneux had been buried for centuries back. It was +full of their marble effigies. Often had she watched the sunlight +flickering over their pale sculptured faces. One of these forms had +been her especial delight; for she could trace in his features a +strong family resemblance to Lord Chetwynde. This one's name was Guy. +Formerly she used to see a likeness between him and the Guy who was +now alive. He had died in the Holy Land; but his bones had been +brought home, that they might rest in the family vault. She had been +fond of weaving romances as to his probable history and fate; but no +thought of him was in her mind to-day, as she wept over the +resting-place of one who had filled a father's place to her, or as +she knelt and prayed in her desolation to Him who has promised to be +a father to the fatherless. Earnestly did she entreat that His +presence might be with her, His providence direct her lonely way. +Poor child! In the wild impulsiveness of her nature she thought that +the sacrifice which she was making of herself and her hopes must be +acceptable to Him, and pleasing in His sight. She did not know that +she was merely following her own will, and turning her back upon the +path of duty. That duty lay in simple acceptance of the fate which +seemed ordained for her, whether for good or evil. Happy marriages +were never promised by Him; and, in flying from one which seemed to +promise unhappiness, she forgot that "obedience is better than +sacrifice," even though the sacrifice be that of one's self. +<br> +<br> +Twilight was fast closing in before she reached the castle, exhausted +from the violence of her emotion, and faint and weak from her long +fasting. Hilda expressed alarm at her protracted absence, and said +that she was just about going in search of her. "My darling," said +she, "you will wear away your strength. You are too weak now to +leave. Let me urge you, for the last time, to stay; give up your mad +resolution." +<br> +<br> +"No," said Zillah. "You know you yourself said that I was right." +<br> +<br> +"I did not say that you were right, darling. I said what I would do +in your place; but I did not at all say, or even hint, that it would +be right." +<br> +<br> +"Never mind," said Zillah, wearily; "I have nerved myself to go +through with it, and I can do it. The worst bitterness is over now. +There is but one thing more for me to do, and then the ties between +me and Chetwynde are severed forever." +<br> +<br> +At Hilda's earnest entreaty she took some refreshment, and then lay +down to rest; but, feeling too excited to sleep, she got up to +accomplish the task she had before her. This was to write a letter to +her husband, telling him of her departure, and her reason for doing +so. She wished to do this in as few words as possible, to show no +signs of bitterness toward him, or of her own suffering. So she wrote +as follows: +<br> +<br> +"CHETWYNDE CASTLE, March 20, 1859." +<br> +<br> +My LORD,--Your last letter did not reach Chetwynde Castle until after +your dear father had been taken from us. It was therefore opened and +read by me. I need not describe what my feelings were on reading it; +but will only say, that if it were possible for me to free you from +the galling chains that bind you to me, I would gladly do so. But, +though it be impossible for me to render you free to marry her whom +you love, I can at least rid you of my hated presence. I can not die; +but I can be as good as dead to you. To-morrow I shall leave +Chetwynde forever, and you will never see my face again. Search for +me, were you inclined to make it, will lie useless. I shall probably +depart from England, and leave no trace of my whereabouts. I shall +live under an assumed name, so as not to let the noble name of +Chetwynde suffer any dishonor from _me_. If I _die_, I will take care +to have the news sent to you. +<br> +<br> +"Do not think that I blame you. A man's love is not under his own +control. Had I remained, I know that as your wife, I should have +experienced the utmost kindness and consideration. Such kindness, +however, to a nature like mine would have been only galling. +Something more than cold civility is necessary in order to render +endurable the daily intercourse of husband and wife. Therefore I do +not choose to subject myself to such a life. +<br> +<br> +"In this, the last communication between us, I must say to you what I +intended to reserve until I could say it in person. It needed but a +few weeks' intimate association with your dear father, whom I loved +as my father, and whom I called by that name, to prove how utterly I +had been mistaken as to the motives and circumstances that led to our +marriage. I had his full and free forgiveness for having doubted him; +and I now, as a woman, beg to apologize to you for all that I might +have said as a passionate girl. +<br> +<br> +"Let me also assure you, my lord, of my deep sympathy for you in the +trial which awaits you on your return, when you will find Chetwynde +Castle deprived of the presence of that father whom you love. I feel +for you and with you. My loss is only second to yours; for, in your +father, I lost the only friend whom I possessed. +<br> +<br> +"Yours, very respectfully, +<br> +<br> +"ZILLAH." +<br> +<br> +Hilda of course had to copy this, for the objection to Zillah's +writing was as strong as before, and an explanation was now more +difficult to make than ever. Zillah, however, read it in Hilda's +handwriting, and then Hilda took it, as she always did to inclose it +for the mail. +<br> +<br> +She took it to her own room, drew from her desk a letter which was +addressed to Guy, and this was the one which she posted. Zillah's +letter was carefully destroyed. Yet Zillah went with Hilda to the +post-office, so anxious was she about her last letter, and saw it +dropped in the box, as she supposed. +<br> +<br> +Then she felt that she had cut the last tie. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXVI. +<br> +<br> +FLIGHT AND REFUGE. +<br> +<br> +About a fortnight after the events narrated in our last chapter a +carriage stopped before the door of a small cottage situated in the +village of Tenby on the coast of Pembrokeshire. Two ladies in deep +mourning got out of it, and entered the gate of the garden which lay +between them and the house; while a maid descended from the ramble, +and in voluble French, alternating with broken English, besought the +coachman's tender consideration for the boxes which he was handing +down in a manner expressive of energy and expedition, rather than any +regard for their contents. A resounding "thump" on the ground, caused +by the sudden descent of one of her precious charges, elicited a cry +of agony from the Frenchwoman, accompanied by the pathetic appeal: +<br> +<br> +"Oh, mon Dieu! Qu'est ce que vous faites la? Prenez garde donc!" +<br> +<br> +This outbreak attracted the attention of the ladies, who turned round +to witness the scene. On seeing distress depicted on every lineament +of her faithful Abigail's face, the younger of the two said, with a +faint smile: +<br> +<br> +"Poor Mathilde! That man's rough handling will break the boxes and +her heart at the same time. But after all it will only anticipate the +unhappy end, for I am sure that she will die of grief and ennui when +she sees the place we have brought her to. She thought it dreadful at +Chetwynde that there were so few to see and to appreciate the results +of her skill, yet even there a few could occasionally be found to +dress me for. But when she finds that I utterly repudiate French +toilettes for sitting upon the rocks, and that the neighboring +fishermen are not as a rule judges of the latest coiffure, I am +afraid to think of the consequences. Will it be any thing less than a +suicide, do you think, Hilda?" +<br> +<br> +"Well, Zillah," said Hilda, "I advised you not to bring her. A secret +intrusted to many ceases to be a secret. It would have been better to +leave behind you all who had been connected with Chetwynde, but +especially Mathilde, who is both silly and talkative." +<br> +<br> +"I know that her coming is sorely against your judgment, Hilda; but I +do not think that I run any risk. I know you despise me for my +weakness, but I really like Mathilde, and could not give her up and +take a new maid, unless I had to. She is very fond of me, and would +rather be with me, even in this outlandish place, than in London, +even, with any one else. You know I am the only person she has lived +with in England. She has no friends in the country, so her being +French is in her favor. She has not the least idea in what county 'ce +cher mais triste Shateveen' is situated; so she could not do much +harm even if she would, especially as her pronunciation of the name +is more likely to bewilder than to instruct her hearers." +<br> +<br> +By this time they had entered the house, and Zillah, putting her arm +in Hilda's, proceeded to inspect the mansion. It was a very tiny one; +the whole house could conveniently have stood in the Chetwynde +drawing-room; but Zillah declared that she delighted in its snugness. +Every thing was exquisitely neat, both within and without. The place +had been obtained by Hilda's diligent search. It had belonged to a +coast-guard officer who had recently died, and Hilda, by means of +Gualtier, obtained possession of the whole place, furniture and all, +by paying a high rent to the widow. A housekeeper and servants were +included in the arrangements. Zillah was in ecstasies with her +drawing-room, which extended he whole length of the house, having at +the front an alcove window looking upon the balcony and thence upon +the sea, and commanding at the back a beautiful view of the mountains +beyond. The views from all the windows were charming, and from garret +to cellar the house was nicely furnished and well appointed, so that +after hunting into every nook and corner the two friends expressed +themselves delighted with their new home. +<br> +<br> +The account which they gave of themselves to those with whom they +were brought in contact was a very simple one, and not likely to +excite suspicion. They were sisters--the Misses Lorton--the death of +their father not long before had rendered them orphans. They had no +near relations, but were perfectly independent as to means. They had +come to Tenby for the benefit of the sea air, and wished to lead as +quiet and retired a life as possible for the next two years. They had +brought no letters, and they wished for no society. +<br> +<br> +They soon settled down into their new life, and their days passed +happily and quietly. Neither of them had ever lived near the sea +before, so that it was now a constant delight to them. Zillah would +sit for hours on the shore, watching the breakers dashing over the +rocks beyond, and tumbling at her feet; or she would play like a +child with the rising tide, trying how far she could run out with the +receding wave before the next white-crested billow should come +seething and foaming after her, as if to punish her for her temerity +in venturing within the precincts of the mighty ocean. Hilda always +accompanied her, but her amusements took a much more ambitious turn. +She had formed a passion for collecting marine curiosities; and while +Zillah sat dreamily watching the waves, she would clamber over the +rocks in search of sea-weeds, limpets, anemones, and other things of +the kind, shouting out gladly whenever she had found any thing new. +Gradually she extended her rambles, and explored all the coast within +easy walking distance, and became familiar with every bay and outlet +within the circuit of several miles. Zillah's strength had not yet +fully returned, so that she was unable to go on these long rambles. +<br> +<br> +One day Zillah announced an intention of taking a drive inland, and +urged Hilda to come with her. +<br> +<br> +"Well, dear, I would rather not unless you really want me to. I want +very much to go on the shore to-day. I found some beautiful specimens +on the cliffs last night; but it was growing too late for me to +secure them, so I determined to do so as early as possible this +afternoon." +<br> +<br> +"Oh," said Zillah, with a laugh, "I should not dream of putting in a +rivalry with your new passion. I should not stand a chance against a +shrimp; but I hope your new aquarium will soon make its appearance, +or else some of your pets will come to an untimely end, I fear I +heard the house-maid this morning vowing vengeance against 'them +nasty smellin' things as Miss Lorton were always a-litterin' the +house with.'" +<br> +<br> +"She will soon get rid of them, then. The man has promised me the +aquarium in two or three days, and it will be the glory of the whole +establishment. But now--good-by, darling--I must be off at once, so +as to have as much daylight as possible." +<br> +<br> +"You will be back before me, I suppose." +<br> +<br> +"Very likely; but if I am not, do not be anxious. I shall stay on the +cliffs as late as I can." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Hilda! I do not like your going alone. Won't you take John with +you? I can easily drive by myself." +<br> +<br> +"Any fate rather than that," said Hilda, laughing. "What could I do +with John?" +<br> +<br> +"Take Mathilde, then, or one of the maids." +<br> +<br> +"Mathilde! My dear girl, what are you thinking of? You know she has +never ventured outside of the garden gate since we have been here. +She shudders whenever she looks at 'cette vilaine mer,' and no +earthly consideration could induce her to put her foot on the shore. +But what has put it in your head that I should want any one with me +to-day, when I have gone so often without a protector?" +<br> +<br> +"I don't know," said Zillah. "You spoke about not being home till +late, and I felt nervous." +<br> +<br> +"You need not be uneasy then, darling, on that account. I shall leave +the cliffs early, I only want to be untrammeled, so as to ramble +about at random. At any rate I shall be home in good time for dinner, +and will be as hungry as a hunter, I promise you. I only want you not +to fret your foolish little head if I am not here at the very moment +I expect." +<br> +<br> +"Very well," said Zillah, "I will not, and I must not keep you +talking any longer." +<br> +<br> +"Au revoir," said Hilda, kissing her. "An revoir," she repeated, +gayly. +<br> +<br> +Zillah smiled, and as she rose to go and dress for the drive Hilda +took her path to the cliffs. +<br> +<br> +It was seven o'clock when Zillah returned. +<br> +<br> +"Is Miss Lorton in?" she asked, as she entered. +<br> +<br> +"No, miss," answered the maid. +<br> +<br> +"I will wait dinner then," said Zillah; and after changing her things +she went out on the balcony to wait for Hilda's return. +<br> +<br> +Half an hour passed, and Hilda did not come. +<br> +<br> +Zillah grew anxious, and looked incessantly at her watch. Eight +o'clock came--a quarter after eight. +<br> +<br> +Zillah could stand it no longer. She sent for John. +<br> +<br> +"John," said she, "I am getting uneasy about Miss Lorton. I wish you +would walk along the beach and meet her. It is too late for her to be +out alone." +<br> +<br> +John departed on his errand, and Zillah felt a sense of relief at +having done something, but this gave way to renewed anxiety as time +passed, and they did not appear. At length, after what seemed an age +to the suffering girl, John returned, but alone. +<br> +<br> +"Have you not found her?" Zillah almost shrieked. +<br> +<br> +"No, miss," said the man, in a pitying tone. +<br> +<br> +"Then why did you come back?" she cried. "Did I not tell you to go on +till you met her?" +<br> +<br> +"I went as far as I could, miss." +<br> +<br> +"What do you mean?" she asked, in a voice pitched high with terror. +<br> +<br> +The man came close up to her, sympathy and sorrow in his face. +<br> +<br> +"Don't take on so, miss," said he; "and don't be downhearted. I dare +say she has took the road, and will be home shortly; that way is +longer, you know." +<br> +<br> +"No; she said she would come by the shore. Why did you not go on till +you met her?" +<br> +<br> +"Well, miss, I went as far as Lovers' Bay; but the tide was in, and I +could go no farther." +<br> +<br> +Zillah, at this, turned deadly white, and would have fallen if John +had not caught her. He placed her on the sofa and called Mathilde. +<br> +<br> +Zillah's terror was not without cause. Lovers' Bay was a narrow inlet +of the sea, formed by two projecting promontories. At low tide a +person could walk beyond these promontories along the shore; but at +high tide the water ran up within; and there was no standing room any +where within the inclosure of the precipitous cliff. At half tide, +when the tide was falling, one might enter here; but if the tide was +rising, it was of course not to be attempted. Several times strangers +had been entrapped here, sometimes with fatal results. The place owed +its name to the tragical end which was met with here by a lover who +was eloping with his lady. They fled by the shore, and came to the +bay, but found that the rising tide had made the passage of the +further ledge impossible. In despair the lover seized the lady, and +tried to swim with her around this obstacle, but the waves proved +stronger than love; the currents bore them out to sea; and the next +morning their bodies were found floating on the water, with their +arms still clasped around one another in a death embrace. Such was +the origin of the name; and the place had always been looked upon by +the people here with a superstitious awe, as a place of danger and +death. +<br> +<br> +The time, however, was one which demanded action; and Zillah, hastily +gulping down some restoratives which Mathilde had brought, began to +take measures for a search. +<br> +<br> +"John," said she, "you must get a boat, and go at once in search of +Miss Lorton. Is there nowhere any standing room in the bay--no +crevice in the rocks where one may find a foothold?" +<br> +<br> +"Not with these spring-tides, miss," said John. "A man might cling a +little while to the rocks; but a weak lady--" John hesitated. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my God!" cried Zillah, in an agony; "she may be clinging there +now, with every moment lessening her chance! Fly to the nearest +fishermen, John! Ten pounds apiece if you get to the bay within half +an hour! And any thing you like if you only bring her back safe!" +<br> +<br> +Away flew John, descending the rocks to the nearest cottage. There he +breathlessly stated his errand; and the sturdy fisherman and his son +were immediately prepared to start. The boat was launched, and they +set out. It was slightly cloudy, and there seemed some prospect of a +storm. Filled with anxiety at such an idea, and also inspired with +enthusiasm by the large reward, they put forth their utmost efforts; +and the boat shot through the water at a most unwonted pace. Twenty +minutes after the boat had left the strand it had reached the bay. +All thought of mere reward faded out soon from the minds of these +honest men. They only thought of the young lady whom they had often +seen along the shore, who might even now be in the jaws of death. Not +a word was spoken. The sound of the waves, as they dashed on the +rocks alone broke the stillness. Trembling with excitement, they +swept the boat close around the rocky promontory. John, standing up +in the bow, held aloft a lantern, so that every cranny of the rocks +might be brought out into full relief. At length an exclamation burst +from him. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Heavens! she's been here!" he groaned. +<br> +<br> +The men turned and saw in his hand the covered basket which Hilda +always took with her on her expeditions to bring home her specimens. +It seemed full of them now. +<br> +<br> +"Where did you find it?" they asked. +<br> +<br> +"Just on this here ledge of rock." +<br> +<br> +"She has put it down to free her hands. She may be clinging yet," +said the old fisherman. "Let us call." +<br> +<br> +A loud cry, "Miss Lorton!" rang through the bay. The echo sent it +reverberating back; but no human voice mingled with the sound. +<br> +<br> +Despondingly and fearfully they continued the search, still calling +at times, until at last, as they reached the outer point, the last +hope died, and they ceased calling. +<br> +<br> +"I'm afeard she's gone," said John. +<br> +<br> +The men shook their heads. John but expressed the general opinion. +<br> +<br> +"God help that poor young thing at the cottage!" said the elder +fisherman. "She'll be mighty cut up, I take it, now." +<br> +<br> +"They was all in all to each other," said John, with a sigh. +<br> +<br> +By this time they had rounded the point. Suddenly John, who had sat +down again, called out: +<br> +<br> +"Stop! I see something on the water yonder!" +<br> +<br><img src="images/86.png" alt="She Clutched His Arm In A Convulsive Grasp."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "She Clutched His Arm In A Convulsive Grasp."] +<br> +<br> +The men looked in the direction where he pointed, and a small object +was visible on the surface of the water. They quickly rowed toward +it. It was a lady's hat, which John instantly recognized as Hilda's. +The long crape veil seemed to have caught in a stake which arose from +the sandy beach above the water, placed there to mark some water +level, and the hat floated there. Reverently, as though they were +touching the dead, did those rough men disentangle the folds, and lay +the hat on the basket. +<br> +<br> +"There is no hope now," said the younger fisherman, after a solemn +silence. "May our dear Lord and our Blessed Lady," he added, crossing +himself as he spoke, "have mercy on her soul!" +<br> +<br> +"Amen!" repeated the others, gently. +<br> +<br> +"However shall I tell my poor little missis," said John, wiping his +eyes. +<br> +<br> +The others made no response. Soon they reached the shore again. The +old man whispered a few words to his son, and then turned to John: +<br> +<br> +"I say, comrade," said he; "don't let _her_--" a jerk of his head in +the direction of the cottage indicated to whom the pronoun +referred--"don't let _her_ give us that. We've done naught but what +we'd have done for any poor creature among these rocks. We couldn't +take pay for this night's job--my son nor me. And all we wish is, +that it had been for some good; but it wasn't the Lord's will; and it +ain't for us to say nothin' agin that; only you'll tell your missis, +when she he's a bit better, that we made bold to send her our +respectful sympathy." +<br> +<br> +John gave this promise to the honest fellows, and then went slowly +and sadly back to make his mournful report. +<br> +<br> +During John's absence Zillah had been waiting in an agony of +suspense, in which Mathilde made feeble efforts to console her. +Wringing her hands, she walked up and down in front of the house; and +at length, when she heard footsteps coming along the road, she rushed +in that direction. She recognized John. So great was her excitement +that she could not utter one word. She clutched his arm in a +convulsive grasp. John said nothing. It was easier for him to be +silent. In fact he had something which was more eloquent than words. +He mournfully held out the basket and the hat. +<br> +<br> +In an instant Zillah recognized them. She shrieked, and fell +speechless and senseless on the hard ground. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXVII. +<br> +<br> +AN ASTOUNDING LETTER. +<br> +<br> +It needed but this new calamity to complete the sum of Zillah's +griefs. She had supposed that she had already suffered as much as she +could. The loss of her father, the loss of the Earl, the separation +from Mrs. Hart, were each successive stages in the descending scale +of her calamities. Nor was the least of these that Indian letter +which had sent her into voluntary banishment from her home. It was +not till all was over that she learned how completely her thoughts +had associated themselves with the plans of the Earl, and how +insensibly her whole future had become penetrated with plans about +Guy, The overthrow of all this was bitter; but this, and all other +griefs, were forgotten in the force of this new sorrow, which, while +it was the last, was in reality the greatest. Now, for the first +time, she felt how dear Hilda had been to her. She had been more than +a friend--she had been an elder sister. Now, to Zillah's affectionate +heart, there came the recollection of all the patient love, the kind +forbearance, and the wise counsel of this matchless friend. Since +childhood they had been inseparable. Hilda had rivaled even her +doting father in perfect submission to all her caprices, and +indulgence of all her whims. Zillah had matured so rapidly, and had +changed so completely, that she now looked upon her former willful +and passionate childhood with impatience, and could estimate at its +full value that wonderful meekness with which Hilda had endured her +wayward and imperious nature. Not one recollection of Hilda came to +her but was full of incidents of a love and devotion passing the love +of a sister. +<br> +<br> +It was now, since she had lost her, that she learned to estimate her, +as she thought, at her full value. That loss seemed to her the +greatest of all; worse than that of the Earl; worse even than that of +her father. Never more should she experience that tender love, that +wise patience, that unruffled serenity, which she had always known +from Hilda. Never more should she possess one devoted friend--the +true and tried friend of a life--to whom she might go in any sorrow, +and know and feel that she would receive the sympathy of love and the +counsel of wisdom. Nevermore--no, nevermore! Such was the refrain +that seemed constantly to ring in her ears, and she found herself +murmuring those despairing lines of Poe, where the solitary word of +the Raven seems +<br> +<br> +"Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster<br> +Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--<br> +Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore<br> + Of 'Never--nevermore!'" +<br> +<br> +It was awful to her to be, for the first time in her life, alone in +the world. Hitherto, amidst her bitterest afflictions, she had always +had some one whom she loved. After her father's death she had Lord +Chetwynde and Mrs. Hart; and with these she always had Hilda. But now +all were gone, and Hilda was gone. To a passionate and intense nature +like hers, sorrow was capable of giving pangs which are unknown to +colder hearts, and so she suffered to a degree which was commensurate +with her ardent temperament. +<br> +<br> +Weeks passed on. Recovering from the first shock, she sank into a +state of dreamy listlessness, which, however, was at times +interrupted by some wild hopes which would intrude in spite of +herself. These hopes were that Hilda, after all, might not be lost. +She might have been found by some one and carried off somewhere. Wild +enough were these hopes, and Zillah saw this plainly, yet still they +would intrude. Yet, far from proving a solace, they only made her +situation worse, since they kept her in a state of constant +suspense--a suspense, too, which had no shadow of a foundation in +reason. So, alone, and struggling with the darkest despair, Zillah +passed the time, without having sufficient energy of mind left to +think about her future, or the state of her affairs. +<br> +<br> +As to her affairs--she was nothing better than a child. She had a +vague idea that she was rich; but she had no idea of where her money +might be. She knew the names of her London agents; but whether they +held any funds of hers or not, she could not tell. She took it for +granted that they did. Child as she was, she did not know even the +common mode of drawing a check. Hilda had done that for her since her +flight from Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +The news of the unhappy fate of the elder Miss Lorton had sent a +shock through the quiet village of Tenby, and every where might be +heard expressions of the deepest sympathy with the younger sister, +who seemed so gentle, so innocent, so inexperienced, and so +affectionate. All had heard of the anguish into which she had been +thrown by the news of the fearful calamity, and a respectful +commiseration for grief so great was exhibited by all. The honest +fishermen who had gone first on the search on that eventful night had +not been satisfied, but early on the following morning had roused all +the fishing population, and fifty or sixty boats started oft' before +dawn to scour the coast, and to examine the sea bottom. This they +kept up for two or three days; but without success. Then, at last, +they gave up the search. Nothing of this, however, was known to +Zillah, who, at that particular time, was in the first anguish of her +grief, and lay prostrated in mind and body. Even the chattering +Mathilde was awed by the solemnity of woe. +<br> +<br> +The people of Tenby were nearly all of the humbler class. The widow +who owned the house had moved away, and there were none with whom +Zillah could associate, except the rector and his wife. They were old +people, and had no children. The Rev. Mr. Harvey had lived there all +his life, and was now well advanced in years. At the first tidings of +the mournful event he had gone to Zillah's house to see if he could +be of any assistance; but finding that she was ill in bed, he had +sent his wife to offer her services. Mrs. Harvey had watched over +poor Zillah in her grief, and had soothed her too. Mathilde would +have been but a poor nurse for one in such a situation, and Mrs. +Harvey's motherly care and sweet words of consolation had something, +at least, to do with Zillah's recovery. +<br> +<br> +When she was better, Mrs. Harvey urged her to come and stay with them +for a time. It would give her a change of scene, she said, and that +was all-important. Zillah was deeply touched by her affectionate +solicitude, but declined to leave her house. She felt, she said, as +though solitude would be best for her under such circumstances. +<br> +<br> +"My dear child," said Mrs. Harvey, who had formed almost a maternal +affection for Zillah, and had come to address her always in that +way--"my dear child, you should not try to deepen your grief by +staying here and brooding over it. Every thing here only makes it +worse. You must really come with me, if for only a few days, and see +if your distress will not be lightened somewhat." +<br> +<br> +But Zillah said that she could not bear to leave, that the house +seemed to be filled with Hilda's presence, and that as long as she +was there there was something to remind her of the one she had lost. +If she went away she should only long to go back. +<br> +<br> +"But, my child, would it not be better for you to go to your +friends?" said Mrs. Harvey, as delicately as possible. +<br> +<br> +"I have no friends," said Zillah, in a faltering voice. "They are all +gone." +<br> +<br> +Zillah burst into tears: and Mrs. Harvey, after weeping with her, +took her departure, with her heart full of fresh sympathy for one so +sweet, and so unhappy. +<br> +<br> +Time passed on, and Zillah's grief had settled down into a quiet +melancholy. The rector and his wife were faithful friends to this +friendless girl, and, by a thousand little acts of sympathy, strove +to alleviate the distress of her lonely situation. For all this +Zillah felt deeply grateful, but nothing that they might do could +raise her mind from the depths of grief into which it had fallen. But +at length there came a day which was to change all this. +<br> +<br> +That day she was sitting by the front window in the alcove, looking +out to where the sea was rolling in its waves upon the shore. +Suddenly, to her surprise, she saw the village postman, who had been +passing along the road, open her gate, and come up the path. Her +first thought was that her concealment had been discovered, and that +Guy had written to her. Then a wild thought followed that it was +somehow connected with Hilda. But soon these thoughts were banished +by the supposition that it was simply a note for one of the servants. +After this she fell into her former melancholy, when suddenly she was +roused by the entrance of John, who had a letter in his hand. +<br> +<br> +"A letter for you, miss," said John, who had no idea that Zillah was +of a dignity which deserved the title of "my lady." +<br> +<br> +Zillah said not a word. With a trembling hand she took the letter and +looked at it. It was covered with foreign post-marks, but this she +did not notice. It was the handwriting which excited her attention. +<br> +<br> +"Hilda!" she cried, and sank back breathless in her chair. Her heart +throbbed as though it would burst. For a moment she could not move; +but then, with a violent effort, she tore open the letter, and, in a +wild fever of excited feeling, read the following: +<br> +<br> +"NAPLES, June 1, 1859. +<br> +<br> +"MY OWN DEAREST DARLING,---What you must have suffered in the way of +wonder about my sudden disappearance, and also in anxiety about your +poor Hilda, I can not imagine. I know that you love me dearly, and +for me to vanish from your sight so suddenly and so strangely must +have caused you at least some sorrow. If you have been sorrowing for +me, my sweetest, do not do so any more. I am safe and almost well, +though I have had a strange experience. +<br> +<br> +"When I left you on that ill-fated evening, I expected to be back as +I said. I walked up the beach thoughtlessly, and did not notice the +tide or any thing about it. I walked a long distance, and at last +felt tired, for I had done a great deal that day. I happened to see a +boat drawn up on the shore, and it seemed to be a good place to sit +down and rest. I jumped in and sat down on one of the seats. I took +off my hat and scarf, and luxuriated in the fresh sea breeze that was +blowing over the water. I do not know how long I sat there--I did not +think of it at that time, but at last I was roused from my pleasant +occupation very suddenly and painfully. All at once I made the +discovery that the boat was moving under me. I looked around in a +panic. To my horror, I found that I was at a long distance from the +shore. In an instant the truth flashed upon me. The tide had risen, +the boat had floated off, and I had not noticed it. I was fully a +mile away when I made this discovery, and cool as I am (according to +you), I assure you I nearly died of terror when the full reality of +my situation occurred to me. I looked all around, but saw no chance +of help. Far away on the horizon I saw numerous sails, and nearer to +me I saw a steamer, but all were too distant to be of any service. On +the shore I could not see a living soul. +<br> +<br> +"After a time I rallied from my panic, and began to try to get the +boat back. But there were no oars, although, if there had been, I do +not see how I could have used them. In my desperate efforts I tried +to paddle with my hands, but, of course, it was utterly useless. In +spite of all my efforts I drifted away further and further, and after +a very long time, I do not know how long, I found that I was at an +immense distance from the shore. Weakened by anxiety and fear, and +worn out by my long-continued efforts, I gave up, and, sitting down +again, I burst into a passion of tears. The day was passing on. +Looking at the sun I saw that it was the time when you would be +expecting me back. I thought of you, my darling, waiting for +me--expecting me--wondering at my delay. How I cursed my folly and +thoughtlessness in ever venturing into such danger! I thought of your +increasing anxiety as you waited, while still I did not come. I +thought, Oh, if she only knew where her poor Hilda is--what agony it +would give her! But such thoughts were heart-breaking, and at last I +dared not entertain them, and so I tried to turn my attention to the +misery of my situation. Ah, my dearest, think--only think of me, your +poor Hilda, in that boat, drifting helplessly along over the sea out +into the ocean! +<br> +<br> +"With each moment my anguish grew greater. I saw no prospect of +escape or of help. No ships came near; no boats of any kind were +visible. I strained my eyes till they ached, but could see nothing +that gave me hope. Oh, my darling, how can I tell you the miseries of +that fearful time! Worse than all, do what I might, I still could not +keep away from me the thoughts of you, my sweetest. Still they would +come--and never could I shake off the thought of your face, pale +with loving anxiety, as you waited for that friend of yours who would +never appear. Oh, had you seen me as I was--had you but imagined, +even in the faintest way, the horrors that surrounded me, what would +have been your feelings! But you could never have conceived it. No. +Had you conceived it you would have sent every one forth in search of +me. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/89.png" alt="Drifting Out To Sea."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: Drifting Out To Sea.] +<br> +<br> +"To add to my grief, night was coming on. I saw the sun go down, and +still there was no prospect of escape. I was cold and wretched, and +my physical sufferings were added to those of my mind. Somehow I had +lost my hat and scarf overboard. I had to endure the chill wind that +swept over me, the damp piercing blast that came over the waters, +without any possibility of shelter. At last I grew so cold and +benumbed that I lay down in the bottom of the boat, with the hope of +getting out of the way of the wind. It was indeed somewhat more +sheltered, but the shelter at best was but slight. I had nothing to +cover myself with, and my misery was extreme. +<br> +<br> +"The twilight increased, and the wind grew stronger and colder. Worst +of all, as I lay down and looked up, I could see that the clouds were +gathering, and knew that there would be a storm. How far I was out on +the sea I scarcely dared conjecture. Indeed, I gave myself up for +lost, and had scarcely any hope. The little hope that was left was +gradually driven away by the gathering darkness, and at length all +around me was black. It was night. I raised myself up, and looked +feebly out upon the waves. They were all hidden from my sight. I fell +back, and lay there for a long time, enduring horrors, which, in my +wildest dreams, I had never imagined as liable to fall to the lot of +any miserable human being. +<br> +<br> +"I know nothing more of that night, or of several nights afterward. +When I came back to consciousness I found myself in a ship's cabin, +and was completely bewildered. Gradually, however, I found out all. +This ship, which was an Italian vessel belonging to Naples, and was +called the _Vittoria_, had picked me up on the morning after I had +drifted away. I was unconscious and delirious. They took me on board, +and treated me with the greatest kindness. For the tender care which +was shown me by these rough but kindly hearts Heaven only can repay +them; I can not. But when I had recovered consciousness several days +had elapsed, the ship was on her way to Naples, and we were already +off the coast of Portugal. I was overwhelmed with astonishment and +grief. Then the question arose, What was I to do? The captain, who +seemed touched to the heart by my sorrow, offered to take the ship +out of her course and land me at Lisbon, if I liked; or he would put +me ashore at Gibraltar. Miserable me! What good would it do for me to +be landed at Lisbon or at Gibraltar? Wide seas would still intervene +between me and my darling. I could not ask them to land me at either +of those places. Besides, the ship was going to Naples, and that +seemed quite as near as Lisbon, if not more so. It seemed to me to be +more accessible--more in the line of travel--and therefore I thought +that by going on to Naples I would really be more within your reach +than if I landed at any intervening point. So I decided to go on. +<br> +<br> +"Poor me! Imagine me on board a ship, with no change of clothing, no +comforts or delicacies of any kind, and at the same time prostrated +by sickness arising from my first misery. It was a kind of low fever, +combined with delirium, that affected me. Most fortunately for me, +the captain's wife sailed with him, and to her I believe my recovery +is due. Poor dear Margarita! Her devotion to me saved me from death. +I gave her that gold necklace that I have worn from childhood. In no +other way could I fittingly show my gratitude. Ah, my darling! the +world is not all bad. It is full of honest, kindly hearts, and of +them all none is more noble or more pure than my generous friend the +simple wife of Captain Gaddagli. May Heaven bless her for her +kindness to the poor lost stranger who fell in her way! +<br> +<br> +"My sweet Zillah, how does all this read to you? Is it not wildly +improbable? Can you imagine your Hilda floating out to sea, +senseless, picked up by strangers, carried off to foreign countries? +Do you not rejoice that it was so, and that you do not have to mourn +my death? My darling, I need not ask. Alas! what would I not give to +be sitting with your arms around me, supporting my aching head, while +I told you of all my suffering? +<br> +<br> +"But I must go on. My exposure during that dreadful night had told +fearfully upon me. During the voyage I could scarcely move. Toward +its close, however, I was able to go on deck, and the balmy air of +the Mediterranean revived me. At length we reached Naples Bay. As we +sailed up to the city, the sight of all the glorious scenery on every +side seemed to fill me with new life and strength. The cities along +the shore, the islands, the headlands, the mountains, Vesuvius, with +its canopy of smoke, the intensely blue sky, the clear transparent +air, all made me feel as though I had been transported to a new +world. +<br> +<br> +"I went at once to the Hotel de l'Europe, on the Strada Toledo. It is +the best hotel here, and is very comfortable. Here I must stay for a +time, for, my darling, I am by no means well. The doctor thinks that +my lungs are affected. I have a very bad cough. He says that even if +I were able to travel, I must not think of going home yet, the air of +Naples is my only hope, and he tells me to send to England for my +friends. My friends! What friends have I? None. But, darling, I know +that I have a friend--one who would go a long distance for her poor +suffering Hilda. And now, darling, I want you to come on. I have no +hesitation in asking this, for I know that you do not feel +particularly happy where you are, and you would rather be with me +than be alone. Besides, my dearest, it is to Naples that I invite +you--to Naples, the fairest, loveliest place in all the world! a +heaven upon earth! where the air is balm, and every scene is perfect +beauty! You must come on, for your own sake as well as mine. You will +be able to rouse yourself from your melancholy. We will go together +to visit the sweet scenes that lie all around here; and when I am +again by your side, with your hand in mine, I will forget that I have +ever suffered. +<br> +<br> +"Do not be alarmed at the journey. I have thought out all for you. I +have written to Mr. Gualtier, in London, and asked him to bring you +on here. He will be only too glad to do us this service. He is a +simple-minded and kind-hearted man. I have asked him to call on you +immediately to offer his services. You will see him, no doubt, very +soon after you get this letter. Do not be afraid of troubling him. We +can compensate him fully for the loss of his time. +<br> +<br> +"And now, darling, good-by. I have written a very long letter, and +feel very tired. Come on soon, and do not delay. I shall count the +days and the hours till you join me. Come on soon, and do not +disappoint your loving +<br> +<br> +"HILDA. +<br> +<br> +"P.S.--When you come, will you please bring on my turquoise brooch +and my green bracelet. The little writing-desk, too, I should like, +if not too much trouble. Of course you need not trouble about the +house. It will be quite safe as it stands, under the care of your +housekeeper and servants, till we get back again to England. Once +more, darling, good-by. +<br> +<br> +"H." +<br> +<br> +This astonishing letter was read by Zillah with a tumult of emotions +that may be imagined but not described. As she finished it the +reaction in her feelings was too much to be borne. A weight was taken +off her soul. In the first rush of her joy and thankfulness she burst +into tears, and then once more read the letter, though she scarce +could distinguish the words for the tears of joy that blinded her +eyes. +<br> +<br> +To go to Naples--and to Hilda! what greater happiness could be +conceived of? And that thoughtful Hilda had actually written to +Gualtier! And she was alive! And she was in Naples! What a wonder to +have her thus come back to her from the dead! With such a torrent of +confused thoughts Zillah's mind was filled, until at length, in her +deep gratitude to Heaven, she flung herself upon her knees and poured +forth her soul in prayer. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXVIII. +<br> +<br> +BETRAYED. +<br> +<br> +Zillah's excitement was so great that, for all that night, she could +not sleep. There were many things for her to think about. The idea +that Hilda had been so marvelously rescued, and was still alive and +waiting for her, filled her mind. But it did not prevent her from +dwelling in thought upon the frightful scenes through which she had +passed. The thought of her dear friend's lonely voyage, drifting over +the seas in an open boat, unprotected from the storm, and suffering +from cold, from hunger, and from sorrow till sense left her, was a +painful one to her loving heart. Yet the pain of these thoughts did +not disturb her. The joy that arose from the consciousness of Hilda's +safety was of itself sufficient to counterbalance all else. Her +safety was so unexpected, and the one fact was so overwhelming, that +the happiness which it caused was sufficient to overmaster any +sorrowful sympathy which she might feel for Hilda's misfortunes. So, +if her night was sleepless, it was not sad. Rather it was joyful; and +often and often, as the hours passed, she repeated that prayer of +thankfulness which the first perusal of the letter had caused. +<br> +<br> +Besides this, the thought of going on to join Hilda was a pleasant +one. Her friend had been so thoughtful that she had arranged all for +her. +<br> +<br> +No companion could be more appropriate or more reliable than Mr. +Gualtier, and he would certainly make his appearance shortly. She +thought also of the pleasure of living in Naples, and recalled all +that she had ever heard about the charms of that place. Amidst such +thoughts as these morning came, and it was not until after the sun +had risen that Zillah fell asleep. +<br> +<br> +Two days after the receipt of that letter by Zillah, Gualtier +arrived. Although he had been only a music-teacher, yet he had been +associated in the memory of Zillah with many happy hours at +Chetwynde; and his instructions at Pomeroy Court, though at the time +irksome to her, were now remembered pleasantly, since they were +connected with the memories of her father; and on this occasion he +had the additional advantage of being specially sent by Hilda. He +seemed thus in her mind to be in some sort connected with Hilda. She +had not seen him since the Earl's illness, and had understood from +Hilda that he had gone to London to practice his profession. +<br> +<br> +As Gualtier entered, Zillah greeted him with a warmth which was +unusual from her to him, but which can readily be accounted for under +the circumstances. He seemed surprised and pleased. His small gray +eyes twinkled, and his sallow cheeks flushed with involuntary delight +at such marks of condescension. Yet in his manner and address he was +as humble and as servile as ever. His story was shortly told. He had +received, he said, a short note from Miss Krieff, by which he learned +that, owing to an act of thoughtlessness on her part, she had gone +adrift in a boat, and had been picked up by a ship on its way to +Naples, to which place she had been carried. He understood that she +had written to Lady Chetwynde to come and join her. Gualtier hoped +that Lady Chetwynde would feel the same confidence in him which Miss +Krieff had expressed in making known to him that they had been living +under an assumed name. Of course, unless this had been communicated +to him it would have been impossible for him to find her. He assured +her that with him her secret was perfectly inviolable, that he was +perfectly reliable, and that the many favors which he had received +from General Pomeroy, from the late Earl, and from herself, would of +themselves be sufficient to make him guard her secret with watchful +vigilance, and devote himself to her interests with the utmost zeal +and fidelity. +<br> +<br> +To Zillah, however, the voluble assurances of Gualtier's vigilance, +secrecy, and fidelity were quite unnecessary. It was enough that she +had known him for so many years. Her father had first made him known +to her. After him her second father, Earl Chetwynde, had made him her +teacher. Last of all, at this great hour in her life, Hilda herself +had sent him to accompany her. It would have been strange indeed if, +under such circumstances, any doubt whatever with regard to him had +for one moment entered her mind. +<br> +<br> +On the day after the receipt of Hilda's letter Zillah had gone for +the first time to the rectory, and told the joyful news to her kind +friends there. She read the letter to them, while they listened to +every word with breathless interest, often interrupting her with +exclamations of pity, of sympathy, or of wonder. Most of all were +they affected by the change which had come over Zillah, who in one +night had passed from dull despair to life and joy and hope. She +seemed to them now a different being. Her face was flushed with +excitement; her deep, dark eyes, no longer downcast, flashed with +radiant joy; her voice was tremulous as she read the letter, or spoke +of her hope of soon rejoining Hilda. These dear old people looked at +her till their eyes filled with tears; tears which were half of joy +over her happiness, and half of sadness at the thought that she was +to leave them. +<br> +<br> +"Ah, my child," said Mrs. Harvey, in a tremulous voice, "how glad I +am that your dear sister has been saved by our merciful God; but how +sad I feel to think that I shall lose you now, when I have come to +love you so!" +<br> +<br> +Her voice had such inexpressible sadness, and such deep and true +affection in its tones, that Zillah was touched to the heart. She +twined her arms fondly about the neck of the old lady, and kissed her +tenderly. +<br> +<br> +"Ah, my dearest Mrs. Harvey," said she, "how can I ever repay you for +all your loving care of me! Do not think that I did not see all and +feel all that you did for me. But I was so sad." +<br> +<br> +"But, my poor child," said the rector, after a long conversation, in +which they had exhausted all the possibilities of Hilda's +"situation," "this is a long journey. Who is this Mr. Gualtier? Do +you know him? Would it not be better for me to go with you?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my kind friend, how good you are!" said Zillah, again +overwhelmed with gratitude. "But there is no necessity. I have known +Mr. Gualtier for years. He was my music-teacher for a long time +before my dear father left me. He is very good and very faithful." +<br> +<br> +So no more was said on that matter. +<br> +<br> +Before Gualtier came Zillah had arranged every thing for her journey. +She decided to leave the house just as it was, under the care of the +housekeeper, with the expectation of returning at no very distant +date. The rector promised to exercise a general supervision over her +affairs. She left with him money enough to pay the year's rent in +advance, which he was to transmit to the owner. Such arrangements as +these gave great comfort to these kindly souls, for in them they saw +signs that Zillah would return; and they both hoped that the +"sisters" would soon tire even of Italy, and in a fit of homesickness +come back again. With this hope they bade her adieu. +<br> +<br> +On leaving Tenby, Zillah felt nothing but delight. As the coach drove +her to the station, as the railway train hurried her to London, as +the tidal train took her to Southampton, as the packet bore her +across the Channel, every moment of the time was filled with joyous +anticipations of her meeting Hilda. All her griefs over other losses +and other calamities had in one instant faded away at the news that +Hilda was safe. That one thing was enough to compensate for all else. +<br> +<br> +Arriving at Paris, she was compelled to wait for one day on account +of some want of connection in the trains for Marseilles. Gualtier +acted as cicerone, and accompanied her in a carriage through the +chief streets, through the Place de la Concorde, the Champs Elysées, +and the Bois de Boulogne. She was sufficiently herself to experience +delight in spite of her impatience, and to feel the wonder and +admiration which the first sight of that gay and splendid capital +always excites. But she was not willing to linger here. Naples was +the goal at which she wished to arrive, and as soon as possible she +hurried onward. +<br> +<br> +On reaching Marseilles she found the city crowded. The great +movements of the Italian war were going on, and every thing was +affected by it. Marseilles was one of the grand centres of action, +and one of the chief depots for military supplies. The city was +filled with soldiers. The harbor was full of transports. The streets +were thronged with representatives of all the different regiments of +the French army, from the magnificent steel-clad Cuirassiers, and the +dashing Chasseurs de Vincennes, to the insouciant Zouaves and the +wild Turcos. In addition to the military, the city was filled with +civil officials, connected with the dispatch of the army, who filled +the city, and rendered it extremely difficult for a stranger to find +lodgings. +<br> +<br> +Zillah was taken to the Hôtel de France, but it was full. Gualtier +went round to all the other hotels, but returned with the unpleasant +intelligence that all were likewise filled. But this did not very +greatly disturb Zillah, for she hoped to be on board the steamer +soon, and whether she found lodgings or not was a matter of +indifference to her in comparison with prosecuting her journey. After +several hours Gualtier returned once more, with the information that +he had succeeded in finding rooms for her in this hotel. He had made +an earnest appeal, he said, to the gallantry of some French officers, +and they had given up their rooms for the use of the fair Anglaise. +It was thus that Zillah was able to secure accommodation for the +night. +<br> +<br> +All that evening Gualtier spent in searching for the Naples steamer. +When he made his appearance on the following morning it was with news +that was very unpleasant to Zillah. He informed her that the regular +steamers did not run, that they had been taken up by the French +government as transports for the troops, and, as far as he could +learn, there were no provisions whatever for carrying the mails. He +could scarcely think it possible that such should be the case, but so +it was. +<br> +<br> +At this intelligence Zillah was aghast. +<br> +<br> +"No mail steamers?" said she. "Impossible! Even if they had taken up +all of them for transports, something would be put on the route." +<br> +<br> +"I can assure you, my lady, that it is as I said. I have searched +every where, and can not find out any thing," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"You need not address me by my title," said Zillah. "At present I do +not choose to adopt it." +<br> +<br> +"Pardon me," said Gualtier, humbly. "It is taken for granted in +France that every wealthy English lady is titled--every French +hotel-keeper will call you 'miladi,' and why should not I? It is only +a form." +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Zillah, "let it pass. But what am I to do here? I must +go on. Can I not go by land?" +<br> +<br> +"You forget, my lady, the war in Lombardy." +<br> +<br> +"But I tell you, I _must_ go on," said Zillah, impatiently. "Cost +what it may--even if I have to buy a steamer." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier smiled faintly. +<br> +<br> +"Even if you wished to buy a steamer, my lady, you could not. The +French government has taken up all for transports. Could you not make +up your mind to wait for a few days?" +<br> +<br> +"A few days!" cried Zillah, in tones of despair--"a few days! What! +after hurrying here through France so rapidly! A few days! No. I +would rather go to Spain, and catch the steamer at Gibraltar that +Miss Krieff spoke of." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier smiled. +<br> +<br> +"That would take much longer time," said he. "But, my lady, I will go +out again, and see if I can not find some way more expeditious than +that. Trust to me. It will be strange if I do not find some way. +Would you be willing to go in a sailing vessel?" +<br> +<br> +"Of course," said Zillah, without hesitation. "If nothing else can be +found I shall be only too happy." +<br> +<br> +Upon this, Gualtier departed with the intention of searching for a +sailing vessel. Zillah herself would have been willing to go in any +thing. Such was her anxiety to get to Hilda, that rather than stay in +Marseilles she would have been willing to start for Naples in an open +boat. But on mentioning her situation to Mathilde she encountered, to +her surprise, a very energetic opposition. That important personage +expressed a very strong repugnance to any thing of the kind. First, +she dreaded a sea voyage in a sailing vessel; and secondly, having +got back to France, she did not wish to leave it. If the regular mail +vessel had been going she might not have objected, but as it was she +did not wish to go. Mathilde was very voluble, and very determined; +but Zillah troubled herself very little about this. To get to Hilda +was her one and only desire. If Mathilde stood in the way she would +go on in spite of her. She was willing to let Mathilde go, and set +out unattended. To get to Naples, to join Hilda, whether in a steamer +or a sailing vessel--whether with a maid or without one--that was her +only purpose. +<br> +<br> +On the following morning Gualtier made his appearance, with the +announcement that he had found a vessel. It was a small schooner +which had been a yacht belonging to an Englishman, who had sold it at +Marseilles for some reason or other to a merchant of the city. This +merchant was willing to sell it, and Gualtier had bought it in her +name, as he could find no other way of going on. The price was large, +but "my lady" had said that she was willing to buy a steamer, and to +her it would be small. He had ventured, therefore, to conclude the +bargain. He had done more, and had even engaged a crew, so that all +was in readiness to start. +<br> +<br> +At this news Zillah was overjoyed. Her longing to be with Hilda was +so great that even if she had been a miser she would have willingly +paid the price demanded, and far more. The funds which she had +brought with her, and which Gualtier had kindly taken charge of, +amounted to a considerable sum, and afforded ample means for the +purchase of the vessel. The vessel was therefore regularly purchased, +and Zillah at last saw a way by which she could once more proceed on +her journey. Gualtier informed her that the remainder of that day +would be needed for the completion of the preparations, and that they +would be ready to leave at an early hour on the following morning. So +Zillah awaited with impatience the appointed time. +<br> +<br> +Zillah awaked early on the following morning, but Mathilde was not to +be found. Instead of Mathilde, a letter was awaiting her, which +stated, in very respectful language, that the dread which that +personage felt at going in a sailing vessel was so strong, and her +love for her own dear country so great, that she had decided to +remain where she was. She therefore had come to the conclusion to +leave "miladi" without giving warning, although she would thereby +lose what was due her, and she hoped that "miladi" would forgive her, +and bear her in affectionate remembrance. With wishes and prayers for +"miladi's" future happiness, Mathilde begged leave to subscribe +herself "miladi's" most devoted and grateful servant. +<br> +<br> +Such was the final message of Mathilde to her indulgent mistress. +But, although at any other time Zillah would have been both wounded +and indignant at such desertion of her at such a time, yet now, in +the one engrossing thought that filled her mind, she thought but +little of this incident. At Naples, she thought, she could very +easily fill her place. Now she would have to be without a maid for +two or three days, but after all it would make no very great +difference. She could rely upon herself, and endure a few days' +discomfort very readily for Hilda's sake. It was with such feelings +as these that she awaited the arrival of Gualtier. When he came, and +heard of the departure of Mathilde, he appeared to be filled with +indignation, and urged Zillah to wait one day more till he could get +another maid for her. But Zillah refused. She was determined to go +on, and insisted on starting at once for the yacht. Finding his +remonstrances unavailing, the faithful Gualtier conducted her to the +schooner, and, as all things were in readiness, they put out to sea +immediately. +<br> +<br> +The schooner was a very handsome one, and on looking over it Zillah +felt delighted with Gualtier's good taste, or his good fortune, +whichever it might have been. It was, as has been said, a yacht, +which had been the property of an Englishman who had sold it at +Marseilles. The cabin was fitted up in the most elegant style, and +was much more roomy than was common in vessels of that size. There +was an outer cabin with a table in the middle and sofas on either +side, and an inner cabin with capacious berths. The watchful +attention of Gualtier was visible all around. There were baskets of +rare fruits, boxes of bonbons, and cake-baskets filled with delicate +macaroons and ratafias. There were also several books--volumes of the +works of Lamartine and Chateaubriand, together with two or three of +the latest English novels. He certainly had been particular to the +last degree in attending to all of her possible wants. +<br> +<br> +After inspecting the arrangements of the cabin, Zillah went out on +deck and seated herself at the stern, from which she watched the +city which they were fast leaving behind them. On casting a casual +glance around, it struck her for a moment that the crew were a +remarkably ill-looking set of men; but she was utterly inexperienced, +and she concluded that they were like all sailors, and should not be +judged by the same standard as landsmen. Besides, was not her +faithful Gualtier there, whose delicate attention was so evident even +in the most minute circumstance which she had noticed? If the thought +of the evil looks of the crew came to her, it was but for a moment; +and in a moment it was dismissed. She was herself too guileless to be +suspicious, and was far more ready to cast from her all evil thoughts +than to entertain them. In her innocence and inexperience she was +bold, when one more brave but more experienced would have been +fearful. +<br> +<br> +The wind was fair, and the yacht glided swiftly out of the harbor. +The sea was smooth, and Zillah could look all around her upon the +glorious scene. In a few hours they had left the land far behind +them, and then the grander features of the distant coast became more +plainly visible. The lofty heights rose up above the sea receding +backward, but ever rising higher, till they reached the Alpine +summits of the inland. All around was the blue Mediterranean, dotted +with white sails. All that she saw was novel and striking; she had +never sailed in a yacht before; the water was smooth enough to be +pleasant, and she gave herself up to a childlike joy. +<br> +<br> +On rising on the following morning they were far out of sight of +land. A delicious repast was placed before her for her breakfast. +After partaking she sat on deck, looking out upon the glorious sea, +with such a feeling of dreamy enjoyment as she had scarcely ever +known before. Her one chief thought was that every hour was bringing +her nearer to Hilda. When tired of the deck she went below, and lay +down in her cabin and read. So the hours passed. On that day Gualtier +surpassed himself in delicate attention to every possible wish of +hers. She herself was surprised at the variety of the dishes which +composed her dinner. She could not help expressing her thanks. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier smiled, and murmured some scarce audible words. +<br> +<br> +Two days passed, and they were now far on their way. Gualtier assured +her respectfully that on the following morning they would see the +Apennines on the Italian shore. The voyage had not been so rapid as +it might have been, but it had been exceedingly pleasant weather, and +their progress had been satisfactory. That evening Zillah watched the +sun as it set in glory below the watery horizon, and retired for the +night with the thought that in two days more she would be with Hilda. +<br> +<br> +She slept soundly that night. +<br> +<br> +Suddenly she waked with a strange sensation. Her dreams had been +troubled. She thought that she was drowning. In an agony she started +up. Water was all around her in the berth where she was lying. The +dim light of dawn was struggling through the sky-light, and she +looked around bewildered, not knowing at first where she was. Soon, +however, she remembered, and then a great horror came over her. _The +vessel was sinking!_ +<br> +<br> +All was still. She gave a wild cry, and started up, wading through +the water to the door. She cried again and again, till her cries +became shrieks. In vain. No answer came. Flinging a shawl around her +she went into the outer cabin, and thence ascended to the deck. +<br> +<br> +No one was there. +<br> +<br> +No man was at the wheel. No watchers were visible. The vessel was +deserted! +<br> +<br> <img src="images/94.png" alt="An Awful Fear Came Over Her."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "An Awful Fear Came Over Her."] +<br> +<br> +Louder and louder she shrieked. Her voice, borne afar over the wide +waste of waters, died out in the distance, but brought no response. +She hurried to the forecastle. The door was open. She called over and +over again. There was no reply. Looking down in the dim morning +twilight she could see plainly that the water had penetrated there. +<br> +<br> +An awful fear came over her. +<br> +<br> +The sails were lowered. The boat was gone. No one was on board +besides herself. The schooner was sinking. She had been deserted. She +had been betrayed. She would never see Hilda. Who had betrayed her? +Was Hilda really at Naples? Had she really written that letter and +sent Gualtier to her? A thousand horrid suspicions rushed through her +mind. One thought predominated--_she had been betrayed!_ +<br> +<br> +But why? +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXIX. +<br> +<br> +TWO NEW CHARACTERS. +<br> +<br> +In spite of Gualtier's assurances, a steamer was running regularly +between Naples and Marseilles, and the war had made no disturbance in +the promptitude and dispatch of its trips. It belonged to a line +whose ships went on to Malta, touching at Italian ports, and finally +connecting with the steamers of the Peninsular and Oriental Company. +The day after Zillah had left Marseilles one of these left Naples on +its way to the former port, having on hoard the usual number and +variety of passengers. +<br> +<br> +On the stern of this vessel stood two men, looking out over the water +to where the purple Apennines arose over the Italian coast, where the +grand figure of Vesuvius towered conspicuous, its smoke cloud +floating like a pennon in the air. One of these men was tall, +broad-shouldered, sinewy, with strong square head, massive forehead, +firm chin, and eyes which held in their expression at once gentleness +and determination; no very rare compound in the opinion of some, for +there are those who think that the strongest and boldest natures are +frequently the tenderest. He was a man of about fifty, or perhaps +even sixty, but his years sat lightly on him; and he looked like a +man whom any one might reasonably dread to meet with in a personal +encounter. The other was much younger. His face was bronzed by +exposure to a southern sun; he wore a heavy beard and mustache, and +he had the unmistakable aspect of an English gentleman, while the +marked military air which was about him showed that he was without +doubt a British officer. He was dressed, however, as a civilian. His +hat showed that he was in mourning; and a general sadness of demeanor +which he manifested was well in keeping with that sombre emblem. +<br> +<br> +"Well, Windham," said the former, after a long silence, "I never +thought that there was a place on this green earth that could take +hold of me like that Italian city. I don't believe that there is a +city any where that comes up to Naples. Even New York is not its +equal. I wouldn't leave it now--no, _Sir!_--ten team of horses +couldn't drag me away, only my family are waiting for me at +Marseilles, you see--and I must join them. However, I'll go back +again as soon as I can; and if I don't stay in that there country +till I've exhausted it--squeezed it, and pressed out of it all the +useful and entertaining information that it can give--why, then, my +name's not Obed Chute." +<br> +<br> +The one called Windham gave a short laugh. +<br> +<br> +"You'll have a little difficulty in Lombardy, I think," said he. +<br> +<br> +"Why?" +<br> +<br> +"The war." +<br> +<br> +"The war? My friend, are you not aware that the war need not be any +obstacle to a free American?" +<br> +<br> +"Perhaps not; but you know that armies in the field are not very much +inclined to be respecters of persons, and the freest of free +Americans might find himself in an Austrian or a French prison as a +spy." +<br> +<br> +"Even so; but he would soon get out, and have an interesting +reminiscence. That is one of the things that he would have to be +prepared for. At any rate, I have made up my mind to go to Lombardy, +and I'll take my family with me. I should dearly like to get a +Concord coach to do it in, but if I can't I'll get the nearest +approach to it I can find, and calmly trot on in the rear of the +army. Perhaps I'll have a chance to take part in some engagement. I +should like to do so, for the honor of the flag if nothing else." +<br> +<br> +"You remind me of your celebrated countryman, who was, as he said, +'blue moulded for want of a fight.'" +<br> +<br> +"That man, Sir, was a true representative American, and a type of our +ordinary, everyday, active, vivacious Western citizen--the class of +men that fell the forests, people the prairies, fight the fever, +reclaim the swamps, tunnel the mountains, send railroads over the +plains, and dam all the rivers on the broad continent. It's a pity +that these Italians hadn't an army of these Western American men to +lead them in their struggle for liberty." +<br> +<br> +"Do you think they would be better than the French army?" +<br> +<br> +"The French army!" exclaimed Obed Chute, in indescribable accents. +<br> +<br> +"Yes. It is generally conceded that the French army takes the lead in +military matters. I say so, although I am a British officer." +<br> +<br> +"Have you ever traveled in the States?" said Obed Chute, quietly. +<br> +<br> +"No. I have not yet had that pleasure." +<br> +<br> +"You have never yet seen our Western population. You don't know it, +and you can't conceive it. Can you imagine the original English +Puritan turned into a wild Indian, with all his original honor, and +morality, and civilization, combining itself with the intense +animalism, the capacity for endurance, and the reckless valor of the +savage? Surround all this with all that tenderness, domesticity, and +pluck which are the ineradicable characteristics of the Saxon race, +and then you have the Western American man--the product of the Saxon, +developed by long struggles with savages and by the animating +influences of a boundless continent." +<br> +<br> +"I suppose by this you mean that the English race in America is +superior to the original stock." +<br> +<br> +"That can hardly be doubted," said Obed Chute, quite seriously. "The +mother country is small and limited in its resources. America is not +a country. It is a continent, over which our race has spread itself. +The race in the mother country has reached its ultimate possibility. +In America it is only beginning its new career. To compare America +with England is not fair. You should compare New York, New England, +Virginia, with England, not America. Already we show differences in +the development of the same race which only a continent could cause. +Maine is as different from South Carolina as England from Spain. But +you Europeans never seem able to get over a fashion that you have of +regarding our boundless continent as a small country. Why, I myself +have been asked by Europeans about the health of friends of theirs +who lived in California, and whom I knew no more about than I did of +the Chinese. The fact is, however, that we are continental, and +nature is developing the continental American man to an astonishing +extent. +<br> +<br> +"Now as to this Lombard war," continued Obed Chute, as Windham stood +listening in silence, and with a quiet smile that relieved but +slightly the deep melancholy of his face--"as to this Lombard war; +why, Sir, if it were possible to collect an army of Western Americans +and put them into that there territory"--waving his hand grandly +toward the Apennines--"the way they would walk the Austrians off to +their own country would be a caution. For the Western American man, +as an individual, is physically and spiritually a gigantic being, and +an army of such would be irresistible. Two weeks would wind up the +Lombard war. Our Americans, Sir, are the most military people in the +wide universe." +<br> +<br> +"As yet, though, they haven't done much to show their capacity," said +Windham. "You don't call the Revolutionary war and that of 1812 any +greater than ordinary wars, do you?" +<br> +<br> +"No, Sir; not at all," said Obed Chute. "We are well aware that in +actual wars we have as yet done but little in comparison with our +possibilities and capabilities. In the revolutionary war, Sir, we +were crude and unformed--we were infants, Sir, and our efforts were +infantile. The swaddling bands of the colonial system had all along +restrained the free play of the national muscle; and throughout the +war there was not time for full development. Still, Sir, from that +point of view, as an infant nation, we did remarkable +well--re-markable. In 1812 we did not have a fair chance. We had got +out of infancy, it is true; but still not into our full manhood. +Besides, the war was too short. Just as we began to get into +condition--just as our fleets and armies were ready to _do_ +something--the war came to an end. Even then, however, we did +re-markable well--re-markable. But, after all, neither of these +exhibited the American man in his boundless possibility before the +world." +<br> +<br> +"You think, I suppose, that if a war were to come now, you could do +proportionally better." +<br> +<br> +"Think it!" said Obed; "I know it. The American people know it. And +they want, above all things, to have a chance to show it. You spoke +of that American who was blue-moulded for want of a fight. I said +that man was a typical American. Sir, that saying is profoundly true. +Sir, the whole American nation is blue-moulded, Sir. It is spilin for +want of a fight--a big fight." +<br> +<br> +"Well, and what do you intend to do about it?" +<br> +<br> +"Time will show," said Obed, gravely. "Already, any one acquainted +with the manners of our people and the conduct of our government will +recognize the remarkable fact that our nation is the most wrathy, +cantankerous, high-mettled community on this green earth. Why, Sir, +there ain't a foreign nation that can keep on friendly terms with us. +It ain't ugliness, either--it's only a friendly desire to have a +fight with somebody--we only want an excuse to begin. The only +trouble is, there ain't a nation that reciprocates our pecooliar +national feeling." +<br> +<br> +"What can you do, then?" asked Windham, who seemed to grow quite +amused at this conversation. +<br> +<br> +"That's a thing I've often puzzled over," said Obed, thoughtfully; +"and I can see only one remedy for us." +<br> +<br> +"And what is that?" +<br> +<br> +"Well, it's a hard one--but I suppose it's got to come. You see, the +only foreign countries that are near enough to us to afford a +satisfactory field of operations are Mexico and British America. The +first we have already tried. It was poor work, though. Our armies +marched through Mexico as though they were going on a picnic. As to +British America, there is no chance. The population is too small. No, +there is only one way to gratify the national craving for a fight." +<br> +<br> +"I don't see it." +<br> +<br> +"Why," said Obed, dryly, "to get up a big fight among ourselves." +<br> +<br> +"Among yourselves?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes--quite domestic--and all by ourselves." +<br> +<br> +"You seem to me to speak of a civil war." +<br> +<br> +"That's the identical circumstance, and nothing else. It is the only +thing that is suited to the national feeling; and what's more--it's +got to come. I see the pointings of the finger of Providence. It's +got to come--there's no help for it--and mark me, when it does come +it'll be the tallest kind of fightin' that this revolving orb has yet +seen in all its revolutions." +<br> +<br> +"You speak very lightly about so terrible a thing as a civil war," +said Windham. "But do you think it possible? In so peaceful and +well-ordered a country what causes could there be?" +<br> +<br> +"When the whole nation is pining and craving and spilin for a fight," +said Obed, "causes will not be wanting. I can enumerate half a dozen +now. First, there is the slavery question; secondly, the tariff +question; thirdly, the suffrage question; fourthly, the question of +the naturalization of foreigners; fifthly, the bank question; +sixthly, the question of denominational schools." +<br> +<br> +Windham gave a short laugh. +<br> +<br> +"You certainly seem to have causes enough for a war, although, to my +contracted European mind, they would all seem insufficient. Which of +these, do you think, is most likely to be the cause of that civil war +which you anticipate?" +<br> +<br> +"One, pre-eminently and inevitably," said Obed, solemnly. "All others +are idle beside this one." He dropped abruptly the half gasconading +manner in which he had been indulging, and, in a low voice, added, +"In real earnest, Windham, there is one thing in America which is, +every year, every month, every day, forcing on a war from which there +can be no escape; a war which will convulse the republic and endanger +its existence; yes, Sir, a war which will deluge the land with blood +from one end to the other." +<br> +<br> +His solemn tone, his change of manner, and his intense earnestness, +impressed Windham most deeply. He felt that there was some deep +meaning in the language of Obed Chute, and that under his careless +words there was a gloomy foreboding of some future calamity to his +loved country. +<br> +<br> +"This is a fearful prospect," said he, "to one who loves his country. +What is it that you fear?" +<br> +<br> +"One thing," said Obed--"one thing, and one only---slavery! It is +this that has divided the republic and made of our country two +nations, which already stand apart, but are every day drawing nearer +to that time when a frightful struggle for the mastery will be +inevitable. The South and the North must end their differences by a +fight; and that fight will be the greatest that has been seen for +some generations. There is no help for it. It must come. There are +many in our country who are trying to postpone the evil day, but it +is to no purpose. The time will come when it can be postponed no +longer. Then the war must come, and it will be the slave States +against the free." +<br> +<br> +"I never before heard an American acknowledge the possibility of such +a thing," said Windham, "though in Europe there are many who have +anticipated this." +<br> +<br> +"Many Americans feel it and fear it," said Obed, with unchanged +solemnity; "but they do not dare to put their feelings or their fears +in words. One may fear that his father, his mother, his wife, or his +child, may die; but to put such a fear in words is heart-breaking. So +we, who have this fear, brood over it in secret, and in every +shifting scene of our national life we look fearfully for those +coming events which cast their shadows before. The events which we +watch with the deepest anxiety are the Presidential elections. Every +four years now brings a crisis; and in one of these the long +antagonism between North and South will end in war. But I hate to +speak of this. What were we talking of? Of Lombardy and the Italian +war. What do you think," he added, abruptly changing the +conversation, "of my plan to visit the seat of war?" +<br> +<br> +"I think," said Windham, "that if any man is able to do Lombardy at +such a time, you are that person." +<br> +<br> +"Well, I intend to try," said Obed Chute, modestly. "I may fail, +though I generally succeed in what I set my mind on. I'll go, I +think, as a fighting neutral." +<br> +<br> +"Prepared to fight on either side, I suppose." +<br> +<br> +"Yes; as long as I don't have to fight against Garibaldi." +<br> +<br> +"But, wouldn't you find your family a little embarrassing in case of +a fight?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh no! they would always be safely in the rear, at the base of my +line of operations. There will be no difficulty about it whatever. +Americans are welcome all over Italy, especially at this time for +these _I_talians think that America sympathizes with them, and will +help them; and as to the French--why, Boney, though an emperor, is +still a democrat to his heart's core, and, I have no doubt, would +give a warm reception to a fighting volunteer." +<br> +<br> +"Have you any acquaintance with any of the French generals, or have +you any plan for getting access to Napoleon?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh no! I trust merely to the reason and good feeling of the man. It +seems to me that a request from a free American to take part in a +fight could hardly meet with any thing else except the most cordial +compliance." +<br> +<br> +"Well, all I can say is, that if I were Louis Napoleon, I would put +you on my staff," said Windham. +<br> +<br> +The name of Obed Chute has already been brought forward. He had +embarked at Bombay on board the same steamer with Windham, and they +had formed a friendship which after circumstances had increased. At +first Windham's reserve had repelled advances; his sadness and +preoccupation had repelled any intimacy; but before many days an +event happened which threw them into close association. When about +half-way on her voyage the steamer was discovered to be on fire. +Panic arose. The captain tried to keep order among the sailors. This +he was very easily able to do. But with the passengers it was another +thing. Confusion prevailed every where, and the sailors themselves +were becoming demoralized by the terror which raged among the others. +In that moment of danger two men stood forth from among the +passengers, who, by the force of their own strong souls, brought +order out of that chaos. One of these was Obed Chute. With a revolver +in his hand he went about laying hold of each man who seemed to be +most agitated, swearing that he would blow his brains out if he +didn't "stop his infernal noise." The other was Windham, who acted in +a different manner. He collected pipes, pumps, and buckets, and +induced a large number to take part in the work of extinguishing the +flames. By the attitude of the two the rest were either calmed or +cowed; and each one recognized in the other a kindred spirit. +<br> +<br> +After landing at Suez they were thrown more closely together; their +intimacy deepened on the way to Alexandria; and when they embarked on +the Mediterranean they had become stronger friends than ever. Windham +had told the other that he had recently heard of the death of a +friend, and was going home to settle his affairs. He hinted also that +he was in some government employ in India; and Obed Chute did not +seek to know more. Contrary to the generally received view of the +Yankee character, he did not show any curiosity whatever, but +received the slight information which was given with a delicacy which +showed no desire to learn more than Windham himself might choose to +tell. +<br> +<br> +But for his own part he was as frank and communicative as though +Windham had been an old friend or a blood relation. He had been kept +in New York too closely, he said, for the last twenty years, and now +wished to have a little breathing space and elbow-room. So he had +left New York for San Francisco, partly on pleasure, partly on +business. He spent some months in California, and then crossed the +Pacific to China, touching at Honolulu and Nangasaki. He had left +directions for his family to be sent on to Europe, and meet him at a +certain time at Marseilles. He was expecting to find them there. He +himself had gone from China to India, where he had taken a small tour +though the country, and then had embarked for Europe. Before going +back to America he expected to spend some time with his family in +Italy, France, and Germany. +<br> +<br> +There was a grandeur of view in this man's way of looking upon the +world which surprised Windham, and, to some degree, amused him. For +Obed Chute regarded the whole world exactly as another man might +regard his native county or town; and spoke about going from San +Francisco to Hong-Kong, touching at Nangasaki, just as another might +speak of going from Liverpool to Glasgow, touching at Rothsay. He +seemed, in fact, to regard our planet as rather a small affair, +easily traversed, and a place with which he was thoroughly familiar. +He had written from San Francisco for his family to meet him at +Marseilles, and now approached that place with the fullest confidence +that his family would be there according to appointment. This type of +man is entirely and exclusively the product of America, the country +of magnificent distances, and the place where Nature works on so +grand a scale that human beings insensibly catch her style of +expression. Obed Chute was a man who felt in every fibre the +oppressive weight of his country's grandeur. Yet so generous was his +nature that he forbore to overpower others by any allusions to that +grandeur, except where it was absolutely impossible to avoid it. +<br> +<br> +These two had gradually come to form a strong regard for one another, +and Obed Chute did not hesitate to express his opinion about his +friend. +<br> +<br> +"I do not generally take to Britishers," said he, once, "for they are +too contracted, and never seem to me to have taken in a full breath +of the free air of the universe. They seem usually to have been in +the habit of inhaling an enervating moral and intellectual +atmosphere. But you suit me, you do. Young man, your hand." +<br> +<br> +And grasping Windham's hand, Obed wrung it so heartily that he forced +nearly all feeling out of it. +<br> +<br> +"I suppose living in India has enabled me to breathe a broader moral +atmosphere," said Windham, with his usual melancholy smile. +<br> +<br> +"I suppose so," said Obed Chute. "Something has done it, any how. You +showed it when the steamer was burning." +<br> +<br> +"How?" +<br> +<br> +"By your eye." +<br> +<br> +"Why, what effect can one's moral atmosphere have on one's eyes?" +<br> +<br> +"An enormous effect," said Obed Chute. "It's the same in morals as in +nature. The Fellahs of the Nile, exposed as they are to the action of +the hot rays of the sun, as they strike on the sand, are universally +troubled with ophthalmia. In our Mammoth Cave, in Kentucky, there is +a subterranean lake containing fishes which have no eyes at all. So +it is in character and in morals. I will point you out men whose eyes +are inflamed by the hot rays of passion; and others who show by their +eyes that they have lived in moral darkness as dense as that of the +Kentucky cave. Take a thief. Do you not know him by his eye? It takes +an honest man to look you in the face." +<br> +<br> +"Yon have done a great many things," said Windham, at another time. +"Have you ever preached in your country?" +<br> +<br> +"No," said Obed Chute, with a laugh; "but I've done better--I've been +a stump orator; and stump oratory, as it is practiced in America, is +a little the tallest kind of preaching that this green earth" (he was +fond of that expression) "has ever listened to. Our orb, Sir, has +seen strange experiences; but it is getting rayther astonished at the +performances of the American man." +<br> +<br> +"Generally," said Windham, "I do not believe in preaching so much as +in practice; but when I see a man like you who can do both, I'm +willing to listen, even if it be a stump speech that I hear. Still, I +think that you are decidedly greater with a revolver in the midst of +a crowd than you could be on a stump with a crowd before you." +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute shook his head solemnly. +<br> +<br> +"There," said he, "is one of the pecooliarities of you Europeans. You +don't understand our national ways and manners. We don't separate +saying and doing. With us every man who pretends to speak must be +able to act. No man is listened to unless he is known to be capable +of knocking down any one who interrupts him. In a country like ours +speaking and acting go together. The Stump and the Revolver are two +great American forces--twin born--the animating power of the Great +Republic. There's no help for it. It must be so. Why, if I give +offense in a speech, I shall of course be called to account +afterward; and if I can't take care of myself and settle the +account--why--where am I? Don't you see? Ours, Sir, is a singular +state of society; but it is the last development of the human race, +and, of course, the best." +<br> +<br> +Conversations like these diverted Windham and roused him from his +brooding melancholy. Obed Chute's fancies were certainly whimsical; +he had an odd love for paradox and extravagance; he seized the idea +that happened to suggest itself, and followed it out with a dry +gravity and a solemn air of earnestness which made all that he said +seem like his profound conviction. Thus in these conversations +Windham never failed to receive entertainment, and to be roused from +his preoccupying cares. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/98.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXX. +<br> +<br> +PICKED UP ADRIFT. +<br> +<br> +Two days passed since the steamer left Naples, and they were now far +on their way. On the morning of the third Windham came on deck at an +early hour. No one was up. The man at the wheel was the only one +visible. Windham looked around upon the glorious scene which the wide +sea unfolds at such a time. The sun had not yet risen, but all the +eastern sky was tinged with red; and the wide waste of waters between +the ship and that eastern horizon was colored with the ruddy hues +which the sky cast downward. But it was not this scene, magnificent +though it was, which attracted the thoughts of Windham as he stood on +the quarter-deck. His face was turned in that direction; but it was +with an abstracted gaze which took in nothing of the glories of +visible nature. That deep-seated melancholy of his, which was always +visible in his face and manner, was never more visible than now. He +stood by the taffrail in a dejected attitude and with a dejected +face--brooding over his own secret cares, finding nothing in this but +fresh anxieties, and yet unable to turn his thoughts to any thing +else. The steamer sped through the waters, the rumble of her +machinery was in the air, the early hour made the solitude more +complete. This man, whoever he was, did not look as though he were +going to England on any joyous errand, but rather like one who was +going home to the performance of some mournful duty which was never +absent from his thoughts. +<br> +<br> +Standing thus with his eyes wandering abstractedly over the water, he +became aware of an object upon its surface, which attracted his +attention and roused him from his meditations. It struck him as very +singular. It was at some considerable distance off, and the steamer +was rapidly passing it. It was not yet sufficiently light to +distinguish it well, but he took the ship's glass and looked +carefully at it. He could now distinguish it more plainly. It was a +schooner with its sails down, which by its general position seemed to +be drifting. It was very low in the water, as though it were either +very heavily laden or else water-logged. But there was one thing +there which drew all his thoughts. By the foremast, as he looked, he +saw a figure standing, which was distinctly waving something as if to +attract the attention of the passing steamer. The figure looked like +a woman. A longer glance convinced him that it was so in very deed, +and that this lonely figure was some woman in distress. It seemed to +appeal to himself and to himself alone, with that mute yet eloquent +signal, and those despairing gestures. A strange pang shot through +his heart--a pang sharp and unaccountable--something more than that +which might be caused by any common scene of misery; it was a pang of +deep pity and profound sympathy with this lonely sufferer, from whom +the steamer's course was turned away, and whom the steersman had not +regarded. He only had seen the sight, and the woman seemed to call to +him out of her despair. The deep sea lay between; her presence was a +mystery; but there seemed a sort of connection between him and her +as though invisible yet resistless Fate had shown them to one +another, and brought him here to help and to save. It needed but an +instant for all these thoughts to flash through his mind. In an +instant he flew below and roused the captain, to whom in a few +hurried words he explained what had occurred. +<br> +<br> +The captain, who was dressed, hurried up and looked for himself. But +by this time the steamer had moved away much further, and the captain +could not see very distinctly any thing more than the outline of a +boat. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, it's only a fishing-boat," said he, with an air of indifference. +<br> +<br> +"Fishing-boat! I tell you it is an English yacht," said Windham, +fiercely. "I saw it plainly. The sails were down. It was +water-logged. A woman was standing by the foremast." +<br> +<br> +The captain looked annoyed. +<br> +<br> +"It looks to me," said he, "simply like some heavily laden schooner." +<br> +<br> +"But I tell you she is sinking, and there is a woman on board," said +Windham, more vehemently than ever. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, it's only some Neapolitan fish-wife." +<br> +<br> +"You must turn the steamer, and save her," said Windham, with savage +emphasis. +<br> +<br> +"I can not. We shall be behind time." +<br> +<br> +"Damn time!" roared Windham, thoroughly roused. "Do you talk of time +in comparison with the life of a human being? If you don't turn the +steamer's head, _I_ will." +<br> +<br> +"You!" cried the captain, angrily. "Damn it! if it comes to that, I'd +like to see you try it. It's mutiny." +<br> +<br> +Windham's face grew white with suppressed indignation. +<br> +<br> +"Turn the steamer's head," said he, in stern cold tones, from which +every trace of passion had vanished. "If you don't, I'll do it +myself. If you interfere, I'll blow your brains out. As it is, you'll +rue the day you ever refused. Do you know who I am?" +<br> +<br> +He stepped forward, and whispered in the captain's ear some words +which sent a look of awe or fear into the captain's face. Whether +Windham was the president of the company, or some British embassador, +or one of the Lords of the Admiralty, or any one else in high +authority, need not be disclosed here. Enough to say that the captain +hurried aft, and instantly the steamer's head was turned. +<br> +<br> +As for Windham, he took no further notice of the captain, but all his +attention was absorbed by the boat. It seemed water-logged, yet still +it was certainly not sinking, for as the steamer drew nearer, the +light had increased, and he could see plainly through the glass that +the boat was still about the same distance out of the water. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Obed Chute made his appearance, and Windham, catching sight +of him, briefly explained every thing to him. At once all Obed's most +generous sympathies were roused. He took the glass, and eagerly +scrutinized the vessel. He recognized it at once, as Windham had, to +be an English yacht; he saw also that it was waterlogged, and he saw +the figure at the mast. But the figure was no longer standing erect, +or waving hands, or making despairing signals. It had fallen, and lay +now crouched in a heap at the foot of the mast. This Windham also +saw. He conjectured what the cause of this might be. He thought that +this poor creature had kept up her signals while the steamer was +passing, until at last it had gone beyond, and seemed to be leaving +her. Then hope and strength failed, and she sank down senseless. It +was easy to understand all this, and nothing could be conceived of +more touching in its mute eloquence than this prostrate figure, whose +distant attitudes had told so tragical a story. Now all this excited +Windham still more, for he felt more than ever that he was the savior +of this woman's life. Fate had sent her across his path--had given +her life to him. He only had been the cause why she should not perish +unseen and unknown. This part which he had been called on to play of +savior and rescuer--this sudden vision of woe and despair appealing +to his mercy for aid--had chased away all customary thoughts, so that +now his one idea was to complete his work, and save this poor +castaway. +<br> +<br> +But meanwhile he had not been idle. The captain, who had been so +strangely changed by a few words, had called up the sailors, and in +an instant the fact was known to the whole ship's company that they +were going to save a woman in distress. The gallant fellows, like +true sailors, entered into the spirit of the time with the greatest +ardor. A boat was got ready to be lowered, Windham jumped in, Chute +followed, and half a dozen sailors took the oars. In a short time the +steamer had come up to the place. She stopped; the boat was lowered; +down went the oars into the water; and away sped the boat toward the +schooner. Obed Chute steered. Windham was in the bow, looking eagerly +at the schooner, which lay there in the same condition as before. The +sun was now just rising, and throwing its radiant beams over the sea. +The prostrate figure lay at the foot of the mast. +<br> +<br> +Rapidly the distance between the boat and the schooner was lessened +by the vigorous strokes of the seamen. They themselves felt an +interest in the result only less than that of Windham. Nearer and +nearer they came. At length the boat touched the schooner, and +Windham, who was in the bow, leaped on board. He hurried to the +prostrate figure. He stooped down, and with a strange unaccountable +tenderness and reverence he took her in his arms and raised her up. +Perhaps it was only the reverence which any great calamity may excite +toward the one that experiences such calamity; perhaps it was +something more profound, more inexplicable--the outgoing of the +soul--which may sometimes have a forecast of more than may be +indicated to the material senses. This may seem like mysticism, but +it is not intended as such. It is merely a statement of the +well-known fact that sometimes, under certain circumstances, there +arise within us unaccountable presentiments and forebodings, which +seem to anticipate the actual future. +<br> +<br> +Windham then stooped down, and thus tenderly and reverently raised up +the figure of the woman. The sun was still rising and gleaming over +the waters, and gleaming thus, it threw its full rays into the face +of the one whom he held supported in his arms, whose head was thrown +back as it lay on his breast, and was upturned so that he could see +it plainly. +<br> +<br> +And never, in all his dreams, had any face appeared before him which +bore so rare and radiant a beauty as this one of the mysterious +stranger whom he had rescued. The complexion was of a rich olive, and +still kept its hue where another would have been changed to the +pallor of death; the closed eyes were fringed with long heavy lashes; +the eyebrows were thin, and loftily arched; the hair was full of +waves and undulations, black as night, gleaming with its jetty gloss +in the sun's rays, and in its disorder falling in rich luxuriant +masses over the arms and the shoulder of him who supported her. The +features were exquisitely beautiful; her nose a slight departure from +the Grecian; her lips small and exquisitely shapen; her chin rounded +faultlessly. The face was thinner than it might have been, like the +face of youth and beauty in the midst of sorrow; but the thinness was +not emaciation; it had but refined and spiritualized those matchless +outlines, giving to them not the voluptuous beauty of the Greek +ideal, but rather the angelic or saintly beauty of the medieval. She +was young too, and the bloom and freshness of youth were there +beneath all the sorrow and the grief. More than this, the refined +grace of that face, the nobility of those features, the stamp of high +breeding which was visible in every lineament, showed at once that +she could be no common person. This was no fisherman's wife--no +peasant girl, but some one of high rank and breeding--some one whose +dress proclaimed her station, even if her features had told him +nothing. +<br> +<br> +"My God!" exclaimed Windham, in bewilderment. "Who is she? How came +she here? What is the meaning of it?" +<br> +<br> +But there was no time to be lost in wonder or in vague conjectures. +The girl was senseless. It was necessary at once to put her under +careful treatment. For a moment Windham lingered, gazing upon that +sad and exquisite face; and then raising her in his arms, he went +back to the boat. "Give way, lads!" he cried; and the sailors, who +saw it all, pulled with a will. They were soon back again. The +senseless one was lifted into the steamer. Windham carried her in his +own arms to the cabin, and placed her tenderly in a berth, and +committed her to the care of the stewardess. Then he waited +impatiently for news of her recovery. +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute, however, insisted on going back to the schooner for the +sake of making a general investigation of the vessel. On going on +board he found that she was water-logged. She seemed to have been +kept afloat either by her cargo, or else by some peculiarity in her +construction, which rendered her incapable of sinking. He tore open +the hatchway, and pushing an oar down, he saw that there was no +cargo, so that it must have been the construction of the vessel which +kept her afloat. What that was, he could not then find out. He was +compelled, therefore, to leave the question unsettled for the +present, and he took refuge in the thought that the one who was +rescued might be able to solve the mystery. This allayed for a time +his eager curiosity. But he determined to save the schooner, so as to +examine it afterward at his leisure. A hasty survey of the cabins, +into which he plunged, showed nothing whatever, and so he was +compelled to postpone this for the present. But he had a line made +fast between the steamer and the schooner, and the latter was thus +towed all the way to Marseilles. It showed no signs of sinking, but +kept afloat bravely, and reached the port of destination in about the +same condition in which it had been first found. +<br> +<br> +The stewardess treated the stranger with the utmost kindness and the +tenderest solicitude, and, at length, the one who had thus been so +strangely rescued came out of that senselessness into which she had +been thrown by the loss of the hope of rescue. On reviving she told a +brief story. She said that she was English, that her name was Lorton, +and that she had been traveling to Marseilles in her own yacht. That +the day before, on awaking, she found the yacht full of water and +abandoned. She had been a day and a night alone in the vessel, +without either food or shelter. She had suffered much, and was in +extreme prostration, both of mind and body. But her strongest desire +was to get to Naples, for her sister was there in ill health, and she +had been making the journey to visit her. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/101.png" alt="Windham Tenderly And Reverently Raised Her."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: Windham Tenderly And Reverently Raised Her.] +<br> +<br> +Windham and Obed Chnte heard this very strange narrative from the +stewardess, and talked it over between themselves, considering it in +all its bearings. The opinion of each of them was that there had been +foul play somewhere. But then the question arose: why should there +have been foul play upon an innocent young girl like this? She was an +English lady, evidently of the higher classes; her look was certainly +foreign, but her English accent was perfect. In her simple story she +seemed to have concealed nothing. The exquisite beauty of the young +girl had filled the minds of both of these men with a strong desire +to find out the cause of her wrongs, and to avenge her. But how to do +so was the difficulty. Windham had important business in England +which demanded immediate attention, and would hardly allow him to +delay more than a few days. Obed Chute, on the contrary, had plenty +of time, but did not feel like trying to intrude himself on her +confidence. Yet her distress and desolation had an eloquence which +swayed both of these men from their common purposes, and each +determined to postpone other designs, and do all that was possible +for her. +<br> +<br> +In spite of an hour's delay in rescuing Miss Lorton, the steamer +arrived at Marseilles at nearly the usual time, and the question +arose, what was to be done with the one that they had rescued? +Windham could do nothing; but Obed Chute could do something, and did +do it. The young lady was able now to sit up in the saloon, and here +it was that Obed Chute waited upon her. +<br> +<br> +"Have you any friends in Marseilles?" he asked, in a voice full of +kindly sympathy. +<br> +<br> +"No," said Zillah, in a mournful voice; "none nearer than Naples." +<br> +<br> +"I have my family here, ma'am," said Obed. "I am an American and a +gentleman. If you have no friends, would you feel any objection to +stay with us while you are here? My family consists of my sister, two +children, and some servants. We are going to Italy as soon as +possible, and if you have no objection we can take you there with +us--to Naples--to your sister." +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked up at the large honest face, whose kindly eyes beamed +down upon her with parental pity, and she read in that face the +expression of a noble and loyal nature. +<br> +<br> +"You are very--very kind," said she, in a faltering voice. "You will +lay me under very great obligations. Yes, Sir, I accept your kind +offer. I shall be only too happy to put myself under your protection. +I will go with you, and may Heaven bless you!" +<br> +<br> +She held out her hand toward him. Obed Chute took that little hand in +his, but restrained his great strength, and only pressed it lightly. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Windham had come in to congratulate the beautiful girl, +whose face had been haunting him ever since that time when the sun +lighted it up, as it lay amidst its glory of ebon hair upon his +breast. He heard these last words, and stood apart, modestly awaiting +some chance to speak. +<br> +<br> +Zillah raised her face. +<br> +<br> +Their eyes met in a long earnest gaze. +<br> +<br> +Zillah was the first to speak. "You saved me from a fearful fate," +she said, in low and tremulous tones. "I heard all about it." +<br> +<br> +Windham said nothing, but bowed in silence. +<br> +<br> +Zillah rose from her chair, and advanced toward him, her face +expressing strong emotion. Now he saw, for the first time, her +wondrous eyes, in all their magnificence of beauty, with their deep +unfathomable meaning, and their burning intensity of gaze. On the +schooner, while her head lay on his breast, those eyes were closed +in senselessness--now they were fixed on his. +<br> +<br> +"Will you let me thank you, Sir," she said, in a voice which thrilled +through him in musical vibrations, "for my _life_, which you snatched +from a death of horror? To thank you, is but a cold act. Believe me, +you have my everlasting gratitude." +<br> +<br> +She held out her hand to Windham. He took it in both of his, and +reverentially raised it to his lips. A heavy sigh burst from him, and +he let it fall. +<br> +<br> +"Miss Lorton," said he, in his deep musical voice, which now trembled +with an agitation to which he was unused, "if I have been the means +of saving you from any evil, my own joy is so great that no thanks +are needed from you: or, rather, all thankfulness ought to belong to +me." +<br> +<br> +A deep flush overspread Zillah's face. Her large dark eyes for a +moment seemed to read his inmost soul. Then she looked down in +silence. +<br> +<br> +As for Windham, he turned away with something like abruptness, and +left her with Obed Chute. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXXI. +<br> +<br> +THE PREFECT OF POLICE. +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute had requested his business agents, Messrs. Bourdonnais +Frères, to obtain a suitable place for his family on their arrival. +He went first to their office, and learned that the family were then +in Marseilles, and received their address. He then went immediately +for Zillah, and brought her with him. The family consisted of two +small girls, aged respectively eight and ten, two maids, a nurse, and +a valet or courier, or both combined. A sister of Obed's had the +responsibility of the party. +<br> +<br> +Delight at getting among any friends would have made this party +welcome to her; but Miss Chute's thorough respectability made her +position entirely unobjectionable. Obed Chute's feelings were not of +a demonstrative character. He kissed his sister, took each of his +little girls up in his arms, and held them there for about an hour, +occasionally walking up and down the room with them, and talking to +them all the time. He had brought presents from all parts of the +world for every member of his family, and when at length they were +displayed, the children made the house ring with their rejoicings. +Zillah was soon on a home footing with this little circle. Miss +Chute, though rather sharp and very angular, was still thoroughly +kind-hearted, and sympathized deeply with the poor waif whom +Providence had thrown under her protection. Her kind care and +unremitting attention had a favorable effect; and Zillah grew rapidly +better, and regained something of that strength which she had lost +during the terrors of her late adventure. She was most anxious to go +to Naples; but Obed told her that she would have to wait for the next +steamer, which would prolong her stay in Marseilles at least a +fortnight. +<br> +<br> +As soon as Obed had seen Zillah fairly settled in the bosom of his +family, he set out to give information to the police about the whole +matter. His story was listened to with the deepest attention. +Windham, who was present, corroborated it; and finally the thing was +considered to be of such importance that the chief of police +determined to pay Zillah a visit on the following day, for the sake +of finding out the utmost about so mysterious an affair. This +official spoke English very well indeed, and had spent all his life +in the profession to which he belonged. +<br> +<br> +Both Obed Chute and Windham were present at the interview which the +chief of police had with Zillah, and heard all that she had to say in +answer to his many questions. The chief began by assuring her that +the case was a grave one, both as affecting her, and also as +affecting France, and more particularly Marseilles. He apologized for +being forced to ask a great many questions, and hoped that she would +understand his motives, and answer freely. +<br> +<br> +Zillah told her story in very much the same terms that she had told +it on board the steamer. Her father had died some years ago, she +said. She and her sister had been living together in various parts of +England. Their last home was Tenby. She then gave a minute account of +the accident which had happened to Hilda, and showed the letter which +had been written from Naples. This the chief of police scanned very +curiously and closely, examining the envelope, the post-marks, and +the stamps. +<br> +<br> +Zillah then proceeded to give an account of her journey until the +arrival at Marseilles. She told him of the confusion which had +prevailed, and how the mail steamers had been taken off the route, +how Gualtier had found a yacht and purchased it for her, and how +Mathilde had deserted her. Then she recounted her voyage up to the +time when she had seen the steamer, and had fallen prostrate at the +foot of the mast. +<br> +<br> +"What was the date of your arrival at Marseilles?" asked the chief, +after long thought. +<br> +<br> +Zillah informed him. +<br> +<br> +"Who is Gualtier?" +<br> +<br> +"He is a teacher of music and drawing." +<br> +<br> +"Where does he live?" +<br> +<br> +"In London." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know any thing about his antecedents?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Have you known him long?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes; for five years." +<br> +<br> +"Has he generally enjoyed your confidence?" +<br> +<br> +"I never thought much about him, one way or the other. My father +found him in London, and brought him to instruct me. Afterward--" +<br> +<br> +Zillah hesitated. She was thinking of Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"Well--afterward--?" +<br> +<br> +"Afterward," said Zillah, "that is, after my father's death, he still +continued his instructions." +<br> +<br> +"Did he teach your sister also?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Your sister seems to have had great confidence in him, judging from +her letter?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Did she ever make use of his services before?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Might she not have done so?" +<br> +<br> +"I don't see how. No occasion ever arose." +<br> +<br> +"Why, then, did she think him so trustworthy, do you suppose?" +<br> +<br> +"Why, I suppose because he had been known to us so long, and had been +apparently a humble, devoted, and industrious man. We were quite +solitary always. We had no friends, and so I suppose she thought of +him. It would have been quite as likely, if I were in her situation, +that I would have done the same--that is, if I had her cleverness." +<br> +<br> +"Your sister is clever, then?" +<br> +<br> +"Very clever indeed. She has always watched over me like a--like a +mother," said Zillah, while tears stood in her eyes. +<br> +<br> +"Ah!" said the chief; and for a time he lost himself in thought. +<br> +<br> +"How many years is it," he resumed, "since your father died?" +<br> +<br> +"About five years." +<br> +<br> +"How long was this Gualtier with you before his death?" +<br> +<br> +"About six months." +<br> +<br> +"Did your father ever show any particular confidence in him?" +<br> +<br> +"No. He merely thought him a good teacher, and conscientious in his +work. He never took any particular notice of him." +<br> +<br> +"What was your father?" +<br> +<br> +"A landed gentleman." +<br> +<br> +"Where did he live?" +<br> +<br> +"Sometimes in Berks, sometimes in London," said Zillah, in general +terms. But the chief did not know any thing about English geography, +and did not pursue this question any further. It would have resulted +in nothing if he had done so, for Zillah was determined, at all +hazards, to guard her secret. +<br> +<br> +"Did you ever notice Gualtier's manner?" continued the chief, after +another pause. +<br> +<br> +"No; I never paid any attention to him, nor ever took any particular +notice of any thing about him. He always seemed a quiet and +inoffensive kind of a man." +<br> +<br> +"What do you think of him now?" +<br> +<br> +"I can scarcely say what. He is a villain, of course; but why, or +what he could gain by it, is a mystery." +<br> +<br> +"Do you remember any thing that you can now recall which in any way +looks like villainy?" +<br> +<br> +"No, not one thing; and that is the trouble with me." +<br> +<br> +"Did he ever have any quarrel of any kind with any of you?" +<br> +<br> +"Never." +<br> +<br> +"Was any thing ever done which he could have taken as an insult or an +injury?" +<br> +<br> +"He was never treated in any other way than with the most scrupulous +politeness. My father, my sister, and myself were all incapable of +treating him in any other way." +<br> +<br> +"What was your sister's usual manner toward him?" +<br> +<br> +"Her manner? Oh, the usual dignified courtesy of a lady to an +inferior." +<br> +<br> +"Did he seem to be a gentleman?" +<br> +<br> +"A gentleman? Of course not." +<br> +<br> +"He could not have imagined himself slighted, then, by any +humiliation?" +<br> +<br> +"Certainly not." +<br> +<br> +"Could Gualtier have had any knowledge of your pecuniary affairs?" +<br> +<br> +"Possibly--in a general way." +<br> +<br> <img src="images/104.png" alt="Interview Between The Chief Of Police And Zillah."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: Interview Between The Chief Of Police And Zillah.] +<br> +<br> +"You are rich, are you not?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Might he not have had some design on your money?" +<br> +<br> +"I have thought of that; but there are insuperable difficulties. +There is, first, my sister; and, again, even if she had not escaped, +how could he ever get possession of the property?" +<br> +<br> +The chief did not answer this. He went on to ask his own questions. +<br> +<br> +"Did you ever hear of the loss of any of your money in any way--by +theft, or by forgery?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Did any thing of the kind take place in your father's lifetime?" +<br> +<br> +"Nothing of the kind whatever." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know any thing about the antecedents of your maid Mathilde?" +<br> +<br> +"No; nothing except what little information she may have volunteered. +I never had any curiosity about the matter." +<br> +<br> +"What is her full name?" +<br> +<br> +"Mathilde Louise Grassier." +<br> +<br> +"Where does she belong?" +<br> +<br> +"She said once that she was born in Rouen; and I suppose she was +brought up there, too, from her frequent references to that place. I +believe she went from there to Paris, as lady's-maid in an English +family, and from thence to London." +<br> +<br> +"How did you happen to get her?" +<br> +<br> +"My father obtained her for me in London." +<br> +<br> +"What is her character? Is she cunning?" +<br> +<br> +"Not as far as I have ever seen. She always struck me as being quite +weak out of her own particular department. She was an excellent +lady's-maid, but in other respects quite a child." +<br> +<br> +"Might she not have been very deep, nevertheless?" +<br> +<br> +"It is possible. I am not much of a judge of character; but, as far +as I could see, she was simply a weak, good-natured creature. I don't +think she would willingly do wrong; but I think she might be very +easily terrified or persuaded. I think her flight from me was the +work of Gualtier." +<br> +<br> +"Did she ever have any thing to do with him?" +<br> +<br> +"I never saw them together; in fact, whenever he was in the house she +was always in my room. I don't see how it is possible that there +could have been any understanding between them. For several years she +was under my constant supervision, and if any thing of the kind had +happened I would certainly recall it now, even if I had not noticed +it at the time." +<br> +<br> +"Did you ever have any trouble with Mathilde?" +<br> +<br> +"None whatever." +<br> +<br> +"Weak natures are sometimes vengeful. Did Mathilde ever experience +any treatment which might have excited vengeful feelings?" +<br> +<br> +"She never experienced any thing but kindness." +<br> +<br> +"Did your sister treat her with the same kindness?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh yes--quite so." +<br> +<br> +"When she lived in England did she ever speak about leaving you, and +going back to France?" +<br> +<br> +"No, never." +<br> +<br> +"She seemed quite contented then?" +<br> +<br> +"Quite." +<br> +<br> +"But she left you very suddenly at last. How do you account for +that?" +<br> +<br> +"On the simple grounds that she found herself in her own country, and +did not wish to leave it; and then, also, her dread of a sea voyage. +But, in addition to this, I think that Gualtier must have worked upon +her in some way." +<br> +<br> +"How? By bribery?" +<br> +<br> +"I can scarcely think that, for she was better off with me. Her +situation was very profitable." +<br> +<br> +"In what way, then, could he have worked upon her? By menaces?" +<br> +<br> +"Perhaps so." +<br> +<br> +"But how? Can you think of any thing in your situation which would, +by any possibility, put any one who might be your maid in any danger, +or in any fear of some imaginary danger?" +<br> +<br> +At this question Zillah thought immediately of her assumed name, and +the possibility that Gualtier might have reminded Mathilde of this, +and terrified her in some way. But she could not explain this; and so +she said, unhesitatingly, +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +The chief of police was now silent and meditative for some time. +<br> +<br> +"Your sister," said he at length--"how much older is she than you?" +<br> +<br> +"About four years." +<br> +<br> +"You have said that she is clever?" +<br> +<br> +"She is very clever." +<br> +<br> +"And that she manages the affairs?" +<br> +<br> +"Altogether. I know nothing about them. I do not even know the amount +of my income. She keeps the accounts, and makes all the purchases and +the payments--that is, of course, she used to." +<br> +<br> +"What is her character otherwise? Is she experienced at all in the +world, or is she easily imposed upon?" +<br> +<br> +"She is very acute, very quick, and is thoroughly practical." +<br> +<br> +"Do you think she is one whom it would be easy to impose upon?" +<br> +<br> +"I know that such a thing would be extremely difficult. She is one of +those persons who acquire the ascendency wherever she goes. She is +far better educated, far more accomplished, and far more clever than +I am, or can ever hope to be. She is clear-headed and clear-sighted, +with a large store of common-sense. To impose upon her would be +difficult, if not impossible. She is very quick to discern +character." +<br> +<br> +"And yet she trusted this Gualtier?" +<br> +<br> +"She did; and that is a thing which is inexplicable to me. I can only +account for it on the ground that she had known him so long, and had +been so accustomed to his obsequiousness and apparent +conscientiousness, that her usual penetration was at fault. I think +she trusted him, as I would have done, partly because there was no +other, and partly out of habit." +<br> +<br> +"What did you say was the name of the place where you were living +when your sister met with her accident?" +<br> +<br> +"Tenby." +<br> +<br> +"Was Gualtier living in the place?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Where was he?" +<br> +<br> +"In London." +<br> +<br> +"How did your sister know that he was there?" +<br> +<br> +"I can not tell." +<br> +<br> +"Did you know where he was?" +<br> +<br> +"I knew nothing about him. But my sister managed our affairs; and +when Gualtier left us I dare say he gave his address to my sister, in +case of our wanting his services again." +<br> +<br> +"You dismissed Gualtier, I suppose, because you had no longer need +for his services?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"You say that she never treated him with any particular attention?" +<br> +<br> +"On the contrary, she never showed any thing but marked hauteur +toward him. I was indifferent--she took trouble to be dignified." +<br> +<br> +"Have you any living relatives?" +<br> +<br> +"No--none." +<br> +<br> +"Neither on the father's side nor the mother's?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Have you no guardian?" +<br> +<br> +"At my father's death there was a guardian--a nominal one--but he +left the country, and we have never seen him since." +<br> +<br> +"He is not now in England, then?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +The chief of police seemed now to have exhausted his questions. He +rose, and, with renewed apologies for the trouble which he had given, +left the room. Obed and Windham followed, and the former invited him +to the library--a room which was called by that name from the fact +that there was a book-shelf in it containing a few French novels. +Here they sat in silence for a time, and at length the chief began to +tell his conclusions. +<br> +<br> +"I generally keep my mind to myself," said he, "but it is very +necessary for you to know what I conceive to be the present aspect of +this very important case. Let us see, then, how I will analyze it. +<br> +<br> +"In the first place, remark the _position of the girls_. +<br> +<br> +"Two young inexperienced girls, rich, alone in the world, without any +relatives or any connections, managing their own affairs, living in +different places--such is the condition of the principals in this +matter. The guardian whom their father left has disappeared--gone +perhaps to America, perhaps to India--no matter where. He is out of +their reach. +<br> +<br> +"These are the ones with whom this Gualtier comes in contact. He is +apparently a very ordinary man, perhaps somewhat cunning, and no +doubt anxious to make his way in the world. He is one of those men +who can be honest as long as he is forced to be; but, who, the moment +the pressure is taken off, can perpetrate crime for his own +interests, without pity or remorse. I know the type +well--cold-blooded, cunning, selfish, hypocritical, secretive, +without much intellect, cowardly, but still, under certain +circumstances, capable of great boldness. So Gualtier seems to me. +<br> +<br> +"He was in constant connection with these girls for five or six +years. During that time he must have learned all about them and their +affairs. He certainly must have learned how completely they were +isolated, and how rich they were. Yet I do not believe that he ever +had any thought during all that time of venturing upon any plot +against them. +<br> +<br> +"It was Fate itself that threw into his hands an opportunity that +could not be neglected, For mark you, what an unparalleled +opportunity it was. One of these sisters--the elder, the manager of +affairs, and guardian of the other--meets with an accident so +extraordinary that it would be incredible, were it not told in her +own handwriting. She finds herself in Naples, ill, friendless, but +recently saved from death. She can not travel to join her sister, so +she writers to her sister to come to her in Naples. But how can that +young sister come? It is a long journey, and difficult for a +friendless girl. She has no friends, so the elder Miss Lorton thinks +very naturally of the faithful music-teacher, whom she has known for +so long, and is now in London. She writes him, telling him the state +of affairs, and no doubt offers him a significant sum of money to +reward him giving up his practice for a time. The same say that her +sister received her letter, he also receives his. +<br> +<br> +"Can you not see what effect this startling situation would have on +such a man? Here, in brief, he could see a chance for making his +fortune, and getting possession of the wealth of these two. By making +way with them, one after the other, it could easily be done. He had +no pity in his nature, and no conscience in particular to trouble +him. Nor were there any fears of future consequences to deter him. +These friendless girls would never be missed. They could pass away +from the scene, and no avenger could possibly rise up to demand an +account of them at his hands. No doubt he was forming his plans from +the day of the receipt of the letter all the way to Marseilles. +<br> +<br> +"Now, in the plot which he formed and carried out, I see several +successive steps. +<br> +<br> +"The first step, of course, was to get rid of the maid Mathilde. Miss +Lorton's description of her enables of to see how easily this could +be accomplished. She was a timid creature, who does not seem to have +been malicious, nor does she seem to have any idea of fidelity. +Gualitier may either have cajoled her, or terrified her. It is also +possible he may have bought her. This may afterward be known when we +find the woman herself. +<br> +<br> +"The next step is evident. It was to get rid of the younger Miss +Lorton, with whom he was traveling. It was easy to do this on account +of her friendlessness and inexperience. How he succeeded in doing it +we have heard from her own lips. He trumped up that story about the +steamers not running, and obtained her consent to go in yacht. This, +of course, placed her alone in his power. He picked up a crew of +scoundrels, set sail, and on the second night scuttled the vessel, +and fled. Something prevented the vessel from sinking, and his +intended victim was saved. +<br> +<br> +"Now what is the third step? +<br> +<br> +"Of course there can only be one thing, and that third step will be +an attempt of a similar kind against the elder Miss Lorton. If it is +not too late to guard against this we must do so at once. He is +probably with her now. He can easily work upon her. He can represent +to her that her sister is ill at Marseilles, and induce her to come +here. He can not deceive her about the steamers, but he may happen to +find her just after the departure of the steamer, and she, in her +impatience, may consent to go in a sailing vessel, to meet the same +fate which he designed for her sister. +<br> +<br> +"After this, to complete my analysis of this man's proceedings, there +remains the fourth step. +<br> +<br> +"Having got rid of the sisters, the next purpose will be to obtain +their property. Now if he is left to himself he will find this very +easy. +<br> +<br> +"I have no doubt that he has made himself fully acquainted with all +their investments; or, if he has not, he will find enough among +their papers, which will now be open to him. He can correspond with +their agents, or forge drafts, or forge a power of attorney for +himself, and thus secure gradually a control of it all. There are +many ways be which a man in his situation can obtain all that he +wishes. Their bankers seem to be purely business agents, and they +have apparently no one who takes a deeper interest in them. +<br> +<br> +"And now the thing to be done is to head him off. This may be done in +various ways. +<br> +<br> +"First, to prevent the fulfillment of his design on the elder Miss +Lorton, I can send off a message at once to the Neopolitan +government, and obtain the agency of the Neapolitan police to secure +his arrest. If he is very prompt he may have succeeded in leaving +Naples with his victim before this; but there is a chance that he is +resting on his oars, and, perhaps, deferring the immediate +prosecution of the third step. +<br> +<br> +"Secondly, I must put my machinery to work to discover the maid +Mathilde, and secure her arrest. She will be a most important witness +in the case. If she is a partner in Gualtier's guilt, she can clear +up the whole mystery. +<br> +<br> +"Thirdly, we must have information of all this sent to Miss Lorton's +bankers in London, and her solicitors, so as to prevent Gualtier from +accomplishing his fourth step, and also in order to secure their +co-operation in laying a trap for him which will certainly insure his +capture. +<br> +<br> +"As for the younger Miss Lorton, she had better remain in Marseilles +for six or eight weeks, so that if the elder Miss Lorton should +escape she may find her here. Meantime the Neapolitan police will +take care of her, if she is in Naples, and communicate to her where +her sister is, so that she can join her, or write her. At any rate, +Miss Lorton must be persuaded to wait here till he hears from her +sister, or of her." +<br> +<br> +Other things were yet to be done before the preliminary examinations +could be completed. +<br> +<br> +The first was the examination of the man who had disposed of the +yacht to Gualtier. He was found without any difficulty, and brought +before the chief. It seems he was a common broker, who had bought the +vessel at auction, on speculation, because the price was so low. He +knew nothing whatever about nautical matters, and hated the sea. He +had hardly ever been on board of her, and had never examined her. He +merely held her in his possession till he could find a chance of +selling her. He had sold her for more than double the money that he +had paid for her, and thought the speculation had turned out very +good. Nothing had ever been told him as to any peculiarity in the +construction of the yacht. As far as he knew, the existence of such +could not have been found out. +<br> +<br> +On being asked whether the purchaser had assigned any reason for +buying the vessel, he said no; and from that fact the chief seemed to +form a more respectful opinion of Gualtier than he had hitherto +appeared to entertain. Common cunning would have been profuse in +stating motives, and have given utterance to any number of lies. But +Gualtier took refuge in silence. He bought the vessel, and said +nothing about motives or reasons. And, indeed, why should he have +done so? +<br> +<br> +Obed and Windham visited the yacht, in company with the chief. She +was in the dry dock, and the water had flowed out from her, leaving +her open for inspection. Zillah's trunks were taken out and conveyed +to her, though their contents were not in a condition which might +make them of any future value. Still, all Zillah's jewelry was there, +and all the little keepsakes which had accumulated during her past +life. The recovery of her trunks gave her the greatest delight. +<br> +<br> +A very careful examination of the yacht was made by the chief of +police and his two companions. In front was a roomy forecastle; in +the stern was a spacious cabin, with an after-cabin adjoining; +between the two was the hold. On close examination, however, an iron +bulkhead was found, which ran the whole length of the yacht on each +side. This had evidently been quite unknown to Gualtier. He and his +crew had scuttled the vessel, leaving it, as they supposed, to sink; +but she could not sink, for the air-tight compartments, like those of +a life-boat, kept her afloat. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/107.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXXII. +<br> +<br> +TOO MUCH TOGETHER. +<br> +<br> +Windham had exhibited the deepest interest in all these +investigations. On the day after Zillah's interview with the chief of +police he called and informed them that his business in England, +though important, was not pressing, and that he intended to remain in +Marseilles for a few days, partly for the sake of seeing how the +investigations of the police would turn out, and partly, as he said, +for the sake of enjoying a little more of the society of his friend +Chute. Thenceforth he spent very much of his time at Chute's hotel, +and Zillah and he saw very much of one another. Perhaps it was the +fact that he only was altogether of Zillah's own order; or it may +have been the general charm of his manner, his noble presence, his +elevated sentiments, his rich, full, ringing English voice. Whatever +it may have been, however, she did not conceal the pleasure which his +society afforded her. She was artless and open; her feelings +expressed themselves readily, and were made manifest in her looks and +gestures. Still, there was a melancholy behind all this which Windham +could not but notice--a melancholy penetrating far beneath the +surface talk in which they both indulged. +<br> +<br> +He, on his part, revealed to Zillah unmistakably the same profound +melancholy which has already been mentioned. She tried to conjecture +what it was, and thought of no other thing than the bereavement which +was indicated by the sombre emblem on his hat. Between these two +there was never laughter, rarely levity; but their conversation, when +it turned even on trifles, was earnest and sincere. Day after day +passed, and each interview grew to be more pleasant than the +preceding one. Often Obed Chute joined in the conversation; but their +minds were of a totally different order from his; and never did they +feel this so strongly as when some hard, dry, practical, and +thoroughly sensible remark broke in upon some little delicate flight +of fancy in which they had been indulging. +<br> +<br> +One day Windham came to propose a ride. Zillah assented eagerly. Obed +did not care to go, as he was anxious to call on the chief of police. +So Zillah and Windham rode out together into the country, and took +the road by the sea coast, where it winds on, commanding magnificent +sea views or sublime prospects of distant mountains at almost every +turning. Hitherto they had always avoided speaking of England. Each +seemed instinctively to shun the mention of that name; nor did either +ever seek to draw the other out on that subject. What might be the +rank of either at home, or the associations or connections, neither +ever ventured to inquire. Each usually spoke on any subject of a +general nature which seemed to come nearest. On this occasion, +however, Windham made a first attempt toward speaking about himself +and his past. Something happened to suggest India. It was only with a +mighty effort that Zillah kept down an impulse to rhapsodize about +that glorious land, where all her childhood had been passed, and +whose scenes were still impressed so vividly upon her memory. The +effort at self-restraint was successful; nor did she by any word show +how well known to her were those Indian scenes of which Windham went +on to speak. He talked of tiger hunts; of long journeys through the +hot plain or over the lofty mountain; of desperate fights with savage +tribes. At length he spoke of the Indian mutiny. He had been at +Delhi, and had taken part in the conflict and in the triumph. What +particular part he had taken he did not say, but he seemed to have +been in the thick of the fight wherever it raged. Carried away by the +glorious recollections that crowded upon his memory, he rose to a +higher eloquence than any which he had before attempted. The passion +of the fight came back. He mentioned by name glorious companions in +arms. He told of heroic exploits--dashing acts of almost superhuman +valor, where human nature became ennobled and man learned the +possibilities of man. The fervid excitement that burned in his soul +was communicated to the fiery nature of Zillah, who was always so +quick to catch the contagion of any noble emotion; his admiration for +all that was elevated, and true and pure found an echo in the heart +of her who was the daughter of General Pomeroy and the pupil of Lord +Chetwynde. Having herself breathed all her life an atmosphere of +noble sentiments, her nature exulted in the words of this +high-souled, this chivalric man, who himself, fresh from a scene +which had tried men's souls as they had not been tried for many an +age, had shared the dangers and the triumphs of those who had fought +and conquered there. No, never before had Zillah known such hours as +these, where she was brought face to face with a hero whose eye, +whose voice, whose manner, made her whole being thrill, and whose +sentiments found an echo in her inmost soul. +<br> +<br> +And did Windham perceive this? Could he help it? Could he avoid +seeing the dark olive face which flushed deep at his words--the +large, liquid, luminous eyes which, beneath those deep-fringed lids, +lighted up with the glorious fires of that fervid soul--the delicate +frame that quivered in the strong excitement of impassioned feelings? +Could he avoid seeing that this creature of feeling and of passion +thrilled or calmed, grew indignant or pitiful, became stern or +tearful, just as he gave the word? Could he help seeing that it was +in his power to strike the keynote to which all her sensitive nature +would respond? +<br> +<br> +Yet in all Zillah's excitement of feeling she never asked any +questions. No matter what might be the intensity of desire that +filled her, she never forgot to restrain her curiosity. Had she not +heard before of this regiment and that regiment from the letters of +Guy? Windham seemed to have been in many of the places mentioned in +those letters. This was natural, as he belonged to the army which had +taken Delhi. But in addition to this there was another wonder--there +were those hill stations in which she had lived, of which Windham +spoke so familiarly. Of course--she thought after due +reflection--every British officer in the north of India must be +familiar with places which are their common resort; but it affected +her strangely at first; for hearing him speak of them was like +hearing one speak of home. +<br> +<br> +Another theme of conversation was found in his eventful voyage from +India. He told her about the outbreak of the flames, the alarm of the +passengers, the coward mob of panic-stricken wretches, who had lost +all manliness and all human feeling in their abject fear. Then he +described the tall form of Obed Chute as it towered above the crowd. +Obed, according to Windham's account, when he first saw him, had two +men by their collars in one hand, while in the other he held his +revolver. His voice with its shrill accent rang out like a trumpet +peal as he threatened to blow out the brains of any man who dared to +touch a boat, or to go off the quarter-deck. While he threatened he +also taunted them. "_You_ Britishers!" he cried. "If you are--which I +doubt--then I'm ashamed of the mother country." +<br> +<br> +Now it happened that Obed Chute had already given to Zillah a full +description of his first view of Windham, on that same occasion. As +he stood with his revolver, he saw Windham, he said--pale, stern, +self-possessed, but active, with a line of passengers formed, who +were busy passing buckets along, and he was just detailing half a +dozen to relieve the sailors at the pumps. "That man," concluded Obed +Chute, "had already got to work, while I was indulging in a +'spread-eagle.'" +<br> +<br> +Windham, however, said nothing of himself, so that Zillah might have +supposed, for all that he said, that he himself was one of that +panic-stricken stricken crowd whom Obed Chute had reviled and +threatened. +<br> +<br> +Nor was this all. These rides were repeated every day. Obed Chute +declared that this was the best thing for her in the world, and that +she must go out as often as was possible. Zillah made no objection. +So the pleasure was renewed from day to day. But Windham could speak +of other things than battle, and murder, and sudden death. He was +deeply read in literature. He loved poetry with passionate ardor. All +English poetry was familiar to him. The early English metrical +romance, Chaucer, Spenser, the Elizabethan dramatists, Waller, +Marvell, and Cowley, Lovelace and Suckling, were all appreciated +fully. He had admiration for the poets of the Restoration; he had no +words to express the adoration which he felt for Milton; Gray and +Collins he knew by heart; Thomson and Cowper he could mention with +appreciation; while the great school of the Revolutionary poets +rivaled all the rest in the admiration which they extorted from him. +Tennyson and the Brownings were, however, most in his thoughts; and +as these were equally dear to Zillah, they met on common ground. What +struck Zillah most was the fact that occasional stray bits, which she +had seen in magazines, and had treasured in her head, were equally +known, and equally loved by this man, who would repeat them to her +with his full melodious voice, giving thus a new emphasis and a new +meaning to words whose meaning she thought she already felt to the +full. In these was a deeper meaning, as Windham said them, than she +had ever known before. He himself seemed to have felt the meaning of +some of these. What else could have caused that tremulous tone which, +in its deep musical vibrations, made these words ring deep within her +heart? Was there not a profounder meaning in the mind of this man, +whose dark eyes rested upon hers with such an unfathomable depth of +tenderness and sympathy--those eyes which had in them such a magnetic +power that even when her head was turned away she could _feel_ them +resting upon her, and knew that he was looking at her--with what deep +reverence! with what unutterable longing! with what despair! Yes, +despair. For on this man's face, with all the reverence and longing +which it expressed, there was never any hope, there was never any +look of inquiry after sympathy; it was mute reverence--silent +adoration; the look that one may cast upon a divinity, content with +the offer of adoration, but never dreaming of a return. +<br> +<br> +The days flew by like lightning. Zillah passed them in a kind of +dream. She only seemed awake when Windham came. When he left, all was +barrenness and desolation. Time passed, but she thought nothing of +Naples. Obed had explained to her the necessity of waiting at +Marseilles till fresh news should come from Hilda, and had been +surprised at the ease with which she had been persuaded to stay. In +fact, for a time Hilda seemed to have departed out of the sphere of +her thoughts, into some distant realm where those thoughts never +wandered. She was content to remain here--to postpone her departure, +and wait for any thing at all. Sometimes she thought of the end of +all this. For Windham must one day depart. This had to end. It could +not last. And what then? Then? Ah then! She would not think of it. +Calamities had fallen to her lot before, and it now appeared to her +that another calamity was to come--dark, indeed, and dreadful; worse, +she feared, than others which she had braved in her young life. +<br> +<br> +For one thing she felt grateful. Windham never ventured beyond the +limits of friendship. To this he had a right. Had he not saved her +from death? But he never seemed to think of transgressing the +strictest limits of conventional politeness. He never indulged at +even the faintest attempt at a compliment. Had he even done this much +it would have been a painful embarrassment. She would have been +forced to shrink back into herself and her dreary life, and put an +end to such interviews forever. But the trial did not come, and she +had no cause to shrink back. So it was that the bright golden hours +sped onward, bearing on the happy, happy days; and Windham lingered +on, letting his English business go. +<br> +<br> +Another steamer had arrived from Naples, and yet another, but no word +came from Hilda. Zillah had written to her address, explaining every +thing, but no answer came. The chief of police had received an answer +to his original message, stating that the authorities at Naples would +do all in their power to fulfill his wishes; but since then nothing +further had been communicated. His efforts to search after Gualtier +and Mathilde, in France, were quite unsuccessful. He urged Obed Chute +and Miss Lorton to wait still longer, until something definite might +be found. Windham waited also. Whatever his English business was, he +deferred it. He was anxious, he said, to see how these efforts would +turn out, and he hoped to be of use himself. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Obed Chute had fitted up the yacht, and had obliterated +every mark of the casualty with which she had met. In this the party +sometimes sailed. Zillah might perhaps have objected to put her foot +on board a vessel which was associated with the greatest calamity of +her life; but the presence of Windham seemed to bring a +counter-association which dispelled her mournful memories. She might +not fear to trust herself in that vessel which had once almost been +her grave, with the man who had saved her from that grave. Windham +showed himself a first-rate sailor. Zillah wondered greatly how he +could have added this to his other accomplishments, but did not +venture to ask him. There was a great gulf between them; and to have +asked any personal question, however slight, would have been an +attempt to leap that gulf. She dared not ask any thing. She herself +was in a false position. She was living under an assumed name, and +constant watchfulness was necessary. The name "Lorton" had not yet +become familiar to her ears. Often when addressed, she caught herself +thinking that some one else was spoken to. But after all, as to the +question of Windham's seamanship, that was a thing which was not at +all wonderful, since every Englishman of any rank is supposed to own +a yacht, and to know all about it. +<br> +<br> +Often Obed and his family went out with them; but often these two +went out alone. Perhaps there was a conventional impropriety in this; +but neither Obed nor his sister thought of it; Windham certainly was +not the one to regard it; and Zillah was willing to shut her eyes to +it. And so for many days they were thrown together. Cruising thus +over the Mediterranean, that glory of seas--the blue, the dark, the +deep--where the transparent water shows the sea depths far down, with +all the wonders of the sea; where the bright atmosphere shows sharply +defined the outlines of distant objects--cruising here on the +Mediterranean, where France stretches out her hand to Italy; where on +the horizon the purple hills arise, their tops covered with a diadem +of snow; where the air breathes balm, and the tideless sea washes +evermore the granite base of long mountain chains, evermore wearing +away and scattering the debris along the sounding beach. Cruising +over the Mediterranean--oh! what is there on earth equal to this? +Here was a place, here was scenery, which might remain forever fixed +in the memories of both of these, who now, day after day, under these +cloudless skies, drifted along. Drifting? Yes, it was drifting. And +where were they drifting to? Where? Neither of them asked. In fact, +they were drifting nowhere; or, rather, they were drifting to that +point where fate would interpose, and sever them, to send them onward +upon their different courses. They might drift for a time; but, at +last, they must separate, and then--what? Would they ever again +reunite? Would they ever again meet? Who might say? +<br> +<br> +Drifting! +<br> +<br> +Well, if one drifts any where, the Mediterranean is surely the best +place; or, at least, the most favorable; for there all things combine +to favor, in the highest degree, that state of moral "drifting" into +which people sometimes fall. +<br> +<br> +The time passed quickly. Weeks flew by. Nothing new had been +discovered. No information had come from Naples. No letter had come +from Hilda. While Zillah waited, Windham also waited, and thus passed +six or seven weeks in Marseilles, which was rather a long time for +one who was hurrying home on important business. But he was anxious, +he said, to see the result of the investigations of the police. That +result was, at length, made known. It was nothing; and the chief of +police advised Obed Chute to go on without delay to Naples, and urge +the authorities there to instant action. He seemed to think that they +had neglected the business, or else attended to it in such a way that +it had failed utterly. He assured Obed Chute that he would still +exert all his power to track the villain Gualtier, and, if possible, +bring him to justice. This, Obed believed that he would do; for the +chief had come now to feel a personal as well as a professional +interest in the affair, as though somehow his credit were at stake. +Under these circumstances, Obed prepared to take his family and Miss +Lorton to Naples, by the next steamer. +<br> +<br> +Windham said nothing. There was a pallor on the face of each of them +as Obed told them his plan--telling it, too, with the air of one who +is communicating the most joyful intelligence, and thinking nothing +of the way in which such joyous news is received. Zillah made no +observation. Involuntarily her eyes sought those of Windham. She read +in his face a depth of despair which was without +hope--profound--unalterable--unmovable. +<br> +<br> +That day they took their last ride. But few words passed between +them. Windham was gloomy and taciturn. Zillah was silent and sad. At +length, as they rode back, they came to a place on the shore a few +miles away from the city. Here Windham reined in his horse, and, as +Zillah stopped, he pointed out to the sea. +<br> +<br> +The sun was setting. Its rich red light fell full upon the face of +Zillah, lighting it up with radiant glory as it did on that memorable +morning when her beautiful face was upturned as her head lay upon his +breast, and her gleaming ebon hair floated over his shoulders. He +looked at her. Her eyes were not closed now, as they were then, but +looked back into his, revealing in their unfathomable depths an abyss +of melancholy, of sorrow, of longing, and of tenderness. +<br> +<br> +"Miss Lorton," said Windham, in a deep voice, which was shaken by an +uncontrollable emotion, and whose tremulous tones thrilled through +all Zillah's being, and often and often afterward recurred to her +memory--"Miss Lorton, this is our last ride--our last interview. Here +I will say my last farewell. To-morrow I will see you, but not alone. +Oh, my friend, my friend, my sweet friend, whom I held in my arms +once, as I saved you from death, we must now part forever! I go--I +must go. My God! where? To a life of horror! to a living death! to a +future without one ray of hope! Once it was dark enough, God knows; +but now--but; now it is intolerable; for since I have seen you I +tremble at the thought of encountering that which awaits me in +England!" +<br> +<br> +He held out his hand as he concluded. Zillah's eyes fell. His words +had been poured forth with passionate fervor. She had nothing to say. +Her despair was as deep as his. She held out her hand to meet his. It +was as cold as ice. He seized it with a convulsive grasp, and his +frame trembled as he held it. +<br> +<br> +Suddenly, as she looked down, overcome by her own agitation, a sob +struck her ears. She looked up. He seemed to be devouring her with +his eyes, as they were fixed on her wildly, hungrily, yet +despairingly. And from those eyes, which had so often gazed steadily +and proudly in the face of death, there now fell, drop by drop, tears +which seemed wrung out from his very heart. It was but for a moment. +As he caught her eyes he dropped her hand, and hastily brushed his +tears away. Zillah's heart throbbed fast and furiously; it seemed +ready to burst. Her breath failed; she reeled in her saddle. But the +paroxysm passed, and she regained her self-command. +<br> +<br> +"Let us ride home," said Windham, in a stern voice. +<br> +<br> +They rode home without speaking another word. +<br> +<br> +The next day Windham saw them on board the steamer. He stood on the +wharf and watched it till it was out of sight. Then he departed in +the train for the north, and for England. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXXIII. +<br> +<br> +THE AGENT'S REPORT. +<br> +<br> +On the south coast of Hampshire there is a little village which looks +toward the Isle of Wight. It consists of a single street, and in +front is a spacious beach which extends for miles. It is a charming +place for those who love seclusion to pass the summer months in, for +the view is unsurpassed, and the chances for boating or yachting +excellent. The village inn is comfortable, and has not yet been +demoralized by the influx of wealthy strangers, while there are +numerous houses where visitors may secure quiet accommodations and a +large share of comfort. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/111.png" alt="They Sat Down On Some Rocks That Rose Above The Sand."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "They Sat Down On Some Rocks That Rose Above The +Sand."] +<br> +<br> +It was about six weeks after the disappearance of Hilda, and about a +fortnight after Zillah's departure in search of her, that a man drove +into this village from Southampton up to a house which was at the +extreme eastern end, and inquired for Miss Davis. He was asked to +come in; and after waiting for a few minutes in the snug parlor, a +lady entered. The slender and elegant figure, the beautiful features, +and well-bred air of this lady, need not be again described to those +who have already become acquainted with Miss Krieff. Nor need +Gualtier's personal appearance be recounted once more to those who +have already a sufficient acquaintance with his physiognomy. +<br> +<br> +She shook hands with him in silence, and then, taking a chair and +motioning him to another, she sat for some time looking at him. At +length she uttered one single word: +<br> +<br> +"Well?" +<br> +<br> +"It's done," said Gualtier, solemnly. "It's all over." +<br> +<br> +Hilda caught her breath--giving utterance to what seemed something +between a sob and a sigh, but she soon recovered herself. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier was sitting near to her. He leaned forward as Hilda sat in +silence, apparently overcome by his intelligence, and in a low +whisper he said: +<br> +<br> +"Do you not feel inclined to take a walk somewhere?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda said nothing, but, rising, she went up stairs, and in a few +minutes returned dressed for a walk. The two then set out, and Hilda +led the way to the beach. Along the beach they walked for a long +distance, until at length they came to a place which was remote from +any human habitation. Behind was the open country, before them the +sea, whose surf came rolling in in long, low swells, and on either +side lay the beach. Here they sat down on some rocks that rose above +the sand, and for some time said nothing. Hilda was the first to +speak. Before saying any thing, however, she looked all around, as +though to assure herself that they were out of the reach of all +listeners. Then she spoke, in a slow, measured voice: +<br> +<br> +"Is _she_ gone, then?" +<br> +<br> +"She is," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +There was another long silence. What Hilda's feelings were could not +be told by her face. To outward appearance she was calm and unmoved, +and perhaps she felt so in her heart. It was possible that the +thought of Zillah's death did not make her heart beat faster by one +throb, or give her one single approach to a pang of remorse. Her +silence might have been merely the meditation of one who, having +completed one part of a plan, was busy thinking about the completion +of the remainder. And yet, on the other hand, it may have been +something more than this. Zillah in life was hateful, but Zillah dead +was another thing; and if she had any softness, or any capacity for +remorse, it might well have made itself manifest at such a time. +Gualtier sat looking at her in silence, waiting for her to speak +again, attending on her wishes as usual; for this man, who could be +so merciless to others, in her presence resigned all his will to +hers, and seemed to be only anxious to do her pleasure, whatever it +might be. +<br> +<br> +"Tell me about it," said Hilda at length, without moving, and still +keeping her eyes fixed abstractedly on the sea. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier then began with his visit to Zillah at Tenby. He spoke of +Zillah's joy at getting the letter, and her eager desire to be once +more with her friend, and so went on till the time of their arrival +at Marseilles. He told how Zillah all the way could talk of nothing +else than Hilda; of her feverish anxiety to travel as fast as +possible; of her fearful anticipations that Hilda might have a +relapse, and that after all she might be too late; how excited she +grew, and how despairing, when she was told that the steamers had +stopped running, and how eagerly she accepted his proposal to go on +in a yacht. The story of such affectionate devotion might have moved +even the hardest heart, but Hilda gave no sign of any feeling +whatever. She sat motionless--listening, but saying nothing. Whether +Gualtier himself was trying to test her feelings by telling so +piteous a story, or whether some remorse of his own, and some +compassion for so loving a heart, still lingering within him, forced +him to tell his story in this way, can not be known. Whatever his +motives were, no effect was produced on the listener, as far as +outward signs were concerned. +<br> +<br> +"With Mathilde," said he, "I had some difficulty. She was very +unwilling to leave her mistress at such a time to make a voyage +alone, but she was a timid creature, and I was able to work upon her +fears. I told her that her mistress had committed a crime against the +English laws in running away and living under an assumed name; that +her husband was now in England, and would certainly pursue his wife, +have her arrested, and punish severely all who had aided or abetted +her. This terrified the silly creature greatly; and then, by the +offer of a handsome sum and the promise of getting her a good +situation, I soothed her fears and gained her consent to desert her +mistress. She is now in London, and has already gained a new +situation." +<br> +<br> +"Where?" said Hilda, abruptly. +<br> +<br> +"In Highgate Seminary, the place that I was connected with formerly. +She is teacher of French, on a good salary." +<br> +<br> +"Is that safe?" said Hilda, after some thought. +<br> +<br> +"Why not?" +<br> +<br> +"She might give trouble." +<br> +<br> +"Oh no. Her situation is a good one, and she need never leave it." +<br> +<br> +"I can scarcely see how she can retain it long; she may be turned +out, and then--we may see something of her." +<br> +<br> +"You forget that I am aware of her movements, and can easily put a +stop to any efforts of that kind." +<br> +<br> +"Still I should be better satisfied if she were in France--or +somewhere." +<br> +<br> +"Should you? Then I can get her a place in France, where you will +never hear of her again." +<br> +<br> +Hilda was silent. +<br> +<br> +"My plan about the yacht," said Gualtier, "was made before I left +London. I said nothing to you about it, for I thought it might not +succeed. The chief difficulty was to obtain men devoted to my +interests. I made a journey to Marseilles first, and found out that +there were several vessels of different sizes for sale. The yacht was +the best and most suitable for our purposes, and, fortunately, it +remained unsold till I had reached Marseilles again with _her_. I +obtained the men in London. It was with some difficulty, for it was +not merely common ruffians that I wanted, but seamen who could sail a +vessel, and at the same time be willing to take part in the act which +I contemplated. I told them that all which was required of them was +to sail for two days or so, and then leave the vessel. I think they +imagined it was a plan to make money by insuring the vessel and then +deserting her. Such things are often done. I had to pay the rascals +heavily; but I was not particular, and, fortunately, they all turned +out to be of the right sort, except one--but no matter about him." +<br> +<br> +"Except one!" said Hilda. "What do you mean by that?" +<br> +<br> +"I will explain after a while," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"If she had not been so innocent," said Gualtier, "I do not see how +my plan could have succeeded. But she knew nothing. She didn't even +know enough to make inquiries herself. She accepted all that I said +with the most implicit trust, and believed it all as though it were +Gospel. It was, therefore, the easiest thing in the world to manage +her. Her only idea was to get to you." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier paused for a moment. +<br> +<br> +"Go on," said Hilda, coldly. +<br> +<br> +"Well, all the preparations were made, and the day came. Mathilde had +left. _She_ did not seem to feel the desertion much. She said nothing +at all to me about the loss of her maid, although after three or four +years of service it must have been galling to her to lose her maid so +abruptly, and to get such a letter as that silly thing wrote at my +dictation. She came on board, and seemed very much satisfied with all +the arrangements. I had done every thing that I could think of to +make it pleasant for her--on the same principle, I suppose," he +added, dryly, "that they have in jails--where they are sure to give a +good breakfast to a poor devil on the morning of his execution." +<br> +<br> +"You may as well omit allusions of that sort," said Hilda, sternly. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier made no observation, but proceeded with his narrative. +<br> +<br> +"We sailed for two days, and, at length, came to within about fifty +miles of Leghorn. During all that time she had been cheerful, and was +much on deck. She tried to read, but did not seem able to do so. She +seemed to be involved in thought, as a general thing; and, by the +occasional questions which she asked, I saw that all her thoughts +were about you and Naples. So passed the two days, and the second +night came." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier paused. +<br> +<br> +Hilda sat motionless, without saying a word. Gualtier himself seemed +reluctant to go on; but he had to conclude his narrative, and so he +forced himself to proceed. +<br> +<br> +"It was midnight"--he went on, in a very low voice--"it was +exceedingly dark. The day had been fine, but the sky was now all +overclouded. The sea, however, was comparatively smooth, and every +thing was favorable to the undertaking. The boat was all ready. It +was a good-sized boat, which we had towed behind us. I had prepared a +mast and a sail, and had put some provisions in the locker. The men +were all expecting--" +<br> +<br> +"Never mind your preparations," exclaimed Hilda, fiercely. "Omit all +that--go on, and don't kill me with your long preliminaries." +<br> +<br> +"If you had such a story to tell," said Gualtier, humbly, "you would +be glad to take refuge for a little while in preliminaries." +<br> +<br> +Hilda said nothing. +<br> +<br> +"It was midnight," said Gualtier, resuming his story once more, and +speaking with perceptible agitation in the tones of his voice--"it +was midnight, and intensely dark. The men were at the bow, waiting. +All was ready. In the cabin all had been still for some time. Her +lights had been put out an hour previously--" +<br> +<br> +"Well?" said Hilda, with feverish impatience, as he again hesitated. +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Gualtier, rousing himself with a start from a momentary +abstraction into which he had fallen--"the first thing I did was to +go down into the hold with some augers, and bore holes through the +vessel's bottom." +<br> +<br> +Another silence followed. +<br> +<br> +"_Some_ augers," said Hilda, after a time. "Did you need more than +one?" +<br> +<br> +"One might break." +<br> +<br> +"Did any one go with you?" she persisted. +<br> +<br> +"Yes--one of the men--the greatest ruffian of the lot. 'Black Bill,' +he was called. I've got something to tell you about him. I took him +down to help me, for I was afraid that I might not make a sure thing +of it. Between us we did the job. The water began to rush in through +half a dozen holes, which we succeeded in making, and we got out on +deck as the yacht was rapidly filling." +<br> +<br> +Again Gualtier paused for some time. +<br> +<br> +"Why do you hesitate so?" asked Hilda, quite calmly. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked at her for a moment, with something like surprise in +his face; but without making any reply, he went on: +<br> +<br> +"I hurried into the cabin and listened. There was no sound. I put my +ear close to the inner door. All was utterly and perfectly still. She +was evidently sleeping. I then hurried out and ordered the men into +the boat. Before embarking myself I went back to the hold, and +reached my hands down. I felt the water. It was within less than +three feet of the deck. It had filled very rapidly. I then went on +board the boat, unfastened the line, and we pulled away, steering +east, as nearly as possible toward Leghorn. We had rowed for about +half an hour, when I recollected that I ought to have locked the +cabin door. But it was too late to return. We could never have found +the schooner if we had tried. The night was intensely dark. Besides, +by that time the schooner--_was at the bottom of the sea_." +<br> +<br> +A long silence followed. Hilda looked steadily out on the water, and +Gualtier watched her with hungry eyes. At last, as though she felt +his eyes upon her, she turned and looked at him. A great change had +come over her face. It was fixed and rigid and haggard--her eyes had +something in them that was awful. Her lips were white--her face was +ashen. She tried to speak, but at first no sound escaped. At last she +spoke in a hoarse voice utterly unlike her own. +<br> +<br> +"_She_ is gone, then." +<br> +<br> +"_For evermore_!" said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +Hilda turned her stony face once more toward the sea, while Gualtier +looked all around, and then turned his gaze back to this woman for +whom he had done so much. +<br> +<br> +"After a while"--he began once more, in a slow, dull voice--"the wind +came up, and we hoisted sail. We went on our way rapidly, and by the +middle of the following day we arrived at Leghorn. I paid the men off +and dismissed them. I myself came back to London immediately, over +the Alps, through Germany. I thought it best to avoid Marseilles. I +do not know what the men did with themselves; but I think that they +would have made some trouble for me if I had not hurried away. Black +Bill said as much when I was paying them. He said that when he made +the bargain he thought it was only some 'bloody insurance business,' +and, if he had known what it was to have been, he would have made a +different bargain. As it was, he swore I ought to double the amount I +had promised. I refused, and we parted with some high words--he +vowing vengeance, and I saying nothing." +<br> +<br> <img src="images/114.png" alt="Black Bill Has Kept On My Track."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "Black Bill Has Kept On My Track."] +<br> +<br> +"Ah!" said Hilda, who had succeeded in recovering something of her +ordinary calm, "that was foolish in you--you ought to have satisfied +their demands." +<br> +<br> +"I have thought so since." +<br> +<br> +"They may create trouble. You should have stopped their mouths." +<br> +<br> +"That is the very thing I wished to do; but I was afraid of being too +lavish, for fear that they would suspect the importance of the thing. +I thought if I appeared mean and stingy and poor they might conclude +that I was some very ordinary person, and that the affair was of a +very ordinary kind--concerning very common people. If they suspected +the true nature of the case they would be sure to inform the police. +As it is, they will hold their tongues; or, at the worst, they will +try and track me." +<br> +<br> +"Track you?" said Hilda, who was struck by something in Gualtier's +tone. +<br> +<br> +"Yes; the fact is--I suppose I ought to tell you--I have been tracked +all the way from Leghorn." +<br> +<br> +"By whom?" +<br> +<br> +"Black Bill--I don't know how he managed it, but he has certainly +kept on my track. I saw him at Brieg, in Switzerland, first; next I +saw him in the railway station at Strasbourg; and yesterday I saw him +in London, standing opposite the door of my lodgings, as I was +leaving for this place." +<br> +<br> +"That looks bad," said Hilda, seriously. +<br> +<br> +"He is determined to find out what this business is, and so he +watches me. He doesn't threaten, he doesn't demand money--he is +simply watching. His game is a deep one." +<br> +<br> +"Do you suppose that the others are with him?" +<br> +<br> +"Not at all. I think he is trying to work this up for himself." +<br> +<br> +"It is bad," said Hilda. "How do you know that he is not in this +village?" +<br> +<br> +"As to that, it is quite impossible--and I never expect to see him +again, in fact." +<br> +<br> +"Why not?" +<br> +<br> +"Because I have thrown him off the track completely. While I was +going straight to London it was easy for him to follow--especially as +I did not care to dodge him on the continent; but now, if he ever +catches sight of me again he is much deeper than I take him to be." +<br> +<br> +"But perhaps he has followed you here." +<br> +<br> +"That is impossible," said Gualtier, confidently. "My mode of getting +away from London was peculiar. As soon as I saw him opposite my +lodgings my mind was made up; so I took the train for Bristol, and +went about forty miles, when I got out and came back; then I drove to +the Great Northern Station immediately, went north about twenty +miles, and came back; after this I took the Southampton train, and +came down last night. It would be rather difficult for one man to +follow another on such a journey. As to my lodgings, I do not intend +to go back. He will probably inquire, and find that I have left all +my things there, and I dare say he will watch that place for the next +six months at least, waiting for my return. And so I think he may be +considered as finally disposed of." +<br> +<br> +"You do not intend to send for your things, then?" +<br> +<br> +"No. There are articles there of considerable value; but I will let +them all go--it will be taken as a proof that I am dead. My friend +Black Bill will hear of this, and fall in with that opinion. I may +also arrange a 'distressing casualty' paragraph to insert in the +papers for his benefit." +<br> +<br> +Hilda now relapsed into silence once more, and seemed to lose herself +in a fit of abstraction so profound that she was conscious of nothing +around her. Gualtier sat regarding her silently, and wondering +whither her thoughts were tending. A long time passed. The surf was +rolling on the shore, the wind was blowing lightly and gently over +the sea; afar the blue water was dotted with innumerable sails; there +were ships passing in all directions, and steamers of all sizes +leaving behind them great trails of smoke. +<br> +<br> +Over two hours had passed since they first sat down here, and now, at +length, the tide, which had all the while been rising, began to +approach them, until at last the first advance waves came within a +few inches of Hilda's feet. She did not notice it; but this +occurrence gave Gualtier a chance to interrupt her meditations. +<br> +<br> +"The tide is rising," said he, abruptly; "the next wave will be up to +us. We had better move." It was with a start that Hilda roused +herself. Then she rose slowly, and walked up the beach with Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"I should like very much to know," said he, at length, in an +insinuating voice, "if there is any thing more that I can do just +now." +<br> +<br> +"I have been thinking," said Hilda, without hesitation, "of my next +course of action, and I have decided to go back to Chetwynde at +once." +<br> +<br> +"To Chetwynde!" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, and to-morrow morning." +<br> +<br> +"To-morrow!" +<br> +<br> +"There is no cause for delay," said Hilda. "The time has at last come +when I can act." +<br> +<br> +"To Chetwynde!" repeated Gualtier. "I can scarcely understand your +purpose." +<br> +<br> +"Perhaps not," said Hilda, dryly; "it is one that need not be +explained, for it will not fail to reveal itself in the course of +time under any circumstances." +<br> +<br> +"But you have some ostensible purpose for going there. You can not go +there merely to take up your abode on the old footing." +<br> +<br> +"I do not intend to do that," was the cool response. "You may be sure +that I have a purpose. I am going to make certain very necessary +arrangements for the advent of Lady Chetwynde." +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde!" repeated Gualtier, with a kind of gasp. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Hilda, who by this time had recovered all her usual +self-control, and exhibited all her old force of character, her +daring, and her coolness, which had long ago given her such an +ascendency over Gualtier. "Yes," she repeated, quietly returning the +other's look of amazement, "and why should I not? Lady Chetwynde has +been absent for her health. Is it not natural that she should send me +to make preparations for her return to her own home? She prefers it +to Pomeroy." +<br> +<br> +"Good God!" said Gualtier, quite forgetting himself, as a thought +struck him which filled him with bewilderment. Could he fathom her +purpose? Was the idea that occurred to him in very deed the one which +was in her mind? Could it be? And was it for this that he had +labored? +<br> +<br> +"Is Lord Chetwynde coming home?" he asked at length, as Hilda looked +at him with a strange expression. +<br> +<br> +"Lord Chetwynde? I should say, most certainly not." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know for certain?" +<br> +<br> +"No. I have narrowly watched the papers, but have found out nothing, +nor have any letters come which could tell me; but I have reasons for +supposing that the very last thing that Lord Chetwynde would think of +doing would be to come home." +<br> +<br> +"Why do you suppose that? Is there not his rank, his position, and +his wealth?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes; but the correspondence between him and Lady Chetwynde has for +years been of so very peculiar a character--that is, at least, on +Lady Chetwynde's part--that the very fact of her being in England +would, to a man of his character, be sufficient, I should think, to +keep him away forever. And therefore I think that Lord Chetwynde will +endure his grief about his father, and perhaps overcome it, in the +Indian residency to which he was lately appointed. Perhaps he may end +his days there--who can tell? If he should, it would be too much to +expect that Lady Chetwynde would take it very much to heart." +<br> +<br> +"But it seems to me, in spite of all that you have said, that nine +men out of ten would come home. They could be much happier in +England, and the things of which you have spoken would not +necessarily give trouble." +<br> +<br> +"That is very true; but, at the same time, Lord Chetwynde, in my +opinion, happens to be that tenth man who would not come home; for, +if he did, it would be Lady Chetwynde's money that he would enjoy, +and to a man of his nature this would be intolerable--especially as +she has been diligently taunting him with the fact that he has +cheated her for the last five years." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier heard this with fresh surprise. +<br> +<br> +"I did not know before that there had been so very peculiar a +correspondence," said he. +<br> +<br> +"I think that it will decide him to stay in India." +<br> +<br> +"But suppose, in spite of all this, that he should come home." +<br> +<br> +"That is a fact which should never be lost sight of," said Hilda, +very gravely--"nor is it ever lost sight of; one must be prepared to +encounter such a thing as that." +<br> +<br> +"But how?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, there are various ways," said Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"He can be avoided, shunned, fled from," said Gualtier, "but how can +he be encountered?" +<br> +<br> +"If he does come," said Hilda, "he will be neither avoided nor +shunned. He will be most assuredly encountered--and that, too, _face +to face_!" +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked at her in fresh perplexity. Not yet had he fathomed +the full depth of Hilda's deep design. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXXIV. +<br> +<br> +REMODELING THE HOUSEHOLD. +<br> +<br> +Two or three days afterward, Hilda, attended by Gualtier, drove up to +the inn of the little village near Chetwynde Castle. Gualtier stopped +here, and Hilda drove on to the Castle itself. Her luggage was with +her, but it was small, consisting of only a small trunk, which looked +as though it were her intention to make but a short stay. On her +arrival the servants all greeted her respectfully, and asked eagerly +after Lady Chetwynde. Her ladyship, Hilda informed them, was still +too unwell to travel, but was much better than when she left. She had +sent her to make certain arrangements for the reception of Lord +Chetwynde, who was expected from India at no very distant date. She +did not as yet know the time of his probable arrival; but when she +had learned it she herself would come to Chetwynde Castle to receive +him; but until that time she would stay away. The place where she was +staying just at present was particularly healthy. It was a small +village on the coast of Brittany, and Lady Chetwynde was anxious to +defer her return to the latest possible moment. Such was the +information which Hilda condescended to give to the servants, who +received the news with unfeigned delight, for they all dearly loved +that gentle girl, whose presence at Chetwynde had formerly brightened +the whole house, and with whose deep grief over her last bereavement +they had all most sincerely sympathized. +<br> +<br> +Hilda had many things to do. Her first duty was to call on Mrs. Hart. +The poor old housekeeper still continued in a miserable condition, +hovering, apparently, between life and death, and only conscious at +intervals of what was going on around her. That consciousness was not +strong enough to make her miss the presence of Zillah, nor did her +faculties, even in her most lucid intervals, seem to be fully at +work. Her memory did not appear to suggest at any time those sad +events which had brought her down to this. It was only at times that +she exhibited any recollection of the past, and that was confined +altogether to "Guy;" to him whom in whispered words she called "her +boy." Mrs. Hart was not at all neglected. Susan, who had once been +the upper house-maid, had of late filled the place of housekeeper, +which she could easily do, as the family was away, and the duties +were light. She also, with her sister Mary, who was the under +house-maid, was assiduous in watching at the bedside of the poor old +creature, who lay there hovering between life and death. Nothing, +indeed, could exceed the kindness and tenderness of these two humble +but noble-hearted girls; and even if Zillah herself could have been +brought to that bedside the poor sufferer could not have met with +more compassionate affection, and certainly could not have found such +careful nursing. +<br> +<br> +Hilda visited Mrs. Hart, and exhibited such tenderness of feeling +that both Susan and Mary were touched by it. They knew that Mrs. Hart +had never loved her, but it seemed now as if Hilda had forgotten all +that former coldness, and was herself inspired by nothing but the +tenderest concern. But Hilda had much to attend to, and after about +half an hour she left the room to look after those more important +matters for which she had come. +<br> +<br> +What her errand was the servants soon found out. It was nothing less +than a complete change in the household. That household had never +been large, for the late Earl had been forced by his circumstances to +be economical. He never entertained company, and was satisfied with +keeping the place, inside and outside, in an ordinary state of +neatness. +<br> +<br> +The servants who now remained may easily be mentioned. Mathilde had +gone away. Mrs. Hart lay on a sick-bed. There was Susan, the upper +house-maid, and Mary, her sister, the under house-maid. There was +Roberts, who had been the late Earl's valet, a smart, active young +man, who was well known to have a weakness for Susan; there was the +cook, Martha, a formidable personage, who considered herself the most +important member of that household; and besides these there were the +coachman and the groom. These composed the entire establishment. It +was for the sake of getting rid of these, in as quiet and inoffensive +a way as possible, that Hilda had now come; and toward evening she +began her work by sending for Roberts. +<br> +<br> +"Roberts," said she, with dignity, as that very respectable person +made his appearance, carrying in his face the consciousness of one +who had possessed the late Earl's confidence, "I am intrusted with a +commission from her ladyship to you. Lord Chetwynde is coming home, +and great changes are going to be made here. But her ladyship can not +forget the old household; and she told me to mention to you how +grateful she felt to you for all your unwearied care and assiduity in +your attendance upon your late master, especially through his long +and painful illness; and she is most anxious to know in what way she +can be of service to you. Her ladyship has heard Mathilde speak of an +understanding which exists between you and Susan, the upper +house-maid; and she is in hopes that she may be able to further your +views in the way of settling yourself; and so she wished me to find +out whether you had formed any plans, and what they were." +<br> +<br> +"It's like her ladyship's thoughtfulness and consideration," said +Roberts, gratefully, "to think of the likes of me. I'm sure I did +nothing for my lord beyond what it were my bounden dooty to do; and a +pleasanter and affabler spoken gentleman than his lordship were +nobody need ever want to see. I never expect to meet with such +another. As to Susan and me," continued Roberts, looking sheepish, +"we was a-thinkin' of a public, when so be as we could see our way to +it." +<br> +<br> +"Where were you thinking of taking one?" +<br> +<br> +"Well, miss, you see I'm a Westmorelandshire man; and somehow I've a +hankerin' after the old place." +<br> +<br> +"And you're quite right, Roberts," said Hilda, in an encouraging +tone. "A man is always happier in his native place among his own +people. Have you heard of an opening there?" +<br> +<br> +Roberts, at this, looked more sheepish still, and did not answer +until Hilda had repeated her question. +<br> +<br> +"Well, to be plain with you, miss," said he, "I had a letter this +very week from my brother, telling me of a public in Keswick as was +for sale--good-will, stock, and all, and a capital situation for +business--towerists the whole summer through, and a little somethin' +a-doin' in winter. Susan and me was a-regrettin' the limitation of +our means, miss." +<br> +<br> +"That seems a capital opening, Roberts," said Hilda, very graciously. +"It would be a pity to lose it. What is the price?" +<br> +<br> +"Well, miss, it's a pretty penny, but it's the stand makes it, +miss--right on the shores of the lake--boats to let at all hours, +inquire within. They are a-askin' five hundred pound, miss." +<br> +<br> +"Is that unreasonable?" +<br> +<br> +"Situation considered, on the contrary, miss; and Susan and me has +two hundred pound between us in the savings-bank. My lord was a +generous master. Now if her ladyship would lend me the extry money +I'd pay her back as fast as I made it." +<br> +<br> +"There is no necessity for that," said Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"Three hundred pounds happens to be the very sum which her ladyship +mentioned to me. So now I commission you in her name to make all the +necessary arrangements with your brother; or, better still, go at +once yourself--a man can always arrange these matters more +satisfactorily himself--and I will let you have the money in three +days, with Lady Chetwynde's best wishes for the success of your +undertaking; and we will see," she added, with a smile, "if we can +not get pretty Susan a wedding-dress, and any thing else she may +need. Before a week is over you shall be mine host of the Keswick +Inn. And now," she concluded, gayly, "go and make your arrangements +with Susan, and don't let any foolish bashfulness on her part prevent +you from hastening matters. It would not do for you to let this +chance slip through your fingers. I will see that she is ready. Her +ladyship has something for her too, and will not let her go to you +empty-handed." +<br> +<br> +"I never, never can thank her ladyship nor you enough," said Roberts, +"for what you have done for me this day. Might I make so bold as to +write a letter to her ladyship, to offer her my respectful dooty?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, Roberts--do so, and give me the letter. I shall be writing +to-night, and will inclose it. By-the-by, are not Mary and Susan +sisters?" +<br> +<br> +"They be, miss--sisters and orphelins." +<br> +<br> +"Well, then," said she, "see that you do not take more than you are +entitled to; for though her ladyship lets you carry Susan off, you +must not cast covetous eyes on Mary too; for though I allow she would +make a very pretty little barmaid, she is a particularly good +house-maid, and we can't spare her." +<br> +<br> +Roberts grinned from ear to ear. +<br> +<br> +"I can't pretend to manage the women, miss," said he; "you must speak +to Mary;" and then, with a low bow, Roberts withdrew. +<br> +<br> +Hilda gave a sigh of relief. "There are three disposed of," she +murmured. "This is a fair beginning." +<br> +<br> +On the following day she gave Roberts a check for the money, drawn by +_Zillah Chetwynde_. Waving off his thanks, she dismissed him, and +sent for the cook. That functionary quickly appeared. She was short +of stature, large of bulk, red of face, fluent of speech, hasty of +temper--_au reste_, she was a good cook and faithful servant. She +bobbed to Hilda on entering, and, closing the door, stood with folded +arms and belligerent aspect, like a porcupine armed for defense on +the slightest appearance of hostilities. +<br> +<br> +"Good-morning, Martha," said Hilda, with great suavity. "I hope your +rheumatism has not been troubling you since the warm weather set in?" +<br> +<br> +Martha bobbed with a more mollified air. +<br> +<br> +"Which, exceptin' the elber jints, where it's settled, likewise the +knee jints--savin' of your presence, miss--it's the same; for to go +down on my bended knees, miss, it's what I couldn't do, not if you +was to give me a thousand-pun note in my blessed hand, and my Easter +dooty not bein' able to perform, miss, which it be the first time it +ever wor the case; an' it owing to the rheumatiz; otherwise I am +better, miss, and thank you kindly." +<br> +<br> +"Her ladyship is very sorry," continued Hilda. "She is unable to +return herself just yet, but she has asked me to attend to several +matters for her, and one of them is connected with you, Martha. She +has received a letter from his lordship stating that he was bringing +with him a staff of servants, and among them a French cook." +<br> +<br> +Here Martha assumed the porcupine again, with every quill on end; but +she said nothing, though Hilda paused for an instant. Martha wished +to commit Miss Krieff to a proposition, that she might have the glory +of rejecting it with scorn. So Hilda went on: +<br> +<br> +"Your mistress was afraid that you might not care about taking the +place of under-cook where you have been head, and as she was anxious +to avoid hurting your feelings in any way, she wished me to tell you +of this beforehand." +<br> +<br> +Another moment and the apoplexy which had been threatening since the +moment when "under-cook" had been mentioned would have been a fact, +but luckily for Martha her overcharged feelings here broke forth with +accents of bitterest scorn: +<br> +<br> +"Which she's _very_ kind. Hunder-cook, indeed! which it's what I +never abore yet, and never will abear. I've lived at Chetwyn this +twenty year, gurl and woman, and hopes as I 'ave done my dooty and +giv satisfaction, which my lord were a gentleman, an' found no fault +with his wittles, but ate them like a Christian and a nobleman, +a-thankin' the Lord, and a-sayin', 'I never asks to see a tidier or a +'olesomer dinner than Martha sends, which she's to be depended on as +never bein' raw nor yet done to rags;' an' now when, as you may say, +gettin' on in years, though not that old neither as to be dependent +or wantin' in sperrit, to have a French cook set over me a talkin' +furrin languidgis and a cookin' up goodness ony knows what messes as +'nd pison a Christian stomach to as much as look at, and a horderin' +about Marthar here and Marthar there, it's what I can't consent to +put up with, and nobody as wasn't a mean spereted creetur could +expect it of me, which it's not as I wish to speak disrespectful of +her ladyship, which I considers a lady and as allers treated me as +sich, only expectin' to hend my days in Chetwyn it's come, sudden +like; but thanks to the blessed saints, which I 'ave put by as will +keep me from the wukkus and a charge on nobody; and I'd like to give +warnin', if you please, miss, and if so be as I could leave before +monseer arrive." +<br> +<br> +Here Martha paused, not from lack of material, but from sheer want of +breath. She would have been invincible in conversation but for that +fatal constitutional infirmity--shortness of breath. This brought her +to a pause in the full flow of her eloquence. +<br> +<br> +Hilda took advantage of the lull. +<br> +<br> +"Your mistress," said she, "feared that you would feel as you do on +the subject, and her instructions to me were these: 'Try and keep +Martha if you possibly can--we shall not easily replace her; but if +she seems to fear that this new French cook may be domineering'" +(fresh and alarming symptoms of apoplexy), "'and may make it +uncomfortable for her, we must think of her instead of ourselves. She +has been too faithful a servant to allow her to be trampled upon now; +and if you find that she will not really consent to stop, you must +get her a good place--'" +<br> +<br> +"Which, if you please, mum," said Martha, interrupting her excitedly, +"we won't talk about a place--it is utterly useless, and I might be +forgettin' myself; but I never thought," she continued, brushing away +a hasty tear, "as it was Master Guy, meaning my lord, as would send +old Martha away." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, I am sure he did not mean to do that," said Hilda, kindly; "but +gentlemen have not much consideration, you know, and he is accustomed +to French cookery." The softer mood vanished at the hated name. +<br> +<br> +"And he'll never grow to be the man his father were," said she, +excitedly, "on them furrin gimcracks and kickshaws as wouldn't +nourish a babby, let alone a full-growed man, and 'e a Henglishman. +But it's furrin parts as does it. I never approved of the harmy." +<br> +<br> +"Her ladyship told me," said Hilda, with her usual placidity, and +without taking any notice of the excited feeling of the other, "that +if you insisted on going I was to give you twenty pounds, with her +kind regards, to buy some remembrance." +<br> +<br> +"Which she's very kind," rejoined Martha, rather quickly, and with +some degree of asperity; "and if you'll give her my grateful dooty, +I'd like to leave as soon as may be." +<br> +<br> +"Well, if you are anxious to do so, I suppose you can. What +kitchen-maids are there?" +<br> +<br> +"Well, miss," said Martha, with dignity, yet severity, "sich drabs of +girls as I 'ave 'ad would 'ave prevoked a saint, and mayhap I was a +little hasty; but takin' up a sauce-pan, and findin' it that dirty as +were scandlus to be'old, I throwed the water as were hin it over 'er, +and the saucepan with it, an' she declared she'd go, which as the +'ousekeeper bein' in bed, as you know, miss, an' there likely to +remain for hevermore, she did, an' good riddance to her, say +I--ungrateful hussy as had jist got her wages the day before, and 'ad +a comfortable 'ome." +<br> +<br> +"It does not matter. I suppose the French cook will bring his own +subordinates." +<br> +<br> +"Wery like, miss," said Martha, sharply. "I leave this very day. +Good-mornin', miss." +<br> +<br> +"Oh no; don't be in such a hurry," said Hilda. "You have a week +before you. Let me see you before evening, so that I may give you +what your mistress has sent." +<br> +<br> +Martha sullenly assented, and withdrew. +<br> +<br> +The most difficult part of Hilda's business had thus been quietly +accomplished. Nothing now remained but to see the coachman and groom, +each of whom she graciously dismissed with a handsome present. She +told them, however, to remain for about a week, until their +successors might arrive. The large present which the liberality of +Lady Chetwynde had given them enabled them to bear their lot with +patience, and even pleasure. +<br> +<br> +After about a week Gualtier came up to Chetwynde Castle. He had been +away to London, and brought word to Hilda that some of the new +servants were expected in a few days. It was soon known to Roberts, +Susan, and Mary that Gualtier had been made steward by Lady +Chetwynde. He took possession of one of the rooms, and at once +entered upon the duties of this office. On the day of his arrival +Hilda left, saying to the remaining servants that she would never +come back again, as she intended to live in the south of France. She +shook hands with each of them very graciously, making each one a +present in her own name, and accompanying it with a neat little +speech. She had never been popular among them; but now the thought +that they would never see her again, together, perhaps, with the +very handsome presents which she had made, and her very kind words, +affected them deeply, and they showed some considerable feeling. +<br> +<br> +Under such circumstances Hilda took her departure from Chetwynde +Castle, leaving Gualtier in charge. In a few days the new servants +arrived, and those of the old ones who had thus far remained now took +their departure. The household was entirely remodeled. The new ones +took up their places; and there was not one single person there who +knew any thing whatever about the late Earl, or Hilda, or Gualtier. +The old ones were scattered abroad, and it was not within the bounds +of ordinary possibility that any of them would ever come near the +place. +<br> +<br> +In thus remodeling the household it was somewhat enlarged. There was +the new housekeeper, a staid, matronly, respectable-looking woman; +three house-maids, who had formerly lived, in the north of England; a +coachman, who had never before been out of Kent; a butler, who had +formerly served in a Scotch family; two footmen, one of whom had +served in Yorkshire, and the other in Cornwall; two grooms, who had +been bred in Yorkshire; a cook, who had hitherto passed all her life +in London; and three kitchen-maids, who also had served in that city. +Thus the household was altogether new, and had been carefully +collected by Gualtier with a view rather to the place from which they +had come than to any great excellence on the part of any of them. For +so large a place it was but a small number, but it was larger than +the household which had been dismissed, and they soon settled down +into their places. +<br> +<br> +One only was left of the old number. This was Mrs. Hart. But she lay +on her sick-bed, and Hilda looked upon her as one whose life was +doomed. Had any thought of her possible recovery entered her mind, +she would have contrived in some way to get rid of her. In spite of +her illness, she did not lack attention; for the new housekeeper +attached herself to her, and gave her the kindliest care and warmest +sympathy. +<br> +<br> +Last of all, so complete had been Hilda's precautions in view of +possible future difficulties, that when Gualtier came as the new +steward, he came under a new name, and was known to the household as +_Mr. M'Kenzie_. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXXV. +<br> +<br> +THE LADY OF THE CASTLE. +<br> +<br> +The new household had been led to expect the arrival of Lady +Chetwynde at any moment. They understood that the old household had +not given satisfaction, that after the death of the late Earl Lady +Chetwynde had gone away to recruit her health, and, now that she was +better, she had determined to make a complete change. When she +herself arrived other changes would be made. This much Gualtier +managed to communicate to them, so as to give them some tangible idea +of the affairs of the family and prevent idle conjecture. He let them +know, also, that Lord Chetwynde was in India, and might come home at +any moment, though his engagements there were so important that it +might be impossible for him to leave. +<br> +<br> +After a few days Lady Chetwynde arrived at the Castle, and was +greeted with respectful curiosity by all within the house. Her cold +and aristocratic bearing half repelled them, half excited their +admiration. She was very beautiful, and her high breeding was evident +in her manner; but there was about her such frigidity and such +loftiness of demeanor that it repelled those who would have been +willing to give her their love. She brought a maid with her who had +only been engaged a short time previously; and it was soon known that +the maid stood in great awe of her mistress, who was haughty and +exacting, and who shut herself off altogether from any of those +attempts at respectful sympathy which some kind-hearted lady's-maids +might be inclined to show. The whole household soon shared in this +feeling; for the lady of the Castle showed herself rigid in her +requirements of duty and strict in her rule, while, at the same time, +she made her appearance but seldom. She never visited Mrs. Hart, but +once or twice made some cold inquiries about her of the housekeeper. +She also gave out that she would not receive any visitors--a +precautionary measure that was not greatly needed; for Chetwynde +Castle was remote from the seats of the county families, and any +changes there would not be known among them for some time. +<br> +<br> +The lady of the Castle spent the greater part of her time in her +boudoir, alone, never tolerating the presence of even her maid except +when it was absolutely necessary, but requiring her to be always near +in case of any need for her presence arising. The maid attributed +this strange seclusion to the effects of grief over her recent +bereavement, or perhaps anxiety about her husband; while the other +servants soon began to conjecture that her husband's absence arose +from some quarrel with a wife whose haughty and imperious demeanor +they all had occasion to feel. +<br> +<br> +It was thus, then, that Hilda had entered upon her new and perilous +position, to attain to which she had plotted so deeply and dared so +much. Now that she had attained it, there was not an hour, not a +moment of the day, in which she did not pay some penalty for the past +by a thousand anxieties. To look forward to such a thing as this was +one thing; but to be here, where she had so often longed to be, was +quite another thing. It was the hackneyed fable of Damocles with the +sword over his head over again. She was standing on treacherous +ground, which at any moment might give way beneath her feet and +plunge her in an abyss of ruin. To live thus face to face with +possible destruction, to stare death in the face every day, was not a +thing conducive either to mildness or to tenderness in any nature, +much less in one like hers. +<br> +<br> +In that boudoir where she spent so much of her time, while her maid +wondered how she employed herself, her occupation consisted of but +one thing. It was the examination of papers, followed by deep thought +over the result of that examination. Every mail brought to her +address newspapers both from home and abroad. Among the latter were a +number of Indian papers, published in various places, including some +that were printed in remote towns in the north. There were the Delhi +_Gazette_, the Allahabad _News_, and the Lahore _Journal_, all of +which were most diligently scanned by her. Next to these were the +_Times_ and the _Army and Navy Gazette_. No other papers or books, or +prints of any kind, had any interest in her eyes. +<br> +<br> +It was natural that her thoughts should thus refer to India. All her +plans had succeeded, as far as she could know, and, finally, she had +remodeled the household at Chetwynde in such a way that not one +remained who could by any possibility know about the previous +inmates. She was here as Lady Chetwynde, the lady of Chetwynde +Castle, ruler over a great estate, mistress of a place that might +have excited the envy of any one in England, looked up to with awful +reverence by her dependents, and in the possession of every luxury +that wealth could supply. But still the sword was suspended over her +head, and by a single hair--a sword that at any moment might fall. +What could she know about the intentions of Lord Chetwynde all this +time? What were his plans or purposes? Was it not possible, in spite +of her firmly expressed convictions to the contrary, that he might +come back again to England? And then what? Then--ah! that was the +thing beyond which it was difficult for her imagination to go--the +crisis beyond which it was impossible to tell what the future might +unfold. It was a moment which she was ever forced to anticipate in +her thoughts, against which she had always to arm herself, so as to +be not taken at unawares. +<br> +<br> +She had thrown herself thus boldly into Chetwynde Castle, into the +very centre of that possible danger which lay before her. But was it +necessary to run so great a risk? Could she not at least have gone to +Pomeroy Court, and taken up her abode there? Would not this also have +been a very natural thing for the daughter of General Pomeroy? It +would, indeed, be natural, and it might give many advantages. In the +first place, there would be no possibility that Lord Chetwynde, even +if he did return from India, would ever seek her out there. She might +communicate with him by means of those letters which for years he had +received. She might receive his answers, and make known to him +whatever she chose, without being compelled to see him face to face. +By such a course she might gain what she wished without endangering +her safety. All this had occurred to her long before, and she had +regarded it in all its bearings. Nevertheless, she had decided +against it, and had chosen rather to encounter the risk of her +present action. It was from a certain profound insight into the +future. She thought that it was best for Lady Chetwynde to go to +Chetwynde Castle, not to Pomeroy Court. By such an act scandal would +be avoided. If Lord Chetwynde did not come, well and good; if he did, +why then he must be met face to face; and in such an event she +trusted to her own genius to bring her out of so frightful a crisis. +That meeting would bring with it much risk and many dangers; but it +would also bring its own peculiar benefits. If it were once +successfully encountered her position would be insured, and the fear +of future danger would vanish. For that reason, if for no other, she +determined to go to Chetwynde Castle, run every risk, and meet her +fate. +<br> +<br> +While Hilda was thus haughty and repellent to her servants, there was +one to whom she was accessible; and this was the new steward, +Gualtier, with whom she had frequent communications about the +business of the estate. Their interviews generally took place in that +morning-room which has already been described, and which was so +peculiarly situated that no prying servants could easily watch them +or overhear their conversation, if they were careful. +<br> +<br> +One day, after she had dined, she went to this room, and ordered her +maid to tell the steward that she would like to see him. She had that +day received a number of Indian papers, over which she had passed +many hours; for there was something in one of them which seemed to +excite her interest, and certainly gave occupation to all her mind. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier was prompt to obey the mandate. In a few minutes after Hilda +had entered the room he made his appearance, and bowed in silence. +Hilda motioned him to a chair, in which he seated himself. The +intercourse of these two had now become remarkable for this, that +their attitude toward one another had undergone a change +corresponding to their apparent positions. Hilda was Lady Chetwynde, +and seemed in reality, even in her inmost soul, to feel herself to be +so. She had insensibly caught that grand air which so lofty a +position might be supposed to give; and it was quite as much her own +feeling as any power of consummate acting which made her carry out +her part so well. A lofty and dignified demeanor toward the rest of +the household might have been but the ordinary act of one who was +playing a part; but in Hilda this demeanor extended itself even to +Gualtier, toward whom she exhibited the same air of conscious social +superiority which she might have shown had she been in reality all +that she pretended to be. Gualtier, on his part, was equally +singular. He seemed quietly to accept her position as a true and +valid one, and that, too, not only before the servants, when it would +have been very natural for him to do so, but even when they were +alone. This, however, was not so difficult for him, as he had always +been in the habit of regarding her as his social superior; yet still, +considering the confidences which existed between this extraordinary +pair, it was certainly strange that he should have preserved with +such constancy his attitude of meek subservience. Here, at Chetwynde, +he addressed her as the steward of the estates should have done; and +even when discussing the most delicate matters his tone and demeanor +corresponded with his office. +<br> +<br> +On this occasion he began with some intelligence about the state of +the north wall, which bounded the park. Hilda listened wearily till +he had finished. Then she abruptly brought forward all that was in +her thoughts. Before doing so, however, she went to the door to see +that no one was present and listening there, as she had herself once +listened. To those who were at all on their guard there was no +danger. The morning-room was only approached by a long, narrow hall, +in which no one could come without being detected, if any one in the +room chose to watch. Hilda now took her seat on a chair from which +she could look up the hall, and thus, feeling secure from observation +or from listeners, she began, in a low voice: +<br> +<br> +"I received the Indian papers to-day." +<br> +<br> +"I was aware of that, my lady," said Gualtier, respectfully. "Did you +see any thing in them of importance?" +<br> +<br> +"Nothing certain, but something sufficient to excite concern." +<br> +<br> +"About Lord Chetwynde?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"He can not be coming home, surely?" said Gualtier, interrogatively. +<br> +<br> +"I'm afraid that he is." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked serious. +<br> +<br> +"I thought," said he, "my lady, that you had nearly given up all +expectation of seeing him for some time to come." +<br> +<br> +"I have never yet given up those expectations. I have all along +thought it possible, though not probable; and so I have always +watched all the papers to see if he had left his station." +<br> +<br> +"I suppose he would not write about his intentions." +<br> +<br> +"To whom could he think of writing?" asked Hilda, with a half sneer. +<br> +<br> +"I thought that perhaps he might write to Lady Chetwynde." +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde's letters to him have been of such a character that +it is not very likely that he will ever write to her again, except +under the pressure of urgent necessity." +<br> +<br> +"Have you seen any thing in particular in any of the papers about +him?" asked Gualtier, after some silence. +<br> +<br> +"Yes. In one. It is the Allahabad _News_. The paragraph happened to +catch my eye by the merest accident, I think. There is nothing about +it in any of the other Indian papers. See; I will show it to you." +<br> +<br> +And Hilda, drawing a newspaper from her pocket, unfolded it, and +pointing to a place in one of the inside columns, she handed it to +Gualtier. He took it with a bow, and read the following: +<br> +<br> +"PERSONAL.--We regret to learn that Lord Chetwynde has recently +resigned his position as Resident at Lahore. The recent death of his +father, the late Earl of Chetwynde, and the large interests which +demand his personal attention, are assigned as the causes for this +step. His departure for England will leave a vacancy in our +Anglo-Indian service which will not easily be filled. Lord +Chetwynde's career in this important part of the empire has been so +brilliant, that it is a matter for sincere regret that he is +prevented, by any cause, from remaining here. In the late war he made +his name conspicuous by his valor and consummate military genius. In +the siege of Delhi he won laurels which will place his name high on +the roll of those whom England loves to honor. Afterward, in the +operations against Tantia Toupi, his bold exploits will not soon be +forgotten. His appointment to the Residency at Lahore was made only a +few months since; yet in that short time he has shown an +administrative talent which, without any reflection on our other able +officials, we may safely pronounce to be very rare in the departments +of our civil service. He is but a young man yet; but seldom has it +happened that one so young has exhibited such mature intellectual +powers, and such firm decision in the management of the most delicate +cases. A gallant soldier, a wise ruler, and a genial friend, Lord +Chetwynde will be missed in all those departments of public and +private life of which he has been so conspicuous an ornament. As +journalists, we wish to record this estimate of his virtues and his +genius, and we feel sure that it will be shared by all who have been +in any way familiar with the career of this distinguished gentleman. +For the rest, we wish him most cordially a prosperous voyage home; +and we anticipate for him in the mother country a career +corresponding with his illustrious rank, and commensurate with the +brilliant opening which he made in this country during those recent +'times which tried men's souls.'" +<br> +<br> +Gualtier read this paragraph over twice, and then sat for some time +in thought. At last he looked up at Hilda, who had all this time been +intently watching him. +<br> +<br> +"That's bad," exclaimed he, and said no more. +<br> +<br> +"It seems that, after all, he is coming," said Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"Have you seen his name in any of the lists of passengers?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Then he has not left yet." +<br> +<br> +"Perhaps not; but still I can not trust to that altogether. His name +may be omitted." +<br> +<br> +"Would such a name as his be likely to be omitted?" +<br> +<br> +"I suppose not; and so he can not have left India as yet--unless, +indeed, he has come under an assumed name." +<br> +<br> +"An assumed name! Would he be capable of that? And if he were, what +motive could he have?" +<br> +<br> +"Ah! there I am unable to find an answer. I'm afraid I have been +judging of Lord Chetwynde by that." And Hilda pointed to the portrait +of the young officer, Guy Molyneux, over the fireplace. "Years have +changed him, and I have not made allowance for the years. I think now +that this Lord Chetwynde must be very different from that Guy +Molyneux. This hero of Delhi; this assailant of Tantia Toupi; this +dashing officer, who is at once brilliant in the field and in the +social circle; this man who, in addition to all this, has proved +himself to be a wise ruler, with a 'genius for administration,' is a +man who, I confess, dawns upon me so suddenly that it gives me a +shock. I have been thinking of an innocent boy. I find that this boy +has grown to be a great, brave, wise, strong man! There, I think, is +the first mistake that I have made." +<br> +<br> +Hilda's words were full of truth and meaning. Gualtier felt that +meaning. +<br> +<br> +"You have an alternative still," said he. +<br> +<br> +"What is that?" +<br> +<br> +"You need not stay here." +<br> +<br> +"What! Run away from him--in fear?" said Hilda, scornfully. "Run away +from this place before I even know for certain that he is coming? +That, at least, I will not do." +<br> +<br> +"There is Pomeroy Court," hinted Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"No. Chetwynde Castle is my only home. I live here, or--nowhere. If I +have to encounter him, it shall be face to face, and here in this +house--perhaps in this room. Had I seen this a month ago my decision +might have been different, though I don't know even that; but now, +under any circumstances, it is too late to go back, or to swerve by +one hair's breadth from the path which I have laid down for myself. +It is well that I have seen all this"--and she pointed to the +newspaper--"for it has given me a new view of the man. I shall not be +so likely to underrate him now; and being forewarned I will be +forearmed." +<br> +<br> +"There is still the probability," said Gualtier, thoughtfully, "that +he may not come to England." +<br> +<br> +"There is a possibility," said Hilda, "certainly; but it is not +probable, after so decided an act performed by one in so important a +position, that he will remain in India. For why should he remain +there? What could possibly cause him to resign, except the fixed +intention of coming home? No; there can not be the slightest doubt +that he is coming home us as certain as the dawn of to-morrow. What I +wonder at, however, is, that he should delay; I should have expected +to hear of his arrival in London. Yet that can not be, for his name +is not down at all; and if he had come, surely a name like his could +not by any possibility be omitted. No, he can not have come just yet. +But he will, no doubt, come in the next steamer." +<br> +<br> +"There is yet another chance," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"What is that?" +<br> +<br> +"He may come to England, and yet not come here to Chetwynde." +<br> +<br> +"I have thought of that too," said Hilda, "and used to think of it as +very probable indeed; but now a ray of light has been let into my +mind, and I see what manner of man he is. That boy"--and she again +pointed to the portrait--"was the one who misled me. Such a one as he +might have been so animated by hate that he might keep away so as not +to be forced to see his detested wife. But this man is different. +This soldier, this ruler, this mature man--who or what is his wife, +hated though she be, or what is she to him in any way, that _she_ +should prove the slightest obstacle in the path of one like _him_? He +would meet her as her lord and master, and brush her away as he would +a moth." +<br> +<br> +"You draw this absent man in grand colors," said Gualtier. "Perhaps, +my lady, your imagination is carrying you away. But if he is all this +that you say, how can you venture to meet him? Will you risk being +thus 'brushed away,' as you say, 'like a moth?'" +<br> +<br> +Hilda's eyes lighted up. "I am not one who can be brushed away," said +she, calmly; "and, therefore, whatever he is, and whenever he comes, +I will be prepared to meet him." +<br> +<br> +Hilda's tone was so firm and decided that it left no room for further +argument or remonstrance. Nor did Gualtier attempt any. Some +conversation followed, and he soon took his departure. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXXVI. +<br> +<br> +FACE TO FACE. +<br> +<br> +Some time passed away after the conversation related in the last +chapter, and one evening Hilda was in her boudoir alone, as usual. +She was somewhat paler, more nervous, and less calm than she had been +a few months previously. Her usual stealthy air had now developed +into one of wary watchfulness, and the quiet noiselessness of her +actions, her manner, and her movements had become intensified into a +habit of motionless repose, accompanied by frequent fits of deep +abstraction. On the present occasion she was reclining on her couch, +with her hand shading her eyes. She had been lying thus for some +time, lost in thought, and occasionally rousing herself sharply from +her meditations to look around her with her watchful and suspicious +eyes. In this attitude she remained till evening came, and then, with +the twilight, she sank into a deep abstraction, one so deep that she +could not readily rouse herself. +<br> +<br> +It was with a great start, therefore, that she rose to her feet as a +sudden noise struck her ears. It was the noise of a carriage moving +rapidly up through the avenue toward the house. For a carriage to +come to Chetwynde Castle at any time was a most unusual thing; but +for one to come after dark was a thing unheard of. At once there came +to Hilda a thought like lightning as to who it might be that thus +drove up; the thought was momentous and overwhelming; it might have +been sufficient to have destroyed all courage and all presence of +mind had her nerves been, by the slightest degree, less strong. But +as it was, her nerve sustained her, and her courage did not falter +for one single instant. With a calm face and firm step she advanced +to the window. With a steady hand she drew the curtains aside and +looked out. Little could lie seen amidst the gloom at first; but at +length, as she gazed, she was able to distinguish the dim outline of +a carriage, as it emerged from the shadows of the avenue and drove up +to the chief door. +<br> +<br> +Then she stepped back toward the door of her boudoir, and listened, +but nothing could be heard. She then lighted two lamps, and, turning +to a cheval-glass at one end of her room, she put one lamp on each +side, so that the light might strike on her to the best advantage, +and then scrutinized herself with a steady and critical glance. Thus +she stood for a long time, watchful and motionless, actuated by a +motive far different from any thing like vanity; and if she received +gratification from a survey of herself, it was any thing but +gratified pride. It was a deeper motive than girlish curiosity that +inspired such stern self-inspection; and it-was a stronger feeling +than vanity that resulted from it. It was something more than things +like these which made her, at so dread a moment, look so anxiously at +her image in the glass. +<br> +<br> +As she stood there a tap came at the door. +<br> +<br> +"Come in," said Hilda, in her usual calm tone, turning as she spoke +to face the door. +<br> +<br> +It was the maid. +<br> +<br> +"My lady," said she, "his lordship has just arrived." +<br> +<br> +To her, at that moment, such intelligence could have been nothing +less than tremendous. It told her that the crisis of her life had +come; and to meet it was inevitable, whatever the result might be. He +had come. He, the one whom she must face; not the crude boy, but the +man, tried in battle and in danger and in judgment, in the camp and +in the court; the man who she now knew well was not surpassed by many +men among that haughty race to which he belonged. This man was +accustomed to face guilt and fear; he had learned to read the soul; +he had become familiar with all that the face may make known of the +secret terrors of conscience. And how could she meet the calm eyes of +one who found her here in such a relation toward him? Yet all this +she had weighed before in her mind; she was not unprepared. The hour +and the man had come. She was found ready. +<br> +<br> +She regarded the maid for a few moments in silence. At last she +spoke. +<br> +<br> +"Very well," she said, coldly, and without any perceptible emotion of +any kind. "I will go down to meet his lordship." +<br> +<br> +His lordship has just arrived! The words had been spoken, and the +speaker had departed, but the words still echoed and re-echoed +through the soul of the hearer. What might this involve? and what +would be the end of this arrival? +<br> +<br> +Suddenly she stepped to the door and called the maid. +<br> +<br> +"Has any one accompanied his lordship?" +<br> +<br> +"No, my lady." +<br> +<br> +"He came alone?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, my lady." +<br> +<br> +"Did Mr. M'Kenzie see him?" +<br> +<br> +"No, my lady. He is not in the house." +<br> +<br> +Hilda closed the door, went back, and again stood before the mirror. +Some time elapsed as she stood there regarding herself, with strange +thoughts passing through her mind. She did not find it necessary, +however, to make any alterations in her appearance. She did not +change one fold in her attire, or vary one hair of her head from its +place. It was as though this present dress and this present +appearance had been long ago decided upon by her for just such a +meeting as this. Whether she had anticipated such a meeting so +suddenly--whether she was amazed or not--whether she was at all taken +by surprise or not, could not appear in any way from her action or +her demeanor. In the face of so terrible a crisis, whose full meaning +and import she must have felt profoundly, she stood there, calm and +self-contained, with the self-poise of one who has been long +prepared, and who, when the hour big with fate at last may come, is +not overwhelmed, but rises with the occasion, goes forth to the +encounter, and prepares to contend with destiny. +<br> +<br> +It was, perhaps, about half an hour before Hilda went down. She went +with a steady step and a calm face down the long corridor, down the +great stairway, through the chief hall, and at length entered the +drawing-room. +<br> +<br> +On entering she saw a tall man standing there, with his back turned +toward the door, looking up at a portrait of the late Earl. So +intently was he occupied that he did not hear her entering; but a +slight noise, made by a chair as she passed it, startled him, and he +turned and looked at her, disclosing to her curious yet apprehensive +gaze the full features and figure of the new Lord Chetwynde. On that +instant, as he turned and faced her, she took in his whole face and +mien and stature. She saw a broad, intellectual brow, covered with +dark clustering hair; a face bronzed by the suns of India and the +exposure of the campaign, the lower part of which was hidden by a +heavy beard and mustache; and a tall, erect, stalwart frame, with the +unmistakable air of a soldier in every outline. His mien had in it a +certain indescribable grace of high breeding, and the commanding air +of one accustomed to be the ruler of men. His eyes were dark, and +full of quiet but resistless power; and they beamed upon her +lustrously, yet gloomily, and with a piercing glance of scrutiny from +under his dark brows. His face bore the impress of a sadness deeper +than that which is usually seen--sadness that had reigned there +long--a sadness, too, which had given to that face a more sombre cast +than common, from some grief which had been added to former ones. It +was but for a moment that he looked at her, and then he bowed with +grave courtesy. Hilda also bowed without a word, and then waited for +Lord Chetwynde to speak. +<br> +<br> +But Lord Chetwynde did not speak for some time. His earnest eyes were +still fixed upon the one before him, and though it might have been +rudeness, yet it was excusable, from the weight which lay on his +soul. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/123.png" alt="Hilda Stood There, Calm, Watchful, And Expectant."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "Hilda Stood There, Calm, Watchful, And Expectant."] +<br> +<br> +Hilda, for her part, stood there, calm, watchful, and expectant. That +slender and graceful figure, with its simple and elegant dress, which +set off to the utmost the perfection of her form, looked certainly +unlike the ungrown girl whom Lord Chetwynde had seen years before. +Still more unlike was the face. Pale, with delicate, transparent +skin, it was not so dark as that face which had dwelt in his memory. +Her eyes did not seem so wild and staring as those of the imp whom he +had married; but deep, dark, and strong in their gaze, as they looked +back steadily into his. The hair was now no longer disordered, but +enfolded in its dark, voluminous masses, so as to set off to the best +advantage the well-shaped head, and slender, beautifully rounded +neck. The one whom he remembered had been hideous; this one was +beautiful. But the beauty that he saw was, nevertheless, hard, cold, +and repellent. For Hilda, in her beauty and grace and intellectual +subtilty, stood there watchful and vigilant, like a keen fencer on +guard, waiting to see what the first spoken word might disclose; +waiting to see what that grand lordly face, with its air of command, +its repressed grief, its deep piercing eyes, might shadow forth. +<br> +<br> +A singular meeting; but Lord Chetwynde seemed to think it natural +enough, and after a few moments he remarked, in a quiet voice: +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde, the morning-room will be more suitable for the +interview which I wish, and, if you have no objection, we will go +there." +<br> +<br> +At the sound of these words a great revulsion took place in Hilda's +feelings, and a sense of triumph succeeded to that intense anxiety +which for so long a time had consumed her. The sound of that name by +which he had addressed her had shown her at once that the worst part +of this crisis had passed away. He had seen her. He had scrutinized +her with those eyes which seemed to read her soul, and the end was +that he had taken her for what she professed to be. He had called her +"Lady Chetwynde!" After this what more was there which could excite +fear? Was not her whole future now secured by the utterance of those +two words? Yet Hilda's self-control was so perfect, and her vigilance +so consummate, that no change whatever expressed in her face the +immense revolution of feeling within her. Her eyes fell--that was +all; and as she bowed her head silently, by that simple gesture which +was at once natural and courteous, she effectually concealed her +face; so that, even if there had been a change in its expression, it +could not have been seen. Yet, after all, the triumph was but +instantaneous. It passed away, and soon there came another feeling, +vague, indefinable--a premonition of the future--a presentiment of +gloom; and though the intensity of the suspense had passed, there +still remained a dark anxiety and a fear which were unaccountable. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde led the way to the morning-room, and on arriving there +he motioned her to a seat. Hilda sat down. He sat opposite in another +chair, not far off. On the wall, where each could see it, hung his +portrait--the figure of that beardless, boyish, dashing young +officer--very different from this matured, strong-souled man; so +different, indeed, that it seemed hardly possible that they could be +the same. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde soon began. +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde," said he, again addressing her by that name, and +speaking in a firm yet melancholy voice, "it is not often that a +husband and a wife meet as you and I do now; but then it is not often +that two people become husband and wife as you and I have. I have +come from India for the sake of having a full understanding with you. +I had, until lately, an idea of coming here under an assumed name, +with the wish of sparing you the embarrassment which I supposed that +the presence of Lord Chetwynde himself might possibly cause you. In +fact, I traveled most of the way home from India under an assumed +name with that intent. But before I reached England I concluded that +there was no necessity for trying to guard against any embarrassment +on your part, and that it would be infinitely better to see you in my +own person and talk to you without disguise." +<br> +<br> +He paused for a moment. +<br> +<br> +"Had you chosen to come all the way in your own name, my lord," said +Hilda, speaking now for the first time, "I should have seen your name +in the list of passengers, and should have been better prepared for +the honor of your visit." +<br> +<br> +"Concealment would have been impossible," continued Lord Chetwynde, +gloomily, half to himself, and without appearing to have heard +Hilda's words, "here, in my home. Though all the old servants are +gone, still the old scenes remain; and if I had come here as a +stranger I should have shown so deep an interest in my home that I +might have excited suspicion. But the whole plan was impossible, and, +after all, there was no necessity for it, as I do not see that your +feelings have been excited to madness by my appearance. So far, then, +all is well. And now to come to the point; and you, I am sure, will +be the first to excuse my abruptness in doing so. The unfortunate +bond that binds us is painful enough to you. It is enough for me to +say that I have come home for two reasons: first, to see my home, +possibly for the last time; and secondly, to announce to you the +decision at which I have arrived with regard to the position which we +shall hereafter occupy toward one another." +<br> +<br> +Hilda said nothing. Awe was a feeling which was almost unknown to +her; but something of that had come over her as, sitting in the +presence of this man, she heard him say these words; for he spoke +without any particular reference to her, and said them with a grand, +authoritative air, with the tone of one accustomed to rule and to +dispense justice. In uttering these concluding words it seemed to be +his will, his decision, that he was announcing to some inferior +being. +<br> +<br> +"First," he went on to say, "let me remind you of our unhappy +betrothal. You were a child, I a boy. Our parents are responsible for +that. They meant well. Let us not blame them. +<br> +<br> +"Then came our marriage by the death-bed of your father. You were +excited, and very naturally so. You used bitter words to me then +which I have never forgotten. Every taunt and insult which you then +uttered has lived in my memory. Why? Not because I am inclined to +treasure up wrong. No. Rather because you have taken such extreme +pains to keep alive the memory of that event. You will remember that +in every one of those letters which you have written to me since I +left England there has not been one which has not been filled with +innuendoes of the most cutting kind, and insults of the most galling +nature. My father loved you. I did not. But could you not, for his +sake, have refrained from insult? Why was it necessary to turn what +at first was merely coolness into hate and indignation? +<br> +<br> +"I speak bitterly about those letters of yours. It was those which +kept me so long in India. I could not come to see my father because +you were here, and I should have to come and see you. I could not +give him trouble by letting him know the truth, because he loved you. +Thus you kept me away from him and from my home at a time when I was +longing to be here; and, finally, to crown your cruelty, you +sedulously concealed from me the news of my father's illness till it +was too late. He died; and then--then you wrote that hideous letter, +that abomination of insult and vindictiveness, that cruel and +cowardly stab, which you aimed at a heart already wrung by the grief +of bereavement! In the very letter which you wrote to tell me of that +sudden and almost intolerable calamity you dared to say that my +father--that gentle and noble soul, who so loved you and trusted +you--that he, the stainless gentleman, the soul of honor--_he_ had +cheated _you_, and that his death was the punishment inflicted by +Providence for his sin; that he had made a cunning and dishonest plan +to get you for the sake of your fortune; that _I_ had been his +accomplice; and that by his death the vengeance of Divine justice was +manifested on both of us!" +<br> +<br> +Deep and low grew the tones of Lord Chetwynde's voice as he spoke +these words--deep and low, yet restrained with that restraint which +is put over the feelings by a strong nature, and yet can not hide +that consuming passion which underlies all the words, and makes them +burn with intensest heat. Here the hot fire of his indignation seemed +to be expressed in a blighting and withering power; and Hilda shrank +within herself involuntarily in fear, trembling at this terrific +denunciation. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde made a slight gesture. "Calm yourself," said he; "you +can not help your nature. Do you suppose for one moment that I, by +any possibility, can expect an explanation? Not at all. I have +mentioned this for the first and for the last time. Even while your +letters were lying before me I did not deign to breathe one word +about them to my father, from whom I kept no other secret, even +though I knew that, while he loved you and trusted you, both his love +and his trust were thrown away. I would not add to his troubles by +showing him the true character of the woman to whom he had sold me +and bound me fast, and whom he looked on with affection. That sorrow +I determined to spare him, and so I kept silent. So it was that I +always spoke of you with the formulas of respect, knowing well all +the time that you yourself did not deserve even that much. But he +deserved it, and I quenched my own indignation for his sake. But now +there is no longer any reason why I should play the hypocrite, and so +I speak of these things. I say this simply to let you know how your +conduct and character are estimated by one whose opinion is valued by +many honorable gentlemen. +<br> +<br> +"Even after his death," continued Lord Chetwynde, "I might possibly +have had some consideration for you, and, perhaps, would not have +used such plain language as I now do. But one who could take +advantage of the death of my father to give vent to spleen, and to +offer insult to one who had never offended her, deserves no +consideration. Such conduct as yours, Lady Chetwynde, toward me, has +been too atrocious to be ever forgiven or forgotten. To this you will +no doubt say, with your usual sneer, that my forgiveness is not +desired. I am glad if it is not. +<br> +<br> +"To your father, Lady Chetwynde, I once made a vow that I would +always be careful about your happiness. I made it thoughtlessly, not +knowing what I was promising, not in any way understanding its full +import. I made it when full of gratitude for an act of his which I +regarded only by itself, without thinking of all that was required of +me. I made it as a thoughtless boy. But that vow I intend now, as a +mature man, to fulfill, most sacredly and solemnly. For I intend to +care for your happiness, and that, too, in a way which will be most +agreeable to you. I shall thus be able to keep that rash and hasty +vow, which I once thought I would never be able to keep. The way in +which I intend to keep it is one, Lady Chetwynde, which will insure +perfect happiness to one like you; and as you are, no doubt, anxious +to know how it is possible for me to do such a thing, I will hasten +to inform you. +<br> +<br> +"The way in which I intend, Lady Chetwynde, to fulfill my vow and +secure your perfect happiness is, first of all, by separating myself +from you forever. This is the first thing. It is not such an +accomplishment of that vow as either your father or mine anticipated; +but in your eyes and mine it will be a perfect fulfillment. Fortunate +it is for me that the thing which you desire most is also the very +thing which I most desire. Your last letter settled a problem which +has been troubling me for years. +<br> +<br> +"This, however, is only part of my decision. I will let you know the +rest as briefly as possible. When your father came from India, and +made that memorable visit to my father, which has cost us both so +dear, Chetwynde was covered with mortgages to the extent of sixty +thousand pounds. Your father made an unholy bargain with mine, and in +order to secure a protector for you, he gave to my father the money +which was needed to disencumber the estate. It was, in fact, your +dowry, advanced beforehand. +<br> +<br> +"The principals in that ill-omened arrangement are both dead. I am no +longer a boy, but a man; the last of my line, with no one to consider +but myself. An atrocious wrong has been done, unintentionally, to me, +and also to you. That wrong I intend to undo, as far as possible. I +have long ago decided upon the way. I intend to give back to you this +dowry money; and to do so I will break the entail, sell Chetwynde, +and let it go to the hands of strangers. My ancient line ends in me. +Be it so. I have borne so many bitter griefs that I can bear this +with resignation. Never again shall you, Lady Chetwynde, have the +power of flinging at me that taunt which you have so often flung. You +shall have your money back, to the last farthing, and with interest +for the whole time since its advance. In this way I can also best +keep my vow to General Pomeroy; for the only mode by which I can +secure your happiness is to yield the care of it into your own hands. +<br> +<br> +"For the present you will have Chetwynde Castle to live in until its +sale. Every thing here seems quite adapted to make you happy. You +seem to have appropriated it quite to yourself. I can not find one of +those faithful old domestics with whom my boyhood was passed. You +have surrounded yourself with your own servants. Until your money is +paid you will be quite at liberty to live here, or at Pomeroy Court, +whichever you prefer. Both are yours now, the Castle as much as +Pomeroy Court, as you remarked, with your usual delicacy, in your +last letter, since they both represent your own money. +<br> +<br> +"And now," said Lord Chetwynde, in conclusion, "we understand one +another. The time for taunts and sneers, for you, is over. Any +letters hereafter that may come to me in your handwriting will be +returned unopened. The one aim of my life hereafter shall be to undo, +as far as possible, the wrong done to us both by our parents. That +can never be all undone; but, at any rate, you may be absolutely +certain that you will get back every penny of the money which is so +precious to you, with interest. As to my visit here, do not let it +disturb you for one moment. I have no intention of making a scene for +the benefit of your gaping servants. My business now is solely to see +about my father's papers, to examine them, and take away with me +those that are of immediate use. While I am here we will meet at the +same table, and will be bound by the laws of ordinary courtesy. At +all other times we need not be conscious of one another's existence. +I trust that you will see the necessity of avoiding any open +demonstrations of hatred, or even dislike. Let your feelings be +confined to yourself, Lady Chetwynde; and do not make them known to +the servants, if you can possibly help it." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde seemed to have ended; for he arose and sauntered up to +the portrait, which he regarded for some time with fixed attention, +and appeared to lose himself in his thoughts. During the remarks +which he had been making Hilda had sat looking at the floor. Unable +to encounter the stern gaze of the man whom she felt to be her +master, she had listened in silence, with downcast eyes. There was +nothing for her to say. She therefore did the very best thing that +she could do under the circumstances--she said nothing. Nor did she +say any thing when he had ended. She saw him absorb himself in +regarding his own portrait, and apparently lose himself in his +recollections of the past. Of her he seemed to have now no +consciousness. She sat looking at him, as his side face was turned +toward her, and his eyes fixed on the picture. The noble profile, +with its clear-cut features, showed much of the expression of the +face--an expression which was stern, yet sad and softened--that face +which, just before, had been before her eyes frowning, wrathful, +clothed with consuming terrors--a face upon which she could not look, +but which now was all mournful and sorrowful. And now, as she gazed, +the hard rigidity of her beautiful features relaxed, the sharp +glitter of her dark eyes died out, their stony lustre gave place to a +soft light, which beamed upon him with wonder, with timid awe--with +something which, in any other woman, would have looked like +tenderness. She had not been prepared for one like this. In her +former ideas of him he had been this boy of the portrait, with his +boyish enthusiasm, and his warm, innocent temperament. This idea she +had relinquished, and had known that he had changed during the years +into the heroic soldier and the calm judge. She had tried to +familiarize herself with this new idea, and had succeeded in doing so +to a certain extent. But, after all, the reality had been too much +for her. She had not been prepared for one like this, nor for such an +effect as the sight of him had produced. At this first interview he +had overpowered her utterly, and she had sat dumb and motionless +before him. All the sneering speeches which she had prepared in +anticipation of the meeting were useless. She found no place for +them. But there was one result to this interview which affected her +still more deeply than this discovery of his moral superiority. The +one great danger which she had always feared had passed away. She no +longer had that dread fear of discovery which hitherto had harassed +her; but in the place of this there suddenly arose another fear--a +fear which seemed as terrible as the other, which darkened over her +during the course of that scene till its close, and afterward--such +an evil as she never before could have thought herself capable of +dreading, yet one which she had brought upon herself. +<br> +<br> +What was that? +<br> +<br> +His contempt--his hate--his abhorrence--this was the thing which now +seemed so terrible to her. +<br> +<br> +For in the course of that interview a sudden change had come over all +her feelings. In spite of her later judgment about him, which she had +expressed to Gualtier, there had been in her mind a half contempt for +the man whom she had once judged of by his picture only, and whom she +recollected as the weak agent in a forced marriage. That paragraph in +the Indian paper had certainly caused a great change to take place in +her estimate of his character; but, in spite of this, the old +contempt still remained, and she had reckoned upon finding beneath +the mature man, brave though he was, and even wise though he might +be, much of that boy whom she had despised. But all this passed away +as a dream, out of which she had a rude awakening. She awoke suddenly +to the full reality, to find him a strong, stern, proud man, to whom +her own strength was as weakness. While he uttered his grand +maledictions against her he seemed to her like a god. He was a mighty +being, to whom she looked up from the depths of her soul, half in +fear, half in adoration. In her weakness she admired his strength; +and in her wily and tortuous subtlety she worshiped this +straightforward and upright gentleman, who scorned craft and cunning, +and who had sat in stern judgment upon her, to make known to her _his +will_. +<br> +<br> +For some time she sat looking at him as he stood, with her whole +nature shaken by these new, these unparalleled emotions, till, +finally, with a start, she came to herself, and, rising slowly, she +glided out of the room. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXXVII. +<br> +<br> +AN EFFORT AT CONCILIATION. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde's occupations kept him for the greater part of his +time in his father's library, where he busied himself in examining +papers. Many of these he read and restored to their places, but some +he put aside, in order to take them with him. Of the new steward he +took no notice whatever. He considered the dismissal of the old one +and the appointment of Gualtier one of those abominable acts which +were consistent with all the other acts of that woman whom he +supposed to be his wife. Besides, the papers which he sought had +reference to the past, and had no connection with the affairs of the +present. In the intervals of his occupation he used to go about the +grounds, visiting every one of those well-known places which were +associated with his childhood and boyhood. He sought out his father's +grave, and stood musing there with feelings which were made up of +sadness, mingled with something like reproach for the fearful mistake +which his father had made in the allotment of the son's destiny. +True, he had been one of the consenting parties; but when he first +gave that consent he was little more than a boy, and not at all +capable of comprehending the full meaning of such an engagement. His +father had ever since solemnly held him to it, and had appealed to +his sense of honor in order to make him faithful. But now the father +was dead, the son was a mature man, tried in a thousand scenes of +difficulty and danger--one who had learned to think for himself, who +had gained his manhood by a life of storms, in which of late there +had been crowded countless events, each of which had had their weight +in the development of his character. They had left him a calm, +strong, resolute man--a man of thought and of action--a graduate of +the school of Indian affairs--a school which, in times that tried +men's souls, never failed to supply men who were equal to every +emergency. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/127.png" alt="He Sought Out His Father's Grave, And Stood Musing There."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "He Sought Out His Father's Grave, And Stood Musing +There."] +<br> +<br> +At the very outset he had found out the condition of Mrs. Hart. The +sight of his loved nurse, thus prostrated, filled him with grief. The +housekeeper who now attended her knew nothing whatever of the cause +of her prostration. Lord Chetwynde did not deign to ask any questions +of Hilda; but in his anxiety to learn about Mrs. Hart, he sought out +the doctor who had attended his father, and from him he learned that +Mrs. Hart's illness had been caused by her anxiety about the Earl. +The knowledge of this increased, if possible, his own care. He made +the closest inquiry as to the way in which she was treated, engaged +the doctor to visit her, and doubled the housekeeper's salary on +condition that she would be attentive to his beloved nurse. These +measures were attended with good results, for under this increased +care Mrs. Hart began to show signs of improvement. Whether she would +ever again be conscious was yet a question. The doctor considered her +mind to be irretrievably affected. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile, throughout all these days, Hilda's mind was engrossed with +the change which had come over her--a change so startling and so +unexpected that it found her totally unprepared to deal with it. They +met every day at the dinner-table, and at no other times. Here Lord +Chetwynde treated her with scrupulous courtesy; yet beyond the +extreme limits of that courtesy she found it impossible to advance. +Hilda's manner was most humble and conciliatory. She who all her life +had felt defiant of others, or worse, now found herself enthralled +and subdued by the spell of this man's presence. Her wiliness, her +stealthiness, her constant self-control, were all lost and forgotten. +She had now to struggle incessantly against that new tenderness which +had sprung up unbidden within her. She caught herself looking forward +wistfully every day to the time when she could meet him at the table +and hear his voice, which, even in its cold, constrained tones, was +enough for her happiness. It was in vain that she reproached and even +cursed herself for her weakness. The weakness none the less existed; +and all her life seemed now to centre around this man, who hated her. +Into a position like this she had never imagined that she could +possibly be brought. All her cunning and all her resources were +useless here. This man seemed so completely beyond her control that +any effort to win him to her seemed useless. He believed her to be +his wife, he believed himself bound by honor to secure her happiness, +and yet his abhorrence of her was so strong that he never made any +effort to gain her for himself. Now Hilda saw with bitterness that +she had gone too far, and that her plans and her plots were recoiling +upon her own head. They had been too successful. The sin of Lord +Chetwynde's wife had in his eyes proved unpardonable. +<br> +<br> +Hilda's whole life now became a series of alternate struggles against +her own heart, and longings after another who was worse than +indifferent to her. Her own miserable weakness, so unexpected, and +yet so complete and hopeless, filled her at once with anger and +dismay. To find all her thoughts both by day and night filled with +this one image was at once mortifying and terrible. The very +intensity of her feelings, which would not stop short at death itself +to gain their object, now made her own sufferings all the greater. +Every thing else was forgotten except this one absorbing desire; and +her complicated schemes and far-reaching plans were thrust away. They +had lost their interest. Henceforth all were reduced to one +thought--how to gain Lord Chetwynde to herself. +<br> +<br> +As long as he staid, something like hope remained; but when he would +leave, what hope could there be? Would he not leave her forever? Was +not this the strongest desire of his heart? Had he not said so? Every +day she watched, with a certain chilling fear at her heart, to see if +there were signs of his departure. As day succeeded to day, however, +and she found him still remaining, she began to hope that he might +possibly have relented somewhat, and that the sentence which he had +spoken to her might have become modified by time and further +observation of her. +<br> +<br> +So at the dinner-table she used to sit, looking at him, when his eyes +were turned away, with her earnest, devouring gaze, which, as soon as +he would look at her again, was turned quickly away with the timidity +of a young bashful child. Such is the tenderness of love that Hilda, +who formerly shrank at nothing, now shrank away from the gaze of this +man. Once, by a great effort, as he entered the dining-room she held +out her hand to greet him. Lord Chetwynde, however, did not seem to +see it, for he greeted her with his usual distant civility, and +treated her as before. Once more she tried this, and yet once again, +but with the same result; and it was then that she knew that Lord +Chetwynde refused to take her hand. It was not oversight--it was a +deliberate purpose. At another time it would have seemed an insult +which would have filled her with rage; now it seemed a slight which +filled her with grief. So humiliated had she become, and so +completely subdued by this man, that even this slight was not enough, +but she still planned vague ways of winning his attention to her, and +of gaining from him something more than a remark about the weather or +about the dishes. +<br> +<br> +At length one day she formed a resolution, which, after much +hesitation, she carried out. She was determined to make one bold +effort, whatever the result might be. It was at their usual place of +meeting--the dinner-table. +<br> +<br> +"My lord," said she, with a tremulous voice, "I wish to have an +interview with you. Can you spare me the time this evening?" +<br> +<br> +She looked at him earnestly, with mute inquiry. Lord Chetwynde +regarded her in some surprise. He saw her eyes fixed upon him with a +timid entreaty, while her face grew pale with suspense. Her breathing +was rapid from the agitation that overcame her. +<br> +<br> +"I had some business this evening," said Lord Chetwynde, coldly, "but +as you wish an interview, I am at your service." +<br> +<br> +"At what time, my lord?" +<br> +<br> +"At nine," said Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +Nine o'clock came, and Hilda was in the morning-room, which she had +mentioned as the place of meeting, and Lord Chetwynde came there +punctually. She was sitting near the window. Her pale face, her rich +black locks arranged in voluminous masses about her head, her dark +penetrating eyes, her slender and graceful figure, all conspired to +make Hilda beautiful and attractive in a rare degree. Added to this +there was a certain entreaty on her face as it was turned toward him, +and a soft, timid lustre in her eyes which might have affected any +other man. She rose as Lord Chetwynde entered, and bowed her +beautiful head, while her graceful arms, and small, delicately shaped +hands hung down at her side. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde bowed in silence. +<br> +<br> +"My lord," said Hilda, in a voice which was tremulous from an +uncontrollable emotion, "I wished to see you here. We met here once +before; you said what you wished; I made no reply; I had nothing to +say; I felt your reproaches; they were in some degree just and +well-merited; but I might have said something--only I was timid and +nervous, and you frightened me." +<br> +<br> +Here Hilda paused, and drew a long breath. Her emotion nearly choked +her, but the sound of her own voice sustained her, and, making an +effort, she went on: +<br> +<br> +"I have nothing to say in defense of my conduct. It has made you hate +me. Your hate is too evident. My thoughtless spite has turned back +upon myself. I would willingly humiliate myself now if I thought that +it would affect you or conciliate you. I would acknowledge any folly +of mine if I thought that you could be brought to look upon me with +leniency. What I did was the act of a thoughtless girl, angry at +finding herself chained up for life, spiteful she knew not why. I had +only seen you for a moment, and did not know you. I was mad. I was +guilty; but still it is a thing that may be considered as not +altogether unnatural under the circumstances. And, after all, it was +not sincere--it was pique, it was thoughtlessness--it was not that +deep-seated malice which you have laid to my charge. Can you not +think of this? Can you not imagine what may have been the feelings of +a wild, spoiled, untutored girl, one who was little better than a +child, one who found herself shackled she knew not how, and who +chafed at all restraint? Can you not understand, or at least imagine, +such a case as this, and believe that the one who once sinned has now +repented, and asks with tears for your forgiveness?" +<br> +<br> +Tears? Yes, tears were in the eyes of this singular girl, this girl +whose nature was so made up of strength and weakness. Her eyes were +suffused with tears as she looked at Lord Chetwynde, and finally, as +she ceased, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud. +<br> +<br> +Now, nothing in nature so moves a man as a woman's tears. If the +woman be beautiful, and if she loves the man to whom she speaks, they +are irresistible. And here the woman was beautiful, and her love for +the man whom she was addressing was evident in her face and in the +tones of her voice. Yet Lord Chetwynde sat unmoved. Nothing in his +face or in his eyes gave indications of any response on his part. +Nothing whatever showed that any thing like soft pity or tender +consideration had modified the severity of his purpose or the +sternness of his fixed resolve. Yet Lord Chetwynde by nature was not +hard-hearted, and Hilda well knew this. In the years which she had +spent at the Castle she had heard from every quarter--from the Earl, +from Mrs. Hart, and from the servants--tales without number about his +generosity, his self-denial, his kindliness, and tender consideration +for I the feelings of others. Besides this, he had received from his +father along with that chivalrous nature the lofty sentiments of a +knight-errant, and in his boyish days had always been ready to +espouse the cause of any one in distress with the warmest enthusiasm. +In Hilda's present attitude, in her appearance, in her words, and +above all in her tears, there was every thing that would move such a +nature to its inmost depths. Had he ever seen any one at once so +beautiful and so despairing; and one, too, whose whole despair arose +from her feelings for him? Even his recollections of former disdain +might lose their bitterness in the presence of such utter +humiliation, such total self-immolation as this. His nature could not +have changed, for the Indian paper alluded to his "genial" character, +and his "heroic qualities." He must be still the same. What, then, +could there be which would be powerful enough to harden his feelings +and steel his heart against such a woeful and piteous sight as that +which was now exhibited to him? All these things Hilda thought as she +made her appeal, and broke down so completely at its close; these +things, too, she thought as the tears streamed from her eyes, and as +her frame was shaken by emotion. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde sat looking at her in silence for a long time. No +trace whatever of commiseration appeared upon his face; but he +continued as stern, as cold, and as unmoved, as in that first +interview when he had told her how he hated her. Bitter indeed must +that hate have been which should so crush out all those natural +impulses of generosity which belonged to him; bitter must the hate +have been; and bitter too must have been the whole of his past +experience in connection with this woman, which could end in such +pitiless relentlessness. +<br> +<br> +At length he answered her. His tone was calm, cool, and impassive, +like his face; showing not a trace of any change from that tone in +which he always addressed her; and making known to her, as she sat +with her face buried in her hands, that whatever hopes she had +indulged in during his silence, those hopes were altogether vain. +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde," he began, "all that you have just said I have +thought over long ago, from beginning to end. It has all been in my +mind for years. In India there were always hours when the day's +duties were over, and the mind would turn to its own private and +secret thoughts. From the very first, you, Lady Chetwynde, were +naturally the subject of those thoughts to a great degree. That +marriage scene was too memorable to be soon forgotten, and the +revelation of your character, which I then had, was the first thing +which showed me the full weight of the obligation which I had so +thoughtlessly accepted. Most bitterly I lamented, on my voyage out, +that I had not contrived some plan to evade so hasty a fulfillment of +my boyish promise, and that I had not satisfied the General in some +way which would not have involved such a scene. But I could not +recall the past, and I felt bound by my father's engagement. As to +yourself, I assure you that in spite of your malice and your insults +I felt most considerately toward you. I pitied you for being, like +myself, the unwilling victim of a father's promise and of a sick +man's whim, and learned to make allowance for every word and action +of yours at that time. Not one of those words or actions had the +smallest effect in imbittering my mind toward you. Not one of those +words which you have just uttered has suggested an idea which I have +not long ago considered, and pondered over in secret, in silence, and +in sorrow. I made a large allowance also for that hate which you must +have felt toward one who came to you as I did, in so odious a +character, to violate, as I did, the sanctities of death by the +mockery of a hideous marriage. All this--all this has been in my +mind, and nothing that you can say is able in any way to bring any +new idea to me. There are other things far deeper and far more +lasting than this, which can not be answered, or excused, or +explained away--the long persistent expressions of unchanging hate." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde was silent. Hilda had heard all this without moving or +raising her head. Every word was ruin to her hopes. But she still +hoped against hope, and now, since she had an opportunity to speak, +she still tried to move this obdurate heart. +<br> +<br> +"Hate!" she exclaimed, catching at his last word--"hate! what is +that? the fitful, spitefull feeling arising out of the recollection +of one miserable scene--or perhaps out of the madness of anger at a +forced marriage. What is it? One kind word can dispel it." +<br> +<br> +As she said this she did not look up. Her face was buried in her +hands. Her tone was half despairing, half imploring, and broken by +emotion. +<br> +<br> +"True," said Lord Chetwynde. "All that I have thought of, and I used +to console myself with that. I used to say to myself, 'When we meet +again it will be different. When she knows me she can not hate me.'" +<br> +<br> +"You were right," faltered Hilda, with a sob which was almost a +groan. "And what then? Say--was it a wonder that I should have felt +hate? Was there ever any one so tried as I was? My father was my only +friend. He was father and mother and all the world to me. He was +brought home one day suddenly, injured by a frightful accident, and +dying. At that unparalleled moment I was ordered to prepare for +marriage. Half crazed with anxiety and sorrow, and anticipating the +very worst--at such a time death itself would have been preferable to +that ceremony. But all my feelings were outraged, and I was dragged +down to that horrible scene. Can you not see what effect the +recollection of this might afterward have? Can you not once again +make allowances, and think those thoughts which you used to think? +Can you not still see that you were right in supposing that when we +might meet all would be different, and that she who might once have +known you could not hate you?" +<br> +<br> +"No," said Lord Chetwynde, coldly and severely. +<br> +<br> +Hilda raised her head, and looked at him with mute inquiry. +<br> +<br> +"I will explain," said Lord Chetwynde. "I have already said all that +I ought to say; but you force me to say more, though I am unwilling. +Your letters, Lady Chetwynde, were the things which quelled and +finally killed all kindly feelings." +<br> +<br> +"Letters!" burst in Hilda, with eager vehemence. "They were the +letters of a hot-tempered girl, blinded by pique and self-conceit, +and carelessly indulging in a foolish spite which in her heart she +did not seriously feel." +<br> +<br> +"Pardon me," said Lord Chetwynde, with cold politeness, "I think you +are forgetting the circumstances under which they were written--for +this must be considered as well as the nature of the compositions +themselves. They were the letters of one whom my father loved, and of +whom he always spoke in the tenderest language, but who yet was so +faithless to him that she never ceased to taunt me with what she +called our baseness. She never spared the old man who loved her. For +months and for years these letters came. It was something more than +pique, something more than self-conceit or spite, which lay at the +bottom of such long-continued insults. The worst feature about them +was their cold-blooded cruelty. Nothing in my circumstances or +condition could prevent this--not even that long agony before +Delhi"--added Lord Chetwynde, in tones filled with a deeper +indignation--"when I, lost behind the smoke and cloud and darkness of +the great struggle, was unable to write for a long time; and, +finally, was able to give my account of the assault and the triumph. +Not even that could change the course of the insults which were so +freely heaped upon me. And yet it would have been easy to avoid all +this. Why write at all? There was no heavy necessity laid upon you. +That was the question which I used to put to myself. But you +persisted in writing, and in sending to me over the seas, with +diabolical pertinacity, those hideous letters in which every word was +a stab." +<br> +<br> +While Lord Chetwynde had been speaking Hilda sat looking at him, and +meeting his stern glance with a look which would have softened any +one less bitter. Paler and paler grew her face, and her hands +clutched one another in tremulous agitation, which showed her strong +emotion. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my lord!" she cried, as he ceased, "can you not have mercy? +Think of that black cloud that came down over my young life, filling +it with gloom and horror. I confess that you and your father appeared +the chief agents; but I learned to love _him_, and then all my +bitterness turned on _you_--you, who seemed to be so prosperous, so +brave, and so honored. It was you who seemed to have blighted my +life, and so I was animated by a desire to make you feel something of +what I had felt. My disposition is fiery and impetuous; my father's +training made it worse. I did not know you; I only felt spite against +you, and thus I wrote those fatal letters. I thought that you could +have prevented that marriage if you had wished, and therefore could +never feel any thing but animosity. But now the sorrows through which +I have passed have changed me, and you yourself have made me see how +mad was my action. But oh, my lord, believe me, it was not +deliberate, it was hasty passion! and now I would be willing to wipe +out every word in those hateful letters with my heart's blood!" +<br> +<br> +Hilda's voice was low but impassioned, with a certain burning fervor +of entreaty; her words had become words almost of prayer, so deep was +her humiliation. Her face was turned toward him with an imploring +expression, and her eyes were fixed on his in what seemed an agony of +suspense. But not even that white face, with its ashen lips and its +anguish, nor those eyes with their overflowing tears, nor that voice +with its touching pathos of woe, availed in any way to call up any +response of pity and sympathy in the breast of Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"You use strong language, Lady Chetwynde," said he, in his usual +tone. "You forget that it is you yourself who have transformed all my +former kindliness, in spite of myself, into bitterness and gall. You +forget, above all, that last letter of yours. You seem to show an +emotion which I once would have taken as real. Pardon me if I now say +that I consider it nothing more than consummate acting. You speak of +consideration. You hint at mercy. Listen, Lady Chetwynde"--and here +Lord Chetwynde raised his right hand with solemn emphasis. "You +turned away from the death-bed of my father, the man who loved you +like a daughter, to write to me that hideous letter which you +wrote--that letter, every word of which is still in my memory, and +rises up between us to sunder us for evermore. You went beyond +yourself. To have spared the living was not needed; but it was the +misfortune of your nature that you could not spare the dead. While he +was, perhaps, yet lying cold in death near you, you had the heart to +write to me bitter sneers against him. Even without that you had done +enough to turn me from you always. But when I read that, I then knew +most thoroughly that the one who was capable, under such +circumstances, of writing thus could only have a mind and heart +irretrievably bad--bad and corrupt and base. Never, never, never, +while I live, can I forget the utter horror with which that letter +filled me!" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my God!" said Hilda, with a groan. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde sat stern and silent. +<br> +<br> +"You are inflexible in your cruelty," said Hilda at length, as she +made one last and almost hopeless effort. "I have done. But will you +not ask me something? Have you nothing to ask about your father? He +loved me as a daughter. I was the one who nursed him in his last +illness, and heard his last words. His dying eyes were fixed on me!" +<br> +<br> +As Hilda said this a sharp shudder passed through her. +<br> +<br> +"No," said Lord Chetwynde, "I have nothing to ask--nothing from +_you_! Your last letter has quelled all desire. I would rather remain + in ignorance, and know nothing of the last words of him whom I so +loved than ask of _you_." +<br> +<br> +"He called me his daughter. He loved me," said Hilda, in a broken +voice. +<br> +<br> +"And yet you were capable of turning away from his death-bed and +writing that letter to his son. You did it coolly and remorselessly." +<br> +<br> +"It was the anguish of bereavement and despair." +<br> +<br> +"No; it was the malignancy of the Evil One. Nothing else could have +prompted those hideous sneers. In real sorrow sneering is the last +thing that one thinks of. But enough. I do not wish to speak in this +way to a lady. Yet to you I can speak in no other way. I will +therefore retire." +<br> +<br> +And, with a bow, Lord Chetwynde withdrew. +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked after him, as he left, with staring eyes, and with a +face as pallid as that of a corpse. She rose to her feet. Her hands +were clenched tight. +<br> +<br> +"He loves another," she groaned; "otherwise he never, never, never +could have been so pitiless!" +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXXVIII. +<br> +<br> +SETTING THE DOG ON THE LION'S TRACK. +<br> +<br> +After this failure in the effort to come to an understanding with +Lord Chetwynde, Hilda sank into despondency. She scarcely knew what +there was to be done when such an appeal as this had failed. She had +humbled herself in the dust before him--she had manifested +unmistakably her love, yet he had disregarded all. After this what +remained? It was difficult to say. Yet, for herself, she still looked +forward to the daily meeting with him: glad of this, since fate would +give her nothing better. The change which had come over her was not +one which could be noticed by the servants, so that there was no +chance of her secret being discovered by them; but there was another +at Chetwynde Castle who very quickly discovered all, one who was led +to this perhaps by the sympathy of his own feelings. There was that +secret within his own heart which made him watchful and attentive and +observant. No change in her face and manner, however slight, could +fail to be noticed by this man, who treasured up every varying +expression of hers within his heart. And this change which had come +over her was one which affected him by much more than the mere +variation of features. It entered into his daily life and disarranged +all his plans. +<br> +<br> +Before the arrival of Lord Chetwynde, Gualtier, in his capacity of +steward, had been accustomed to have frequent interviews with Hilda. +Now they were all over. Since that arrival he had not spoken to her +once, nor had he once got so much as a glance of her eye. At first he +accounted for it from very natural causes. He attributed it to the +anxiety which she felt at the presence of Lord Chetwynde, and at the +desperate part which she had to play. For some time this seemed +sufficient to account for every thing. But afterward he learned +enough to make him think it possible that there were other causes. He +heard the gossip of the servants' hall, and from that he learned that +it was the common opinion of the servants that Lady Chetwynde was +very fond of Lord Chetwynde, but that the latter was very distant and +reserved in his manner toward her. This started him on a new track +for conjecture, and he soon learned and saw enough to get some +general idea of the truth. Yet, after all, it was not the actual +truth which he conjectured. His conclusion was that Hilda was playing +a deep game in order to win Lord Chetwynde's affection to herself. +The possibility of her actually loving him did not then suggest +itself. He looked upon it as one of those profound pieces of policy +for which he was always on the look-out from her. The discovery of +this disturbed him. The arrival of Lord Chetwynde had troubled him; +but this new plan of Hilda's troubled him still more, and all the +more because he was now shut out from her confidence. +<br> +<br> +"The little thing is up to a new game; and she'll beat," he said to +himself; "she'll beat, for she always beats. She's got a long head, +and I can only guess what it is that she is up to. She'll never tell +me." And he thought, with some pensiveness, upon the sadness of that +one fact, that she would never tell him. Meanwhile he contented +himself with watching until something more definite could be known. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde had much to occupy him in his father's papers. He +spent the greater part of his time in the library, and though weeks +passed he did not seem to be near the end of them. At other times he +rode about the grounds or sauntered through the groves. The seclusion +in which the Castle had always been kept was not disturbed. The +county families were too remote for ordinary calling, or else they +did not know of his arrival. Certain it is that no one entered these +solitary precincts except the doctor. The state of things here was +puzzling to him. He saw Lord Chetwynde whenever he came, but he never +saw Lady Chetwynde. On his asking anxiously about her he was told +that she was well. It was surprising to him that she never showed +herself, but he attributed it to her grief for the dead. He did not +know what had become of Miss Krieff, whose zeal in the sick-room had +won his admiration. Lord Chetwynde was too haughty for him to +question, and the servants were all new faces. It was therefore with +much pleasure that he one day saw Gualtier. Him he accosted, shaking +hands with him earnestly, and with a familiarity which he had never +cared to bestow in former days. But curiosity was stronger than his +sense of personal dignity. Gualtier allowed himself to be questioned, +and gave the doctor that information which he judged best for the +benefit of the world without. Lady Chetwynde, he told him, was still +mourning over the loss of her best friend, and even the return of her +husband had not been sufficient to fill the vacant place. Miss +Krieff, he said, had gone to join her friends in North Britain, and +he, Gualtier, had been appointed steward in place of the former one, +who had gone away to London. This information was received by the +doctor with great satisfaction, since it set his mind at rest +completely about certain things which had puzzled him. +<br> +<br> +That evening one of the servants informed Gualtier that Lady +Chetwynde wished to see him in the library. His pale face flushed up, +and his eyes lightened as he walked there. She was alone. He bowed +reverentially, yet not before he had cast toward her a look full of +unutterable devotion. She was paler than before. There was sadness on +her face. She had thrown herself carelessly in an arm-chair, and her +hands were nervously clutching one another. Never before had he seen +any thing approaching to emotion in this singular being. Her present +agitation surprised him, for he had not suspected the possibility of +any thing like this. +<br> +<br> +She returned his greeting with a slight bow, and then fell for a time +into a fit of abstraction, during which she did not take any further +notice of him. Gualtier was more impressed by this than by any other +thing. Always before she had been self-possessed, with all her +faculties alive and in full activity. Now she seemed so dull and so +changed that he did not know what to think. He began to fear the +approach of some calamity by which all his plans would be ruined. +<br> +<br> +"Mr. M'Kenzie," said Hilda, rousing herself at length, and speaking +in a harsh, constrained voice, which yet was low and not audible +except to one who was near her, "have you seen Lord Chetwynde since +his arrival?" +<br> +<br> +"No, my lady," said Gualtier, respectfully, yet wondering at the +abruptness with which she introduced the subject. For it had always +hitherto been her fashion to lead the conversation on by gradual +approaches toward the particular thing about which she might wish to +make inquiries. +<br> +<br> +"I thought," she continued, in the same tone, "that he might have +called you up to gain information about the condition of the estate." +<br> +<br> +"No, my lady, he has never shown any such desire. In fact, he does +not seem to be conscious that there is such a person as myself in +existence." +<br> +<br> +"Since he came," said Hilda, dreamily, "he has been altogether +absorbed in the investigation of papers relating to his father's +business affairs; and as he has not been here for many years, during +which great changes must have taken place in the condition of things, +I did not know but that he might have sought to gain information from +you." +<br> +<br> +"No, my lady," said Gualtier once more, still preserving that +unfaltering respect with which he always addressed her, and wondering +whither these inquiries might be tending, or what they might mean. +That she should ask him any thing about Lord Chetwynde filled him +with a vague alarm, and seemed to show that the state of things was +unsatisfactory, if not critical. He was longing to ask about that +first meeting of hers with Lord Chetwynde, and also about the +position which they at present occupied toward one another--a +position most perplexing to him, and utterly inexplicable. Yet on +such subjects as these he did not dare to speak. He could only hope +that she herself would speak of them to him, and that she had chosen +this occasion to make a fresh confidence to him. +<br> +<br> +After his last answer Hilda did not say any thing for some time. Her +nervousness seemed to increase. Her hands still clutched one another; +and her bosom heaved and fell in quick, rapid breathings which showed +the agitation that existed within her. +<br> +<br> +"Lord Chetwynde," said Hilda at last, rousing herself with a visible +effort, and looking round with something of her old stealthy +watchfulness--"Lord Chetwynde is a man who keeps his own counsel, and +does not choose to give even so much as a hint about the nature of +his occupations. He has now some purpose on his mind which he does +not choose to confide to me, and I do not know how it is possible for +me to find it out. Yet it is a thing which must be of importance, for +he is not a man who would stay here so long and labor so hard on a +mere trifle. His ostensible occupation is the business of the estate, +and certain plans arising in connection with this; but beneath this +ostensible occupation there is some purpose which it is impossible +for me to fathom. Yet I must find it out, whatever it is, and I have +invited you here to see if I could not get your assistance. You once +went to work keenly and indefatigably to investigate something for +me; and here is an occasion on which, if you feel inclined, you can +again exercise your talents. It may result in something of the +greatest importance." +<br> +<br> +Hilda had spoken in low tones, and as she concluded she looked at +Gualtier with a penetrating glance. Such a request showed him that he +was once more indispensable. His heart beat fast, and his face +lighted up with joy. +<br> +<br> +"My lady," said he, in a low, earnest voice, "it surely can not be +necessary for me to tell you that I am always ready to do your +bidding, whatever it may be. There is no necessity to remind me of +the past. When shall I begin this? At once? Have you formed any plan +of action which you would like me to follow?" +<br> +<br> +"Only in a general way," said Hilda. "It is not at Chetwynde that I +want you to work, but elsewhere. You can do nothing here. I myself +have already done all that you could possibly do, and more too, in +the way of investigation in this house. But in spite of all my +efforts I have found nothing, and so I see plainly that the search +must be carried on in another place." +<br> +<br> +"And where may that be?" asked Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"He has some purpose in his mind," Hilda went on to say--"some one +engrossing object, I know not what, which is far more important than +any thing relating to business, and which is his one great aim in +life at present. This is what I wish to find out. It may threaten +danger, and if so I wish to guard against it." +<br> +<br> +"Is there any danger?" asked Gualtier, cautiously. +<br> +<br> +"Not as yet--that is, so far as I can see." +<br> +<br> +"Does he suspect any thing?" said Gualtier, in a whisper. +<br> +<br> +"Nothing." +<br> +<br> +"You seem agitated." +<br> +<br> +"Never mind what I seem," said Hilda, coldly; "my health is not good. +As to Lord Chetwynde, he is going away in a short time, and the place +to which he goes will afford the best opportunity for finding out +what his purpose is. I wish to know if it is possible for you in any +way to follow him so as to watch him. You did something once before +that was not more difficult." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier smiled. +<br> +<br> +"I think I can promise, my lady," said he, "that I will do all that +you desire. I only wish that it was something more difficult, so that +I could do the more for you." +<br> +<br> +"You may get your wish," said Hilda, gloomily, and in a tone that +penetrated to the inmost soul of Gualtier. "You may get your wish, +and that, too, before long. But at present I only wish you to do +this. It is a simple task of watchfulness and patient observation." +<br> +<br> +"I will do it as no man ever did it before," said Gualtier. "You +shall know the events of every hour of his life till he comes back +again." +<br> +<br> +"That will do, then. Be ready to leave whenever he does. Choose your +own way of observing him, either openly or secretly; you yourself +know best." +<br> +<br> +Hilda spoke very wearily, and rose to withdraw. As she passed, +Gualtier stood looking at her with an imploring face. She carelessly +held out her hand. He snatched it in both of his and pressed it to +his lips. +<br> +<br> +"My God!" he cried, "it's like ice! What is the matter?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda did not seem to hear him, but walked slowly out of the room. +<br> +<br> +About a week after this Lord Chetwynde took his departure. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXXIX. +<br> +<br> +OBED STANDS AT BAY. +<br> +<br> +On leaving Marseilles all Zillah's troubles seemed to return to her +once more. The presence of Windham had dispelled them for a time; now +that he was present no longer there was nothing to save her from +sorrow. She had certainly enough to weigh down any one, and among all +her sorrows her latest grief stood pre-eminent. The death of the +Earl, the cruel discovery of those papers in her father's drawer by +which there seemed to be a stain on her father's memory, the +intolerable insult which she had endured in that letter from Guy to +his father, the desperate resolution to fly, the anguish which she +had endured on Hilda's account, and, finally, the agony of that lone +voyage in the drifting schooner--all these now came back to her with +fresher violence, recurring again with overpowering force from the +fact that they had been kept off so long. Yet there was not one +memory among all these which so subdued her as the memory of the +parting scene with Windham. This was the great sorrow of her life. +Would she ever meet him again? Perhaps not. Or why should she? Of +what avail would it be? +<br> +<br> +Passing over the seas she gave herself up to her recollections, and +to the mournful thoughts that crowded in upon her. Among other +things, she could not help thinking and wondering about Windham's +despair. What was the reason that he had always kept such a close +watch over himself? What was the reason why he never ventured to +utter in words that which had so often been expressed in his eloquent +face? Above all, what was the cause of that despairing cry which had +escaped him when they exchanged their last farewell? It was the +recognition on his part of some insuperable obstacle that lay between +them. That was certain. Yet what could the obstacle be? Clearly, it +could not have been the knowledge of her own position. It was +perfectly evident that Windham knew nothing whatever about her, and +could have not even the faintest idea of the truth. It must therefore +be, as she saw it, that this obstacle could only be one which was in +connection with himself. And what could that be? Was he a priest +under vows of celibacy? She smiled at the preposterous idea. Was he +engaged to be married in England, and was he now on the way to his +bride? Could this be it? and was his anguish the result of the +conflict between love and honor in his breast? This may have been the +case. Finally, was he married already? She could not tell. She rather +fancied that it was an engagement, not a marriage; and it was in this +that she thought she could find the meaning of his passionate and +despairing words. +<br> +<br> +Passing over those waters where once she had known what it was to be +betrayed, and had tasted of the bitterness of death, she did not find +that they had power to renew the despair which they once had caused. +Behind the black memory of that hour of anguish rose up another +memory which engrossed all her thoughts. If she had tears, it was for +this. It was Windham, whose image filled all her soul, and whose last +words echoed through her heart. For as she gazed on these waters it +was not of the drifting schooner that she thought, not of the hours +of intense watchfulness, not of the hope deferred that gradually +turned into despair; it was rather of the man who, as she had often +heard since, was the one who first recognized her, and came to her in +her senselessness, and bore her in his arms back to life. Had he done +well in rescuing her? Had he not saved her for a greater sorrow? +Whether he had or not mattered not. He had saved her, and her life +was his. That strange rescue constituted a bond between them which +could not be dissolved. Their lives might run henceforth in lines +which should never meet, but still they belonged henceforth to one +another, though they might never possess one another. Out from among +these waters there came also sweeter memories--the memories of +voyages over calm seas, under the shadow of the hoary Alps, where +they passed away those golden hours, knowing that the end must come, +yet resolved to enjoy to the full the rapture of the present. These +were the thoughts that sustained her. No grief could rob her of +these; but in cherishing them her soul found peace. +<br> +<br> +Those into whose society she had been thrown respected her grief and +Her reticence. For the first day she had shut herself up in her room; +but the confinement became intolerable, and she was forced to go out +on deck. She somewhat dreaded lest Obed Chute, out of the very +kindness of his heart, would come and try to entertain her. She did +not feel in the mood for talking. Any attempt at entertaining her she +felt would be unendurable. But she did not know the perfect +refinement of sentiment that dwelt beneath the rough exterior of +Obed. He seemed at once to divine her state of mind. With the utmost +delicacy he found a place for her to sit, but said little or nothing +to her, and for all the remainder of the voyage treated her with a +silent deference of attention which was most grateful. She knew that +he was not neglectful. She saw a hundred times a day that Obed's mind +was filled with anxiety about her, and that to minister to her +comfort was his one idea. But it was not in words that this was +expressed. It was in helping her up and down from the cabin to the +deck, in fetching wraps, in speaking a cheerful word from time to +time, and, above all, in keeping his family away from her, that he +showed his watchful attention. Thus the time passed, and Zillah was +left to brood over her griefs, and to conjecture hopelessly and at +random about the future. What would that future bring forth? Would +the presence of Hilda console her in any way? She did not see how it +could. After the first joy of meeting, she felt that she would +relapse into her usual sadness. Time only could relieve her, and her +only hope was patience. +<br> +<br> +At last they landed at Naples. Obed took the party to a handsome +house on the Strada Nuova, where he had lodged when he was in Naples +before, and where he obtained a suite of apartments in front, which +commanded a magnificent view of the bay, with all its unrivaled +scenery, together with the tumultuous life of the street below. Here +he left them, and departed himself almost immediately to begin his +search after Hilda. Her letter mentioned that she was stopping at the +"Hotel de l'Europe," in the Strada Toledo; and to this place he first +directed his way. +<br> +<br> +On arriving here he found a waiter who could speak English, which was +a fortunate thing, in his opinion, as he could not speak a word of +any other language. He at once asked if a lady by the name of Miss +Lorton was stopping here. +<br> +<br> +The waiter looked at him with a peculiar glance, and surveyed him +From head to foot. There was something in the expression of his face +which appeared very singular to Obed--a mixture of eager curiosity +and surprise, which to him, to say the least, seemed uncalled for +under the circumstances. He felt indignant at such treatment from a +waiter. +<br> +<br> +"If you will be kind enough to stare less and answer my question," +said he, "I will feel obliged; but perhaps you don't understand +English." +<br> +<br> +"I beg pardon," said the other, in very good English; "but what was +the name of the lady?" +<br> +<br> +"Miss Lorton," said Obed. +<br> +<br> +The waiter looked at him again with the same peculiar glance, and +then replied: +<br> +<br> +"I don't know, but I will ask. Wait here a moment." +<br> +<br> +Saying this, he departed, and Obed saw him speaking to some half a +dozen persons in the hall very earnestly and hurriedly; then he went +off, and in about five minutes returned in company with the master of +the hotel. +<br> +<br> +"Were you asking after a lady?" said he, in very fair English, and +bowing courteously to Obed. +<br> +<br> +"I was," said Obed, who noticed at the same time that this man was +regarding him with the same expression of eager and scrutinizing +curiosity which he had seen on the face of the other. +<br> +<br> +"And what was the name?" +<br> +<br> +"Miss Lorton." +<br> +<br> +"Miss Lorton?" repeated the other; "yes, she is here. Will you be +kind enough to follow me to the parlor until I see whether she is at +home or not, and make her acquainted with your arrival?" +<br> +<br> +At this information, which was communicated with extreme politeness, +Obed felt such immense relief that he forgot altogether about the +very peculiar manner in which he had been scrutinized. A great weight +seemed suddenly to have been lifted off his soul. For the first time +in many weeks he began to breathe freely. He thought of the joy which +he would bring to that poor young girl who had been thrown so +strangely under his protection, and who was so sad. For a moment he +hesitated whether to wait any longer or not. His first impulse was to +hurry away and bring her here; but then in a moment he thought it +would be far better to wait, and to take back Miss Lorton with him in +triumph to her sister. +<br> +<br> +The others watched his momentary hesitation with some apparent +anxiety; but at length it was dispelled by Obed's reply: +<br> +<br> +"Thank you. I think I had better wait and see her. I hope I won't be +detained long." +<br> +<br> +"Oh no. She is doubtless in her room. You will only have to wait a +few minutes." +<br> +<br> +Saying this, they led the way to a pleasant apartment looking out on +the Strada Toledo, and here Obed took a seat, and lost himself in +speculations as to the appearance of the elder Miss Lorton. In about +five minutes the door was opened, and the master of the hotel made +his appearance again. +<br> +<br> +"I find," said he, politely, "that Miss Lorton is not in. She went +out only a few minutes before you came. She left word with her maid, +however, that she was going to a shop up the Strada Toledo to buy +some jewelry. I am going to send a messenger to hasten her return. +Shall I send your name by him?" +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Obed, "I don't know as it's necessary. Better wait till +I see her myself." +<br> +<br> +The landlord said nothing, but looked at him with strange +earnestness. +<br> +<br> +"By-the-way," said Obed, "how is she?" +<br> +<br> +"She?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes; Miss Lorton." +<br> +<br> +"Oh," said the landlord, "very well." +<br> +<br> +"She recovered from her illness then?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh yes." +<br> +<br> +"Is she in good spirits?" +<br> +<br> +"Good spirits?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes; is she happy?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh yes." +<br> +<br> +"I am glad to hear it. I was afraid she might be melancholy." +<br> +<br> +"Oh no," said the landlord, with some appearance of confusion; "oh +no. She's very well. Oh yes." +<br> +<br> +His singular behavior again struck Obed rather oddly, and he stared +at him for a moment. But he at last thought that the landlord might +not know much about the health or the happiness of his guest, and was +answering from general impressions. +<br> +<br> +"I will hasten then, Sir," said the landlord, advancing to the door, +"to send the messenger; and if you will be kind enough to wait, she +will be here soon." +<br> +<br> +He bowed, and going out, he shut the door behind him. Obed, who had +watched his embarrassment, thought that he heard the key turn. The +thing seemed very odd, and he stepped up to the door to try it. It +was locked! +<br> +<br> +"Well, I'll be darned!" cried Obed, standing before the door and +regarding it with astonishment. "I've seen some curious foreign +fashions, but this here _I_talian fashion of locking a man in is a +little the curiousest. And what in thunder is the meaning of it?" +<br> +<br> +He looked at the door with a frown, while there was that on his face +which showed that he might be deliberating whether to kick through +the panels or not. But his momentary indignation soon subsided, and, +with a short laugh, he turned away and strolled up to the window with +an indifferent expression. There he drew up an arm-chair, and seating +himself in this, he looked out into the street. For some time his +attention and his thoughts were all engaged by the busy scene; but at +length he came to himself, and began to think that it was about time +for the return of Miss Lorton. He paced up and down the room +impatiently, till growing tired of this rather monotonous employment, +he sought the window again. Half an hour had now passed, and Obed's +patience was fast failing. Still he waited on, and another half hour +passed. Then he deliberated whether it would not be better to go back +to his rooms, and bring the younger Miss Lorton here to see her +sister. But this thought he soon dismissed. Having waited so long for +the sake of carrying out his first plan, it seemed weak to give it up +on account of a little impatience. He determined, however, to +question the landlord again; so he pulled at the bell. +<br> +<br> +No answer came. +<br> +<br> +He pulled again and again for some minutes. +<br> +<br> +Still there was no answer. +<br> +<br> +He now began to feel indignant, and determined to resort to extreme +measures. So going to the door, he rapped upon it with his stick +several times, each time waiting for an answer. But no answer came. +Then he beat incessantly against the door, keeping up a long, +rolling, rattling volley of knocks without stopping, and making noise +enough to rouse the whole house, even if every body in the house +should happen to be in the deepest of slumbers. Yet even now for some +time there was no response; and Obed at length was beginning to think +of his first purpose, and preparing to kick through the panels, when +his attention was aroused by the sound of heavy footsteps in the +hall. They came nearer and nearer as he stood waiting, and at length +stopped in front of the door. His only thought was that this +was the lady whom he sought so he stepped back, and hastily composed +his face to a pleasant smile of welcome. With this pleasant smile he +awaited the opening of the door. +<br> +<br> +But as the door opened his eyes were greeted by a sight very +different from what he anticipated. No graceful lady-like form was +there--no elder and maturer likeness of that Miss Lorton whose face +was now so familiar to him, and so dear--but a dozen or so gens +d'armes, headed by the landlord. The latter entered the room, while +the others stood outside in the hall. +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Obed, angrily. "What is the meaning of this parade? +Where is Miss Lorton?" +<br> +<br> +"These gentlemen," said the landlord, with much politeness, "will +convey you to the residence of that charming lady." +<br> +<br> +"It seems to me," said Obed, sternly, "that you have been humbugging +me. Give me a civil answer, or I swear I'll wring your neck. Is Miss +Lorton here or not?" +<br> +<br> +The landlord stepped back hastily a pace or two, and made a motion to +the gens d'armes. A half dozen of these filed into the room, and +arranged themselves by the windows. The rest remained in the hall. +<br> +<br> +"What is the meaning of this?" said Obed. "Are you crazy?" +<br> +<br> +"The meaning is this," said the other, sharply and fiercely. "I am +not the landlord of the Hotel de l'Europe, but sub-agent of the +Neapolitan police. And I arrest you in the name of the king." +<br> +<br> +"Arrest _me_!" cried Obed. "What the deuce do you mean?" +<br> +<br> +"It means, Monsieur, that you are trapped at last. I have watched for +you for seven weeks, and have got you now. You need not try to +resist. That is impossible." +<br> +<br> +Obed looked round in amazement. What was the meaning of it all? There +were the gens d'armes--six in the hall, and six in the room. All +were armed. All looked prepared to fall on him at the slightest +signal. +<br> +<br> +"Are you a born fool?" he cried at last, turning to the "agent." "Do +you know what you are doing? I am an American, a native of the great +republic, a free man, and a gentleman. What do you mean by this +insult, and these beggarly policemen?" +<br> +<br> <img src="images/136.png" alt="Don't Move, Or I'll Blow Your Brains Out!"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "Don't Move, Or I'll Blow Your Brains Out!"] +<br> +<br> +"I mean this," said the other, "that you are my prisoner." +<br> +<br> +"I am, am I?" said Obed, with a grim smile. +<br> +<br> +"A prisoner! My friend, that is a difficult thing to come to pass +without my consent." +<br> +<br> +And saying this, he quietly drew a revolver from his breast pocket. +<br> +<br> +"Now," said he, "my good friend, look here. I have this little +instrument, and I'm a dead shot. I don't intend to be humbugged. If +any one of you dare to make a movement I'll put a bullet through you. +And you, you scoundrel, stand where you are, or you'll get the first +bullet. You've got hold of the wrong man this time, but I'm going to +get satisfaction for this out of your infernal beggarly government. +As to you, answer my questions. First, who the deuce do you take me +to be? You've made some infernal mistake or other." +<br> +<br> +The agent cowered beneath the stern eye of Obed. He felt himself +covered by his pistol, and did not dare to move. The gens d'armes +looked disturbed, but made no effort to interfere. They felt that +they had to do with a desperate man, and waited for orders. +<br> +<br> +"Don't you hear my question?" thundered Obed. "What the deuce is the +meaning of this, and who the deuce do you take me for? Don't move," +he cried, seeing a faint movement of the agent's hand; "or I'll blow +your brains out; I will, by the Eternal!" +<br> +<br> +"Beware," faltered the agent; "I belong to the police. I am doing my +duty." +<br> +<br> +"Pooh! What is your beggarly police to me, or your beggarly king +either, and all his court? There are a couple of Yankee frigates out +there that could bring down the whole concern in a half hour's +bombardment. You've made a mistake, you poor, pitiful concern; but +I'm in search of information, and I'm bound to get it. Answer me now +without any more humbugging. What's the meaning of this?" +<br> +<br> +"I was ordered to watch for any one who might come here and ask for +'_Miss Lorton_,'" said the agent, who spoke like a criminal to a +judge. "I have watched here for seven weeks. You came to-day, and you +are under arrest." +<br> +<br> +"Ah?" said Obed, as a light began to flash upon him. "Who ordered you +to watch?" +<br> +<br> +"The prefect." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know any thing about the person whom you were to arrest?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Don't you know his crime?" +<br> +<br> +"No. It had something to do with the French police." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know his name?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"What was it?" +<br> +<br> +"_Gualtier_," said the agent. +<br> +<br> +"And you think I am Gualtier?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"And so there is no such person as Miss Lorton here?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Hasn't she been here at all?" +<br> +<br> +"No; no such person has ever been here." +<br> +<br> +"That'll do," said Obed, gravely, and with some sadness in his face. +As he spoke, he put back his revolver into his pocket. "My good +friend," said he, "you've made a mistake, and put me to some +annoyance, but you've only done your duty. I forgive you. I am not +this man Gualtier whom you are after, but I am the man that is after +him. Perhaps it would have been better for me to have gone straight +to the police when I first came, but I thought I'd find her here. +However, I can go there now. I have a message and a letter of +introduction to the prefect of police here from the prefect at +Marseilles, which I am anxious now to deliver as soon as possible. +So, my young friend, I'll go with you after all, and you needn't +be in the least afraid of me." +<br> +<br> +The agent still looked dubious; but Obed, who was in a hurry now, and +had got over his indignation, took from his pocket-book some official +documents bearing the marks of the French prefecture, and addressed +to that of Naples. This satisfied the agent, and, with many +apologies, he walked off with Obed down to the door, and there +entering a cab, they drove to the prefecture. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XL. +<br> +<br> +GLIMPSES OF THE TRUTH. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile, during Obed's absence, Zillah remained in the Strada +Nuova. The windows looked out upon the street and upon the bay, +commanding a view of the most glorious scenery on earth, and also of +the most exciting street spectacles which any city can offer. Full of +impatience though she was, she could not remain unaffected by that +first glimpse of Naples, which she then obtained from those windows +by which she was sitting. For what city is like Naples? Beauty, life, +laughter, gayety, all have their home here. The air itself is +intoxication. The giddy crowds that whirl along in every direction +seem to belong to a different and a more joyous race than sorrowing +humanity. For ages Naples has been "the captivating," and still she +possesses the same charm, and she will possess it for ages yet to +come. +<br> +<br> +The scene upon which Zillah gazed was one which might have brought +distraction and alleviation to cares and griefs even heavier than +hers. Never had she seen such a sight as this which she now beheld. +There before her spread away the deep blue waters of Naples Bay, +dotted by the snow-white sails of countless vessels, from the small +fishing-boat up to the giant ship of war. On that sparkling bosom of +the deep was represented almost every thing that floats, from the +light, swift, and curiously rigged lateen sloop, to the modern +mail-packet. Turning from the sea the eye might rest upon the +surrounding shores, and find there material of even deeper interest. +On the right, close by, was the projecting castle, and sweeping +beyond this the long curving beach, above which, far away, rose the +green trees of the gardens of the Villa Reale. Farther away rose the +hills on whose slope stands what is claimed to be the grave of +Virgil, whose picturesque monument, whether it be really his or not, +suggests his well-known epitaph: +<br> +<br> + "I sing flocks, tillage, heroes. Mantua gave<br> + Me life; Brundusium death; Naples a grave." +<br> +<br> +Through those hills runs the Titanic grotto of Posilippo, which leads +to that historic land beyond--the land of the Cumaeans and Oscans; +or, still more, the land of the luxurious Romans of the empire; where +Sylla lived, and Cicero loved to retire; which Julius loved, and +Horace, and every Roman of taste or refinement. There spread away the +lake Lucrine, bordered by the Elysian Fields; there was the long +grotto through which Aeneas passed; where once the Cumaean Sibyl +dwelt and delivered her oracles. There was Misenum, where once the +Roman navy rode at anchor; Baiae, where once all Roman luxury loved +to pass the summer season; Puteoli, where St. Paul landed when on his +way to Caesar's throne. There were the waters in which Nero thought +to drown Agrippina, and over which another Roman emperor built that +colossal bridge which set at defiance the prohibition of nature. +There was the rock of Ischia, terminating the line of coast; and out +at sea, immediately in front, the isle of Capri, forever associated +with the memory of Tiberius, with his deep wiles, his treachery, and +his remorseless cruelty. There, too, on the left and nearest Capri, +were the shores of Sorrento, that earthly paradise whose trees are +always green, whose fruits always ripe; there the cave of Polyphemus +penetrates the lofty mountains, and brings back that song of Homer by +which it is immortalized. Coming nearer, the eye rested on the +winding shores of Castellamare, on vineyards and meadows and +orchards, which fill all this glorious land. Nearer yet the scene was +dominated by the stupendous form of Vesuvius, at once the glory and +the terror of all this scene, from whose summit there never ceases to +come that thin line of smoke, the symbol of possible ruin to all who +dwell within sight of it. Round it lie the buried cities, whose +charred remains have been exhumed to tell what may yet be the fate of +those other younger cities which have arisen on their ashes. +<br> +<br> +While the scene beyond was so enthralling, there was one nearer by +which was no less so. This was the street itself, with that wild, +never-ending rush of riotous, volatile, multitudinous life, which can +be equaled by no other city. There the crowd swept along on +horseback, on wheels, on foot; gentlemen riding for pleasure, or +dragoons on duty; parties driving into the country; tourists on their +way to the environs; market farmers with their rude carts; +wine-sellers; fig-dealers; peddlers of oranges, of dates, of +anisette, of water; of macaroni. Through the throng innumerable +calashes dashed to and fro, crowded down, in true Neapolitan fashion, +with inconceivable numbers; for in Naples the calash is not full +unless a score or so are in some way clinging to it--above, below, +before, behind. There, too, most marked of all, were the lazaroni, +whose very existence in Naples is a sign of the ease with which life +is sustained in so fair a spot, who are born no one knows where, who +live no one knows how, but who secure as much of the joy of life as +any other human beings; the strange result of that endless +combination of races which have come together in Naples--the Greek, +the Italian, the Norman, the Saracen, and Heaven only knows what +else. +<br> +<br> +Such scenes as these, such crowds, such life, such universal +movement, for a long time attracted Zillah's attention; and she +watched them with childish eagerness. At last, however, the novelty +was over, and she began to wonder why Obed Chute had not returned. +Looking at her watch, she found, to her amazement, that two hours had +passed since his departure. He had left at ten; it was then mid-day. +What was keeping him? She had expected him back before half an hour, +but he had not yet returned. She had thought that it needed but a +journey to the Hotel de l'Europe to find Hilda, and bring her here. +Anxiety now began to arise in her mind, and the scenes outside lost +all charm for her. Her impatience increased till it became +intolerable. Miss Chute saw her agitation, and made some attempt to +soothe her, but in vain. In fact, by one o'clock, Zillah had given +herself up to all sorts of fears. Sometimes she thought that Hilda +had grown tired of waiting, and had gone back to England, and was now +searching through France and Italy for her; again she thought that +perhaps she had experienced a relapse and had died here in Naples, +far away from all friends, while she herself was loitering in +Marseilles; at another time her fears took a more awful turn--her +thoughts turned on Gualtier--and she imagined that he had, perhaps, +come on to Naples to deal to Hilda that fate which he had tried to +deal to her. These thoughts were all maddening, and filled her with +uncontrollable agitation. She felt sure at last that some dread thing +had happened, which Obed Chute had discovered, and which he feared to +reveal to her. Therefore he kept away; and on no other grounds could +she account for his long-continued absence. +<br> +<br> +Two o'clock passed--and three, and four, and five. The suspense was +fearful to Zillah, so fearful, indeed, that at last she felt that it +would be a relief to hear any news--even the worst. +<br> +<br> +At length her suspense was ended. About half past five Obed returned. +Anxiety was on his face, and he looked at Zillah with an expression +of the deepest pity and commiseration. She on her part advanced to +meet him with white lips and trembling frame, and laid on his hand +her own, which was like ice. +<br> +<br> +"You have not found her?" she faltered, in a scarce audible voice. +<br> +<br> +Obed shook his head. +<br> +<br> +"She is dead, then!" cried Zillah; "she is dead! She died here--among +strangers--in Naples, and I--I delayed in Marseilles!" +<br> +<br> +A deep groan burst from her, and all the anguish of self-reproach and +keen remorse swept over her soul. +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute looked at her earnestly and mournfully. +<br> +<br> +"My child," said he, taking her little hand tenderly in both of +his--"my poor child--you need not be afraid that your sister is dead. +She is alive--as much as you are." +<br> +<br> +"Alive!" cried Zillah, rousing herself from her despair. "Alive! God +be thanked! Have you found out that? But where is she?" +<br> +<br> +"Whether God is to be thanked or not I do not know," said Obed; "but +it's my solemn belief that she is as much alive as she ever was." +<br> +<br> +"But where is she?" cried Zillah, eagerly. "Have you found out that?" +<br> +<br> +"It would take a man with a head as long as a horse to tell that," +said Obed, sententiously. +<br> +<br> +"What do you mean? Have you not found out that? How do you know that +she is alive? You only hope so--as I do. You do not know so. Oh, do +not, do not keep me in suspense." +<br> +<br> +"I mean," said Obed, slowly and solemnly, "that this sister of yours +has never been in Naples; that there is no such steamer in existence +as that which she mentions in her letter which you showed me; that +there is no such ship, and no such captain, and no such captain's +wife, as those which she writes about; that no such person was ever +picked up adrift in that way, and brought here, except your own poor +innocent, trustful, loving self--you, my poor dear child, who have +been betrayed by miserable assassins. And by the Eternal!" cried +Obed, with a deeper solemnity in his voice, raising up at the same +time his colossal arm and his clenched fist to heaven--"by the +Eternal! I swear I'll trace all this out yet, and pay it out in full +to these infernal devils!" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my God!" cried Zillah. "What do you mean? Do you mean that Hilda +has not been here at all?" +<br> +<br> +"No such person has ever been in Naples." +<br> +<br> +"Why, was she not picked up adrift? and where could they have taken +her?" +<br> +<br> +"She never was picked up. Rely upon that. No such ship as the one she +mentions has ever been here." +<br> +<br> +"Then she has written down 'Naples' in mistake," cried Zillah, while +a shudder passed through her at Obed's frightful insinuation. +<br> +<br> +"No," said Obed. "She wrote it down deliberately, and wrote it +several times. Her repetition of that name, her description of the +charms of Naples, show that she did this intentionally. Besides, your +envelope has the Naples postage stamps and the Naples post-marks. It +was mailed here, whether it was written here or not. It was sent from +here to fetch you to this place, on this journey, which resulted as +you remember." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my God!" cried Zillah, as the full horror of Obed's meaning +began to dawn upon her. "What do you mean? What do you mean? Do you +wish to drive me to utter despair? Tell me where you have been and +what you have done. Oh, my God! Is any new grief coming?" +<br> +<br> +"My child, the Lord on high knows," said Obed Chute, with solemn +emphasis, "that I would cut off my right hand with my own +bowie-knife, rather than bring back to you the news I do. But what +can be done? It is best for you to know the whole truth, bitter as it +is." +<br> +<br> +"Go on," said Zillah, with an effort to be calm. +<br> +<br> +"Come," said Obed, and he led her to a seat. "Calm yourself, and +prepare for the worst. For at the outset, and by way of preparation +and warning, I will say that yours is a little the darkest case that +I ever got acquainted with. The worst of it is that there is ever so +much behind it all which I don't know any thing about." +<br> +<br> +Zillah leaned her head upon her hand and looked at him with awful +forebodings. +<br> +<br> +"When I left you," said Obed Chute, "I went at once to the Hotel de +l'Europe, expecting to find her there, or at least to hear of her. I +will not relate the particulars of my inquiry there. I will only say +that no such person as Miss Lorton had been there. I found, however, +that the police had been watching there for seven weeks for Gualtier. +I went with them to the Prefecture of Police. I gave my letter of +introduction from the prefect of Marseilles, and was treated with the +utmost attention. The prefect himself informed me that they had been +searching into the whole case for weeks. They had examined all the +vessels that had arrived, and had inspected all their logs. They had +searched through foreign papers. They had visited every house in the +city to which a stranger might go. The prefect showed me his +voluminous reports, and went with me to the Harbor Bureau to show me +the names of ships which arrived here and were owned here. Never +could there be a more searching investigation than this had been. +What was the result? +<br> +<br> +"Listen," said Obed, with impressive emphasis, yet compassionately, +as Zillah hung upon his words. "I will tell you all in brief. First, +no such person as Miss Lorton ever came to the Hotel de l'Europe. +Secondly, no such person ever came to Naples at all. Thirdly, no ship +arrived here at the date mentioned by your sister. Fourthly, no ship +of that name ever came here at all. Fifthly, no ship arrived here at +any time this year that had picked up any one at sea. The whole thing +is untrue. It is a base fiction made up for some purpose." +<br> +<br> +"A fiction!" cried Zillah. "Never--never--she could not so deceive +me." +<br> +<br> +"Can the writing be forged?" +<br> +<br> +"I don't see how it can," said Zillah, piteously. "I know her writing +so well," and she drew the letter from her pocket. "See--it is a very +peculiar hand--and then, how could any one speak as she does about +those things of hers which she wished me to bring? No--it can not be +a forgery." +<br> +<br> +"It is not," said Obed Chute. "It is worse." +<br> +<br> +"Worse?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, worse. If it had been a forgery she would not have been +implicated in this. But now she does stand implicated in this +horrible betrayal of you." +<br> +<br> +"Heavens! how terrible! It must be impossible. Oh, Sir! we have lived +together and loved one another from childhood. She knows all my +heart, as I know hers. How can it be? Perhaps in her confusion she +has imagined herself in Naples." +<br> +<br> +"No," said Obed, sternly. "I have told you about the post-marks." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Sir! perhaps her mind was wandering after the suffering of that +sea voyage." +<br> +<br> +"But she never had any voyage," said Obed Chute, grimly. "This letter +was written by her somewhere with the intention of making you believe +that she was in Naples. It was mailed here. If she had landed in +Palermo or any other place you would have had some sign of it. But +see--there is not a sign. Nothing but 'Naples' is here, inside and +out--nothing but 'Naples;' and she never came to Naples! She wrote +this to bring you here." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my God! how severely you judge her! You will drive me mad by +insinuating such frightful suspicions. How is it possible that one +whom I know so well and love so dearly could be such a demon as this? +It can not be." +<br> +<br> +"Listen, my child," said Obed Chute, tenderly. "Strengthen yourself. +You have had much to bear in your young life, but this is easier to +bear than that was which you must have suffered that morning when you +first woke and found the water in your cabin. Tell me--in that hour +when you rushed up on deck and saw that you were betrayed--in that +hour--did no thought come to your mind that there was some other than +Gualtier who brought this upon you?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked at him with a frightened face, and said not a word. +<br> +<br> +"Better to face the worst. Let the truth be known, and face it, +whatever it is. Look, now. She wrote this letter which brought you +here--this letter--every word of which is a lie; she it was who sent +Gualtier to you to bring you here; she it was who recommended to you +that miscreant who betrayed you, on whose tracks the police of France +and Italy are already set. How do you suppose she will appear in the +eyes of the French police? Guilty, or not guilty?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah muttered some inarticulate words, and then suddenly gasped +out, "But the hat and the basket found by the fishermen?" +<br> +<br> +"Decoys--common tricks," said Obed Chute, scornfully. "Clumsy enough, +but in this case successful." +<br> +<br> +Zillah groaned, and buried her face in her hands. +<br> +<br> +A long silence followed. +<br> +<br> +"My poor child," said Obed Chute at last, "I have been all the day +making inquiries every where, and have already engaged the police to +search out this mystery. There is one thing yet, however, which I +wish to know, and you only can tell it. I am sorry to have to talk in +this way, and give you any new troubles, but it is for your sake +only, and for your sake there is nothing which I would not do. Will +you answer me one question?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked up. Her face had now grown calm. The agitation had +passed. The first shock was over, but this calm which followed was +the calm of fixed grief--a grief too deep for tears. +<br> +<br> +"My question is this, and it is a very important one: Do you know, or +can you conceive of any motive which could have actuated this person +to plot against you in this way?" +<br> +<br> +"I do not." +<br> +<br> +"Think." +<br> +<br> +Zillah thought earnestly. She recalled the past, in which Hilda had +always been so devoted; she thought of the dying Earl by whose +bedside she had stood so faithfully; she thought of her deep sympathy +with her when the writings were found in her father's desk; she +thought of that deeper sympathy which she had manifested when Guy's +letter was opened; she thought of her noble devotion in giving up all +for her and following her into seclusion; she thought of their happy +life in that quiet little sea-side cottage. As all these memories +rose before her the idea of Hilda being a traitor seemed more +impossible than ever. But she no longer uttered any indignant +remonstrance. +<br> +<br> +"I am bewildered," she said. "I can think of nothing but love and +fidelity in connection with her. All our lives she has lived with me +and loved me. I can not think of any imaginable motive. I can imagine +that she, like myself, is the victim of some one else, but not that +she can do any thing else than love me." +<br> +<br> +"Yet she wrote that letter which is the cause of all your grief. Tell +me," said he, after a pause, "has she money of her own?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes--enough for her support." +<br> +<br> +"Is she your sister?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah seemed startled. +<br> +<br> +"I do not wish to intrude into your confidence--I only ask this to +gain some light while I am groping in the dark." +<br> +<br> +"She is not. She is no relation. But she has lived with me all my +life, and is the same as a sister." +<br> +<br> +"Does she treat you as her equal?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Zillah, with some hesitation, "that is--of late." +<br> +<br> +"But you have been her superior until of late?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Would you have any objection to tell her name?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Zillah; "I can not tell it. I will tell this much: Lorton +is an assumed name. It belongs neither to her nor to me. My name is +not Lorton." +<br> +<br> +"I knew that," said Obed Chute. "I hope you will forgive me. It was +not curiosity. I wished to investigate this to the bottom; but I am +satisfied--I respect your secret. Will you forgive me for the pain I +have caused you?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah placed her cold hand in his, and said: +<br> +<br> +"My friend, do not speak so. It hurts me to have you ask my +forgiveness." +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute's face beamed with pleasure. +<br> +<br> +"My poor child," he said, "you must go and rest yourself. Go and +sleep; perhaps you will be better for it." +<br> +<br> +And Zillah dragged herself out of the room. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XLI. +<br> +<br> +OBED ON THE RAMPAGE. +<br> +<br> +A long illness was the immediate result of so much excitement, +suffering, and grief. Gradually, however, Zillah struggled through +it; and at last, under the genial sky of Southern Italy, she began to +regain her usual health. The kindness of her friends was unfaltering +and incessant. Through this she was saved, and it was Obed's sister +who brought her back from the clutches of fever and the jaws of +death. She had as tender a heart as her brother, and had come to love +as a sister or a daughter this poor, friendless, childlike girl, who +had been thrown upon their hands in so extraordinary a manner. +Brought up in that puritanical school which is perpetually on the +look-out for "special providences," she regarded Zillah's arrival +among them as the most marked special providence which she had ever +known, and never ceased to affirm that something wonderful was +destined to come of all this. Around this faithful, noble-hearted, +puritanical dame, Zillah's affections twined themselves with +something like filial tenderness, and she learned in the course of +her illness to love that simple, straightforward, but high-souled +woman, whose love she had already won. Hitherto she had associated +the practice of chivalrous principles and the grand code of honor +exclusively with lofty gentlemen like the Earl and her father, or +with titled dames; now, however, she learned that here, in Obed +Chute, there was as fine an instinct of honor, as delicate a +sentiment of loyalty to friendship, as refined a spirit of +knight-errantry, as strong a zeal to succor the weak and to become +the champion of the oppressed, and as profound a loathing for all +that is base and mean, as in either of those grand old gentlemen by +whom her character had been moulded. Had Obed Chute been born an +English lord his manners might have had a finer polish, but no +training known among the sons of men could have given him a truer +appreciation of all that is noble and honorable and chivalrous. This +man, whose life had been passed in what Zillah considered as "vulgar +trade," seemed to her to have a nature as pure and as elevated as +that of the Chevalier Bayard, that hero _sans peur et sans reproche_. +<br> +<br> +Obed, as has already been seen, had a weakness for Neapolitan life, +and felt in his inmost soul that strange fascination which this city +possesses. He had traversed every nook and corner of Naples, and had +visited, with a strange mixture of enthusiasm and practical +observation, all its environs. In the course of his wanderings he had +fallen in with a party of his countrymen, all of whom were kindred +spirits, and who hailed his advent among them with universal +appreciation. Without in any way neglecting Zillah, he joined himself +to these new friends, and accompanied them in many an excursion into +the country about Naples--to Capua, to Cumae, to Paestum, and to many +other places. To some of these places it was dangerous to go in these +unsettled times; but this party laughed at dangers. They had acquired +a good-natured contempt for Italians and Italian courage; and as each +man, in spite of the Neapolitan laws, carried his revolver, they were +accustomed to venture any where with the most careless ease, and the +most profound indifference to any possible danger. In fact, any +approach to danger they would have hailed with joy, and to their +adventurous temper the appearance of a gang of bandits would have +been the greatest blessing which this land could afford. +<br> +<br> +The whole country was in a most disturbed condition. The Lombard war +had diffused a deep excitement among all classes. Every day new +rumors arose, and throughout the Neapolitan dominions the population +were filled with strange vague desires. The government itself was +demoralized--one day exerting its utmost power in the most repressive +measures, and on the next recalling its own acts, and retreating in +fear from the position which it had taken up. The troops were as +agitated as the people. It was felt that in case of an attempt at +revolution they could not be relied upon. In the midst of all other +fears one was predominant, and was all comprised in one magic +word--the name of that one man who alone, in our age, has shown +himself able to draw nations after him, and by the spell of his +presence to paralyze the efforts of kings. That one word was +"Garibaldi." +<br> +<br> +What he was, or what he was to do, were things which were but little +known to these ignorant Neapolitans. They simply accepted the name as +the symbol of some great change by which all were to be benefited. He +was, in their thoughts, half hero, half Messiah, before whom all +opposing armies should melt away, and by whom all wrongs should be +redressed. Through the heart of this agitated mass there penetrated +the innumerable ramifications of secret societies, whose agents +guided, directed, and intensified the prevalent excitement. These +were the men who originated those daily rumors which threw both +government and people into a fever of agitation; who taught new hopes +and new desires to the most degraded population of Christendom, and +inspired even the lazaroni with wild ideas of human rights--of +liberty, fraternity, and equality. These agents had a far-reaching +purpose, and to accomplish this they worked steadily, in all parts +and among all classes, until at last the whole state was ripe for +some vast revolution. Such was the condition of the people among whom +Obed and his friends pursued their pleasures. +<br> +<br> +The party with which Obed had connected himself was a varied one. +There were two officers from those "Yankee frigates" which he had +hurled in the teeth of the police agent at the Hotel de l'Europe; two +young fellows fresh from Harvard, and on their way to Heidelberg, who +had come direct from New York to Naples, and were in no hurry to +leave; a Southerner, fresh from a South Carolina plantation, making +his first tour in Europe; a Cincinnati lawyer; and a Boston clergyman +traveling for his health, to recruit which he had been sent away by +his loving congregation. With all these Obed at once fraternized, and +soon became the acknowledged leader, though, as he could not speak +Italian, he was compelled to delegate all quarrels with the natives +to the two Heidelbergians, who had studied Italian on their way out, +and had aired it very extensively since their arrival. +<br> +<br> +Having exhausted the land excursions, the party obtained a yacht, in +which they intended to make the circuit of the bay. On their first +voyage they went around its whole extent, and then, rounding the +island of Capri, they sailed along the coast to the southeast without +any very definite purpose. +<br> +<br> +The party presented a singular appearance. All were dressed in the +most careless manner, consulting convenience without any regard to +fashion. The Heidelbergians had made their appearance in red flannel +shirts and broad-brimmed felt hats, which excited such admiration +that the others at once determined to equal them. Obed, the officers, +and the South Carolinian went off, and soon returned with red flannel +shirts and wide-awake hats of their own, for which they soon +exchanged their more correct costume. The lawyer and the clergyman +compromised the matter by donning reefing jackets; and thus the whole +party finally set out, and in this attire they made their cruise, +with many loud laughs at the strange transformation which a change of +dress had made in each other's appearance. +<br> +<br> +In this way they made the circuit of the bay, and proceeded along the +coast until they came opposite to Salerno. It was already four +o'clock, and as they could not get back to Naples that day they +decided to land at this historic town, with the hope that they might +be rewarded by some adventure. The yacht, therefore, was headed +toward the town, and flew rapidly over the waves to her destination. +<br> +<br> +On rounding a headland which lay between them and the town their +progress was slow. As they moved toward the harbor they sat lazily +watching the white houses as they stretched along the winding beach, +and the Boston clergyman, who seemed to be well up in his medieval +history, gave them an account of the former glories of this place, +when its university was the chief medical school of Europe, and +Arabian and Jewish professors taught to Christian students the +mysteries of science. With their attention thus divided between the +learned dissertation of the clergyman and the charms of the town, +they approached their destination. +<br> +<br> +It was not until they had come quite near that they noticed an +unusual crowd along the shore. When they did notice it they at first +supposed that it might be one of those innumerable saints' days which +are so common in Italy. Now, as they drew nearer, they noticed that +the attention of the crowd was turned to themselves. This excited +their wonder at first, but after a time they thought that in so dull +a place as Salerno the arrival of a yacht was sufficient to excite +curiosity, and with this idea many jokes were bandied about. At +length they approached the principal wharf of the place, and directed +the yacht toward it. As they did so they noticed a universal movement +on the part of the crowd, who made a rush toward the wharf, and in a +short time filled it completely. Not even the most extravagant ideas +of Italian laziness and curiosity could account for this intense +interest in the movements of an ordinary yacht; and so our Americans +soon found themselves lost in an abyss of wonder. +<br> +<br> +Why should they be so stared at? Why should the whole population of +Salerno thus turn out, and make a wild rush to the wharf at which +they were to land? It was strange; it was inexplicable; it was also +embarrassing. Not even the strongest curiosity could account for such +excitement as this. +<br> +<br> +"What 'n thunder does it all mean?" said Obed, after a long silence. +<br> +<br> +"There's something up," said the Cincinnati lawyer, sententiously. +<br> +<br> +"Perhaps it is a repetition of the landing at Naples on a grander +scale," said the clergyman. "I remember when I landed there at least +fifty lazaroni followed me to carry my carpet-bag." +<br> +<br> +"Fifty?" cried one of the Heidelbergians. "Why, there are five +hundred after us!" +<br> +<br> +"But these are not lazaroni," said Obed. "Look at that crowd! Did you +ever see a more respectable one?" +<br> +<br> +In truth, the crowd was in the highest degree respectable. There were +some workmen, and some lazaroni. But the greater number consisted of +well-dressed people, among whom were intermingled priests and +soldiers, and even women. All these, whatever their rank, bore in +their faces an expression of the intensest curiosity and interest. +The expression was unmistakable, and as the yacht came nearer, those +on board were able to see that they were the objects of no common +attention. If they had doubted this, this doubt was soon dispelled; +for as the yacht grazed the wharf a movement took place among the +crowd, and a confused cry of applause arose. +<br> +<br> +For such a welcome as this the yachting party were certainly not +prepared. All looked up in amazement, with the exception of Obed. He +alone was found equal to the occasion. Without stopping to consider +what the cause of such a reception might be, he was simply conscious +of an act of public good-will, and prepared to respond in a fitting +manner. He was standing on the prow at the time, and drawing his tall +form to its full height, he regarded the crowd for a moment with a +benignant smile; after which he removed his hat and bowed with great +_empressement_. +<br> +<br> +At this there arose another shout of applause from the whole crowd, +which completed the amazement of the tourists. Meanwhile the yacht +swung up close to the wharf, and as there was nothing else to be done +they prepared to land, leaving her in charge of her crew, which +consisted of several sailors from one of the American frigates. The +blue shirts of these fellows formed a pleasing contrast to the red +shirts and reefing jackets of the others, and the crowd on the wharf +seemed to feel an indiscriminate admiration for he crew as well as +for the masters. Such attentions were certainly somewhat +embarrassing, and presented to these adventurous spirits a novel kind +of difficulty; but whether novel or not, there was now no honorable +escape from it, and they had to encounter it boldly by plunging into +the midst of the crowd. So they landed--eight as singular figures as +ever disturbed the repose of this peaceful town of Salerno. Obed +headed the procession, dressed in a red shirt with black trowsers, +and a scarf tied round his waist, while a broad-brimmed felt hat +shaded his expansive forehead. His tall form, his broad shoulders, +his sinewy frame, made him by far the most conspicuous member of this +company, and attracted to him the chief admiration of the spectators. +Low, murmured words arose as he passed amidst them, expressive of the +profound impression which had been produced by the sight of his +magnificent physique. After him came the others in Indian file; for +the crowd was dense, and only parted sufficiently to allow of the +progress of one man at a time. The Southerner came next to Obed, then +the Heidelbergians, then the naval officers, while the clergyman and +the Cincinnati lawyer, in their picturesque pea-jackets, brought up +the rear. Even in a wide-awake American town such a company would +have attracted attention; how much more so in this sleepy, secluded, +quiet, Italian town! especially at such a time, when all men every +where were on the look-out for great enterprises. +<br> +<br> +Obed marched on with his friends till they left the wharf and were +able to walk on together more closely. The crowd followed. The +Americans took the middle of the street, and walked up into the town +through what seemed the principal thoroughfare. The crowd pressed +after them, showing no decrease whatever in their ardent curiosity, +yet without making any noisy demonstrations. They seemed like men who +were possessed by some conviction as to the character of these +strangers, and were in full sympathy with them, but were waiting to +see what they might _do_. The Americans, on their side, were more and +more surprised at every step, and could not imagine any cause +whatever for so very singular a reception. They did not even know +whether to view it as a hostile demonstration, or as a sort of +triumphant reception. They could not imagine what they had done which +might merit either the one or the other. All that was left for them +to do, therefore, they did; and that means, they accepted the +situation, and walked along intent only upon the most prosaic of +purposes--the discovery of a hotel. At length, after a few minutes' +walk, they found the object of their search in a large stucco edifice +which bore the proud title of "Hôtel de l'Univers" in French. Into +this they turned, seeking refuge and refreshment. The crowd without +respected their seclusion. They did not pour into the hotel and fill +it to overflowing from top to bottom, but simply stood outside, in +front, in a densely packed mass, from which arose constantly the deep +hum of earnest, animated, and eager conversation. +<br> +<br> +On entering they were accosted by the landlord, who received them +with the utmost obsequiousness, and a devotion which was absolute. He +informed them that the whole hotel was at their disposal, and wished +to know at what time their excellencies would be pleased to dine. +Their excellencies informed him, through the medium of the +Heidelbergians, that they would be pleased to dine as soon as +possible; whereupon the landlord led them to a large upper room and +bowed himself out. +<br> +<br> +Their room looked out upon the street. There was a balcony in front +of the windows; and, as they sat there waiting, they could see the +dense crowd as it stood in front of the hotel--quiet, orderly, +waiting patiently; yet waiting for what? That was the problem. It was +so knotty a problem that it engaged all their thoughts and +discussions while they were waiting for dinner, and while they were +eating their dinner. At last that solemn meal was over, and they +arose refreshed; but the peaceful satisfaction that generally ensues +after such an important meal was now very seriously disturbed, in +their case, by the singular nature of their situation. There was the +crowd outside still, though it was already dusk. +<br> +<br> +"I think," said Obed, "that I'll step out and see what is going on. +I'll just look around, you know." +<br> +<br> +Saying this, Obed passed through the open window, and went out on the +balcony. His appearance was the cause of an immense sensation. For a +moment the crowd was hushed, and a thousand eyes were fixed in awe +and admiration upon his colossal form. Then the silence was suddenly +broken by loud, long, and wild acclamations, "_Viva la Liberia_!" +"_Viva la Republica_!" "_Viva l'Italia_!" "_Viva Vittore Emmanuele_!" +"_Viva Garibaldi_!" +<br> +<br> +This last word was caught up with a kind of mad enthusiasm, and +passed from mouth to mouth till it drowned all other cries. +<br> +<br> +"What'n thunder's all this?" cried Obed, putting his head into the +room, and looking at the Heidelbergians. "See here--come out here," +he continued, "and find out what in the name of goodness it all +means, for I'll be durned if I can make head or tail of it." +<br> +<br> +At this appeal the Heidelbergians stepped out, and after them came +the naval officers, while the rest followed, till the whole eight +stood on the balcony. +<br> +<br> +Their appearance was greeted with a thunder of applause. +<br> +<br> +Obed knew not what it all meant, nor did any of the others; but as he +was the acknowledged leader he felt upon him the responsibility of +his situation, and so, with this feeling animating him, he responded +to the salutation of the crowd by a low bow. +<br> +<br> +It was now dusk, and the twilight of this southern climate was +rapidly deepening, when suddenly the Americans were aware of a sound +in the distance like the galloping of horses. The sound seemed to +strike the crowd below at the same moment. Cries arose, and they fell +back quickly on either side of the road, leaving a broad path in +their midst. The Americans did not have a long time left to them for +conjecture or for wonder. The sounds drew nearer and nearer, until at +last, through the gloom, a body of dragoons were plainly seen +galloping down the street. They dashed through the crowd, they reined +in their horses in front of the hotel, and, a the sharp word of +command from their leader, a number of them dismounted, and followed +him inside, while the rest remained without. +<br> +<br> +The crowd stood breathless and mute. The Americans saw in this a very +singular variation to the events of the evening, and, as they could +no more account for this than for those which had preceded it, they +waited to see the end. +<br> +<br> +They did not have to wait long. +<br> +<br> +A noise in the room which they had left roused them. Looking in they +saw about a dozen dragoons with the captain and the landlord. The +dragoons had arranged themselves in line at the word of command, and +the landlord stood with a terror-stricken face beside the captain. +<br> +<br> +"Ah!" said Obed, who had looked through the window into the room, +"this looks serious. There's some absurd mistake somewhere, but just +now it does seem as though they want us, so I move that we go in and +show ourselves." +<br> +<br> +Saying this he entered the room, followed by the others, and the +eight Americans ranged themselves quietly opposite the dragoons. The +sight of these red-shirted strangers produced a very peculiar effect +on the soldiers, as was evident by their faces and their looks; and +the captain, as he regarded the formidable proportions of Obed, +seemed somewhat overawed. But he soon overcame his emotion, and, +stepping forward, he exclaimed: +<br> +<br> +"Siete nostri prigionieri. Rendetevi." +<br> +<br> +"What's that he says?" asked Obed. +<br> +<br> +"He says we're his prisoners," said one of the Heidelbergians, "and +calls on us to surrender." +<br> +<br> +"Tell him," said Obed, unconsciously parodying Leonidas--"Tell him to +come on and take us." +<br> +<br> +The Heidelbergian translated this verbatim. +<br> +<br> +The captain looked puzzled. +<br> +<br> +"Boys," said Obed, "you may as well get your revolvers ready." +<br> +<br> +At this quiet hint every one of the Americans, including even the +Boston clergyman, drew forth his revolver, holding it carelessly, yet +in such a very handy fashion that the captain of the dragoons looked +aghast. +<br> +<br> +"I will have no resistance," said he. "Surrender, or you will be shot +down." +<br> +<br> +"Ha, ha!" said the Heidelbergian. "Do you see our revolvers? Do you +think that we are the men to surrender?" +<br> +<br> +"I have fifty dragoons outside," said the officer. +<br> +<br> +"Very well, we have forty-eight shots to your fifty," said the +Heidelbergian, whose Italian, on this occasion, "came out uncommonly +strong," as Obed afterward said when the conversation was narrated to +him. +<br> +<br> +"I am commanded to arrest you," said the officer. +<br> +<br> +"Well, go back and say that you tried, and couldn't do it," said the +Heidelbergian. +<br> +<br> +"Your blood will be on your own heads." +<br> +<br> +"Pardon me; some of it will be on yours, and some of your own blood +also," retorted the Heidelbergian, mildly. +<br> +<br> +"Advance!" cried the officer to his soldiers. "Arrest these men." +<br> +<br> +The soldiers looked at their captain, then at the Americans, then at +their captain again, then at the Americans, and the end of it was +that they did not move. +<br> +<br> +"Arrest them!" roared the officer. +<br> +<br> +The Americans stood opposite with their revolvers leveled. The +soldiers stood still. They would not obey. +<br> +<br> +"My friend," said the Heidelbergian, "if your men advance, you +yourself will be the first to fall, for I happen to have you covered +by my pistol. I may as well tell you that it has six shots, and if +the first fails, the second will not." +<br> +<br> +The officer turned pale. He ordered his men to remain, and went out. +After a few moments he returned with twelve more dragoons. The +Americans still stood watchful, with their revolvers ready, taking +aim. +<br> +<br> +"You see," cried the officer, excitedly, "that you are overpowered. +There are as many men outside. For the last time I call on you to +surrender. If you do not I will give no quarter. You need not try to +resist." +<br> +<br> +"What is it that he says?" asked Obed. +<br> +<br> +The Heidelbergian told him. +<br> +<br> +Obed laughed. +<br> +<br> +"Ask him why he does not come and take us," said he, grimly. "We have +already given him leave to do so." +<br> +<br> +The Heidelbergian repeated these words. +<br> +<br> +The captain, in a fury, ordered his men to advance. +<br> +<br> +The Americans fully expected an attack, and stood ready to pour in a +volley at the first movement on the part of the enemy. But the enemy +did not move. The soldiers stood motionless. They did not seem +afraid. They seemed rather as if they were animated by some totally +different feeling. It had been whispered already that the Neapolitan +army was unreliable. This certainly looked like it. +<br> +<br> +"Cowards!" cried the captain, who seemed to think that their inaction +arose from fear. "You will suffer for this, you scoundrels! Then, if +you are afraid to advance, make ready! present! fire!" +<br> +<br> +His command might as well have been addressed to the winds. The guns +of the soldiers stood by their sides. Not one of them raised his +piece. The captain was thunder-struck; yet his surprise was not +greater than that of the Americans when this was hastily explained to +them by the Heidelbergians. Evidently there was disaffection among +the soldiers of his Majesty of Naples when brought into the presence +of _Red Shirts_. +<br> +<br> +The captain was so overwhelmed by this discovery that he stood like +one paralyzed, not knowing what to do. This passive disobedience on +the part of his men was a thing so unexpected that he was left +helpless, without resources. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile the crowd outside had been intensely excited. They had +witnessed the arrival of the dragoons. They had seen them dismount +and enter the hotel after the captain. They had seen the captain come +down after another detachment. They had known nothing of what was +going on inside, but conjectured that a desperate struggle was +inevitable between the Red Shirts and the dragoons. As an unarmed +crowd they could offer no active intervention, so they held their +peace for a time, waiting in breathless suspense for the result. The +result seemed long delayed. The troopers did not seem to gain that +immediate victory over the Red Shirts which had been fearfully +anticipated. Every moment seemed to postpone such a victory, and +render it impossible. Every moment restored the courage of the crowd, +which at first had been panic-stricken. Low murmurs passed among +them, which deepened into words of remonstrance, and strengthened +into cries of sympathy for the Red Shirts; until, at last, these +cries arose to shouts, and the shouts arose wild and high, +penetrating to that upper room where the assailants confronted their +cool antagonists. The cries had an ominous sound. +<br> +<br> +"_Viva la Liberia_!" "_Viva la Republica_!" "_Viva Garibaldi_!" At +the name _Garibaldi_, a wild yell of applause resounded wide and +high--a long, shrill yell, and the name was taken up in a kind of mad +fervor till the shout rose to a frenzy, and nothing was heard but the +confused outcries of a thousand discordant voices, all uttering that +one grand name, "_Garibaldi_!" "_Garibaldi_!" "_Garibaldi_!" +<br> +<br> +The Americans heard it. What connection there was between themselves +and Garibaldi they did not then see, but they saw that somehow the +people of Salerno had associated them with the hero of Italy, and +were sympathizing with them. Obed Chute himself saw this, and +understood this, as that cry came thundering to his ears. He turned +to his friends. +<br> +<br> +"Boys," said he, "we came here for a dinner and a night's rest. We've +got the dinner, but the night's rest seems to be a little remote. +There's such an infernal row going on all around that, if we want to +sleep this blessed night, we'll have to take to the yacht again, and +turn in there, sailor fashion. So I move that we adjourn to that +place, and put out to sea." +<br> +<br> +His proposal was at once accepted without hesitation. +<br> +<br> +"Very well," said Obed. "Now follow me. March!" +<br> +<br> +With his revolver in his extended hand, Obed strode toward the door, +followed by the others. The dragoons drew back and allowed them to +pass out without resistance. They descended the stairs into the hall. +As they appeared at the doorway they were recognized by the crowd, +and a wild shout of triumph arose, in which nothing was conspicuous +but the name of Garibaldi. The mounted dragoons outside did not +attempt to resist them. They looked away, and did not seem to see +them at all. The crowd had it all their own way. +<br> +<br> +Through the crowd Obed advanced, followed by his friends, and led the +way toward the yacht. The crowd followed. They cheered; they shouted; +they yelled out defiance at the king; they threw aside all restraint, +and sang the Italian version of the "Marseillaise." A wild enthusiasm +pervaded all, as though some great victory had been won, or some +signal triumph achieved. But amidst all their shouts and cries and +applause and songs one word was pre-eminent, and that one word was +the name of "_Garibaldi_!" +<br> +<br> +But the Americans made no response. They marched on quietly to their +yacht, and pushed off from the wharf. A loud, long cheer followed +them from the crowd, which stood there watching their departure; and, +as the yacht moved away, cheer after cheer arose, which gradually +died away in the distance. +<br> +<br> +They passed that night on the sea instead of at the hotel at Salerno. +But they did not have much sleep. Their wonderful adventure formed +the theme of discussion all night long. And at last the only +conclusion which they could come to was this, that the red-shirted +strangers had been mistaken for Garibaldini; that Obed Chute had been +accepted as Garibaldi himself; and, finally, that the subjects of the +king of Naples, and his soldiers also, were in a fearful state of +disaffection. +<br> +<br> +Not long after, when Garibaldi himself passed through this very town, +the result confirmed the conjectures of these Americans. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XLII. +<br> +<br> +ANOTHER REVELATION. +<br> +<br> +Time passed on, and Zillah once more regained something like her old +spring and elasticity; yet the sadness of her situation was no way +relaxed. In addition to the griefs of the past, there now arose the +problem of the future. What was she to do? Was she to go on thus +forever with these kind friends? or was she to leave them? The +subject was a painful and a perplexing one, and always brought before +her the utter loneliness of her position with the most distressing +distinctness. Generally she fought against such feelings, and tried +to dismiss such thoughts, but it was difficult to drive them from her +mind. +<br> +<br> +At length it happened that all her funds were exhausted, and she felt +the need of a fresh supply. So she conferred with Obed Chute, and +told him the name of her London bankers, after which he drew out a +check for her for a hundred pounds, which she signed. The draft was +then forwarded. +<br> +<br> +A fortnight passed away. It was during this interval that Obed had +his famous Salerno expedition, which he narrated to Zillah on his +return, to her immense delight. Never in his life had Obed taken such +pleasure in telling a story as on this occasion. Zillah's eager +interest, her animated face, her sparkling eyes, all encouraged him +to hope that there was yet some spirit left in her in spite of her +sorrows; and at length, at the narration of the reception of the +Neapolitan's order to surrender, Zillah burst into a fit of laughter +that was childish in its abandon and heartiness. +<br> +<br> +About a week or ten days after this, Obed came home one day with a +very serious face. Zillah noticed it at once, and asked him anxiously +if any thing had happened. +<br> +<br> +"My poor child," said he, "I'm afraid that there is more trouble in +store for you. I feared as much some time ago, but I had to wait to +see if my fears were true." +<br> +<br> +Zillah regarded him fearfully, not knowing what to think of such an +ominous beginning. Her heart told her that it had some reference to +Hilda. Had he found out any thing about her? Was she ill? Was she +dying? These were her thoughts, but she dared not put them into +words. +<br> +<br> +"I've kept this matter to myself till now," continued Obed; "but I do +not intend to keep it from you any longer. I've spoken to sister +about it, and she thinks that you'd better know it. At any rate," he +added, "it isn't as bad as some things you've borne; only it comes on +top of the rest, and seems to make them worse." +<br> +<br> +Zillah said not a word, but stood awaiting in fear this new blow. +<br> +<br> +"Your draft," said Obed, "has been returned." +<br> +<br> +"My draft returned?" said Zillah, in astonishment. "What do you +mean?" +<br> +<br> +"I will tell you all I know," said Obed. "There is villainy at the +bottom of this, as you will see. Your draft came back about ten days +ago. I said nothing to you about it, but took it upon myself to write +for explanations. Last evening I received this"--and he drew a letter +from his pocket. "I've meditated over it, and shown it to my sister, +and we both think that there are depths to this dark plot against you +which none of us as yet have even begun to fathom. I've also +forwarded an account of this and a copy of this letter to the police +at Marseilles, and to the police here, to assist them in their +investigations. I'm afraid the police here won't do much, they're so +upset by their panic about Garibaldi." +<br> +<br> +As Obed ended he handed the letter to Zillah, who opened it without a +word, and read as follows: +<br> +<br> +"LONDON, September 10, 1859. +<br> +<br> +"SIR,--In answer to your favor of 7th instant, we beg leave to state +that up to the 15th of June last we held stock and deposits from Miss +Ella Lorton--i. e., consols, thirty thousand pounds (£30,000); also +cash, twelve hundred and seventy-five pounds ten shillings (£1275 +10s.). On the 15th of June last the above-mentioned Miss Ella Lorton +appeared in person, and, with her own check, drew out the cash +balance. On the 17th June she came in person and withdrew the stock, +in consols, which she had deposited with us, amounting to thirty +thousand pounds (£30,000) as aforesaid. That it was Miss Ella Lorton +herself there is no doubt; for it was the same lady who deposited the +funds, and who has sent checks to us from time to time. The party you +speak of, who sent the check from Naples, must be an impostor, and we +recommend you to hand her over to the police. +<br> +<br> +"We have the honor to be, Sir, your most obedient servants, TILTON +AND BROWNE. +<br> +<br> +"OBED CHUTE, Esq." +<br> +<br> +On reading this Zillah fell back into a chair as though she had been +shot, and sat looking at this fatal sheet with wild eyes and haggard +face. Obed made an effort to cry for help, but it sounded like a +groan. His sister came running in, and seeing Zillah's condition, she +took her in her arms. +<br> +<br> +"Poor child! poor sweet child!" she cried. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/146.png" alt="His Sister, Seeing Zillah's Condition, Took Her In Her Arms."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "His Sister, Seeing Zillah's Condition, Took Her In +Her Arms."] +<br> +<br> +"It's too much! It's too much! She will die if this goes on." +<br> +<br> +But Zillah rapidly roused herself. It was no soft mood that was over +her now; it was not a broken heart that was now threatening her. This +letter seemed to throw a flood of light over her dark and mysterious +persecution, which in an instant put an end to all those tender +longings after her loved Hilda which had consumed her. Now her eyes +flashed, and the color which had left her cheeks flushed hack again, +mounting high with the full sweep of her indignant passion. She +started to her feet, her hands clenched, and her brows frowning +darkly. +<br> +<br> +"You are right," she said to Obed, in a low, stern voice. "I am +betrayed--and she--_she alone_ has been my betrayer. She! my sister! +the one who lived on my father's bounty; who was my companion in +childhood; who shared my bed; who had all my love and trust--she has +betrayed me! Ah, well," she added, with a long sigh; "since it is so, +it is best for me to know it. Do not be grieved, dear friends. Do not +look so sadly and so tenderly at me. I know your loving hearts. You, +at least, do not look as though you believed me to be an impostor." +<br> +<br> +And she held out her hands to the brother and sister. Obed took that +little hand which she extended, and pressed it reverently to his +lips. +<br> +<br> +"Sit down, my poor child," said Miss Chute, tenderly. "You are +excited. Try to be calm, if you can." +<br> +<br> +"I am calm, and I will be calm," said Zillah, faintly. +<br> +<br> +"Come," said Obed. "We will talk no more about it now. To-morrow, or +next day, or next week, we will talk about it. You must rest. You +must drive out, or sail out, or do something. I'll tell you what I'll +do. I'll order the yacht and take you to Salerno." +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked at him with a faint smile, appreciating his well-meant +reference to that famous town, and Obed left her with his sister. +<br> +<br> +A week passed, and Zillah was not allowed to speak of this subject. +But all the time she was oppressed by a sense of her utterly +desperate situation. As long as she had believed herself rich she had +not felt altogether helpless; but now!--now she found herself a +pauper, alone in the wide world, a dependent on the kindness of these +noble-hearted friends. What could she do? This could not go on +forever. What could she do--she, a girl without resources? How could +she ever support herself? What would become of her? +<br> +<br> +Could she go back to that home from which she had fled? Never! That +thought came once, and was instantly scouted as impossible. Sooner +than do that she would die of starvation. What, then, could she do? +Live on as a burden to these kind friends? Alas! how could she? She +thought wildly of being a governess; but what could she teach?--she, +who had idled away nearly all her life. Then she thought of trying to +get back her money from those who had robbed her. But how could this +be done? +<br> +<br> +For, to do this, it would be necessary to obtain the help of Obed +Chute; and, in that case, she would have to tell him all. And could +she do this? Could she reveal to another the secret sorrow of her +life? Could she tell him about their fatal marriage; about the Earl; +about Guy's letter, and her flight from home? No; these things were +too sacred to be divulged to any one, and the very idea of making +them known was intolerable. But if she began to seek after Hilda it +would be necessary to tell her true name, at least to Obed Chute, and +all about her, a thing which would involve the disclosure of all her +secret. It could not be done. Hilda had betrayed her, sought out her +life, and robbed her--of this there no longer remained any doubt; and +she was helpless; she could neither seek after her rights, nor +endeavor to obtain redress for her wrongs. +<br> +<br> +At length she had a conversation with Obed Chute about her draft. She +told him that when she first went to Tenby her sister had persuaded +her to withdraw all her money from her former bankers and deposit it +with Messrs. Tilton and Browne. Hilda herself had gone to London to +have it done. She told Obed that they were living in seclusion, that +Hilda had charge of the finances, and drew all the checks. Of course +Messrs. Tilton and Browne had been led to believe that she was the +Ella Lorton who had deposited the money. In this way it was easy for +her, after getting her sister out of the way, to obtain the money +herself. +<br> +<br> +After Obed Chute heard this he remained silent for a long time. +<br> +<br> +"My poor child," said he at last, in tones full of pity, "you could +not imagine once what motive this Hilda could have for betraying you. +Here you have motive enough. It is a very coarse one; but yet men +have been betraying one another for less than this since the world +began. There was once a certain Judas who carried out a plan of +betrayal for a far smaller figure. But tell me. Have you never +associated Gualtier and Hilda in your thoughts as partners in this +devilish plot?" +<br> +<br> +"I see now that they must have been," said Zillah. "I can believe +nothing else." +<br> +<br> +"You have said that Gualtier was in attendance on you for years?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Did you ever notice any thing like friendship between these two?" +<br> +<br> +"She always seemed to hold herself so far above him that I do not see +how they could have had any understanding." +<br> +<br> +"Did he seem to speak to her more than to you?" +<br> +<br> +"Not at all. I never noticed it. He accompanied her to London, +though, when she went about the money." +<br> +<br> +"That looks like confidence. And then she sent him to take you to +Naples to put you out of the way?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah sighed. +<br> +<br> +"Tell me. Do you think she could have loved Gualtier?" +<br> +<br> +"It seems absurd. Any thing like love between those two is +impossible." +<br> +<br> +"It's my full and firm conviction," said Obed Chute, after deep +thought, "that this Gualtier gained your friend's affections, and he +has been the prime mover in this. Both of them must be deep ones, +though. Yet I calculate she is only a tool in his hands. Women will +do any thing for love. She has sacrificed you to him. It isn't so bad +a case as it first looked." +<br> +<br> +"Not so bad!" said Zillah, in wonder. "What is worse than to betray a +friend?" +<br> +<br> +"When a woman betrays a friend for the sake of a lover she only does +what women have been engaged in doing ever since the world began. +This Gualtier has betrayed you both--first by winning your friend's +love, and then by using her against you. And that is the smart game +which he has played so well as to net the handsome figure of £30,000 +sterling--one hundred and fifty thousand dollars--besides that +balance of £1200 and upward--six thousand dollars more." +<br> +<br> +Such was Obed Chute's idea, and Zillah accepted it as the only true +solution. Any other solution would force her to believe that Hilda +had been a hypocrite all her life--that her devotion was a sham, and +her love a mockery. Such a thing seemed incredible, and it seemed far +more natural to her that Hilda had acted from some mad impulse of +love in obedience to the strong temptation held out by a lover. Yes, +she thought, she had placed herself in his power, and did whatever he +told her, without thinking of the consequences. The plot, then, must +be all Gualtier's. Hilda herself never, never, never could have +formed such a plan against one who loved her. She could not have +known what she was doing. She could not have deliberately sold her +life and robbed her. So Zillah tried to think; but, amidst these +thoughts, there arose the memory of that letter from Naples--that +picture of the voyage, every word of which showed such devilish +ingenuity, and such remorseless pertinacity in deceiving. Love may do +much, and tempt to much, she thought; but, after all, could such a +letter have emanated from any one whose heart was not utterly and +wholly bad and corrupt? All this was terrible to Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"If I could but redress your wrongs," said Obed, one day--"if you +would only give me permission, I would start to-morrow for England, +and I would track this pair of villains till I compelled them to +disgorge their plunder, and one of them, at least, should make + acquaintance with the prison hulks or Botany Bay. But you will not +let me," he added, reproachfully. +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked at him imploringly. +<br> +<br> +"I have a secret," said she, "a secret which I dare not divulge. It +involves others. I have sacrificed every thing for this. I can not +mention it even to you. And now all is lost, and I have nothing. +There is no help for it, none." She seemed to be speaking to herself. +"For then," she continued, "if they were hunted down, names would +come out, and then all would be known. And rather than have all +known"--her voice grew higher and sterner as she spoke, expressing a +desperate resolve--"rather than have all known, I would die--yes, by +a death as terrible as that which stared me in the face when I was +drifting in the schooner!" +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute looked at her. Pity was on his face. He held out his hand +and took hers. "It shall not be known," said he. "Keep your secret. +The time will come some day when you will be righted. Trust in God, +my child." +<br> +<br> +The time passed on, but Zillah was now a prey to this new trouble. +How could she live? She was penniless. Could she consent to remain +thus a burden on kind friends like these? These thoughts agitated her +incessantly, preying upon her mind, and never leaving her by night or +by day. She was helpless. How could she live? By what means could she +hope to get a living? Her friends saw her melancholy, but attributed +it all to the greater sorrows through which she had passed. Obed +Chute thought that the best cure was perpetual distraction. So he +busied himself with arranging a never-ending series of expeditions to +all the charming environs of Naples. Pompeii and Herculaneum opened +before them the wonders of the ancient world. Vesuvius was scaled, +and its crater revealed its awful depths. Baiae, Misenum, and +Puzzuoli were explored. Paestum showed them its eternal temples. They +lingered on the beach at Salerno. They stood where never-ending +spring abides, and never-withering flowers, in the vale of +Sorrento--the fairest spot on earth; best representative of a lost +Paradise. They sailed over every part of that glorious bay, where +earth and air and sea all combine to bring into one spot all that +this world contains of beauty and sublimity, of joyousness and +loveliness, of radiance and of delight. Yet still, in spite of all +this, the dull weight of melancholy could not be removed, but never +ceased to weigh her down. +<br> +<br> +At length Zillah could control her feelings no longer. One day, +softened by the tender sympathy and watchful anxiety of these loving +friends, she yielded to the generous promptings of her heart and told +them her trouble. "I am penniless," she said, as she concluded her +confession. "You are too generous, and it is your very generosity +that makes it bitter for me to be a mere dependent. You are so +generous that I will ask you to get me something to do. I know you +will. There, I have told you all, and I feel happier already." +<br> +<br> +As she ended a smile passed over the face of Obed Chute and his +sister. The relief which they felt was infinite. And this was all! +<br> +<br> +"My child," said Obed Chute, tenderly, "there are twenty different +things that I can say, each of which would put you perfectly at ease. +I will content myself, however, with merely one or two brief remarks. +In the first place allow me to state that you are not penniless. Do +you think that you are going to lose all your property? No--by the +Eternal! no! I, Obed Chute, do declare that I will get it back some +day. So dismiss your fears, and dry your tears, as the hymn-book +says. Moreover, in the second place, you speak of being a dependent + and a burden. I can hardly trust myself to speak in reply to that. I +will leave that to sister. For my own part, I will merely say that +you are our sunshine--you make our family circle bright as gold. To +lose you, my child, would be--well, I won't say what, only when you +leave us you may leave an order at the nearest stone-cutter's for a +tombstone for Obed Chute." +<br> +<br> +He smiled as he spoke--his great rugged features all irradiated by a +glow of enthusiasm and of happiness. +<br> +<br> +"But I feel so dependent--such a burden," pleaded Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"If that is the case," said Obed Chute, "then your feelings shall be +consulted. I will employ you. You shall have an honorable position. +Among us the best ladies in the land become teachers. President +Fillmore's daughter taught a school in New England. It is my purpose +now to engage you as governess." +<br> +<br> +"As governess?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, for my children." +<br> +<br> +"But I don't know any thing." +<br> +<br> +"I don't care--I'm going to engage you as governess all the same. +Sister teaches them the rudiments. What I want you to teach them is +music." +<br> +<br> +"Music? I'm such a wretched player." +<br> +<br> +"You play well enough for me--well enough to teach them; and the +beauty of it is, even if you don't play well now, you soon will. +Doesn't Franklin or somebody say that one learns by teaching?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah's face spoke unutterable gratitude. +<br> +<br> +"This," said Obed Chute, "is purely a business transaction. I'll only +give you the usual payment--say five hundred dollars a year, and +found." +<br> +<br> +"And--what?" +<br> +<br> +"Found--that is, board, you know, and clothing, of course, also. Is +it a bargain?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my best friend! how can I thank you? What can I say?" +<br> +<br> +"Say! why, call me again your 'best friend;' that is all the thanks I +want." +<br> +<br> +So the engagement was made, and Zillah became a music-teacher. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XLIII. +<br> +<br> +THE REPORT. +<br> +<br> +During Lord Chetwynde's absence Hilda received constant +communications from Gualtier. He had not very much to tell her, +though his watchfulness was incessant. He had contrived to follow +Lord Chetwynde to London, under different disguises, and with +infinite difficulty; and also to put up at the same house. Lord +Chetwynde had not the remotest idea that he was watched, and took no +pains to conceal any of his motions. Indeed, to a mind like his, the +idea of keeping any thing secret, or of going out of his way to avoid +notice, never suggested itself. He was perfectly open and free from +disguise. He stopped at the Hastings House, an elegant and quiet +hotel, avoided the clubs, and devoted himself altogether to business. +At this house Gualtier stopped also, but could find out nothing about +Lord Chetwynde's business. He could only learn this much, that Lord +Chetwynde went every day, at eleven o'clock, to the office of his +solicitors, Messrs. Pendergrast Brothers, with whom he was closeted +for an hour or more. Evidently there was some very important business +between them; but what that business was, or to whom it might have +reference, was a perfect mystery to Gualtier. This was about the sum +and substance of the information which his letters conveyed to the +anxious Hilda. +<br> +<br> +For her part, every thing which Gualtier mentioned about Lord +Chetwynde was read by her with eager curiosity. She found herself +admiring the grand calm of this man whom she loved, this splendid +carelessness, this frank and open demeanor. That she herself was +cunning and wily, formed no obstacle to her appreciation of frankness +in others; perhaps, indeed, the absence of those qualities in herself +made her admire them in others, since they were qualities which she +could never hope to gain. Whatever his motive or purpose might be, he +was now seeking to carry it out in the most open manner, never +thinking of concealment. She was working in the dark; he was acting +in the broad light of day. Her path, as she looked back upon it, +wound on tortuously amidst basenesses and treacheries and crimes; his +was straight and clear, like the path of the just man's--not dark, +but rather a shining light, where all was open to the gaze of the +world. And what communion could there be between one like him and one +like her? Could any cunning on her part impose upon him? Could she +ever conceal from him her wily and tortuous nature? Could he not +easily discover it? Would not his clear, open, honest eyes see +through and through the mask of deceit with which she concealed her +true nature? There was something in his gaze which she never could +face--something which had a fearful significance to her--something +which told her that she was known to him, and that all her character +lay open before him, with all its cunning, its craft, its baseness, +and its wickedness. No arts or wiles of hers could avail to blind him +to these things. This she knew and felt, but still she hoped against +hope, and entertained vague expectations of some final understanding +between them. +<br> +<br> +But what was the business on which he was engaged? What was it that +thus led him so constantly to his solicitors? This was the problem +that puzzled her. Various solutions suggested themselves. One was +that he was merely anxious to see about breaking the entail so as to +pay her back the money which General Pomeroy had advanced. This he +had solemnly promised. Perhaps his long search through his father's +papers had reference to this, and his business with his solicitors +concerned this, and this only. This seemed natural. But there was +also another solution to the problem. It was within the bounds of +possibility that he was taking measures for a divorce. How he could +obtain one she did not see, but he might be trying to do so. She +knew nothing of the divorce law, but had a general idea that nothing +except crime or cruelty could avail to break the bonds of marriage. +That Lord Chetwynde was fixed in his resolve to break all ties +between them was painfully evident to her; and whatever his immediate +purpose might now be, she saw plainly that it could only have +reference to this separation. It meant that, and nothing else. He +abhorred her, and was determined to get rid of her at all hazards. +This she plainly saw. +<br> +<br> +At length, after a few weeks' absence, Gualtier returned. Hilda, full +of impatience, sent for him to the morning-room almost as soon as he +had arrived, and went there to wait for his appearance. She did not +have to wait long. In a few minutes Gualtier made his appearance, +obsequious and deferential as usual. +<br> +<br> +"You are back alone," said she, as she greeted him. +<br> +<br> +"Yes; Lord Chetwynde is coming back tomorrow or next day, and I +thought it better for me to come back first so as to see you before +he came." +<br> +<br> +"Have you found out any thing more?" +<br> +<br> +"No, my lady. In my letters I explained the nature of the case. I +made all the efforts I could to get at the bottom of this business, +and to find out what you called the purpose of his life. But you see +what insuperable obstacles were in the way. It was absolutely +impossible for me to find out any thing in particular about his +affairs. I could not possibly gain access to his papers. I tried to +gain information from one of the clerks of Pendergrast--formed an +acquaintance with him, gave him a dinner, and succeeded in getting +him drunk; but even that was of no avail. The fellow was +communicative enough, but the trouble was he didn't know any thing +himself about this thing, and had no more knowledge of Lord +Chetwynde's business or purposes than I myself had. I have done all +or purposes than I myself had. I have done all that was possible for +a man in my situation, and grieve deeply that I have nothing more +definite to communicate." +<br> +<br> +"You have done admirably," said Hilda; "nothing more was possible. I +only wished you to watch, and you have watched to good purpose. This +much is evident, from your reports, that Lord Chetwynde has some +all-engrossing purpose. What it is can not be known now, but must be +known some day. At present I must be content with the knowledge that +his purpose exists." +<br> +<br> +"I have formed some conjectures," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"On what grounds? On any other than those which you have made known +to me?" +<br> +<br> +"No. You know all." +<br> +<br> +"Never mind, then. I also have formed conjectures, and have a larger +and broader ground on which to build them. What I want is not +conjectures of any kind, but facts. If you have any more facts to +communicate, I should like very much to hear them." +<br> +<br> +"Alas, my lady, I have already communicated to you all the facts that +I know." +<br> +<br> +Hilda was silent for some time. +<br> +<br> +"You never spoke to Lord Chetwynde, I suppose?" said she at length. +<br> +<br> +"Oh no, my lady; I did not venture to come into communication with +him at all." +<br> +<br> +"Did he ever see you?" +<br> +<br> +"He certainly cast his eyes on me, once or twice, but without any +recognition in them. I really don't think that he is conscious of the +existence of a person like me." +<br> +<br> +"Don't be too sure of that. Lord Chetwynde is one who can see every +thing without appearing to see it. His eye can take in at one glance +the minutest details. He is a man who is quite capable of making the +discovery that you were the steward of Chetwynde. What measure did +you take to avoid discovery?" +<br> +<br> +Gualtier smiled. +<br> +<br> +"The measures which I took were such that it would have puzzled +Fouché himself to penetrate my disguise. I rode in the same +compartment with him, all the way to London, dressed as an elderly +widow." +<br> +<br> +"A widow?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes; with a thick black veil, and a very large umbrella. It is +simply impossible that he could penetrate my disguise, for the veil +was too thick to show my features." +<br> +<br> +"But the hotel?" +<br> +<br> +"At the hotel I was a Catholic priest, from Novara, on my way to +America. I wore spectacles, with dark glasses. No friend could have +recognized me, much less a stranger." +<br> +<br> +"But if you went with the clerks of Pendergrast, that was an odd +disguise." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, when I went with them, I dropped that. I became an American +naval officer, belonging to the ship _Niagara_, which was then in +London. I wore a heavy beard and mustache, and talked through my +nose. Besides, I would drink nothing but whisky and sherry cobblers. +My American trip proved highly advantageous." +<br> +<br> +"And do you feel confident that he has not recognized you?" +<br> +<br> +"Confident! Recognition was utterly impossible. It would have +required my nearest friend or relative to have recognized me, through +such disguises. Besides, my face is one which can very easily be +disguised. I have not strongly marked features. My face can easily +serve for an Italian priest, or an American naval officer. I am +always careful to choose only such parts as nature has adapted me +for." +<br> +<br> +"And Lord Chetwynde is coming back?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"When?" +<br> +<br> +"To-morrow, or next day." +<br> +<br> +"I wonder how long he will stay?" +<br> +<br> +"That is a thing which no one can find out so well as yourself." +<br> +<br> +Hilda was silent. +<br> +<br> +"My lady," said Gualtier, after a long pause. +<br> +<br> +"Well?" +<br> +<br> +"You know how ready I am to serve you." +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Hilda, dreamily. +<br> +<br> +"If this man is in your way he can be removed, as others have been +removed," said Gualtier, in a low voice. "Some of them have been +removed by means of my assistance. Is this man in your way? Is he? +Shall I help you? For when he goes away again I can become his valet. +I can engage myself, bring good recommendations, and find employment +from him, which will bring me into close contact. Then, if you find +him in your way, I can remove the obstacle." +<br> +<br> +Hilda's eyes blazed with a lurid light. She looked at Gualtier like a +wrathful demon. The words which she spoke came hissing out, hot and +fierce: +<br> +<br> +"Curse you! You do not know what you are saying. I would rather lose +a thousand such as you than lose _him_! I would rather die myself +than have one hair of his head injured!" +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked at her, transfixed with amazement. Then his head sank +down. These words crushed him. +<br> +<br> +"Can I ever hope for forgiveness?" he faltered at last. "I +misunderstood you. I am your slave. I--I only wished to serve you." +<br> +<br> +Hilda waved her hand. +<br> +<br> +"You do not understand," said she, as she rose. "Some day you will +understand all." +<br> +<br> +"Then I will wait," said Gualtier, humbly. "I have waited for years. +I can still wait. I only live for you. Forgive me." +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked away, and Gualtier sat, looking thoughtfully and sadly +at her. +<br> +<br> +"There is one thing," said he, "which you were fortunate to think of. +You guarded against a danger which I did not anticipate." +<br> +<br> +"Ah!" said Hilda, roused by the mention of danger. "What is that?" +<br> +<br> +"The discovery of so humble a person as myself. Thanks to you, my +assumed name has saved me. But at the same time it led to an +embarrassing position, from which I only escaped by my own wit." +<br> +<br> +"What do you allude to?" asked Hilda, with languid curiosity. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, it's the doctor. You know he has been attending Mrs. Hart. Well, +some time ago, before I left for London, he met me, and talked about +things in general. Whenever he meets me he likes to get up a +conversation, and I generally avoid him; but this time I couldn't. +After a time, with a great appearance of concern, he said: +<br> +<br> <img src="images/151.png" alt="I Rode With Him All The Way To London, Dressed As An Elderly Widow."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "I Rode With Him All The Way To London, Dressed As An +Elderly Widow."] +<br> +<br> +"'I am sorry to hear, Mr. Gualtier, that you are about to be +superseded.' +<br> +<br> +"'Superseded!' said I. 'What do you mean?' +<br> +<br> +"'I hear from some gossip of the servants that there is a new +steward.' +<br> +<br> +'"A new steward! This is the first that I have heard of it,' said I. +'I am the only steward here.' +<br> +<br> +"'This one,' said he, 'is--a--Mr. M'Kenzie.' +<br> +<br> +"'M'Kenzie!' said I, instantaneously-- +<br> +<br> +'M'Kenzie!' And I laughed. 'Why, I am Mr. M'Kenzie.' +<br> +<br> +"'You!' said he, in utter amazement. 'Isn't your name Gualtier?' +<br> +<br> +"'Oh no,' said I; 'that is a name which I adopted, when a +music-teacher, for professional purposes. Foreign names are always +liked better than native ones. My real name is M'Kenzie. The late +Earl knew all about it, and so does Lady Chetwynde.' +<br> +<br> +"The doctor looked a little puzzled, but at last accepted my +explanation and went off. Still I don't like the look of the thing." +<br> +<br> +"No," said Hilda, who had listened with no great interest, "it's not +pleasant. But, after all, there was no danger even if he had thought +you an impostor." +<br> +<br> +"Pardon me, my lady; but doctors are great gossips, and can send a +story like this flying through the county. He may do so yet." +<br> +<br> +At another time Hilda would have taken more interest in this +narration, but now she seemed so preoccupied that her usual vigilance +had left her. Gualtier noticed this, but was scarcely surprised. It +was only a fresh proof of her infatuation. +<br> +<br> +So after a few moments of silent thoughtfulness he left the room. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XLIV. +<br> +<br> +A STRANGE ENCOUNTER. +<br> +<br> +On the day after Gualtier's interview with Hilda, Lord Chetwynde was +still in London, occupied with the business which had brought him +there. It was between ten and eleven in the morning, and he was +walking down Piccadilly on his way to the City, where he had an +appointment with his solicitors. He was very much preoccupied, and +scarcely noticed any thing around him. Walking on in this mood he +felt his arm seized by some one who had come up behind him, and a +voice exclaimed: +<br> +<br> +"Windham! by all that's great! How are you, old fellow?" and before +he had time to recover from his surprise his hand was seized, +appropriated, and nearly wrung off by Obed Chute. +<br> +<br> +To meet Obed Chute thus in London was certainly strange, yet not so +very much so, after all. London is vast, multitudinous, enormous--a +nation rather than a city, as De Quincey well remarks--a place where +one may hide and never be discovered; yet after all there are certain +streets where strangers are most frequent, and that two strangers +should meet one another here in one of these few thoroughfares is +more common than one would suppose. After the first surprise at such +a sudden greeting Windham felt it to be a very natural thing for Obed +Chute to be in London, and evinced as much pleasure at meeting him as +was shown by the other. +<br> +<br> +"Have you been here ever since your return to England?" he asked. +<br> +<br> +"Oh no," said Windham, "I've only been here a short time, and I have +to leave this afternoon." +<br> +<br> +"I'm sorry for that; I should like to see you--but I suppose it can't +be helped; and then I must go back immediately." +<br> +<br> +"Ah! You are on your way to America, then?" +<br> +<br> +"America! Oh no. I mean--go back to Italy." +<br> +<br> +"Italy?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes; we're all there yet." +<br> +<br> +"I hope Miss Chute and your family are all well?" said Lord +Chetwynde, politely. +<br> +<br> +"Never better," said Obed. +<br> +<br> +"Where are you staying now?" +<br> +<br> +"In Naples." +<br> +<br> +"It's a very pleasant place." +<br> +<br> +"Too pleasant to leave." +<br> +<br> +"By-the-way," said Lord Chetwynde, after a pause, and speaking with +assumed indifference, "were you ever able to find out any thing +about--Miss Lorton?" +<br> +<br> +His indifference was but poorly carried out. At the mention of that +name he stammered, and then stopped short. +<br> +<br> +But Obed did not notice any peculiarity. +<br> +<br> +He answered, quickly and earnestly: +<br> +<br> +"It's that very thing, Windham, that has brought me here. I've left +her in Naples." +<br> +<br> +"What?" cried Lord Chetwynde, eagerly; "she is with you yet, then?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"In Naples?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes--with my family. Poor little thing! Windham, I have a story to +tell about her that will make your heart bleed, if you have the heart +of a man." +<br> +<br> +"My God!" cried Lord Chetwynde, in deep emotion; "what is it? Has +any thing new happened?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, something new--something worse than before." +<br> +<br> +"But _she_--_she_ is alive--is she not--she is well--she--" +<br> +<br> +"Thank God, yes," said Obed, not noticing the intense emotion of the +other; "yes--she has suffered, poor little girl, but she is getting +over it--and one day I hope she may find some kind of comfort. But +at present, and for some time to come, I'm afraid that any thing like +happiness or peace or comfort will be impossible for her." +<br> +<br> +"Is she very sad?" asked Lord Chetwynde, in a voice which was +tremulous from suppressed agitation. +<br> +<br> +"The poor child bears up wonderfully, and struggles hard to make us +think that she is cheerful; but any one who watches her can easily +see that she has some deep-seated grief, which, in spite of all our +care, may even yet wear away her young life. Windham, I've heard of +cases of a broken heart. I think I once in my life saw a case of that +kind, and I'm afraid that this case will--will come at last to be +classed in that list." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde said nothing. He had nothing to say--he had nothing to +do. His face in the few moments of this conversation had grown, +ghastly white, his eyes were fixed on vacancy, and an expression of +intense pain spread over his features. He walked along by Obed +Chute's side with the uncertain step of one who walks in a dream. +<br> +<br> +Obed said nothing for some time. His own thoughts were reverting to +that young girl whom he had left in Naples buried under a mountain of +woe. Could he ever draw her forth from that overwhelming grief which +pressed her down? They went on together through several streets +without any particular intention, each one occupied with his own +thoughts, until at last they found themselves at St. James's Park. +Here they entered, and walked along one of the chief avenues. +<br> +<br> +"You remember, Windham," said Obed at last--"of course you have not +forgotten the story which Miss Lorton told about her betrayal." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde bowed, without trusting himself to speak. +<br> +<br> +"And you remember the villain's name, too, of course." +<br> +<br> +"Yes--Gualtier," said Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"I put the case in the hands of the Marseilles police, and you know +that up to the time when we left nothing had been done. Nothing has +been done since of any consequence. On my way here I stopped at +Marseilles, and found that the police had been completely baffled, +and had found no trace whatever either of Gualtier or of the maid +Mathilde. When I arrived at Marseilles I found that the police there +had been on the look-out for that man for seven weeks, but in spite +of the most minute inquiry, and the most vigilant watchfulness, they +had seen no sign of any such person. The conclusion that I have come +to is that he never went to Naples--at least not after his crime. +Nor, on the other hand, is it likely that he remained in France. The +only thing that I can think of is that both he and the maid Mathilde +went back to England." +<br> +<br> +"There is Germany," said Lord Chetwynde, who had not lost a word, "or +the other states of Italy. Florence is a pleasant place to go to. +Above all, there is America--the common land of refuge to all who +have to fly from the Old World." +<br> +<br> +"Yes, all that is true--very true. It may be so; but I have an idea +that the man may still be in England, and I have some hope of getting +on his track now. But this is not the immediate purpose of my coming. +That was caused by a discovery of new features in this dark case, +which show a deliberate plan on the part of Gualtier and others to +destroy Miss Lorton so as to get her money." +<br> +<br> +"Have you found out any thing else? Has any fresh calamity fallen +upon that innocent head?" asked Lord Chetwynde, in breathless +anxiety. "At any rate, it can not be so bad as what she has already +suffered." +<br> +<br> +"In one sense it is not so bad, but in another sense it is worse." +<br> +<br> +"How?" +<br> +<br> +"Why, it is not so bad, for it only concerns the loss of money; but +then, again, it is far worse, for"--and Obed's voice dropped +low--"for it shows her that there is an accomplice of Gualtier's, who +has joined with him in this crime, and been a principal in it, and +this accomplice is--_her sister_!" +<br> +<br> +"Great God!" cried Lord Chetwynde, aghast. "Her sister?" +<br> +<br> +"Her sister," said Obed, who did not, as yet, think it necessary to +tell what Zillah had revealed to him in confidence about their not +being sisters. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde seemed overwhelmed. +<br> +<br> +Obed then began and detailed to him every circumstance of the affair +of the draft, to all of which the other listened with rapt attention. +A long discussion followed this revelation. Lord Chetwynde could not +help seeing that Miss Lorton had been betrayed by her sister as well +as by Gualtier, and felt painfully affected by the coldblooded +cruelty with which the abstraction of the money was managed. To him +this "Ella Lorton" seemed wronged as no one had ever been wronged +before, and his heart burned to assist Obed Chute in his work of +vengeance. +<br> +<br> +He said as much. "But I fear," he added, "that there is not much +chance. At any rate, it will be a work of years; and long before +then, in fact, before many weeks, I expect to be on my way back to +India. As to this wretched, this guilty pair, it is my opinion that +they have fled to America. Hilda Lorton can not be old in crime, and +her first instinct would be to fly from England. If you ever find +those wretches, it will be there." +<br> +<br> +"I dare say you are right," said Obed. "But," he added, in tones of +grim determination, "if it takes years to find this out, I am ready. +I am willing to spend years in the search. The police of Italy and of +France are already on the track of this affair. It is my intention to +direct the London police to the same game, and on my way back I'll +give notice at Berlin and Vienna, so as to set the Prussian and +Austrian authorities to work. If all these combined can't do any +thing, then I'll begin to think that these devils are not in Europe. +If they are in America, I know a dozen New York detectives that can +do something in the way of finding out even more artful scoundrels +than these. For my own part, if, after ten years of incessant labor, +any light is thrown on this, I shall be fully rewarded. I'd spend +twice the time if I had it for her, the poor little thing!" +<br> +<br> +Obed spoke like a tender, pitying father, and his tones vibrated to +the heart of Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +For a time he was the subject of a mighty struggle. The deepest +feelings of his nature were all concerned here. Might he not now make +this the object of his life--to give up every thing, and search out +these infernal criminals, and avenge that fair girl whose image had +been fixed so deeply on his heart? But, then, he feared this task. +Already she had chained him to Marseilles, and still he looked back +with anguish upon the horror of that last parting with her. All his +nature yearned and longed to feel once more the sunshine of her +presence; but, on account of the very intensity of that longing, the +dictates of honor and duty bade him resist the impulse. The very +tenderness of his love--its all-consuming ardor--those very things +which impelled him to espouse her cause and fight her battles and win +her gratitude, at the very same time held him back and bade him avoid +her, and tear her image from his heart. For who was he, and what was +he, that he should yield to this overmastering spell which had been +thrown over him by the witchery of this young girl? _Had he not his +wife_? Was she not at Chetwynde Castle? That odious wife, forced on +him in his boyhood, long since grown abhorrent, and now standing up, +an impassable barrier between him and the dearest longings of his +heart. So he crushed down desire; and, while assenting to Obed's +plans, made no proposal to assist him in any way in their +accomplishment. +<br> +<br> +At the end of about two hours Obed announced his intentions at +present. He had come first and more especially to see Messrs. Tilton +and Browne, with a hope that he might be able to trace the affair +back far enough to reach Hilda Lorton; and secondly, to set the +London police to work. +<br> +<br> +"Will you make any stay?" asked Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"No, not more than I can help. I can find out soon whether my designs +are practicable or not. If they can not be immediately followed out, +I will leave it to the police, who can do far better than me, and go +back to Naples. Miss Lorton is better there, and I feel like +traveling about Italy till she has recovered. I see that the country +is better for her than all the doctors and medicines in the world. A +sail round Naples Bay may rouse her from the deepest melancholy. She +has set her heart on visiting Rome and Florence. So I must go back to +my little girl, you see." +<br> +<br> +"Those names," said Lord Chetwynde, calmly, and without exhibiting +any signs of the emotion which the allusion to that "little girl" +caused in his heart--"those names ought certainly to be +traceable--'Hilda Lorton,' 'Ella Lorton.' The names are neither +vulgar nor common. A properly organized effort ought to result in +some discovery. 'Hilda Lorton,' 'Ella Lorton,'" he repeated, +"'Hilda,' 'Ella'--not very common names--' Hilda,' 'Ella.'" +<br> +<br> +He repeated these names thus over and over, but the names gave no +hint to the speaker of the dark, deep mystery which lay beneath. +<br> +<br> +As for Obed, he knew that Hilda was not _Hilda Lorton_, and that a +search after any one by that name would be useless. Zillah had told +him that she was not her sister. At length the two friends separated, +Lord Chetwynde saying that he would remain in London till the +following day, and call on Obed at his hotel that evening to learn +the result of his labors. With this each went about his own business; +but into the mind of Lord Chetwynde there came a fresh anxiety, which +made him have vague desires of flying away forever--off to India, to +Australia--any where from the power of his overmastering, his +hopeless love. And amidst all this there came a deep longing to go to +Italy--to Naples, to give up every thing--to go back with Obed Chute. +It needed all the strength of his nature to resist this impulse, and +even when it was overcome it was only for a time. His business that +day was neglected, and he waited impatiently for the evening. +<br> +<br> +Evening came at last, and Lord Chetwynde went to Obed's hotel. He +found his friend there, looking somewhat dejected. +<br> +<br> +"I suppose you have accomplished nothing," he said. "I see it in your +face." +<br> +<br> +"You're about right," said Obed. "I'm going back to Naples +to-morrow." +<br> +<br> +"You've failed utterly, then?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, in all that I hoped. But still I have done what I could to put +things on the right track." +<br> +<br> +"What have you done?" +<br> +<br> +"Well, I went first to Tilton and Browne. One of my own London agents +accompanied me there, and Introduced me. They were at once very eager +to do all that they could for me. But I soon found out that nothing +could be done. That girl--Windham--that girl,'' repeated Obed, with +solemn emphasis, "is a little the deepest party that it's ever been +my lot to come across. How any one brought up with my little girl" +(this was the name that Obed loved to give to Zillah) "could develop +such superhuman villainy, and such cool, calculating, far-reaching +craft, is more than I can understand. She knocks me, I confess. But, +then, the plan may all be the work of Gualtier." +<br> +<br> +"Why, what new thing have you found out?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, nothing exactly new; only this, that the deposit of Miss +Lorton's funds and the withdrawal, which were all done by her in Miss +Lorton's name and person, were managed so cleverly that there is not +the slightest ghost of a clew by which either she or the money can be +traced. She drew the funds from one banker and deposited them with +another. I thought I should be able to find out the banker from whom +they were drawn, but it is impossible. Before I came here I had +written to Tilton and Browne, and they had made inquiries from all +the London bankers, but not one of them had any acquaintance whatever +with that name. It must have been some provincial bank, but which one +can not be known. The funds which she deposited were in Bank of +England notes, and these, as well as the consols, gave no indication +of their last place of deposit. It was cleverly managed, and I think +the actors in this affair understand too well their business to leave +a single mark on their trail. The account had only been with Tilton +and Browne for a short time, and they could not give me the slightest +assistance. And so I failed there completely. +<br> +<br> +"I then went to the police, and stated my case. The prefect at +Marseilles had already been in communication with them about it. They +had made inquiries at all the schools and seminaries, had searched +the directories, and every thing else of that kind, but could find no +music-teacher mentioned by the name of Gualtier. They took it for +granted that the name was an assumed one. They had also investigated +the name 'Lorton,' and had found one or two old county families; but +these knew nothing of the young ladies in question. They promised to +continue their search, and communicate to me any thing that might be +discovered. There the matter rests now, and there I suppose it must +rest until something is done by somebody. When I have started the +Austrian and Prussian police on the same scent I will feel that +nothing more can be done in Europe. I suppose it is no use to go to +Spain or Russia or Turkey. By-the-way, there is Belgium. I mustn't +forget that." +<br> +<br> +It was only by the strongest effort that Lord Chetwynde was able to +conceal the intensity of his interest in Obed's revelations. All that +day his own business had been utterly forgotten, and all his thoughts +had been occupied with Zillah and her mysterious sorrows. When he +left Marseilles he had sought to throw away all concern for her +affairs, and devote himself to the Chetwynde business. But Obed's +appearance had brought back before him in fresh strength Gualtier +also was not unmindful of this. On the day of his arrival he had +learned that Mrs. Hart was recovering and might soon be well. He +understood perfectly all that was involved in her recovery, and the +danger that might attend upon it. For Mrs. Hart would at once +recognize Hilda, and ask after Zillah. There was now no chance to do +any thing. Lord Chetwynde watched over her as a son might watch over +a mother. These two thus stood before him as a standing menace, an +ever-threatening danger in that path from which other dangers had +been removed at such a hazard and at such a cost. What could he do? +Nothing. It was for Hilda to act in this emergency. He himself was +powerless. He feared also that Hilda herself did not realize the full +extent of her danger. He saw how abstracted she had become, and how +she was engrossed by this new and unlooked for feeling which had +taken full possession of her heart. One thing alone was possible to +him, and that was to warn Hilda. Perhaps she knew the danger, and was +indifferent to it; perhaps she was not at all aware of it; in any +case, a timely warning could not possibly do any harm, and might do a +great deal of good. Under these circumstances he wrote a few words, +which he contrived to place in her hands on the morning when Lord +Chetwynde arrived. The words were these: +<br> +<br> +"_Mrs. Hart was recovering, and the doctor hopes that she will soon be +entirely well_." +<br> +<br> +Hilda read these words gloomily, but nothing could be done except +what she had already decided to do. She burned the note, and returned +to her usual meditations. The arrival of Lord Chetwynde soon drove +every thing else out of her mind, and she waited eagerly for the time +for dinner, when she might see him, hear his voice, and feast her +eyes upon his face. +<br> +<br> +On descending into the dining-room she found Lord Chetwynde already +there. Without a thought of former slights, but following only the +instincts of her own heart, which in its ardent passion was now +filled with joy at the sight of him, she advanced toward him with +extended hand. She did not say a word. She could not speak. Her +emotion overpowered her. She could only extend her hand and look up +into his face imploringly. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde stood before her, cold, reserved, with a lofty hauteur +on his brow, and a coldness in his face which might have repelled any +one less impassioned. But Hilda was desperate. She had resolved to +make this last trial, and stake every thing upon this. Regardless, +therefore, of the repellent expression of his face, and the coldness +which was manifested in every lineament, she determined to force a +greeting from him. It was with this resolve that she held out her +hand and advanced toward him. +<br> +<br> +But Lord Chetwynde stood unmoved. His hands hung down. He looked at +her calmly, yet coldly, without anger, yet without feeling of any +kind. As she approached he bowed. +<br> +<br> +"You will not even shake hands with me?" faltered Hilda, in a +stammering voice. +<br> +<br> +"Of what avail would that be?" said Lord Chetwynde. "You and I are +forever separate. We must stand apart forever. Why pretend to a +friendship which does not exist? I am not your friend, Lady +Chetwynde." +<br> +<br> +Hilda was silent. Her hand fell by her side. She shrank back into +herself. Her disappointment deepened into sadness unutterable, a +sadness that was too profound for anger, a sadness beyond words. So +the dinner passed on. Lord Chetwynde was calm, stern, fixed in his +feelings and in his purpose. Hilda was despairing, and voiceless in +that despair. For the first time she began to feel that all was lost. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XLVI. +<br> +<br> +THE TABLES TURNED. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde had the satisfaction of seeing that Mrs. Hart +recovered steadily. Day after day she improved, and at length became +conscious of surrounding objects. After having gained consciousness +her recovery became more rapid, and she was at length strong enough +for him to visit her. The housekeeper prepared her for the visit, so +that the shock might not be too great. To her surprise she found that +the idea of his presence in the same house had a better effect on her +than all the medicines which she had taken, and all the care which +she had received. She said not a word, but lay quiet with a smile +upon her face, as one who is awaiting the arrival of some sure and +certain bliss. It was this expression which was on her face when Lord +Chetwynde entered. She lay back with her face turned toward the door, +and with all that wistful yet happy expectancy which has been +mentioned. He walked up to her, took her thin, emaciated hands in +his, and kissed her pale forehead. +<br> +<br> +"My own dear old nurse," he said, "how glad I am to find you so much +better!" +<br> +<br> +Tears came to Mrs. Hart's eyes. "My boy!" she cried--"my dearest boy, +the sight of you gives me life!" Sobs choked her utterance. She lay +there clasping his hand in both of hers, and wept. +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart had already learned from the housekeeper that she had been +ill for many months, and her own memory, as it gradually rallied from +the shock and collected its scattered energies, brought back before +her the cause of her illness. Had her recovery taken place at any +other time, her grief might have caused a relapse but now she +learned that Lord Chetwynde was here watching over her--"her boy," +"her darling," "her Guy"--and this was enough to counterbalance the +grief which she might have felt. So now she lay holding his hand in +hers, gazing up into his face with an expression of blissful +contentment and of perfect peace; feeding all her soul in that gaze, +drawing from him new strength at every glance, and murmuring words of +fondest love and endearment. As he sat there the sternness of Lord +Chetwynde's features relaxed, the eyes softened into love and pity, +the hard lines about the month died away. He seemed to feel himself a +boy again, as he once more held that hand which had guided his +boyhood's years. +<br> +<br> +He staid there for hours. Mrs. Hart would not let him go, and he did +not care to do violence to her affections by tearing himself away. +She seemed to cling to him as though he were the only living being on +whom her affections were fixed. He took to himself all the love of +this poor, weak, fond creature, and felt a strange pleasure in it. +She on her part seemed to acquire new strength from his presence. +<br> +<br> +"I'm afraid, my dear nurse," said he, "that I am fatiguing you. I +will leave you now and come back again." +<br> +<br> +"No, no," said Mrs. Hart, earnestly; "do not leave me. You will leave +me soon enough. Do not desert me now, my own boy--my sweet +child--stay by me." +<br> +<br> +"But all this fatigues you." +<br> +<br> +"No, my dearest--it gives me new strength--such strength as I have +not known for a long time. If you leave me I shall sink back again +into weakness. Do not forsake me." +<br> +<br> +So Lord Chetwynde staid, and Mrs. Hart made him tell her all about +what he had been doing during the years of his absence. Hours passed +away in this conversation. And he saw, and wondered as he saw it, +that Mrs. Hart grew stronger every moment. It seemed as if his +presence brought to her life and joy and strength; He laughingly +mentioned this. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, my dearest," said Mrs. Hart, "you are right. You bring me new +life. You come to me like some strong angel, and bid me live. I dare +say I have something to live for, though what it is I can not tell. +Since he has gone I do not see what there is for me to do, or why it +should be that I should linger on in life, unless it may be for you." +<br> +<br> +"For me--yes, my dear nurse," said Lord Chetwynde, fondly kissing her +pale brow--"yes, it must be for me. Live, then, for me." +<br> +<br> +"You have others who love you and live for you," said Mrs. Hart, +mournfully. "You don't need your poor old nurse now." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde shook his head. +<br> +<br> +"No others can supply your place," said he. "You will always be my +own dear old nurse." +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart looked up with a smile of ecstasy. +<br> +<br> +"I am going away," said Lord Chetwynde, after some further +conversation, "in a few days, and I do not know when I will be back, +but I want you, for my sake, to try and be cheerful, so as to get +well as soon as possible." +<br> +<br> +"Going away!" gasped Mrs. Hart, in strong surprise. "Where to?" +<br> +<br> +"To Italy. To Florence," said Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"To Florence?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Why do you leave Chetwynde?" +<br> +<br> +"I have some business," said he, "of a most important kind; so +important that I must leave every thing and go away." +<br> +<br> +"Is your wife going with you?" +<br> +<br> +"No--she will remain here," said Lord Chetwynde, dryly. +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart could not help noticing the very peculiar tone in which he +spoke of his wife. +<br> +<br> +"She will be lonely without you," said she. +<br> +<br> +"Well--business must be attended to, and this is of vital +importance," was Lord Chetwynde's answer. +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart was silent for a long time. +<br> +<br> +"Do you expect ever to come back?" she asked at last. +<br> +<br> +"I hope so." +<br> +<br> +"But you do not know so?" +<br> +<br> +"I should be sorry to give up Chetwynde forever," said he. +<br> +<br> +"Is there any danger of that?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes. I am thinking of it. The affairs of the estate are of such a +nature that I may be compelled to sacrifice even Chetwynde. You know +that for three generations this prospect has been before us." +<br> +<br> +"But I thought that danger was averted by your marriage?" said Mrs. +Hart, in a low voice. +<br> +<br> +"It was averted for my father's lifetime, but now it remains for me +to do justice to those who were wronged by that arrangement; and +justice shall be done, even if Chetwynde has to be sacrificed." +<br> +<br> +"I understand," said Mrs. Hart, in a quiet, thoughtful tone--"and you +are going to Florence?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, in a few days. But you will be left in the care of those who +love you." +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde used to love me," said Mrs. Hart; "and I loved her." +<br> +<br> +"I am glad to know that--more so than I can say." +<br> +<br> +"She was always tender and loving and true. Your father loved her +like a daughter." +<br> +<br> +"So I have understood." +<br> +<br> +"You speak coldly." +<br> +<br> +"Do I? I was not aware of it. No doubt her care will be as much at +your service as ever, and when I come back again I shall find you in +a green old age--won't I? Say I shall, my dear old nurse." +<br> +<br> +Tears stood in Mrs. Hart's eyes. She gazed wistfully at him, but said +nothing. +<br> +<br> +A few more interviews took place between these two, and in a short +time Lord Chetwynde bade her an affectionate farewell, and left the +place once more. +<br> +<br> +On the morning after his departure Hilda was in the morning-room +waiting for Gualtier, whom she had summoned. Although she knew that +Lord Chetwynde was going away, yet his departure seemed sudden, and +took her by surprise. He went away without any notice, just as he had +done before, but somehow she had expected some formal announcement of +his intention, and, because he had gone away without a word, she +began to feel aggrieved and injured. Out of this there grew before +her the memory of all Lord Chetwynde's coolness toward her, of the +slights and insults to which he had subjected her, of the abhorrence +which he had manifested toward her. She felt that she was despised. +It was as though she had been foully wronged. To all these this last +act was added. He had gone away without a word or a sign--where, she +knew not--why, she could not tell. It was his abhorrence for her that +had driven him away--this was evident. +<br> +<br> +"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." And this woman, who found +herself doubly and trebly scorned, lashed herself into a fury of +indignation. In this new-found fury she found the first relief which +she had known from the torments of unrequited passion, from the +longing and the craving and the yearning of her hot and fervid +nature. Into this new fit of indignation she flung herself with +complete abandonment. Since he scorned her, he should suffer--this +was her feeling. Since he refused her love, he should feel her +vengeance. He should know that she might be hated, but she was not +one who could be despised. For every slight which he had heaped upon +her he should pay with his heart's blood. Under the pangs of this new +disappointment she writhed and groaned in her anguish, and all the +tumults of feeling which she had endured ever since she saw him now +seemed to congregate and gather themselves up into one outburst of +furious and implacable vengefulness. Her heart beat hot and fast in +her fierce excitement. Her face was pale, but the hectic flush on +either cheek told of the fires within; and the nervous agitation of +her manner, her clenched hands, and heaving breast, showed that the +last remnant of self-control was forgotten and swept away in this +furious rush of passion. It was in such a mood as this that Gualtier +found her as he entered the morning-room to which she had summoned +him. +<br> +<br> +Hilda at first did not seem to see him, or at any rate did not notice +him. She was sitting as before in a deep arm-chair, in the depths of +which her slender figure seemed lost. Her hands were clutched +together. Her face was turned toward that portrait over the +fire-place, which represented Lord Chetwynde in his early youth. Upon +that face, usually so like a mask, so impassive, and so unapt to +express the feelings that existed within, there was now visibly +expressed an array of contending emotions. She had thrown away or +lost her self-restraint; those feelings raged and expressed +themselves uncontrolled, and Gualtier for the first time saw her off +her guard. He entered with his usual stealthy tread, and watched her +for some time as she sat looking at the picture. He read in her face +the emotions which were expressed there. He saw disappointment, rage, +fury, love, vengeance, pride, and desire all contending together. He +learned for the first time that this woman whom he had believed to be +cold as an icicle was as hot-hearted as a volcano; that she was +fervid, impulsive, vehement, passionate, intense in love and in hate. +As he learned this he felt his soul sink within him as he thought +that it was not reserved for him, but for another, to call forth all +the fiery vehemence of that stormy nature. +<br> +<br> +She saw him at last, as with a passionate gesture she tore her eyes +away from the portrait, which seemed to fascinate her. The sight of +Gualtier at once restored her outward calm. She was herself once +more. She waved her hand loftily to a seat, and the very fact that +she had made this exhibition of feeling before him seemed to harden +that proud manner which she usually displayed toward him. +<br> +<br> +"I have sent for you," said she, in calm, measured tones, "for an +important purpose. You remember the last journey on which I sent +you?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, my lady." +<br> +<br> +"You did that well. I have another one on which I wish you to go. It +refers to the same person." +<br> +<br> +"Lord Chetwynde?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda bowed. +<br> +<br> +"I am ready," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"He left this morning, and I don't know where he has gone, but I wish +you to go after him." +<br> +<br> +"I know where he intended to go." +<br> +<br> +"How? Where?" +<br> +<br> +"Some of the servants overheard him speaking to Mrs. Hart about going +to Italy." +<br> +<br> +"Italy!" +<br> +<br> +"Yes. I can come up with him somewhere, if you wish it, and get on +his track. But what is it that you wish me to do?" +<br> +<br> +"In the first place, to follow him up." +<br> +<br> +"How--at a distance--or near him? That is to say, shall I travel in +disguise, or shall I get employ near his person? I can be a valet, or +a courier, or any thing else." +<br> +<br> +"Any thing. This must be left to you. I care not for details. The +grand result is what I look to." +<br> +<br> +"And what is the grand result?" +<br> +<br> +"Something which you yourself once proposed," said Hilda, in low, +stern tones, and with deep meaning. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier's face flushed. He understood her. +<br> +<br> +"I know," said he. "He is an obstacle, and you wish this obstacle +removed." +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"You understand me exactly, my lady, do you?" asked Gualtier, +earnestly. "You wish it removed--_just as other obstacles have been +removed_. You wish never to see him again. You wish to be your own +mistress henceforth--and always." +<br> +<br> +"You have stated exactly what I mean," said Hilda, in icy tones. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier was silent for some time. +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde," said he at length, in a tone which was strikingly +different from that with which for years he had addressed her--"Lady +Chetwynde, I wish you to observe that this task upon which you now +send me is far different from any of the former ones which I have +undertaken at your bidding. I have always set out without a +word--like one of those Haschishim of whom you have read, when he +received the mandate of the Sheik of the mountains. But the nature of +this errand is such that I may never see you again. The task is a +perilous one. The man against whom I am sent is a man of singular +acuteness, profound judgment, dauntless courage, and remorseless in +his vengeance. His acuteness may possibly enable him to see through +me, and frustrate my plan before it is fairly begun. What then? For +me, at least, there will be nothing but destruction. It is, +therefore, as if I now were standing face to face with death, and so +I crave the liberty of saying something to you this time, and not +departing in silence." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier spoke with earnestness, with dignity, yet with perfect +respect. There was that in his tone and manner which gave indications +of a far higher nature than any for which Hilda had ever yet given +him credit. His words struck her strangely. They were not +insubordinate, for he announced his intention to obey her; they were +not disrespectful, for his manner was full of his old reverence; but +they seemed like an assertion of something like manhood, and like a +blow against that undisputed ascendency which she had so long +maintained over him. In spite of her preoccupation, and her +tempestuous passion, she was forced to listen, and she listened with +a vague surprise, looking at him with a cold stare. +<br> +<br> +"You seem to me," said she, "to speak as though you were unwilling to +go--or afraid." +<br> +<br> +"Pardon me, Lady Chetwynde," said Gualtier, "you can not think that. +I have said that I would go, but that, as I may never see you again, +I wish to say something. I wish, in fact, now, after all these years, +to have a final understanding with you." +<br> +<br> +"Well?" said Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"I need not remind you of the past," said Gualtier, "or of my blind +obedience to all your mandates. Two events at least stand out +conspicuously. I have assisted you to the best of my power. Why I did +so must be evident to you. You know very well that it was no sordid +motive on my part, no hate toward others, no desire for vengeance, +but something far different--something which has animated me for +years, so that it was enough that you gave a command for me to obey. +For years I have been thus at your call like a slave, and now, after +all these years--now, that I depart on my last and most perilous +mission, and am speaking to you words which may possibly be the last +that you will ever hear from me--I wish to implore you, to beseech +you, to promise me that reward which you must know I have always +looked forward to, and which can be the only possible recompense to +one like me for services like mine." +<br> +<br> +He stopped and looked imploringly at her. +<br> +<br> +"And what is that?" asked Hilda, mechanically, as though she did not +fully understand him. +<br> +<br> +"_Yourself_," said Gualtier, in a low, earnest voice, with all his +soul in the glance which he threw upon her. +<br> +<br> +The moment that he said the word Hilda started back with a gesture of +impatience and contempt, and regarded him with an expression of anger +and indignation, and with a frown so black that it seemed as if she +would have blasted him with her look had she been able. Gualtier, +however, did not shrink from her fierce glance. His eyes were no +longer lowered before hers. He regarded her fixedly, calmly, yet +respectfully, with his head erect, and no trace of his old +unreasoning submission in his face and manner. Surprised as Hilda had +evidently been at his words, she seemed no less surprised at his +changed demeanor. It was the first time in her life that she had seen +in him any revelation of manhood; and that view opened up to her very +unpleasant possibilities. +<br> +<br> +"This is not a time," she said at length, in a sharp voice, "for such +nonsense as this." +<br> +<br> +"I beg your pardon, Lady Chetwynde," said Gualtier, firmly, "I think +that this and no other is the time. Whether it be 'nonsense' or not +need not be debated. It is any thing but nonsense to me. All my past +life seems to sweep up to this moment, and now is the crisis of my +fate. All my future depends upon it, whether for weal or woe. Lady +Chetwynde, do not call it nonsense--do not underrate its importance. +Do not, I implore you, underrate me. Thus far you have tacitly +assumed that I am a feeble and almost imbecile character. It is true +that my abject devotion to you has forced me to give a blind +obedience to all your wishes. But mark this well, Lady Chetwynde, +such obedience itself involved some of the highest qualities of +manhood. Something like courage and fortitude and daring was +necessary to carry out those plans of yours which I so willingly +undertook. I do not wish to speak of myself, however. I only wish to +show you that I am in earnest, and that though you may treat this +occasion with levity, I can not. All my life, Lady Chetwynde, hangs +on your answer to my question." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier's manner was most vehement, and indicative of the strongest +emotion, but the tones of his voice were low and only audible to +Hilda. Low as the voice was, however, it still none the less +exhibited the intensity of the passion that was in his soul. +<br> +<br> +Hilda, on the contrary, evinced a stronger rage at every word which +he uttered. The baleful light of her dark eyes grew more fiery in its +concentrated anger and scorn. +<br> +<br> +"It seems to me," said she, in her most contemptuous tone, "that you +engage to do my will only on certain conditions; and that you are +taking advantage of my necessities in order to drive a bargain." +<br> +<br> +"You are right, Lady Chetwynde," said Gualtier, calmly. "I am trying +to drive a bargain; but remember it is not for money--it is for +_yourself_." +<br> +<br> +"And I," said Hilda, with unchanged scorn, "will never submit to such +coercion. When you dare to dictate to me, you mistake my character +utterly. What I have to give I will give freely. My gifts shall never +be extorted from me, even though my life should depend upon my +compliance or refusal. The tone which you have chosen to adopt toward +me is scarcely one that will make me swerve from my purpose, or alter +any decision which I may have made. You have deceived yourself. You +seem to suppose that you are indispensable to me, and that this is +the time when you can force upon me any conditions you choose. As far +as that is concerned, let me tell you plainly that you may do what +you choose, and either go on this errand or stay. In any case, by no +possibility, will I make any promise whatever." +<br> +<br> +This Hilda said quickly, and in her usual scorn. She thought that +such indifference might bring Gualtier to terms, and make him decide +to obey her without extorting this promise. For a moment she thought +that she had succeeded. At her words a change came over Gualtier's +face. He looked humbled and sad. As she ceased, he turned his eyes +imploringly to her, and said: +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde, do not say that. I entreat you to give me this +promise." +<br> +<br> +"I will not!" said Hilda, sharply. +<br> +<br> +"Once more I entreat you," said Gualtier, more earnestly. +<br> +<br> +"Once more I refuse," said Hilda. "Go and do this thing first, and +then come and ask me." +<br> +<br> +"Will you _then_ promise me?" +<br> +<br> +"I will tell you nothing now." +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde, for the last time I _implore_ you to give me some +ground for hope at least. Tell me--if this thing be accomplished, +will you give me what I want?" +<br> +<br> +"I will make no engagement whatever," said Hilda, coldly. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier at this seemed to raise himself at once above his dejection, +his humility, and his prayerful attitude, to a new and stronger +assertion of himself. +<br> +<br> +"Very well," said he, gravely and sternly. "Now listen to me, Lady +Chetwynde. I will no longer entreat--I insist that you give me this +promise." +<br> +<br> +"Insist!" +<br> +<br> +Nothing can describe the scorn and contempt of Hilda's tone as she +uttered this word. +<br> +<br> +"I repeat it," said Gualtier, calmly, and with deeper emphasis. "_I_ +insist that you give me your promise." +<br> +<br> +"My friend," said Hilda, contemptuously, "you do not seem to +understand our positions. This seems to me like impertinence, and, +unless you make an apology, I shall be under the very unpleasant +necessity of obtaining a new steward." +<br> +<br> +As Hilda said this she turned paler than ever with suppressed rage. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier smiled scornfully. +<br> +<br> +"It seems to me," said he, "that you are the one who does not, or +will not, understand our respective positions. You will _not_ dismiss +_me_ from the stewardship, Lady Chetwynde, for you will be too +sensible for that. You will retain me in that dignified office, for +you know that I am indispensable to you, though you seemed to deny it +a moment since. You have not forgotten the relations which we bear to +one another. There are certain memories which rise between us two +which will never escape the recollection of either of us till the +latest moment of our lives; some of these are associated with the +General, some with the Earl, and some--with _Zillah_!" +<br> +<br> +He stopped, as though the mention of that last name had overpowered +him. As for Hilda, the pallor of her face grew deeper, and she +trembled with mingled agitation and rage. +<br> +<br> +"Go!" said she. "Go! and let me never see your face again!" +<br> +<br> +"No," said Gualtier, "I will not go till I choose. As to seeing my +face again, the wish is easier said than gained. No, Lady Chetwynde. +_You are in my power_! You know it. I tell it to you here, and +nothing can save you from me if I turn against you. You have never +understood me, for you have never taken the trouble to do so. You +have shown but little mercy toward me. When I have come home from +serving you--_you know how_--hungering and thirsting for some slight +act of appreciation, some token of thankfulness, you have always +repelled me, and denied what I dared not request. Had you but given +me the kind attention which a master gives to a dog, I would +have followed you like a dog to the world's end, and died for +you--like a dog, too," he added, in an under-tone. "But you have used +me as a stepping-stone; thinking that, like such, I could be spurned +aside when you were done with me. You have not thought that I am not +a stone or a block, but a man, with a man's heart within me. And it +is now as a man that I speak to you, because you force me to it. I +tell you this, that you are in my power, and you must be mine!" +<br> +<br> +"Are you a madman?" cried Hilda, overwhelmed with amazement at this +outburst. "Have you lost your senses? Fool! If you mean what you say, +I defy you! Go, and use your power! _I_ in the power of such as +you?--Never!" +<br> +<br> +Her brows contracted as she spoke, and from beneath her black eyes +seemed to shoot baleful fires of hate and rage unutterable. The full +intensity of her nature was aroused, and the expression of her face +was terrible in its fury and malignancy. But Gualtier did not recoil. +On the contrary, he feasted his eyes on her, and a smile came to his +features. +<br> +<br> +"You are beautiful!" said he. "You have a demon beauty that is +overpowering. Oh, beautiful fiend! You can not resist. You must be +mine--and you shall! I never saw you so lovely. I love you best in +your fits of rage." +<br> +<br> +"Fool!" cried Hilda. "This is enough. You are mad, or else drunk; in +either case you shall not stay another day in Chetwynde Castle. Go! +or I will order the servants to put you out." +<br> +<br> +"There will be no occasion for that," said Gualtier, coolly. "I am +going to leave you this very night to join Lord Chetwynde." +<br> +<br> +"It is too late now; your valuable services are no longer needed," +said Hilda, with a sneer. "You may spare yourself the trouble of such +a journey. Let me know what is due you, and I will pay it." +<br> +<br> +"You will pay me only one thing, and that is _yourself_," said +Gualtier. "If you do not choose to pay _that_ price you must take the +consequences. I am going to join Lord Chetwynde, whether you wish me +to or not. But, remember this!"--and Gualtier's voice grew menacing +in its intonations--"remember this; it depends upon you in what +capacity I am to join him. You are the one who must say whether I +shall go to him as his enemy or his friend. If I go as his enemy, +you know what will happen; if I go as his friend, it is you who must +fall. Now, Lady Chetwynde, do you understand me?" +<br> +<br> +As Gualtier said this there was a deep meaning in his words which +Hilda could not fail to understand, and there was at the same time +such firmness and solemn decision that she felt that he would +certainly do as he said. She saw at once the peril that lay before +her. An alternative was offered: the one was, to come to terms with +him; the other, to accept utter and hopeless ruin. That ruin, too, +which he menaced was no common one. It was one which placed her under +the grasp of the law, and from which no foreign land could shelter +her. All her prospects, her plans, her hopes, were in that instant +dashed away from before her; and she realized now, to the fullest +extent, the frightful truth that she was indeed completely in the +power of this man. The discovery of this acted on her like a shock, +which sobered her and drove away her passion. +<br> +<br> +She said nothing in reply, but sat down in silence, and remained a +long time without speaking. Gualtier, on his part, saw the effect of +his last words, but he made no effort to interrupt her thoughts. He +could not yet tell what she in her desperation might decide; he could +only wait for her answer. He stood waiting patiently. +<br> +<br> +At last Hilda spoke: +<br> +<br> +"You've told me bitter truths--but they are truths. Unfortunately, I +am in your power. If you choose to coerce me I must yield, for I am +not yet ready to accept ruin." +<br> +<br> +"You promise then?" +<br> +<br> +"Since I must--I do." +<br> +<br> +"Thank you," said Gualtier; "and now you will not see me again till +all is over either with _him_ or with _me_." +<br> +<br> +He bowed respectfully and departed. After he had left, Hilda sat +looking at the door with a face of rage and malignant fury. At +length, starting to her feet, she hurried up to her room. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XLVII. +<br> +<br> +HILDA SEES A GULF BENEATH HER FEET. +<br> +<br> +The astonishing change in Gualtier was an overwhelming shock to +Hilda. She had committed the fatal mistake of underrating him, and of +putting herself completely in his power. She had counted on his being +always humble and docile, always subservient and blindly obedient. +She had put from her all thoughts of a possible day of reckoning. She +had fostered his devotion to her so as to be used for her own ends, +and now found that she had raised up a power which might sweep her +away. In the first assertion of that power she had been vanquished, +and compelled to make a promise which she had at first refused with +the haughtiest contempt. She could only take refuge in vague plans of +evading her promise, and in punishing Gualtier for what seemed to her +his unparalleled audacity. +<br> +<br> +Yet, after all, bitter as the humiliation had been, it did not lessen +her fervid passion for Lord Chetwynde, and the hate and the vengeance +that had arisen when that passion had been condemned. After the first +shock of the affair with Gualtier had passed, her madness and fury +against him passed also, and her wild spirit was once again filled +with the all-engrossing thought of Lord Chetwynde. Gualtier had gone +off, as he said, and she was to see him no more for some +time--perhaps never. He had his own plans and purposes, of the +details of which Hilda knew nothing, but could only conjecture. She +felt that failure on his part was not probable, and gradually, so +confident was she that he would succeed, Lord Chetwynde began to seem +to her not merely a doomed man, but a man who had already undergone +his doom. And now another change came over her--that change which +Death can make in the heart of the most implacable of men when his +enemy has left life forever. From the pangs of wounded love she had +sought refuge in vengeance--but the prospect of a gratified vengeance +was but a poor compensation for the loss of the hope of a requited +love. The tenderness of love still remained, and it struggled with +the ferocity of vengeance. That love pleaded powerfully for Lord +Chetwynde's life. Hope came also, to lend its assistance to the +arguments of love. Would it not be better to wait--even for +years--and then perhaps the fierceness of Lord Chetwynde's repugnance +might be allayed? Why destroy him, and her hope, and her love, +forever, and so hastily? After such thoughts as these, however, the +remembrance of Lord Chetwynde's contempt was sure to return and +intensify her vengeance. +<br> +<br> +Under such circumstances, when distracted by so many cares, it is not +surprising that she forgot all about Mrs. Hart. She had understood +the full meaning of Gualtier's warning about her prospective +recovery, but the danger passed from her mind. Gualtier had gone on +his errand, and she was sure he would not falter. Shut up in her own +chamber, she awaited in deep agitation the first tidings which he +might send. Day succeeded to day; no tidings came; and at last she +began to hope that he had failed--and the pleasantest sight which she +could have seen at that time would have been Gualtier returning +disappointed and baffled. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile, Mrs. Hart, left to herself, steadily and rapidly +recovered. Ever since her first recognition of Lord Chetwynde her +improvement had been marked. New ideas seemed to have come to her; +new motives for life; and with these the desire of life; and at the +promptings of that desire health came back. This poor creature, even +in the best days of her life at Chetwynde Castle, had not known any +health beyond that of a moderate kind; and so a moderate recovery +would suffice to give her what strength she had lost. To be able to +wander about the house once more was all that she needed, and this +was not long denied her. +<br> +<br> +In a few days after Gualtier's departure she was able to go about. +She walked through the old familiar scenes, traversed the well-known +halls, and surveyed the well-remembered apartments. One journey was +enough for the first day. The next day she went about the grounds, +and visited the chapel, where she sat for hours on the Earl's tomb, +wrapped in an absorbing meditation. Two or three days passed on, and +she walked about as she used to. And now a strong desire seized her +to see that wife of Lord Chetwynde whom she so dearly loved and so +fondly remembered. She wondered that Lady Chetwynde had not come to +see her. She was informed that Lady Chetwynde was ill. A deep +sympathy then arose in her heart for the poor friendless lady--the +fair girl whom she remembered--and whom she now pictured to herself +as bereaved of her father, and scorned by her husband. For Mrs. Hart +rightly divined the meaning of Lord Chetwynde's words. She thought +long over this, and at last there arose within her a deep yearning +to go and see this poor friendless orphaned girl, whose life had been +so sad, and was still so mournful. +<br> +<br> +So one day, full of such tender feelings as these, and carrying in +her mind the image of that beautiful young girl who once had been so +dear to her, she went up herself to the room where Hilda staid, and +asked the maid for Lady Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"She is ill," said the maid. +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart waved her aside with serene dignity and entered. The maid +stood awe-struck. For Mrs. Hart had the air and the tone of a lady, +and now when her will was aroused she very well knew how to put down +an unruly servant. So she walked grandly past the maid, who looked in +awe upon her stately figure, her white face, with its refined +features, and her venerable hair, and passed through the half-opened +door into Hilda's room. +<br> +<br> +Hilda had been sitting on the sofa, which was near the window. She +was looking out abstractedly, thinking upon the great problem which +lay before her, upon the solution of which she could not decide, when +suddenly she became aware of some one in the room. She looked up. It +was Mrs. Hart! +<br> +<br> +At the sight her blood chilled within her. Her face was overspread +with an expression of utter horror. The shock was tremendous. She had +forgotten all about the woman. Mrs. Hart had been to her like the +dead, and now to see her thus suddenly was like the sight of the +dead. Had the dead Earl come into her room and stood before her in +the cerements of the grave she would not have been one whit more +horrified, more bewildered. But soon in that strong mind of hers +reason regained its place. She saw how it had been, and though she +still wondered how Mrs. Hart had come into her room, yet she prepared +as best she might to deal with this new and unexpected danger. She +arose, carefully closed the door, and then turning to Mrs. +Hart she took her hand, and said, simply, +<br> +<br> +"I'm so glad to see you about again." +<br> +<br> +"Where is Lady Chetwynde?" +<br> +<br> +This was all that Mrs. Hart said, as she withdrew her hand and looked +all about the room. +<br> +<br> +Like lightning Hilda's plan was decided upon. "Wait a moment," said +she; and, going into the ante-room, she sent her maid away upon some +errand that would detain her for some time. Then she came back and +motioned Mrs. Hart to a chair, while she took another. +<br> +<br> +"Did not Lord Chetwynde tell you about Lady Chetwynde?" she asked, +very cautiously. She was anxious, first of all, to see how much Mrs. +Hart knew. +<br> +<br> +"No," said Mrs. Hart, "he scarcely mentioned her name." She looked +suspiciously at Hilda while she spoke. +<br> +<br> +"That is strange," said Hilda. "Had you any conversations with him?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, several." +<br> +<br> +"And he did not tell you?" +<br> +<br> +"He told me nothing about her," said Mrs. Hart, dryly. +<br> +<br> +Hilda drew a long breath of relief. +<br> +<br> +"It's a secret in this house," said she, "but you must know it. I +will tell you all about it. After the Earl's death Lady Chetwynde +happened to come across some letters written by his son, in which the +utmost abhorrence was expressed for the girl whom he had married. I +dare say the letters are among the papers yet, and you can see them. +One in particular was fearful in its denunciations of her. He reviled +her, called her by opprobrious epithets, and told his father that he +would never consent to see her. Lady Chetwynde saw all these. You +know how high-spirited she was. She at once took fire at these +insults, and declared that she would never consent to see Lord +Chetwynde. She wrote him to that effect, and then departed from +Chetwynde Castle forever." +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart listened with a stern, sad face, and said not a word. +<br> +<br> +"I went with her to a place where she is now living in seclusion. I +don't think that Lord Chetwynde would have come home if he had not +known that she had left. Hearing this, however, he at once came +here." +<br> +<br> +"And you?" said Mrs. Hart, "what are you doing here? Are you the Lady +Chetwynde of whom the servants speak?" +<br> +<br> +"I am, temporarily," said Hilda, with a sad smile. "It was Zillah's +wish. She wanted to avoid a scandal. She sent off all the old +servants, hired new ones, and persuaded me to stay here for a time as +Lady Chetwynde. She found a dear old creature to nurse you, and never +ceases to write about you and ask how you are." +<br> +<br> +"And you live here as Lady Chetwynde?" asked Mrs. Hart, sternly. +<br> +<br> +"Temporarily," said Hilda--"that was the arrangement between us. +Zillah did not want to have the name of Chetwynde dishonored by +stories that his wife had run away from him. She wrote Lord Chetwynde +to that effect. When Lord Chetwynde arrived I saw him in the library, +and he requested me to stay here for some months until he had +arranged his plans for the future. It was very considerate in Zillah, +but at the same time it is very embarrassing to me, and I am looking +eagerly forward to the time when this deceit can be over, and I can +rejoin my friend once more. I am so glad, my dear Mrs. Hart, that you +came in. It is such a relief to have some one to whom I can unburden +myself. I am very miserable, and I imagine all the time that the +servants suspect me. You will, of course, keep this a profound +secret, will you not, my dear Mrs. Hart? and help me to play this +wretched part, which my love for Zillah has led me to undertake?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda's tone was that of an innocent and simple girl who found +herself in a false position. Mrs. Hart listened earnestly without a +word, except occasionally. The severe rigidity of her features never +relaxed. What effect this story, so well told, produced upon her, +Hilda could not know. At length, however, she had finished, and Mrs. +Hart arose. +<br> +<br> +"You will keep Zillah's secret?" said Hilda, earnestly. "It is for +the sake of Lord Chetwynde." +<br> +<br> +"You will never find me capable of doing any thing that is against +his interests," said Mrs. Hart, solemnly; and without a bow, or an +adieu, she retired. She went back to her own room to ponder over this +astonishing story. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile, Hilda, left alone to herself, was not altogether satisfied +with the impression which had been made on Mrs. Hart. She herself had +played her part admirably--her story, long prepared in case of some +sudden need like this, was coherent and natural. It was spoken +fluently and unhesitatingly; nothing could have been better in its +way, or more convincing; and yet she was not satisfied with Mrs. +Hart's demeanor. Her face was too stern, her manner too frigid; the +questions which she had asked spoke of suspicion. All these were +unpleasant, and calculated to awaken her fears. Her position had +always been one of extreme peril, and she had dreaded some visitor +who might remember her face. She had feared the doctor most, and had +carefully kept out of his way. She had not thought until lately of +the possibility of Mrs. Hart's recovery. This came upon her with a +suddenness that was bewildering, and the consequences she could not +foretell. +<br> +<br> +And now another fear suggested itself. Might not Lord Chetwynde +himself have some suspicions? Would not such suspicions account for +his coldness and severity? Perhaps he suspected the truth, and was +preparing some way in which she could be entrapped and punished. +Perhaps his mysterious business in London related to this alone. The +thought filled her with alarm, and now she rejoiced that Gualtier was +on his track. She began to believe that she could never be safe until +Lord Chetwynde was "removed." And if Lord Chetwynde, then others. Who +was this Mrs. Hart that she should have any power of troubling her? +Measures might easily be taken for silencing her forever, and for +"removing" such a feeble old obstacle as this. Hilda knew means by +which this could be effected. She knew the way by which the deed +could be done, and she had nerve enough to do it. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/163.png" alt="She Stood For A While And Listened."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "She Stood For A Little While And Listened."] +<br> +<br> +The appearance of this new danger in Chetwynde Castle itself gave a +new direction to her troubles. It was as though a gulf had suddenly +yawned beneath her feet. All that night she lay deliberating as to +what was best to do under the circumstances. Mrs. Hart was safe +enough for a day or two, but what might she not do hereafter in the +way of mischief? She could not be got rid of, either, in an ordinary +way. She had been so long in Chetwynde Castle that it seemed morally +impossible to dislodge her. Certainly she was not one who could be +paid and packed off to some distant place like the other servants. +There was only one way to get rid of her, and to this one way Hilda's +thoughts turned gloomily. +<br> +<br> +Over this thought she brooded through all the following day. Evening +came, and twilight deepened into darkness. At about ten o'clock Hilda +left her room and quietly descended the great staircase, and went +over toward the chamber occupied by Mrs. Hart. Arriving at the door +she stood without for a little while and listened. There was no +noise. She gave a turn to the knob and found that the door was open. +The room was dark. She has gone to bed, she thought. She went back to +her own room again, and in about half an hour she returned. The door +of Mrs. Hart's room remained ajar as she had left it. She pushed it +farther open, and put her head in. All was still. There were no +sounds of breathing there. Slowly and cautiously she advanced into +the room. She drew nearer to the bed. There was no light whatever, +and in the intense darkness no outline revealed the form of the bed +to her. Nearer and nearer she drew to the bed, until at last she +touched it. Gently, yet swiftly, her hands passed over its surface, +along the quilts, up to the pillows. An involuntary cry burst from +her-- +<br> +<br> +The bed was empty! +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XLVIII. +<br> +<br> +FROM LOVE TO VENGEANCE, AND FROM VENGEANCE TO LOVE. +<br> +<br> +On the night of this last event, before she retired to bed, Hilda +learned more. Leaving Mrs. Hart's room, she called at the +housekeeper's chambers to see if the missing woman might be there. +The housekeeper informed her that she had left at an early hour that +morning, without saying a word to any one, and that she herself had +taken it for granted that her ladyship knew all about it. Hilda heard +this without any comment; and then walked thoughtfully to her own +room. +<br> +<br> +She certainly had enough care on her mind to occupy all her thoughts. +The declaration of Gualtier was of itself an ill-omened event, and +she no longer had that trust in his fidelity which she once had, even +though he now might work in the hope of a reward. It seemed to her +that with the loss of her old ascendency over him she would lose +altogether his devotion; nor could the remembrance of his former +services banish that deep distrust of him which, along with her +bitter resentment of his rebellion, had arisen in her mind. The +affair of Mrs. Hart seemed worse yet. Her sudden appearance, her +sharp questionings, her cold incredulity, terminated at last by her +prompt flight, were all circumstances which filled her with the most +gloomy forebodings. Her troubles seemed now to increase every day, +each one coming with startling suddenness, and each one being of that +sort against which no precautions had been taken, or even thought of. +<br> +<br> +She passed an anxious day and a sleepless night. On the following +morning a letter was brought to her. It had a foreign post-mark, and +the address showed the handwriting of Gualtier. This at once brought +back the old feelings about Lord Chetwynde, and she tore it open with +feverish impatience, eager to know what the contents might be, yet +half fearful of their import. It was written in that tone of respect +which Gualtier had never lost but once, and which he had now resumed. +He informed her that on leaving Chetwynde he had gone at once up to +London, and found that Lord Chetwynde was stopping at the same hotel +where he had put up last. He formed a bold design, which he put in +execution, trusting to the fact that Lord Chetwynde had never seen +him more than twice at the Castle, and on both occasions had seemed +not even to have looked at him. He therefore got himself up very +carefully in a foreign fashion, and, as he spoke French perfectly, he +went to Lord Chetwynde and offered himself as a valet or courier. It +happened that Lord Chetwynde actually needed a man to serve him in +this capacity, a fact which Gualtier had found out in the hotel, and +so the advent of the valet was quite welcome. After a brief +conversation, and an inquiry into his knowledge of the languages and +the routes of travel on the Continent, Lord Chetwynde examined his +letters of recommendation, and, finding them very satisfactory, he +took him into his employ. They remained two days longer in London, +during which Gualtier made such good use of his time and +opportunities that he managed to gain access to Lord Chetwynde's +papers, but found among them nothing of any importance whatever, from +which he concluded that all his papers of any consequence must have +been deposited with his solicitors. At any rate it was impossible for +him to find out any thing from this source. +<br> +<br> +Leaving London they went to Paris, where they passed a few days, but +soon grew weary of the place; and Lord Chetwynde, feeling a kind of +languor, which seemed to him like a premonition of disease, he +decided to go to Germany. His first idea was to go to Baden, although +it was not the season; but on his arrival at Frankfort he was so +overcome by the fatigue of traveling that he determined to remain for +a time in that city. His increasing languor, however, had alarmed +him, and he had called in the most eminent physicians of the place, +who, at the time the letter was written, were prescribing for him. +The writer said that they did not seem to think that this illness had +any thing very serious in it, and simply recommended certain changes +of diet and various kinds of gentle exercise, but he added that in +his opinion there was something in it, and that this illness was more +serious than was supposed. As for the sick man himself, he was much +discouraged. He had grown tired of his physicians and of Frankfort, +and wished to go on to Baden, thinking that the change might do him +good. He seemed anxious for constant change, and spoke as though he +might leave Baden for some other German city, or perhaps go on to +Italy, to which place his thoughts, for some reason or other, seemed +always turning with eager impatience. +<br> +<br> +As Hilda read this letter, and took in the whole of its dark and +hidden meaning, all her former agitation returned. Once more the +question arose which had before so greatly harassed her. The +disappearance of Mrs. Hart, and the increasing dangers which had been +gathering around her head, had for a time taken up her thoughts, but +now her great, preoccupying care came back with fresh vehemence, and +resumed more than its former sway. Mrs. Hart was forgotten as +completely as though she had never existed. Gualtier's possible +infidelity to her suggested itself no more; it was Lord Chetwynde and +Lord Chetwynde only, his sickness, his peril, his doom, which came to +her mind. On one side stood Love, pleading for his life; on the +other Vengeance, demanding its sacrifice. +<br> +<br> +_Shall he live, or shall he die_? +<br> +<br> +This was the question which ever and ever rang in her soul. "Shall he +live, or die? Shall he go down to death, doomed by me, and thus end +all my hope, or shall he live to scorn me?" In his death there was +the satisfaction of vengeance, but there was also the death of hope. +In his death there was fresh security for herself; but in his death +her own life would lie dead. On each side there were motives most +powerful over a mind like hers, yet so evenly balanced that she knew +not which way to turn, or in which way to incline. Death or +life?--life or death? Thus the question came. +<br> +<br> +And the hours passed on; and every hour, she well knew, was freighted +with calamity; every hour was dragging Lord Chetwynde on to that +point at which the power to decide upon his fate would be hers no +longer. +<br> +<br> +Why hesitate? +<br> +<br> +This was the form which the question took at last, and under which it +forced itself more and more upon her. Why hesitate? To hesitate was +of itself to doom him to death. If he was to be saved, there was no +time for delay. He must be saved at once. If he was to be saved, she +must act herself, and that, too, promptly and energetically. Her part +could not be performed by merely writing a letter, for the letter +might be delayed, or it might be miscarried, or it might be neglected +and disobeyed. She could not trust the fulfillment of a command of +mercy to Gualtier. She herself could alone fulfill such a purpose. +She herself must act by herself. +<br> +<br> +As she thought of this her decision was taken. Yes, she would do it. +She herself would arrest his fate, for a time at least. Yes--he +should live, and she herself would fly to his aid, and stand by his +side, and be the one who would snatch him from his doom. +<br> +<br> +Now, no sooner was this decision made than there came over her a +strange thrill of joy and exultation. He should live! he should live! +this was the refrain which rang in her thoughts. He should live; and +she would be the life-giver. At last he would be forced to look upon +her with eyes of gratitude at least, if not of affection. It should +no longer be in his power to scorn her, or to turn away coldly and +cruelly from her proffered hand. He should yet learn to look upon her +as his best friend. He should learn to call her by tender names; and +speak to her words of fondness, of endearment, and of love. Now, as +deep as her despondency had been, so high rose her joy at this new +prospect; and her hope, which rose out of this resolution, was bright +to a degree which was commensurate with the darkness of her previous +despair. He shall live; and he shall be mine--these were the words +upon which her heart fed itself, which carried to that heart a wild +and feverish joy, and drove away those sharp pangs which she had +felt. And now the love which burned within her diffused through all +her being those softer qualities which are born of love; and the hate +and the vengeance upon which she had of late sustained her soul were +forgotten. Into her heart there came a tenderness all feminine, and a +thing unknown to her before that fateful day on which she had first +seen Lord Chetwynde; a tenderness which filled her with a yearning +desire to fly to the rescue of this man, whom she had but lately +handed over to the assassin. She hungered and thirsted to be near +him, to stand by his side, to see his face, to touch his hand, to +hear his voice, to give to him that which should save him from the +fate which she herself had dealt out to him by the hands of her own +agent. It was thus that her love at last triumphed over her +vengeance, and, sweeping onward, drove away all other thoughts and +feelings. +<br> +<br> +Hers was the love of the tigress; but even the love of the tigress is +yet love; and such love has its own profound depths of tenderness, +its capacity of intense desire, its power of complete self-abnegation +or of self-immolation--feelings which, in the tigress kind of love, +are as deep as in any other, and perhaps even deeper. +<br> +<br> +But from her in that dire emergency the one thing that was required +above all else was haste. That she well knew. There was no time for +delay. There was one at the side of Lord Chetwynde whose heart knew +neither pity nor remorse, whose hand never faltered in dealing its +blow, and who watched every failing moment of his life with unshaken +determination. To him her cruel and bloody behests had been committed +in her mad hour of vengeance; those behests he was now carrying out +as much for his own sake as for hers; accomplishing the fulfillment +of his own purposes under the cloak of obedience to her orders. He +was the destroying angel, and his mission was death. He could not +know of the change which had come over her; nor could he dream of the +possibility of a change. She alone could bring a reprieve from that +death, and stay his hand. +<br> +<br> +Haste, then--she murmured to herself--oh, haste, or if will soon be +too late! Fly! Leave every thing and fly! Every hour brings him +nearer to death until that hour comes when you may save him from +death. Haste, or it may be too late--and the mercy and the pity and +the tenderness of love may be all unavailing! +<br> +<br> +It was with the frantic haste which was born of this new-found pity +that Hilda prepared for her journey. Her preparations were not +extensive. A little luggage sufficed. She did not wish a maid. She +had all her life relied upon herself, and now set forth upon this +fateful journey alone and unattended, with her heart filled with one +feeling only, and only one hope. It needed but a short time to +complete her preparations, and to announce to the astonished +domestics her intention of going to the Continent. Without noticing +their amazement, or caring for it, she ordered the carriage for the +nearest station, and in a short time after her first decision she was +seated in the cars and hurrying onward to London. +<br> +<br> +Arriving there, she made a short stay. She had some things to procure +which were to her of infinite importance. Leaving the hotel, she went +down Oxford Street till she came to a druggist's shop, which she +entered, and, going up to the clerk, she handed him a paper, which +looked like a doctor's prescription. The clerk took it, and, after +looking at it, carried it to an inner office. After a time the +proprietor appeared. He scanned Hilda narrowly, while she returned +his glance with her usual haughtiness. The druggist appeared +satisfied with his inspection. +<br> +<br> +"Madame," said he, politely, "the ingredients of this prescription +are of such a nature that the law requires me to know the name and +address of the purchaser, so as to enter them on the purchase book." +<br> +<br> +"My address," said Hilda, quietly, "is Mrs. Henderson, 51 Euston +Square." +<br> +<br> +The druggist bowed, and entered the name carefully on his book, after +which he himself prepared the prescription and handed it to Hilda. +<br> +<br> +She asked the price, and, on hearing it, flung down a sovereign, +after which she was on the point of leaving without waiting for the +change, when the druggist called her back. +<br> +<br> +"Madame," said he, "you are leaving without your change." +<br> +<br> +Hilda started, and then turning back she took the change and thanked +him. +<br> +<br> +"I thought you said it was twenty shillings," she remarked, quietly, +seeing that the druggist was looking at her with a strange +expression. +<br> +<br> +"Oh no, madame; I said ten shillings." +<br> +<br> +"Ah! I misunderstood you," and with these words Hilda took her +departure, carrying with her the precious medicine. +<br> +<br> +That evening she left London, and took the steamer for Ostend. Before +leaving she had sent a telegraphic message to Gualtier at Frankfort, +announcing the fact that she was coming on, and asking him, if he +left Frankfort before her arrival, to leave a letter for her at the +hotel, letting her know where they might go. This she did for a +twofold motive: first, to let Gualtier know that she was coming, and +secondly, to secure a means of tracking them if they went to another +place. But the dispatch of this message filled her with fresh +anxiety. She feared first that the message might not reach its +destination in time; and then that Gualtier might utterly +misunderstand her motive--a thing which, under the circumstances, he +was certain to do--and, under this misapprehension, hurry up his +work, so as to have it completed by the time of her arrival. These +thoughts, with many others, agitated her so much that she gradually +worked herself into an agony of fear; and the swiftest speed of +steamboat or express train seemed slow to the desire of that stormy +spirit, which would have forced its way onward, far beyond the speed +which human contrivances may create, to the side of the man whom she +longed to see and to save. The fever of her fierce anxiety, the +vehemence of her desire, the intensity of her anguish, all worked +upon her delicate organization with direful effect. Her brain became +confused, and thoughts became dreams. For hours she lost all +consciousness of surrounding objects. Yet amidst all this confusion +of a diseased and overworked brain, and amidst this delirium of wild +thought, there was ever prominent her one idea--her one purpose. How +she passed that journey she could not afterward remember, but it was +at length passed, and, following the guidance of that strong purpose, +which kept its place in her mind when other things were lost, she at +last stood in the station-house at Frankfort. +<br> +<br> +"Drive to the Hôtel Rothschild," she cried to the cabman whom she had +engaged. "Quick! for your life!" +<br> +<br> +The cabman marked her agitation and frenzy. +<br> +<br> +He whipped up his horses, the cab dashed through the streets, and +reached the hotel. Hilda hurried out and went up the steps. Tottering +rather than walking, she advanced to a man who had come to meet her. +He seemed to be the proprietor. +<br> +<br> +"Lord Chetwynde!" she gasped. "Is he here?" She spoke in German. +<br> +<br> +The proprietor shook his head. +<br> +<br> +"He left the day before yesterday." +<br> +<br> +Hilda staggered back with a low moan. She did not really think that +he could be here yet, but she had hoped that he might be, and the +disappointment was great. +<br> +<br> +"Is there a letter here," she asked, in a faint voice, "for Lady +Chetwynde?" +<br> +<br> +"I think so. I'll see." +<br> +<br> +Hurrying away he soon returned with a letter in his hand. +<br> +<br> +"Are you the one to whom it is addressed?" he asked, with deep +respect. +<br> +<br> +"I am Lady Chetwynde," said Hilda, and at the same time eagerly +snatched the letter from his hand. On the outside she at once +recognized the writing of Gualtier. She saw the address, "Lady +Chetwynde." In an instant she tore it open, and read the contents. +<br> +<br> +The letter contained only the following words: +<br> +<br> +"FRANKFORT, HÔTEL ROTHSCHILD, October 30, 1859. +<br> +<br> +"We leave for Baden to-day. Our business is progressing very +favorably. We go to the Hôtel Français at Baden. If you come on you +must follow us there. If we go away before your arrival I will leave +a note for you." +<br> +<br> +The letter was as short as a telegram, and as unsatisfactory to a +mind in such a state as hers. It had no signature, but the +handwriting was Gualtier's. +<br> +<br> +Hilda's hand trembled so that she could scarcely hold it. She read it +over and over again. Then she turned to the landlord. +<br> +<br> +"What time does the next train leave for Baden?" she asked. +<br> +<br> +"To-morrow morning at 5 A.M., miladi." +<br> +<br> +"Is there no train before?" +<br> +<br> +"No, miladi." +<br> +<br> +"Is there no steamer?" +<br> +<br> +"No, miladi--not before to-morrow morning. The five o'clock train is +the first and the quickest way to go to Baden." +<br> +<br> +"I am in a great hurry," said Hilda, faintly. "I must be called in +time for the five o'clock train." +<br> +<br> +"You shall be, miladi." +<br> +<br> +"Send a maid--and let me have my room now--as soon as possible--for I +am worn out." +<br> +<br> +As she said this she tottered, and would have fallen, but the +landlord supported her, and called for the maids. They hurried +forward, and Hilda was carried up to her room and tenderly put to +bed. The landlord was an honest, tender-hearted German. Lord +Chetwynde had been a guest of sufficient distinction to be well +remembered by a landlord, and his ill health had made him more +conspicuous. The arrival of this devoted wife, who herself seemed as +ill as her husband, but who yet, in spite of weakness, was hastening +to him with such a consuming desire to get to him, affected most +profoundly this honest landlord, and all others in the hotel. That +evening, then, Hilda's faith and love and constancy formed the chief +theme of conversation; the visitors of the hotel heard the sad story +from the landlord, and deep was the pity, and profound the sympathy, +which were expressed by all. To the ordinary pathos of this affecting +example of conjugal love some additional power was lent by the +extreme beauty, the excessive prostration and grief, and, above all, +the illustrious rank of this devoted woman. +<br> +<br> +Hilda was put to bed, but there was no sleep for her. The fever of +her anxiety, the shock of her disappointment, the tumult of her hopes +and fears, all made themselves felt in her overworked brain. She did +not take the five o'clock train on the following day. The maid came +to call her, but found her in a high fever, eager to start, but quite +unable to move. Before noon she was delirious. +<br> +<br> +In that delirium her thoughts wandered over those scenes which for +the past few months had been uppermost in her mind. Now she was shut +up in her chamber at Chetwynde Castle reading the Indian papers; she +heard the roll of carriage wheels; she prepared to meet the new-comer +face to face. She followed him to the morning-room, and there +listened to his fierce maledictions. On the occasion itself she had +been dumb before him, but in her delirium she had words of +remonstrance. These words were expressed in every varying shade of +entreaty, deprecation, conciliation, and prayer. Again she watched a +stern, forbidding face over the dinner-table, and sought to appease +by kind words the just wrath of the man she loved. Again she held out +her hand, only to have her humble advances repelled in coldest scorn. +Again she saw him leave her forever without a word of +farewell--without even a notice of his departure, and she remained to +give herself up to vengeance. +<br> +<br> +That delirium carried her through many past events. Gualtier again +stood up before her in rebellion, proud, defiant, merciless, +asserting himself, and enforcing her submission to his will. Again +there came into her room, suddenly, and like a spectre, the awful +presence of Mrs. Hart, with her white face, her stern looks, her +sharp inquiries, and her ominous words. Again she pursued this woman +to her own room, in the dark, and ran her hands over the bed, and +found that bed empty. +<br> +<br> +But Lord Chetwynde was the central object of her delirious fancies. +It was to him that her thoughts reverted from brief wanderings over +reminiscences of Gualtier and Mrs. Hart. Whatever thoughts she might +have about these, those thoughts would always at last revert to him. +And with him it was not so much the past that suggested itself to her +diseased imagination as the future. That future was sufficiently dark +and terrible to be portrayed in fearful colors by her incoherent +ravings. There were whispered words--words of frightful meaning, +words which expressed those thoughts which in her sober senses she +would have died rather than reveal. Had any one been standing by her +bedside who knew English, he might have learned from her words a +story of fearful import--a tale which would have chilled his blood, +and which would have shown him how far different this sick woman was +from the fond, self-sacrificing wife, who had excited the sympathy of +all in the hotel. But there was none who could understand her. The +doctor knew no language beside his own, except a little French; the +maids knew nothing but German. And so it was that while Hilda +unconsciously revealed the whole of those frightful secrets which she +carried shut up within her breast, that revelation was not +intelligible to any of those who were in contact with her. Well was +it for her at that time that she had chosen to come away without her +maid; for had that maid been with her then she would have learned +enough of her mistress to send her flying back to England in horror, +and to publish abroad the awful intelligence. +<br> +<br> +Thus a week passed--a week of delirium, of ravings, of incoherent +speeches, unintelligible to all those by whom she was surrounded. At +length her strong constitution triumphed over the assaults of +disease. The fever was allayed, and sense returned; and with +returning sense there came the full consciousness of her position. +The one purpose of her life rose again within her mind, and even +while she was too weak to move she was eager to be up and away. +<br> +<br> +"How long will it be," she asked of the doctor, "before I can go on +my journey?" +<br> +<br> +"If every thing is favorable, miladi," answered the doctor, "as I +hope it will be, you may be able to go in about a week. It will be a +risk, but you are so excited that I would rather have you go than +stay." +<br> +<br> +"A week! A week!" exclaimed Hilda, despairingly. "I can not wait so +long as that. No. I will go before then--or else I will die." +<br> +<br> +"If you go before a week," said the doctor, warningly, and with +evident anxiety, "you will risk your life." +<br> +<br> +"Very well then, I will risk my life," said Hilda. "What is life +worth now?" she murmured, with a moan of anguish. "I must and will go +on, if I die for it--and in three days." +<br> +<br> +The doctor made no reply. He saw her desperation, and perceived that +any remonstrance would be worse than useless. To keep such a resolute +and determined spirit chained here in a sick-chamber would be +impossible. She would chafe at the confinement so fiercely that a +renewal of the fever would be inevitable. She would have to be +allowed her own way. Most deeply did he commiserate this devoted +wife, and much did he wonder how it had happened that her husband had +gone off from her thus, at a time when he himself was threatened with +illness. And now, as before, those kindly German hearts in the hotel, +on learning this new outburst of conjugal love, felt a sympathy which +was beyond all expression. To none of them had there ever before been +known any thing approaching to so piteous a case as this. +<br> +<br> +The days passed. Hilda was avaricious about every new sign of +increasing strength. Her strong determination, her intense desire, +and her powerful will, at last triumphed over bodily pain and +weakness. It was as she said, and on the third day she managed to +drag herself from her bed and prepare for a fresh journey. In +preparation for this, however, she was compelled to have a maid to +accompany her, and she selected one of those who had been her +attendants, an honest, simple-hearted, affectionate German +girl--Gretchen by name, one who was just suited to her in her present +situation. +<br> +<br> +She made the journey without any misfortune. On reaching Baden she +had to be lifted into the cab. Driving to the Hôtel Français, she +reached it in a state of extreme prostration, and had to be carried +to her rooms. She asked for a letter. There was one for her. Gualtier +had not been neglectful, but had left a message. It was very much +like the last. +<br> +<br> +BADEN, HÔTEL FRANÇAIS, November 2, 1859. +<br> +<br> +"We leave for Munich to-day, and will stop at the Hôtel des +Etrangers. Business progressing most favorably. If we go away from +Munich I will leave a note for you." +<br> +<br> +The letter was dated November 2, but it was now the 10th of that +month, and Hilda was far behind time. She had nerved herself up to +this effort, and the hope of finding the object of her search at +Baden had sustained her. But her newfound strength was now utterly +exhausted by the fatigue of travel, and the new disappointment which +she had experienced created discouragement and despondency. This told +still more upon her strength, and she was compelled to wait here for +two days, chafing and fretting against her weakness. +<br> +<br> +Nothing could exceed the faithful attention of Gretchen. She had +heard at Frankfort, from the gossip of the servants, the story of her +mistress, and all her German sentiment was roused in behalf of one so +sorrowful and so beautiful. Her natural kindness of heart also led to +the utmost devotion to Hilda, and, so far as careful and incessant +attention could accomplish any thing, all was done that was possible. +By the 13th of November Hilda was ready to start once more, and on +that morning she left for Munich. +<br> +<br> +This journey was more fatiguing than the last. In her weak state she +was almost overcome. Twice she fainted away in the cars, and all of +Gretchen's anxious care was required to bring her to her destination. +The German maid implored her with tears to get out at some of the +towns on the way. But Hilda resolutely refused. She hoped to find +rest at Munich, and to stop short of that place seemed to her to +endanger her prospect of success. Again, as before, the strong soul +triumphed over the infirmity of the body, and the place of her +destination was at last attained. +<br> +<br> +She reached it more dead than alive. Gretchen lifted her into a cab. +She was taken to the Hôtel des Etrangers. At the very first moment of +her entrance into the hall she had asked a breathless question of the +servant who appeared: +<br> +<br> +"Is Lord Chetwynde here?" +<br> +<br> +"Lord Chetwynde? No. He has gone." +<br> +<br> +"Gone!" said Hilda, in a voice which was like a groan of despair. +"Gone! When?" +<br> +<br> +"Nearly a week ago," said the servant. +<br> +<br> +At this Hilda's strength again left her utterly, and she fell back +almost senseless. She was carried to her room. Then she rallied by a +mighty effort, and sent Gretchen to see if there was a letter for +her. In a short time the maid reappeared, bringing another of those +welcome yet tantalizing notes, which always seemed ready to mock her, +and to lure her on to fresh disappointment. Yet her impatience to +read its contents had in no way diminished, and it was with the same +impetuous fever of curiosity as before that she tore open the +envelope and devoured the contents. This note was much like the +others, but somewhat more ominous. +<br> +<br> +It read as follows: +<br> +<br> +"MUNICH, HÔTEL DES ETRANGES, November 9, 1859. +<br> +<br> +"We leave for Lausanne to-day. We intend to stop at the Hôtel Gibbon. +It is not probable that any further journey will be made. Business +most favorable, and prospects are that every thing will soon be +brought to a successful issue." +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XLIX. +<br> +<br> +THE ANGUISH OF THE HEART. +<br> +<br> +As Hilda read these ominous words a chill like that of death seemed +to strike to her inmost soul. Her disappointment on her arrival here +had already been bitter enough. She had looked upon Munich as the +place where she would surely find the end of her journey, and obtain +the reward of her labors. But now the object of her search was once +more removed, and a new journey more fatiguing than the others was +set before her. Could she bear it?--she who even now felt the old +weakness, and something even worse, coming back irresistibly upon +her. Could she, indeed, bear another journey? This question she put +to herself half hopelessly; but almost immediately her resolute soul +asserted itself, and proudly answered it. Bear such a journey? Ay, +this journey she could bear, and not only this, but many more. Even +though her old weakness was coming back over her frail form, still +she rose superior to that weakness, and persisted in her +determination to go on, and still on, without giving up her purpose, +till she reached Lord Chetwynde, even though it should only be at the +moment of her arrival to drop dead at his feet. +<br> +<br> +There was more now to stimulate her than the determination of a +resolute and invincible will. The words of that last note had a dark +and ominous meaning, which affected her more strongly by far than any +of the others. The messages which they bore had not been of so +fearful an import as this. +<br> +<br> +The first said that the "business" was progressing _very favorably_. +<br> +<br> +The second, that it was progressing _most favorably_. +<br> +<br> +This last one told her that the business _would soon be brought to a +successful issue_. +<br> +<br> +Well she knew the meaning of these words. In these different messages +she saw so many successive stages of the terrific work which was +going on, and to avert which she had endured so much, at the cost of +such suffering to herself. She saw the form of Lord Chetwynde failing +more and more every day, and still, while he struggled against the +approach of insidious disease, yielding, in spite of himself, to its +resistless progress. She saw him going from place to place, summoning +the physicians of each town where he stopped, and giving up both town +and physicians in despair. She saw, also, how all the time there +stood by his side one who was filled with one dark purpose, in the +accomplishment of which he was perseveringly cruel and untiringly +patient--one who watched the growing weakness of his victim with +cold-blooded interest, noting every decrease of strength, and every +sign which might give token of the end--one, too, who thought that +she was hastening after him to join in his work, and was only +delaying in order to join him when all was over, so as to give him +her congratulations, and bestow upon him the reward which he had made +her promise that she would grant. +<br> +<br> +Thoughts like these filled her with madness. Wretched and almost +hopeless, prostrated by her weakness, yet consumed by an ardent +desire to rush onward and save the dying man from the grasp of the +destroyer, her soul became a prey to a thousand contending emotions, +and endured the extreme of the anguish of suspense. Such a struggle +as this proved too much for her. One night was enough to prostrate +her once more to that stage of utter weakness which made all hope of +travel impossible. In that state of prostration her mind still +continued active, and the thoughts that never ceased to come were +those which prevented her from rallying readily. For the one idea +that was ever present was this, that while she was thus helpless, +_her work was still going on_--that work which she had ordered and +directed. That emissary whom she had sent out was now, as she well +knew, fulfilling her mandate but too zealously. The power was now all +in his own hands. And she herself--what could she do? He had already +defied her authority--would he now give up his purpose, even if she +wished? She might have telegraphed from London a command to him to +stop all further proceedings till she came; but, even if she had done +so, was it at all probable that he, after what had happened, would +have obeyed? She had not done so, because she did not feel in a +position to issue commands any longer in her old style. The servant +had assumed the air and manner of a master, and the message which she +had sent had been non-committal. She had relied upon the prospect of +her own speedy arrival upon the scene, and upon her own power of +confronting him, and reducing him to obedience in case of his refusal +to fall in with her wishes. +<br> +<br> +But now it had fallen out far differently from what she had expected, +and the collapse of her own strength had ruined all. Now every day +and every hour was taking hope away from her, and giving it to that +man who, from being her tool, had risen to the assertion of +mastership over her. Now every moment was dragging away from her the +man whom she sought so eagerly--dragging him away from her love to +the darkness of that place to which her love and her longing might +never penetrate. +<br> +<br> +Now, also, there arose within her the agonies of remorse. Never +before had she understood the fearful meaning of this word. Such a +feeling had never stirred her heart when she handed over to the +betrayer her life-long friend, her almost sister, the one who so +loved her, the trustful, the innocent, the affectionate Zillah; such +a feeling had not interfered with her purpose when Gualtier returned +to tell of his success, and to mingle with his story the recital of +Zillah's love and longing after her. But now it was different. Now +she had handed over to that same betrayer one who had become dearer +to her than life itself--one, too, who had grown dearer still ever +since that moment when she had first resolved to save him. If she had +never arrived at such a resolution--if she had borne with the +struggles of her heart, and the tortures of her suspense--if she had +fought out the battle in solitude and by herself, alone at Chetwynde, +her sufferings would have been great, it is true, but they would +never have arisen to the proportions which they now assumed. They +would never have reduced her to this anguish of soul which, in its +reaction upon the body, thus deprived her of all strength and hope. +That moment when she had decided against vengeance, and in favor of +pity, had borne for her a fearful fruit. It was the point at which +all her love was let loose suddenly from that repression which she +had striven to maintain over it, and rose up to gigantic proportions, +filling all her thoughts, and overshadowing all other feelings. That +love now pervaded all her being, occupied all her thoughts, and +absorbed all her spirit. Once it was love; now it had grown to +something more, it had become a frenzy; and the more she yielded to +its overmastering power, the more did that power enchain her. +<br> +<br> +Tormented and tortured by such feelings as these, her weary, overworn +frame sank once more, and the sufferings of Frankfort were renewed at +Munich. On the next day after her arrival she was unable to leave. +For day after day she lay prostrate, and all her impatient eagerness +to go onward, and all her resolution, profited nothing when the poor +frail flesh was so weak. Yet, in spite of all this, her soul was +strong; and that soul, by its indomitable purpose, roused up once +more the shattered forces of the body. A week passed away, but at the +end of that week she arose to stagger forward. +<br> +<br> +Her journey to Lausanne was made somehow--she knew not how--partly by +the help of Gretchen, who watched over her incessantly with +inexhaustible devotion--partly through the strength of her own +forceful will, which kept before her the great end which was to crown +so much endeavor. She was a shattered invalid on this journey. She +felt that another such a journey would be impossible. She hoped that +this one would end her severe trials. And so, amidst hope and fear, +her soul sustained her, and she went on. Such a journey as this to +one less exhausted would have been one memorable on account of its +physical and mental anguish, but to Hilda, in that extreme of +suffering, it was not memorable at all. It was less than a dream. It +was a blank. How it passed she knew not. Afterward she only could +remember that in some way it did pass. +<br> +<br> +On the twenty-second day of November she reached Lausanne. Gretchen +lifted her out of the coach, and supported her as she tottered into +the Hôtel Gibbon. A man was standing in the doorway. At first he did +not notice the two women, but something in Hilda's appearance struck +him, and he looked earnestly at her. +<br> +<br> +An exclamation burst from him. +<br> +<br> +"My God!" he groaned. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/170.png" alt="Hilda's Arrival At The Hotel Gibbon."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: Hilda's Arrival At The Hotel Gibbon.] +<br> +<br> +For a moment he stood staring at them, and then advanced with a rapid +pace. +<br> +<br> +It was Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +Hilda recognized him, but said nothing. She could not speak a word. +She wished to ask for something, but dreaded to ask that question, +for she feared the reply. In that interval of fear and hesitation +Gualtier had leisure to see, in one brief glance, all the change that +had come over her who had once been so strong, so calm, so +self-reliant, so unmoved by the passions, the feelings, and the +weaknesses of ordinary humanity. He saw and shuddered. +<br> +<br> +Thin and pale and wan, she now stood before him, tottering feebly +with unsteady step, and staying herself on the arm of her maid. Her +cheeks, which, when he last saw them, were full and rounded with the +outlines of youth and health, were now hollow and sunken. Around her +eyes were those dark clouded marks which are the sure signs of +weakness and disease. Her hands, as they grasped the arms of the +maid, were thin and white and emaciated. Her lips were bloodless. It +was the face of Hilda, indeed, but Hilda in sorrow, in suffering, and +in grief--such a face as he had never imagined. But there were some +things in that face which belonged to the Hilda of old, and had not +changed. The eyes still flashed dark and piercing; they at least had +not failed; and still their penetrating gaze rested upon him with no +diminution in their power. Still the rich masses of ebon hair +wreathed themselves in voluminous folds, and from out the luxuriant +black masses of that hair the white face looked forth with its pallor +rendered more awful from the contrast. Yet now that white face was a +face of agony, and the eyes which, in their mute entreaty, were +turned toward him, were fixed and staring. As he came up to her she +grasped his arm; her lips moved; but for a time no audible sound +escaped. At length she spoke, but it was in a whisper: +<br> +<br> +"_Is he alive_?" +<br> +<br> +And that was all that she said. She stood there panting, and gasping +for breath, awaiting his reply with a certain awful suspense. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, my lady," said Gualtier, in a kind of bewilderment, as though +he had not yet got over the shock of such an apparition. "He is alive +yet." +<br> +<br> +"God be thanked!" moaned Hilda, in a low voice. "I have arrived in +time--at last. He must be saved--and he shall be saved. Come." +<br> +<br> +She spoke this last word to Gualtier. By her words, as well as by her +face and manner, he saw that some great change had come over her, but +why it was, he knew not yet. He plainly perceived, however, that she +had turned from her purpose, and now no longer desired the death of +the man whom she had commissioned him to destroy. In that moment of +hurried thought he wondered much, but, from his knowledge of the +recent past, he made a conjecture which was not far from the truth. +<br> +<br> +"Come," said Hilda. "I have something to say to you. I wish to see +you alone. Come." +<br> +<br> +And he followed her into the hotel. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER L. +<br> +<br> +BLACK BILL. +<br> +<br> +On the day after his meeting with Lord Chetwynde Obed had intended to +start for Naples. Lord Chetwynde had not chosen to tell Obed his real +name; but this maintenance of his incognito was not at all owing to +any love of mystery, or any desire to keep a secret. He chose to be +"Windham" because Obed thought him so, and he had no reason for being +otherwise with him. He thought, also, that to tell his real name +might involve a troublesome explanation, which was not desirable, +especially since there was no need for it. Had that explanation been +made, had the true name been made known at this interview, a flood of +light would have poured down upon this dark matter, and Obed would +have had at last the key to every thing. But this revelation was not +made, and Windham took his departure from his friend. +<br> +<br> +On the following morning, while Obed was dressing, a note was brought +to his room. It was from the police, and requested a visit from him, +as matters of importance had been found out with reference to the +case which he had intrusted to them. At this unexpected message +Obed's start for Naples was postponed, and he hurried off as rapidly +as possible to the office. +<br> +<br> +On arriving there he soon learned the cause of the note. An event had +occurred which was in the highest degree unexpected, and had not +arisen out of the ordinary inquiries of the detectives at all. It +seems that on the evening of the previous day a man had come +voluntarily to lodge information against this same Gualtier for the +purpose of having a search made after him. He was one of the worst +characters in London, well known to the police, and recognized by +them, and by his own ruffian companions, under the name of "Black +Bill." In order that Obed might himself hear what he had to say, they +had detained the informer, and sent for him. +<br> +<br> +Obed was soon brought face to face with this new actor in the great +tragedy of Zillah's life. He was a short, stout, thick-set man, with +bull neck, broad shoulders, deep chest, low brow, flat nose, square +chin, and small black eyes, in which there lay a mingled expression +of ferocity and cunning. His very swarthy complexion, heavy black +beard, and thick, matted, coal-black hair, together with his black +eyes, were sufficiently marked to make him worthy of the name of +"Black Bill." Altogether, he looked like a perfect type of perfect +ruffianism; and Obed involuntarily felt a cold shudder pass over him +as he thought of Zillah falling into the hands of any set of villains +of which this man was one. +<br> +<br> +On entering the room Black Bill was informed that Obed was largely +interested in the affair which he had made known, and was bidden to +tell his story once more. Thereupon Black Bill took a long and very +comprehensive stare at Obed from head to foot, after which he went on +to narrate his story. +<br> +<br> +He had been engaged in the month of June, he said, by a man who gave +his name as Richards. He understood that he was to take part in an +enterprise which was illegal, but attended with no risk whatever. It +was simply to assist in sinking a vessel at sea. Black Bill remarked, +with much naïveté, that he always was scrupulous in obeying the laws; +but just at that time he was out of tin, and yielded to the +temptation. He thought it was a case where the vessel was to be sunk +for the sake of the insurance. Such things were very common, and +friends of his had assisted before in similar enterprises. The price +offered for his services was not large--only fifty pounds--and this +also made him think it was only some common case. +<br> +<br> +He found that three other men had also been engaged. They were +ordered to go to Marseilles, and wait till they were wanted. Money +was given them for the journey, and a certain house was mentioned as +the place where they should stay. +<br> +<br> +They did not have long to wait. In a short time the man who had +employed them called on them, and took them down to the harbor, where +they found a very handsome yacht. In about an hour afterward he +returned, accompanied this time by a young and beautiful lady. Black +Bill and all the men were very much struck by her appearance. They +saw very well that she belonged to the upper classes. They saw also +that their employer treated her with the deepest respect, and seemed +almost like her servant. They heard her once call him "_Mr. +Gualtier_," and knew by this that the name "Richards" was an assumed +one. They all wondered greatly at her appearance, and could not +understand what was to be her part in the adventure. Judging from +what they heard of the few words she addressed to this Gualtier, they +saw that she was expecting to sail to Naples, and was very eager to +arrive there. +<br> +<br> +At last the second night came. Gualtier summoned Black Bill at +midnight, and they both went into the hold, where they bored holes. +The other men had meanwhile got the boat in readiness, and had put +some provisions and water in her. At last the holes were bored, and +the vessel began to fill rapidly. Black Bill was ordered into the +boat, Gualtier saying that he was going to fetch the young lady. The +men all thought then that she had been brought on board merely to be +forced into taking part in the sinking of the vessel. None of them +understood the idea of the thing at all. +<br> +<br> +They waited for a time, according to Black Bill. The night was +intensely dark, and they could hear nothing, when suddenly Gualtier +came to the boat and got in. +<br> +<br> +"Where's the girl?" said Black Bill. +<br> +<br> +"She won't come," said Gualtier, who at the same time unloosed the +boat. "She won't come," he repeated. "Give way, lads." +<br> +<br> +The "lads" refused, and a great outcry arose. They swore that they +would not leave the vessel without the girl, and that if he did not +go back instantly and get her, they would pitch him overboard and +save her themselves. Black Bill told him they thought it was only an +insurance business, and nothing like this. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier remained quite calm during this outcry. As soon as he could +make himself heard he told them, in a cool voice, that he was armed +with a revolver, and would shoot them all down if they did not obey +him. He had hired them for this, he said, and they were in for it. If +they obeyed him, he would pay them when they got ashore; if not, he +would blow their brains out. Black Bill said that at this threat he +drew his own pistol and snapped it at Gualtier. It would not go off. +Gualtier then laughed, and said that pistols which had a needle run +down the nipple did not generally explode--by which Black Bill saw +that his pistol had been tampered with. +<br> +<br> +There was a long altercation, but the end of it was that Gualtier +gave them a certain time to decide, after which he swore that he +would shoot them down. He was armed, he was determined; they were +unarmed, and at his mercy; and the end of it was, they yielded to him +and rowed away. One thing which materially influenced them was, that +they had drifted away from the schooner, and she had been lost in the +deep darkness of the night. Besides, before their altercation was +over, they all felt sure that the vessel had sunk. So they rowed on +sullenly all that night and all the next day, with only short +intervals of rest, guarded all the time by Gualtier, who, pistol in +hand, kept them to their work. +<br> +<br> +They reached the coast at a point not far from Leghorn. It was a wild +spot, with wooded shores. Here Gualtier stepped out, paid them, and +ordered them to go to Leghorn. As for himself, he swore they should +never see him again. They took the money, and rowed off for a little +distance along the shore, when Black Bill made them put him ashore. +They did so, and rowed on. He plunged into the woods, and walked back +till he got on Gualtier's trail, which he followed up. Black Bill +here remarked, with a mixture of triumph and mock contrition, that an +accident in his early life had sent him to Australia, in which +country he had learned how to notice the track of animals or of man +in any place, however wild. Here Gualtier had been careless, and his +track was plain. Black Bill thus followed him from place to place, +and after Gualtier reached the nearest railway station was easily +able to keep him in sight. +<br> +<br> +In this way he had kept him in sight through North Italy, over the +Alps, through Germany, and, finally, to London, where he followed him +to the door of his lodgings. Here he had made inquiries, and had +learned that Gualtier was living there under the name of Mr. Brown; +that he had only been there a few weeks, but seemed inclined to stay +permanently, as he had brought there his clothes, some furniture, and +all his papers, together with pictures and other valuables. Black +Bill then devoted himself to the task of watching him, which he kept +up for some time, till one day Gualtier left by rail for the west, +and never returned. Black Bill had watched ever since, but had seen +nothing of him. He thought he must have gone to America. +<br> +<br> +Here Black Bill paused for a while, and Obed asked him one or two +questions. +<br> +<br> +"What is the reason," he asked, "that you did not give information to +the police at first, instead of waiting till now?" +<br> +<br> +"A question like that there," said Black Bill, "is easy enough to +answer. You see I wanted for to play my hown little game. I wanted +fur to find out who the gal was. If so be as I'd found out that, I'd +have had somethin' to work on. That's fust an' foremost. An' next, +you understand, I was anxious to git a hold of him, so as to be able +to pay off that oncommon black score as I had agin him. Arter +humbuggin' me, hocusin' my pistol, an' threat'nin' murder to me, an' +makin' me work wuss than a galley-slave in that thar boat, I felt +petiklar anxious to pay him off in the same coin. That's the reason +why I sot up a watch on him on my own account, instead of telling the +beaks." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know," asked Obed again, "what has become of the others that +were with you in the boat?" +<br> +<br> +"Never have laid eyes on 'em since that blessed arternoon when I +stepped ashore to follow Gualtier. P'r'aps they've been +nabbed--p'r'aps they're sarvin' their time out in the +galleys--p'r'aps they've jined the _I_talian army--p'r'aps they've +got back here again. Wot's become of them his Honor here knows +better'n me." +<br> +<br> +After this Black Bill went on, and told all the rest that he had to +say. He declared that he had watched Gualtier's lodgings for more +than three months, expecting that he would return. At last he +disguised himself and went there to make inquiries. The keeper of the +house told him that nothing had been heard from "Mr. Brown" since he +left, and he had packed away all his things in hope of his return. +But a Liverpool paper had recently been sent to him with a marked +paragraph, giving an account of the recovery of the body of a man who +had been drowned, and who in all respects seemed to resemble his late +lodger. Why it had been sent to him he did not know; but he thought +that perhaps some paper had been found in the pockets of the +deceased, and the authorities had sent this journal to the address, +thinking that the notice might thus reach his friends. +<br> +<br> +After this Black Bill began to lose hope of success. He did not +believe that Gualtier had perished, but that it was a common trick to +give rise to a belief in the mind of his lodging-house keeper that he +had met with his death. In this belief he waited for a short time to +see if any fresh intelligence turned up; but at length, as Gualtier +made no sign, and Black Bill's own resources were exhausted, he had +concluded that it would be best to make known the whole circumstance +to the police. +<br> +<br> +Such was the substance of his narrative. It was interrupted by +frequent questions; but Black Bill told a coherent tale, and did not +contradict himself. There was not the slightest doubt in the minds of +his hearers that he was one of the greatest scoundrels that ever +lived, but at the same time there was not the slightest doubt that on +this occasion he had not taken part willingly against the life of the +young girl. He and his associates, it was felt, had been tricked and +overreached by the superior cunning of Gualtier. They saw also, by +Black Bill's account, that this Gualtier was bold and courageous to a +high degree, with a cool calculation and a daring that were not +common among men. He had drawn these men into the commission of what +they expected would be some slight offense, and then forced them to +be his unwilling allies in a foul murder. He had paid them a small +price for the commission of a great crime. He had bullied them, +threatened them, and made them his slaves by his own clever +management and the force of his own nature, and that, too, although +these very men were, all of them, blood-stained ruffians, the most +reckless among the dregs of society. From Black Bill's story Obed +gained a new view of Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +After Black Bill had been dismissed, the lodging-house keeper, who +had been sent for, made his appearance. His account was quite in +accordance with what had been said. This man, whom he called _Brown_, +had taken lodgings with him in May last, and had staid a few weeks. +He then had been absent for a fortnight or so. On his return he +passed a few days in the house, and then left, since which time he +had not been heard of. The Liverpool paper which had been sent him +gave the only hint at the possible cause of his absence. In reply to +an inquiry from Obed, the landlord stated that Mr. Brown's effects +seemed to be very valuable. There was a fine piano, a dozen handsome +oil-paintings, a private desk, an iron box, a jewel box, and a trunk, +which, from its weight, was filled with something perhaps of value. +On the whole, he could not think that such things would be left by +any one without some effort to regain possession of them. If they +were sold at a sacrifice, they would bring a very large sum. +<br> +<br> +The lodging-house keeper was then allowed to take his departure, +after which Obed and the magistrate discussed for some time the new +appearance which had been given to this affair. Their conclusions +were similar, in most respects. +<br> +<br> +It seemed to them, first, that this Gualtier, whose names were so +numerous, had planned his crime with a far-reaching ingenuity not +often to be met with, and that after the accomplishment of his crime +he was still as ingenious in his efforts after perfect concealment. +He had baffled the police of France, of Italy, and of England thus +far. He had also baffled completely that one enemy who had so long a +time followed on his track. His last act in leaving his lodgings was +well done--though putting the notice in the Liverpool paper, and +sending it to the landlord, seemed more clumsy than his usual +proceedings. It was readily concluded that the notice in that paper +was only a ruse, in order to secure more perfect concealment, or, +perhaps, elude pursuit more effectually. +<br> +<br> +It seemed also most likely, under the circumstances, that he had +actually gone as far as Liverpool, and from that port to America. If +that were the case it would be difficult, if not impossible, ever to +get on his track or discover him. The only chance appeared to be in +the probability that he would send, in some way or other, for those +things which he had left in the lodging-house. Judging by the +enumeration which the landlord had given, they were too valuable to +be lost, and in most cases the owner would make some effort to +recover them. The magistrate said that he would direct the landlord +to keep the things carefully, and, if any inquiry ever came after +them, to give immediate information to the police. This was evidently +the only way of ever catching Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +The motive for this crime appeared quite plain to these inquirers. +Judging by the facts, it seemed as though Gualtier and Hilda had been +lovers, and had planned this so as to secure all the property of the +younger sister. To Obed the motive was still more plain, though he +did not tell what he knew--namely, the important fact that Hilda was +not the sister at all of her victim, and that her own property was +small in comparison with that of the one at whose life she aimed. He +thought that to tell this even to the police would be a violation of +sacred confidence. After the commission of the crime it seemed plain +that these criminals had taken to flight together, most probably to +America. This they could easily do, as their funds were all portable. +<br> +<br> +A careful look-out at the lodging-house was evidently the only means +by which the track of the fugitives could be discovered. Even this +would take a long time, but it was the only thing that could be done. +<br> +<br> +After this a careful examination was made of the things which +Gualtier had left behind at the lodging-house. The pictures were +found to be very valuable; the piano, also, was new--one of +Collard's--and estimated to be worth one hundred and fifty pounds. +The jewel box was found to contain articles of great value, some +diamond rings, and turquoise and pearl. Many of the things looked +like keepsakes, some of them having inscriptions, such as "To +M.--from G.," "To M.--from L.," "From Mother." These seemed like +things which no living man could willingly give up. How could it be +known that Gualtier had indeed given up such sacred possessions as +these? +<br> +<br> +On opening the trunks, one was found to contain books, chiefly French +novels, and the other clothes. None of these gave any fresh clew to +the home or the friends of the fugitive. +<br> +<br> +Last of all was the writing-desk. This was opened with intense +curiosity. It was hoped that here something might be discovered. +<br> +<br> +It was well filled with papers. But a short examination served to +show that, in the first place, the papers were evidently considered +very valuable by the owner; and, in the second place, that they were +of no earthly value to any one else. They were, in short, three +different manuscript novels, whose soiled and faded appearance seemed +to speak of frequent offerings to different publishers, and as +frequent refusals. There they lay, still cherished by the author, +inclosed in his desk, lying there to be claimed perhaps at some +future time. There were, in addition to these, a number of receipted +bills, and some season tickets for railways and concerts--and that +was all. +<br> +<br> +Nothing, therefore, was discovered from this examination. Yet the +result gave hope. It seemed as if no man would leave things like +these--this piano, these pictures, these keepsakes--and never seek to +get them again. Those very manuscript novels, rejected as they had +been, were still things which the author would not willingly give up. +The chances, therefore, were very great that at some time, in some +way, some application would be made for this property. And on this +the magistrate relied confidently. +<br> +<br> +Obed spent another day in London, and had another interview with the +magistrate. He found, however, that nothing more could be done by +him, or by any one else, at present, and so he returned to Naples via +Marseilles. He called on the prefect of police at the latter city to +acquaint him with the latest intelligence of this affair; heard that +nothing more had been discovered about Mathilde, and then went on his +way, arriving in due time at his destination. He told his sister the +result of his journey, but to Zillah he told nothing at all about it. +Having done all that man could do, Obed now settled himself down once +more in Naples, beguiling his time between the excitement of +excursions with his friends, and the calm of domestic life with his +family. Naples, on the whole, seemed to him the pleasantest spot to +stay in that he had seen for a long time and he enjoyed his life +there so much that he was in no hurry to leave it. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LI. +<br> +<br> +A STARTLING PROPOSAL. +<br> +<br> +Obed and his family thus remained in Naples, and Zillah at last had +an occupation. The new duties which she had undertaken gave her just +enough of employment to fill the day and occupy her thoughts. It was +a double blessing. In the first place it gave her a feeling of +independence; and again, and especially, it occupied her thoughts, +and thus prevented her mind from preying upon itself. Then she was +able to gain alleviation for the troubles that had so long oppressed +her. She felt most profoundly the change from the feeling of poverty +and dependence to one of independence, when she was actually "getting + her own living." She knew that her independence was owing to the +delicate generosity of Obed Chute, and that under any other +circumstances she would probably have had no refuge from starvation; +but her gratitude to her friends did not lesson at all her own +self-complacency. There was a childish delight in Zillah over her new +position, which was due, perhaps, to the fact that she had always +looked upon herself as hopelessly and incurably dull; but now the +discovery that she could actually fill the position of music-teacher +brought her a strange triumph, which brightened many a dark hour. +<br> +<br> +Zillah already had understood and appreciated the delicate feeling +and high-toned generosity of Obed Chute and his sister. Nothing could +increase the deep admiration which she felt for these simple, +upright, honest souls, whose pure affection for her had proved such a +blessing. If there had been nothing else, her very gratitude to them +would have been a stimulus such as the ordinary governess never has. +Under such a stimulus the last vestige of Zillah's old willfulness +died out. She was now a woman, tried in the crucible of sorrow, and +in that fiery trial the dross had been removed, and only the pure +gold remained. The wayward, impetuous girl had reached her last and +fullest development, and she now stood forth in adversity and +affliction, right noble in her character--an earnest woman, devoted, +tender, enthusiastic, generous. +<br> +<br> +The fondness and admiration of her friends increased every day. The +little children, whose musical education she had now begun, had +already learned to love her; and when she was transformed from a +friend to a teacher they loved her none the less. Zillah's capacity +for teaching was so remarkable that it surprised herself, and she +began to think that she had not been understood in the old days. But +then, in the old days, she was a petted and spoiled child, and would +never try to work until the last year of her life with the Earl, +after he had extorted from her a promise to do differently. +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute saw her success in her new position with undisguised +satisfaction. But now that she had become a governess he was not at +all inclined to relax his exertions in her behalf. She was of too +much importance, he said, to waste her life and injure her health in +constant drudgery, and so he determined that she should not suffer +for want of recreation. In Naples there need never be any lack of +that. The city itself, with its noisy, laughing, jovial population, +seems to the English eye as though it was keeping one perpetual +holiday. The Strada Toledo looks to the sober northerner as though a +constant carnival were going on. Naples has itself to offer to the +visitor, with its never-ending gayety and its many-sided life--its +brilliant cafés, its lively theatres, its gay pantomimes, its +buffooneries, its macaroni, its lazaroni, and its innumerable +festivities. Naples has also a cluster of attractions all around it, +which keep their freshness longer than those of any other city. Among +these Obed Chute continued to take Zillah. To him it was the best +happiness that he could desire when he had succeeded in making the +time pass pleasantly for her. To see her face flush up with that +innocent girlish enthusiasm, and to hear her merry laugh, which was +still childlike in its freshness and abandon, was something so +pleasant that he would chuckle over it to himself all the evening +afterward. +<br> +<br> +So, as before, they drove about the environs or sailed over the bay. +Very little did Obed Chute know about that historic past which lived +and breathed amidst all these scenes through which he wandered. No +student of history was he. To him the cave of Polyphemus brought no +recollections; the isle of Capri was a simple isle of the sea, and +nothing more; Misenum could not give to his imagination the vanished +Roman navies; Puzzuoli could not show the traces of Saint Paul; and +there was nothing which could make known to him the mighty footprints +of the heroes of the past, from the time of the men of Osca, and +Cumae, and the builders of Paestum's Titan temples, down through all +the periods of Roman luxury, and through all gradations of men from +Cicero to Nero, and down farther to the last, and not the least of +all, Belisarius. The past was shut out, but it did not interfere with +his simple-hearted enjoyment. The present was sufficient for him. He +had no conception of art; and the proudest cathedrals of Naples, or +the noblest sculptures of her museums, or the most radiant pictures, +never awakened any emotion within him. Art was dumb to him; but then +there remained something greater than art, and that was nature. +Nature showed him here her rarest and divinest beauty; and if in the +presence of such beauty as that--beauty which glowed in immortal +lineaments wherever he turned his eyes--if before this he slighted +the lesser beauties of art, he might be sneered at by the mere +dilettante, but the emotions of his own soul were none the less true +and noble. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/175.png" alt="Zillah's Capacity For Teaching Surprised Herself."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "Zillah's Capacity For Teaching Surprised Herself."] +<br> +<br> +One day they had arranged for a sail to Capri. Miss Chute could not +go, and Zillah went with Obed Chute alone. She had frequently done so +before. It was a glorious day. Most days in Naples are glorious. The +Neapolitan boatmen sang songs all the way--songs older, perhaps, than +the time of Massaniello--songs which may have come down from Norman, +or even from Roman days. There was one lively air which amused +Zillah-- +<br> +<br> + "How happy is the fisher's life,<br> + Eccomi Eccola,<br> + The fisher and his faithful wife,<br> + Eccola!" +<br> +<br> +It was a lively, ringing refrain, and the words had in them that +sentiment of domestic life which is not usually found in Continental +songs. The sea glittered around them. The boat danced lightly over +the waves. The gleaming atmosphere showed all the scenery with +startling distinctness. (Where is there an atmosphere like that of +Naples?) The sky was of an intense blue, and the deep azure of the +sea rivaled the color of the sky that bent above it. The breeze that +swept over the sea brought on its wings life and health and joy. All +around there flashed before them the white sails of countless boats +that sped in every direction over the surface of the waters. +<br> +<br> +They landed in Capri, and walked about the island. They visited the +cave, and strolled along the shore. At length they sat down on a +rock, and looked over the waters toward the city. Before them spread +out the sea, bounded by the white gleaming outline of Naples, which +extended far along the shore; on the left was Ischia; and on the +right Vesuvius towered on high, with its smoke cloud hovering over +it, and streaming far along through the air. Never before had the Bay +of Naples seemed so lovely. Zillah lost herself in her deep +admiration. Obed Chute also sat in profound silence. Usually he +talked; now, however, he said nothing. Zillah thought that he, like +herself, was lost in the beauty of this matchless scene. +<br> +<br> +At length the long silence was broken by Obed Chute. +<br> +<br> +"My child," said he, "for the last few weeks I have been thinking +much of you. You have wound yourself around my heart. I want to say +something to you now which will surprise you, perhaps--and, indeed, I +do not know how you will take it. But in whatever way you take it, do +not be afraid to tell me exactly how you feel. Whatever you may say, +I insist on being your friend. You once called me your 'best friend.' +I will never do any thing to lose that title." +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked up in wonder. She was bewildered. Her brain whirled, +and all presence of mind left her. She suspected what was coming, but +it seemed too extraordinary, and she could scarcely believe it. She +looked at him thus bewildered and confused, and Obed went calmly on. +<br> +<br> +"My child," said he, "you are so noble and so tender that it is not +surprising that you have fixed yourself fast in my old heart. You are +very dear and very precious to me. I do not know how I could bear to +have you leave me. I hope to have you near me while I live, in some +way or other. How shall it be? Will you be a daughter to me--or will +you be a wife?" +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute paused. He did not look at her as he said this. He did not +see the crimson flush that shot like lightning over that white and +beautiful face. He looked away over the sea. +<br> +<br> +But a deep groan from Zillah aroused him. +<br> +<br> +He started and turned. +<br> +<br> +Her face was upturned to his with an expression of agony. She clasped +his arms with a convulsive grasp, and seemed to gasp for breath. +<br> +<br> +"Oh God!" she cried. "Is this so? I must tell you this much, then--I +will divulge my secret. Oh, my friend--I am married!" +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LII. +<br> +<br> +A BETTER UNDERSTANDING. +<br> +<br> +For a long time not a word was spoken. Obed was thunder-struck by +this intelligence. He looked at her in wonder, as her fair girlish +face was turned toward him, not knowing how to receive this +unparalleled communication. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my friend," said Zillah, "have I ever in any way shown that I +could have expected this? Yes, I am married--and it is about my +marriage that the secret of my life has grown. Forgive me if I can +not tell you more." +<br> +<br> +"Forgive you? What are you saying, my child?" said Obed Chute, +tenderly. "I am the one who must be forgiven. I have disturbed and +troubled you, when I was only seeking to secure your happiness." +<br> +<br> +By this time Obed had recovered from his surprise, and began to +contemplate the present state of affairs in their new aspect. It +certainly was strange that this young girl should be a married woman, +but so it was; and what then? "What then?" was the question which +suggested itself to Zillah also. Would it make any difference--or +rather would it not make all the difference in the world? Hitherto +she had felt unembarrassed in his society, but hereafter all would be +different. Never again could she feel the same degree of ease as +before in his presence. Would he not hereafter seem to her and to +himself as a rejected lover? +<br> +<br> +But these thoughts soon were diverted into another channel by Obed +Chute himself. +<br> +<br> +"So you are married?" said he, solemnly. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," faltered Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"Well, my child," said Obed, with that same tenderness in his voice, +which was now so familiar to her, "whether it is for good or evil I +do not seek to know. I only say this, that if there is any thing +which I could do to secure your happiness, you could not find any one +who would do more for you than Obed Chute." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my friend!" +<br> +<br> +"Just now," said Obed Chute, "I asked you to be my wife. Do not avoid +the subject, my child. I am not ashamed of having made that proposal. +It was for your happiness, as I thought, as well as for my own. I +loved you; and I thought that, perhaps, if you were my wife, I could +make you happier than you now are. But since it is not to be, what +then? Why, I love you none the less; and if you can not be my wife, +you shall be my daughter. Do not look upon me as a passionate youth. +My love is deep and tender and self-sacrificing. I think, perhaps, it +is much more the love of a father than that of a husband, and that it +is just as well that there are obstacles in the way of my proposal. +Do not look so sad, my little child," continued Obed Chute, with +increased tenderness. "Why should you? I am your friend, and you must +love me as much as you can--like a daughter. Will you be a daughter +to me? Will you trust me, my child, and brighten my life as you have +been doing?" +<br> +<br> +He held out his hand. +<br> +<br> +Zillah took it, and burst into tears. A thousand contending emotions +were in her heart and agitating her. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my friend and benefactor!" said she; "how can I help giving you +my love and my gratitude? You have been to me a father and a +friend--" +<br> +<br> +"Say no more," said Obed, interrupting her. "It is enough. We will +forget that this conversation has taken place. And as for myself, I +will cherish your secret, my child. It is as safe with me as it would +be with yourself only." +<br> +<br> +Now as he spoke, with his frank, generous face turned toward her, and +the glow of affection in his eyes, Zillah felt as though it would be +better to give him her full confidence and tell him all. In telling +him that she was married she had made a beginning. Why should she not +tell every thing, and make known the secret of her life? It would be +safe with him. It would be a fair return for his generous affection. +Above all, it would be frank and honest. He would then know all about +her, and there would be nothing more to conceal. +<br> +<br> +Thus she thought; but still she shrank from such a confession and +such a confidence. It would involve a disclosure of all the most +solemn and sacred memories of her life. It would do violence to her +most delicate instincts. Could she do this? It was impossible. Not +unless Obed Chute insisted on knowing every thing could she venture +to lay bare her past life, and make known the secrets of her heart. +And she well knew that such a thing would never be required of her, +at least by this generous friend. Indeed, she knew well that he would +be most likely to refuse her confidence, even if she were to offer it +on such an occasion as this. +<br> +<br> +"I feel," said Zillah at length, as these thoughts oppressed her, +"that I am in a false position. You have been so generous to me that +you have a right to know all about me. I ought to let you know my +true name, and make you acquainted with the story of my life." +<br> +<br> +"You ought to do nothing of the sort," said Obed Chute. "There are +some things which can not be breathed to any human being. Do you +form so low an estimate of me, my dear child, as to think that I +would wish to have your confidence unless it was absolutely +necessary, and for your own good? No. You do not understand me. The +affection which I have for you, which you call generosity, gives me +no such claim, and it gives me no desire to tear open those wounds +which your poor heart must feel so keenly. Nothing can prevent my +loving you. I tell you you are my daughter. I accept you as you are. +I wish to know nothing. I know enough of you from my knowledge of +your character. I only know this, that you have suffered; and I +should like very much to be able to console you or make you happier." +<br> +<br> +"You have done very much for me," said Zillah, looking at him with +deep emotion. +<br> +<br> +"Nothing, as far as I am concerned; but it is pleasant to me to know +that any thing which I have done is grateful to you," said Obed, +calmly and benignantly. "Keep your secret to yourself, my dear child. +You came to me from the sea; and I only hope that you will continue +with me as long as you can to brighten my life, and let me hear your +voice and see your face. And that is a simple wish. Is it not, my +child?" +<br> +<br> +"You are overwhelming me with your goodness," said Zillah, with +another grateful glance. +<br> +<br> +She was most grateful for the way in which Obed had given up his idea +of matrimony. Had he shown the excitement of a disappointed lover, +then there would have been a dark future before her. She would have +had to leave his family, among whom she had found a home. But Obed +showed nothing of this kind. He himself said that, if he could not +have her as a wife, he would be satisfied to have her as a daughter. +And when he learned that she was married, he at once took up the +paternal attitude, and the affection which he expressed was that +tender yet calm feeling which might become a father. At the +expression of such a feeling as this Zillah's generous and loving +heart responded, and all her nature warmed beneath its genial +influence. Yes, she would be to him as a daughter; she would show him +all the gratitude and devotion of which she was capable. Under such +circumstances as these her life could go on as it had before, and the +interview of to-day would not cast the slightest shadow over the +sunshine of the future. So she felt, and so she said. +<br> +<br> +Obed took pains to assure her over and over again how entirely he had +sunk all considerations of himself in his regard for her, and that +the idea of making her his wife was not more precious than that of +making her his daughter. +<br> +<br> +"It was to have you near me," said he, "to make you happy, to give +you a home which should be all yours; but this can be done in another +and a better way, my child: so I am content, if you are." +<br> +<br> +Before they left the place Zillah gave him, in general terms, an +outline of her secret, without mentioning names and places. She said +that she was married when very young, that her father had died, that +the man to whom she had been married disliked her, and she had not +seen him for years; that once she had seen a letter which he had +written to a friend, in which he alluded to her in such insulting +language, and with such expressions of abhorrence, that she had gone +into seclusion, and had determined to preserve that seclusion till +she died. Hilda, she said, had accompanied her, and she had believed +her to be faithful until the recent discovery of her treachery. +<br> +<br> +This much Zillah felt herself bound to tell Obed Chute. From this he +could at once understand her situation, while at the same time it +would be impossible for him to know who she was or who her friends +were. That she would not tell to any human being. +<br> +<br> +All the sympathies of Obed Chute's nature were aroused as he listened +to what Zillah told him. He was indignant that she should have been +led through any motive into such a marriage. In his heart he blamed +her friends, whoever they were, and especially her father. But most +of all he blamed this unknown husband of hers, who, after consenting +to a marriage, had chosen to insult and revile her. What he thought +he did not choose to say, but to himself he registered a vow that, if +he could ever find out this villain, he would avenge all Zillah's +wrongs in his heart's blood, which vow brought to his heart a great +peace and calm. +<br> +<br> +This day was an eventful one for Zillah, but the result was not what +might at one time have been feared. After such an interchange of +confidence there was an understanding between her and her friend, +which deepened the true and sincere friendship that existed between +them. Zillah's manner toward him became more confiding, more +trustful--in short, more filial. He, too, insensibly took up the part +of a parent or guardian; yet he was as solicitous about her welfare +and happiness as in the days when he had thought of making her his +wife. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LIII. +<br> +<br> +BEYOND HIS REACH. +<br> +<br> +"Come!" +<br> +<br> +This was the word which Hilda had addressed to Gualtier in front of +the Hôtel Gibbon at Lausanne, and, saying this, she tottered toward +the door, supported by Gretchen. That stout German maid upheld her in +her strong arms, as a mother might hold up a child as it learns to +walk, ere yet its unsteady feet have found out the way to plant +themselves. Gualtier had not yet got over the shock of such a +surprise, but he saw her weakness, and was sufficiently himself to +offer his arm to assist his mistress. But Hilda did not seem to see +it. At any rate she did not accept the offer. Her only aim was to get +into the hotel, and the assistance of Gretchen was quite enough for +her. +<br> +<br> +Although Gretchen thus supported her, still even the slight exertion +which she made, even the motion of her limbs which was required of +her, though they scarcely felt her weight, was too much for her in +her weakness and prostration. She panted for breath in her utter +exhaustion, and at length, on reaching the hall, she stood for a few +moments at the foot of the stairway, as though struggling to regain +her breath, and then suddenly fainted away in the arms of Gretchen. +<br> +<br> +At this the stout maid took her in her arms, and carried her up +stairs, while Gualtier led the way to the suite of apartments +occupied by Lord Chetwynde. Here Hilda was placed on a sofa, and +after a time came to herself. +<br> +<br> +She then told Gretchen to retire. The maid obeyed, and Hilda and +Gualtier were left alone. The latter stood regarding her, with his +pale face full of deep anxiety and apprehension, dreading he knew not +what, and seeing in her something which seemed to take her beyond the +reach of that coercion which he had once successfully applied to her. +<br> +<br> +"Tell me," cried Hilda, the instant that Gretchen had closed the door +after her, looking around at the same time with something of her old +sharp vigilance--"tell me, it is not too late yet to save him?" +<br> +<br> +"To_ save_ him!" repeated Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"Yes. That is what brought me here." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked at her with eager scrutiny, seeking to fathom her +full meaning. Suspecting the truth, he was yet unwilling to believe +it. His answer was given in slow, deliberate tones. +<br> +<br> +"No," said he, "it is--not--yet--too--late--to--save him--if that is +really what you wish." +<br> +<br> +"That is what I have come for," said Hilda; "I am going to take my +place at his bedside, to undo the past, and bring him back to life. +That is my purpose. Do you hear?" she said, while her white lips +quivered with excitement, and her shattered frame trembled with the +intensity of her emotion. +<br> +<br> +"I hear, my lady," said Gualtier, with his old respect, but with a +dull light in his gray eyes, and a cold and stern intonation which +told of the anger which was rising within him. +<br> +<br> +Once he had shaken off her authority, and had spoken to her with the +tone of a master. It was not probable that he would recede now from +the stand which he had then taken. But, on the other hand, Hilda did +not now seem like one over whom his old menaces would have any +effect. There was in her, besides her suffering, an air of reckless +self-sacrifice, which made it seem as if no threats of his could +again affect her. +<br> +<br> +"You hear?" said she, with feverish impatience. "Have you nothing +more to say?" +<br> +<br> +"No, nothing. It is for you to speak," said Gualtier, gruffly. "You +began." +<br> +<br> +"He must be saved," said Hilda; "and I must save him; and you must +help me." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier turned away his head, while a dark frown came over his face. +The gesture excited Hilda still more. +<br> +<br> +"What!" she hissed, springing to her feet, and grasping his arm, "do +you hesitate? Do you refuse to assist me?" +<br> +<br> +"Our relations are changed," said Gualtier, slowly, turning round as +he spoke. "This thing I will not do. I have begun my work." +<br> +<br> +As he turned he encountered the eyes of Hilda, which were fixed on +him--stern, wrathful, menacing. +<br> +<br> +"You have begun it!" she repeated. "It was my work--not yours. I +order you to desist, and you must obey. You can not do any thing +else. To go on is impossible, if I stand between you and him. Only +one thing is left for you, and that is to obey me, and assist me as +before." +<br> +<br> +"Obey you!" said Gualtier, with a cold and almost ferocious glance. +"The time for obedience I think is past. That much you ought to know. +And what is it that you ask? What? To thrust from me the dearest hope +of my life, and just as it was reaching fruition." +<br> +<br> +Hilda's eyes were fastened on Gualtier as he said these words. The +scorn with which he disowned any obedience, the confidence with which +he spoke of that renunciation of his former subordination, were but +ill in accordance with those words with which he expressed his +"dearest hope." +<br> +<br> +"Dearest hope!" said Hilda--"fruition! If you knew any thing, you +would know that the time for that is rapidly passing, and only your +prompt obedience and assistance will benefit you now." +<br> +<br> +"Pardon me," said Gualtier, hastily; "I forgot myself in my +excitement. But you ask impossible things. I can not help you here. +The obstacle between you and me was nearly removed--and you ask me to +replace it." +<br> +<br> +"Obstacle!" said Hilda, in scorn. "Is it thus that you mention +_him_?" In her weakness her wrath and indignation burst forth. "That +man whom you call an obstacle is one for whose sake I have dragged +myself over hundreds of miles; for whom I am now ready to lay down my +life. Do not wonder. Do not question me. Call it +passion--madness--any thing--but do not attempt to thwart me. Speak +now. Will you help me or not?" +<br> +<br> +"Help you!" cried Gualtier, bitterly, "help you! to what? to do that +which will destroy my last hope--and after I have extorted from you +your promise! Ask me any thing else." +<br> +<br> +"I want nothing else." +<br> +<br> +"You may yet want my aid." +<br> +<br> +"If you do not help me now, I shall never want you." +<br> +<br> +"You have needed me before, and will need me again." +<br> +<br> +"If _he_ dies, I shall never need you again." +<br> +<br> +"If _he_ dies, that is the very time when you will need me." +<br> +<br> +"No, I shall not--for if _he_ dies I will die myself!" cried Hilda, +in a burst of uncontrollable passion. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier started, and his heart sank within him. Long and earnestly +he looked at her, but he saw that this was more than a fitful +outburst of passion. Looking on her face with its stern and fixed +resolve, with its intense meaning, he knew that what she had said was +none other than her calm, set purpose. He saw it in every one of +those faded lineaments, upon which such a change had been wrought in +so short a time. He read it in the hollows round her eyes, in her +sunken cheeks, in her white, bloodless lips, in her thin, emaciated +hands, which were now clenched in desperate resolve. From this he saw +that there was no appeal. He learned how strong that passion must be +which had thus overmastered her, and was consuming all the energies +of her powerful nature. To this she was sacrificing the labor of +years, and all the prospects which now lay before her; to this she +gave up all her future life, with all its possibilities of wealth and +honor and station. A coronet, a castle, a princely revenue, rank, +wealth, and title, all lay before her within her grasp; yet now she +turned her back upon them, and came to the bedside of the man whose +death was necessary to her success, to save him from death. She +trampled her own interests in the dust; she threw to the winds the +hard-won results of treachery and crime, and only that she might be +near him who abhorred her, and whose first word on coming back to +consciousness might be an imprecation. Beside this man who hated her, +he who adored her was as nothing, and all his devotion and all his +adoration were in one moment forgotten. +<br> +<br> +All these thoughts flashed through the mind of Gualtier as at that +instant he comprehended the situation. And what was he to do? Could +he associate himself with her in this new purpose? He could not. He +might have refrained from the work of death at the outset, if she had +bid him refrain, but now that he had begun it, it was not easy to +give it up. She had set him to the task. It had been doubly sweet to +him. First, it was a delight to his own vindictive nature; and +secondly, he had flattered himself that this would be an offering +well pleasing to the woman whom he adored. She had set him to this +task, and when it was fully completed he might hope for an adequate +reward. From the death of this man he had accustomed himself to look +forward in anticipation of the highest happiness for himself. All his +future grew bright from the darkness of this deed. +<br> +<br> +Now in one instant his dream was dispelled. The very one who had +commanded him to do this now came in a kind of frenzy, with a face +like that of death, bidding him to stay his hand. Deep, dark, and +bitter was that disappointment, and all the more so from its utter +suddenness. And because he could read in her face and in her words +not only the change that had taken place, but also the cause of that +change, the revulsion of feeling within himself became the more +intolerable. His nature rose up in rebellion against this capricious +being. How could he yield to her wishes here? He could not sway with +every varying feeling of hers. He could not thus retire from his +unfinished work, and give up his vengeance. +<br> +<br> +Indignant as he was, there was yet something in Hilda's countenance +which stirred to its depths the deep passion of his soul. Her face +had the expression of one who had made up her mind to die. To such a +one what words could he say--what arguments could he use? For a time +pity overmastered anger, and his answer was mild. +<br> +<br> +"You ask impossibilities," said he. "In no case can I help you. I +will not even let you do what you propose." +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked at him with a cold glance of scorn. She seated herself +once more. +<br> +<br> +"You will not let me!" she repeated. +<br> +<br> +"Certainly not. I shall go on with the work which I have begun. But I +will see that you receive the best attention. You are excited now. +Shall I tell the maid to come to you? You had better put an end to +this interview; it is too much for you. You need rest." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier spoke quietly, and seemed really to feel some anxiety about +her excitement. But he miscalculated utterly the nature of Hilda, and +relied too much on the fact that he had once terrified her. These +cool words threw into Hilda a vivid excitement of feeling, which for +a time turned all her thoughts upon this man, who under such +circumstances dared to resume that tone of impudent superiority which +once before he had ventured to adopt. Her strength revived under such +a stimulus, and for a time her bitter contempt and indignation +stilled the deep sorrow and anxiety of her heart. +<br> +<br> +The voice with which she answered was no longer agitated or excited. +It was cool, firm, and penetrating--a tone which reminded him of her +old domineering manner. +<br> +<br> +"You are not asked to give up your work," said she. "It is done. You +are dismissed." +<br> +<br> +"Dismissed!" said Gualtier, with a sneer. "You ought to know that I +am not one who can be dismissed." +<br> +<br> +"I know that you can be, and that you are," said Hilda. "If you were +capable of understanding me you would know this. But you, base and +low-born hireling that you are, what can there be in common between +one like you and one like me?" +<br> +<br> +"One thing," said Gualtier. "_Crime_!" +<br> +<br> +Hilda changed not a feature. +<br> +<br> +"What care I for that? It is over. I have passed into another life. +Your coarse and vulgar threats avail nothing. This moment ends all +communication between us forever. You may do what you like. All your +threats are useless. Finally, you must go away at once." +<br> +<br> +"Go away?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes--at once--and forever. These rooms shall never see you again. +_I_ am here, and will stay here." +<br> +<br> +"You?" +<br> +<br> +"_I_." +<br> +<br> +"You have no right here." +<br> +<br> +"I have." +<br> +<br> +"What right?" +<br> +<br> +"The right of _love_," said Hilda. "I come to save him!" +<br> +<br> +"You tried to kill him." +<br> +<br> +"That is passed. I will save him now." +<br> +<br> +"You are mad. You know that this is idle. You know that I am a +determined and desperate man." +<br> +<br> +"Pooh! What is the determination or the desperation of one like you? +I know well what you think. Once you were able to move me by your +threats. That is passed. My resolve and my despair have placed me +beyond your reach forever. Go--go away. Begone! Take your threats +with you, and do your worst." +<br> +<br> +"You are mad--you are utterly mad," said Gualtier, confounded at the +desperation of one whom he felt was so utterly in his power; one, +too, who herself must have known this. "You have forgotten your past. +Will you force me to remind you of it?" +<br> +<br> +"I have forgotten nothing," said Hilda; "but I care nothing for it." +<br> +<br> +"You must care for it. You will be forced to. Your future happens to +depend on it." +<br> +<br> +"My future happens to be equally indifferent to me," said Hilda. "I +have given up all my plans and hopes. I am beyond your reach, at any +rate. You are powerless against me now." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier smiled. +<br> +<br> +"You speak lightly," said he, "of the past and the future. You are +excited. If you think calmly about your position, you will see that +you are now more in my power than ever; and you will see, also, that +I am willing to use that power. Do not drive me to extremes." +<br> +<br> +"These are your old threats," said Hilda, with bitter contempt. "They +are stale now." +<br> +<br> +"Stale!" repeated Gualtier. "There are things which can never be +stale, and in such things you and I have been partners. Must I remind +you of them?" +<br> +<br> +"It's not at all necessary. You had much better leave, and go back to +England, or any where else." +<br> +<br> +These words stung Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"I will recall them," he cried, in a low, fierce voice. "You have a +convenient memory, and may succeed for a time in banishing your +thoughts, but you have that on your soul which no efforts of yours +can banish--things which must haunt you, cold-blooded as you are, +even as they have haunted me--my God!--and haunt me yet." +<br> +<br> +"The state of your mind is of no concern to me. You had better obey +my order, and go, so as not to add any more to your present apparent +troubles." +<br> +<br> +"Your taunts are foolish," said Gualtier, savagely. "You are in my +power. What if I use it?" +<br> +<br> +"Use it, then." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier made a gesture of despair. +<br> +<br> +"Do you know what it means?" he exclaimed. +<br> +<br> +"I suppose so." +<br> +<br> +"You do not--you can not. It means the downfall of all your hopes, +your desires, your plans." +<br> +<br> +"I tell you I no longer care for things like those." +<br> +<br> +"You do not mean it--you can not. What! can you come down from being +Lady Chetwynde to plain Hilda Krieff?" +<br> +<br> +"I have implied that, I believe," said Hilda, in the same tone. "Now +you understand me. Go and pull me down as fast as you like." +<br> +<br> +"But," said Gualtier, more excitedly, "you do not know what you are +saying. There is something more in store for you than mere +humiliation--something worse than a change in station--something more +terrible than ruin itself. You are a criminal. You know it. It is for +this that you must give your account. And, remember, such crimes as +yours are not common ones. Such victims as the Earl of Chetwynde and +Zillah are not those whom one can sacrifice with impunity. It is such +as these that will be traced back to you, and woe be to you when +their blood is required at your hands! Can you face this prospect? Is +this future so very indifferent to you? If you have nothing like +remorse, are you also utterly destitute of fear?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"I don't believe it," said Gualtier, rudely. +<br> +<br> +"That is because you think I have no alternative," said Hilda; "it is +a mistake into which a base and cowardly nature might naturally +fall." +<br> +<br> +"You have no alternative," said Gualtier. "It's impossible." +<br> +<br> +"I have," said Hilda, calmly. +<br> +<br> +"What?" +<br> +<br> +She whispered one word. It struck upon Gualtier's ear with fearful +emphasis. It was the same word which she had once whispered to him in +the park at Chetwynde. He recoiled with horror. A shudder passed +through him. Hilda looked at him with calm and unchanged contempt. +<br> +<br> +"You dare not," he cried. +<br> +<br> +"Dare not?" she repeated. "What I dare administer to others I dare +administer to myself. Go and perform your threats! Go with your +information--go and let loose the authorities upon me! Go! Haste! +Go--and see--see how quickly and how completely I will elude your +grasp! As for you--your power is gone. You made one effort to exert +it, and succeeded for the moment. But that has passed away. +Never--never more can any threats of yours move me in the slightest. +You know that I am resolute. Whether you believe that I am resolute +about this matter or not makes no difference whatever to me. You are +to go from this place at once--away from this place, and this town. +That is my mandate. I am going to stay; and, since you have refused +your assistance, I will do without it henceforth." +<br> +<br> +At these words Gualtier's face grew pale with rage and despair. He +knew well Hilda's resolute character. That her last determination +would be carried out he could scarcely doubt. Yet still his rage and +his pride burst forth. +<br> +<br> +"Hilda Krieff," said he, for the first time discarding the pretense +of respect and the false title by which he had so long addressed her, +"do you not know who you are? What right have you to order me away, +and stay here yourself--you with the Earl of Chetwynde--you, an +unmarried girl? Answer me that, Hilda Krieff." +<br> +<br> +"What right?" said Hilda, as loftily as before, utterly unmoved by +this utterance of her true name. "What right? The right of one who +comes in love to save the object of her love. That is all. By that +right I dismiss you. I drive you away, and stand myself by his +bedside." +<br> +<br> +"You are very bold and very reckless," said he, with his white face +turned toward her, half in rage, half in despair. "You are flinging +yourself into a position which it will be impossible for you to hold, +and you are insulting and defying one who can at any moment have you +thrust from the place. I, if I chose, could now, at this instant, +have you arrested, and in this very room." +<br> +<br> +"You!" said Hilda, with a sneer. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, I," said Gualtier, emphatically. "I have but to lodge my +information with the authorities against you, and before ten minutes +you would be carried away from this place, and separated from that +man forever. Yes, Hilda Krieff, I can do that, and you know it; and +yet you dare to taunt me and insult me, and drive me on to do things +of which I might afterward repent. God knows I do not wish to do any +thing but what is in accordance with your will. At this moment I +would still obey any of your commands but this one; yet you try me +more than mortal nature can endure, and I warn you that I will not +bear it." +<br> +<br> +Hilda laughed. +<br> +<br> +Since this interview had commenced, instead of growing weaker, she +had seemed rather to grow stronger. It was as though the excitement +had been a stimulus, and had roused her to a new life. It had torn +her thoughts suddenly and violently away from the things over which +she had long brooded. Pride had been stirred up, and had repaired the +ravages of love. At this last threat of Gualtier's she laughed. +<br> +<br> +"Poor creature!" she said. "And do you really think you can do any +thing here? Your only place where you have any chance is in England, +and then only by long and careful preparation. What could you do here +in Lausanne?" +<br> +<br> +"I could have you flung in prison, and separated from him forever," +said Gualtier, fiercely. +<br> +<br> +"You! you! And pray do you know who you are? Lord Chetwynde's valet! +And who would take your word against Lord Chetwynde's wife?" +<br> +<br> +"That you are not." +<br> +<br> +"I am," said Hilda, firmly. +<br> +<br> +"My God! what do you mean?" +<br> +<br> +"I mean that I will stand up for my rights, and crush you into dust +if you dare to enter into any frantic attempt against me here. You! +why, what are you? You are Lord Chetwynde's scoundrel valet, who +plotted against his master. Here in these rooms are the witnesses and +the proofs of your crimes. You would bring an accusation against me, +would you? You would inform the magistrates, perhaps, that I am not +Lady Chetwynde--that I am an impostor--that my true name is Hilda +Krieff--that I sent you on an errand to destroy your master? And pray +have you thought how you could prove so wild and so improbable a +fiction? Is there one thing that you could bring forward? Is there +one living being who would sustain the charge? You know that there is +nothing. Your vile slander would only recoil on your own head; and +even if I did nothing--even if I treated you and your charge with +silent contempt, you yourself would suffer, for the charge would +excite such suspicion against you that you would undoubtedly be +arrested. +<br> +<br> +"But, unfortunately for you, I would not be silent. I would come +forward and tell the magistrates the whole truth. And I think, +without self-conceit, there is enough in my appearance to win for me +belief against the wild and frenzied fancies of a vulgar valet like +you. Who would believe you when Lady Chetwynde came forward to tell +her story, and to testify against you? +<br> +<br> +"I will tell you what Lady Chetwynde would have to say. She would +tell how she once employed you in England; how you suffered some +slight from her; how you were dismissed from her service. That then +you went to London, and engaged yourself as valet to Lord Chetwynde, +by whom you were not known; that, out of vengeance, you determined to +ruin him. That Lady Chetwynde Was anxious about her husband, and, +hearing of his illness, followed him from place to place; that, owing +to her intense anxiety, she broke down and nearly died; that she +finally reached this place to find her villainous servant--the one +whom she had dismissed--acting as her husband's valet. That she +turned him off on the spot, whereupon he went to the authorities, and +lodged some malicious and insane charges against her. But Lady +Chetwynde would have more than this to say. She could show _certain +vials_, which are no doubt in these rooms, to a doctor; and he could +analyze their contents; and he could tell to the court what it was +that had caused this mysterious disease to one who had always before +been so healthy. And where do you think your charge would be in the +face of Lady Chetwynde's story; in the face of the evidence of the +vials and the doctor's analysis?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda paused and regarded Gualtier with cold contempt. Gualtier felt +the terrible truth of all that she had said. He saw that here in +Lausanne he had no chance. If he wished for vengeance he would have +to delay it. And yet he did not wish for any vengeance on her. She +had for the present eluded his grasp. In spite of his assertion of +power over her--in spite of the coercion by which he had once +extorted a promise from her--he was, after all, full of that same +all-absorbing love and idolizing affection for her which had made him +for so many years her willing slave and her blind tool. Now this +sudden reassertion of her old supremacy, while it roused all his +pride and stimulated his anger, excited also at the same time his +admiration. +<br> +<br> +He spoke at length, and his tone was one of sadness. +<br> +<br> +"There is one other thing which is against me," said he; "my own +heart. I can not do any thing against you." +<br> +<br> +"Your heart," said Hilda, "is very ready to hold you back when you +see danger ahead." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier's pale face flushed. +<br> +<br> +"That's false," said he, "and you know it. Did my heart quail on that +midnight sea when I was face to face with four ruffians and quelled +their mutiny? You have already told me that it was a bold act." +<br> +<br> +"Well, at least you were armed, and they were not," said Hilda, with +unchanged scorn. +<br> +<br> +"Enough," cried Gualtier, flushing a deeper and an angrier red. "I +will argue with you no more. I will yield to you this time. I will +leave the hotel and Lausanne. I will go to England. _He_ shall be +under your care, and you may do what you choose. +<br> +<br> +"But remember this," he continued, warningly. "I have your promise, +given to me solemnly, and that promise I will yet claim. This man may +recover; but, if he does, it will only be to despise you. His +abhorrence will be the only reward that you can expect for your +passion and your mad self-sacrifice. But even if it were possible for +him to love you--yes, to love you as you love him--even then you +could not have him. For I live; and while I live you could never be +his: No, never. I have your promise, and I will come between you and +him to sunder you forever and to cast you down. That much, at least, +I can do, and you know it. +<br> +<br> +"And now farewell for the present. In any event you will need me +again. I shall go to Chetwynde Castle, and wait there till I am +wanted. The time will yet come, and that soon, when you will again +wish my help. I will give you six months to try to carry out this +wild plan of yours. At the end of that time I shall have something to +do and to say; but I expect to be needed before then. If I am needed, +you may rely upon me as before. I will forget every injury and be as +devoted as ever." +<br> +<br> +With these ominous words Gualtier withdrew. +<br> +<br> +Hilda sank back in her chair exhausted, and sat for some time +pressing her hand on her heart. +<br> +<br> +At length she summoned her strength, and, rising to her feet, she +walked feebly through several rooms. Finally she reached one which +was darkened. A bed was there, on which lay a figure. The figure was +quite motionless; but her heart told her who this might be. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LIV. +<br> +<br> +NURSING THE SICK. +<br> +<br> +The figure that lay upon the bed as Hilda entered the room sent a +shock to her heart at the first glance. Very different was this one +from that tall, strong man who but lately, in all the pride of manly +beauty and matured strength, overawed her by his presence. What was +he now? Where now was all that virile force, and strong, resistless +nature, whose overmastering power she had experienced? Alas! but +little of it could be seen in this wasted and emaciated figure that +now lay before her, seemingly at the last verge of life. His features +had grown thin and attenuated, his lips were drawn tight over his +teeth, his face had the stamp of something like death upon it. He was +sleeping fitfully, but his eyes were only half closed. His thin, bony +hands moved restlessly about, and his lips muttered inarticulate +words from time to time. Hilda placed her hand on his forehead. It +was cold and damp. The cold sent a chill through every nerve. She +bent down low over him. She devoured him with her eyes. That face, +worn away by the progress of disease, that now lay unconscious, and +without a ray of intelligence beneath her, was yet to her the best +thing in all the world, and the one for which she would willingly +give up the world. She stooped low down. She pressed her lips to his +cold forehead. An instant she hesitated, and then she pressed her +lips this time to the white lips that were before her. The long, +passionate kiss did not wake the slumberer. He knew not that over him +was bending one who had once sent him to death, but who now would +give her own life to bring him back from that death to which she had +sent him. +<br> +<br> +Such is the change which can be worked in the basest nature by the +power of almighty love. Here it was made manifest. These lips had +once given the kiss of Judas. On this face of hers the Earl of +Chetwynde had gazed in horror; and these hands of hers, that now +touched tremblingly the brow of the sick man, had once wrought out on +him that which would never be made known. But the lips which once +gave the kiss of Judas now gave that kiss which was the outpouring of +the devotion of all her soul, and these hands were ready to deal +death to herself to rescue him from evil. She twined her arms around +his neck, and gazed at him as though her longing eyes would devour +every lineament of his features. Again and again she pressed her lips +to his, as though she would thus force upon him life and health and +strength. But the sick man lay unconscious in her arms, all unheeding +that full tide of passionate love which was surging and swelling +within her bosom. +<br> +<br> +At last footsteps aroused her. A woman entered. She walked to the +bedside and looked with tender sympathy at Hilda. She had heard from +Gretchen that this was Lady Chetwynde, who had come to nurse her husband. +<br> +<br> +"Are you the nurse?" asked Hilda, who divined at one glance the +character of the newcomer. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, my lady." +<br> +<br> +"Well, I am to be the nurse after this, but I should like you to +remain. You can wait in one of the ante-rooms." +<br> +<br> +"Forgive me, my lady, if I say that you yourself are in need of a +nurse. You will not be able to endure this fatigue. You look overworn +now. Will you not take some rest?" +<br> +<br> +"No," said Hilda, sharply and decisively. +<br> +<br> +"My lady," said the nurse, "I will watch while you are resting." +<br> +<br> +"I shall not leave the room." +<br> +<br> +"Then, my lady, I will spread a mattress on the sofa, and you may lie +down." +<br> +<br> +"No, I am best here by his side. Here I can get the only rest and the +only strength that I want. I must be near enough to touch his hand +and to see his face. Here I will stay." +<br> +<br> +"But, my lady, you will break down utterly." +<br> +<br> +"No, I shall not break down. I shall be strong enough to watch him +until he is either better or worse. If he gets better, he will bring +me back to health; if he gets worse, I will accompany him to the +tomb." +<br> +<br> +Hilda spoke desperately. Her old self-control, her reticence, and +calm had departed. The nurse looked at her with a face full of +sympathy, and said not a word. The sight of this young and beautiful +wife, herself so weak, so wan, and yet so devoted, so young and +beautiful, yet so wasted and emaciated, whose only desire was to live +or die by the side of her husband, roused all the feelings of her +heart. To some Hilda's conduct would have been unintelligible; but +this honest Swiss nurse was kind-hearted and sentimental, and the +fervid devotion and utter self-abnegation of Hilda brought tears to +her eyes. +<br> +<br> +"Ah, my lady," said she, "I see I shall soon have two to nurse." +<br> +<br> +"Well, if you have, it will not be for long," said Hilda. +<br> +<br> +The nurse sighed and was silent. +<br> +<br> +"May I remain, my lady, or shall I go?" she asked. +<br> +<br> +"You may go just now. See how my maid is doing, and if she wants any +directions." +<br> +<br> +The nurse retired, and Hilda was again alone with the sick man. She +sat on the bedside leaning over him, and twined her arms about him. +There, as he lay, in his weakness and senselessness, she saw her own +work. It was she, and no other, who had doomed him to this. Too well +had her agent earned out the fatal commission which she had given. As +his valet he had had constant access to the person of Lord Chetwynde, +and had used his opportunities well. She understood perfectly how it +was that such a thing as this had been brought about. She knew every +part of the dread process, and had read enough to know the inevitable +results. +<br> +<br> +And now--would he live or die? Life was low. Would it ever rally +again? Had she come in time to save him, or was it all too late? The +reproaches which she hurled against herself were now overwhelming +her, and these reproaches alternated with feelings of intense +tenderness. She was weak from her own recent illness, from the +unwonted fatigue which she had endured, and from the excitement of +that recent interview with Gualtier. Thus torn and tossed and +distracted by a thousand contending emotions, Hilda sat there until +at length weakness and fatigue overpowered her. It seemed to her that +a change was coming over the face of the sick man. Suddenly he moved, +and in such a way that his face was turned full toward her as he lay +on his side. At that moment it seemed to her that the worst had +come--that at last death himself had placed his stamp there, and that +there was now no more hope. The horror of this fancy altogether +overcame her. She fell forward and sank down. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/183.png" alt="No; I Am Best Here By His Side."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "No; I Am Best Here By His Side."] +<br> +<br> +When at length the nurse returned she found Hilda senseless, lying on +the bed, with her arm still under the head of Lord Chetwynde. She +called Gretchen, and the two made a bed on the sofa, where they +lifted Hilda with tenderest care. She lay long unconscious, but at +last she recovered. Her first thoughts were full of bewilderment, but +finally she comprehended the whole situation. +<br> +<br> +Now at length she found that she had been wasting precious moments +upon useless reflections and idle self-reproaches. If she had come to +save, that safety ought not to be delayed. She hurriedly drew from +her pocket a vial and opened it. It was the same which she had +obtained from the London druggist. She smelled it, and then tasted +it. After this she rose up, in spite of the solicitations of the +nurse and Gretchen, and tottered toward the bed with unsteady steps, +supported by her attendants. Then she seated herself on the bedside, +and, asking for a spoon, she tried with a trembling hand to pour out +some of the mixture from the vial. Her hands shook so that she could +not. In despair she allowed the nurse to administer it, while +Gretchen supported her, seating herself behind her in such a way that +Hilda could lean against her, and still see the face of the sick man. +In this position she watched while the nurse put the liquid into Lord +Chetwynde's mouth, and saw him swallow it. +<br> +<br> +"My lady, you must lie down, or you will never get over this," said +the nurse, earnestly, and passing her arms around Hilda, she gently +drew her back to the sofa, assisted by Gretchen. Hilda allowed +herself to be moved back without a word. For the remainder of that +day she watched, lying on her sofa, and gave directions about the +regular administration of the medicine. At her request they drew the +sofa close up to the bedside of Lord Chetwynde, and propped her up +high with pillows. There she lay weakly, with her face turned toward +him, and her hand clasping his. +<br> +<br> +Night came, and Hilda still watched. Fatigue and weakness were fast +overpowering her. Against these she struggled bravely, and lay with +her eyes fixed on Lord Chetwynde. In that sharp exercise of her +senses, which were all aroused in his behalf, she became at last +aware of the fact that they were getting beyond her control. Before +her eyes, as she gazed upon this man, there came other and different +visions. She saw another sick-bed, in a different room from this, +with another form stretched upon it--a form like this, yet unlike, +for it was older--a form with venerable gray hairs, with white, +emaciated face, and with eyes full of fear and entreaty. At that +sight horror came over her. She tried to rouse herself from the +fearful state into which she was drifting. She summoned up all that +remained of her physical and mental energy. The struggle was severe. +All things round her seemed to change incessantly into the semblances +of other things; the phantoms of a dead past--a dead but not a +forgotten past--crowded around her, and all the force of her will was +unavailing to repel them. She shuddered as she discovered the full +extent of her own weakness, and saw where she was drifting. For she +was drifting helplessly into the realm of shadowy memories; into the +place where the past holds its empire; surrounded by all those forms +which time and circumstance have rendered dreadful; forms from which +memory shrinks, at whose aspect the soul loses all its strength. Here +they were before her; kept back so long, they now crowded upon her; +they asserted themselves, they forced themselves before her in her +weakness. Her brain reeled; the strong, active intellect, which in +health had been so powerful, now, in her hour of weakness, failed +her. She struggled against these horrors, but the struggle was +unavailing, and at last she yielded--she failed--she sank down +headlong and helplessly into the abyss of forgotten things, into the +thick throng of forms and images from which for so long a time she +had kept herself apart. +<br> +<br> +Now they came before her. +<br> +<br> +The room changed to the old room at Chetwynde Castle. There was the +window looking out upon the park. There was the door opening into the +hall. Zillah stood there, pale and fearful, bidding her good-night. +There was the bed upon which lay the form of a venerable man, whose +face was ever turned toward her with its expression of fear, and of +piteous entreaty. "Don't leave me," he murmured to the phantom form +of Zillah. "Don't leave me with her," and his thin finger pointed to +herself. But Zillah, ignorant of all danger, promised to send Mrs. +Hart. And Zillah walked out, standing at the door for a time to give +her last look--the look which the phantom of this vision now had. +Then, with a momentary glance, the phantom figure of Zillah faded +away, and only the prostrate figure of the Earl appeared before her, +with the white face, and the venerable hair, and the imploring eyes. +<br> +<br> +Then she walked to the window and looked out; then she walked to the +door and looked down the hall. Silence was every where. All were +asleep. No eye beheld her. Then she returned. She saw the white face +of the sick man, and the imploring eyes encountered hers. Again she +walked to the window; then she went to his bedside. She stooped down. +His white face was beneath her, with the imploring eyes. She kissed +him. +<br> +<br> +"Judas!" +<br> +<br> +That was the sound that she heard--the last sound--for soon in that +abhorrent vision the form of the dead lay before her, and around it +the household gathered; and Zillah sat there, with a face of agony, +looking up to her and saying: +<br> +<br> +"I am the next victim!" +<br> +<br> +Then all things were forgotten, and innumerable forms and phantoms +came confusedly together. +<br> +<br> +She was in delirium. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LV. +<br> +<br> +SETTING A TRAP. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier was true to his word. On the evening of the day when he had +that interview with Hilda he left the hotel, and Lausanne also, and +set out for England. On the way he had much to think of, and his +thoughts were not at all pleasant. This frenzy of Hilda's had taken +him by complete surprise, and her utter recklessness of life, or all +the things most desirable in life, were things on which he had never +counted. Her dark resolve also which she had announced to him, the +coolness with which she listened to his menaces, and the stern way in +which she turned on him with menaces of her own, showed him plainly +that, for the present at least, she was beyond his reach, and nothing +which he might do could in any way affect her. Only one thing gave +him hope, and that was the utter madness and impossibility of her +design. He did not know what might have passed between her and Lord +Chetwynde before, but he conjectured that she had been treated with +insult great enough to inspire her with a thirst for vengeance. He +now hoped that Lord Chetwynde, if he did recover, would regard her as +before. He was not a man to change; his mind had been deeply +imbittered against the woman whom he believed his wife, and recovery +of sense would not lessen that bitterness. So Gualtier thought, and +tried to believe, yet in his thoughts he also considered the +possibility of a reconciliation. And, if such a thing could take +place, then his mind was fully made up what to do. He would trample +out all feelings of tenderness, and sacrifice love to full and +complete vengeance. That reconciliation should be made short-lived, +and should end in utter ruin to Hilda, even if he himself descended +into the same abyss with her. +<br> +<br> +Thoughts like these occupied his mind until he reached London. Then +he drove to the Strand Hotel, and took two front-rooms on the second +story looking out upon the street, commanding a view of the dense +crowd that always went thronging by. +<br> +<br> +Here, on the evening of his arrival, his thoughts turned to his old +lodging-house, and to those numerous articles of value which he had +left there. He had once made up his mind to let them go, and never +seek to regain possession of them. He was conscious that to do so +would be to endanger his safety, and perhaps to put a watchful +pursuer once more on his track. Yet there was something in the +thought which was attractive. Those articles were of great intrinsic +value, and some of them were precious souvenirs, of little worth to +any one else, yet to him beyond Would it not be worth while to make +an effort at least to regain possession of them? If it could be done, +it would represent so much money at the least, and that was a thing +which it was needful for him to consider. And, in any case, those +mementoes of the past were sufficiently valuable to call for some +effort and some risk. The more he thought of this, the more +resistless became the temptation to make this effort and run this +risk. +<br> +<br> +And what danger was there? What was the risk, and what was there to +fear? Only one person was in existence from whom any danger could +possibly be apprehended. That one was Black Bill, who had tracked him +to London, and afterward watched at his lodgings, and whom he had +feared so much that for his sake, and for his alone, he had given up +every thing. And now the question that arose was this, did Black Bill +really require so much precaution, and so great a sacrifice? It was +not likely that Black Bill could have given any information to the +police; that would have been too dangerous to himself. Besides, if +the police had heard of such a story, they would have given some +sign. In England every thing is known, and the police are forced to +work openly. Their detective system is a clumsy one compared with the +vast system of secrecy carried on on the Continent. Had they found +out any thing whatever about so important a case as this, some kind +of notice or other would have appeared in the papers. Gualtier had +never ceased to watch for some such notice, but had never found one. +So, with such opinions about the English police, he naturally +concluded that they knew nothing about him. +<br> +<br> +It was therefore Black Bill, and Black Bill only, against whom he had +to guard. As for him it was indeed possible, he thought, that he was +still watching, but hardly probable. He was not in a position to +spend so many months in idle watching, nor was he able to employ a +confederate. Still less was it possible for such a man to win the +landlord over to his side, and thus get his assistance. The more he +thought of these things the more useless did it seem to entertain any +further fear, and the more irresistible did his desire become to +regain possession of those articles, which to him were of so much +value. Under such circumstances, he finally resolved to make an +effort. +<br> +<br> +Yet, so cautious was he by nature, so wary and vigilant, and so +accustomed to be on his guard, that in this case he determined to run +no risk by any exposure of his person to observation. He therefore +deliberated carefully about various modes by which he could apply to +the landlord. At first he thought of a disguise; but finally rejected +this idea, thinking that, if Black Bill were really watching, he +would expect some kind of a disguise. At last he decided that it +would be safest to find some kind of a messenger, and send him, after +instructing him what to ask for and what to say. +<br> +<br> +With this resolve he took a walk out on the Strand on the following +morning, looking carefully at the faces of the great multitude which +thronged the street, and trying to find some one who might be suited +to his purpose. In that crowd there were many who would have gladly +undertaken his business if he had asked them, but Gualtier had made +up his mind as to the kind of messenger which would be best suited to +him, and was unwilling to take any other. +<br> +<br> +Among the multitude which London holds almost any type of man can be +found, if one looks long enough. The one which Gualtier wished is a +common kind there, and he did not have a long search. A street boy, +sharp, quick-witted, nimble, cunning--hat was what he wanted, and +that was what he found, after regarding many different specimens of +that tribe and rejecting them. The boy whom he selected was somewhat +less ragged than his companions, with a demure face, which, however, +to his scrutinizing eyes, did not conceal the precocious maturity of +mind and fertility of resource which lay beneath. A few words +sufficed to explain his wish, and the boy eagerly accepted the task. +Gualtier then took him to a cheap clothing store, and had him dressed +in clothes which gave him the appearance of being the son of some +small tradesman. After this he took him to his room in the hotel, and +carefully instructed him in the part that he was to perform. The +boy's wits were quickened by London life; the promise of a handsome +reward quickened them still more, and at length, after a final +questioning, in which he did his part to satisfaction, Gualtier gave +him the address of the lodging-house. +<br> +<br> +"I am going west," said he; "I will be back before eight o'clock. You +must come at eight exactly." +<br> +<br> +"Yes'r," said the boy. +<br> +<br> +"Very well. Now go." +<br> +<br> +And the boy, with a bob of his head, took his departure. The boy went +off, and at length reached the place which Gualtier had indicated. He +rang at the door. +<br> +<br> +A servant came. +<br> +<br> +"Is this Mr. Gillis's?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Is he in?" +<br> +<br> +"Do you want to see him?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"What for?" +<br> +<br> +"Particular business." +<br> +<br> +"Come in," said the servant; and the boy entered the hall and waited. +In a few moments Mr. Gillis made his appearance. He regarded the boy +carefully from head to foot. +<br> +<br> +"Come into the parlor," said he, leading the way into a room on the +right. The boy followed, and Mr. Gillis shut the door. +<br> +<br> +"Well," said he, seating himself, "what is it that you want of me?" +<br> +<br> +"My father," said the boy, "is a grocer in Blackwall. He got a letter +this morning from a friend of his who stopped here some time back. He +had to go to America of a sudden and left his things, and wants to +get 'em." +<br> +<br> +"Ah!" said Mr. Gillis. "What is the name of the lodger?" +<br> +<br> +"Mr. Brown," said the boy. +<br> +<br> +"Brown?" said Mr. Gillis. "Yes, there was such a lodger, I think; but +I don't know about his things. You wait here a moment till I go and +ask Mrs. Gillis." +<br> +<br> +Saying this Mr. Gillis left the room. After about fifteen or twenty +minutes he returned. +<br> +<br> +"Well, my boy," said he, "there are some things of Mr. Brown's here +yet, I believe; and you have come for them? Have you a wagon?" +<br> +<br> <img src="images/186.png" alt="He Carefully Instructed Him In The Part He Was To Perform."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "He Carefully Instructed Him In The Part He Was To +Perform."] +<br> +<br> +"No. I only come to see if they were here, and to get your bill." +<br> +<br> +"And your father is Mr. Brown's friend?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes'r." +<br> +<br> +"And Mr. Brown wrote to him?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes'r." +<br> +<br> +"Well, you know I wouldn't like to give up the things on an +uncertainty. They are very valuable. I would require some order from +your father." +<br> +<br> +"Yes'r." +<br> +<br> +Mr. Gillis asked a number of questions of the boy, to which he +responded without hesitation, and then left the room again, saying +that he would go and make out Mr. Brown's bill. +<br> +<br> +He was gone a long time. The boy amused himself by staring at the +things in the room, at the ornaments, and pictures, and began to +think that Mr. Gillis was never coming back, when at last footsteps +were heard in the hall, the door opened, and Mr. Gillis entered, +followed by two other men. One of these men had the face of a +prizefighter, or a ticket-of-leave man, with abundance of black hair +and beard; his eyes were black and piercing, and his face was the +same which has already been described as the face of Black Bill. But +he was respectably dressed in black, he wore a beaver hat, and had +lost something of his desperate air. The fact is, the police had +taken Black Bill into their employ, and he was doing very well in his +new occupation. The other was a sharp, wiry man, with a cunning face +and a restless, fidgety manner. Both he and Black Bill looked +carefully at the boy, and at length the sharp man spoke: +<br> +<br> +"You young rascal, do you know who I am?" +<br> +<br> +The boy started and looked aghast, terrified by such an address. +<br> +<br> +"No, Sir," he whimpered. +<br> +<br> +"Well, I'm Thomas S. Davis, detective. Do you understand what that +means?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes'r," said the boy, whose self-possession completely vanished at +so formidable an announcement. +<br> +<br> +"Come now, young fellow," said Davis, "you've got to own up. Who are +you?" +<br> +<br> +"I'm the son of Mr. B. F. Baker, grocer, Blackwall," said the boy, in +a quick monotone. +<br> +<br> +"What street?" +<br> +<br> +"Queen Street, No. 17," said the boy. +<br> +<br> +"There ain't no such street." +<br> +<br> +"There is, 'cos he lives there." +<br> +<br> +"You young rascal, don't you suppose I know?" +<br> +<br> +"Well, I oughter know the place where I was bred and bornd," said the +boy. +<br> +<br> +"You're a young scamp. You needn't try to come it over me, you know. +Why, I know Blackwall by heart. There isn't such a street there. Who +sent you here?" +<br> +<br> +"Father." +<br> +<br> +"What for?" +<br> +<br> +"He got a letter from a man as used to stop here, askin' of him to +get his things away." +<br> +<br> +"What is the name of the man?" +<br> +<br> +"Mr. Brown." +<br> +<br> +"Brown?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes'r." +<br> +<br> +"Where is this Mr. Brown now?" +<br> +<br> +"In Liverpool." +<br> +<br> +"How did he get there?" +<br> +<br> +"He's just come back from America." +<br> +<br> +"See here, boy, you've got to own up," said Davis, suddenly. "I'm a +detective. We belong to the police. So make a clean breast of it." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Sir!" said the boy, in terror. +<br> +<br> +"Never mind 'Oh, Sir!' but own up," said Davis. "You've got to do +it." +<br> +<br> +"I ain't got nothin' to own up. I'm sure I don't see why you're so +hard on a poor cove as never did you no harm, nor nobody else." +<br> +<br> +And saying this the boy sniveled violently. +<br> +<br> +"I s'pose your dear mamma dressed you up in your Sunday clothes to +come here?" said the detective, sneeringly. +<br> +<br> +"No, Sir," said the boy, "she didn't, 'cos she's dead, she is." +<br> +<br> +"Why didn't your father come himself?" +<br> +<br> +"'Cos he's too busy in his shop." +<br> +<br> +"Did you ever hear the name of this Brown before to-day?" +<br> +<br> +"No, Sir, never as I knows on." +<br> +<br> +"But you said he is a friend of your father's." +<br> +<br> +"So he is, Sir." +<br> +<br> +"And you never heard his name before?" +<br> +<br> +"Never, Sir, in my life, Sir--not this Brown." +<br> +<br> +"Is your father a religious man?" +<br> +<br> +"A what, Sir?" +<br> +<br> +"A religious man." +<br> +<br> +"I dunno, Sir." +<br> +<br> +"Does he go to church?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, yes'r, to meetin' on Sundays." +<br> +<br> +"What meeting?" +<br> +<br> +"Methodist, Sir." +<br> +<br> +"Where?" +<br> +<br> +"At No. 13 King Street," said the boy, without a moment's hesitation. +<br> +<br> +"You young jackass," said Davis. "No. 13 King Street, and all the +numbers near it in Blackwall, are warehouses--what's the use of +trying to humbug me?" +<br> +<br> +"Who's a-tryin' to humbug you?" whimpered the boy. "I don't remember +the numbers. It's somewhere in King Street. I never go myself." +<br> +<br> +"You don't, don't you?" +<br> +<br> +"No, Sir." +<br> +<br> +"Now, see here, my boy," said Davis, sternly, "I know you. You can't +come it over me. You've got into a nice mess, you have. You've got +mixed in with a conspiracy, and the law's goin' to take hold of you +at once unless you make a clean breast of it." +<br> +<br> +"Oh Lord!" cried the boy. "Stop that. What am I a-doin' of?" +<br> +<br> +"Nonsense, you young rascal! Listen to me now, and answer me. Do you +know any thing about this Brown?" +<br> +<br> +"No, Sir. Father sent me." +<br> +<br> +"Well, then, let me tell you the police are after him. He's afraid to +come here, and sent you. Don't you go and get mixed up with him. If +you do, it'll be worse for you. This Brown is the biggest villain in +the kingdom, and any man that catches him'll make his blessed +fortune. We're on his tracks, and we're bound to follow him up. So +tell me the truth--where is he now?" +<br> +<br> +"In Liverpool, Sir." +<br> +<br> +"You lie, you young devil! But, if you don't own up, it'll be worse +for you." +<br> +<br> +"How's a poor cove like me to know?" cried the boy. "I'm the son of a +honest, man, and I don't know any thing about your police." +<br> +<br> +"You'll know a blessed sight more about it before you're two hours +older, if you go on hum-buggin' us this fashion," said Davis, +sternly. +<br> +<br> +"I ain't a-humbuggin'." +<br> +<br> +"You are--and I won't stand it. Come now. Brown is a _murderer_, do +you hear? There's a reward offered for him. He's got to be caught. +You've gone and mixed yourself up with this business, and you'll +never get out of the scrape till you make a clean breast of it. +That's all bosh about your father, you know." +<br> +<br> +"It ain't," said the boy, obstinately. +<br> +<br> +"Very well, then," said Davis, rising. "You've got to go with us. +We'll go first to Blackwall, and, by the Lord, if we can't find your +father, we'll take it out of you. You'll be put in the jug for ten +years, and you'll have to tell after all. Come along now." +<br> +<br> +Davis grasped the boy's hand tightly and took him out of the room. A +cab was at the door. Davis, Black Bill, and the boy got into it and +drove along through the streets. The boy was silent and meditative. +At last he spoke: +<br> +<br> +"It's no use goin' to Blackwall," said he, sulkily. "I ain't got no +father." +<br> +<br> +"Didn't I know that?" said Davis. "You were lying, you know. Are you +goin' to own up?" +<br> +<br> +"I s'pose I must." +<br> +<br> +"Of course you must." +<br> +<br> +"Well, will you let me go if I tell you all?" +<br> +<br> +"If you tell all we'll let you go sometime, but we will want you for +a while yet." +<br> +<br> +"Well," said the boy, "I can't help it. I s'pose I've got to tell." +<br> +<br> +"Of course you have. And now, first, who sent you here?" +<br> +<br> +"Mr. Brown." +<br> +<br> +"Ah! Mr. Brown himself. Where did you see him?" +<br> +<br> +"In the Strand." +<br> +<br> +"Did you ever see him before?" +<br> +<br> +"No. He picked me up, and sent me here." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know where he is lodging?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Where?" +<br> +<br> +"At the Strand Hotel. He took me into his room and told me what I was +to do. I didn't know any thing about him or his business. I only went +on an errand." +<br> +<br> +"Of course you did," said Davis, encouragingly. "And, if you tell the +truth, you'll be all right; but if you try to humbug us," he added, +sternly, "it'll be the worse for you. Don't you go and mix yourself +up in a murder case. I don't want any thing more of you than for you +to take us to this man's room. You were to see him again to-day--of +course." +<br> +<br> +"Yes'r." +<br> +<br> +"At what time?" +<br> +<br> +"Eight o'clock." +<br> +<br> +"Well--it's now four. You take us to his room, and we'll wait there." +<br> +<br> +The boy assented, and the cab drove off for the Strand Hotel. +<br> +<br> +The crowd in front of the hotel was so dense that it was some time +before the cab could approach the entrance. At last they reached it +and got out, Black Bill first, and then Davis, who still held the +hand of the boy in a tight grasp, for fear that he might try to +escape. They then worked their way through the crowd and entered the +hotel. Davis said something to the clerk, and then they went up +stairs, guided by the boy to Gualtier's room. +<br> +<br> +On entering it no one was there. Davis went into the adjoining +bedroom, but found it empty. A carpet-bag was lying on the floor +open. On examining it Davis found only a shaving-case and some +changes of linen. +<br> +<br> +"We'll wait here," said Davis to Black Bill, as he re-entered the +sitting-room. "He's out now. He'll be back at eight to see the boy. +We've got him at last." +<br> +<br> +And then Black Bill spoke for the first time since the boy had seen +him. A grim smile spread over his hard features. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said he, "_we've got him at last_!" +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LVI. +<br> +<br> +AT HIS BEDSIDE. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Hilda's position was a hard one. Days passed on. The one +who came to act as a nurse was herself stricken down, as she had +already been twice before. They carried her away to another room, and +Gretchen devoted herself to her care. Delirium came on, and all the +past lived again in the fever-tossed mind of the sufferer. +Unconscious of the real world in which she lay, she wandered in a +world of phantoms, where the well-remembered forms of her past life +surrounded her. Some deliriums are pleasant. All depend upon the +ruling feelings of the one upon whom it is fixed. But here the ruling +feeling of Hilda was not of that kind which could bring happiness. +Her distracted mind wandered again through those scenes through which +she had passed. Her life at Chetwynde, with all its later horrors and +anxieties, came back before her. Again and again the vision of the +dying Earl tormented her. What she said these foreign nurses heard, +but understood not. They soothed her as best they might, and stood +aghast at her sufferings, but were not able to do any thing to +alleviate them. Most of all, however, her mind turned to the +occurrences of the last few days and weeks. Again she was flying to +the bedside of Lord Chetwynde; again the anguish of suspense devoured +her, as she struggled against weakness to reach him; and again she +felt overwhelmed by the shock of the first sight of the sick man, on +whom she thought that she saw the stamp of death. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile, as Hilda lay senseless, Lord Chetwynde hovered between +life and death. The physician who had attended him came in on the +morning after Hilda's arrival, and learned from the nurse that Lady +Chetwynde had come suddenly, more dead than alive, and was herself +struck down by fever. She had watched him all night from her own +couch, until at last she had lost consciousness; but all her soul +seemed bent on one thing, and that was that a certain medicine should +be administered regularly to Lord Chetwynde. The doctor asked to see +it. He smelled it and tasted it. An expression of horror passed over +his face. +<br> +<br> +"My God!" he murmured. "I did not dare to suspect it! It must be so!" +<br> +<br> +"Where is Lord Chetwynde's valet?" he asked at length, after a +thoughtful pause. +<br> +<br> +"I don't know, Sir," said the nurse. +<br> +<br> +"He always is here. I don't see him now." +<br> +<br> +"I haven't seen him since Lady Chetwynde's arrival." +<br> +<br> +"Did my lady see him?" +<br> +<br> +"I think she did, Sir." +<br> +<br> +"You don't know what passed?" +<br> +<br> +"No, Sir. Except this, that the valet hurried out, looking very pale, +and has not been back since." +<br> +<br> +"Ah!" murmured the doctor to himself. "She has suspected something, +and has come on. The valet has fled. Could this scoundrel have been +the guilty one? Who else could it be? And he has fled. I never liked +his looks. He had the face of a vampire." +<br> +<br> +The doctor took away some of the medicine with him, and at the same +time he took with him one of the glasses which stood on a table near +the bed. Some liquid remained in it. He took these away to subject +them to chemical analysis. The result of that analysis served to +confirm his suspicions. When he next came he directed the nurse to +administer the antidote regularly, and left another mixture also. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde lay between life and death. At the last verge of +mortal weakness, it would have needed but a slight thing to send him +out of life forever. The only encouraging thing about him for many +days was that he did not get worse. From this fact the doctor gained +encouragement, though he still felt that the case was desperate. What +suspicions he had formed he kept to himself. +<br> +<br> +Hilda, meanwhile, prostrated by this new attack, lay helpless, +consumed by the fierce fever which rioted in all her veins. Fiercer +and fiercer it grew, until she reached a critical point, where her +condition was more perilous than that of Lord Chetwynde himself. But, +in spite of all that she had suffered, her constitution was strong. +Tender hands were at her service, kindly hearts sympathized with her, +and the doctor, whose nature was stirred to its depths by pity and +compassion for this beautiful stranger, who had thus fallen under the +power of so mysterious a calamity, was unremitting in his attentions. +The crisis of the fever came, and all that night, while it lasted, he +staid with her, listening to her disconnected ravings, and +understanding enough of them to perceive that her fancy was bringing +back before her that journey from England to Lausanne, whose fatigues +and anxieties had reduced her to this. +<br> +<br> +"My God!" cried the doctor, as some sharper lamentation burst from +Hilda; "it would be better for Lord Chetwynde to die than to survive +a wife like this!" +<br> +<br> +With the morning the crisis had passed, and, thanks to the doctor's +care, the result was favorable. Hilda fell into a profound sleep, but +the fever had left her, and the change was for the better. +<br> +<br> +When the doctor returned once more he found her awake, without fever, +yet very feeble. +<br> +<br> +"My lady," said he, "you must be more careful of yourself for the +sake of others. Lord Chetwynde is weak yet, and though his symptoms +are favorable, yet he requires the greatest care." +<br> +<br> +"And do you have hope of him?" asked Hilda, eagerly. This was the one +thought of her mind. +<br> +<br> +"I do have hope," said the doctor. +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked at him gratefully. +<br> +<br> +"At present," said the doctor, "you must not think or talk about any +thing. Above all, you must restrain your feelings. It is your anxiety +about Lord Chetwynde that is killing you. Save yourself for his +sake." +<br> +<br> +"But may I not be carried into his room?" pleaded Hilda, in imploring +tones. +<br> +<br> +"No; not to-day. Leave it to me. Believe me, my lady, I am anxious +for his recovery and for yours. His recovery depends most of all upon +you." +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Hilda, in a faint voice; "far more than you know. There +is a medicine which he must have." +<br> +<br> +"He has been taking it through all his sickness. I have not allowed +that to be neglected," said the doctor. +<br> +<br> +"You have administered that?" +<br> +<br> +"Most certainly. It is his only hope." +<br> +<br> +"And do you understand what it is?" +<br> +<br> +"Of course. More--I understand what it involves. But do not fear. The +danger has passed now. Do not let the anguish of such a discovery +torment you. The danger has passed. He is weak now, and it is only +his weakness that I have to contend with." +<br> +<br> +"You understand all, then?" repeated Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, all. But you must not speak about it now. Have confidence in +me. The fact that I understand the disease will show you that I know +how to deal with it. It baffled me before; but, as soon as I saw the +medicine that you gave, I suspected and understood." +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked at him with awful inquiry. +<br> +<br> +"Be calm, my lady," said the doctor, in a sympathetic voice. "The +worst is over. You have saved him." +<br> +<br> +"Say that again," said Hilda. "Have I, indeed, done any thing? Have +I, indeed, saved him?" +<br> +<br> +"Most undoubtedly. Had it not been for you he would by this time have +been in the other world," said the doctor, solemnly. +<br> +<br> +Hilda drew a deep sigh. +<br> +<br> +"That is some consolation," she said, in a mournful voice. +<br> +<br> +"You are too weak now to talk about this. Let me assure you again +that you have every reason for hope. In a few days you may be removed +to his apartment, where your love and devotion will soon meet with +their reward." +<br> +<br> +"Tell me one thing," asked Hilda, earnestly. "Is Lord Chetwynde still +delirious?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes--but only slightly so. It is more like a quiet sleep than any +thing else; and, while he sleeps, the medicines are performing their +appropriate effect upon him. Every thing is progressing favorably, +and when he regains his senses he will be changed very much for the +better. But now, my lady, you must think no more about it. Try and +get some sleep. Be as calm in your mind as you can until to-morrow." +<br> +<br> +And with these words the doctor left. +<br> +<br> +On the following day he came again, but refused to speak on the +subject of Lord Chetwynde's illness; he merely assured Hilda that he +was still in an encouraging condition, and told her that she herself +must keep calm, so that her recovery might be more rapid. For several +days he forbade a renewal of the subject of conversation, with the +intention, as he said, of sparing her every thing which might agitate +her. Whether his precautions were wise or not may be doubted. Hilda +sometimes troubled herself with fancies that the doctor might, +perhaps, suspect all the truth; and though she succeeded in +dismissing the idea as absurd, yet the trouble which she experienced +from it was sufficient to agitate her in many ways. That +fever-haunted land of delirium, out of which she had of late emerged, +was still near enough to throw over her soul its dark and terrific +shadows. It needed but a slight word from the doctor, or from any one +else, to revive the accursed memories of an accursed past. +<br> +<br> +Several days passed away, and, in spite of her anxieties, she grew +stronger. The longing which she felt to see Lord Chetwynde gave +strength to her resolution to grow stronger; and, as once before, her +ardent will seemed to sway the functions of the body. The doctor +noticed this steady increase of strength one day, and promised her +that on the following day she should be removed to Lord Chetwynde's +room. She received this intelligence with the deepest gratitude. +<br> +<br> +"Lord Chetwynde's symptoms," continued the doctor, "are still +favorable. He is no longer in delirium, but in a kind of gentle +sleep, which is not so well defined as to be a stupor, but is yet +stronger than an ordinary sleep. The medicine which is being +administered has this effect. Perhaps you are aware of this?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda bowed. +<br> +<br> +"I was told so." +<br> +<br> +"Will you allow me to ask how it was that you obtained that +particular medicine?" he asked. "Do you know what it involves?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Hilda; "it is only too well known to me. The horror of +this well-nigh killed me." +<br> +<br> +"How did you discover it--or how did you suspect it?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda answered, without a moment's hesitation: +<br> +<br> +"The suddenness of Lord Chetwynde's disease alarmed me. His valet +wrote about his symptoms, and these terrified me still more. I +hurried up to London and showed his report to a leading London +physician. He looked shocked, asked me much about Lord Chetwynde's +health, and gave me this medicine. I suspected from his manner what +he feared, though he did not express his fear in words. In short, it +seemed to me, from what he said, that this medicine was the _antidote +to some poison_." +<br> +<br> +"You are right," said the doctor, solemnly; and then he remained +silent for a long time. +<br> +<br> +"Do you suspect any one?" he asked at last. +<br> +<br> +Hilda sighed, and slowly said: +<br> +<br> +"Yes--I do." +<br> +<br> +"Who is the one?" +<br> +<br> +She paused. In that moment there were struggling within her thoughts +which the doctor did not imagine. Should she be so base as to say +what was in her mind, or should she not? That was the question. But +rapidly she pushed aside all scruples, and in a low, stern voice she +said: +<br> +<br> +"I suspect his valet." +<br> +<br> +"I thought so," said the doctor. "It could have been no other. But he +must have had a motive. Can you imagine what motive there could have +been?" +<br> +<br> +"I know it only too well," said Hilda, "though I did not think of +this till it was too late. He was injured, or fancied himself +injured, by Lord Chetwynde, and his motive was vengeance." +<br> +<br> +"And where is he now?" asked the doctor. +<br> +<br> +"He was thunder-struck by my appearance. He saw me nearly dead. He +helped me up to his master's room. I charged him with his crime. He +tried to falter out a denial. In vain. He was crushed beneath the +overwhelming surprise. He hurried out abruptly, and has fled, I +suppose forever, to some distant country. As for me, I forgot all +about him, and fainted away by the bedside of my husband." +<br> +<br> +The doctor sighed heavily, and wiped a tear from his eye. +<br> +<br> +He had never known so sad a case as this. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LVII. +<br> +<br> +BACK TO LIFE. +<br> +<br> +On the next day, according to the doctor's promise, Hilda was taken +into Lord Chetwynde's room. She was much stronger, and the newfound +hope which she possessed of itself gave her increased vigor. She was +carried in, and gently laid upon the sofa, which had been rolled up +close by the bedside of Lord Chetwynde. Her first eager look showed +her plainly that during the interval which had elapsed since she saw +him last a great improvement had taken place. He was still +unconscious, but his unconsciousness was that of a deep, sweet sleep, +in which pleasant dreams had taken the place of delirious fancies. +His face had lost its aspect of horror; there was no longer to be +seen the stamp of death; the lips were full and red; the cheeks were +no longer sunken; the dark circles had passed away from around the +eyes; and the eyes themselves were now closed, as in sleep, instead +of having that half-open appearance which before was so terrible and +so deathlike. The chill damp had left his forehead. It was the face +of one who is sleeping in pleasant slumber, instead of the face of +one who was sinking rapidly into the realm where the sleep is +eternal. All this Hilda saw at the first glance. +<br> +<br> +Her heart thrilled within her at the rapture of that discovery. The +danger was over. The crisis had passed. Now, whether he lay there for +a longer or a shorter period, his recovery at last was certain, as +far as any thing human and mortal can be certain. Now her eyes, as +they turned toward him, devoured him with all their old eagerness. +Since she had seen him last she too had gone down to the gates of +death, and she had come back again to take her place at his side. A +strange joy and a peace that passed all understanding arose within +her. She sent the nurse out of the room, and once more was alone with +this man whom she loved. His face was turned toward her. She flung +her arms about him in passionate eagerness, and, weak as she was, she +bent down her lips to his. Unconscious he lay there, but the touch of +his lips was now no longer like the touch of death. +<br> +<br> +She herself seemed to gain new strength from the sight of him as he +thus lay in that manly beauty, which, banished for a time, had now +returned again. She lay there on her sofa by his bedside, and held +his hand in both of hers. She watched his face, and scanned every one +of those noble lineaments, which now lay before her with something +like their natural beauty. Hopes arose within her which brought new +strength every moment. This was the life which she had saved. She +forgot--did not choose to think--that she had doomed this life to +death, and chose only to think that she had saved it from death. Thus +she thought that, when Lord Chetwynde came forth out of his +senselessness, she would be the first object that would meet his +gaze, and he would know that he had been saved from death by her. +<br> +<br> +Here, then, she took up her place by his bedside, and saw how every +day he grew better. Every day she herself regained her old strength, +and could at length walk about the room, though she was still thin +and feeble. So the time passed; and in this room the one who first +escaped from the jaws of death devoted herself to the task of +assisting the other. +<br> +<br> +At last, one morning as the sun rose, Lord Chetwynde waked. He looked +around the room. He lifted himself up on his elbow, and saw Hilda +asleep on the sofa near his bed. He felt bewildered at this strange +and unexpected figure. How did she get here? A dim remembrance of his +long sickness suggested itself, and he had a vague idea of this +figure attending upon him. But the ideas and remembrances were too +shadowy to be grasped. The room he remembered partially, for this was +the room in which he had sunk down into this last sickness at +Lausanne. But the sleeping form on the sofa puzzled him. He had seen +her last at Chetwynde. What was she doing here? He scanned her +narrowly, thinking that he might be mistaken from some chance +resemblance. A further examination, however, showed that he was +correct. Yes, this was "his wife," yet how changed! Pale as death was +that face; those features were thin and attenuated; the eyes were +closed; the hair hung in black masses round the marble brow; an +expression of sadness dwelt there; and in her fitful, broken slumber +she sighed heavily. He looked at her long and steadfastly, and then +sank wearily down upon the pillows, but still kept his eyes fixed +upon this woman whom he saw there. How did she get here? What was she +doing? What did it all mean? His remembrance could not supply him +with facts which might answer this question. He could not understand, +and so he lay there in bewilderment, making feeble conjectures. +<br> +<br> +When Hilda opened her eyes the first thing that she saw was the face +of Lord Chetwynde, whose eyes were fixed upon hers. She started and +looked confused; but amidst her confusion an expression of joy darted +across her face, which was evident and manifest to Lord Chetwynde. It +was joy--eager, vivid, and intense; joy mingled with surprise; and +her eyes at last rested on him with mute inquiry. +<br> +<br> +"Are you at last awake, my lord?" she murmured. "Are you out of your +stupor?" +<br> +<br> +"I suppose so," said Lord Chetwynde. "But I do not understand this. I +think I must be in Lausanne." +<br> +<br> +"Yes, you are in Lausanne, my lord, at the Hôtel Gibbon." +<br> +<br> +"The Hôtel Gibbon?" repeated Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"Yes. Has your memory returned yet?" +<br> +<br> +"Only partially. I think I remember the journey here, but not very +well. I hardly know where I came from. It must have been Baden." And +he tried, but in vain, to recollect. +<br> +<br> +"You went from Frankfort to Baden, thence to Munich, and from Munich +you came here." +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Lord Chetwynde, slowly, as he began to recollect. "You +are right. I begin to remember. But I have been ill, and I was ill at +all these places. How long have I been here?" +<br> +<br> +"Five weeks." +<br> +<br> +"Good God!" cried Lord Chetwynde. "Is it possible? I must have been +senseless all the time." +<br> +<br> +"Yes, this is the first time that you have come to your senses, my +lord." +<br> +<br> +"I can scarcely remember any thing." +<br> +<br> +"Will you take your medicine now, my lord?" +<br> +<br> +"My medicine?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Hilda, sitting up and taking a vial from the table; "the +doctor ordered this to be given to you when you came out of your +stupor." +<br> +<br> +"Where is my nurse?" asked Lord Chetwynde, abruptly, after a short +but thoughtful silence. +<br> +<br> +"She is here, my lord. She wants to do your bidding. I am your +nurse." +<br> +<br> +"You!" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, my lord. And now--do not speak, but take your medicine," said +Hilda; and she poured out the mixture into a wine-glass and handed it +to him. +<br> +<br> +He took it mechanically, and without a word, and then his head fell +back, and he lay in silence for a long time, trying to recall his +scattered thoughts. While he thus lay Hilda reclined on the sofa in +perfect silence, motionless yet watchful, wondering what he was +thinking about, and waiting for him to speak. She did not venture to +interrupt him, although she perceived plainly that he was fully +awake. She chose rather to leave him to his own thoughts, and to rest +her fate upon the course which those thoughts might take. At last the +silence was broken. +<br> +<br> +"I have been very ill?" he said at last, inquiringly. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, my lord, very ill. You have been down to the very borders of +the grave." +<br> +<br> +"Yes, it must have been severe. I felt it coming on when I arrived in +France," he murmured; "I remember now. But how did you hear about +it?" +<br> +<br> +"Your valet telegraphed. He was frightened," said she, "and sent for +me." +<br> +<br> +"Ah?" said Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +Hilda said nothing more on that subject. She would wait for another +and a better time to tell him about that. The story of her devotion +and of her suffering might yet be made known to him, but not now, +when he had but partly recovered from his delirium. +<br> +<br> +Little more was said. In about an hour the nurse came in and sat near +him. After some time the doctor came and congratulated him. +<br> +<br> +"Let me congratulate you, my lord," said he, "on your favorable +condition. You owe your life to Lady Chetwynde, whose devotion has +surpassed any thing that I have ever seen. She has done every +thing--I have done nothing." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde made some commonplace compliment to his skill, and +then asked him how long it would be before he might recover. +<br> +<br> +"That depends upon circumstances," said the doctor. "Rest and quiet +are now the chief things which are needed. Do not be too impatient, +my lord. Trust to these things, and rely upon the watchful care of +Lady Chetwynde." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde said nothing. To Hilda, who had listened eagerly to +this conversation, though she lay with closed eyes, his silence was +perplexing, She could not tell whether he had softened toward her or +not. A great fear arose within 'her that all her labor might have +been in vain; but her matchless patience came to her rescue. She +would wait--she would wait--she should at last gain the reward of her +patient waiting. +<br> +<br> +The doctor, after fully attending to Lord Chetwynde, turned to her. +<br> +<br> +"You are weak, my lady," he said, with respectful sympathy, and full +of pity for this devoted wife, who seemed to him only to live in her +husband's presence. "You must take more care of yourself for _his_ +sake." +<br> +<br> +Hilda murmured some inarticulate words, and the doctor, after some +further directions, withdrew. +<br> +<br> +Days passed on. Lord Chetwynde grew stronger every day. He saw Hilda +as his chief attendant and most devoted nurse. He marked her pale +face, her wan features, and the traces of suffering which still +remained visible. He saw that all this had been done for his sake. +Once, when she was absent taking some short rest, he had missed that +instant attention which she had shown. With a sick man's impatience, +he was troubled by the clumsiness of the hired nurse, and contrasted +it with Hilda's instant readiness, and gentle touch, and soft voice +of love. +<br> +<br> +At last, one day when Hilda was giving him some medicine, the vial +dropped from her hands, and she sank down senseless by his bedside. +She was carried away, and it was long before she came to herself. +<br> +<br> +"You must be careful of your lady, my lord," said the doctor, after +he had seen her. "She has worn herself out for you, and will die some +day by your bedside. Never have I seen such tenderness, and such fond +devotion. She is the one who has saved you from death. She is now +giving herself to death to insure your recovery. Watch over her. Do +not let her sacrifice herself now. The time has come when she can +spare herself. Surely now, at last, there ought to be some peace and +rest for this noble-hearted, this gentle, this loving, this devoted +lady!" +<br> +<br> +And as all Hilda's devotion came before the mind of this +tender-hearted physician he had to wipe away his tears, and turn away +his head to conceal his emotion. +<br> +<br> +But his words sank deep into Lord Chetwynde's soul. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LVIII. +<br> +<br> +AN EXPLANATION. +<br> +<br> +Time passed away, and Lord Chetwynde steadily recovered. Hilda also +grew stronger, and something like her former vigor began to come +back. She was able, in spite of her own weakness, to keep up her +position as nurse; and when the doctor remonstrated she declared, +piteously, that Lord Chetwynde's bedside was the place where she +could gain the most benefit, and that to banish her from it would be +to doom her to death. Lord Chetwynde was perplexed by this devotion, +yet he would not have been human if he had not been affected by it. +<br> +<br> +As he recovered, the one question before his mind was, what should he +do? The business with reference to the payment of that money which +General Pomeroy had advanced was arranged before he left England. It +was this which had occupied so much of his thoughts. All was arranged +with his solicitors, and nothing remained for him to do. He had come +to the Continent without any well-defined plans, merely in search +after relaxation and distraction of mind. His eventful illness had +brought other things before him, the most prominent thing among which +was the extraordinary devotion of this woman, from whom he had been +planning an eternal separation. He could not now accuse her of +baseness. Whatever she might once have done she had surely atoned for +during those hours when she stood by his bedside till she herself +fell senseless, as he had seen her fall. It would have been but a +common generosity which would have attributed good motives to her; +and he could not help regarding her as full of devotion to himself. +<br> +<br> +Under these circumstances it became a very troublesome question to +know what he was to do. Where was he to go? Should he loiter about +the Continent as he once proposed? But then, he was under obligations +to this devoted woman, who had done so much for him. What was he to +do with regard to her? Could he send her home coldly, without a word +of gratitude, or without one sign expressive of that thankfulness +which any human being would feel under such circumstances? He could +not do that. He must do or say something expressive of his sense of +obligation. To do otherwise--to leave her abruptly--would be brutal. +What could he do? He could not go back and live with her at +Chetwynde. There was another, whose image filled all his heart, and +the memory of whose looks and words made all other things +unattractive. Had it not been for this, he must have yielded to pity, +if not to love. Had it not been for this, he would have spoken tender +words to that slender, white-faced woman who, with her imploring +eyes, hovered about him, finding her highest happiness in being his +slave, seeking her only recompense in some kindly look, or some +encouraging word. +<br> +<br> +All the circumstances of his present position perplexed him. He knew +not what to do; and, in this perplexity, his mind at length settled +upon India as the shortest way of solving all difficulties. He could +go back there again, and resume his old duties. Time might alleviate +his grief over his father, and perhaps it might even mitigate the +fervor of that fatal passion which had arisen in his heart for +another who could never be his. There, at any rate, he would have +sufficient occupation to take up his thoughts, and break up that +constant tendency which he now had toward memories of the one whom he +had lost. Amidst all his perplexity, therefore, the only thing left +for him seemed to be India. +<br> +<br> +The time was approaching when he would be able to travel once more. +Lausanne is the most beautiful place in the world, on the shore of +the most beautiful of lakes, with the stupendous forms of the Jura +Alps before it; but even so beautiful a place as this loses all its +charms to the one who has been an invalid there, and the eye which +has gazed upon the most sublime scenes in nature from a sick-bed +loses all power of admiring their sublimity. And so Lord Chetwynde +wearied of Lausanne, and the Luke of Geneva, and the Jura Alps, and, +in his restlessness, he longed for other scenes which might be +fresher, and not connected with such mournful associations. So he +began to talk in a general way of going to Italy. This he mentioned +to the doctor, who happened one day to ask him how he liked Lausanne. +The question gave him an opportunity of saying that he looked upon it +simply as a place where he had been ill, and that he was anxious to +get off to Italy as soon as possible. +<br> +<br> +"Italy?" said the doctor. +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"What part are you going to?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, I don't know. Florence, I suppose--at first--and then other +places. It don't much matter." +<br> +<br> +Hilda heard this in her vigilant watchfulness. It awakened fears +within her that all her devotion had been in vain, and that he was +planning to leave her. It seemed so. There was, therefore, no feeling +of gratitude in his heart for all she had done. What she had done she +now recalled in her bitterness--all the love, the devotion, the +idolatry which she had lavished upon him would be as nothing. He had +regained the control of his mind, and his first thought was to fly. +The discovery of this indifference of his was terrible. She had +trusted much to her devotion. She had thought that, in a nature like +his, which was at once so pure, so high-minded, and so chivalrous, +the spectacle of her noble self-sacrifice, combined with the +discovery of her profound and all-absorbing love, would have awakened +some response, if it were nothing stronger than mere gratitude. And +why should it not be so? she thought. If she were ugly, or old, it +would be different. But she was young; and, more than this, she was +beautiful. True, her cheeks were not so rounded as they once were, +her eyes were more hollow than they used to be, the pallor of her +complexion was more intense than usual, and her lips were not so red; +but what then? These were the signs and the marks which had been +left upon her face by that deathless devotion which she had shown +toward him. If there was any change in her, he alone was the cause, +and she had offered herself up to him. That pallor, that delicacy, +that weakness, and that emaciation of frame were all the visible +signs and tokens of her self-sacrificing love for him. These things, +instead of repelling him, ought to attract him. Moreover, in spite of +all these things, even with her wasted form, she could see that she +was yet beautiful. Her dark eyes beamed more darkly than before from +their hollow orbs, against the pallor of her face the ebon hair shone +more lustrously, as it hung in dark voluminous masses downward, and +the white face itself showed features that were faultlessly +beautiful. Why should he turn away from so beautiful a woman, who had +so fully proved her love and her devotion? She felt that after this +conspicuous example of her love he could never again bring forward +against her those old charges of deceit which he had once uttered. +These, at least, were dead forever. All the letters which she had +written from the very first, on to that last letter of which he had +spoken so bitterly--all were now amply atoned for by the devotion of +the last few weeks--a devotion that shrank not from suffering, nor +even from death itself. Why then did he not reciprocate? Why was it +that he held himself aloof in such a manner from her caresses? Why +was it that when her voice grew tremulous from the deep love of her +heart she found no response, but only saw a certain embarrassment in +his looks? There must be some cause for this. If he had been +heart-whole, she thought, he must have yielded. There is something in +the way. There is some other love. Yes, that is it, she concluded; it +is what I saw before. He loves another! +<br> +<br> +At length, one day, Lord Chetwynde began to speak to her more +directly about his plans. He had made up his mind to make them known +to her, and so he availed himself of the first opportunity. +<br> +<br> +"I must soon take my departure, Lady Chetwynde," said he, as he +plunged at once into the midst of affairs. "I have made up my mind to +go to Italy next week. As I intend to return to India I shall not go +back to England again. All my business affairs are in the hands of my +solicitors, and they will arrange all that I wish to be done." +<br> +<br> +By this Lord Chetwynde meant that his solicitors would arrange with +Hilda those money-matters of which he had once spoken. He had too +much consideration for her to make any direct allusion to them now, +but wished, nevertheless, that she should understand his words in +this way. +<br> +<br> +And in this way she did understand them. Her comprehension and +apprehension were full and complete. By his tone and his look more +than by his words she perceived that she had gained nothing by all +her devotion. He had not meant to inflict actual suffering on her by +these words. He had simply used them because he thought that it was +best to acquaint her with his resolve in the most direct way, and, as +he had tried for a long time to find some delicate way of doing this +without success, he had at length, in desperation, adopted that which +was most simple and plain. But to Hilda it was abrupt, and although +she was not altogether unprepared, yet it came like a thunder-clap, +and for a moment she sank down into the depths of despair. +<br> +<br> +Then she rallied. In spite of the consciousness of the truth of her +position--a truth which was unknown to Lord Chetwynde--she felt as +though she were the victim of ingratitude and injustice. What she had +done entitled her, she thought, to something more than a cold +dismissal. All her pride and her dignity arose in arms at this +slight. She regarded him calmly for a few moments as she listened to +his words. Then all the pent-up feelings of her heart burst forth +irrepressibly. +<br> +<br> +"Lord Chetwynde," said she, in a low and mournful voice, "I once +would not have said to you what I am now going to say. I had not the +right to say it, nor if I had would my pride have permitted me. But +now I feel that I have earned the right to say it; and as to my +pride, that has long since been buried in the dust. Besides, your +words render it necessary that I should speak, and no longer keep +silence. We had one interview, in which you did all the speaking and +I kept silence. We had another interview in which I made a vain +attempt at conciliation. I now wish to speak merely to explain things +as they have been, and as they are, so that hereafter you may feel +this, at least, that I have been frank and open at last. +<br> +<br> +"Lord Chetwynde, you remember that old bond that bound me to you. +What was I? A girl of ten--a child. Afterward I was held to that bond +under circumstances that have been impressed upon my memory +indelibly. My father in the last hour of his life, when delirium was +upon him, forced me to carry it out. You were older than I. You were +a grown man. I was a child of fourteen. Could you not have found some +way of saving me? I was a child. You were a man. Could you not have +obtained some one who was not a priest, so that such a mockery of a +marriage might have remained a mockery, and not have become a +reality? It would have been easy to do that. My father's last hours +would then have been lightened all the same, while you and I would +not have been joined in that irrevocable vow. I tell you, Lord +Chetwynde, that, in the years that followed, this thought was often +in my mind, and thus it was that I learned to lay upon you the chief +blame of the events that resulted. +<br> +<br> +"You have spoken to me, Lord Chetwynde, in very plain language about +the letters that I wrote. You found in them taunts and sneers which +you considered intolerable. Tell me, my lord, if you had been in my +position, would you have been more generous? Think how galling it is +to a proud and sensitive nature to, discover that it is tied up and +bound beyond the possibility of release. Now this is far worse for a +woman than it is for a man. A woman, unless she is an Asiatic and a +slave, does not wish to be given up unasked. I found myself the +property of one who was not only indifferent to me, but, as I plainly +saw, averse to me. It was but natural that I should meet scorn with +scorn. In your letters I could read between the lines, and in your +cold and constrained answers to your father's remarks about me I saw +how strong was your aversion. In your letters to me this was still +more evident. What then? I was proud and impetuous, and what you +merely hinted at I expressed openly and unmistakably. You found fault +with this. You may be right, but my conduct was after all natural. +<br> +<br> +"It is this, Lord Chetwynde, which will account for my last letter to +you. Crushed by the loss of my only friend, I reflected upon the +difference between you and him, and the thought brought a bitterness +which is indescribable. Therefore I wrote as I did. My sorrow, +instead of softening, imbittered me, and I poured forth all my +bitterness in that letter. It stung you. You were maddened by it and +outraged. You saw in it only the symptoms and the proofs of what you +chose to call a 'bad mind and heart.' If you reflect a little you +will see that your conclusions were not so strictly just as they +might have been. You yourself, you will see, were not the immaculate +being which you suppose yourself to be. +<br> +<br> +"I say to you now, Lord Chetwynde, that all this time, instead of +hating you, I felt very differently toward you. I had for you a +feeling of regard which, at least, may be called sisterly. +Associating with your father as I did, possessing his love, and +enjoying his confidence, it would have been strange if I had not +sympathized with him somewhat in his affections. Your name was always +on his lips. You were the one of whom he was always speaking. When I +wished to make him happy, and such a wish was always in my heart, I +found no way so sure and certain as when I spoke in praise of you. +During those years when I was writing those letters which you think +showed a 'bad mind and heart,' I was incessantly engaged in sounding +your praises to your father. What he thought of me you know. If I had +a 'bad mind and heart,' he, at least, who knew me best, never +discovered it. He gave me his confidence--more, he gave me his love. +<br> +<br> +"Lord Chetwynde, when you came home and crushed me with your cruel +words I said nothing, for I was overcome by your cruelty. Then I +thought that the best way for me to do was to show you by my life and +by my acts, rather than by any words, how unjust you had been. How +you treated my advances you well know. Without being guilty of any +discourtesy, you contrived to make me feel that I was abhorrent. +Still I did not despair of clearing my character in your sight. I +asked an interview. I tried to explain, but, as you well remember, +you coolly pushed all my explanations aside as so much hypocritical +pretense. My lord, you were educated by your father in the school of +honor and chivalry. I will not ask you now if your conduct was +chivalrous. I only ask you, was it even just? +<br> +<br> +"And all this time, my lord, what were my feelings toward you? Let me +tell you, and you yourself can judge. I will confess them, though +nothing less than despair would ever have wrung such a confession out +of me. Let me tell you then, my lord, what my feelings were. Not as +expressed in empty words or in prolix letters, but as manifested by +acts. +<br> +<br> +"Your valet wrote me that you were ill. I left immediately, filled +with anxiety. Anxiety and fatigue both overpowered me. When I reached +Frankfort I was struck down by fever. It was because I found that you +had left that my fever was so severe. Scarce had I recovered than I +hurried to Baden, finding out your address from the people of the +Frankfort Hotel. You had gone to Munich. I followed you to Munich, so +weak that I had to be carried into my cab at Baden, and out of it at +Munich. At Munich another attack of fever prostrated me. I had missed +you again, and my anxiety was intolerable. A thousand dreary fears +oppressed me. I thought that you were dying--" +<br> +<br> +Here Hilda's voice faltered, and she stopped for a time, struggling +with her emotion. "I thought that you were dying," she repeated. "In +my fever my situation was rendered infinitely worse by this tear. But +at length I recovered, and went on. I reached Lausanne. I found you +at the last point of life. I had time to give you your medicine and +leave directions with your nurse, and then I fell down senseless by +your side. +<br> +<br> +"My lord, while _you_ were ill _I_ was worse. My life was despaired +of. Would to God that I had died then and there in the crisis of that +fever! But I escaped it, and once more rose from my bed. +<br> +<br> +"I dragged myself back to your side, and staid there on my sofa, +keeping watch over you, till once more I was struck down. Then I +recovered once more, and gained health and strength again. Tell me, +my lord," and Hilda's eyes seemed to penetrate to the soul of Lord +Chetwynde as she spoke--"tell me, is this the sign of a 'bad mind and +heart?'" +<br> +<br> +As, Hilda had spoken she had evinced the strongest agitation. Her +hands clutched one another, her voice was tremulous with emotion, her +face was white, and a hectic flush on either cheek showed her +excitement. Lord Chetwynde would have been either more or less than +human if he had listened unmoved. As it was, he felt moved to the +depths of his soul. Yet he could not say one word. +<br> +<br> +"I am alone in the world," said Hilda, mournfully. "You promised once +to see about my happiness. That was a vow extorted from a boy, and it +is nothing in itself. You said, not long ago, that you intended to +keep your promise by separating yourself from me and giving me some +money. Lord Chetwynde, look at me, think of what I have done, and +answer. Is this the way to secure my happiness? What is money to me? +Money! Do I care for money? What is it that I care for? I? I only +wish to die! I have but a short time to live. I feel that I am +doomed. Your money, Lord Chetwynde, will soon go back to you. Spare +your solicitors the trouble to which you are putting them. If you can +give me death, it will be the best thing that you can bestow. I gave +you life. Can you not return the boon by giving me death, my lord?" +<br> +<br> +These last words Hilda wailed out in low tones of despair which +vibrated in Lord Chetwynde's breast. +<br> +<br> +"At least," said she, "do not be in haste about leaving me. I will +soon leave you forever. It is not much I ask. Let me only be near you +for a short time, my lord. It is a small wish. Bear with me. You will +see, before I die, that I have not altogether a 'bad mind and +heart.'" +<br> +<br> +Her voice sank down into low tones of supplication; her head drooped +forward; her intense feeling overcame her; tears burst from her eyes +and flowed unchecked. +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde," said Lord Chetwynde, in deep emotion, "do as you +wish. You have my gratitude for your noble devotion. I owe my life to +you. If you really care about accompanying me I will not thwart your +wishes. I can say no more. And let us never again speak of the past." +<br> +<br> +And this was all that Lord Chetwynde said. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LIX. +<br> +<br> +ON THE ROAD. +<br> +<br> +Before Lord Chetwynde left Lausanne the doctor told him all about the +poison and the antidote. He enlarged with great enthusiasm upon Lady +Chetwynde's devotion and foresight; but his information caused Lord +Chetwynde to meditate deeply upon this thing. Hilda found out that +the doctor had said this, and gave her explanation. She said that the +valet had described the symptoms; that she had asked a London doctor, +who suspected poison, and gave her an antidote. She herself, she +said, did not know what to think of it, but had naturally suspected +the valet. She had charged him with it on her arrival. He had looked +very much confused, and had immediately fled from the place. His +guilt, in her opinion, had been confirmed by his flight. To her +opinion Lord Chetwynde assented, and concluded that his valet wished +to plunder him. He now recalled many suspicious circumstances about +him, and remembered that he had taken the man without asking any one +about him, satisfied with the letters of recommendation which he had +brought, and which he had not taken the trouble to verify. He now +believed that these letters were all no better than forgeries, and +that he had well-nigh fallen a victim to one of the worst of +villains. In his mind this revelation of the doctor only gave a new +claim upon his gratitude toward the woman who had rescued him. +<br> +<br> +Shortly after he started for Italy. Hilda went with him. His position +was embarrassing. Here was a woman to whom he lay under the deepest +obligations, whose tender and devoted love was manifested in every +word and action, and yet he was utterly incapable of reciprocating +that love. She was beautiful, but her beauty did not affect him; she +was, as he thought, his wife, yet he could never be a husband to her. +Her piteous appeal bad moved his heart, and forced him to take her +with him, yet he was looking forward impatiently for some opportunity +of leaving her. He could think of India only as the place which was +likely to give him this opportunity, and concluded that after a short +stay in Florence he would leave for the East, and resume his old +duties. Before leaving Lausanne he wrote to the authorities in +England, and applied to be reinstated in some position in the Indian +service, which he had not yet quitted, or, if possible, to go back to +his old place. A return to India was now his only hope, and the only +way by which he could escape from the very peculiar difficulties of +his situation. +<br> +<br> +It was a trying position, but he took refuge in a certain lofty +courtesy which well became him, and which might pass very well for +that warmer feeling of which he was destitute. His natural kindliness +of disposition softened his manner toward Hilda, and his sense of +obligation made him tenderly considerate. If Hilda could have been +content with any thing except positive love, she would have found +happiness in that gentle and kindly and chivalrous courtesy which she +received at the hands of Lord Chetwynde. Content with this she was +not. It was something different from this that she desired; yet, +after all, it was an immense advance on the old state of things. It +gave her the chance of making herself known to Lord Chetwynde, a +chance which had been denied to her before. Conversation was no +longer impossible. At Chetwynde Castle there had been nothing but the +most formal remarks; now there were things which approximated almost +to an interchange of confidence. By her devotion, and by her +confession of her feelings, she had presented herself to him in a new +light, and that memorable confession of hers could not be forgotten. +It was while traveling together that the new state of things was most +manifest to her. She sat next to him in the carriage; she touched +him; her arm was close to his. That touch thrilled through her, even +though she knew too well that he was cold and calm-and indifferent. +But this was, at least, a better thing than that abhorrence and +repugnance which he had formerly manifested; and the friendly smile +and the genial remark which he often directed to her were received by +her with joy, and treasured up in the depths of her soul as something +precious. +<br> +<br> +Traveling thus together through scenes of grandeur and of beauty, +seated side by side, it was impossible to avoid a closer intimacy +than common. In spite of Lord Chetwynde's coolness, the very fact +that he was thus thrown into constant contact with a woman who was at +once beautiful and clever, and who at the same time had made an open +confession of her devotion to him, was of itself sufficient to +inspire something like kindliness of sentiment at least in his heart, +even though that heart were the coldest and the least susceptible +that ever beat. The scenes through which they passed were of +themselves calculated in the highest degree to excite a communion of +soul. Hilda was clever and well-read, with a deep love for the +beautiful, and a familiar acquaintance with all modern literature. +There was not a beautiful spot on the road which had been sung by +poets or celebrated in fiction of which she was ignorant. Ferney, +sacred to Voltaire; Geneva, the birth-place of Rousseau; the Jura +Alps, sung by Byron; the thousand places of lesser note embalmed by +French or German writers in song and story, were all greeted by her +with a delight that was girlish in its enthusiastic +demonstrativeness. Lord Chetwynde, himself intellectual, recognized +and respected the brilliant intellect of his companion. He saw that +the woman who had saved his life at the risk of her own, who had +dropped down senseless at his bedside, overworn with duties +self-imposed through love for him--the woman who had overwhelmed him +with obligations of gratitude--could also dazzle him with her +intellectual brilliancy, and surpass him in familiarity with the +greatest geniuses of modern times. +<br> +<br> +Another circumstance had contributed toward the formation of a closer +association between these two. Hilda had no maid with her, but was +traveling unattended. On leaving Lausanne she found that Gretchen was +unwilling to go to Italy, and had, therefore, parted with her with +many kind words, and the bestowal of presents sufficiently valuable +to make the kind-hearted German maid keep in her memory for many +years to come the recollection of that gentle suffering English lady, +whose devotion to her husband had been shown so signally, and almost +at the cost of her own life. Hilda took no maid with her. Either she +could not obtain one in so small a place as Lausanne, or else she did +not choose to employ one. Whatever the cause may have been, the +result was to throw her more upon the care of Lord Chetwynde, who was +forced, if not from gratitude at least from common politeness, to +show her many of those little attentions which are demanded by a lady +from a gentleman. Traveling together as they did, those attentions +were required more frequently than under ordinary circumstances; and +although they seemed to Lord Chetwynde the most ordinary +commonplaces, yet to Hilda every separate act of attention or of +common politeness carried with it a joy which was felt through all +her being. If she had reasoned about that joy, she might perhaps have +seen how unfounded it was. But she did not reason about it; it was +enough to her that he was by her side, and that acts like these came +from him to her. In her mind all the past and all the future were +forgotten, and there was nothing but an enjoyment of the present. +<br> +<br> +Their journey lay through regions which presented every thing that +could charm the taste or awaken admiration. At first there was the +grandeur of Alpine scenery. From this they emerged into the softer +beauty of the Italian clime. It was the Simplon Road which they +traversed, that gigantic monument to the genius of Napoleon, which is +more enduring than even the fame of Marengo or Austerlitz; and this +road, with its alternating scenes of grandeur and of beauty, of glory +and of gloom, had elicited the utmost admiration from each. At +length, one day, as they were descending this road on the slope +nearest Italy, on leaving Domo d'Ossola, they came to a place where +the boundless plains of Lombardy lay stretched before them. There the +verdurous fields stretched away beneath their eyes--an expanse of +living green; seeming like the abode of perpetual summer to those who +looked down from the habitation of winter. Far away spread the plains +to the distant horizon, where the purple Apennines arose bounding the +view. Nearer was the Lago Maggiore with its wondrous islands, the +Isola Hella and the Isola Madre, covered with their hanging gardens, +whose green foliage rose over the dark blue waters of the lake +beneath; while beyond that lake lay towns and villages and hamlets, +whose far white walls gleamed brightly amidst the vivid green of the +surrounding plain; and vineyards also, and groves and orchards and +forests of olive and chestnut trees. It was a scene which no other on +earth can surpass, if it can equal, and one which, to travelers +descending the Alps, has in every age brought a resistless charm. +<br> +<br> +This was the first time that Hilda had seen this glorious land. Lord +Chetwynde had visited Naples, but to him the prospect that lay +beneath was as striking as though he had never seen any of the +beauties of Italy. Hilda, however, felt its power most. Both gazed +long and with deep admiration upon this matchless scene without +uttering one word to express their emotions; viewing it in silence, +as though to break that silence would break the spell which had been +thrown over them by the first sight of this wondrous land. At last +Hilda broke that spell. Carried away by the excitement of the moment +she started to her feet, and stood erect in the carriage, and then +burst forth into that noble paraphrase which Byron has made of the +glorious sonnet of Filicaja: +<br> +<br> + "Italia! O Italia! thou who hast<br> + The fatal gift of beauty, which became<br> + A funeral dower of present woes and past,<br> + On thy sweet brow is sorrow plowed by shame,<br> + And annals graven in characters of flame.<br> + O God! that thou wert in thy <br> + Less lovely, or more powerful, and couldst claim<br> + Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press<br> +To shed thy blood and drink the tears of thy distress." +<br> +<br> +She stood like a Sibyl, inspired by the scene before her. Pale, yet +lovely, with all her intellectual beauty refined by the sorrows +through which she had passed, she herself might have been taken for +an image of that Italy which she thus invoked. Lord Chetwynde looked +at her, and amidst his surprise at such an outburst of enthusiasm he +had some such thoughts as these. But suddenly, from some unknown +cause, Hilda sank back into her seat, and burst into tears. At the +display of such emotion Lord Chetwynde looked on deeply disturbed. +What possible connection there could be between these words and her +agitation he could not see. But he was full of pity for her, and he +did what was most natural. He took her hand, and spoke kind words to +her, and tried to soothe her. At his touch her agitation subsided. +She smiled through her tears, and looked at him with a glance that +spoke unutterable things. It was the first time that Lord Chetwynde +had shown toward her any thing approaching to tenderness. +<br> +<br> +On that same day another incident occurred. +<br> +<br> +A few miles beyond Domo d'Ossola there was an inn where they had +stopped to change horses. They waited here for a time till the horses +were ready, and then resumed their journey. The road went on before +them for miles, winding along gently in easy curves and with a +gradual descent toward those smiling vales which lay beneath them. As +they drove onward each turn in the road seemed to bring some new view +before them, and to disclose some fresh glimpse to their eyes of that +voluptuous Italian beauty which they were now beholding, and which +appeared all the lovelier from the contrast which it presented to +that sublime Alpine scenery--the gloom of awful gorges, the grandeur +of snow-capped heights through which they had been journeying. +<br> +<br> +Inside the carriage were Lord Chetwynde and Hilda. Outside was the +driver. Hilda was just pointing out to Lord Chetwynde some peculiar +tint in the purple of the distant Apennines when suddenly the +carriage gave a lurch, and with a wild bound, the horses started off +at full speed down the road. Something had happened. Either the +harness had given way or the horses were frightened; at any rate, +they were running away at a fearful pace, and the driver, erect on +his seat, was striving with all his might to hold in the maddened +animals. His efforts were all to no purpose. On they went, like the +wind, and the carriage, tossed from side to side at their wild +springs seemed sometimes to leap into the air. The road before them +wound on down a spur of the mountains, with deep ravines on one +side--a place full of danger for such a race as this. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/197.png" alt="He Laid Her Down Upon The Grass."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "He Laid Her Down Upon The Grass."] +<br> +<br> +It was a fearful moment. For a time Hilda said not a word; she sat +motionless, like one paralyzed by terror; and then, as the carriage +gave a wilder lurch than usual, she gave utterance to a loud cry of +fear, and flung her arms around Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"Save me! oh, save me!" she exclaimed. +<br> +<br> +She clung to him desperately, as though in thus clinging to him she +had some assurance of safety. Lord Chetwynde sat erect, looking out +upon the road before him, down which they were dashing, and saying +not a word. Mechanically he put his arm around this panic-stricken +woman, who clung to him so tightly, as though by that silent gesture +he meant to show that he would protect her as far as possible. But in +so perilous a race all possibility of protection was out of the +question. +<br> +<br> +At last the horses, in their onward career, came to a curve in the +road, where, on one side, there was a hill, and on the other a +declivity. It was a sharp turn. Their impetus was too swift to be +readily stayed. Dashing onward, the carriage was whirled around after +them, and was thrown off the road down the declivity. For a few paces +the horses dragged it onward as it Iay on its side, and then the +weight of the carriage was too much for them. They stopped, then +staggered, then backed, and then, with a heavy-plunge, both carriage +and horses went down into the gully beneath. +<br> +<br> +It was not more than thirty feet of a descent, and the bottom was the +dry bed of a mountain torrent. The horses struggled and strove to +free themselves. The driver jumped off uninjured, and sprang at them +to stop them. This he succeeded in doing, at the cost of some severe +bruises. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile the occupants of the carriage had felt the full +consciousness of the danger. As the carriage went down Hilda clung +more closely to Lord Chetwynde. He, on his part, said not a word, but +braced himself for the fall. The carriage rolled over and over in its +descent, and at last stopped. Lord Chetwynde, with Hilda in his arms, +was thrown violently down. As soon as he could he raised himself and +drew Hilda out from the wreck of the carriage. +<br> +<br> +She was senseless. +<br> +<br> +He laid her down upon the grass. Her eyes were closed, her hair was +all disordered, her face was as white as the face of a corpse. A +stream of blood trickled down over her marble forehead from a wound +in her head. It was a piteous sight. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde took her in his arms and carried her off a little +distance, to a place where there was some water in the bed of the +brook. With this he sought to restore her to consciousness. For a +long time his efforts were unavailing. +<br> +<br> +At last he called to the driver. +<br> +<br> +"Tie up one of the horses and get on the other," he said, "and ride +for your life to the nearest house. Bring help. The lady is stunned, +and must be taken away as soon as possible. Get them to knock up a +litter, and bring a couple of stout fellows back to help us carry +her. Make haste--for your life." +<br> +<br> +The driver at once comprehended the whole situation. He did as he was +bid, and in a few minutes the sound of his horse's hoofs died away in +the distance. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde was left alone with Hilda. +<br> +<br> +She lay in his arms, her beautiful face on his shoulder, tenderly +supported; that face white, and the lips bloodless, the eyes closed, +and blood trickling from the wound on her head. It was not a sight +upon which any one might look unmoved. +<br> +<br> +And Lord Chetwynde was moved to his inmost soul by that sight. +<br> +<br> +Who was this woman? His wife! the one who stood between him and his +desires. +<br> +<br> +Ah, true! But she was something more. +<br> +<br> +And now, as he looked at her thus lying in his arms, there came to +him the thought of all that she had been to him--the thought of her +undying love--her matchless devotion. That pale face, those closed +eyes, those mute lips, that beautiful head, stained with oozing +blood, all spoke to him with an eloquence which awakened a response +within him. +<br> +<br> +Was this the end of all that love and that devotion? Was this the +fulfillment of his promise to General Pomeroy? Was he doing by this +woman as she had done by him? Had she not made more than the fullest +atonement for the offenses and follies of the past? Had she not +followed him through Europe to seek him and to snatch him from the +grasp of a villain? Had she not saved his life at the risk of her +own? Had she not stood by his side till she fell lifeless at his feet +in her unparalleled self-devotion? +<br> +<br> +These were the questions that came to him. +<br> +<br> +He loved her not; but if he wished for love, could he ever find any +equal to this? That poor, frail, slender frame pleaded piteously; +that white face, as it lay upturned, was itself a prayer. +<br> +<br> +Involuntarily he stooped down, and in his deep pity he pressed his +lips to that icy brow. Then once more he looked at her. Once more he +touched her, and this time his lips met hers. +<br> +<br> +"My God!" he groaned; "what can I do? Why did I ever see--that other +one?" +<br> +<br> +An hour passed and the driver returned. Four men came with him, +carrying a rude litter. On this Hilda's senseless form was placed. +And thus they carried her to the nearest house, while Lord Chetwynde +followed in silence and in deep thought. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LX. +<br> +<br> +THE CLAWS OF THE AMERICAN EAGLE. +<br> +<br> +At length Obed prepared to leave Naples and visit other places in +Italy. He intended to go to Rome and Florence, after which he +expected to go to Venice or Milan, and then across the Alps to +Germany. Two vetturas held the family, and in due time they arrived +at Terracina. Here they passed the night, and early on the following +day they set out, expecting to traverse the Pontine Marshes and reach +Albano by evening. +<br> +<br> +These famous marshes extend from Terracina to Nettuno. They are about +forty-five miles in length and from four to twelve in breadth. +Drained successively by Roman, by Goth, and by pope, they +successively relapsed into their natural state, until the +perseverance of Pius VI. completed the work. It is now largely +cultivated, but the scenery is monotonous and the journey tedious. +The few inhabitants found here get their living by hunting and by +robbery, and are distinguished by their pale and sickly appearance. +At this time the disturbed state of Italy, and particularly of the +papal dominions, made traveling sometimes hazardous, and no place was +more dangerous than this. Yet Obed gave this no thought, but started +on the journey with as much cheerfulness as though he were making a +railway trip from New York to Philadelphia. +<br> +<br> +About half-way there is a solitary inn, situated close by the +road-side, with a forlorn and desolate air about it. It is two +stories high, with small windows, and the whitewashed stone walls +made it look more like a lazaretto than any thing else. Here they +stopped two hours to feed the horses and to take their déjeuner. The +place was at this time kept by a miserable old man and his wife, on +whom the unhealthy atmosphere of the marshes seemed to have brought a +premature decay. Obed could not speak Italian, so that he was +debarred from the pleasure of talking with this man; but he exhibited +much sympathy toward him, and made him a present of a bundle of +cigars--an act which the old man viewed, at first, with absolute +incredulity, and at length with unutterable gratitude. +<br> +<br> +Leaving this place they drove on for about two miles, when suddenly +the carriage in which Obed and the family were traveling fell forward +with a crash, and the party were thrown pell-mell together. The +horses stopped. No injury was done to any one, and Obed got out to +see what had taken place. The front axle was broken. +<br> +<br> +Here was a very awkward dilemma, and it was difficult to tell what +ought to be done. There was the other carriage, but it was small, and +could not contain the family. The two maids, also, would have to be +left behind. Obed thought, at first, of sending on his family and +waiting; but he soon dismissed this idea. For the present, at least, +he saw that they would have to drive back to the inn, and this they +finally did. Here Obed exerted all his ingenuity and all his +mechanical skill in a futile endeavor to repair the axle. But the +rough patch which he succeeded at last in making was so inefficient +that, on attempting to start once more, the carriage again broke +down, and they were forced to give up this hope. +<br> +<br> +Three hours had now passed away, and it had already grown altogether +too late to think of trying to finish the journey. Again the question +arose, what was to be done? To go back was now as much out of the +question as to go forward. One resource only seemed left them, and +that was to stay here for the night, and send back to Terracina for a +new carriage. This decision Obed finally arrived at, and he +communicated it to his valet, and ordered him to see if they could +have any accommodations for the night. +<br> +<br> +The valet seemed somewhat alarmed at this proposal. +<br> +<br> +"It's a dangerous place," said he. "The country swarms with brigands. +We had better take the ladies back." +<br> +<br> +"Take the ladies back!" cried Obed. "How can we do that? We can't all +cram into the small carriage. And, besides, as to danger--by this +time it's as dangerous on the road as it is here." +<br> +<br> +"Oh no; travelers will be upon the road--" +<br> +<br> +"Pooh! there's no danger when one is inside of a stone house like +this. Why, man, this house is a regular fort. Besides, who is there +that would attack an inn?" +<br> +<br> +"The brigands," said the valet. "They're all around, prowling about, +and will be likely to pay a visit here. This house, at the best of +times, does not have a good name." +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Obed, "let them come on." +<br> +<br> +"You forget, Sir," said the valet, "that you are alone." +<br> +<br> +"Not a bit of it," said Obed; "I'm well aware that I'm alone." +<br> +<br> +"But you're worse than alone," remonstrated the valet, earnestly. +"You have your family. That is the thing that makes the real danger; +for, if any thing happens to you, what will become of them?" +<br> +<br> +"Pooh!" said Obed; "there are plenty of 'ifs' whenever any man is on +the look-out for danger. Now, I ain't on the look-out. Why should I +trouble myself? Whenever any enemy shows himself I'll be ready. If a +man is always going to imagine danger, and borrow trouble, what will +become of him? This place seems to me the best place for the family +now--far better than the road, at any rate. I wouldn't have them +dragged back to Terracina on any account. It'll be dark long before +we get there, and traveling by night on the Pontine Marshes ain't +particularly healthy. There's less risk for them here than any where +else; so, young man, you'd better look up the beds, and see what they +can do for us." +<br> +<br> +The valet made some further remonstrances; he described the ruthless +character of the Italian brigands, told Obed about the dangerous +condition of the country, hinted that the old man and his wife were +themselves possibly in alliance with the brigands, and again urged +him to change his plans. But Obed was not moved in the slightest +degree by these representations. He had considered it all, he said, +and had made up his mind. As he saw it, all the risk, and all the +fatigue too, which was quite as important a thing, were on the road, +and whatever safety there was, whether from brigands or miasma, lay +in the inn. +<br> +<br> +The valet then went to see about the accommodations for the party. +They were rude, it is true, yet sufficient in such an emergency. The +old man and his wife bestirred themselves to make every thing ready +for the unexpected guests, and, with the assistance of the maids, +their rooms were prepared. +<br> +<br> +After this the valet drove back with the vetturino, promising to come +as early as possible on the following day. +<br> +<br> +During Obed's conversation with the valet the ladies had been in the +hotel, and had therefore heard nothing of what had been said. They +were quite ignorant of the existence of any danger, and Obed thought +it the best plan to keep them in ignorance, unless actual danger +should arise. For his own part, he had meant what he said. He was +aware that there was danger; he knew that the country was in an +unsettled and lawless condition, and that roving bands of robbers +were scouring the papal territories. From the very consciousness that +he had of this danger, he had decided in favor of stopping. He +believed the road to be more dangerous than the inn. If there was to +be any attack of brigands, he much preferred to receive it here; and +he thought this a more unlikely place for such an attack than any +other. +<br> +<br> +The warning of the valet made a sufficiently deep impression upon him +to cause him to examine very carefully the position of his rooms, and +the general appearance of the house. The house itself was as strong +as a fortress, and a dozen men, well posted, could have defended it +against a thousand. But Obed was alone, and had to consider the +prospects of one man in a defense. The rooms which he occupied +favored this. There were two. One was a large one at the end of the +house, lighted by one small window. This his family and Zillah +occupied; somewhat crowded, it is true, yet not at all uncomfortable. +A wide hearth was there, and a blazing peat fire kept down the chill +of the marshy exhalations. Outside of this was a smaller room, and +this was Obed's. A fire was burning here also. A window lighted it, +and a stout door opened into the hall. The bed was an old-fashioned +four-posted structure of enormous weight. +<br> +<br> +All these things Obed took in with one rapid glance, and saw the +advantages of his position. In these rooms, with his revolver and his +ammunition, he felt quite at ease. He felt somewhat grieved at that +moment that he did not know Italian, for he wished very much to ask +some questions of the old inn-keeper; but this was a misfortune which +he had to endure. +<br> +<br> +As long as the daylight lasted Obed wandered about outside. Then +dinner came, and after that the time hung heavily on his hands. At +last he went to his room; the family had retired some time before. +There was a good supply of peat, and with this he replenished the +fire. Then he drew the massive oaken bedstead in front of the door, +and lounged upon it, smoking and meditating. +<br> +<br> +The warnings of the valet had produced this effect at least upon +Obed, that he had concluded not to go to sleep. He determined to +remain awake, and though such watchfulness might not be needed, yet +he felt that for his family's sake it was wisest and best. To sit up +one night, or rather to lounge on a bed smoking, was nothing, and +there was plenty of occupation for his thoughts. +<br> +<br> +Time passed on. Midnight came, and nothing had occurred. Another hour +passed; and then another. It was two o'clock. +<br> +<br> +About a quarter of an hour after this Obed was roused by a sudden +knocking at the door of the inn. Shouts followed. He heard the old +man descend the stairs. Then the door was opened, and loud noisy +footsteps were heard entering the inn. +<br> +<br> +At this Obed began to feel that his watchfulness was not useless. +<br> +<br> +Some time now elapsed. Those who had come were sufficiently +disorderly. Shouts and cries and yells arose. Obed imagined that they +were refreshing themselves. He tried to guess at the possible number, +and thought that there could not be more than a dozen, if so many. +Yet he had acquired such a contempt for Italians, and had such +confidence in himself, that he felt very much the same, at the +prospect of an encounter with them, as a grown man might feel at an +encounter with as many boys. +<br> +<br> +During this time he made no change in his position. His revolver was +in his breast pocket, and he had cartridges enough for a long siege. +He smoked still, for this habit was a deeply confirmed one with Obed; +and lolling at the foot of the bed, with his head against the wall, +he awaited further developments. +<br> +<br> +At last there was a change in the noise. A silence followed; and then +he heard footsteps moving toward the hall. He listened. The footsteps +ascended the stairs! +<br> +<br> +They ascended the stairs, and came nearer and nearer. There did not +seem to be so many as a dozen. Perhaps some remained below. Such were +his thoughts. +<br> +<br> +They came toward his room. +<br> +<br> +At length he heard the knob of the door turning gently. Of course, as +the door was locked, and as the bed was in front of it, this produced +no effect. On Obed the only effect was that he sat upright and drew +his revolver from his pocket, still smoking. +<br> +<br> +Then followed some conversation outside. +<br> +<br> +Then there came a knock. +<br> +<br> +"Who's there?" said Obed, mildly. +<br> +<br> +"Aperite!" was the answer, in a harsh voice. +<br> +<br> +"What?" +<br> +<br> +"Aperite. Siamo poveri. Date vostro argento." +<br> +<br> +"Me don't understand _I_talian," said Obed. "Me American. Speeky +English, and go to blazes!" +<br> +<br> +At this there was a pause, and then a dull deep crash, as if the +whole body outside had precipitated themselves against the door. +<br> +<br> +Obed held his pistol quickly toward the door opposite the thinnest +panel, which had yielded slightly to that blow, and fired. +<br> +<br> +Once! +<br> +<br> +Twice!! +<br> +<br> +Thrice!!! +<br> +<br> +Three explosions burst forth. +<br> +<br> +And then came sharp and sudden deep groans of pain, intermingled with +savage yells of rage. There was a sound as of bodies falling, and +retreating footsteps, and curses low and deep. +<br> +<br> +Loud outcries came from the adjoining room. +<br> +<br> +The noise had awakened the family. +<br> +<br> +Obed stepped to the door. +<br> +<br> +"Don't be afraid," said he, quietly. "It's only some brigands. But +keep cool. _I'll_ take care of you. Perhaps you'd better get up and +dress, though. At any rate, keep cool. You needn't bother as long as +you've got _me_." +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXI. +<br> +<br> +AT FLORENCE. +<br> +<br> +After her accident Hilda was carried to the nearest house, and there +she recovered, after some time, from her swoon. She knew nothing of +what Lord Chetwynde had thought and done during that time when she +lay in his arms, and he had bent over her so full of pity and sorrow. +Some time elapsed before she saw him, for he had ridden off himself +to the nearest town to get a conveyance. When he returned it was very +late, and she had to go to bed through weakness. And thus they did +not meet until the following morning. +<br> +<br> +When they did meet Lord Chetwynde asked kindly about her health, but +evinced no stronger feeling than kindness--or pity. She was pale and +sad; she was eager for some sign of tenderness, but the sign was not +forthcoming. Lord Chetwynde was kind and sympathetic. He tried to +cheer her; he exerted himself to please her and to soothe her, but +that was all. That self-reproach which had thrilled him as she lay +lifeless in his arms had passed as soon as she left those arms, and, +in the presence of the one absorbing passion of his soul, Hilda was +nothing. +<br> +<br> +When they resumed their journey it was as before. He was courteous to +an extreme. He anticipated her wishes and saw after her comforts with +the greatest solicitude, but never did he evince any desire to pass +beyond the limits of conventional politeness. To him she was simply a +lady traveling in his company, to whom he was under every obligation, +as far as gratitude was concerned, or kindly and watchful attention, +but toward whom no feeling of tenderness ever arose. +<br> +<br> +He certainly neglected none of those ordinary acts of courteous +attention which are common between gentlemen and ladies. At Milan he +took her around to see all the sights of that famous city. The Breda +Palace, the Amphitheatre, above all, the Cathedral, were visited, and +nothing was omitted which might give her pleasure. Yet all this was +different from what it had been before. Since the accident Hilda had +grown more sad, and lost her sprightliness and enthusiasm. On first +recovering her senses she had learned about the events of that +accident, and that Lord Chetwynde had tried to bring her to life +again. She had hoped much from this, and had fully expected when she +saw him again to find in him something softer than before. In this +she had been utterly disappointed. Her heart now sank within her, and +scarcely any hope was left. Languid and dull, she tried no longer to +win Lord Chetwynde by brilliancy of conversation, or by enthusiastic +interest in the beautiful of nature and of art. These had failed +once; why should she try them again? And since he had been unmoved by +the spectacle of her lifeless form--the narrow escape from death of +one who he well knew would die to save him--what was there left for +her to do? +<br> +<br> +At length they resumed their journey, and in due time reached +Florence. Here new changes took place. Their arrival here terminated +that close association enforced by their journey which had been so +precious to Hilda. Here Lord Chetwynde of course drifted away, and +she could not hope to see him except at certain stated intervals. Now +more than ever she began to lose hope. The hopes that she had once +formed seemed now to be baseless. And why, she asked herself +bitterly--why was it so impossible for him to love her? Would not any +other man have loved her under such circumstances? +<br> +<br> +At Florence Lord Chetwynde went his own way. He visited most of the +places of interest in company with her, took her to the Duomo, the +Church of Santa Croce, the Palazzi Vecchio and Pitti, walked with her +through the picture-galleries, and drove out with her several times. +After this there was nothing more to be done, and he was left to his +own resources, and she, necessarily, to hers. She could not tell +where he went, but merely conjectured that he was idling about +without any particular purpose, in the character of a common +sight-seer. +<br> +<br> +Hilda thus at length, left so much to herself, without the joy of his +presence to soften her, grew gradually hopeless and desperate; and +there began to rise within her bitter feelings, like those of former +days. In the midst of these her darker nature made itself manifest, +and there came the vengeful promptings of outraged love. With her +vengeance meant something more than it did with common characters; +and when that fit was on her there came regrets that she had ever +left Chetwynde, and gloomy ideas about completing her interrupted +work after all. But these feelings were fitful, for at times hope +would return again, and tenderness take the place of vindictiveness. +From hope she would again sink into despair, and sometimes meditate +upon that dark resolve which she had once hinted to Gualtier at the +Hôtel Gibbon. +<br> +<br> +Amidst all this her pride was roused. Why should she remain in this +position--a hanger-on--forcing herself on an unwilling man who at +best only tolerated her? The only soft feeling for her that had ever +arisen in his heart was nothing more than pity. Could she hope that +ever this pity would change to love, or that even the pity itself +would last? Was he not even now longing to get rid of her, and +impatiently awaiting tidings of his Indian appointment? To go to +India, she saw plainly, simply meant to get rid of her. This, she +saw, was his fixed determination. And for her--why should she thus +remain, so deeply humiliated, when she was not wanted? +<br> +<br> +So she argued with herself, but still she staid on. For love makes +the proudest a craven, and turns the strength of the strongest into +weakness; and so, in spite of herself, she staid, because she could +not go. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile the state of Lord Chetwynde's, mind was not by any means +enviable. He found himself in a position which was at once unexpected +and to him, extremely embarrassing. Every feeling of gratitude, every +prompting of common generosity, compelled him to exhibit toward Hilda +a greater degree of kindness than existed in his heart. The +association of a long journey had necessarily thrown him upon her +society, and there had been times when he had found her agreeable; +there had also been that memorable episode when her poor, pale face, +with its stain of blood over the white forehead, had drawn forth his +deepest pity, and roused him to some approach to tenderness. But with +the occasion the feeling had passed; and the tenderness, born of so +piteous a sight, returned no more. Her own dullness afterward +deprived him even of the chance of finding her an agreeable +companion. He saw that she was deeply melancholy. Yet what could he +do? Even if he had wished it he could not have forced himself to love +this woman, notwithstanding her devotion to himself. And this he did +not even wish. Not all his sense of honor, not all his emotions of +gratitude, not all his instincts of generosity, not even the +remembrance of his solemn promise to General Pomeroy, could excite +within him any desire that his heart might change from its affection +and its longing for another, to yield that love to her. +<br> +<br> +True, once or twice his heart had smote him as he thought of his +utter coldness and want of gratitude toward this woman who had done +so much for him. This feeling was very painful on that day of the +accident. Yet it passed. He could not force himself to muse over his +own shortcomings. He could not bring himself to wish that he should +be one whit more grateful to her or more tender. Any thought of her +being ever more to him than she was now seemed repugnant. Any wish +for it was out of the question. Indeed, he never thought of it as +being within the bounds of possibility. For behind all these late +events there lay certain things which made it impossible for him, +under ordinary circumstances, ever to become fully reconciled to her. +<br> +<br> +For, after all, in his cooler moods he now felt how she was +associated with the bitterest memories of his life. She it was who +had been the cause, unwilling no doubt as he now thought, but still +no less the cause of the blight that had descended upon his life. As +that life had passed he could not help cursing the day when first +General Pomeroy proposed that unholy agreement. It was this that had +exiled him from his native land and would keep him an exile forever. +It was this which denied to him the joys of virtuous love, when his +heart had been filled with one image--an image which now was never +absent. Bound by the law to this woman, who was named his wife, he +could never hope in any way to gain that other one on whom all his +heart was fixed. Between him and those hopes that made life precious +she stood and rendered those hopes impossible. +<br> +<br> +Then, too, he could not avoid recalling his life in India, which she +had tried to make, as far as in her lay, one long misery, by those +malevolent letters which she had never ceased to write. Above all, he +could never forget the horror of indignation which had been awakened +within him by that last letter, and the fierce vows which he had made +to be avenged on her. All this was yet in his memory in spite of the +events of later days. True, she had relented from her former savage +spirit, and had changed from hate to love. She had traveled far to +save him from death. She had watched by him day and night till her +own life well-nigh gave way. She had repented, and had marked her +repentance by a devotion which could not be surpassed. For all this +he felt grateful. His gratitude, indeed, had been so profound and so +sincere that it had risen up between him and his just hate, and had +forced him to forgive her fully and freely, and to the uttermost, for +all that she had done of her own accord, and also for all of which +she had been the accidental cause. He had lost his repugnance to her. +He could now talk to her, he could even take her hand, and could have +transient emotions of tenderness toward her. But what then? What was +the value of these feelings? He had forgiven her, but he had not +forgotten the past. That was impossible. The memory of that past +still remained, and its results were still before him. He felt those +results every hour of his life. Above all, she still stood before him +as the one thing, and the only thing, which formed an obstacle +between him and his happiness. He might pity her, he might be +grateful to her; but the intense fervor of one passion, and the +longing desire to which it gave rise, made it impossible for her ever +to seem to him any thing else than the curse of his life. +<br> +<br> +At Florence he was left more to himself. He was no longer forced to +sit by her side. He gradually kept by himself; for, though he could +tolerate her, he could not seek her. Indeed, his own feelings +impelled him to avoid her. The image of that one who never left his +memory had such an effect on him that he preferred solitude and his +own thoughts. In this way he could best struggle with himself and +arrange his lonely and desolate future. India now appeared the one +hope that was left him. There he might find distraction from +troublesome thoughts in his old occupations, and among his old +associates. He had bidden farewell to Chetwynde forever. He had left +the fate of Chetwynde in the hands of his solicitors; he had signed +away all his rights; he had broken the entail; and had faced the +prospect of the extinction of his ancient family. This resolution had +cost him so much that it was impossible now to go back from it. The +exhibition of Hilda's devotion never changed his resolution for an +instant. The papers still remained with his solicitors, nor did he +for one moment dream of countermanding the orders which he had once +given. +<br> +<br> +What Lord Chetwynde most desired was solitude. Florence had been +chosen by him as a resting-place where he might await letters from +England about his Indian appointment, and for those letters he waited +every day. Under these circumstances he avoided all society. He had +taken unpretending lodgings, and in the Hôtel Meubles, overlooking +the Ponta della Trinita, he was lost in the crowd of fellow-lodgers. +His suite of apartments extended over the third story. Below him was +a Russian Prince and a German Grand Duke, and above and all around +was a crowd of travelers of all nations. He brought no letters. He +desired no acquaintances. Florence, under the new régime, was too +much agitated by recent changes for its noblesse to pay any attention +to a stranger, however distinguished, unless he was forced upon them; +and so Lord Chetwynde had the most complete isolation. If Hilda had +ever had any ideas of going with Lord Chetwynde into Florentine +society she was soon undeceived, when, as the days passed, she found +that Florentine society took no notice of her. Whatever +disappointment she may have felt, Lord Chetwynde only received +gratification from this, since it spared him every annoyance, and +left him to himself, after the first week or so. +<br> +<br> +By himself he thus occupied his time. He rode sometimes through the +beautiful country which surrounds Florence on every side. When weary +of this he used to stroll about the city, along the Lungh' Arno, or +through the Casino, or among the churches. But his favorite place of +resort was the Boboli Gardens; for here there was sufficient life and +movement to be found among the throng of visitors; or, if he wished +seclusion, he could find solitude among the sequestered groves and +romantic grottoes of this enchanting spot. +<br> +<br> +Here one day he wandered, and found a place among the trees which +commanded a view of one of the principal avenues of the gardens. In +the distance there opened a vista through which was revealed the fair +outline of Florence, with its encircling hills, and its glorious Val +d'Arno. There arose the stupendous outline of Il Duomo, the stately +form of the Baptistery, the graceful shaft of the Campanile, the +medieval grandeur of the Palazzo Vecchio; and the severe Etruscan +massiveness of the Pitti Palace was just below. Far away the Arno +wound on, through the verdurous plain, while on either side the hills +arose dotted with white villas and deep green olive groves. Is there +any view on earth which can surpass this one, where +<br> +<br> + "Arno wins us to the fair white walls,<br> + Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps<br> + A softer feeling for her fairy halls.<br> + Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps<br> + Her corn and wine and oil, and Plenty leaps<br> + To laughing life, with her redundant horn.<br> + Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps<br> + Was modern Luxury of Commerce born,<br> + And buried Learning rose, redeemed, to a new morn." +<br> +<br> +It was upon this scene that Lord Chetwynde was looking out, lost in +thoughts which were sometimes taken up with the historic charms of +this unrivaled valley, and sometimes with his own sombre future, when +suddenly his attention was arrested by a figure passing along the +pathway immediately beneath him. The new-comer was a tall, +broad-shouldered, square-faced man; he wore a dress-coat and a felt +hat; he had no gloves, but his thumbs were inserted in the arm-holes +of his waistcoat; and as he sauntered along he looked around with a +leisurely yet comprehensive stare. Lord Chetwynde was seated in a +place which made him unseen to any in the path, while it afforded him +the fullest opportunities of seeing others. This man, who thus walked +on, turned his full face toward him and disclosed the well-known +features of Obed Chute. +<br> +<br> +The sight of this man sent a strange thrill to the inmost heart of +Lord Chetwynde. He here! In Florence! And his family, were they with +him? And she--when he saw him in London he said that she was yet with +him--was she with him now? Such were the thoughts which came to Lord +Chetwynde at the sight of that face. The next instant he rose, +hurried down to the path after Obed, who had strode onward and +catching his arm, he said: +<br> +<br> +"Mr. Chute, you here! When did you arrive?" +<br> +<br> +Obed turned with a start and saw his friend. +<br> +<br> +"Windham again!" he exclaimed, "by all that's wonderful! But how did +you get here?" +<br> +<br> +"I? Oh, I've been here two or three weeks. But it doesn't seem +possible that it should really be you," he added, with greater warmth +than was usual to him, as he wrung Obed's hand. +<br> +<br> +"It's possible," said Obed, with a characteristic squeeze of Lord +Chetwynde's hand, which made it numb for half an hour afterward. +"It's possible, my boy, for it's the actual fact. But still, I must +say, you're about the last man I expected to see in these diggins. +When I saw you in London you were up to your eyes in business, and +were expectin' to start straight off and make a bee-line for India." +<br> +<br> +"Well, that is what I'm doing now; I'm on my way there." +<br> +<br> +"On your way there? You don't say so! But you'll stay here some +time?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh yes; I've some little time to spare. The fact is I came here to +pass my leisure time. I'm expecting a letter every day which may send +me off. But it may not come for weeks." +<br> +<br> +"And you're going back to India?" said Obed. +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"I should think you'd rather stay home--among your friends." +<br> +<br> +"Well--I don't know," said Lord Chetwynde, with assumed indifference. +"The fact is, life in India unfits one for life in England. We get +new tastes and acquire new habits. I never yet saw a returned Indian +who could be content. For my part, I'm too young yet to go in for +being a returned Indian; and so after I finished my business I +applied for a reappointment." +<br> +<br> +"There's a good deal in what you say," remarked Obed. "Your British +island is contracted. A man who has lived in a country like India +feels this. We Americans, accustomed as we are to the unlimited +atmosphere of a boundless continent, always feel depressed in a +country like England. There is in your country, Sir, a physical and +also a moral constraint which, to a free, republican, continental +American, is suffocating. And hence my dislike to the mother +country." +<br> +<br> +They walked on together chatting about numerous things. Obed referred +once more to India. +<br> +<br> +"It's queer," said he; "your British Empire is so tremendous that it +seems to cover the earth. After I left the States it seemed to me +that I couldn't go any where without seeing the British flag. There +was Australia, a continent in itself; and Hong Kong; and India, +another continent; and Aden, and Malta. You have a small country too, +not much larger than New York State." +<br> +<br> +"Well," said Lord Chetwynde, with a smile, "we once owned a great +deal more, you know. We had colonies that were worth all the rest. +Unfortunately those colonies took it into their heads to set up for +themselves, and started that independent nation of the Stars and +Stripes that you belong to. If it hadn't been for that abominable +Stamp Act, and other acts equally abominable, you and I might now be +under the same flag, belonging to an empire which might set the whole +united world at defiance. It's a pity it was not so. The only hope +now left is that our countries may always be good friends, as they +are now, as you and I are--as we always are, whenever we meet under +such circumstances as those which occurred when you and I became +acquainted. 'Blood is thicker than water,' said old Tatnall, when he +sent his Yankee sailors to help Admiral Hope; and the same sentiment +is still in the mind of every true Englishman whenever he sees an +American of the right sort." +<br> +<br> +"Them's my sentiments," said Obed, heartily. "And although I don't +generally hanker after Britishers, yet I have a kind of respect for +the old country, in spite of its narrowness and contraction, and all +the more when I see that it can turn out men like you." +<br> +<br> +After a short stroll the two seated themselves in a quiet sequestered +place, and had a long conversation. Obed informed him of the many +events which had occurred since their last meeting. The news about +Black Bill was received by Lord Chetwynde with deep surprise, and he +had a strong hope that this might lead to the capture of Gualtier. +Little did he suspect the close connection which he had had with the +principals in this crime. +<br> +<br> +He then questioned Obed, with deep interest, about his life in +Naples, about his journey to Florence, and many other things, with +the purpose of drawing him on to speak about one whom he could not +name without emotion, but about whom he longed to hear. Obed said +nothing about her; but, in the course of the conversation, he told +all about that affair in the Pontine Marshes, in which he recently +vanished from view at a very critical moment. +<br> +<br> +Obed's account was given with his usual modesty; for this man, who +was often so grandiloquent on the subject of his country, was very +meek on the subject of himself. To give his own words would be to +assign a very unimportant part to the chief actor in a very +remarkable affair, so that the facts themselves may be more +appropriately stated. These facts Lord Chetwynde gathered from Obed's +narrative in spite of his extreme modesty. +<br> +<br> +After Obed's shot, then, there had been silence for a time, or rather +inaction among the assailants. The agitation of his family excited +his sympathy, and once more he reassured them, telling them that the +affair was not worth thinking about, and urging them to be calm. His +words inspired courage among them, and they all arose and dressed. +Their room was at the end of the building, as has been said. Obed's +room adjoined it, and the only entrance into their room was through +his. A narrow passage ran from the central hall and far as the wall +of their room, and on the side of the passage was the door which led +into Obed's. +<br> +<br> +After putting some more peat on the fire, he called to his sister to +watch at the window of her room, and then replenishing his pipe, and +loading the discharged chambers of his revolver, he awaited the +renewal of hostilities. The long silence that followed showed him +that his fire had been very serious, and he began to think that they +would not return. So the time passed until five o'clock came. The +women in the adjoining room were perfectly silent, but watchful, and +apparently calm. Below there were occasional sounds of footsteps, +which showed that the assailants were still in the place. The +excitement of the occasion was rather agreeable to Obed than +otherwise. He felt that he had the advantage in every respect, and +was certain that there could not be very many assailants below. Their +long delay in resuming the assault showed that they were cowed. +<br> +<br> <img src="images/204.png" alt="To Spring Forward With Leveled Pistol Upon His Assailants Was The Work Of A Moment."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "To Spring Forward With Leveled Pistol Upon His +Assailants Was The Work Of A Moment."] +<br> +<br> +At last, however, to his intense gratification, he heard footsteps on +the stairs. He knew by the sound that there could not be more than +four, or perhaps six. When near his door the footsteps stopped. There +was a momentary silence, and then suddenly a tremendous blow, and a +panel of the door crashed in at the stroke of an axe, the head of +which followed it. Quick as lightning Obed took aim. He saw how the +axe had fallen, and judged exactly the position of the man that dealt +the blow. He fired. A shriek followed. That shot had told. Wild +curses arose. There was a mad rush at the door, and again the axe +fell. +<br> +<br> +Once more Obed watched the fall of the axe and fired. Again that shot +told. There were groans and shrieks of rage, and deep, savage curses. +<br> +<br> +And now at last Obed rose to the level of the occasion. He rapidly +reloaded the emptied chambers of his revolver. Stepping to the door +of the inner room he spoke some soothing words, and then hurrying +back, he drew the ponderous bedstead away. Outside he heard +shuffling, as of footsteps, and thought they might be dragging away +those who had been wounded last. All this had been done in a moment. +To unlock the door, to spring forward with leveled pistol upon his +assailants, was but the work of another moment. +<br> +<br> +It was now dim morning twilight. The scene outside was plainly +revealed. There were three men dragging away two--those two who had +been wounded by the last shots. On these Obed sprang. One went down +before his shot. The others, with a cry of terror, ran down the +stairs, and out of the house. Obed pursued. They ran wildly up the +road. Again Obed fired, and one wretch fell. Then he put the revolver +in his pocket, and chased the other man. The distance between them +lessened rapidly. At last Obed came up. He reached out his arm and +caught him by the collar. With a shriek of terror the scoundrel +stopped, and fell on his knees, uttering frantic prayers for mercy, +of which Obed understood not one word. He dragged him back to the +house, found a rope in the stable, bound him securely, and put him in +the dining-room. Then he went about to seek the landlord. He could +not be found. Both he and his wife apparently fled. But Obed found +something else. +<br> +<br> +In the lower room that opened into the dining-room were three men on +two beds, wounded, faint, and shivering with terror. These were the +men that had been wounded at the first attack. In the anguish of +their pain they made gestures of entreaty, of which Obed took no +notice. Upstairs in the hall were those two whom he had stuck with +his last shots. There were no others to be seen. +<br> +<br> +After finishing his search, Obed went up the road, and carried back +the man whom he had shot. He then informed his family of the result. +In the midst of their horror at this tragedy, and their joy at +escaping from a terrible fate, they felt a certain pity for these +sufferers, wretches though they were. Obed shared this feeling. His +anger had all departed with the end of the fight. He lifted one by +one the wounded wretches, putting them on the beds in the rooms when +he had hired. Then he and his sister dressed their wounds. Thus the +night ended, and the sun at last arose. +<br> +<br> +About two hours after sunrise it happened that a troop of papal +gendarmerie came along. Obed stopped then, and calmly handed over the +prisoners to their care. They seemed bewildered, but took charge of +them, evidently not at all comprehending of the situation. An hour or +so afterward the valet arrived with a fresh carriage, and after +hearing Obed's story with wonder he was able to explain it to the +soldiers. +<br> +<br> +Obed then set out for Rome, and, after some stay, came on to +Florence. +<br> +<br> +Such was the substance of his story. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXII. +<br> +<br> +THE VILLA. +<br> +<br> +There were many things in Obed Chute's narration which affected Lord +Chetwynde profoundly. The story of that adventure in the Pontine +Marshses had an interest for him which was greater than any that +might be created by the magnificent prowess and indomitable pluck +that had been exhibited on that occasion by the modest narrator. +Beneath the careless and offhand recital of Obed Lord Chetwynde was +able to perceive the full extent of the danger to which he had been +exposed, and from which his own cool courage had saved him. An +ordinary man, under such circumstances, would have basely yielded; +or, if the presence of his family had inspired him with unusual +courage, the courage would have been at best a sort of frenzy, at the +impulse of which he might have devoted his own life to the love which +he had for his family, and thrown that life away without saving them. +But in Obed's quiet and unpretending narrative he recognized the +presence of a heroic soul; one which in the midst of the most +chivalrous, the most absolute, and the most devotion--in the midst of +the most utter abnegation of self--could still maintain the serenest +calm and the most complete presence of mind in the face of awful +danger. Every point in that story produced an effect on the mind of +the listener, and roused his fullest sympathy. He had before his eyes +that memorable scene: Obed watching and smoking on his bed by the +side of the door--the family sleeping peacefully in the ajoining +room--the sound of footsteps, of violent knockings, of furious +entrance, or wild and lawless mirth. He imagined the flight of the +old man and his wife, who in terror, or perhaps through cunning and +treachery, gave up their hotel and their guests to the fury of the +brigands. He brought before his mind that long time of watchful +waiting when Obed lay quietly yet vigilantly reclining on the bed, +with his pipe in his mouth and his pistol in his pocket, listening to +the sounds below, to see what they might foreshadow; whether they +told of peace or of war, whether they announced the calm of a quiet +night or the terrors of an assault made by fiends--by those Italian +brigands whose name has become a horror, whose tendererst mercies are +pitiless cruelty, and to fall into the hands of whom is the direst +fate that man or woman may know. +<br> +<br> +One thought gave a horror to this narrative. Among the women in that +room was the one who to him was infinitely dearer than any other on +earth. And this danger had threatened her--a danger too horrible to +think of--one which made his very life-blood freeze in the course of +this calm narration. This was the one thing on which his thoughts +turned most; that horrible, that appalling danger. So fearful was it +to him that he envied Obed the privilege of having saved her. He +longed to have been there in Obed's place, so as to have done this +thing for her. He himself had once saved her from death, and that +scene could never depart from his memory; but now it seemed to him at +though the fate from which he had saved her was nothing when compared +to the terror of that danger from which she had been snatched by +Obed. +<br> +<br> +Yet, during Obed's narrative, although these feelings were within his +heart, he said little or nothing. He listened with apparent calmness, +offering no remark, though at that time the thoughts of his heart +were so intense. In fact, it was through the very intensity of his +feelings that he forced himself to keep silence. For if he had spoken +he would have revealed all. If he had spoken he would have made known, +even to the most careless or the most preoccupied listener, all the +depth of that love which filled his whole being. Her very name to him +was something which he could not mention without visible emotion. And +she, in fearful peril, in terrific danger, in a situation so +horrible, could not be spoken of by one to whom she was so dear and +so precious. +<br> +<br> +And so he listened in silence, with only a casual interjection, until +Obed had finished his story. Then he made some appropriate remarks, +very coolly, complimentary to the heroism of his friend; which +remarks were at once quietly scouted by Obed as altogether +inappropriate. +<br> +<br> +"Pooh!" said he; "what was it, after all? These Italians are rubbish, +at the best. They are about equal to Mexicans. You've read about our +Mexican war, of course. To gain a victory over such rubbish is almost +a disgrace." +<br> +<br> +So Obed spoke about it, though whether he felt his exploit to be a +disgrace or not may very reasonably be doubted. +<br> +<br> +Yet, in spite of Lord Chetwynde's interest in the affair of the +Pontine Marshes, there was another story of Obed's which produced a +deeper effect on his mind. This was his account of his interview with +Black Bill, to which he had been summoned in London. The story of +Black Bill which Obed gave was one which was full of awful horror. It +showed the unrelenting and pitiless cruelty of those who had made +themselves her enemies; their profound genius for plotting, and their +far-reaching cunning. He saw that these enemies must be full of +boldness and craft far beyond what is ordinarily met with. Black +Bill's account of Gualtier's behavior on the boat when the men tried +to mutiny impressed him deeply. The man that could commit such a deed +as he had done, and then turn upon a desperate crew as he did, to +baffle them, to subdue them, and to bring them into submission to his +will, seemed to him to be no common man. His flight afterward, and +the easy and yet complete way in which he had eluded all his +pursuers, confirmed this view of his genius. Obed himself, who had +labored so long, and yet so unsuccessfully, coincided in this +opinion. +<br> +<br> +The chief subject of interest in these affairs to both of these men +was Zillah; yet, though the conversation revolved around her as a +centre, no direct allusion was for some time made to her present +situation. Yet all the while Lord Chetwynde was filled with a +feverish curiosity to know where she was, whether she was still with +Obed's family, or had left them; whether she was far away from him, +or here in Florence. Such an immensity of happiness or of misery +seemed to him at that time to depend on this thing that he did not +dare to ask the question. He waited to see whether Obed himself might +not put an end to this suspense. But Obed's thoughts were all +absorbed by the knotty question which had been raised by the +appearance of Black Bill with his story. From the London police he +had received no fresh intelligence since his departure, though every +day he expected to hear something. From the Marseilles authorities he +had heard nothing since his last visit to that city, and a letter +which he had recently dispatched to the prefect at Naples had not yet +been answered. As far as his knowledge just yet was concerned, the +whole thing had gone into a more impenetrable mystery than ever, and +the principals in this case, after committing atrocious crimes, after +baffling the police of different nations, seemed to have vanished +into the profoundest obscurity. But on this occasion he reiterated +that determination which he had made before of never losing sight of +this purpose, but keeping at it, if need were, for years. He would +write to the police, he said, perpetually, and would give information +to the authorities of every country in Europe. On his return to +America he would have an extensive and comprehensive search +instituted. He would engage detectives himself in addition to any +which the police might send forth. Above all, he intended to make +free use of the newspapers. He had, he said--and in this he was a +true American--great faith in advertising. He had drawn up in his +mind already the formulas of various kinds of notices which he +intended to have inserted in the principal papers, by which he hoped +to get on the track of the criminals. Once on their track, he felt +assured of success. +<br> +<br> +The unexpected addition of Black Bill to the number of actors in this +important case was rightly considered by Obed as of great moment. He +had some idea of seeking him out on his return to London, and of +employing him in this search. Black Bill would be stimulated to such +a search by something far more powerful than any mere professional +instinct or any hope of reward. The vengeance which he cherished +would make him go on this errand with an ardor which no other could +feel. He had his own personal grievance against Gualtier. He had +shown this by his long and persistent watch, and by the malignancy of +his tone when speaking of his enemy. Besides this, he had more than +passion or malignancy to recommend him; he had that qualification for +the purpose which gave aim and certainty to all his vengeful desires. +He had shown himself to have the instinct of a bloodhound, and the +stealthy cunning of an Indian in following on the trait of his foe. +True he had been once outwitted, but that arose from the fact that he +was forced to watch, and was not ready to strike. The next time he +would be ready to deal the blow, and if he were once put on the +trail, and caught up with the fugitive, the blow would fall swiftly +and relentlessly. +<br> +<br> +Debate about such things as these took up two or three hours, during +which time Lord Chetwynde endured his suspense. At length they rose +to leave the gardens, and then, as they were walking along, he said, +in as indifferent a tone as he could assume: +<br> +<br> +"Oh--by-the-way--Miss Lorton is here with your family, I suppose?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Obed; "she is with us still." +<br> +<br> +At this simple answer Lord Chetwynde's heart gave a great bound, and +then seemed to stop beating for some seconds. He said nothing. +<br> +<br> +"She is here now in Florence with us," continued Obed. "She is quite +one of the family. We all call her Ella now; she insisted on it. I +have taken a villa a few miles away. Ella prefers the country. We +often drive into the city. It's a wonder to me that we never met +before." +<br> +<br> +"Yes; it is odd." +<br> +<br> +"She came in with us this morning with a watch, which she left at +Penafrio's to be mended. It will be done this evening. She could not +wait for it, so I staid, so as to take it out to her tonight. I +strolled about the town, and finally wandered here, which I think the +prettiest place in Florence. I'd been walking through the gardens for +an hour before you saw me." +<br> +<br> +"How has she been of late?" +<br> +<br> +"Very well indeed--better, in fact, than she has ever been since I +first saw her. She was not very well at Naples. The journey here did +her much good, and the affair of the Pontine Marshes roused her up +instead of agitating her. She behaved like a trump--she was as cool +as a clock; but it was a coolness that arose from an excitement which +was absolutely red-hot, Sir. She seemed strung up to a pitch ten +notes higher than usual, and once or twice as I caught her eyes they +seemed to me to have a deep fire in them that was stunning! I never, +in all my born days, saw the equal of that little thing," exclaimed +Obed, tenderly. +<br> +<br> +"It's having an occupation," he continued, "as I believe, that's done +her this good. She was afraid she would be a dependent, and the fear +arose out of a noble feeling. Now she finds her position an honorable +one. It gives her a fine feeling of pride. The poor little thing +seems to have been brought up to do nothing at all; but now the +discovery that she can do something actually intoxicates her. And the +beauty of it is, she does it well. Yes, Sir. My children have been +pushed along at a tre-mendous pace, and they love Ella better than me +or sister ten times. But you'll see for yourself, for you've got to +come right straight out with me, my boy. You, Windham, are the one +that Ella would rather see than any other. You're the man that saved +her from death, and gave her to me." +<br> +<br> +At this Lord Chetwynde's stout heart, that had never quailed in the +face of death, throbbed feverishly in his intense joy, and his whole +frame thrilled at the thought that arose in his mind. Going to her +was easy enough, through Obed's warm friendship. And he was going to +her! This was the only thought of which he was conscious. +<br> +<br> +The carriage was waiting in front of the watchmaker's shop, and the +watch was ready; so they drove out without delay. It seemed to Lord +Chetwynde like a dream. He was lost in anticipations of the coming +meeting--that meeting which he had never dared to hope for, but which +was now before him. +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute, on coming to Florence, had rented a villa on the slopes +of the hills overlooking Val d'Arno. It was about twelve or fifteen +miles away. The road ran through the plain, and then ascended the +hills gently, in a winding direction, till it reached the place. The +villa was surrounded by beautiful grounds, wherein trim gardens were +seen, and fair winding walks, interspersed with fountains and +statuary and pavilions. Besides these there were extensive forests of +thick-growing trees, whose dense branches, interlacing overhead, +threw down heavy shadows. Through these dim woods many pathways +penetrated, leading to sequestered nooks and romantic grottoes. Here +there wandered several little brooklets, and in the midst of the +forest there was a lake, or rather a pond, from the middle of which +rose a marble Triton, which perpetually spouted forth water from his +shell. The villa itself was of generous dimensions, in that style +which is so familiar to us in this country, with broad piazzas and +wide porticoes, and no lack of statuary. Here Obed Chute had made +himself quite at home, and confided to Lord Chetwynde the fact that +he would prefer this to his house on the Hudson River if he could +only see the Stars and Stripes floating from the Campanile at +Florence. As this was not likely to happen, he was forced to look +upon himself as merely a pilgrim and a sojourner. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde entered the villa. Obed remained behind for a few +moments to give some directions to the servants. A lofty hall ran +through the villa, with statues on each side, and a fountain at the +farthest end. On either side there were doors opening into spacious +apartments. Lord Chetwynde turned to the right, and entered a +magnificent room, which extended the whole length of the house. He +looked around, and his attention was at once arrested by a figure at +the farthest end. It was a lady, whose youthful face and slender +figure made his heart beat fast and furiously; for, though he could +not distinguish her features, which were partly turned away, yet the +shape was familiar, and was associated with the sweetest memories of +his life. The lady was sitting in a half-reclining position on an +Egyptian couch, her head was thrown back, a book hung listlessly in +one hand, and she seemed lost in thought. So deep was her abstraction +that the noise of Lord Chetwynde's steps on the marble floor did not +arouse her. When he saw her he paused involuntarily, and stood for a +few moments in silence. +<br> +<br> +Yes, it was _she_! One look told him this. It was the one who for so +long a time had been in all his thoughts, who in his illness had been +ever present to his delirious dreams. It was the one to whom his +heart had never ceased to turn since that first day when that head +had lain for a moment on his breast, and that rich, luxuriant hair +had flowed in a sea of glory over his arms, burnished by the red rays +of the rising sun. He walked softly forward and drew near. Then the +noise of his footsteps roused her. She turned. +<br> +<br> +There came over her face the sudden light of joyous and rapturous +wonder. In that sudden rapture she seemed to lose breath and sense. +She started forward to her feet, and the book fell from her hand. For +an instant she pressed her hand to her heart, and then, with both +hands outstretched, and with her beautiful face all aglow with joy +and delight that she could not conceal, she stepped forward. But +suddenly, as though some other thought occurred, she stopped, and a +crimson glow came over her pale face. She cast down her eyes and +stood waiting. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde caught her outstretched hand, which still was timidly +held toward him, in both of his, and said not one word. For a time +neither of them spoke, but he held her hand, and she did not withdraw +it. +<br> +<br> +"Oh!" he cried, suddenly, as though the words were torn from him, +"how I have longed for this moment!" +<br> +<br> +She looked at him hastily and confusedly, and then withdrew her hand, +while another flush swept over her face. +<br> +<br> +"Mr. Windham," she faltered, in low tones, "what an unexpected +pleasure! I--I thought you were in England." +<br> +<br> +"And so I was," said Lord Chetwynde, as he devoured her with the +ardent gaze of his eyes; "but my business was finished, and I +left--" +<br> +<br> +"How did you find us out?" she asked, smilingly, as, once more +resuming her self-possession, she sat down again upon the Egyptian +sofa and picked up her book. "Have you been in correspondence with +Mr. Chute?" +<br> +<br> +"No," laughed Lord Chetwynde. "It was fate that threw him into my way +at the Boboli Gardens this morning. I have been here for--well, for a +small eternity--and was thinking of going away when he came up, and +now I am reconciled to all my past." +<br> +<br> +A silence followed, and each seemed to take a hasty glance at the +other. On Zillah's face there were the traces of sorrow; its lines +had grown finer, and its air more delicate and spiritual. Lord +Chetwynde's face, on the other hand, showed still the marks of that +disease which had brought him to death's door, and no longer had that +glow of manly health which had been its characteristic at Marseilles. +<br> +<br><img src="images/208.png" alt="She Seemed Lost In Thought."> +<br> +[Illustration: "She Seemed Lost In Thought."] +<br> +<br> +"You have been ill," said Zillah, suddenly, and with some alarm in +her voice. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Lord Chetwynde, sadly; "I have been as near death as it +is possible for one to be and live." +<br> +<br> +"In England?" +<br> +<br> +"No; in Switzerland." +<br> +<br> +"Switzerland?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"I thought that perhaps some private troubles in England had caused +it," said Zillah, with tones of deep sympathy, for she recollected +his last words to her, which expressed such fearful anticipations of +the future. +<br> +<br> +"No; I bore all that. It was an unexpected circumstance," he said, in +a cautious tone, "that caused my illness. But the Italian air has +been beneficial. But you--how have you been? I fear that you yourself +have been ill." +<br> +<br> +"I have had some troubles," Zillah replied. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde forbore to question her about those troubles. He went +on to speak about the air of Val d'Arno being the best thing in the +world for all illness, and congratulated her on having so beautiful a +spot in which to live. Zillah grew enthusiastic in her praises of +Florence and all the surrounding scenery; and as each learned how +long the other had been here they wondered why they had not met. +<br> +<br> +"But I," said Zillah, "have not gone often to the city since the +first week. It is so beautiful here." +<br> +<br> +"And I," said Lord Chetwynde, "have ridden all about the environs, +but have never been near here before. And even if I had, I should +have gone by it without knowing or suspecting that you were here." +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute had much to see about, and these two remained long +together. They talked over many things. Sometimes there were long +pauses, which yet were free from embarrassment. The flush on Zillah's +cheek, and the kindling light of her eye, showed a pleasure which she +could not conceal. Happiness was so strange to her that she welcomed +eagerly this present hour, which was so blight to her poor +sorrow-laden heart. Lord Chetwynde forgot his troubles, he banished +the future, and, as before, he seized the present, and enjoyed it to +the full. +<br> +<br> +Obed returned at last and joined them. The time fled by rapidly. Lord +Chetwynde made a move to return at about eleven o'clock, but Obed +would not allow him. He made him stay that night at the villa. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXIII. +<br> +<br> +A CHANGE. +<br> +<br> +Although Lord Chetwynde was always out by day, yet he had always +returned to his rooms at night, and therefore it was a matter of +surprise to Hilda, on this eventful night, that twelve o'clock came +without any signs of his return. In her wild and ungovernable passion +her whole life had now grown to be one long internal struggle, in +which it was with difficulty that she kept down the stormy feelings +within her. This night she had grown more nervous than usual. It was +as though she had attained to the culmination of the long excitements +through which she had passed. His absence filled her with a thousand +fears. The longing of her heart grew intolerable as the hours passed +by without any signs of his return. Weary of calling to her servant +to ask if he had come back, she at last dismissed the servant to bed, +and sat herself at the door of her room, listening for the sound of +footsteps. In that watchful attitude she sat, dumb and motionless; +but the hours passed by her as she sat there, and still he came not. +<br> +<br> +Through those hours her mind was filled with a thousand fears and +fancies. Sometimes she thought that he had been assassinated. At +other times she fancied that Gualtier might have broken his promise, +and come back from London, full of vengeance, to track the man whom +he hated. These ideas, however, at length left her, and another took +possession of her, which was far more natural and probable, and which +finally became a deep and immovable conviction. She thought that Lord +Chetwynde had at last yielded to his aversion; and unwilling, from +motives of gratitude, to have any formal farewell, he had concluded +to leave her abruptly. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," she said to herself, as this thought first came to her, "that +is it. He wearies of my perpetual presence. He does not wish to +subject himself to my mean entreaties. He has cut the connection +abruptly, and is this night on his way to Leghorn to take the +steamer. He has gone to India, and left me forever. To-morrow, no +doubt, I shall get a letter acquainting me with the irrevocable step, +and bidding me an eternal farewell." +<br> +<br> +The more she thought of this the more intense her conviction became, +until at last, from the force of her own fancies, she became as +certain of this as though some one had actually told her of his +departure. Then there came over her a mighty sense of desolation. +What should she do now? Life seemed in that instant to have lost all +its sweetness and its meaning. Again there came to her that thought +which many times during the last few weeks had occurred, and now had +grown familiar--the awful thought of suicide. The life she lived had +already grown almost intolerable from its unfulfilled wishes, and its +longings against hope; but now the last hope had departed, and life +itself was nothing but a burden. Should she not lay it down? +<br> +<br> +So the night passed, and the morning came, but through all that night +sleep came not. And the dawn came, and the hours of the day passed +by, but she sat motionless. The servants came, but were sent away; +and this woman of feeling and of passion, who once had risen superior +to all feeling, now lay a prey to an agony of soul that threatened +reason and life itself. +<br> +<br> +But suddenly all this was brought to an end. At about mid-day Lord +Chetwynde returned. Hilda heard his footstep and his voice. A great +joy darted through her, and her first impulse was to fling herself +upon him, and weep tears of happiness upon his breast. But that was a +thing which was denied her--a privilege which might never be hers. +After the first wild impulse and the first rush of joy she restrained +herself, and, locking the door of her room, she sat listening with +quick and heavy breathing. She heard him speak a few careless words +to the servant. She heard him go to his room, where he staid for +about an hour. She watched and waited, but restrained every impulse +to go out. "I have tormented him too much," she said to herself. "I +have forced myself upon him; I have made myself common. A greater +delicacy and a more retiring habit will be more agreeable to him. +Let me not destroy my present happiness. It is joy enough that my +fears are dispersed, and that he has not yet left me." So she +restrained herself--though that self-restraint was the mightest task +which she had ever undertaken--and sat passively listening, when +every feeling prompted her to rush forth eagerly to greet him. +<br> +<br> +He went away that day, and came back by midnight. Hilda did not +trouble him, and they met on the following morning. +<br> +<br> +Now, at the first glance which she stole at him, she noted in him a +wonderful change. His face had lost its gloom; there was an +expression of peace and blissful tranquillity which she had never +observed before, and which she had never thought possible to one who +had appeared to her as he always had. She sat wondering as they +waited for breakfast to be served--a meal which they generally took +together--and baffled herself in vain conjectures. A great change had +certainly come over him. He greeted her with a bright and genial +smile. He had shaken her hand with the warm pressure of a +good-hearted friend. He was sprightly even with the servants. He +noticed the exquisite beauty of the day. He had something to say +about many little trifles. Even in his best moods, during the +journey, he had never been like this. Then he had never been +otherwise than reserved and self-contained; his face had never +altogether lost its cloud of care. Now there was not a vestige of +care to be seen; he was joyous; he was even hilarious; and seemed at +peace with himself and all the world. +<br> +<br> +What had happened? +<br> +<br> +This was the question which Hilda incessantly asked herself. It +needed something unusual to change so completely this strong nature, +and transform the sadness which had filled it into peace and joy. +What had happened? What thing, of what kind, would be necessary to +effect such a change? Could it be gratified vengeance? No; the +feeling was too light for that. Was it the news of some sudden +fortune? She did not believe that if Lord Chetwynde heard that he had +inherited millions it would give such joy as this, which would make +itself manifest in all his looks and words and acts and tones. What +would be needed to produce such a change in herself? Would vengeance, +or riches, or honor be sufficient? No. One thing alone could do this. +Were she, by any possibility, ever to gain Lord Chetwynde to herself, +then she felt that she would know the same sweet peace and calm joy +as that which she now read in his face. In that event she thought +that she could look upon her worst enemy with a smile. But in him +what could it mean? Could it be possible that he had any one whose +smile would bring him such peace as this? Once before she suspected +that he loved another. Could it be within the bounds of possibility +that the one whom he loved lived in Florence? +<br> +<br> +This thought filled her with dismay. And yet, why not? Had he not set +out from England for Italy? Had he not dragged himself out of his +sick-room, almost before he could walk, to pursue his journey? Had he +not broken off almost all intercourse with herself after the first +week of their arrival? Had he not been occupied with some engrossing +business all the time since then? What business could have at once so +occupied him and so changed him, if it were not something of this +kind? There was one thing which could at once account for his +coolness to her and his inaccessibility to her advances, for his +journey to Florence, for his occupation all the time, and now for +this strange mood of happiness which had come so suddenly yet so +gently over him. And that one thing, which alone, to her mind, could +at once account for all these things, was Love. +<br> +<br> +The time passed, and Lord Chetwynde's new mood seemed lasting. Never +had he been so considerate, so gentle, and so kind to Hilda. At any +other time, or under any other circumstances, this change would have +stimulated her mind to the wildest hopes; but now it prompted fears +which filled her with despair. So, as the days passed, the struggle +raged within her breast. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Lord Chetwynde was a constant visitor at the villa of Obed +Chute, and a welcome guest to all. As the days passed the constant +association which he had with Zillah made each better known to the +other than ever before. The tenderness that existed between them was +repressed in the presence of the others; but on the frequent +occasions when they were left alone together it found expression by +acts if not by words, by looks if not by acts. Lord Chetwynde could +not forget that first look of all-absorbing and overwhelming joy with +which Zillah had greeted him on his sudden appearance. A master, to a +certain extent, over himself, he coerced himself so far as not to +alarm Zillah by any tender words or by any acts which told too much; +yet in his face and in his eyes she could read, if she chose, all his +devotion. As for Zillah, the change which she had felt from the dull +monotony of her past to the vivid joy of the present was so great and +so powerful that its effects were too manifest to be concealed. She +could not conceal the glow of health that sprang to her cheek, the +light that kindled in her eye, the resonant tone that was added to +her voice, and the spring that came to her step. Nor could she, in +her girlish innocence, conceal altogether how completely she now +rested all her hopes and all her happiness upon Lord Chetwynde; the +flush of joy that arose at his arrival, the sadness that overspread +her at his departure. But Obed Chute and his sister were not +observant; and these things, which would have been so manifest to +others, were never noticed by them. It seemed to both of them as +though Zillah merely shared the pleasure which they felt in the +society of this Windham, whom Obed loved and admired, and they +thought that Zillah's feelings were merely of the same character as +their own. +<br> +<br> +Neither Lord Chetwynde nor Zillah cared to disclose the true state of +the case. Lord Chetwynde wished to see her every day, but did not +wish them to know that he came every day. That might seem strange to +them. In point of fact, they would have thought nothing of it, but +would have welcomed him as warmly as ever; but Lord Chetwynde could +not feel sure of this. And if he visited her every day, he did not +wish to let the world know it. How it happened can not be told; by +what mysterious process it occurred can scarcely be related; such a +process is too indefinable for description; but certain it is that a +mysterious understanding sprang up between him and Zillah, so that on +every alternate day when he rode toward the villa he would leave his +horse at a house about a quarter of a mile away, and walk to the +nearest part of the park, where there was a small gate among the +trees. Here he usually entered, and soon reached a small kiosk near +that pond among the woods which has already been spoken of. The +household was so small and so quiet, and the woods were so +unfrequented and so shadowy, that there was scarcely any possibility +of interruption. Even if they had been discovered there by Obed +himself, Lord Chetwynde's presence of mind could have readily +furnished a satisfactory story to account for it. He had already +arranged that in his mind. He would have "happened to meet" Zillah on +the road near the gate, and come in here with her. By this it will be +seen, on the strength of this mysterious understanding, that Zillah +was not averse to this clandestine meeting. In fact, she always was +there. Many times they met there in the weeks which Lord Chetwynde +passed in Florence, and never once did she fail to be there first to +await him. +<br> +<br> +Perhaps it was because each had a secret belief that this was all +temporary--a happiness, a bliss, in fact, in this part of their +mortal lives, but a bliss too great to last. Perhaps it was this that +gave Zillah the courage and spirit to be at the trysting-place to +receive this man who adored her, and never to fail to be there +first--to think that not to be there first would be almost a sin--and +so to receive his deep and fervent expressions of gratitude for her +kindness, which were reiterated at every meeting. At any rate, Zillah +was always there on the days when Lord Chetwynde wished her to be +there; and on the occasions when he visited the villa she was not +there, but was seated in the drawing-room to receive him. Obed Chute +thought that Lord Chetwynde came three times a week. Zillah knew that +he came seven times a week. +<br> +<br> +For some time this state of things had continued. Windham was the +chosen friend of Obed, and the favored guest at Obed's villa. Zillah +knew that this could not last, and used to try to check her +happiness, and reason it down. But as the hour of the tryst +approached all attempts of this kind were forgotten, and she was +there watching and waiting. +<br> +<br> +To her, one day thus waiting, Lord Chetwynde came with a sad smile on +his face, and something in his eyes which threw a chill over Zillah's +heart. They talked a little while, but Lord Chetwynde was melancholy +and preoccupied. +<br> +<br> +"You do not look well to-day," said Zillah, wonderingly, and in tones +which were full of sympathy. "I hope nothing has happened?" +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde looked earnestly at her and sighed heavily. +<br> +<br> +"Miss Lorton," said he, sadly, "something has happened which has +thrown the deepest gloom over me. Shall I tell you? Will you +sympathize with my gloom? I will tell you. I have this day received a +letter giving me my appointment to a post in India, far which I have +been waiting for a long time." +<br> +<br> +"India!" +<br> +<br> +Zillah gasped this out with white lips, while her face assumed the +ashen hue of despair. +<br> +<br> +"India!" she repeated, as her great eyes were fixed in agony upon +him; and then she stopped, pressing her hand to her heart. +<br> +<br> +The anguish of that look was so intense that Lord Chetwynde was +shaken to the soul. He caught her hand in his, scarce knowing what he +did. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Miss Lorton," he cried, "do not look so at me. I am in despair; +I am heart-broken; I dare not look at the future; but the future is +not immediate; I can yet wait a few weeks; and you will still come +here, will you not--to see me?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah caught her hand away, and her eyes fell. Tears dropped from +beneath her heavy lashes. But she said not a word. +<br> +<br> +"At any rate, tell me this," cried Lord Chetwynde, "when I am gone, +Miss Lorton, you will not forget me? Tell me this." +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked at him with her large, spiritual eyes, whose fire +seemed now to bum into his soul, and her lips moved: +<br> +<br> +"Never!" +<br> +<br> +That was the only word that she said. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXIV. +<br> +<br> +THE MASQUERADE. +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute came home one day full of news, and particularly dilated +upon the grandeur of a masquerade ball which was to take place at the +Villa Rinalci. He wished to go, and to take Zillah. The idea filled +all his mind, and his excitement was speedily communicated to Zillah, +and to Lord Chetwynde, who happened to be there at the time. Obed had +learned that it was to be conducted with the highest degree of +magnificence. He had talked about it with some Americans with whom he +had met in the cafe, and, as he had never seen one, he was eager to +go. Lord Chetwynde expressed the same desire, and Zillah at once +showed a girlish enthusiasm that was most gratifying to Obed. It was +soon decided that they all should go. A long conversation followed +about the dresses, and each one selected what commended itself as the +most agreeable or becoming. Obed intended to dress as a Western +trapper, Zillah as an Athenian maid of the classic days, while Lord +Chetwynde decided upon the costume of the Cavaliers. A merry evening +was spent in settling upon these details, for the costume of each one +was subjected to the criticism of the others, and much laughter arose +over the various suggestions that were made from time to time about +the best costume. +<br> +<br> +For some days Lord Chetwynde busied himself about his costume. He had +to have it made especially for the occasion, and tailors had to be +seen, and measurements had to be taken. Of course this did not +interfere in the smallest degree with his constant attendance upon +Zillah, for every day he was punctual at the trysting-place or in the +villa. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Hilda's intolerable anxiety had taken another and a very +natural turn. She began to feel intensely curious about the object of +Lord Chetwynde's daily occupations. Having once come to the +conclusion that there was a woman in the case, every hour only +strengthened this conviction, until at length it was as firmly fixed +in her mind as the belief in her own existence. The pangs of jealousy +which she suffered from this cause were as extreme as those which she +had suffered before from fear, or anxiety, or suspense, both when +hurrying on to save Lord Chetwynde, and when watching at his bedside. +In her wild, ungovernable passion and her uncontrollable love she +felt the same vehement jealousy which a betrothed mistress might +feel, and the same unreasoning indignation which a true and lawful +wife might have when suspecting a husband's perfidy. Such feelings +filled her with an insatiable desire to learn what might be his +secret, and to find out at all costs who this one might be of whose +existence she now felt confident. Behind this desire there lay an +implacable resolve to take vengeance in some way upon her, and the +discovery of her in Hilda's mind was only synonymous with the deadly +vengeance which she would wreak upon this destroyer of her peace. +<br> +<br> +It was difficult, however, to accomplish such a desire. Little or +nothing could be found out from the servants, nor was there any one +whom she could employ to observe her "husband's" actions. Now she +began to feel the need of that deep devotion and matchless fidelity +which she had once received from Gualtier. But he was far away. Could +she not send for him? She thought of this often, but still delayed to +do so. She felt sure that the moment she gave the command he would +leave every thing and come to do her bidding. But she hesitated. Even +in her unscrupulous mind there was a perception of the fitness of +things, and she was slow to call to her assistance the aid of the man +who so deeply loved her, when her purpose was to remove or to punish +her rival in the affections of another man, or rather an obstacle in +the way of securing his affections. Deprived thus of all aid, it was +difficult for her to find out arty thing. +<br> +<br> +At length Lord Chetwynde became interested in the affair of the +masquerade. The state of mind into which he had fallen ever since the +discovery of Zillah had deprived him of that constant reticence which +used to be his characteristic. He was now pleasant and genial and +talkative. This change had inspired alarm in Hilda rather than joy, +and she had considered this the chief reason for believing that love +was the animating motive with him now. After the masquerade had been +mentioned he himself spoke about it. In the fullness of his joy it +slipped from him incidentally in the course of conversation, and +Hilda, after wondering why he should mention such a thing, began to +wonder what interest the thing might have to him. No doubt he was +going. Of that she felt assured. If so, the mysterious being to whom +she believed he was devoted would necessarily be there too. She +believed that the expectation of being there with her had so +intoxicated him that this masquerade was the chief thing in his +thoughts, and therefore he had made mention of it. So she watched to +find out the meaning of this. +<br> +<br> +One day a parcel came for Lord Chetwynde. The servants were out of +sight, and she opened it. It was a suit of clothes in the Cavalier +fashion, with every accessory necessary to make up the costume. The +meaning of this was at once evident to her. He was going to this +masquerade as a Cavalier. What then? This discovery at once made +plain before her all that she might do. Under these circumstances it +would be possible for her to follow and to track him. Perhaps her own +good fortune and cleverness might enable her to discover the one to +whom he was devoted. But a complete disguise was necessary for +herself. She was not long in choosing such a disguise. She decided +upon the costume of the _Compagnia della Misericordia_--one which was +eminently Florentine, and, at the same time, better adapted for +purposes of concealment than any other could possibly be. It consists +of a black robe with a girdle, and a hood thrown over the head in +such a way as to show only the eyes. It would be as suitable a +disguise for a woman as for a man, and would give no possible chance +of recognition. At the same time, belonging as it did to that famous +Florentine society, it would be recognized by all, and while insuring +a complete disguise, would excite no comment. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde left early on the morning of the fête, taking his +costume with him, showing Hilda that he was evidently going in +company with others. It was with great impatience that she waited the +progress of the hours; and when, at length, the time came, and she +was deposited at the gate of the Villa Rinalci, her agitation was +excessive. Entering here, she found the grounds illuminated. +<br> +<br> +They were extensive, and filled with groves and spacious avenues and +dashing fountains and beautiful sculptures. Already a large crowd had +assembled, and Hilda walked among them, watching on every side for +the man whom she sought. In so large a place as this, where the +grounds were so extensive, it was difficult indeed to find any +particular person, and two hours passed away in a vain search. But +she was patient and determined, and there was but one idea in her +mind. The music and the gayety of the assembled throng did not for +one moment divert her, though this was the first scene of the kind +that she had ever beheld, and its novelty might well have attracted +her attention. The lights which flashed out so brightly through the +gloom of night--the noisy crowds which thronged every where--the +foaming spray that danced upward from the fountains, gleaming in the +light of the lamps--the thousand scenes of mirth and revelry that +arose on every side--all these had no attraction for this woman, who +had come here for one purpose only, and who carried this purpose deep +in her heart. The company wore every imaginable attire. Most of them +were in masks, but some of them had none; while Hilda, in her +mournful robe, that spoke to all of death and funereal rites, was +alone in the singularity of her costume. +<br> +<br> +She wandered throughout all the grounds, and through the villa +itself, in search of one thing, but that one thing she could not +find. At length her weary feet refused to support her any longer in +what seemed a hopeless search, and she sat down near one of the +fountains in the central avenue, and gave herself up to despondent +thoughts. +<br> +<br> +About half an hour passed, when suddenly two figures approached that +riveted her attention. They were a man and a woman. Her heart beat +fast. There was no mistake about the man. His dress was the dress +which she herself had seen and examined. He wore a domino, but +beneath it could be seen his whiskers, cut after the English fashion, +and long and pendent. But Hilda knew that face so familiarly that +there was no doubt in her mind, although she only saw the lower +portion. And a woman was with him, resting on his arm. They passed by +her in silence. Hilda waited till they had gone by, and then arose +and followed stealthily. Now had come the time for discovery, perhaps +for vengeance. In her wild impulse she had brought a dagger with her, +which she had secreted in her breast. As she followed her hand played +mechanically with the hilt of this dagger. It was on this that she +had instinctively placed her ultimate resolve. They walked on +swiftly, but neither of them turned to see whether they were followed +or not. The idea of such a thing never seemed to have entered into +the mind of either of them. After a time they left the avenue, and +turned into a side-path; and, following its course, they went onward +to the more remote parts of the grounds. Here there were but few +people, and these grew fewer as they went on. At length they came to +the end of this path, and turned to the right. Hilda hurried onward +stealthily, and, turning, saw an arbor embowered among the trees. +Near by was a light, which hung from the branch of a tree on one +side. She heard low voices, and knew that they had gone into the +arbor. She crept up behind it, and got close to it--so close, indeed, +that they, while sitting at the back, had but a few inches between +themselves and this listener. The rays of the lantern shone in, so +that Hilda could see, as they sat between her and the light, the +outlines of their forms. But that light was obstructed by the leaves +that clung to the arbor, and in the shadow their features were +invisible. Two dark figures were before her, and that was all. +<br> +<br> +"We can stay here alone for some time," said Lord Chetwynde, after a +long silence. He spoke in a whisper, which, however, was perfectly +audible to Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said the other, speaking in the same whisper. "He is amusing +himself in the Grand Avenue." +<br> +<br> +"And we have an hour, at least, to ourselves. We are to meet him at +the Grand Fountain; He will wait for us." +<br> +<br> +There was another silence. +<br> +<br> +Hilda heard this with strange feelings. Who was this _he_ of whom +they spoke? Was he the husband of this woman? Of course. There was no +other explanation. They could not be so cautious and so regardful +about any other. Nor, indeed, did the thought of any other come +into her mind in that hour of excitement. She thought that she could +understand it all. Could she but find out this woman's name, then it +would be possible to take vengeance in a better and less dangerous +way than by using the dagger. She could find out this injured +husband, and use him as an instrument for vengeance. And, as this +thought came to her, she sheathed her dagger. +<br> +<br> +The conversation began again. As before, it was in a whisper. +<br> +<br> +"We are secluded here. No one can see us. It is as quiet as our kiosk +at the villa." +<br> +<br> +"Heavens!" thought Hilda. "A trysting-place!" +<br> +<br> +A sigh escaped the other. +<br> +<br> +"You are sighing," said Lord Chetwynde. "Are you unhappy?" +<br> +<br> +"I'm only too happy; but I--I--I'm thinking of the future." +<br> +<br> +"Don't think of the future. The present is our only concern. When I +think of the future, I feel as though I should go mad. The future! My +God! Let me banish it from my thoughts. Help me to forget it. You +alone can!" +<br> +<br> +And even in that whisper, which reached Hilda's ears, there was an +impassioned and infinite tenderness which pierced her heart. +<br> +<br> +"Oh God!" she thought, "how he loves her! And I--what hope have I?" +<br> +<br> +"What blessed fortune was it," resumed Lord Chetwynde, "that led me +to you here in Florence--that brought us both here to this one place, +and threw us again into one another's society? When I left you at +Marseilles I thought that I had lost you forever!" +<br> +<br> +The lady said nothing. +<br> +<br> +But Hilda had already learned this much--first, that both were +English. The lady, even in her whisper, showed this. Again, she +learned that they had met before, and had enjoyed one another's +society in this way. Where? At Marseilles. Her vivid imagination at +once brought before her a way in which this might have been done. She +was traveling with her husband, and Lord Chetwynde had met her. +Probably they had sailed in the same steamer. Possibly they had come +all the way from India together. This now became her conviction. +<br> +<br> +"Have you forgotten Marseilles?" continued Lord Chetwynde. "Do you +remember our last sail? do you remember our last ride?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," sighed the lady. +<br> +<br> +"And do you remember what I said?" +<br> +<br> +"I have not forgotten." +<br> +<br> +There was a long silence. +<br> +<br> +"This can not last much longer," said Lord Chetwynde. "I must go to +India." +<br> +<br> +He stopped. +<br> +<br> +The lady's head sank forward. Hilda could see this through the +shadows of the foliage. +<br> +<br> +"It can not last much longer," said Lord Chetwynde, in a louder +voice, and a groan escaped him as he spoke. "I must leave you; I must +leave you forever!" +<br> +<br> +He paused, and folding his arms, leaned back, while Hilda saw that +his frame was shaken with extraordinary excitement. At length he +leaned forward again. He caught her hand and held it. The lady sat +motionless, nor did she attempt to withdraw her hand. They sat in +perfect silence for a long time, but the deep breathing of each, +which seemed like long-drawn sighs, was audible to Hilda, as she +listened there; and it told how strong was the emotion within them. +But the one who listened was the prey of an emotion as mighty as +theirs. +<br> +<br> +Neither of these three was conscious of time. Wrapped up in their own +feelings, they were overwhelmed by a tide of passion that made them +oblivious of all things else. There were the lovers, and there was +the vigilant watcher; but which of these three was a prey to the +strongest emotion it would be difficult to tell. On the one side was +the mighty power of love; on the other the dread force of hate. +Tenderness dwelt here; vengeance waited there. Close together were +these three, but while Hilda heard even the very breathing of the +lovers, they were unconscious of her presence, and heard not the +beating of that baleful heart, which now, filled with quenchless +hate, throbbed vehemently and rapidly in the fury of the hour. +<br> +<br> +Unconscious of all else, and oblivious of the outer world--and why? +They loved. Enough. Each knew the love of the other, though no words +had spoken it. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my friend!" suddenly exclaimed Lord Chetwynde, in a voice which +was low and deep and full of passion--a voice which was his own, and +no longer a whisper--"Oh, my friend! my beloved! forgive my words; +forgive my wildness, my passion; forgive my love. It is agony to me +when I know that I must lose you. Soon we must part; I must go, my +beloved! my own! I must go to the other end of the earth, and never, +never, never more can we hope to meet again. How can I give you up? +There is a gulf between us that divides you from me. How can I live +without you?" +<br> +<br> +These words poured forth from him in passionate impetuosity--burning +words they were, and the lady whose hand he clasped seemed to quiver +and tremble in sympathy with their meaning. He clung to her hand. +Every moment deprived him more and more of that self-restraint and +that profound consideration for her which he had so long maintained. +Never before had he so forgotten himself as to speak words like +these. But now separation was near, and she was alone with him, and +the hour and the opportunity were his. +<br> +<br> +"I can not give you up. My life without you is intolerable," he +groaned. "God knows how I have struggled against this. You know how +faithfully I have kept a guard over my words and acts. But now my +longing overmasters me. My future is like hell without you. Oh, love! +oh, Ella! listen to me! Can you give me up? Will you be willing to +do wrong for my sake? _Will you come with me_?" +<br> +<br> +A deep silence followed, broken by a sob from the lady. +<br> +<br> +"You are mine! you are mine!" he cried. "Do not let me go away into +desolation and despair. Come with me. We will fly to India. We will +be happy there through life. We will forget all the miseries that we +have known in the great joy that we will have in one another's +presence. Say that you will. See! I give up every thing; I throw all +considerations to the winds. I trample even on _honor_ and _duty_ for +your sake. Come with me!" +<br> +<br> +He paused, breathless from the terrible emotion that had now +overpowered him. The lady trembled. She tried to withdraw her hand, +but he clung to it. She staggered to her feet, and stood trembling. +<br> +<br> +"Oh!" she faltered, "do not tempt me! I am weak. I am nothing. Do +not; do not!" +<br> +<br> +"Tempt you? No, no!" cried Lord Chetwynde, feverishly. "Do not say +so. I ask you only to save me from despair." +<br> +<br> +He rose to his feet as he said this, and stood by her, still holding +that hand which he would not relinquish. And the one who watched them +in her agony saw an anguish as intense as hers in that quivering +frame which half shrank away from Lord Chetwynde, and half advanced +toward him; in those hands, one of which was held in his, while the +other was clasped to her heart; and in Lord Chetwynde himself, who, +though he stood there before her, yet stood trembling from head to +foot in the frightful agitation of the hour. All this Hilda saw, and +as she saw it she learned this--that all the hopes which she had ever +formed of winning this man to herself were futile and baseless and +impossible. In that moment they faded away; and what was left? What? +Vengeance! +<br> +<br> +Suddenly Lord Chetwynde roused himself from the struggle that raged +within him. It was as though he had resolved to put an end to all +these conflicts with himself. He dragged Zillah toward him. Wildly +and madly he seized her. He flung his arms about her, and pressed her +to his heart. +<br> +<br> +"My love! my darling!" he exclaimed, in low tones that were broken, +and scarce audible in the intensity of his emotion, "you can not--you +will not--you dare not refuse me!" +<br> +<br> +Zillah at first was overwhelmed by this sudden outburst. But soon, by +a mighty effort, she seemed to gain control over herself. She tore +herself away, and staggered back a few paces. +<br> +<br> +"Spare me!" she gasped. "Have pity! have mercy! If you love me, I +implore you by your love to be merciful! I am so weak. As you hope +for heaven, spare me!" +<br> +<br> +She was trembling violently, and her words were scarcely coherent. At +the deep and piteous entreaty of her voice Lord Chetwynde's heart +was touched. With a violent effort he seemed to regain his +self-control. A moment before he had been possessed of a wild, +ungovernable passion, which swept all things away. But now this was +succeeded by a calm, and he stood for a time silent. +<br> +<br> +"You will forgive me," he said at last, sadly. "You are more noble +than I am. You do right to refuse me. My request seems to you like +madness. Yes, you are right to refuse, even though I go into despair. +But listen, and you will see how it is. I love you, but can never win +you, for there is a gulf between us. You may have suspected--I am +married already! Between us there stands one who keeps us forever +asunder; _and--that--one--I--hate--worse--than--death_!" +<br> +<br> +He spoke these last words slowly, and with a savage emphasis, into +which all the intensity of his love had sent an indescribable +bitterness. +<br> +<br> +And there was one who heard those words, in whose ears they rang like +a death-knell; one crouched behind among the shrubbery, whose hands +clung to the lattice of the arbor; who, though secure in her +concealment, could scarcely hide the anguish which raged within her. +At these words the anguish burst forth. A groan escaped her, and all +her senses seemed to fail in that moment of agony. +<br> +<br> +Zillah gave a cry. +<br> +<br> +"What was that? Did you hear it?" she exclaimed, catching Lord +Chetwynde's arm. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde had heard it also. "It's nothing," said he, after +listening for a moment. "Perhaps it's one of the deer." +<br> +<br> +"I'm afraid," said Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"Afraid! Am not _I_ with you?" +<br> +<br> +"Let us go," murmured Zillah. "The place is dreadful; I can scarcely +breathe." +<br> +<br> +"Take off your mask," said Lord Chetwynde; and with trembling hands +he assisted her to remove it. His tone and manner reassured her. She +began to think that the sound was nothing after all. Lord Chetwynde +himself thought but little of it. His own excitement had been so +intense that every thing else was disregarded. He saw that she was +alarmed, but attributed this to the excitement which she had +undergone. He now did his best to soothe her, and in his newfound +calm he threw away that impetuosity which had so overpowered her. At +last she regained something like her former self-possession. +<br> +<br> +"We must go back," said he at length. "Wait here a few moments, and I +will go up the path a short distance to see if the way is clear." +<br> +<br> +He went out, and went, as he said, a little distance up the path. +<br> +<br> +Scarcely had his footsteps died out in the distance when Zillah heard +a noise directly behind her. She started. In her agitated state she +was a prey to any feeling, and a terror crept over her. She hastened +out with the intention of following Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +The figure, crouching low behind the arbor, had seen Lord Chetwynde's +departure. Now her time had come--the time for vengeance! His bitter +words had destroyed all hope, and all of that patient cunning which +she might otherwise have observed. Blind with rage and passion, there +was only one thought in her mind, and that was instant and immediate +vengeance. She caught her dagger in her hand, and strode out upon her +victim. +<br> +<br> +The light which hung from the branch of the tree shone upon the +arbor. The back-ground was gloomy in the dense shadow, while the +intervening space was illumined. Hilda took a few quick paces, +clutching her dagger, and in a moment she reached the place. But in +that instant she beheld a sight which sent through her a pang of +sudden horror--so sharp, so intense, and accompanied by so dread a +fear, that she seemed to turn to stone as she gazed. +<br> +<br> +It was a slender figure, clothed in white, with a white mantle +gathered close about the throat, and flowing down. The face was +white, and in this dim light, defined against the dark back-ground of +trees, it seemed like the face of the dead. The eyes--large, +lustrous, burning--were fixed on her, and seemed filled with +consuming fire as they fastened themselves on her. The dark hair hung +down in vast voluminous folds, and by its contrast added to the +marble whiteness of that face. And that face! It was a face which was +never absent from her thoughts, a face which haunted her dreams--the +face of her victim--the face of Zillah! +<br> +<br><img src="images/215.png" alt="She Beheld A Sight Which Sent Through Her A Pang Of Horror."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "She Beheld A Sight Which Sent Through Her A Pang Of +Horror."] +<br> +<br> +Hilda had only one thought, and that was this, that the sea had given +up its dead, and that her victim had come to confront her now; in the +hour of vengeance to stand between her and another victim. It was but +for an instant that she stood, yet in that instant a thousand +thoughts swept through her mind. But for an instant; and then, with a +loud, piercing shriek, she leaped back, and with a thrill of mortal +terror plunged into the thick wood and fled afar--fled with the +feeling that the avenger was following fast after her. +<br> +<br> +The shriek roused Lord Chetwynde. He rushed back. Zillah had fainted, +and was lying senseless on the grass. He raised her in his arms, and +held her pressed convulsively to his heart, looking with unutterable +longing upon her pale face, and pressing his burning lips to her cold +brow. There was a great terror in his heart, for he could not think +what it might be that had happened, and he feared that some sudden +alarm had done this. Bitterly he reproached himself for so agitating +her. He had excited her with his despair; and she, in her agitation, +had become an easy prey to any sudden fear. Something had happened, +he could not tell what, but he feared that he had been to some extent +the cause, by the agitation which he had excited within her. All +these thoughts and fears were in his mind as he held her upraised in +his arms, and looked wildly around for some means of restoring her. A +fountain was playing not far away, under the trees, and the babble of +running water came to his ears amidst the deep stillness. There he +carried his precious burden, and dashed water in her face, and chafed +her hands, and murmured all the time a thousand words of love and +tenderness. To him, in his intense anxiety, the moments seemed hours, +and the passage of every moment threw him into despair. But at last +she revived, and finally opened her eyes to see the face of Lord +Chetwynde bending over her. +<br> +<br> +"Thank God!" he murmured, as her opening eyes met his. +<br> +<br> +"Do not leave me!" moaned Zillah. "It may come again, and if it does +I shall die!" +<br> +<br> +"Leave you!" said Lord Chetwynde; and then he said nothing more, but +pressed her hand in silence. +<br> +<br> +After a few moments she arose, and leaning heavily on his arm she +walked with him up the path toward the fountain. On the way, with +many starts and shudders of sudden fear, she told him what had +happened. She had heard a noise among the trees, and had hurried out, +when suddenly a figure rushed up to her--an awful figure! It wore a +black robe, and over its head was a cowl with two holes for the eyes. +This figure waved its arms wildly, and finally gave a long, wild +yell, which pierced to her heart. She fell senseless. Never while +life lasts, she said, would she be able to forget that abhorrent cry. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde listened eagerly. "That dress," he said, "is the +costume of a Florentine society that devotes itself to the burial of +the dead. Some one has worn it here. I'm afraid we have been watched. +It looks like it." +<br> +<br> +"Watched! who could think of such a thing?" +<br> +<br> +"I don't know," said Lord Chetwynde, thoughtfully. "It may have been +accidental. Some masker has watched us, and has tried to frighten +you. That is all. If I thought that we could have any enemy, I would +say that it was his work. But that is impossible. We are unknown +here. At any rate, you must not think that there has been any thing +supernatural about it. It seems to me," he concluded, "that we have +been mistaken for some others." +<br> +<br> +This way of accounting for it served to quiet Zillah's fears, and by +the time that they reached the fountain she was more calm. Obed Chute +was waiting there, and as she pleaded fatigue, he at once had the +carriage ordered. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXV. +<br> +<br> +HILDA'S DECISION. +<br> +<br> +Hilda fled, and continued long in that frantic flight through the +thick woods. As the branches of the underbrush crackled behind her, +it seemed to her that it was the noise of pursuit, and the horror of +that unexpected vision was before her, for to face it again seemed to +her worse than death. She was strong of soul naturally; her nerves +were not such as give way beneath the pressure of imagination; she +was not a woman who was in any degree liable to the ordinary +weaknesses of a woman's nature; but the last few months had opened +new feelings within her, and under the assault of those fierce, +resistless feelings the strength of her nature had given way. Even +had she possessed all her old strength, the sight of this +unparalleled apparition might have overwhelmed her, but as it was, it +seemed to make her insane. Already shaken to her inmost soul by long +suffering and wild alternations of feeling, she had that night +attained the depths of despair in those words which she had +overheard. Immediately upon that there came the direful phantom, +which she felt that she could not look upon and live. That face +seemed to burn itself into her mind. It was before her as she fled, +and a great horror thrilled through her, driving her onward blindly +and wildly, until at last nature itself gave way, and she fell +shrieking with terror. +<br> +<br> +Then sense left her. +<br> +<br> +How long she lay she knew not. There was no one near to bring back +the lost sense. She awaked shuddering. She had never fainted thus +before, and it seemed to her now as though she had died and risen +again to the sadness of life. Around her were the solemn forest +trees. The wind sighed through their branches. The sun was almost at +the meridian. It was not midnight when she fainted. It was mid-day +almost when she recovered. There was a sore pain at her heart; all +her limbs seemed full of bruises; but she dragged herself to a little +opening in the trees where the rays of the sun came down, and there +the sun's rays warmed her once more into life. There, as she sat, she +recalled the events of the night. The horror had passed, and she no +longer had that awful sense of a pursuing phantom; but there remained +the belief, fixed within her soul, that she had seen the form of the +dead. She was not superstitious, but in this instance the sight, and +the effects of that sight, had been so tremendous that she could not +reason them away. +<br> +<br> +She tried to dismiss these thoughts. What was she to do? She knew +not. And now as she thought there came back to her the remembrance of +Lord Chetwynde's words, and the utterance of his hate. This +recollection rose up above the remembrance of her terrors, and gave +her something else for thought. What should she do? Should she give +up her purpose and return to England? This seemed to her intolerable. +Chetwynde Castle had no attractions; and even if she were now assured +beyond all doubt that she should be for all the rest of her life the +acknowledged mistress of Chetwynde--even if the coronet were fixed on +her brow beyond the chance of removal--even if the court and the +aristocracy of England were eager to receive her into their +midst--yet even then she found in these things nothing which could +alleviate her grief, and nothing which could afford any attraction. +Her life was now penetrated with one idea, and that idea was all set +upon Lord Chetwynde. If he was lost to her, then there was only one +of two alternatives--death to herself, or vengeance. Could she die? +Not yet. From that she turned, not in fear, but rather from a feeling +that something yet remained to be done. And now, out of all her +thoughts and feelings, the idea of vengeance rose up fiercely and +irresistibly. It returned with something of that vehemence which had +marked its presence on the previous night, when she rushed forth to +satisfy it, but was so fearfully arrested. But how could she now act? +She felt as though the effort after vengeance would draw her once +more to confront the thing of horror which she had already met with. +Could she face it again? +<br> +<br> +Amidst all these thoughts there came to her the memory of Gualtier. +He was yet faithful, she believed, and ready to act for her in any +way, even if it required the sacrifice of his own life. To him she +could now turn. He could now do what she could not. If she had him +once more to act as her right hand, she might use him as a means for +observation and for vengeance. She felt now most keenly her own +weakness, and longed with a weary sense of desolation for some one +who might assist her, and do this work which lay before her. +<br> +<br> +At last she rose to go. The warmth of the sun had restored something +of her strength. The new resolutions which she had formed had given +energy to her soul. She wandered about through the wood, and at +length reached a stonewall. It looked like the boundary of the villa. +She followed this for some distance, expecting to reach the gate, and +at length came to a place where a rock arose by the side of the wall. +Going up to the top of this, she looked over the wall, and saw the +public road on the other side, with Florence in the distance. She saw +pretty nearly where she was, and knew that this was the nearest point +to her lodgings. To go back to the chief entrance would require a +long detour. It would also excite surprise. One in her peculiar +costume, on going out of the grounds, might be questioned; she +thought it better to avoid this. She looked up and down the road, and +seeing no one coming, she stepped to the top of the wall and let +herself down on the opposite side. In a few moments she was on the +road, on her way back to Florence. Reaching the city, she at once +went to the hotel, and arrived at her rooms without observation. +<br> +<br> +That same day she sent off an urgent letter to Gualtier, asking him +to come to Florence at once. +<br> +<br> +After this excitement she kept her bed for a few days. Lord Chetwynde +heard that she was ill without expressing any emotion. When at length +he saw her he spoke in his usual courteous manner, and expressed his +pleasure at seeing her again. But these empty words, which used to +excite so much hope within her, now fell indifferently on her ears. +She had made up her mind now. She knew that there was no hope. She +had called to her side the minister of her vengeance. Lord Chetwynde +saw her pale face and downcast eyes, but did not trouble himself to +search into the cause of this new change in her. She seemed to be +growing indifferent to him, he thought; but the change concerned him +little. There was another in his heart, and all his thoughts were +centered on that other. +<br> +<br> +After the masquerade Lord Chetwynde had hurried out to the villa, on +the following day, to make inquiries about her health. He found +Zillah still much shaken, and exhibiting sufficient weakness to +excite his anxiety. Which of the many causes that she had for +agitation and trouble might now be disturbing her he could not tell, +but he sought to alleviate her troubles as much as possible. His +departure for India had to be postponed, for how could he leave her +in such a state? Indeed, as long as Obed Chute remained in Florence +he did not see how he could leave for India at all. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXVI. +<br> +<br> +FAITHFUL STILL. +<br> +<br> +When Hilda sent off her note to Gualtier she felt certain that he +would come to her aid. All that had passed between them had not +shaken the confidence which she felt in his willingness to assist her +in a thing like this. She understood his feelings so perfectly that +she saw in this purpose which she offered him something which would +be more agreeable to him than any other, and all that he had ever +expressed to her of his feelings strengthened this view. Even his +attempts to gain the mastery over her, his coercion by which he +forced from her that memorable promise, his rage and his menaces at +Lausanne, were so many proofs of his love for her and his malignant +hate to Lord Chetwynde. The love which she had once despised while +she made use of it she now called to her aid, so as to make use of it +again, not thinking of what the reward would be which he would claim, +not caring what his hope might be, indifferent to whatever the future +might now reveal, and intent only upon securing in the best and +quickest way the accomplishment of her own vengeful desires. +<br> +<br> +This confidence which she felt in Gualtier was not unfounded, nor was +her hope disappointed. In about a week after she had sent her letter +she received an answer. It was dated Florence. It showed that he had +arrived in the city, and informed her that he would call upon her as +soon as he could do so with safety. There was no signature, but his +handwriting was well known to her, and told her who the writer was. +<br> +<br> +About an hour after her receipt of the letter Gualtier himself was +standing in her presence. He had not changed in appearance since she +last saw him, but had the same aspect. Like all pale and cadaverous +men, or men of consumptive look, there could be scarcely any change +in him which would be for the worse. In Hilda, however, there was a +very marked change, which was at once manifest to the searching gaze +of his small, keen eyes as they rested upon her. She was not, indeed, +so wretched in her appearance as on that eventful day when she had +astonished him by her arrival at Lausanne. Her face was not +emaciated, nor were her eyes set in dark cavernous hollows as then, +nor was there on her brow the stamp of mortal weakness. What Gualtier +saw in her now had reference to other things. He had seen in her +nervousness and agitation before, but now he marked in her a loss of +all her old self-control, a certain feverish impatience, a wild and +unreasoning eagerness--all of which seemed to rise out of +recklessness and desperation. Her gestures were vehement, her words +careless and impassioned in tone. It was in all this that he marked +the greatness of the change in her. The feverish warmth with which +she greeted him was of itself totally different from her old manner, +and from its being so different it seemed to him unnatural. On the +whole, this change struck him painfully, and she seemed to him rather +like one in a kind of delirium than one in her sober senses. +<br> +<br> +"When I last bade you good-by," said she, alluding in this very +delicate way to their parting at the hotel in Lausanne, "you assured +me that I would one day want your services. You were right. I was +mad. I have overcome my madness. I do want you, my friend--more than +ever in my life before. You are the only one who can assist me in +this emergency. You gave me six months, you remember, but they are +not nearly up. You understood my position better than I did." +<br> +<br> +She spoke in a series of rapid phrases, holding his hand the while, +and looking at him with burning intensity of gaze--a gaze which +Gualtier felt in his inmost soul, and which made his whole being +thrill. Yet that clasp of his hand and that gaze and those words did +not inspire him with any pleasant hope. They hardly seemed like the +acts or words of Hilda, they were all so unlike herself. Far +different from this was the Hilda whom he had known and loved so +long. That one was ever present in his mind, and had been for +years--her image was never absent. Through the years he had feasted +his soul in meditations upon her grand calm, her sublime self-poise, +her statuesque beauty, her superiority to all human weakness, whether +of love or of remorse. Even in those collisions into which she had +come with him she had risen in his estimation. At Chetwynde she had +shown some weakness, but in her attitude to him he had discovered and +had adored her demoniac beauty. At Lausanne she had been even +grander, for then she had defied his worst menaces, and driven him +utterly discomfited from her presence. Such was the Hilda of his +thoughts. He found her now changed from this, her lofty calm +transformed to feverish impatience, her domineering manner changed to +one of obsequiousness and flattery. The qualities which had once +excited his admiration appeared now to have given way to others +altogether commonplace. He had parted with her thinking of her as a +powerful demon, he came back to her finding her a weak woman. +<br> +<br> +But nothing in his manner showed his thoughts. Beneath all these lay +his love, and the old devotion manifested itself in his reply. +<br> +<br> +"You know that always and under all circumstances, my lady, you can +command my services. Only one exceptional case has ever arisen, and +that you yourself can understand and excuse." +<br> +<br> +Hilda sat down, motioning him also to a seat, and for a moment +remained silent, leaning her head on her hand in deep thought. +Gualtier waited for her next words. +<br> +<br> +"You must not expose yourself to danger," said she at length. +<br> +<br> +"What danger?" +<br> +<br> +"_He_ will recognize you if he sees you here." +<br> +<br> +"I know that, and have guarded against it. He is not at home now, is +he?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"I knew that very well, and waited for his departure before venturing +here. I know very well that if he were to catch even the faintest +glimpse of me he would recognize me, and it would be somewhat +difficult for me to escape. But to-day I happened to see him go out +of the Porta Livorna, and I know he is far off by this time. So, you +see, I am as cautious as ever. On the whole, and as a general thing. +I intend to be guided by circumstances. Perhaps a disguise may be +necessary, but that depends upon many different things. I will have, +first of all, to learn from you what it is that you want me to do, +and then I can arrange my plan of action. But before you begin I +think I ought to tell you a very remarkable incident which happened +in London not long ago--and one, too, which came very near bringing +my career, and yours also, my lady, to a very sudden and a very +unpleasant termination." +<br> +<br> +At this Hilda gave a start. +<br> +<br> +"What do you mean?" she asked, hurriedly. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, only this, that a very nice little trap was laid for me in +London, and if I had not been unusually cautious I would have fallen +into it. Had that been the case all would have been up with me; +though as to you, I don't see how your position would have been +affected. For," he added, with deep and uncontrollable emotion, +"whatever may happen to me, you must know enough of me by this time, +in spite of my occasional rebellions, to be as sure of my loyalty to +you as of your own existence, and to know that there could be no +possibility of my revealing any thing about you; no," he added, as +his clenched fist fell upon the table, and his face flushed up deeply +at his rising feeling--"no, not even if it were still the fashion to +employ torture; not even the rack could extort from me one syllable +that could implicate you. After all that I have said, I swear that by +all that is most holy!" +<br> +<br> +He did not look at Hilda as he said this, but his eyes were cast on +the floor, and he seemed rather like a man who was uttering a +resolution to himself than like one who was making a statement to +another. But Hilda showed no emotion that corresponded with his. Any +danger to Gualtier, even though she herself were implicated, had no +terrors for her, and could not make her heart throb faster by one +single pulsation. She had other things on her mind, which to her far +outweighed any considerations of personal danger. Personal danger, +indeed, instead of being dreaded, would now, in her present mood, +have been almost welcomed, so as to afford some distraction from the +torture of her thoughts. In the secret of her heart she more than +once wished and longed for some appalling calamity--something which +might have power to engage all her thoughts and all her mind. The +anguish of her heart, arising out of her love for Lord Chetwynde, had +grown so intolerable that any thing, even danger, even discovery, +even death itself, seemed welcome now. +<br> +<br> +It was this feeling which filled her as she went on to ask Gualtier +about the nature of the danger which he had escaped, wishing to know +what it might be, yet indifferent to it except so far as it might +prove to be a distraction to her cares. +<br> +<br> +When Gualtier last vanished from the scene he had sent the boy to his +lodging-house, with the agreement that he should meet him at eight +o'clock. The boy's visit and its results have already been narrated. +<br> +<br> +As for Gualtier, he was profoundly conscious all the while of the +possibility that a trap might be laid for him, and that, if this were +the case, the advent of his messenger would be seized upon by those +who might be in pursuit of him, so as to get on his track. The very +cautiousness which had caused him to seek out so carefully a proper +messenger, and instruct him in the part which he was to play, kept +him on the anxious look-out for the progress of events. From the time +that the boy left he stationed himself at the window of his room, +which commanded a view of the main entrance, and watched with the +closest scrutiny every one who came into the hotel. After a time he +thought that the supposed pursuers might come in by some other +entrance. With this fear he retreated into his bedroom, which also +looked out in front, and locked the door. He found another door here +which led into an adjoining room, which was occupied. The key of the +door between the bedroom and the sitting-room fitted this other +door, so that he was able to open it. The occupant was not in. +Through this door he designed to retreat in case of a surprise. But +he still thought it most likely that any pursuers would come in by +the main door of the hotel, relying upon his information to the boy +that he was to be absent. So with this view he stationed himself at +the bedroom window, as he had at first stationed himself at the +sitting-room window, and watched the main entrance. It was a task +which needed the utmost vigilance. A great crowd was thronging there +and sweeping by; and among the multitudes that filled the sidewalk it +was impossible to distinguish any particular forms or faces except +among those who passed up the steps into the hotel. Any one who had +less at stake would have wearied of such a task, self-imposed as it +was; but Gualtier had too much at stake to allow of weariness, and +therefore he kept all his senses wide awake, looking with his eyes at +the main entrance, and with his ears listening to the footsteps that +came along the hall, to discover any signs of danger to himself. +<br> +<br> +At last a cab drove up and stopped in front of the door. Gualtier, +who had been watching every thing, noticed this also. A man got out. +The sight of that man sent a shock to Gualtier's heart. He knew that +face and that figure in spite of the changed dress. It was Black +Bill. +<br> +<br> +A second look to confirm that first impression was enough. Like +lightning there came to his mind the thought that Black Bill had been +watching for him ever since with inexhaustible patience, had +encountered the boy, perhaps with the co-operation of the landlord, +and had now come to arrest him. One moment sufficed to bring to his +mind the thought, and the fear which was born of the thought. Without +waiting to take another glance, or to see who else might be in the +cab, he hastily unlocked the doors of the bedroom, glided into the +hall, passed down a back stairway, and left the hotel by a side +entrance far removed from the front-door. Then darting swiftly +forward he mingled with the crowd in the Strand, and was soon lost to +the pursuit of any followers. +<br> +<br> +Such was Gualtier's story. To all this strange account Hilda listened +attentively. +<br> +<br> +"It seems," said she at length, "as though Black Bill has been more +persevering than we supposed." +<br> +<br> +"Far more so than I supposed," said Gualtier. "I thought that he +would have given up his watch long ago; or that, whether he wished or +not, he had been forced to do so from want of resources. But, after +all, he certainly has managed to hold on in some way. I suppose he +has secured the co-operation of the landlord, and has got up some +business at no great distance from the place, so that on the +appearance of my messenger he was sent for at once." +<br> +<br> +"Did you see the others in the cab?" +<br> +<br> +"No; Black Bill was enough for me. I suppose the boy was there with +him." +<br> +<br> +"Don't you think it likely that Black Bill may have had some +communication with the police?" +<br> +<br> +"I have thought over that question, and it does not seem probable. +You see Black Bill is a man who has every reason to keep clear of the +police, and the very information which he would give against me would +be equally against himself. Such information would first of all lead +to his own arrest. He would know that, and would keep clear of them +altogether. Besides, he is an old offender, and beyond a doubt very +well known to them. His past career has, no doubt, been marked by +them; and this information which he would give would be to them +merely a confession of fresh crime. Finding themselves unable to +catch me, they would satisfy themselves by detaining him. Oh no; +Black Bill is altogether too cunning to have any thing to do with the +police." +<br> +<br> +"All that you have been saying," remarked Hilda, "is very well in its +way, but unfortunately it is based on the supposition that Black Bill +would tell the truth to the police. But, on the contrary, it is +highly probable that he would do nothing of the kind. He has +ingenuity enough, no doubt, to make up a story to suit his particular +case, and to give it such a coloring as to keep himself free from +every charge." +<br> +<br> +"I don't see how he could do that very well. After all, what would be +the essence of his story? Simply this: that a crime had been +committed, and that he, with some others, had participated in it. The +other offenders would be out of reach. What then? What? Why, Black +Bill, from the fact of his own acknowledgment, would be taken in +charge." +<br> +<br> +"I don't see that. As I see it, there are various ways by which a man +with any cunning could throw all the guilt on another. He might deny +that he knew any one was on board, but only suspected it. He might +swear that he and the rest were forced into the boat by you, he and +they being unarmed, and you well armed. There are other suppositions +also by which he would be able to present himself in the light of an +innocent seaman, who, forced to witness the commission of a crime, +had lost no time to communicate to the authorities the knowledge of +that crime." +<br> +<br> +"There is something in what you say. But in that case it would have +been necessary for him to inform the police months ago." +<br> +<br> +"Very well; and why may he not?" +<br> +<br> +"He may have; but it strikes me that he would be more inclined to +work the thing up himself; for in that case, if he succeeded, the +prize would be all his own." +<br> +<br> +Some further discussion followed, and then Hilda asked: +<br> +<br> +"I suppose, by the way you speak, that you saw nothing more of them?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"You were not tracked?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Where did you go after leaving the hotel?" +<br> +<br> +"I left London that evening for Southampton, and then I went west to +Bristol; after that to Chetwynde. I staid at Chetwynde till I got +your note." +<br> +<br> +"Did you not see any thing in any of the papers which might lead to +the suspicion that you were sought after, or that any thing was being +done?" +<br> +<br> +"No, nothing whatever." +<br> +<br> +"If any thing is going on, then, it must be in secret." +<br> +<br> +"Yes; and then, you know, in a country like England it is impossible +for the police to work so comprehensively or so efficiently as they +do on the Continent--in France, for instance." +<br> +<br> +"I wonder if the French police are at work?" +<br> +<br> +"How could they be?" +<br> +<br> +"I hardly know, unless Black Bill has really informed the London +police, and they have communicated to the authorities in France. Of +course it all depends on him. The others can have done nothing. He +alone is the man from whom any danger could possibly arise. His +steady perseverance has a dangerous look, and it is difficult to tell +what may come of it yet." +<br> +<br> +After some further conversation Hilda proceeded to give Gualtier a +general idea of the circumstances which had taken place since they +parted at Lausanne. Her account was brief and meagre, since she did +not wish to say more than was absolutely necessary. From what she +said Gualtier gathered this, however--that Lord Chetwynde had +continued to be indifferent to Hilda, and he conjectured that his +indifference had grown into something like hostility. He learned, +moreover, most plainly that Hilda suspected him of an intrigue with +another woman, of whom she was bitterly jealous, and it was on this +rival whom she hated that she desired that vengeance for which she +had summoned him. This much he heard with nothing but gratification, +since he looked upon her jealousy as the beginning of hate; and the +vengeance which she once more desired could hardly be thwarted a +second time. +<br> +<br> +When she came to describe the affair of the masquerade, however, her +tone changed, and she became much more explicit. She went into all +the details of that adventure with the utmost minuteness, describing +all the particulars of every scene, the dresses which were worn both +by Lord Chetwynde and herself, and the general appearance of the +grounds. On these she lingered long, describing little incidents in +her search, as though unwilling to come to the denouement. When she +reached this point of her story she became deeply agitated, and as +she described the memorable events of that meeting with the fearful +figure of the dead the horror that filled her soul was manifest in +her looks and in her words, and communicated itself to Gualtier so +strongly that an involuntary shudder passed through him. +<br> +<br> +After she had ended he was silent for a long time. +<br> +<br> +"You do not say any thing?" said she. +<br> +<br> +"I hardly know what to say on the instant," was the reply. +<br> +<br> +"But are you not yourself overawed when you think of my attempt at +vengeance being foiled in so terrible a manner? What would you think +if yours were to be baffled in the same way? What would you say, what +would you do, if there should come to you this awful phantom? Oh, my +God!" she cried, with a groan of horror, "shall I ever forget the +agony of that moment when that shape stood before me, and all life +seemed on the instant to die out into nothingness!" +<br> +<br> +Gualtier was silent for a long time, and profoundly thoughtful. +<br> +<br> +"What are you thinking about?" asked Hilda at last, with some +impatience. +<br> +<br> +"I am thinking that this event may be accounted for on natural +grounds," said he. +<br> +<br> +"No," said Hilda, warmly; "nothing in nature can account for it. When +the dead come back to life, reason falters." +<br> +<br> +She shuddered as she spoke. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, my lady," said Gualtier, "but the dead do _not_ come back to +life. You have seen an apparition, I doubt not; but that is a very +different thing from the actual manifestation of the dead. What you +saw was but the emanation of your own brain. It was your own fancies +which thus became visible, and the image which became apparent to +your eye was precisely the same as those which come in delirium. A +glass of brandy or so may serve to bring up before the eyes a +thousand abhorrent spectres. You have been ill, you have been +excited, you have been taking drugs; add to this that on that +occasion you were in a state of almost frenzy, and you can at once +account for the whole thing on the grounds of a stimulated +imagination and weak or diseased optic nerves. I can bring forward +from various treatises on the optic nerves hundreds of cases as +singular as yours, and apparently as unaccountable. Indeed, if I find +that this matter continues to affect you so deeply," he continued, +with a faint smile, "my first duty will be to read up exclusively on +the subject, and have a number of books sent here to you, so as to +let you see and judge for yourself." +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXVII. +<br> +<br> +A SHOCK. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier made still further explanations on this point, and mentioned +several special cases of apparitions and phantom illusions of which +he had read. He showed how in the lives of many great men such things +had taken place. The case of Brutus was one, that of Constantine +another. Mohammed, he maintained, saw real apparitions of this sort, +and was thus prepared, as he thought, for the prophetic office. The +anchorites and saints of the Middle Ages had the same experience. +Jeanne d'Arc was a most conspicuous instance. Above all these stood +forth two men of a later day, the representatives of two opposite +principles, of two systems which were in eternal antagonism, yet +these two were alike in their intense natures, their vivid +imaginations, and the force of their phantom illusions. Luther threw +his ink-bottle at the head of the devil, and Loyola had many a +midnight struggle with the same grim personage. +<br> +<br> +To all this Hilda listened attentively, understanding fully his +theory, and fully appreciating the examples which he cited in order +to illustrate that theory, whether the examples were those well-known +ones which belong to general history, or special instances which had +come under his own personal observation. Yet all his arguments and +examples failed to have any effect upon her whatever. After all there +remained fixed in her mind, and immovable, the idea that she had seen +the dead, and in very deed; and that Zillah herself had risen up +before her eyes to confound her at the moment of the execution of her +vengeance. Such a conviction was too strong to be removed by any +arguments or illustrations. That conviction, moreover, had been +deepened and intensified by the horror which had followed when she +had fled in mad fear, feeling herself pursued by that abhorrent +shape, till she had fallen senseless. Nothing of this could be argued +away. Nor did she choose to argue about it. While she listened +carefully and attentively to Gualtier's words, she scarcely attempted +any rejoinder, but contented herself with a quiet reiteration of her +former belief. +<br> +<br> +So this was dismissed. One thing remained, however, and that was the +conclusion that Lord Chetwynde was carrying on a desperate intrigue +with some English married lady, though whether the husband of this +lady was himself English or Italian could not be told. It was evident +that Lord Chetwynde's case was not that of the conventional cicisbeo. +There was too much desperation in his love. This explained the course +which would be easiest to them. To track Lord Chetwynde, and find out +who this woman was, should be the first thing. On learning this he +was to leave the rest to Hilda. Hilda's work of vengeance would begin +with a revelation of the whole case to the supposed husband, and +after this they could be guided by circumstances. +<br> +<br> +With such an understanding as this Gualtier withdrew to begin his +work at once. Lord Chetwynde's visits to the villa continued as +before, and under the same highly romantic circumstances. Going to +India seemed removed from his thoughts further and further every day. +He did not feel capable of rousing himself to such an effort. As long +as he had the presence and the society of "Miss Lorton," so long he +would stay, and as there was no immediate prospect of Obed Chute's +leaving Florence, he had dismissed all ideas of any very immediate +departure on his part. As for Zillah she soon recovered her health +and spirits, and ceased to think about the fearful figure in the +summer-house of the fête champêtre. Lord Chetwynde also resumed that +strong control over himself which he had formerly maintained, and +guarded very carefully against any new outbreak like that of the +Villa Rinalci. Yet though he could control his acts, he could not +control his looks; and there were times in these sweet, stolen +interviews of theirs when his eyes would rest on her with an +expression which told more plainly than words the story of his +all-absorbing love and tenderness. +<br> +<br> +But while Lord Chetwynde was thus continuing his secret visits, there +was one on his track whom he little suspected. Looking upon his late +valet as a vulgar villain, whom his own carelessness had allowed to +get into his employ, he had let him go, and had never made any effort +to follow him or punish him. As for Hilda, if he ever gave her a +thought, it was one of vexation at finding her so fond of him that +she would still stay with him rather than leave. "Why can't she go +quietly back to Chetwynde?" he thought; and then his more generous +nature interposed to quell the thought. He could not forget her +devotion in saving his life; though there were times when he felt +that the prolongation of that life was not a thing to be thankful +for. +<br> +<br> +As for the family, every thing went on pleasantly and smoothly. Obed +was always delighted to see Windham, and would have felt disappointed +if he had missed coming every alternate day. Miss Chute shared her +brother's appreciation of the visitor. Zillah herself showed no signs +which they were able to perceive of the depth of her feelings. +Filled, as she was, with one strong passion, it did not interfere +with the performance of her duties; nor, if it had done so, would her +friends have noticed it. She had the morning hours for the children, +and the afternoon for Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +In setting about this new task Gualtier felt the need of caution. It +was far more perilous than any which he had yet undertaken. Once he +relied upon Lord Chetwynde's ignorance of his face, or his +contemptuous indifference to his existence. On the strength of this +he had been able to come to him undiscovered and to obtain +employment. But now all was changed. Lord Chetwynde was keen and +observant. When he had once chosen to take notice of a face he would +not readily forget it; and to venture into his presence now would be +to insure discovery. To guard against that was his first aim, and so +he determined to adopt some sort of a disguise. Even with a disguise +he saw that it would be perilous to let Lord Chetwynde see him. Hilda +had told him enough to make known to him that his late master was +fully conscious now of the cause of his disease, and suspected his +valet only, so that the watch of the pursuer must now be maintained +without his ever exposing himself to the view of this man. +<br> +<br> +After a long and careful deliberation he chose for a disguise the +costume of a Tuscan peasant. Although he had once told Hilda that he +never adopted any disguises but such as were suited to his character, +yet on this occasion his judgment was certainly at fault, since such +a disguise was not the one most appropriate to a man of his +appearance and nature. His figure had none of the litheness and grace +of movement which is so common among that class, and his sallow skin +had nothing in common with the rich olive complexion of the Tuscan +face. But it is just possible that Gualtier may have had some little +personal vanity which blinded him to his shortcomings in this +respect. The pallor of his face was, however, to some extent +corrected by a red kerchief which he bound around his head, and the +effect of this was increased by a dark wig and mustache. Trusting to +this disguise, he prepared for his undertaking. +<br> +<br><img src="images/222.png" alt="He Followed Watchfully And Stealthily."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "He Followed Watchfully And Stealthily."] +<br> +<br> +The next day after his interview with Hilda he obtained a horse, and +waited at a spot near Lord Chetwynde's lodgings, wearing a voluminous +cloak, one corner of which was flung over his left shoulder in the +Italian fashion. A horse was brought up to the door of the hotel; +Lord Chetwynde came out, mounted him, and rode off. Gualtier followed +at a respectful distance, and kept up his watch for about ten miles. +He was not noticed at all. At length he saw Lord Chetwynde ride into +the gateway of a villa and disappear. He did not care about following +any further, and was very well satisfied with having found out this +much so easily. +<br> +<br> +Leaving his horse in a safe place, Gualtier then posted himself +amidst a clump of trees, and kept up his watch for hours. He had to +wait almost until midnight; then, at last, his patience was rewarded. +It was about half past eleven when he saw Lord Chetwynde come out and +pass down the road. He himself followed, but did not go back to town. +He found an inn on the road, and put up here for the night. +<br> +<br> +On the following day he passed the morning in strolling along the +road, and had sufficient acquaintance with Italian to inquire from +the people about the villa where Lord Chetwynde had gone. He learned +that it belonged to a rich Milor Inglese, whose name no one knew, but +who was quite popular with the neighboring peasantry. They spoke of +ladies in the villa; one old one, and another who was young and very +beautiful. There were also children. All this was very gratifying to +Gualtier, who, in his own mind, at once settled the relationship of +all these. The old woman was the mother, he thought, or perhaps the +sister of the Milor Inglese; the young lady was his wife, and they +had children. He learned that the Milor Inglese was over fifty years +old, and the children were ten and twelve; a circumstance which +seemed to show that the younger lady must at least be thirty. He +would have liked to ask more, but was afraid to be too inquisitive, +for fear of exciting suspicion. On the whole, he was very well +satisfied with the information which he had gained; yet there still +remained far more to be done, and there was the necessity of +continued watching in person. To this necessity he devoted himself +with untiring and zealous patience. +<br> +<br> +For several days longer he watched thus, and learned that on +alternate days Lord Chetwynde was accustomed to ride in at the chief +gate, while on the other days he would leave his horse behind and +walk in at a little private gate at the nearer end of the park, and +some considerable distance from the main entrance. This at once +excited his strongest suspicions, and his imagination suggested many +different motives for so very clandestine yet so very methodical a +system of visiting. Of course he thought that it had reference to a +lady, and to nothing else. Then the question arose once more--what to +do. It was difficult to tell; but at length his decision was made. He +saw that the only way to get at the bottom of this mystery would be +to enter the grounds and follow Lord Chetwynde. Such an enterprise +was manifestly full of danger, but there was positively no help for +it. He could not think of going back to Hilda until he had gained +some definite and important information; and; all that he had thus +far discovered, though very useful as far as it went, was still +nothing more than preliminary. The mystery had not yet been solved. +He had only arrived at the beginning of it. The thought of this +necessity, which was laid upon him, determined him to make the bold +resolution of running all risks, and of tracking Lord Chetwynde +through the smaller gate. +<br> +<br> +So on one of those days when he supposed that Lord Chetwynde would be +coming there he entered the little gate and concealed himself in the +woods, in a place from which he could see any one who might enter +while he himself would be free from observation. +<br> +<br> +He was right in his conjectures. In about half an hour the man whom +he was expecting came along, and entering the gate, passed close +beside him. Gualtier waited for a time, so as to put a respectful +distance between himself and the other. Then he followed watchfully +and stealthily, keeping always at the same distance behind. For a +hundred yards or so the path wound on so that it was quite easy to +follow without being perceived. The path was broad, smooth, +well-kept, with dark trees overhanging, and thus shrouding it in +gloom. At last Lord Chetwynde suddenly turned to the left into a +narrow, rough pathway that scarce deserved the name, for it was +little better than a track. Gualtier followed. This path wound so +much, and put so many intervening obstacles between him and the +other, that he was forced to hurry up so as to keep nearer. In doing +so he stepped suddenly on a twig which lay across the track. It broke +with a loud snap. At that moment Lord Chetwynde was but a few yards +away. He turned, and just as Gualtier had poised himself so as to +dart back, he caught the eyes of his enemy fixed upon him. There was +no time to wait. The danger of discovery was too great. In an instant +he plunged into the thick, dense underbrush, and ran for a long +distance in a winding direction. At first he heard Lord Chetwynde's +voice shouting to him to stop, then steps ceased, and Gualtier, +discovering this, stopped to rest. The fact of the case was, that +Lord Chetwynde's engagement was of too great importance to allow him +to be diverted from it--to run the risk of being late at the tryst +for the sake of any vagabond who might be strolling about. He had +made but a short chase, and then turned back for a better purpose. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier, while he rested, soon discovered that he had not the +remotest idea of his position. He was in the middle of a dense +forest. The underbrush was thick. He could see nothing which might +give him any clew to his whereabouts. After again assuring himself +that all was quiet, he began to move, trying to do so in as straight +a line as possible, and thinking that he must certainly come out +somewhere. +<br> +<br> +He was quite right; for after about half an hour's rough and +difficult journeying he came to a path. Whether to turn up or down, +to the right or the left, was a question which required some time to +decide; but at length he turned to the right, and walked onward. +Along this he went for nearly a mile. It then grew wider, and finally +became a broad way with thick, well-cut hedges on either side. It +seemed to him that he was approaching the central part of these +extensive grounds, and perhaps the house itself. This belief was +confirmed soon by the appearance of a number of statues and vases +which ornamented the pathway. The fear of approaching the house and +of being seen made him hesitate for some time; yet his curiosity was +strong, and his eagerness to investigate irrepressible. He felt that +this opportunity was too good a one to lose, and so he walked on +rapidly yet watchfully. At length the path made a sudden sweep, and +he saw a sight before him which arrested his steps. He saw a broad +avenue, into which his path led not many paces before him. And at no +great distance off, toward the right, appeared the top of the villa +emerging from among trees. Yet these things did not attract his +attention, which centered itself wholly on a man whom he saw in the +avenue. +<br> +<br> +This man was tall, broad-shouldered, with rugged features and wide, +square brow. He wore a dress-coat and a broad-brimmed hat of Tuscan +straw. In an instant, and with a surprise that was only equaled by +his fear, Gualtier recognized the form and features of Obed Chute, +which had, in one interview in New York, been very vividly impressed +on his memory. Almost at the same time Obed happened to see him, so +that retreat was impossible. He looked at him carelessly and then +turned away; but a sudden thought seemed to strike him; he turned +once more, regarded the intruder intently, and then walked straight +up to him. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXVIII. +<br> +<br> +THE VISION OF THE DEAD. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier stood rooted to the spot, astounded at such a discovery. His +first impulse was flight. But that was impossible. The hedgeway on +either side was high and thick, preventing any escape. The flight +would have to be made along the open path, and in a chase he did not +feel confident that he could escape. Besides, he felt more like +relying on his own resources. He had a hope that his disguise might +conceal him. Other thoughts also passed through his mind at that +moment. How did this Obed Chute come here? Was he the Milor Inglese? +How did he come into connection with Lord Chetwynde, of all others? +Were they working together on some dark plot against Hilda? That +seemed the most natural thing to believe. +<br> +<br> +But he had no time for thought, for even while these were passing +through his mind Obed was advancing toward him, until finally he +stood before him, confronting him with a dark frown. There was +something in his face which showed Gualtier that he was recognized. +<br> +<br> +"You!" cried Obed; "you! I thought so, and it is so, by the Lord! I +never forget a face. You scoundrel! what do you want? What are you +doing here? What are you following me for? Are you on that business +again? Didn't I give you warning in New York?" +<br> +<br> +There was something so menacing in his look, and in his wrathful +frown, that Gualtier started back a pace, and put his hand to his +breast-pocket to seize his revolver. +<br> +<br> +"No you don't!" exclaimed Obed, and quick as lightning he seized +Gualtier's hand, while he held his clenched fist in his face. +<br> +<br> +"I'm up to all those tricks," he continued, "and you can't come it +over me, you scoundrel! Here--off with all that trash." +<br> +<br> +And knocking off Gualtier's hat, as he held his hand in a grasp from +which the unhappy prisoner could not release himself, he tore off his +wig and his mustache. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier was not exactly a coward, for he had done things which +required great boldness and presence of mind, and Obed himself had +said this much in his criticisms upon Black Bill's story; but at the +present moment there was something in the tremendous figure of Obed, +and also in the fear which he had that all was discovered, which made +him cower into nothingness before his antagonist. Yet he said not a +word. +<br> +<br> +"And now," said Obed, grimly, "perhaps you'll have the kindness to +inform me what you are doing here--you, of all men in the +world--dodging about in disguise, and tracking my footsteps. What the +devil do you mean by sneaking after me again? You saw me once, and +that ought to have been enough. What do you want? Is it something +more about General Pomeroy? And what do you mean by trying to draw a +pistol on me on my own premises? Tell me the truth, you mean, +sallow-faced rascal, or I'll shake the bones out of your body!" +<br> +<br> +In an ordinary case of sudden seizure Gualtier might have contrived +to get out of the difficulty by his cunning and presence of mind. But +this was by no means an ordinary case. This giant who thus seemed to +come down upon him us suddenly as though he had dropped from the +skies, and who thundered forth these fierce, imperative questions in +his ear, did not allow him much space in which to collect his +thoughts, or time to put them into execution. There began to come +over him a terror of this man, whom he fancied to be intimately +acquainted with his whole career. "Thus conscience does make cowards +of us all," and Gualtier, who was generally not a coward, felt very +much like one on this occasion. Morally, as well as physically, he +felt himself crushed by his opponent. It was, therefore, with utter +helplessness, and the loss of all his usual strength of mind and +self-control, that he stammered forth his answer: +<br> +<br> +"I--I came here--to--to get some information." +<br> +<br> +"You came to get information, did you? Of course you did. Spies +generally do." +<br> +<br> +"I came to see you." +<br> +<br> +"To see _me_, hey? Then why didn't you come like a man? What's the +meaning of this disguise?" +<br> +<br> +"Because you refused information once, and I thought that if I came +in another character, with a different story, I might have a better +chance." +<br> +<br> +"Pooh! don't I see that you're lying? Why didn't you come up through +the avenue like a man, instead of sneaking along the paths? Answer me +that." +<br> +<br> +"I wasn't sneaking. I was merely taking a little stroll in your +beautiful grounds." +<br> +<br> +"Wasn't sneaking?" repeated Obed; "then I'd like very much to know +what sneaking is, for my own private information. If any man ever +looked like a sneak, you did when I first caught your eye." +<br> +<br> +"I wasn't sneaking," reiterated Gualtier; "I was simply strolling +about. I found a gate at the lower end of the park, and walked up +quietly. I was anxious to see you." +<br> +<br> +"Anxious to see me?" said Obed, with a peculiar intonation. +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Why, then, did you look scared out of your life when you did see me? +Answer me that." +<br> +<br> +"My answer is," said Gualtier, with an effort at calmness, "that I +neither looked scared nor felt scared. I dare say I may have put +myself on my guard, when you rushed at me." +<br> +<br> +"I didn't rush at you." +<br> +<br> +"It seemed to me so, and I fell back a step, and prepared for the +shock." +<br> +<br> +"Fell back a step!" sneered Obed; "you looked around to see if you +had any ghost of a chance to run for it, and saw you had none. That's +about it." +<br> +<br> +"You are very much mistaken," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"Young man," replied Obed, severely, "I'm never mistaken. So dry up." +<br> +<br> +"Well, since I've found you," said Gualtier, "will you allow me to +ask you a question?" +<br> +<br> +"What's that?--you found _me_? Why, you villain! I found _you_. You +are a cool case, too. Answer _you_ a question? Not a bit of it. But +I'll tell you what I will do. I intend to teach you a lesson that you +won't forget." +<br> +<br> +"Beware," said Gualtier, understanding the other's threat--"beware +how you offer violence to me." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, don't trouble yourself at all. I intend to beware. My first idea +was to kick you all the way out; but you're such a poor, pale, +pitiful concern that I'll be satisfied with only one parting kick. So +off with you!" +<br> +<br> +At this Obed released his grasp, and keeping Gualtier before him he +forced him along the avenue toward the gate. +<br> +<br> +"You needn't look round," said Obed, grimly, as he noticed a furtive +glance of Gualtier's. "And you needn't try to get at your revolver. +'Tain't any manner of use, for I've got one, and can use it better +than you, being an American born. You needn't try to walk faster +either," he continued, "for you can't escape. I can run faster than +you, my legs being longer. You don't know the grounds, either, half +so well as I do, although I dare say you've been sneaking about here +ever since I came. Bat let me tell you this, my friend, for your +information. You can't come it over me, nohow; for I'm a free +American, and I always carry a revolver. Take warning by that one +fact, and bear this in mind too--that if I ever see your villainous +face about here again, or if I find you prowling about after me any +where, I swear I'll blow your bloody brains out as sure as my name's +Obed Chute. I'll do it. I will, by the Eternal!" +<br> +<br> +With such cheerful remarks as these Obed entertained his companion, +or prisoner, whichever he was, until they reached the gate. The +porter opened it for them, and Gualtier made a wild bound forward. +But he was not quick enough; for Obed, true to his promise, was +intent on giving him that last kick of which he had spoken. He saw +Gualtier's start, and he himself sprang after him with fearful force. +Coming up to him, he administered to him one single blow with his +foot, so tremendous that it was like the stroke of a catapult, and +sent the unhappy wretch headlong to the ground. +<br> +<br> +After doing this Obed calmly went back, and thought for some time on +this singular adventure. He had his own ideas as to the pertinacity +of this man, and attributed it to some desire on his part to +investigate the old affair of the Chetwynde elopement. What his +particular personal interest might be he could not tell, nor did he +care much. In fact, at this time the question of his visitor's +motives hardly occupied his mind at all, so greatly were his thoughts +occupied with pleasurable reminiscences of his own parting salute. +<br> +<br> +As for Gualtier, it was different; and if his thoughts were also on +that parting salute, it was for some time. The blow had been a +terrible one; and as he staggered to his feet he found that he could +not walk without difficulty. He dragged himself along, overcome by +pain and bitter mortification, cursing at every step Obed Chute and +all belonging to him, and thus slowly and sullenly went down the +road. But the blow of the catapult had been too severe to admit of an +easy recovery. Every step was misery and pain; and so, in spite of +himself, he was forced to stop. But he dared not rest in any place +along the road-side; for the terror of Obed Chute was still strong +upon him, and he did not know but that this monster might still take +it into his head to pursue him, so as to exact a larger vengeance. So +he clambered up a bank on the roadside, where some trees were, and +among these he lay down, concealing himself from view. +<br> +<br> +Pain and terror and dark apprehensions of further danger affected his +brain. Concealed among these trees, he lay motionless, hardly daring +to breathe, and scarcely able to move. Amidst his pain there still +came to him a vague wonder at the presence of Obed Chute here in such +close friendship with Lord Chetwynde. How had such a friendship +arisen? How was it possible that these two had ever become +acquainted? Lord Chetwynde, who had passed his later life in India, +could scarcely ever have heard of this man; and even if he had heard +of this man, his connection with the Chetwynde family had been of +such a nature that an intimate friendship like this was the last +thing which might be expected. Such a friendship, unaccountable as it +might be, between these two, certainly existed, for he had seen +sufficient proofs of it; yet what Lord Chetwynde's aims were he +could not tell. It seemed as though, by some singular freak of +fortune, he had fallen in love with Obed Chute's wife, and was having +clandestine meetings with her somewhere. If so, Obed Chute was the +very man to whom Hilda might reveal her knowledge, with the assurance +that the most ample vengeance would be exacted by him on the +destroyer of his peace and the violator of his friendship. +<br> +<br> +Amidst his pain, and in spite of it, these thoughts came, and others +also. He could not help wondering whether in this close association +of these two they had not some one common purpose. Was it possible +that they could know any thing about Hilda? This was his first +thought; and nothing could show more plainly the unselfish nature of +the love of this base man than that at a time like this he should +think of her rather than himself. Yet so it was. His thought was, Do +they suspect _her_? Has Lord Chetwynde some dark design against her, +and are they working in unison? As far as he could see there was no +possibility of any such design. Hilda's account of Lord Chetwynde's +behavior toward her showed him simply a kind of tolerance of her, as +though he deemed her a necessary evil, but none of that aversion +which he would have shown had he felt the faintest suspicion of the +truth. That truth would have been too terrific to have been borne +thus by any one. No. He must believe that Hilda was really his wife, +or he could not be able to treat her with that courtesy which he +always showed--which, cold though it might be in her eyes, was still +none the less the courtesy which a gentleman shows to a lady who is +his equal. But had he suspected the truth she would have been a +criminal of the basest kind, and courtesy from him to her would have +been impossible. He saw plainly, therefore, that the truth with +regard to Hilda could not be in any way even suspected, and that thus +far she was safe. Another thing showed that there could be no +connection between these two arising out of their family affairs. +Certainly Lord Chetwynde, with his family pride, was not the man who +could ally himself to one who was familiar with the family shame; +and, moreover, Hilda had assured him, from her own knowledge, that +Lord Chetwynde had never learned any thing of that shame. He had +never known it at home, he could not have found it out very easily in +India, and in whatever way he had become acquainted with this +American, it was scarcely probable that he could have found it out +from him. Obed Chute was evidently his friend; but for that very +reason, and from the very nature of the case, he could not possibly +be known to Lord Chetwynde as the sole living contemporary witness of +his mother's dishonor. Obed Chute himself was certainly the last man +in the world, as Gualtier thought, who would have been capable of +volunteering such information as that. These conclusions to which he +came were natural, and were based on self-evident truths. Yet still +the question remained: How was it that these two men, who more than +all others were connected with those affairs which most deeply +affected himself and Hilda, and from whom he had the chief if not the +only reason to fear danger, could now be joined in such intimate +friendship? And this was a question which was unanswerable. +<br> +<br> +As Hilda's position seemed safe, he thought of his own, and wondered +whether there could be danger to himself from this. Singularly +enough, on that eventful day he had been seen by both Lord Chetwynde +and Obed Chute. Lord Chetwynde, he believed, could not have +recognized him, or he would not have given up the pursuit so readily. +Obed Chute had not only recognized him, but also captured him, and +not only captured him, but very severely punished him; yet the very +fact that Obed Chute had suffered him to go showed how complete his +ignorance must be of the true state of the case. If he had but known +even a portion of the truth he would never have allowed him to go; if +he and Lord Chetwynde were really allied in an enterprise such as he +at first feared when he discovered that alliance, then he himself +would have been detained. True, Obed Chute knew no more of him than +this, that he had once made inquiries about the Chetwynde family +affairs; yet, in case of any serious alliance on their part, this of +itself would have been sufficient cause for his detention. Yet Obed +Chute had sent him off. What did that show? This, above all, that he +could not have any great purpose in connection with his friend. +<br> +<br> +Amidst all these thoughts his sufferings were extreme. He lay there +fearful of pursuit, yet unable to move, distracted by pain both of +body and mind. Time passed on, but his fears continued unabated. He +was excited and nervous. The pain had brought on a deep physical +prostration, which deprived him of his usual self-possession. Every +moment he expected to see a gigantic figure in a dress-coat and a +broad-brimmed hat of Tuscan straw, with stern, relentless face and +gleaming eyes, striding along the road toward him, to seize him in a +resistless grasp, and send him to some awful fate; or, if not that, +at any rate to administer to him some tremendous blow, like that +catapultian kick, which would hurl him in an instant into oblivion. +<br> +<br> +The time passed by. He lay there in pain and in fear. Excitement and +suffering had disordered his brain. The constant apprehension of +danger made him watchful, and his distempered imagination made him +fancy that every sound was the footstep of his enemy. Watchful +against this, he held his pistol in his nerveless grasp, feeling +conscious at the same time how ineffectively he would use it if the +need for its use should arise. The road before him wound round the +hill up which he had clambered in such a way that but a small part of +it was visible from where he sat. Behind him rose the wall of the +park, and all around the trees grew thickly and sheltered him. +<br> +<br> +Suddenly, as he looked there with ceaseless vigilance, he became +aware of a figure that was moving up the road. It was a woman's form. +The figure was dressed in white, the face was white, and round that +face there were gathered great masses of dark hair. To his disordered +senses it seemed at that moment as if this figure glided along the +ground. +<br> +<br> +Filled with a kind of horror, he raised himself up, one hand still +grasping the pistol, while the other clutched a tree in front of him +with a convulsive grasp, his eyes fixed on this figure. Something in +its outline served to create all this new fear that had arisen, and +fascinated his gaze. To his excited sensibility, now rendered morbid +by the terrors of the last few hours, this figure, with its white +robes, seemed like something supernatural sent across his path. It +was dim twilight, and the object was a little indistinct; yet he +could see it sufficiently well. There was that about it which sent an +awful suspicion over him. All that Hilda had told him recurred to his +mind. +<br> +<br> +And now, just as the figure was passing, and while his eyes were +riveted on it, the face slowly and solemnly turned toward him. +<br> +<br> +At the sight of the face which was thus presented there passed +through him a sudden pang of unendurable anguish--a spasm of terror +so intolerable that it might make one die on the spot. For a moment +only he saw that face. The next moment it had turned away. The figure +passed on. Yet in that moment he had seen the face fully and +perfectly. He had recognized it! He knew it as the face of one who +now lay far down beneath the depths of the sea--of one whom he had +betrayed--whom he had done to death! This was the face which now, in +all the pallor of the grave, was turned toward him, and seemed to +change him to stone as he gazed. +<br> +<br> +The figure passed on--the figure of Zillah--to this +conscience-stricken wretch a phantom of the dead; and he, overwhelmed +by this new horror, sank back into insensibility. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXIX. +<br> +<br> +THE VISION OF THE LOST. +<br> +<br> +It was twilight when Gualtier sank back senseless. When he at last +came to himself it was night. The moon was shining brightly, and the +wind was sighing through the pines solemnly and sadly. It was some +time before he could recall his scattered senses so as to understand +where he was. At last he remembered, and the gloom around him gave +additional force to the thrill of superstitious horror which was +excited by that remembrance. He roused himself with a wild effort, +and hunted in the grass for his pistol, which now was his only +reliance. Finding this, he hurried down toward the road. Every limb +now ached, and his brain still felt the stupefying effects of his +late swoon. It was only with extreme difficulty that he could drag +himself along; yet such was the horror on his mind that he despised +the pain, and hurried down the road rapidly, seeking only to escape +as soon as possible out from among the shadows of these dark and +terrible woods, and into the open plain. His hasty, hurried steps +were attended with the severest pain, yet he sped onward, and, at +last, after what seemed to him an interminable time, he emerged out +of the shadows of the forest into the broad, bright moonlight of the +meadows which skirt the Arno. Hurrying along for a few hundred yards, +he sank down at last by the roadside, completely exhausted. In about +an hour he resumed his journey, and then sank exhausted once more, +after traversing a few miles. It was sunrise before he readied the +inn where he stopped. All that day and the next night he lay in bed. +On the following day he went to Florence; and, taking the hour when +he knew that Lord Chetwynde was out, he called on Hilda. +<br> +<br> +He had not been there or seen her since that visit which he had paid +on his first arrival at Florence from England. He had firmly resolved +not to see her until he had done something of some consequence, and +by this resolution he intended that he should go to her as the +triumphant discoverer of the mystery which she sought to unravel. +Something had, indeed, been done, but the dark mystery lay still +unrevealed; and what he had discovered was certainly important, yet +not of such a kind as could excite any thing like a feeling of +triumph. He went to her now because he could not help it, and went in +bitterness and humiliation. That he should go at all under such +circumstances only showed how complete and utter had been his +discomfiture. But yet, in spite of this, there had been no cowardice +of which he could accuse himself, and he had shrunk from no danger. +He had dared Lord Chetwynde almost face to face. Flying from him, he +had encountered one whom he might never have anticipated meeting. +Last of all, he had been overpowered by the phantom of the dead. All +these were sufficient causes for an interview with Hilda, if it were +only for the sake of letting her know the fearful obstacles that were +accumulating before her, the alliance of her worst enemies, and the +reappearance of the spectre. +<br> +<br> +As Hilda entered the room and looked at him, she was startled at the +change in him. The hue of his face had changed from its ordinary +sallow complexion to a kind of grizzly pallor. His hands shook with +nervous tremulousness, his brow was contracted through pain, his eyes +had a wistful eagerness, and he seemed twenty years older. +<br> +<br> +"You do not look like a bearer of good news," said she, after shaking +hands with him in silence. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier shook his head mournfully. +<br> +<br> +"Have you found out nothing?" +<br> +<br> +He sighed. +<br> +<br> +"I'm afraid I've found out too much by far." +<br> +<br> +"What do you mean?" +<br> +<br> +"I hardly know. I only know this, that my searches have shown me that +the mystery is deeper than ever." +<br> +<br> +"You seem to me to be very quickly discouraged," said Hilda, in a +disappointed tone. +<br> +<br> +"That which I have found out and seen," said Gualtier, solemnly, "is +something which might discourage the most persevering, and appall the +boldest. My lady," he added, mournfully, "there is a power at work +which stands between you and the accomplishment of your purpose, and +dashes us back when that purpose seems nearest to its attainment." +<br> +<br> +"I do not understand you," said Hilda, slowly, while a dark +foreboding arose in her mind, and a fearful suspicion of Gualtier's +meaning. "Tell me what you mean, and what you have been doing since I +saw you last. You certainly must have had a very unusual experience." +<br> +<br> +It was with an evident effort that Gualtier was able to speak. His +words came painfully and slowly, and in this way he told his story. +<br> +<br> +He began by narrating the steps which he had taken to secure himself +from discovery by the use of a disguise, and his first tracking of +Lord Chetwynde to the gates of the villa. He described the situation +to her very clearly, and told her all that he had learned from the +peasants. He then told her how, by long watching, he had discovered +Lord Chetwynde's periodical visits, alternately made at the great and +the small gate, and had resolved to find out the reason of such very +singular journeys. +<br> +<br> +To all this Hilda listened with breathless interest and intense +emotion, which increased, if possible, up to that time when he was +noticed and pursued by Lord Chetwynde. Then followed the story of his +journey through the woods and the paths till he found himself face to +face with Obed Chute. +<br> +<br> +At the mention of this name she interrupted him with an exclamation +of wonder and despair, followed by many questions. She herself felt +all that perplexity at this discovery of his friendship with Lord +Chetwynde which Gualtier had felt, and all the thoughts which then +had occurred to him now came to her, to be poured forth in +innumerable questions. Such questions he was, of course, unable to +answer. The appearance of this man upon the scene was a circumstance +which excited in Hilda's mind vague apprehensions of some unknown +danger; yet his connection with Lord Chetwynde was so inexplicable +that it was impossible to know what to think or to fear. +<br> +<br> +The discussion of this new turn in the progress of things took up +some time. Exciting as this intelligence had been to Hilda, the +conclusion of Gualtier's narrative was far more so. This was the +climax, and Gualtier, who had been weak and languid in speaking about +the other things, here rose into unusual excitement, enlarging upon +every particular in that occurrence, and introducing all those +details which his own vivid imagination had in that moment of half +delirium thrown around the figure which he had seen. +<br> +<br> +"_It_ floated before me," said he, with a shudder; "its robes were +white, and hung down as though still dripping with the water of the +sea. It moved noiselessly until it came opposite to me, and then +turned its full face toward me. The eyes were bright and luminous, +and seemed to burn into my soul. They are before me yet. Never shall +I forget the horror of that moment. When the figure passed on I fell +down senseless." +<br> +<br> +"In the name of God!" burst forth Hilda, whose eyes dilated with the +terror of that tale, while she trembled from head to foot in fearful +sympathy, "is this true? Can it be? Did you, too, see _her_?" +<br> +<br> +"Herself, and no other!" answered Gualtier, in a scarce audible +voice. +<br> +<br> +"Once before," said Hilda, "that apparition came. It was to me. You +know what the effect was. I told you. You were then very cool and +philosophical. Yon found it very easy to account for it on scientific +principles. You spoke of excitement, imagination, and diseased optic +nerves. Now, in your own case, have you been able to account for this +in the same way?" +<br> +<br> +"I have not," said Gualtier. "Such arguments to me now seem to be +nothing but words--empty words, satisfactory enough, no doubt, to +those who have never had this revelation of another world, but idle +and meaningless to those who have seen what I have seen. Why, do I +not know that she is beneath the Mediterranean, and yet did I not see +her myself? You were right, though I did not understand your +feelings, when you found all my theories vain. Now, since I have had +your experience, I, too, find them vain. It's the old story--the old, +old hackneyed saying," he continued, wearily-- +<br> +<br> + "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,<br> + Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" +<br> +<br> +A long silence followed. +<br> +<br> +"We have been warned," said Hilda at length. "The dead arise before +us," she continued, solemnly, "to thwart our plans and our purposes. +The dead wife of Lord Chetwynde comes back from beneath the sea to +prevent our undertakings, and to protect him from us." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier said nothing. In his own soul he felt the deep truth of this +remark. Both sat now for some time in silence and in solemn +meditation, while a deep gloom settled down upon them. +<br> +<br> +At last Gualtier spoke. +<br> +<br> +"It would have been far better," said he, "if you had allowed me to +complete that business. It was nearly done. The worst was over. You +should not have interfered." +<br> +<br> +Hilda made no reply. In her own heart there were now wild desires, +and already she herself had become familiar with this thought. +<br> +<br> +"It can yet be done," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"But how can you do it again--after this?" said Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"You are now the one," replied Gualtier. "You have the power and the +opportunity. As for me, you know that I could not become his valet +again. The chance was once all my own, but you destroyed it. I dare +not venture before him again. It would be ruin to both of us. He +would recognize me under any disguise, and have me at once arrested. +But if you know any way in which I can be of use, or in which I can +have access to his presence, tell me, and I will gladly risk my life +to please you." +<br> +<br> +But Hilda knew of none, and had nothing to say. +<br> +<br> +"You, and you alone, have the power now," said Gualtier; "this work +must be done by you alone." +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Hilda, after a pause. "It is true, I have the power--I +have the power," she repeated, in a tone of gloomy resolve, "and the +power shall be exercised, either on him, _or on myself_." +<br> +<br> +"On _yourself_!" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Are you still thinking of such a thing as that?" asked Gualtier, +with a shudder. +<br> +<br> +"That thought," said Hilda, calmly, "has been familiar to me before, +as you very well know. It is still a familiar one, and it may be +acted upon at any moment." +<br> +<br> +"Would you dare to do it?" +<br> +<br> +"Dare to do it!" repeated Hilda. "Do you ask that question of me +after what I told you at Lausanne? Did I not tell you there that what +I dared to administer to another, I dared also to administer to +myself? You surely must remember how weak all those menaces of yours +proved when you tried to coerce me again as you had done once before. +You must know the reason why they were so powerless. It was because +to me all life, and all the honors and pleasures of life, had grown +to be nothing without that one aim after which I was seeking. Do you +not understand yet?" +<br> +<br> +"My God!" was Gualtier's reply, "how you love that man!" These words +burst forth involuntarily, as he looked at her in the anguish of his +despair. +<br> +<br> +Hilda's eyes fastened themselves on his, and looked at him out of the +depths of a despair which was deeper than his own--a despair which +had now made life valueless. +<br> +<br> +"You can not--you will not," exclaimed Gualtier, passionately. +<br> +<br> +"I can," said Hilda, "and it is very possible that I will." +<br> +<br> +"You do not know what it is that you speak about." +<br> +<br> +"I am not afraid of death," said Hilda, coldly, "if that is what you +mean. It can not be worse than this life of mine." +<br> +<br> +"But you do not understand what it means," said Gualtier. "I am not +speaking of the mere act itself, but of its consequences. Picture to +yourself Lord Chetwynde exulting over this, and seeing that hated +obstacle removed which kept him from his perfect happiness. You die, +and you leave him to pursue uninterrupted the joy that he has with +his paramour. Can you face such a thought as that? Would not this +woman rejoice at hearing of such a thing? Do you wish to add to their +happiness? Are you so sublimely self-sacrificing that you will die to +make Lord Chetwynde happy in his love?" +<br> +<br> +"How can he be happy in his love?" said Hilda. "She is married." +<br> +<br> +"She may not be. You only conjecture that. It may be her father whom +she guards against, or her guardian. Obed Chute is no doubt the +man--either her father or guardian, and Lord Chetwynde has to guard +against suspicion. But what then? If you die, can he not find some +other, and solace himself in her smiles, and in the wealth that will +now be all his own?" +<br> +<br> +These words stung Hilda to the quick, and she sat silent and +thoughtful. To die so as to get rid of trouble was one thing, but a +death which should have such consequences as these was a very +different thing. Singularly enough, she had never thought of this +before. And now, when the thought came, it was intolerable. It +produced within her a new revolution of feeling, and turned her +thoughts away from that gloomy idea which had so often haunted her. +<br> +<br> +"_He_ is the only one against whom you can work," continued Gualtier; +"and you alone have the power of doing it." +<br> +<br> +Hilda said nothing. If this work must be done by her, there were many +things to be considered, and these required time. +<br> +<br> +"But you will not desert me," said she, suddenly; for she fancied +from Gualtier's manner that he had given up all further idea of +helping her. +<br> +<br> +His face flushed. +<br> +<br> +"Is it possible that you can still find any way to employ me? This is +more than I hoped for. I feared that your indignation at my failure +would cause you to dismiss me as useless. If you can find any thing +for me to do, I can assure you that the only happiness that I can +have will be in doing that thing." +<br> +<br><img src="images/229.png" alt="The Dead And The Lost All Come To Me."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "The Dead And The Lost All Come To Me."] +<br> +<br> +"Your failure," said Hilda, "was not your fault. You have done well, +and suffered much. I am not ungrateful. You will be rewarded yet. I +shall yet have something for you to do. I will send for you when the +time comes." +<br> +<br> +She rose as she said this, and held out her hand to Gualtier. He took +it respectfully, and with an earnest look at her, full of gratitude +and devotion, he withdrew. +<br> +<br> +Hilda sat for a long time involved in deep thought. What should be +her next plan of action? Many different things suggested themselves, +but all seemed equally impracticable, or at least objectionable. Nor +was she as yet prepared to begin with her own hands, and by herself, +that part which Gualtier had suggested. Not yet were her nerves +steady enough. But the hint which Gualtier had thrown out about the +probable results of her own death upon Lord Chetwynde did more to +reconcile her to life than any thing that could have happened short +of actually gaining him for herself. +<br> +<br> +Wearied at last of fruitless plans and resultless thoughts, she went +out for a walk. She dressed herself in black, and wore a heavy black +crape veil which entirely concealed the features. She knew no one in +Florence from whom she needed to disguise herself, but her nature was +of itself secretive, and even in a thing like this she chose +concealment rather than openness. Besides, she had some vague hopes +that she might encounter Lord Chetwynde somewhere, perhaps with this +woman, and could watch him while unobserved herself. +<br> +<br> +She walked as far as the church of Santa Croce. She walked up the +steps with a vague idea of going in. As she walked up there came a +woman down the steps dressed in as deep mourning as Hilda herself. +She was old, she was slender, her veil was thrown back, and the white +face was plainly visible to Hilda as she passed. Hilda stood rooted +to the spot, though the other woman did not notice her emotion, nor +could she have seen her face through the veil. She stood paralyzed, +and looking after the retreating figure as it moved away. +<br> +<br> +"The dead and the lost," she murmured, as she stood there with +clasped hands--"the dead and the lost all come to me! Mrs. Hart! +About her face there can be no mistake. What is she doing here--in +the same town with Lord Chetwynde? Am I ruined yet or not? I'm afraid +I have not much time left me to run my course." +<br> +<br> +In deep despondency she retraced her steps, and went back to her +room. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXX. +<br> +<br> +NEW PROJECTS. +<br> +<br> +The unexpected appearance of Mrs. Hart was in many respects, and for +many reasons, an awful shock to Hilda. It was a new danger, less +terrible than that which had arisen from the phantom which had twice +appeared, yet perhaps in reality more perilous. It filled her with +apprehensions of the worst. All that night she lay awake thinking +over it. How had Mrs. Hart come to Florence, and why, and what was +she doing here? Such were her thoughts. Was she also in connection +with Lord Chetwynde and with this Obed Chute? It seemed probable. If +so, then it seemed equally probable that there was some design on +foot against her. At first the thought of this inspired in her a +great fear, and a desire to fly from the impending danger. For a +moment she almost decided to give up her present purpose forever, +collect as much money as she could, and fly to some distant place, +where she might get rid of all her danger and forget all her +troubles. But this thought was only momentary, for higher than her +desire for comfort or peace of mind rose her thirst for vengeance. It +would not satisfy her that she alone should suffer. Lord Chetwynde +also should have his own share, and she would begin by unmasking him +and revealing his intrigue to her supposed husband. +<br> +<br> +On the following day Gualtier called, and in a few words she told him +what had taken place. +<br> +<br> +"Are you really confident that it was Mrs. Hart?" he asked, with some +anxiety. +<br> +<br> +"As confident as I am of my own existence. Indeed, no mistake was +possible." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked deeply troubled. +<br> +<br> +"It looks bad," said he; "but, after all, there are ways of +accounting for it. She may have heard that Lord Chetwynde intended to +go to Italy and to Florence--for it was quite possible that he +mentioned it to her at the Castle--and when she went away she may +have intended to come here in search of him. I dare say she went to +London first, and found out from his solicitors where he had gone. +There isn't the slightest probability, at any rate, that he can have +met with her. If he had met with her, you would have known it +yourself soon enough. She would have been here to see his wife, with +the same affectionate solicitude which she showed once before--which +you told me of. No. Rest assured Lord Chetwynde knows nothing of her +presence here. There are others who take up all his thoughts. It +seems probable, also, that she has just arrived, and there is no +doubt that she is on the look-out for him. At any rate, there is one +comfort. You are sure, you say, that she did not recognize you?" +<br> +<br> +"No; that was impossible; for I wore a thick veil. No one could +possibly distinguish my features. +<br> +<br> +"And she can not, of course, suspect that you are here?" +<br> +<br> +"She can not have any such suspicion, unless we have been ourselves +living in the dark all this time--unless she is really in league with +Lord Chetwynde. And who can tell? Perhaps all this time this Chute +and Mrs. Hart and Lord Chetwynde have their own designs, and are +quietly weaving a net around me from which I can not escape. Who can +tell? Ah! how easily I could escape--if it were not for one thing!" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, as to that, you may dismiss the idea," said Gualtier, +confidently; "and as for Lord Chetwynde, you may rest assured that he +does not think enough about you to take the smallest trouble one way +or another." +<br> +<br> +Hilda's eyes blazed. +<br> +<br> +"He shall have cause enough to think about me yet," she cried. "I +have made up my mind what I am to do next." +<br> +<br> +"What is that?" +<br> +<br> +"I intend to go myself to Obed Chute's villa." +<br> +<br> +"The villa! Yourself!" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"You!" +<br> +<br> +"I--myself. _You_ can not go." +<br> +<br> +"No. But how can you go?" +<br> +<br> +"Easily enough. I have nothing to fear." +<br> +<br> +"But this man is a perfect demon. How will you be able to encounter +him? He would treat you as brutally as a savage. I know him well. I +have reason to. You are not the one to go there." +<br> +<br> +"Oh yes, lam," said Hilda, carelessly. "You forget what a difference +there is between a visit from you and a visit from me." +<br> +<br> +"There is a difference, it is true; but I doubt whether Obed Chute is +the man to see it. At any rate, you can not think of going +without some pretext. And what one can you possibly have that will be +at all plausible?" +<br> +<br> +"Pretext! I have the best in the world. It is hardly a pretext +either. I intend to go openly, in my own proper person--as Lady +Chetwynde." +<br> +<br> +"As Lady Chetwynde!" repeated Gualtier, in amazement. "What do you +mean? Would it be too much to ask you what your plan may be, or what +it is that you may have in view?" +<br> +<br> +"It's simple enough," said Hilda. "It is this. You will understand it +readily enough, I think. You see, I have discovered by accident some +mysterious writing in cipher, which by another accident I have been +enabled to unravel. Now you understand that this writing makes very +serious charges indeed against my father, the late General Pomeroy. +He is dead; but I, as an affectionate daughter, am most anxious to +understand the meaning of this fearful accusation thus made against +the best of men. I have seen the name of this Obed Chute mentioned in +some of the papers connected with the secret writing, and have found +certain letters from him referring to the case. Having heard very +unexpectedly that he is in Florence, I intend to call on him to +implore him to explain to me all this mystery." +<br> +<br> +"That is admirable," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"Of course it is," said Hilda; "nothing, indeed, could be better. +This will give me admission to the villa. Once in there, I shall have +to rely upon circumstances. Whatever those circumstances may be, I +shall, at least, be confronted with Lord Chetwynde, and find out who +this woman is. I hope to win the friendship and the confidence of +these people. They will pity me, sympathize with me, and invite me +there. If Lord Chetwynde is such a friend, they can hardly overlook +his wife. The woman, whoever she may be, even if she hates me, as she +must, will yet see that it is her best policy to be at least civil to +me. And that will open a way to final and complete vengeance." +<br> +<br> +To this plan Gualtier listened in unfeigned admiration. +<br> +<br> +"You have solved the mystery!" said he, excitedly. "You will--you +must succeed, where I have failed so miserably." +<br> +<br> +"No," said Hilda, "you have not failed. Had it not been for you I +could never have had this chance. It is by your discovery of Obed +Chute that you have made my present course possible. You have +suffered for my cause, but your sufferings will make that cause at +last triumphant." +<br> +<br> +"For such a result as that I would suffer ten thousand times more," +said Gualtier, in impassioned tones. +<br> +<br> +"You will not be exposed to any further sufferings, my friend," said +Hilda. "I only want your assistance now." +<br> +<br> +"It is yours already. Whatever you ask I am ready to do." +<br> +<br> +"What I ask is not much," said Hilda. "I merely want you to be near +the spot, so as to be in readiness to assist me." +<br> +<br> +"On the spot! Do you mean at the villa?" +<br> +<br> +"No, not at the villa, but near it, somewhere along the road. I wish +you to see who goes and comes. Go out there to-day, and watch. You +need not go within a mile of the villa itself; that will be enough. +You will then know when Lord Chetwynde comes. You can watch from +behind some hedge, I suppose. Can you do that?" +<br> +<br> +"That?--that is but a slight thing. Most willingly will I do this, +and far more, no matter what, even if I have to face a second time +that phantom." +<br> +<br> +"I will go out to-morrow, or on the following day. I want you to be +on the watch, and see who may go to the villa, so that when I come +you may let me know. I do not want to call unless I positively know +that Lord Chetwynde will be there, and the family also. They may +possibly go out for a drive, or something may happen, and this is +what I want you to be on the look-out for. If Lord Chetwynde is +there, and that woman, there will probably be a scene," continued +Hilda, gloomily; "but it will be a scene in which, from the very +nature of the case, I ought to be triumphant. I've been suffering too +much of late. It is now about time for a change, and it seems to me +that it is now my turn to have good fortune. Indeed, I can not +conceive how there can be any failure. The only possible awkwardness +would be the presence of Mrs. Hart. If she should be there, +then--why, then, I'm afraid all would be over. That is a risk, +however, and I must run it." +<br> +<br> +"That need not be regarded," said Gualtier. "If Mrs. Hart had found +Lord Chetwynde, you would have known it before this." +<br> +<br> +"That is my chief reliance." +<br> +<br> +"Have you those papers?" +<br> +<br> +"Papers?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes; the cipher and the letters." +<br> +<br> +"Oh yes. Did I not say that I had them all?" +<br> +<br> +"No. I thought that you had given them all to--to _her_," said +Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +"So I did; but I got them back, and have kept them, I don't know why. +I suppose it was from an instinct of forecast. Whatever was the +reason, however, they are now of priceless value. For they enable me +now to go as the daughter of one who has been charged in these papers +with the commission of the most atrocious crimes. This must all be +explained to me, and by this Obed Chute, who is the only living +person who can do it." +<br> +<br> +"I am glad that what I have done will be useful to you," said +Gualtier. "You may trust to me now to do all that man can do. I will +go and watch and wait till you come." +<br> +<br> +Hilda thereupon expressed the deepest gratitude to him, and she did +this in language far more earnest than any which she had ever before +used to him. It may have been the consciousness that this would be +the last service which he was to perform for her; it may have been an +intentional recognition of his past acts of love and devotion; it may +have been a tardy act of recognition of all his fidelity and +constancy; but, whatever it was, her words sank deep into his soul. +<br> +<br> +"Those words," said he, "are a reward for all the past. May I not yet +hope for a future reward?" +<br> +<br> +"You may, my friend. Did I not give you my promise?" +<br> +<br> +"_Hilda_!" +<br> +<br> +This word burst from him. It was the first time that he had so +addressed her. Not even in the hour of his triumph and coercion had +he ventured upon this. But now her kindness had emboldened him. He +took her hand, and pressed it to his lips. +<br> +<br> +"I have a presentiment of evil," said he. "We may never meet again. +But you will not forget me?" +<br> +<br> +Hilda gave a long sigh. +<br> +<br> +"If we meet again," said she, "we shall see enough of one another. +If not"--and she paused for a moment--"if not, then"--and a solemn +cadence came to her voice--"then you will be the one who will +remember, and _I_ shall be the one _to be remembered_. Farewell, my +friend!" +<br> +<br> +She held out her hand. +<br> +<br> +Once more Gualtier pressed it to his lips. +<br> +<br> +Then he took his departure. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXXI. +<br> +<br> +A RACE FOR LIFE. +<br> +<br> +On leaving Hilda Gualtier went out to the villa. Before his departure +he furnished himself with a new disguise, different from his former +one, and one, too, which he thought would be better adapted to his +purposes of concealment. A gray wig, a slouched hat, and the dress of +a peasant, served to give him the appearance of an aged countryman, +while a staff which he held in his hand, and a stoop in his +shoulders, heightened the disguise. He got a lift on a wine-cart for +some miles, and at length reached a place not far away from the +villa. +<br> +<br> +The villa itself, as it rose up from among surrounding trees, on a +spur of the Apennines, was in sight. On either side of the valley +rose the mountains. The Arno, as it wound along, approached the place +on this side of the valley, and the mountains were not more than half +a mile distant, though on the other the plain was several miles in +width. The place which Gualtier had chosen seemed to him to be quite +near enough to the villa for observation, and far enough distant for +safety. The thought of a possible encounter with Obed Chute was ever +present in his mind, and this time he determined to guard against all +surprise, and, if an encounter should be inevitable, to use his +revolver before his enemy could prevent him. His pride and his +manhood both urged him to gain some satisfaction for that shame on +both which he had experienced. +<br> +<br> +After watching one afternoon he obtained lodging at a humble +farm-house, and when the next morning came he rose refreshed by +sleep, and encouraged by the result of his meditations. He began to +be hopeful about final success. The scheme which Hilda had formed +seemed to be one which could not fail by any possibility. Whatever +Hilda's own purposes might be, to him they meant one thing plainly, +and that was a complete and irreparable breach between herself and +Lord Chetwynde. To him this was the first desire of his heart, since +that removed the one great obstacle that lay between him and her. If +he could only see her love for Lord Chetwynde transformed to +vengeance, and find them changed from their present attitude of +friendship to one of open and implacable enmity, then his own hopes +and prospects would be secured, as he thought. Already he saw the +beginning of this. In Hilda's manner, in her tone, in her looks, he +marked the fierce anger and vengeful feeling which had now taken +possession of her. He had witnessed also a greater consideration for +himself, arising this time not out of coercion, but from free-will. +All this was in his favor. Whether she could ever fully succeed in +her thirst for vengeance did not much matter. Indeed, it was better +for him that the desire should not be carried out, but that she +should remain unsatisfied, for then Lord Chetwynde would only become +all the more hateful to her every day, and that hate would serve to +give to him fresh opportunities of binding her to himself. +<br> +<br> +All these thoughts encouraged him. A hope began to rise within his +heart brighter than any which he had ever dared to entertain before. +He found himself now so completely identified with Hilda's dearest +plans and purposes, and so much deeper an understanding between them, +that it was impossible for him to refrain from encouraging his hopes +to the utmost. +<br> +<br> +Now, as he sat there watching, his fears of danger grew weaker, and +he felt emboldened to venture nearer, so as to fulfill to the utmost +the wishes of Hilda. Her image drove out from his thoughts the +frowning face of Obed Chute, and the white form of that phantom whose +aspect had once crushed him into lifelessness. He thought that it was +but a feeble devotion to wait in ambush at such a distance, when, by +venturing nearer, he might learn much more. Hours passed, and there +was no sign of any one belonging to the villa either going or coming, +and at length the thought that was in his mind grew too strong to be +resisted. He determined to venture nearer--how near he did not know; +at any rate, he could safely venture much nearer than this. Had he +not his disguise, and was he not armed? And when he met Hilda would +it not be shame to him if he could only tell her that he had staid so +far away, and had feared to venture nearer? +<br> +<br> +He started off. His bowed form, white face, peasant garb, and the +staff which supported his unsteady steps, he thought would be surely +an impenetrable disguise. True, once before the keen glance of Obed +Chute had penetrated his disguise, but then the circumstances under +which they met were suspicious. Now, even if he should chance to meet +him, he could not be suspected. Who would suspect an aged peasant +toiling along the public highway? +<br> +<br> +He gained fresh courage at every step. As he drew nearer and still +nearer to the villa he began to think of venturing into the grounds +once more. He thought that if he did so he could be more guarded, and +steal along through the trees, beside the paths, and not on them. The +thought became a stronger temptation to him every moment, and at +length, as he advanced nearer, he had almost decided to venture into +that little gate, which was now full in view. He sat down by the +road-side and looked at it. At length he rose and walked on, having +made up his mind to pass through, at any rate, and be guided by +circumstances. It would be something to his credit, he thought, if he +could only tell Hilda that he had been in those grounds again. +<br> +<br> +But as he advanced he heard the sound of approaching wheels. Some +carriage was coming rapidly down the road toward him, and he paused +for a moment, as the idea struck him that possibly the tremendous +Obed Chute might be in it. He walked on very slowly, looking keenly +ahead. +<br> +<br> +Soon the carriage came into view from behind a bend in the road. A +thrill passed through Gualtier in spite of himself. He grasped his +staff in his right hand, and plunging his left into his +breast-pocket, he grasped his pistol. Nearer and nearer the carriage +came, and he could easily recognize the square face, broad shoulders, +and stalwart frame of Obed Chute. With him there was a lady, whose +face he could not as yet recognize. And now there arose within him an +intense desire to see the face of this lady. She was beyond a doubt +the very one of whom Lord Chetwynde was so eager and so constant in +his pursuit. Could he but see her face once it would be a great gain, +for he could recognize her elsewhere, and thus do something of +importance in assisting Hilda. With this determination in his mind he +went on, and bowing down his head like a decrepit old man, he hobbled +along, leaning on his staff, but at the same time keeping his eyes +upturned and fixed on the lady. +<br> +<br> +The carriage came nearer and nearer. A strange feeling came over +Gualtier--something like an anguish of fear and of wonder. At last +the lady's face became plainly discernible. That face! White it was, +and the whiteness was intensified by the deep blackness of the hair, +while the eyes were large and lustrous, and rested full upon him in +something like pity. That face! Was this another vision? +<br> +<br> +Great God! +<br> +<br><img src="images/233.png" alt="'Stop!' She Cried, Tearing With One Hand At The Reins."> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "'Stop!' She Cried, Tearing With One Hand At The +Reins."] +<br> +<br> +A groan burst from him as this face thus revealed itself. What was +this? What did it mean? Was this, too, a phantom? Was it a deceit and +mockery of his senses? Was it an eidolon from the realms of death, or +could it be an actual material object--a living being? Here was one +whom he _knew_ to be dead. How came she here? Or by what marvel could +any one else so resemble her? Yet it was not a resemblance. It was +_herself_! +<br> +<br> +His brain whirled. All thoughts of all things else faded away in that +horror and in that surprise. Spell-bound he stood, while his face was +upturned and his eyes were fixed on the lady. +<br> +<br> +And thus, as he stood rooted to the spot, motionless and staring, the +carriage came whirling up and flashed past him. That singular figure, +in the peasant garb, with rigid face, and with horror in his eyes, +which stared like the eyes of a maniac, attracted the look of the +lady. At first she had a vague idea that it was a beggar, but on +coming closer she recognized all. As the carriage dashed by she +sprang suddenly to her feet with a piercing scream. She snatched the +reins convulsively and tore at them in a sort of frenzy. +<br> +<br> +"It is _he_! It is _he_! Stop!" she cried, tearing with one hand at +the reins and with the other gesticulating vehemently in some +uncontrollable passion. "It is he--it is Gualtier! Stop! Quick! Seize +him, or it will be too late!" +<br> +<br> +That scream and those words roused Obed. He, too, had noticed the +figure by the roadside, but he had only thrown a careless glance. The +words of Zillah, however, thrilled through him. He pulled in the +horses savagely. They were foaming and plunging. +<br> +<br> +As he did this Zillah dropped the reins, and with trembling frame, +and eyes flashing with excitement, stood staring back. +<br> +<br> +"There! there!" she cried--"there, I tell you, is Gualtier, my +assassin! He is disguised! I know him! It is Gualtier! He is tracking +me now! Stop him! Seize him! Don't let him escape! Make haste!" +<br> +<br> +These words burst from her like a torrent, and these, with her wild +gesticulations, showed the intensity of her excitement. In an instant +Obed had divined the whole meaning of this. A man in disguise had +already penetrated even into his grounds. This he thought was the +same man, in another disguise, still haunting the place and prowling +about with his sinister motive. By Zillah's words he saw that she had +recognized this man Zillah's words he saw that she had recognized +this man as that very Gualtier after whom he had been searching so +long, and whose name had been so constantly in his mind. And now, in +the same instant, he saw that the man who had once sought him in +America, and who had recently ventured into his park, was the very +one who had betrayed Miss Lorton--the man on whose track he had been +setting the police of England, France, and Italy. +<br> +<br> +It was but for an instant that this thought filled his mind. In +another instant Obed had flung down the reins and sprung into the +road. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Gualtier had stood motionless, horror-stricken, and +paralyzed. But the scream of Zillah and her frantic words had shown +him beyond the possibility of a doubt that she was at any rate alive, +and more than this, that she had recognized him. How she had thus +come to life he could not know, nor was there time to conjecture. For +now another danger was impending, and, in the person of Obed Chute, +was rushing down swiftly upon him. At the sight of this new peril he +hesitated not a moment, but snatched his pistol, took aim, and fired +shot after shot. But in his haste and agitation a correct aim was +impossible. He fired wildly. Four bullets, one after the other, +whistled through the air past Obed's head, yet he still came on. The +vision of that awful face rushing down upon him thus through the +smoke-clouds, with vengeance gleaming from the eyes, and the resolute +mouth close shut in implacable sternness, was sufficient to show +Gualtier that his career was nearly run. He had a sudden feeling that +all was lost. With a wild leap he bounded over the ditch by the +roadside, and tore over the fields with the frantic speed of one +flying from death. +<br> +<br> +But the avenger was at his heels. +<br> +<br> +To fly from vengeance and from death is a thing that brings a strong +motive to exertion, but there are other things sometimes which may +give an equal impulse. Gualtier was lithe, sinewy, and agile, nimble +of foot too, and inspired by the consciousness of danger; but the man +who pursued him was one whose mighty thews and sinews had been formed +under the shadows of the Alleghanies, and trained by years of early +experience to every exercise of strength. This man also was inspired +by a feeling which could contribute a motive for exertion as powerful +as the fear which filled the heart of Gualtier, and his own pride, +his honor, and his affection for Zillah, all urged him on. He +followed fast, and followed faster. Gualtier had a long start, but +Obed steadily gained, until at last the fugitive could hear the +footsteps of his pursuer. +<br> +<br> +Between the skirts of the hills and the Arno there was a plain about +two miles in width. On the other side of the river the fields spread +away again for a wider extent, interspersed with groves and +vineyards. The Arno was full, and flowing rapidly. Here, then, seemed +to be to the fugitive the last chance for escape--here, in that +swift-flowing river. Gualtier could swim admirably. Toward this river +he turned his flying steps, thinking that his pursuer might not be +able to follow, and hoping for safety here. Yet all the time he +expected to hear a pistol-shot, for Obed had already told him, in +that memorable meeting in the park, that he earned a revolver. That +he did not use it now seemed to Gualtier to show plainly that he must +have left it behind. As for Obed, he neither fired a pistol-shot nor +threatened to fire one. He did not even draw his revolver from his +pocket. He simply ran as fast as he could after the fugitive. +<br> +<br> +That fugitive, in order to gain the river, was compelled to run +obliquely, and thus he gave an additional advantage to his pursuer, +who tried to head him off, and thus was able to gain on him by some +additional paces. But to Gualtier that river-bank was now the place +of salvation, and that was at any rate a last resort. Besides this, +his pistol still was in his hand, and in it there still remained two +shots, which might yet avail him at the last moment. Onward, then, he +bounded with frantic exertions while these thoughts sped through his +mind. But, mingled with these, there came strange floating thoughts +of that figure in the carriage--that one who had met with a wondrous +resurrection from the death to which he had sent her, and who was now +looking on at his flight, and the pursuit of her avenger. All these +various thoughts swept confusedly through his brain in the madness of +that hour; for thus it is that often, when death seems to impend, the +mind becomes endowed with colossal powers, and all the events of a +stormy and agitated life can be crowded into one moment. Now, as +Gualtier fled, and as he contrived his plan of escape by the river, +there were in his mind, parallel with these thoughts, others of equal +power--thoughts of that fair young girl whom he had cast adrift in a +sinking ship on the wide midnight sea. Saved she had been, beyond a +doubt, for there she was, with her eyes fixed on him in his agony. +Avenged she would be also, unless he could escape that terrible +pursuer who now every moment came faster and faster behind. +<br> +<br> +Avenged? No, not yet. Still there was a chance. The river flowed near +with its full stream. The opposite shores seemed to invite him; the +trees and groves and vineyards there seemed to beckon him onward. At +last his feet were on the bank. One plunge, he thought, arid he would +be safe. But for one instant he delayed that plunge. There were other +desires in his heart than that of safety--there was the desire for +vengeance. Still there was a chance left. His pistol was in his +hand--it yet held two shots. In these he might find both safety and +vengeance. +<br> +<br> +Suddenly he turned as he reached the bank, and instantaneously he +discharged the last shots of the pistol at his pursuer. Then he +plunged headlong into the river. +<br> +<br> +Another pursuer, even if he had not fallen, might have faltered at +all these pistol-shots. Not so Obed. To him the revolver was a +familiar thing--a toy, in fact, the sport of all his life. Often +before had pistol-shots whistled about his head, and under +circumstances far more dangerous than this. Obed's life had been a +varied one, and he could tell many strange tales of adventures in the +western parts of America--that country where civilized man has +encountered, and can still encounter, those tribes which are his most +formidable foes. If at that moment Obed could have bared his mighty +body to plunge into the Arno, he could have exhibited a vast number +of old scars from wounds which had been received in Kansas, in +California, and in Mexico. But Obed had not time to bare his mighty +body. As those last pistol-shots flashed before him he had not time +even to wink his eyes, but rushing on with unabated vigor, he reached +the river's bank, and in a moment had plunged in after Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +The fugitive heard that plunge. He heard behind him the quick strokes +of a strong swimmer, and then he knew and felt that all was lost. +Upon that last chance he had staked every thing, and that last chance +had failed utterly. This man who had insulted him, bullied him, and +overpowered him--this man who had been impervious to his shots on the +road and on the river-bank--this man who had gained on him steadily +in that desperate race for life which he had run--this demon of a man +was now gaining on him in the water also! If his pursuer had stood on +the bank and had shot him, he might have received the wound and sank +to death without a murmur. But to be followed so, to be caught, to be +dragged back--this was the terror and the shame. This stimulated him +to fiercer exertions. Despair itself gave a kind of madness to his +efforts. But terror and shame and despair itself could not snatch him +from the grasp of his remorseless pursuer. Nearer and nearer that +pursuer came; more and more desperate grew Gualtier's efforts. In +vain. As he struck out with almost superhuman exertions he suddenly +felt his foot grasped by a resistless hand. All was over. That +despair which a moment before had intensified his efforts now relaxed +his strength. He felt himself dragged back to the shore from which he +had been flying. He was lost! He struggled no longer to escape, but +only to keep his head above water, from an instinct of +self-preservation. And in that anguish of fear and despair that now +settled upon his soul he had a vague terror that on the moment of +landing he would be annihilated. +<br> +<br> +But, instead of that, he felt himself raised to his feet, and the +strong grasp relaxed its hold. He looked up at his captor, and saw +him standing before him regarding him with a grim smile. "So you're +the Gualtier, are you," said Obed, "of whose exploits I have heard so +much? You're rather a small parcel, I should say, but you've done +con-siderable mischief, somehow." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier did not know what to make of this, but thought it only a +little preliminary play, after which he would be flung headlong into +the river by some catapultian kick. +<br> +<br> +"See here," said Obed; "a fellow that pretends to carry a revolver +ought to be ashamed of himself for firing such shots as you did. You +infernal fool, you! you've gone and lost six of the best chances any +man ever had, and not one of them'll ever come again. What is worse, +you've gone and disgraced America in the person of her great national +and original weapon--the everlasting revolver. Don't you feel like a +fool? You know you do!" +<br> +<br> +At this extraordinary address Gualtier was, if possible, still more +bewildered. +<br> +<br> +"You deserved to be caught," continued Obed, "for you tempted +Providence. Providence gave you the most glorious chance I ever saw +in all my born days. After using up your chance with the revolver you +had this here boundless plain to run upon. Why, I've dodged a hundred +Indians in my day with less of a chance, and all the odds against me, +for they were firing at me. But you couldn't be shot down, for I +didn't happen to feel inclined to use my revolver. It didn't seem +fair." And saying this, Obed tenderly drew out his revolver from his +breast-pocket, and exhibited it in a loving way to the astounded +Gualtier. "I saw," he continued, "that it would be a most +unscientific waste of lead. The very first shot you fired showed that +you were utterly unacquainted with our American invention, and the +next was as bad. Why, out of the whole six only one hit me. See +here." +<br> +<br> +And Obed held up his left hand. The last joint of the middle finger +had been shot off, and blood was still flowing. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier looked at this with fresh amazement. +<br> +<br> +"Why," said Obed, "if I'd had one-tenth part of your chances, and had +been in your place, I'd have got off. With such a start I'd engage to +escape from a dozen men. I'd drop six with the pistol, and dodge the +other six. See here. Do you see that bit of woods?" And taking +Gualtier's arm, he pointed to a clump of trees that rose like an +island from the plain. "Do you see that?" +<br> +<br> +Gualtier said nothing. +<br> +<br> +"Well, I'll tell you what you'd ought to do. You'd ought to have made +straight for that in a bee-line; then dodged behind it. Perhaps I'd +have followed; but then you could have crossed to the other side, got +out of sight, and while I was looking for you, off you'd get to the +river. If I'd have gone on the opposite side you could have cut off +among the mountains. A man," concluded Obed, in a tone of intense +solemnity--"a man that could throw away such a chance as that has +tempted Providence, and don't deserve anything. Young man, you're a +gone sucker!" +<br> +<br> +Gualtier heard all this, and understood this eccentric but grim +address. He felt that it was all over with him. He had one desperate +thought of snatching at the revolver, which Obed still held in his +hand with apparent carelessness; but he saw that such an attempt +would be madness. The very instant that he had looked Obed had +noticed it, and understood it. +<br> +<br> +He gave a low laugh. +<br> +<br> +"You'd better not," said he, and then motioned him toward the +carriage. Gualtier walked on in silence. Obed did not deign to touch +his prisoner, nor did Gualtier dare to make any effort to escape. +There was no chance now, since that other chance had failed; and, +besides, the sight of Obed's revolver was itself sufficient to +prevent such an attempt. +<br> +<br> +"You've showed considerable sense in walking quietly along," said +Obed, as they came near to the carriage. "If you'd tried to run it +would have been worse for you. You'd have lost a limb, _sure_." +<br> +<br> +Then Obed stopped, and forced him to look at the ground which they +had gone over, and showed what excellent chances he had thrown away. +<br> +<br> +On reaching the carriage Zillah was calmer, though still greatly +excited. She said nothing to Gualtier, nor did the latter venture to +look at her. In the flight his wig and hat had fallen off, so that +now his hated face was distinctly visible. +<br> +<br> +Obed put his hand for a moment on Gualtier's shoulder. +<br> +<br> +"Is this the man?" he asked. +<br> +<br> +Zillah bowed. +<br> +<br> +On this Obed made his prisoner get on the front seat of the carriage, +and drove rapidly back to the villa. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXXII. +<br> +<br> +IN PRISON. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier was driven back to the villa, quite in ignorance as to his +final destination. He was on the front seat, not bound at all, and +there was one moment when there seemed a last chance of escape. It +was at a time when Zillah had noticed Obed's wound, and began to +question him about it with eager sympathy, while Obed tried to assure +her that it was nothing. But Zillah would not be satisfied. She +insisted on binding it up. She took her handkerchief, and, though she +knew no more about such things than a child, prepared to do what she +could. Obed soon saw her ignorance, and proceeded to give her +directions. At last he took her handkerchief and tore it into several +strips, with a laughing promise to tear his up some day for her. At +this moment he was quite intent on Zillah, and she was absorbed in +her work. It seemed to Gualtier that he was forgotten. The carriage, +also, was ascending the hill. On each side were lofty trees +overshadowing it, while beyond them lay a deep forest. All this +Gualtier saw. Here was a last chance. Now or never might he escape. +He watched for an instant. Obed was showing Zillah how to make the +knot, when suddenly, with a quick leap, Gualtier sprang from the +carriage seat out into the road. He stumbled and fell forward as his +feet touched the road, but in an instant he recovered himself. The +road-side was a steep bank, which ascended before him, covered with +forests. Beyond this were the wild woods, with rocks and underbrush. +If he could but get there he might find a refuge. Thither he fled +with frantic haste. He rushed up the steep ascent, and in among the +trees. For some distance the wood was open, and the trees rose on +high at wide distances with no underbrush. Beyond that there was a +denser growth. Through this he ran, stimulated by this new chance for +life, and wishing that he had once again that revolver whose shots he +had wasted. +<br> +<br> +As he leaped from the carriage Zillah had given a loud cry, and in +another moment Obed had divined the cause and had sprung out in +pursuit. Gualtier's start did not amount to more than a dozen paces. +Obed also was armed. His chance of escape was therefore small indeed. +Small as it was, however, it was enough to stimulate him, and he +hurried onward, hearing at every pace the step of his pursuer. At +length he reached the thicker part of the wood. He turned and doubled +here like a fox. He did not know where to go, but sought to gain some +slight advantage. He thought that he might find some place where for +a few moments he might baffle his pursuer. This was the hope that now +remained. Turning and doubling, therefore, and winding, he continued +his flight; but the pursuer still maintained his pursuit, and as yet +Gualtier had gained no advantage. In fact, he had lost ground +gradually, and the underbrush had not delayed the progress of Obed. +Gualtier felt this, but still strove to attain his purpose. +<br> +<br> +At last he saw a place where there was a steep precipice, thickly +wooded up to its very margin and then descending abruptly. Toward +this he fled, thinking that some place might show itself where he +might descend, and where his pursuer might fear to follow. He bounded +along in a winding direction, trying to conceal his purpose. At +length he reached the edge of the precipice. At the point to which he +had come the descent was abrupt, but ledges jutted out from the side +of the cliff, and seemed to afford a chance for a descent to one who +was bold enough to venture. There was no time for examination or for +hesitation. Swiftly Gualtier ran on till he reached what seemed a +favorable place, and then, throwing himself over, his feet caught a +projecting ledge, and he reached down his hand to secure a grasp of a +rock, so as to let himself down further. He looked down hurriedly so +as to see the rock which he wished to grasp, when at that very +instant his arm was seized, and a low, stern voice said: +<br> +<br> +"No go! up with you, you scoundrel! and thank the Lord I don't blow +your brains out." +<br> +<br> +He was dragged up, flung on the ground, and his hands bound tightly +behind him with Obed's handkerchief. After this he was dragged back +to the carriage. +<br> +<br> +So failed his last hope. +<br> +<br> +"You couldn't have done it," said Obed. "I saw it all the time. I +could have shot you fifty times, but, as I knew I was going to catch +you, I didn't touch my pistol. I don't blame you for making the +trial. I'd have done the same. But you see now that you have got your +hands tied up by way of punishment. You can't say but that I've +treated you on the square, any how." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier said nothing, but was taken back and put in the carriage +once more. Zillah saw that his hands were tied, and felt more secure +as to the result of this second capture. +<br> +<br> +The carriage now soon reached the villa. Here Obed handed out Zillah, +and gave orders to the servants to make ready the brougham. He +informed Zillah that he himself intended to take Gualtier to the city +and hand him over to the authorities; and that she might make her +mind easy as to his capture this time, for he would not allow even an +attempt at an escape again. +<br> +<br> +During these preparations Obed stood waiting near the carriage, while +Gualtier sat there with his hands bound. Gladly would he have availed +himself of any other chance, however desperate, but there was none. +His hands were bound, his enemy was watchful and armed. Under such +circumstances there remained no hope. His last attempt had been made +boldly and vigorously, but it had failed. So he gave himself up to +despair. +<br> +<br> +The brougham was soon ready. Obed put Gualtier inside and got in +himself after him. Then they drove away. Lord Chetwynde was expected +that afternoon, and he might meet him on the road. He had made up his +mind, however, not to recognize him, but to let him learn the great +event from Zillah herself. After giving information to his sister as +to the time at which he expected to be back he drove off; and soon +the brougham with its occupants was moving swiftly onward out of the +villa park, down the descending road, and on toward Florence. +<br> +<br> +Obed rode inside along with Gualtier all the way. During that drive +his mind found full occupation for itself. The discovery and the +capture of this man made a startling revelation of several most +important yet utterly incomprehensible facts. +<br> +<br> +First, he recognized in his prisoner the man who had once visited him +in New York for the purpose of gaining information about Lady +Chetwynde. That information he had refused to give for certain +reasons of his own, and had very unceremoniously dismissed the man +that had sought it. +<br> +<br> +Secondly, this was the same man who in disguise had penetrated into +his villa with all the air and manner of a spy, and who, by thus +following him, showed that he must have been on his track for a long +time. +<br> +<br> +Thirdly, this very man had turned out to be the long-sought Gualtier +--the one who had betrayed Miss Lorton to a death from which she had +only been saved by a mere accident. This was the man who had won the +affections of Miss Lorton's friend, Hilda, who had induced her to +share his villainy and his crime; the man who had for so long a time +baffled the utmost efforts of the chief European police, yet who had +at last been captured by himself. +<br> +<br> +Now about this man there were circumstances which to Obed were +utterly incomprehensible. +<br> +<br> +It was conceivable that the man who had sought him in New York should +track him to Florence. He might have an interest in this affair of +Lady Chetwynde deep enough to inspire so pertinacious a search, so +that the difficulty did not consist in this. The true difficulty lay +in the fact that this man who had come to him first as the inquirer +after Lady Chetwynde should now turn out to be the betrayer of Miss +Lorton. And this made his present purpose the more unintelligible. +What was it that had brought him across Obed's path? Was he still +seeking after information about Lady Chetwynde? or, rather, was he +seeking to renew his former attempt against Miss Lorton? To this +latter supposition Obed felt himself drawn. It seemed to him most +probable that Gualtier had somehow found out about the rescue of +Zillah, and was now tracking her with the intention of consummating +his work. This only could account for his twofold disguise, and his +persistence in coming toward the villa after the punishment and the +warning which he had once received. To think that he should run such +a risk in order to prosecute his inquiry after Lady Chetwynde was +absurd; but to suppose that he did it from certain designs on Miss +Lorton seemed the most natural thing in the world for a villain in +his position. +<br> +<br> +But behind all this there was something more; and this became to Obed +the most difficult problem. It was easy to conjecture the present +motive of this Gualtier--the motive which had drawn him out to the +villa, to track them, to spy them, and to hover about the place; but +there was another thing to which it was not so easy to give an +answer. It was the startling fact of the identity between the man who +had once come to him in order to investigate about Lady Chetwynde and +the one who had betrayed Miss Lorton. How did it happen that the same +man should have taken part in each? What should have led him to +America for the purpose of questioning him about that long-forgotten +tragedy, and afterward have made him the assassin which he was? It +seemed as though this Gualtier was associated with the two chief +tragedies of Obed's life, for this of Miss Lorton was certainly not +inferior in its effect upon his feelings to that old one of Lady +Chetwynde. Yet how was it that he had become thus associated with two +such events as these? By what strange fatality had he and Obed thus +found a common ground of interest in one another--a ground where the +one was the assailant and betrayer, the other the savior and +defender? +<br> +<br> +Such thoughts as these perplexed Obed, and he could not find an +answer to them. An answer might certainly have been given by the man +himself at his side, but Obed did not deign to question him; for, +somehow, he felt that at the bottom of all this lay that strange +secret which Miss Lorton had so studiously preserved. Part of it she +had revealed, but only part, and that, too, in such general outlines +that any discovery of the rest was impossible. Had Obed questioned +Gualtier he might have discovered the truth; that is, if Gualtier +would have answered his questions, which, of course, he would not +have done. But Obed did not even try him. He asked nothing and said +nothing during all that long drive. He saw that there was a secret, +and he thought that if Miss Lorton chose to keep it he would not seek +to find it out. He would rather leave it to her to reveal; and if she +did not choose to reveal it, then he would not care to know it. She +was the only one who could explain this away, and he thought that it +would be, in some sort, an act of disloyalty to make any +investigations on his own account with reference to her private +affairs. Perhaps in this he might have been wrong; perhaps he might +have strained too much his scruples, and yielded to a sense of honor +which was too high wrought; yet, at the same time, such was his +feeling, and he could not help it; and, after all, it was a noble +feeling, which took its rise out of one of the purest and most +chivalrous feelings of the heart. +<br> +<br> +While Obed was thus silent, thoughtful, and preoccupied, Gualtier was +equally so, and at the same time there was a deep anxiety in his +heart, to which the other was a stranger. To him, at that moment, +situated as he was--a prisoner, under such circumstances, and in +company with his watchful, grim, and relentless captor--there were +many thoughts, all of which were bitter enough, and full of the +darkest forebodings for the future. He, too, had made discoveries on +that eventful day far darker, far more fearful, far more weighty, and +far more terrible than any which Obed could have made--discoveries +which filled him with horror and alarm for himself, and for another +who was dearer than himself. The first of these was the great, the +inexplicable fact that Zillah was really and truly alive. This at +once accounted for the phantom which had appeared and stricken terror +to him and to Hilda. Alive, but how? Had he not himself made +assurance doubly sure? had he not with his own hands scuttled that +schooner in which she was? had he not found her asleep in her cabin +as he prepared to leave? had he not felt the water close up to the +deck before he left the sinking yacht? had he not been in that boat +on the dark midnight sea for a long time before the mutinous crew +would consent to row away, so near to the vessel that any noise would +have necessarily come to his ears? He had. How, then, was this? That +yacht _must_ have gone down, and she _must_ have gone down with +it--drowned in her cabin, suffocated there by the waters, without +power to make one cry. So it must have been; but still here she was, +alive, strong, vengeful. It could not be a case of resemblance; for +this woman had penetrated his disguise, had recognized him, and at +the recognition had started to her feet with wild exclamations, +hounding on her companion to pursuit. +<br> +<br> +But in addition to this there was something still more strange. +However she may have escaped--as she must have done--by what +wonderful concurrence of circumstances had she met with Obed Chute, +and entered into this close friendship with him? That man was +familiar with a dark past, to which she was related in some strange +way. How was it, then, that of all men in the world, this one had +become her friend and protector? +<br> +<br> +But, even so, there was another mystery, so strange, so dark, so +inexplicable, that the others seemed as nothing. For he had +discovered in her the one whom Lord Chetwynde was seeking with such +zeal, and such passion, and such unfailing constancy. How was it that +Lord Chetwynde had found her, and where had he found her? and if he +had found her, how had he known her? Was he not living with Hilda on +terms at least of respect, and acting toward her as though he +believed her to be his wife? What could be the cause that had brought +him into connection with Obed Chute? Obed Chute had been the +confidant of Lady Chetwynde, and knew the story of her shame. How was +it that the son of such a mother could associate so habitually with +the man who so well knew the history of that mother? If he were not +acquainted with his mother's history himself, how could he have found +out Obed Chute for his friend? and if he were acquainted with it, how +could he have tolerated him as such? From either point of view the +question was unanswerable, and the problem insoluble. Yet the fact +remained that Lord Chetwynde was in the habit of making constant +visits to the house of the man, the very man, to whom the history of +Lord Chetwynde's mother was known as a story of shame, and who +himself had been the chief agent in helping her, as it appeared, from +the ruin to which she had flung herself. +<br> +<br> +Then, again, there arose the question as to what might be the +position of Zillah. How did she happen to be living with Obed Chute? +In what way was she living? How did it happen that Lord Chetwynde was +carrying on a series of clandestine visits to a woman who was his own +wife? Hilda's story of that passionate interview in the kiosk at the +Villa Rinalci was now intelligible in one sense. It was no phantom +that had terrified her, but the actual form of the living Zillah +herself. Yet, making allowance for this, it became more +unintelligible than ever. For what could have been the meaning of +that scene? If Zillah were alive and his wife, why should Lord +Chetwynde arrange so elaborately this interview in the kiosk? why +should he be at once so passionate and so despairing? why should he +vow his vows of eternal love, and at the same time bid her an eternal +farewell? What was the meaning of his information about that "other I +whom he hated worse than death," which Hilda had felt like a stroke +of death? And why should Lord Chetwynde remain with his false wife, +whom he hated, while his true wife, whom he loved, was so near? Why, +in the name of Heaven, should he treat the one with even civility, +and only visit the other by means of clandestine meetings and stolen +interviews? Could such questions be answered at all? Were they not +all mad together, or were he and Hilda madder than these? What could +be the solution of these insoluble problems? +<br> +<br> +Such were the questions which filled Gualtier's mind as he drove +along--questions which bewildered his brain, and to which he could +not find an answer. At one time he tried to think that all +these--Zillah. Lord Chetwynde, and Obed Chute--were in alliance; that +they understood one another perfectly, and Hilda also; and that they +were weaving together some deep plot which was to be her ruin. But +this also seemed absurd. For, if they understood her, and knew who +she was, why should they take any trouble to weave plots for her? +That trouble they could spare themselves, and could arrest her at +once whenever they chose. Why did Lord Chetwynde spare her if he knew +all? Was it out of gratitude because she had saved him from death? +Impossible; for he habitually neglected her now, and gave up all his +thoughts and his time to Zillah. Was it possible that Zillah could +have been saved, found out her husband, and was now inciting him to +this strange course from some desire to get fresh proof against +Hilda? No; that was impossible, for she must already have found out +proof enough. The withdrawal of her money would of itself be enough +to show Hilda's complicity; but her assumption of the rôle of Lady +Chetwynde was too audacious for a true wife to bear unmoved or +unconvinced. +<br> +<br> +But these things were inexplicable. He could not find even a +plausible solution for such difficult problems. His excited brain +reeled beneath the weight of puzzles so intricate and so complicated. +He was compelled to dismiss them all from his thoughts. But though he +dismissed such thoughts as these, there were others which gave +occupation to his whole mind, and these at last excited his chief +interest. First among these was the thought of Hilda. That very +afternoon she might be coming out to carry out her plan of visiting +Obed Chute, and confounding Lord Chetwynde. She would go out knowing +nothing of that one whom she had doomed to death, but who was now +there to confront her. She would go out, and for what? What? Could it +be aught else than ruin, utter and absolute? +<br> +<br> +This was his last dark terror--all fear for himself had passed away. +He feared for her, and for her alone. His love for her, and his +devotion to her, which had been so often and so conspicuously tested, +which had sent him on such tedious and such perilous enterprises, +now, when all was over with himself, and not a ray of hope remained, +made him rise above self and selfish considerations, and regard her +prospects and her safety alone. The thought of her going out to the +villa in utter ignorance of this new and terrific truth was +intolerable. Yet what could he do? Nothing; and the fact of his own +utter helplessness was maddening at such a time as this. He watched +through the window, scanning all the passers-by with feverish +anxiety, which was so manifest that at length Obed noticed it, and, +supposing that he was meditating some new plan of escape nearer the +city, sternly reprimanded him, and drew the blinds so that nothing +could be seen. And thus, with close-drawn blinds and in silence, they +drove toward the city; so that if Hilda had gone along the road, +Gualtier could not have seen her. +<br> +<br> +At the same time Obed, in thus shutting out Gualtier from all sight +of the outside world, shut out himself also. And though Lord +Chetwynde may have passed on his way to the villa, yet he could not +have been seen by the occupants of the brougham, nor could he have +seen them. +<br> +<br> +At last they reached Florence, and Obed drove up to the prefecture of +the police. There he made his statement, and Gualtier was handed over +to the authorities, and put in prison on a charge of attempted murder +committed in Italian waters. +<br> +<br> +Gualtier was put into a small chamber, with whitewashed walls, narrow +iron-grated window, and solid oaken doors, in which there was a small +round opening. There was an iron bed here and a chair. Gualtier flung +himself upon the bed, and buried his head in his hands. He felt as if +he had reached the verge of despair; yet,-even at that moment, it was +not of himself that he thought. Far above his distress and his +despair arose the power of his love, and thus turned his thoughts +toward Hilda. Was she on her way out? Was she going to ruin? Or was +she still at her hotel? She had not said for certain that she was +going to the villa on that day; she said that she was going on that +day or the next. Perhaps she had postponed it, and reserved her visit +for the next. It seemed probable. If it were indeed so, then there +was yet time to make an effort to save her. How could he make such an +effort? How could he gain communication with her? +<br> +<br> +He rose from his bed, and watched through the opening of his door. +There was a guard outside, who paced backward and forward solemnly. +Gualtier's knowledge of human nature, and of Italian human nature in +particular, suggested to him a way by which he might send a message. +After some delay he signaled to the guard, who, after looking around +cautiously, came up to his door. +<br> +<br> +"I want to send a message," said Gualtier, in the best Italian that +he could muster. "It is very important. It is to a friend. I will pay +well." +<br> +<br> +The guard looked interested. +<br> +<br> +"Where is your friend?" he asked. +<br> +<br> +"In the city. Can I have the message sent? I will pay two hundred +piastres if I get an answer." +<br> +<br> +The guard hesitated. +<br> +<br> +"Wait," said he, after a few moments' thought; "I will see." +<br> +<br> +He went away, and was gone for about twenty minutes. When he returned +he exchanged a glance of profound intelligence with Gualtier, and +said: +<br> +<br> +"I think it can be done, signore." +<br> +<br> +At this Gaultier went back, and, tearing a leaf out of his +pocket-book, penciled the following words: +<br> +<br> +"A miracle has happened. _She has come to life again_. It was no +phantom, but _herself_ that appeared to you and me. I am in prison. +Do not go out to the villa. Fly and save yourself." +<br> +<br> +Folding this up, he took it to the guard. +<br> +<br> +"If you bring back an answer to this," said he, "you shall have two +hundred piastres. If you don't find the person, you shall have +fifty." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier then told him the name and address of Hilda, and wrote it +out for his information, charging him that it must be delivered to +herself, and no other. The guard said that he could not go himself, +but would send his younger brother. This satisfied Gualtier, and the +guard again departed. +<br> +<br> +After some time he returned, and paced up and down as before. An hour +passed. Gualtier became impatient. Then two hours elapsed. +<br> +<br> +He then beckoned to the guard. +<br> +<br> +"He is gone a long time," said he. +<br> +<br> +"Perhaps he is waiting," said the guard; "if it is possible he will +deliver the message." +<br> +<br> +Gualtier waited. +<br> +<br> +Three hours passed. +<br> +<br> +The guard at last came back to his door. He handed back to Gualtier +the letter which he had written. +<br> +<br> +"The lady," said he, "was not at home. She had gone away. My brother +waited all this time, but she did not return. Shall he go back and +wait?" +<br> +<br> +"No," said Gualtier. +<br> +<br> +He gave a hundred piastres to the guard. He took his note, and tore +it up. All hope faded away within him, and despair, black and dark, +settled down upon his soul. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXXIII. +<br> +<br> +OBED'S NEW ADVENTURE. +<br> +<br> +After leaving Gualtier in custody Obed Chnte drove away from the +police station with an expression of tranquil satisfaction on his +fine face; such an expression as might befit one who is conscious of +having done his duty to the uttermost. He drove down the Lungh' Arno, +and through the Piazza, and past the Duomo. There was no further need +to keep the blinds closed, and as he drove on he looked out upon the +inhabitants of Florence with a grand benignity of expression to which +no language can do justice. Many things conspired to fill his breast +with the serenest satisfaction and self-complacency. First, he had +saved himself from being humbugged. Secondly, he had been the victor +in two very respectable trials of muscle, in which he, by the sheer +power of muscle, had triumphed, and in the first of which his triumph +had been gained over a man armed with a revolver, and using that +revolver, while he very generously scorned to use his own. Thirdly, +this man was the very one whom he had sought for months, and who had +eluded entirely the police of Italy, France, and England. Obed also +had been merciful and magnanimous in his hour of triumph. He had been +too great-hearted to avail himself of any undue advantage in the +strife, or to do one single act of unnecessary cruelty when that +strife was over, and the victory was won. He had not bound his victim +till the new flight of that victim had compelled him; nor had he +spoken even one harsh word to him. He had captured him fairly and +bravely too, and in the most quiet and unostentatious manner had +handed him over to the police of the country. +<br> +<br> +Of course there were some things which might have been more agreeable +under the circumstances. The mystery which surrounded this man was +not pleasant. It was not pleasant, after having captured him, to find +himself still baffled in his endeavors to understand him or his +motive; to find that this man had forced him to interweave the case +of Lady Chetwynde with that of Zillah, when to his mind those two +cases were as far asunder as the poles. Yet, after all, the +perplexity which arose from this could not interfere with the +enjoyment of his triumph. Baffled he might be, but still there was no +reason why he should not enjoy the calm pleasure which arises from +the consciousness of having well and fully performed a virtuous +action, and of having done one's duty both to one's neighbor and +one's self. +<br> +<br> +So Obed, as he drove about before going home, enjoyed the full +consciousness of his own merit. He felt at peace with himself, with +the world at large, and, for that matter, even with Gualtier. So long +as Gualtier had baffled him and eluded his most ardent search, he had +experienced the bitterest and the most vindictive feelings toward the +villain who had perpetrated such foul crimes, and persisted in +evading all pursuit. But now that this mysterious villain had been +captured, and by himself, he felt that bitterness and vindictiveness +no longer. He was satisfied that the law would administer to him the +full punishment which was due to his crimes, and as far as he was +concerned personally he had no feeling against him. He was simply +desirous of justice. +<br> +<br> +Seated thus in his brougham he drove past Giotto's Campanile, and +past those immortal gates of bronze which Ghiberti made for the +Baptistery, and which Michael Angelo declared to be worthy of being +the gates of Paradise. It was just at this last place, as the +brougham was moving leisurely on, that his attention was arrested by +a figure which was seated on the stone steps immediately outside of +one of those gates. It was a woman, elderly, decrepit, and apparently +poor. She was dressed in deep mourning. She was very pale, her hair +was as white as snow, and her eyes looked forth with an eager, +watchful, wistful expression--an expression of patient yet curious +vigilance, like that of one who is waiting for some friend, or some +enemy, who delays to appear. It was a memorable face--memorable, too, +from its sadness, and from the eager yet almost hopeless scrutiny +which it turned toward every one that passed. This was the figure +that attracted Obed. He gave it one look, and that one look was +enough for him. +<br> +<br> +The moment that he saw this woman an exclamation burst from him--an +exclamation which was so loud that the woman heard him. She started +and looked up. At that moment the brougham stopped, and Obed, tearing +open the door, sprang out and hurried up the steps of the Baptistery, +where the woman was sitting. She had seen him. A flush passed over +her pale, ghastly face; a wild light came to her eyes. Tremblingly +and with deep excitement she rose to her feet, steadying herself by +grasping the bronze gateway, and looked at him with an earnest, +wondering gaze. +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute came toward her quickly, yet with a certain reverential +wonder in his face. The triumph and the self-complacency had all died +out, and there was left nothing but a mournful surprise, with which +there was also mingled a deep and inexpressible pity and sympathy. +<br> +<br> +He came nearer and nearer; still with all this on his face, while she +stood awaiting him and watching him, clinging all the while to the +bronze gates of Ghiberti. +<br> +<br> +"Is this possible?" said Obed, as he came near her and regarded her +earnestly. "Is it possible?" he repeated, in a low, soft voice, with +a deep solemnity in the tones that was far different from his usual +manner. "Is this indeed _you_--and here too?" +<br> +<br> +He held out both his hands. His face softened; the hard lines seemed +to fade away into a certain unspeakable tenderness, and in his eyes +there was a look of infinite pity and compassion. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, it is I," said the woman, in a voice which sounded like a moan. +"I am still alive--still living on--while so many who are better are +dead and are at rest." +<br> +<br> +She placed one hand in his, while with the other she still clung to +the gateway. The hand which she gave was shriveled and emaciated and +cold also to Obed as he felt it while holding it in both of his. +<br> +<br> +"Years have passed," said he at length, after a long and solemn +silence, during which each regarded the other most earnestly--"years +have passed," he repeated--"years--since you left--since I saw you +last. Are you living here?" he continued, after some hesitation. "I +suppose you are with one of the religious houses?" +<br> +<br> +The woman shook her head wearily. "No," said she; "I am by myself. I +am alone in the world. I am now simply 'Mrs. Hart.' I have come here +on important business. It is more than important; it is a matter of +life and death." +<br> +<br> +"Mrs. Hart! Is that the name that you have?" asked Obed. +<br> +<br> +"That is my name," said Mrs. Hart, wearily. "It has been my name for +many years, and has done me good service." +<br> +<br> +Obed said nothing, but regarded her for a long time in silence, +wondering all the while at the mysterious fate of this unhappy woman. +<br> +<br> +At last he spoke. +<br> +<br> +"Have you been here long?" he asked. "I have been here for some +weeks, but I have never seen you." +<br> +<br> +"Nor have I seen you," said Mrs. Hart. "I have been here long, but I +have seen no one whom I know. I am alone." +<br> +<br> +"And are you able to go alone about this business of which you +speak--this business 'of life and death?' Have you any help? Is it a +thing which you could commit to the police?" +<br> +<br> +"No," said Mrs. Hart. "I came here in search of--of a friend; but I +have not been able to find him." +<br> +<br> +"Are you alone, then?" asked Obed, in profound sympathy, while his +face and his voice still showed the deep feeling of his heart. "Have +you no one at all to help you? Is this a thing which you must do by +yourself? Could not another other assist you? Would it be possible +for you to let me help you in this? I can do much if you will allow +me--if you will again put confidence in an old friend." +<br> +<br><img src="images/241.png" alt="Is This Indeed You--And Here Too?"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "Is This Indeed You--And Here Too?"] +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart looked at him earnestly, and tears started to her eyes. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my friend," she murmured, "I believe that God has sent you to +me. I see in your face and I hear in your voice that you still can +feel for me. God bless you! my noble, my only friend! Yes, you can +help me. There is no secret of mine which I need hide from you. I +will tell you all--when I get stronger--and you shall help me. But I +am very weak now," she said, wearily. +<br> +<br> +Obed looked away, and for a time said not one word. But that strong +frame, which not long before had dared the shots of a desperate +enemy, now trembled violently at the tears of an old woman. With a +powerful effort he gulped down his emotion. +<br> +<br> +"Where are you living?" he asked, in a voice which had changed to one +of strange sweetness and tenderness. "You are weak. Will you let me +drive you now to your home?" +<br> +<br> +For a few moments Mrs. Hart looked at him piteously, and made no +reply. +<br> +<br> +"I think it will be better for you to go home in my carriage," said +Obed, gently urging her. +<br> +<br> +She still looked at him with the same piteousness. +<br> +<br> +"In what part of the city do you live?" said Obed, as he took her +hand and drew it inside his arm. "Come, let me lead you to the +carriage." +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart held back for a moment, and again looked at him. +<br> +<br> +"_I have no home_," she said, in a voice which had died away to a +whisper. +<br> +<br> +At once the truth flashed upon Obed's mind. +<br> +<br> +"I have no home," continued Mrs. Hart. "I was turned out yesterday. +Last night I slept in the Boboli Gardens. For two days I have had +nothing to eat." +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute staggered back as though he hail received a violent blow. +"O God!" he groaned, "has it come to this?" +<br> +<br> +He said not another word, but gently led Mrs. Hart to the brougham. +He drove to a cafe first, and persuaded her to take some nourishment. +Then he took her once more into the carriage, and they drove slowly +out of the city. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXXIV. +<br> +<br> +BEWILDERMENT. +<br> +<br> +Scarcely any thing was said on the drive out from Florence to the +villa. Tears fell frequently from the eyes of the poor wanderer as +she sat wrapped in deep thought. Obed sat in silence, looking out of +the window upon vacancy, seeing nothing; or, rather, seeing still +that face with its wan lips and ghastly outline, which had told so +thrilling a story of homelessness and starvation. His thoughts were +going back through the years--the long-vanished years. And as he +thought there came over his rugged face an infinite pity and +tenderness; from his eyes there beamed sadness and compassion +unutterable. He kept silence thus, all that drive, because he could +not trust himself to speak. +<br> +<br> +It was only when they reached the gateway of the villa that he opened +his lips. Then, as they drove through, he turned toward her, and +putting his hand on her arm, he said: +<br> +<br> +"Here is your home now--while you live." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my friend!" murmured Mrs. Hart; and she could say no more. +<br> +<br> +On reaching the door Obed assisted Mrs. Hart out of the brougham, and +they entered the hall. There were sounds of voices in the +drawing-room, and on crossing the threshold of the villa a +gentleman's voice arose in a cheerful and sprightly tone: +<br> +<br> +"Checkmated again! Really, Miss Lorton, after this you'll have to +give me the odds of a pawn; you've beaten me seven games out of our +last ten." +<br> +<br> +"I don't believe it was fair," said a lady's voice. "I firmly +believe, and I've said it all along, that you let me beat you. Why, +you taught me chess yourself, and how is it possible that I could +catch up to my master in so short a time?" +<br> +<br> +"I don't pretend to account for it, Miss Lorton," said the +gentleman's voice. "There, before you, is something better than +theory. It is an indisputable fact. There is my king, with your queen +immediately in front of him, and your rook in the distance guarding +that strong-minded lady. And where is my queen? Why, gadding about +with knights and bishops, when she ought to have been standing by the +side of her unfortunate husband." +<br> +<br> +As these words came to her ears Mrs. Hart stood still, and one hand +grasped Obed Chute's arm convulsively, while the other was pressed to +her brow. +<br> +<br> +"What is this? Who are _these_? Are _they_ here?" she asked, in a +thrilling voice. "Am I dreaming? Is this some mockery, or are they +both here? Is it some surprise? Tell me, my friend. Did you arrange +all this?" +<br> +<br> +She looked at Obed in a bewildered manner. He thought that her mind +was wandering. +<br> +<br> +"Come," said he, kindly, "you must go to your room now and rest, and +then--" +<br> +<br> +But here a loud remark from the gentleman, followed by a merry answer +from the lady, interrupted Obed, and Mrs. Hart prevented him from +finishing his sentence; for suddenly she started away from him, and, +without a word, hurried into the room from which the voices came. +Obed stood for a moment quite confounded, and then, feeling assured +that the poor creature's brain was turned, followed her hurriedly. +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart burst into the room, with a white face and eager, inquiring +eyes. Roused by the noise of footsteps, Lord Chetwynde and Zillah +turned. To the amazement of both they saw Mrs. Hart. +<br> +<br> +Had the form of General Pomeroy, or of Earl Chetwynde, appeared at +that instant before them, they could not have been more confounded. +Lord Chetwynde, however, was cool and calm. There was nothing in his +secret which was very important, and there was therefore no fear of a +discovery to disturb the unfeigned joy that mingled with his wonder +at this sudden appearance of his old nurse, blended also with deep +and sharp grief at the weary, wan, and wretched face that he saw +before him. As to his assumed name and the revelation of his true +one, that did not trouble him at all, for he could give his +explanation very readily. But with Zillah it was different. Rightly +or wrongly, she considered her secret a thing which should be guarded +like her heart's blood; and now she saw suddenly before her the +certainty of a full and grand disclosure--a disclosure, too, not +merely in the presence of Obed Chute, but of Windham also. Yet even +this fear, terrible as it would have been at other times, was +successfully mastered, and her generous and loving nature turned away +from selfish fears, with longing and joy and pity, to this dear old +friend; and these feelings, mingling together at that sudden sight, +drove away all others. +<br> +<br> +But now to these succeeded a new surprise, which was overwhelming. +For just as she started, in obedience to her impulse, she saw Lord +Chetwynde hurry forward. She saw Mrs. Hart's eyes fixed on him in a +kind of ecstasy. She saw her totter forward, with all her face +overspread with a joy that is but seldom known---known only in rare +moments, when some lost one, loved and lost--some one more precious +than life itself--is suddenly found. She saw Lord Chetwynde hurry +forward. She saw Mrs. Hart run toward him, and with a low moan, a +longing, yearning cry, fling herself upon his breast and clasp him in +her arms. +<br> +<br> +She heard her words--words wonderful, thrilling, and beyond all +understanding: +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my boy! Oh, my own! Oh, Guy! Oh, my little boy! Oh, my darling! +My God! I thank Thee for this joy!" +<br> +<br> +Uttering such broken ejaculations Mrs. Hart burst into a passion of +tears, and only Lord Chetwynde's strong arms prevented her from +falling. +<br> +<br> +He upheld her. He kissed her. He murmured words of affection, deep +and tender and true. With gentle urgency lie drew her to a sofa, made +her sit down by his side, and placed her head against his breast, and +took her emaciated hands in his. He seemed to have forgotten the +presence of others in that sudden, that overwhelming feeling of +compassion for his aged, his heart-broken nurse. He was unconscious +even of Zillah. In that moment his whole soul and his whole heart +were turned to this wan face that leaned against his breast. +<br> +<br> +He said very little. How could he say much? A few attempts at +soothing her--a few loving words--these were all. And these were +enough; for better than these was the love that was expressed in his +strong embrace--the love that sustained her now, and changed despair +into rapture. +<br> +<br> +"My dearest," he said--"dearest old nurse--nurse! mamma! Don't grieve +now. Come, look up, and let me see your sweet old face." +<br> +<br> +His voice was broken with emotion. How he loved that one whom he +called his "dear old nurse!" +<br> +<br> +"Look up, old woman. Look up. Let me see your face. You don't know +how dear it is to me." +<br> +<br> +And Mrs. Hart raised her face, and in her face he read a love +infinite, all-consuming, imperishable--a love which now, however, +satiated and intoxicated itself in the look that she gave. +<br> +<br> +She said nothing more, but, clinging to him, she seemed to hold him +to her weary heart as though she feared that something might take him +away. +<br> +<br> +"Forgive me, my own; do not be angry, my dearest," she murmured, +"with your poor old nurse. I left home long, long ago. I rose from my +sick-bed to seek you. I came here, and have watched and watched for a +long time. Oh, how long! But you never came." +<br> +<br> +"You! watching for me! here in Florence!" exclaimed Lord Chetwynde, +in wonder. "My poor old dear! why?" +<br> +<br> +"I will tell you again--not now--I am too weak. Hold my hands fast, +my own. Let me see your dear face--oh, how dear!" +<br> +<br> +And with her hands in his, and her eyes feeding her soul upon his +face, she lay upon his breast. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Obed Chute had stood thunderstruck. To account for this +amazing scene was so utterly impossible that he did not even attempt +it. That was beyond the reach of human capacity. But he noted all +that holy tenderness, and that unfathomable love which beamed from +that wan, worn face, and he felt that this was not a scene for other +eyes. He went softly over to Zillah, who had stood motionless +hitherto, and taking her hand he led her solemnly out of the room. +<br> +<br> +They went into another apartment, and sat there in silence. Zillah +was so filled with amazement that it overwhelmed her. +<br> +<br> +She had seen Mrs. Hart's joy. She had heard her give to Windham the +name of "Guy." She had heard him call her those tender, well-known +names--the fond names with which the letters of Guy Molyneux used +always to be filled. What did all this mean? +<br> +<br> +God in heaven! Was this a dream, or a reality? Could there, indeed, +be truth in this scene? Could this be possibly what it seemed to be? +Was Windham Guy Molyneux? +<br> +<br> +The question was too bewildering. A thousand circumstances at once +suggested themselves as that question arose. All the past came back +before her, with the scenes and the words of that past. She +remembered now Windham's saying that he was married, and that he +hated his wife worse than death. What did this mean? Did this not +coincide with what she knew of Guy Molyneux? And what was to be the +end of all this? Her brain reeled at the thoughts that came to her as +she asked herself this question. +<br> +<br> +For this Windham was _hers_. Windham, with his devotion, his fervid +passion, his burning words, his despairing love, his incessant +self-watchfulness and strong self-control. Windham, who had snatched +her from a dreadful death, and given glory and bliss to that heaven +in life which she had known in Marseilles and in Florence; Windham, +who had found in her society his highest happiness, and had spoken to +her words of frenzied adoration; Windham, who had been the partner of +so many stolen interviews; Windham, who once had flung aside even his +honor and duty in his mad love, and urged her to fly with him to +India! And could this man be Guy Molyneux? There were amazing +coincidences which she could now recall. He had come home in mourning +from India. He had told her of those very scenes in India of which +she had read in Guy's letters. He had said that he was bound to a +fate which he abhorred, and she recalled what had been her own +conjectures as to what that fate might be. +<br> +<br> +At such thoughts as these she was filled with a mixture of deep joy +and deadly fear. What might the end be? what could the end be?--this +was the question now. Windham loved; Guy hated. Could these two men +be indeed one? If they were, then how could this love and hate be +reconciled? Would Windham cease to love, or Guy give up his hate? To +her, also, there was still terror in the thought of Guy; and for +Windham to be resolved into that man, from whom she had fled, seemed +to her as though he were about to become her enemy. Yet this did not +seem possible. Such confidence had she in Windham's love that the +thought of his losing it, or changing, appeared the wildest +improbability. No; that, at least, could not be. Still he was her +own. Not yet could she blend his image with that of Guy. In her +bewilderment she clung to this as her only comfort, and hoped that, +in some way, all this would be explained. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Obed had been sitting in a bewilderment equal to hers, and +keeping a silence that was hard to maintain. At length he could +restrain his feelings no longer. +<br> +<br> +"Can you tell," he asked at length--"can you imagine, Miss +Lorton--have you the remotest idea of what in thunder is the meaning +of all this?" +<br> +<br> +"I don't know," said Zillah; "I don't understand; I can't even +imagine." +<br> +<br> +"And I'm--well," interposed Obed, with a blank look of despair, "the +English language does not afford a word, not one single word, that +can express the idea; so I will resort to the American, and merely +remark that at this present moment I'm catawampously chawed up." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know Mrs. Hart?" said Zillah. "Of course you do." +<br> +<br> +"Mrs. Hart?" asked Obed, in momentary surprise. +<br> +<br> +"Yes--her." +<br> +<br> +"Mrs. Hart? Oh, I see. Yes, I knew her many years ago. This afternoon +I found her in Florence. I brought her out here. She told me that she +had come here in search of a friend; but, by the living thunder, the +very last person that I should have guessed at as that friend would +have been Windham. And yet he was the man--the identical individual. +But did you ever see such joy," he continued, after a pause, "as +there was in her face at her first sight of him? Well, when I met her +she was in as deep a despair. She was crouching on the steps of the +Baptistery, looking with eager eyes--hungry eyes--to find some one. +And all this time it was Windham. She came here to find him, and him +only. She has been here for weeks, perhaps for months, wandering +about, in suffering and weakness, looking every where for Windham. +She had spent all her money; she had been turned out of her lodgings; +she had neither food nor shelter. For two or three days she had not +eaten any thing. When I happened, by the merest accident, to find +her, do you know what she was doing? She was dying of starvation, but +still she was looking for Windham! And I solemnly believe that if I +had not found her she would be there at this moment. Yes, she would +be sitting there in misery, in want, and in starvation, still looking +after Windham. And if she had died there, on that spot, I feel +convinced that the last movement of her lips would have been a murmur +of his name, and the last look of her dying eyes would have been for +Windham. I saw all this in every look of hers, and in every word of +hers that she has thus far uttered to me about her fearful +experiences. I saw this; and now I beg leave to ask, in the quietest +way in the world, Who is this Windham, and what is he to her?" +<br> +<br> +Here Obed ceased. He had spoken in a way that showed the deep emotion +which he felt, and the sorrow and sympathy that filled his soul. As +he spoke of Mrs. Hart's miseries his voice trembled. Never in his +life had he met with sorrow like her sorrow. It was not this last +scene in her life which gave him this feeling, but it was his +knowledge of that awful past in which she had lived, and sinned, and +suffered--that past whose sufferings were perpetuated still, whose +lurid shadows were now projected into these later days of her life. +All this he felt, and he showed it, and he sought earnestly to solve +the problem which these things held out to his mind; but he could not +find a solution, nor could Zillah give one. For her part, it was with +unfeigned horror that she listened to Obed's recital of Mrs. Hart's +sufferings and despair; yet as she listened there came to her mind +the same question which had been asked by Obed, Who is this Windham? +and what is he to her? Could her old devotion as the nurse of Guy +account for this? Or was there some deeper cause? Had she come to +save him from something? Yet from what? From danger? Yet from what +danger? +<br> +<br> +And thus to each of these alike there came the same problem, yet to +each there came no hope of solution. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXXV. +<br> +<br> +DESPAIR. +<br> +<br> +The time seemed long indeed to Obed and to Zillah, as they sat there +in silence, wondering, bewildered, yet utterly unable to fathom the +deep mystery that lay before them. Half an hour elapsed; and at last +some one crossed the hall and came to the door. It was Lord +Chetwynde. He looked troubled and excited. +<br> +<br> +"Miss Lorton," said he, "she wants _you_. I don't understand what she +says. It is very strange. She must be out of her senses. Come in, Mr. +Chute. See if you can help me out of my bewilderment." +<br> +<br> +He offered his arm to Zillah, but she did not take it. It seemed as +if she did not see it. Filled with vague fears and apprehensions, she +walked into the room where Mrs. Hart was, and Lord Chetwynde and Obed +Chute came after her. +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart was lying upon the sofa. As Zillah entered she fixed her +eyes upon her. +<br> +<br> +"I have been too selfish," said she. "In my joy at finding my boy so +unexpectedly and so wonderfully, I have not been able to speak one +word to my sweet girl. Oh, Zillah, my child, you, I know, will +forgive me. But are you not amazed to see me? Yet I am still more +amazed to see you. How did you come here? How is it that I find you +here--along with my noble friend--in his house? I am all overcome +with wonder. I can not understand this. I do not know what to say, or +where to begin to ask the questions that I wish to ask. Mr. Chute +seems a kind of Providence," she added, with peculiar emphasis in +the faint tones of her weak voice--"a kind of Providence, who comes +to people in their last extremities, and saves them from despair! Mr. +Chute," she continued, "is my savior!" She paused for a time, and +looked at Obed with a certain deep meaning in her eyes. Then she +turned to Zillah again. "My child," she said, "dear, sweet Zillah! +you will have to tell me all about this. Why was it that you fled +away from Chetwynde? And oh! how could you have the heart to give me +up to strangers?" +<br> +<br> +Amazed, speechless, overcome by wonder, Zillah could not say a word. +She went to Mrs. Hart, folded her in her arms, and kissed over and +over again the white lips of the woman who had once been dear to her +in Chetwynde Castle. +<br> +<br> +"I do not understand it," said Mrs. Hart, feebly, and with an +expression of deep amazement; "I do not comprehend all this at all. +Here you all are, all of you whom I love--the only ones on earth whom +I love. Here is my boy, my darling, whom I came to seek! Here is my +sweet Zillah, who brightened my mournful life at Chetwynde Castle +with her love and tenderness. And here I see my best friend, who came +to save me from death and despair, and brought me here to life and +joy and hope! What is the meaning of it all? My boy can not tell me. +Say, my sweet Zillah, can not you tell me? Do you not know? Do you +understand? Say, whose plan is it? Is it your plan? Who has brought +us all together?" +<br> +<br> +"It is God," said Zillah, solemnly. "I do not understand how you came +here. Let us thank God that you have found your friends." +<br> +<br> +She spoke at random; she knew not what to say. In her own dark +perplexity she was unable to say any thing else; and when she saw +that Mrs. Hart was equally perplexed, and turned to her for +information, she could only find an answer in those words which were +prompted by her heart. So she spoke, and she could say no more. +<br> +<br> +Nor could the others. All were silent. That white face looked +wistfully from one to the other, with eager eyes, as though seeking +from each some explanation; but none could give her that which she +sought. In the faces that surrounded her she saw nothing else but a +wonder which was fully equal to her own. +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute had now a fresh cause for bewilderment. For here was +Zillah claimed fondly as a dear and loved friend by Mrs. Hart. Who +was she? Was her mysterious story bound up in any way with the +tragical life of the other who thus claimed her? He had been +sufficiently astonished at the meeting between the woman whom he had +rescued and his friend Windham; but now he saw his protégé, Miss +Lorton, recognized by her as her dearest friend, and called by the +most loving names--with an affection, too, which was fully returned +by the one whom she thus addressed. What to think or to say he knew +not. Of all the mysteries of which he had ever heard none equaled +this, and it seemed to become more complicated every instant. He was +at once perplexed by this insoluble problem, and vexed because it was +insoluble. To his calm and straightforward mind nothing was so +aggravating as a puzzle which could not be explained. He abhorred all +mysteries. Yet here he found one full before him which baffled his +utmost powers of comprehension--one, too, in which he himself was +intermixed, and in which he saw Mrs. Hart and Windham and Miss Lorton +all equally involved, and what was worse, equally in the dark. +<br> +<br> +But if Obed's bewilderment was great, what can be said of that which +filled the mind of Lord Chetwynde? He saw his old nurse, whom +he so deeply and even so passionately loved, turning away from +himself to clasp in her arms, and to greet with the fondest +affection, that beautiful girl who was dearer to him than any thing +else in life. Mrs. Hart knew Miss Lorton! Above all, he was struck by +the name which she gave her. She called her "Zillah!" More than this, +she mentioned Chetwynde! She reproached this girl for running away +from Chetwynde Castle! And to all this Miss Lorton said nothing, but +accepted these fond reproaches in such a way that she made it seem as +though she herself must once in very deed have lived in Chetwynde +Castle, and fled from it. Mrs. Hart called her "Zillah!" To whom did +that strange name belong? To one, and to one alone. That one was the +daughter of General Pomeroy, whom he had married, and who was now his +wife. That one he hated with a hate which no feeling of duty and no +bond of gratitude could either lessen or overcome. Was he not +married? Had he not seen that wife of his a thousand times? Had he +not associated with her at Chetwynde Castle, at Lausanne, on the +road, and in Florence? What madness, what mockery was this? It would +seem as though Mrs. Hart had mistaken Miss Lorton for that detested +wife who stood between him and his love. But how could such a mistake +be made? True, the complexion of each was dark, and the hair of each +was black, and the forms and figures were not unlike; but the +features were widely different; the large, soft, loving eyes of Miss +Lorton were not like those gleaming, fiery orbs that he had seen in +the woman whom he thought his wife; and the expression of the face in +each was as unlike as possible. Could Mrs. Hart be in a delirium? She +must be mad! But then the worst of it was, that if she were mad Miss +Lorton must be mad also. +<br> +<br> +"Where am I?" said Mrs. Hart, rousing herself, and breaking in upon +Lord Chetwynde's thoughts. "It seems to me that I have suddenly +escaped from a hell, where I have been living, and have come into +heaven. Where am I? How is it that I find myself among those whom I +hold most dear? Oh, my old friend! my savior! my benefactor! tell me, +are you really a living being?" +<br> +<br> +"Nothing shorter," replied Obed, solemnly, "to the best of my +knowledge and belief, though at the present moment I feel inclined to +doubt it." +<br> +<br> +"My boy, give me your hand. Do I really hold it? Am I not dreaming?" +<br> +<br> +"No, my dear old nurse. I am really alive, and you are alive, and I +am really your boy--your Guy--though hang me if I understand all +this!" +<br> +<br> +"Zillah, my sweet child, give me your hand too. You have become +reconciled to him, then. I see how it is. Ah! how dear you are to one +another! My God! what blessedness is this! And yet I thought that you +had fled from him, and left him forever. But he found you. You are +reunited once more." +<br> +<br> +She placed Zillah's hand in Lord Chetwynde's, and Lord Chetwynde held +it closely, firmly, in a passionate grasp, not knowing what all this +meant, yet in his vehement love willing to take blindly all that +might be given to him, even though it came to him through the +delirium of his old nurse. He held it tightly, though Zillah in a +kind of terror tried to withdraw it. He held it, for something told +him in the midst of his bewilderment that it was his. +<br> +<br> +Tears flowed from Mrs. Hart's eyes. There was a deep silence around. +At last Obed Chute spoke. +<br> +<br> +"My Christian friends," said he, "it's been my lot and my privilege +to attend the theatre in my youthful days, and I've often seen what +they call _situations_; but of all the onparalleled situations that +were ever put upon the boards, from '76 down to '59, I'll be hanged +if this isn't the greatest, the grandest, and the most bewildering. +I'm floored. I give up. Henceforth Obed Chute exists no longer. He is +dead. Hic jacet. In memoriam. E pluribus unum. You may be Mr. +Windham, and you, my child, may be Miss Lorton, or you may not. You +may be somebody else. We may all be somebody else. I'm somebody else. +I'll be hanged if I'm myself. To my dying day I don't expect to +understand this. Don't try to explain it, I beg. If you do I shall go +mad. The only thing I do understand just now is this, that our friend +Mrs. Hart was very weak, and needs rest, and rest she shall +accordingly have. Come," he continued, turning to her; "you will have +time to-morrow to see them again. Take a little rest now. You have +called me your friend several times to-day. I claim a friend's +privilege. You must lie down by yourself, if it's only for half an +hour. Don't refuse me. I'd do as much for you." +<br> +<br> +Obed's manner showed that same tender compassion which he had already +evinced. Mrs. Hart complied with his request. She rose and took his +arm. +<br> +<br> +"Tell me one thing plainly," said Obed, as Mrs. Hart stood up. "Who +are these? Is not this Mr. Windham, and is not this Miss Lorton? If +not, who are they? That's fair, I think. I don't want to be in the +dark amidst such universal light." +<br> +<br> +"Is it possible that you don't know?" said Mrs. Hart, wonderingly. +"Why should they conceal it from you? These are my dearest +children--my friends--the ones dear to my heart. Oh, my friend, _you_ +will understand me. This is Lord Chetwynde, _son of the Earl of +Chetwynde_, and this girl is Zillah, daughter of Neville +Pomeroy--Lady Chetwynde--his wife." +<br> +<br> +"God in heaven!" exclaimed Obed Chute. "Is this so, or are you mad, +and are they mad?" +<br> +<br> +"I do not know what you mean," said Mrs. Hart. "I have spoken the +truth. It is so." +<br> +<br> +Obed said not another word, but led her out of the room, with his +strong brain in a state of bewilderment greater than ever, and +surpassing any thing that he had known before. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde was left alone with Zillah, holding her hand, to which +he still clung--though Zillah in her deep embarrassment tried to +withdraw it--and looking at her with eagerness yet perplexity. +<br> +<br> +"Great Heaven!" he cried. "Do you understand this? Oh, my love! my +own! my darling! What is the meaning of it all?" +<br> +<br> +"I don't know," stammered Zillah, in confusion. "Don't you know?" +<br> +<br> +"It's a mockery. It's her delirium," cried Lord Chetwynde, +passionately. "Some tantalizing demon has put this into her wandering +mind. But oh! my dearest, something must be true; at least you knew +her before." +<br> +<br> +"Yes," said Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"Where?" cried Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"At Chetwynde Castle," said Zillah, faintly. +<br> +<br> +"At Chetwynde Castle?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Heavens! Chetwynde Castle! What is this? Can it be a mockery? +What does it all mean? You! you! You of all others! my own! my +darling! _You_ can never deceive me," he cried, in piercing tones. +"Tell me, and tell me truly, what were you doing in Chetwynde +Castle?" +<br> +<br> +"Living there," said Zillah. "I lived there for years, till the Earl +died, and then I left, for certain reasons." +<br> +<br> +"Great God! What is it that you are saying?" He gasped for breath. +<br> +<br> +"Only the truth," said Zillah. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde held her hand still; his eyes seemed to devour her in +the intensity of their gaze. A thousand bewildering questions were in +his mind. What! Was not his wife even now in Florence? Was he not +familiar with her face? What did this mean? What utter mockery was +this! Yet every word of Zillah's went to corroborate the words of +Mrs. Hart. +<br> +<br> +As for Zillah, she saw his embarrassment, but interpreted it falsely. +"He is beginning to think," she thought, "that I am the one to whom +he was married. His old hate and abhorrence are returning. He is +afraid to make himself sure of it. He loves Miss Lorton, but hates +the daughter of General Pomeroy. When he finds out who I am he will +loathe _me_." Then while Lord Chetwynde stood silent in astonishment +and bewilderment, not understanding how it was possible for these +things to be, the thought flashed upon her mind about that last +letter. He had loved another. Inez Cameron was his true love. She +herself was nothing. Bitterly came this remembrance to her mind. She +saw herself now cast out from his heart, and the love that had +awakened would die out forever. And in that moment, as these thoughts +rushed through her mind, as she recalled the words of that last +letter, the scorn and insults that were heaped upon herself, and, +above all, the fervent love that was expressed for another--as she +brought these things back which had once been so bitter, one by +one--hope departed, and despair settled over her heart. +<br> +<br> +But Lord Chetwynde clung to her hand. The thoughts of his heart were +widely different from those of hers, and her despair was exceeded by +his own. Who she was and what she was he could not understand; but +the thought that he had a wife, and that his wife was General +Pomeroy's daughter, was immovable in his mind. +<br> +<br> +"My darling!" he cried, in imploring tones, in which there was at the +same time a world of love and tenderness; "my own darling! You know +well that for you I would give up all my life and all my hope, and +every thing that I have. For you, oh! my sweet love, I have trampled +upon honor and duty, and have turned my back upon the holy memories +of my father! For you I have stifled my conscience and denied my God! +Oh! my own, my only love, listen and answer. In the name of God, and +by all your hopes of heaven, I implore you to answer me truly this +one question. Who are you? What is your name? How is it that Mrs. +Hart has made this mistake?" +<br> +<br> +And as Lord Chetwynde gave utterance to this appeal there was in his +voice an anguish of entreaty, as though his very life hung upon her +answer. It thrilled to the inmost soul of Zillah, who herself was +wrought up to an excitement which was equal to his, if not superior. +<br> +<br> +"Mrs. Hart has made no mistake," replied Zillah, in low, solemn +tones; "she has spoken the truth. As you have asked, so must I +answer. In the name of God, then, I tell you. Lord Chetwynde, that I +am Zillah, daughter of General Pomeroy, and--_your wife_!" +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my God!" cried Lord Chetwynde, with a deep groan. +<br> +<br> +He dropped her hand. He staggered back, and looked at her with a face +in which there was nothing else than horror. +<br> +<br> +What was then in his mind Zillah could not possibly know. She +therefore interpreted that look of his from her own knowledge and +suspicions only. She read in it only his own unconquerable hate, his +invincible aversion to her, which now, at the mention of her true +name, had revived in all its original force, and destroyed utterly +the love which he had professed. All was lost! lost! lost! lost! and +doubly lost! Better far never to have seen him than, having seen him +and known him and loved him, to lose him thus. Such were her +thoughts. Already her emotion had been overwhelming; this was the +last, and it was too much. With a low moan of entreaty and of despair +she wailed out the name which she loved so much. It was that word +"Windham," which he had made so sweet to her. +<br> +<br> +Saying this, and with that moan of despair, she threw up her arms +wildly, and sank down senseless at his feet. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXXVI. +<br> +<br> +HILDA'S LAST VENTURE. +<br> +<br> +When Obed Chute came back he found Lord Chetwynde holding Zillah in +his arms, pressing her to his heart, and looking wildly around with a +face of agony. "Quick! quick!" he cried. "Water, for God's sake! +She's fainted! She's dying! Quick!" +<br> +<br> +In a moment a dozen servants were summoned, and Zillah was plied with +restoratives till she revived again. She came back to sense and to +life, but hope was dead within her; and even the sight of Lord +Chetwynde's face of agony, and his half-frantic words, could not +lessen her despair. She implored to be carried to her room, and there +she was at once taken. Lord Chetwynde's anguish was now not less than +hers. With bitter self-reproach, and in terrible bewilderment, he +wandered off into the west gallery, whither Obed Chute followed him, +but, seeing his agitation, refrained from saying any thing. Lord +Chetwynde was lost in an abyss of despair. In the midst of his agony +for Zillah's sake he tried in vain to comprehend how this Miss Lorton +could believe herself to be General Pomeroy's daughter and his own +wife, when, as he very well knew, his own wife was at her lodgings in +Florence--that wife whom he hated, but who yet had saved him from +death in Switzerland, and was now living on his smiles in Italy. How +could one like Miss Lorton make such a mistake? Or how could she +violate all delicacy by asserting such a thing? Clearly somebody was +mad. Perhaps he himself was mad. But as he felt himself to be in his +sober senses, and not dreaming, he tried to think whether madness +should be attributed to Mrs. Hart or Miss Lorton, on the one hand, or +to his wife on the other. The problem was insoluble. Madness, he +thought, must certainly be somewhere. But where? All seemed to be +concerned. Mrs. Hart had recognized Miss Lorton, and Miss Lorton had +returned that recognition. Somebody must be fearfully mistaken. What +was to be done? In the midst of this his whole being thrilled at the +recollection of those words in which Miss Lorton had claimed to be +his wife. _His wife_! And she must herself have believed this at the +time; otherwise she would have died rather than have uttered those +words. But what would his real wife say to all this? That was his +final thought. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Obed Chute said not a word. He saw Lord Chetwynde's +emotion, and, with his usual delicacy of feeling, did not intrude +upon him at such a time, though himself filled with undiminished +wonder. The first excitement was over, certainly, yet the wonder +remained none the less; and while Lord Chetwynde was pacing the long +gallery restlessly and wildly, Obed sat meditative, pondering upon +the possibilities of things. Yet the more he thought the less was he +able to unravel these mysteries. +<br> +<br> +At last he thought that a walk outside would be better. A quiet smoke +would assist meditation. His brain could always work more promptly +when a pipe was in his mouth. He therefore went off to prepare this +invaluable companion for the walk which he designed, and was even +filling his pipe, when he was aroused by the entrance of a servant, +who announced that a lady had just arrived, and wished to see him on +very particular business. Saying this, the servant handed him her +card. Obed looked at it, and read the following name: +<br> +<br> +"_Lady Chetwynde_." +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXXVII. +<br> +<br> +THE CRYPTOGRAM DECIPHERED. +<br> +<br> +Hitherto, and up to that last moment just spoken of, this whole +affair had been one long puzzle to Obed, one, too, which was +exceedingly unpleasant and utterly incomprehensible. While Lord +Chetwynde had been pacing the gallery in a fever of agitation, Obed +had been a prey to thoughts less intense and less painful, no doubt, +but yet equally perplexing. He had been summing up in his mind the +general outlines of this grand mystery, and the results were +something like this: +<br> +<br> +_First_, there was the fact that these three were all old friends, +or, at least, that two of them were equally dear to Mrs. Hart. +<br> +<br> +_Secondly_, that on the appearance of Mrs. Hart each was unable to +account for the emotion of the other. +<br> +<br> +_Thirdly_, that Miss Lorton and Windham had been living under assumed +names ever since he had known them. +<br> +<br> +_Fourthly_, that Miss Lorton and Windham had hitherto been uncommonly +fond of one another's society. +<br> +<br> +_Fifthly_, that this was not surprising, since Windham had saved Miss +Lorton from a frightful death. +<br> +<br> +_Sixthly_, what? Why this, that Mrs. Hart had solemnly declared that +Windham was not Wind ham at all, but Guy Molyneux, son of the late +Earl of Chetwynde; and that Miss Lorton was not Miss Lorton, but +Zillah, daughter of Neville Pomeroy, and wife of Lord Chetwynde! +<br> +<br> +The Earl of Chetwynde! Neville Pomeroy! Did any of these, except Mrs. +Hart, know, did they have the remotest suspicion of the profound +meaning which these names had to Obed Chute? Did they know or +suspect? Know or suspect? Why, they evidently knew nothing, and +suspected nothing! Had they not been warm friends--or something more, +as Obed now began to think--for months, while neither one knew the +other as any thing else than that which was assumed? +<br> +<br> +It was a puzzle. +<br> +<br> +It was something that required an uncommon exercise of brain. Such an +exercise demanded also an uncommon stimulus to that brain; and +therefore Obed had gone up for his pipe. It was while preparing this +that the card had come. +<br> +<br> +"Lady Chetwynde!" +<br> +<br> +His first impulse was to give a long, low whistle. After this he +arose in silence and went down to the chief room. A lady was sitting +there, who rose as he entered. Obed bowed low and looked at her +earnestly as he seated himself. +<br> +<br> +"I hope, Sir," said the lady, in a clear, musical voice, "that you +will excuse the liberty which I have taken; but the object that +brings me here is one of such importance that I have been compelled +to come in person. It was only of late that I learned that you were +residing here, and as soon as I heard it I came to see you." +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute bowed again, but said not a word. +<br> +<br> +His bewilderment was yet strong, and he did not wish to commit +himself. This lady was beautiful, and graceful in her manner. She +called herself Lady Chetwynde. The name puzzled him, and, in addition +to the other puzzle that had visited him on this eventful day, was +hard to be borne. But he bore it bravely, and was silent. In his +silence he regarded his visitor with the closest scrutiny. At the +first glance he had marked her beauty. A further observation showed +that she was agitated, that she was pale, and bore marks of +suffering. She was a woman in distress. In the midst of Obed's +perplexity the discovery of this aroused his chivalrous sympathy. +<br> +<br> +This was Hilda's last venture, and she felt it to be such. She had +come out with the expectation of finding Gualtier on the road, and of +receiving some message from him. She had seen nothing of him. She had +waited about half an hour on the road, till she could wait no longer, +and then she had gone onward. She thought that Gualtier might have +failed her, but such a thing seemed so improbable that she began to +fear some disaster. Perhaps he had fallen a victim to his devotion. +The thought of this troubled her, and increased her agitation; and +now, when she found herself in the presence of Obed Chute, her +agitation was so marked as to be visible to him. Yet, as far as he +was concerned, this agitation only served to favor her cause in his +eyes. +<br> +<br> +"Mr. Chute," said Hilda, in low, steady tones, "I am Lady Chetwynde. +I am the daughter of General Pomeroy, once Captain Pomeroy, whom you +knew. He died a few years ago, and on his death-bed arranged a +marriage between me and the only son of the Earl of Chetwynde. It was +a sudden marriage. He insisted on it. He was dying, and his wishes +could not be denied. I yielded, and was married. My husband left me +immediately after the marriage ceremony, and went to India, where he +remained for years. He only returned a short time ago. My father, +General Pomeroy, died, and the Earl of Chetwynde took me to live with +him. I lived with him for years. I was a daughter to him, and he +loved me as one. He died in my arms. I was alone in the world till +his son, the young Earl, came home. Pardon me for mentioning these +family details, but they are necessary in order to explain my +position and to prepare the way for those things which I have to +say." +<br> +<br> +Hilda paused for a while. Obed said nothing, but listened with an +unchanged face. +<br> +<br> +"Not long after my father's death," said Hilda, "I went to pay a +visit to my old home, Pomeroy Court. I happened to look into my +father's desk one day, and there I found some papers. One of them was +a writing in cipher, and the rest consisted of letters written by one +who signed himself _Obed Chute_, and who wrote from New York. All +related to the wife of the Earl." +<br> +<br> +Hilda stopped again, and waited to see the effect of this. But Obed +said nothing, nor could she see in his face any indication of any +emotion whatever. +<br> +<br> +"That writing in cipher," she continued, "disturbed me. The letters +were of such a character that they filled me with uneasiness, and I +thought that the writing in cipher would explain all. I therefore +tried to decipher it. I obtained books on the subject, and studied up +the way by which such things may be unraveled. I applied myself to +this task for months, and at last succeeded in my object. I never +felt certain, however, that I had deciphered it rightly, nor do I yet +feel certain; but what I did find out had a remarkable connection +with the letters which accompanied it, and increased the alarm which +I felt. Then I tried to find out about you, but could not. You alone, +I thought, could explain this mystery. It was a thing which filled me +with horror. I can not tell you how awful were the fears that arose, +and how intolerable were the suspicions. But I could never get any +explanation. Now these things have never ceased to trouble me, and +they always will until they are explained. +<br> +<br> +"Yesterday I happened to hear your name mentioned. It startled me. I +made inquiries, and found that a person who bore that name which was +so familiar to me, and about which I had made such inquiries--Obed +Chute--was living here. I at once resolved to come out and see you in +person, so as to ask you what it all means, and put an end, in some +way or other, to my suspense." +<br> +<br> +This recital produced a strong effect on Obed, yet no expression of +his face told whether that effect was favorable or unfavorable. +Earnestly Hilda watched his face as she spoke, so as to read if +possible her fate, yet she found it impossible. His face remained +stolid and impassive, though she saw this much, that he was listening +to her with the deepest attention. What was most perplexing was the +fact that Obed did not say one single word. +<br> +<br> +In fact, in this position, he did not know what to say. So he did the +very best thing that he could, and said nothing. But the mystery that +had begun that day with the advent of Mrs. Hart was certainly +deepening. It was already unfathomable when Mrs. Hart had said that +Zillah was Lady Chetwynde, and that Windham was Lord Chetwynde. Here, +however, came one who made it still more hopelessly and inextricably +entangled by calmly announcing herself as Lady Chetwynde; and not +only so, but adding to it an account of her life. Which was the true +one? Mrs. Hart could not lie. She did not seem to be insane. About +Zillah there had certainly been a mystery, but she could not deceive. +He began to have vague ideas that Lord Chetwynde's morals had become +affected by his Indian life, and that he had a great number of wives; +but then he remembered that this woman claimed to be General +Pomeroy's daughter, which Mrs. Hart had also said of Zillah. So the +problem was as dark as ever. He began to see that he was incapable of +dealing with this subject, and that Mrs. Hart alone could explain. +<br> +<br> +Hilda, after some delay, went on: +<br> +<br> +"I have mentioned my attempt to discover the cipher writing," said +she. "My deciphering was such that it seemed to involve my father in +a very heavy charge. It made me think that he had been guilty of some +awful crime." +<br> +<br> +"Your father, General Pomeroy?" Obed Chute uttered this suddenly, and +with deep surprise. +<br> +<br> +Hilda started, and then said, very placidly, "Yes." +<br> +<br> +"And you thought that he might be guilty of 'awful crimes?'" +<br> +<br> +"I feared so." +<br> +<br> +"Had you lived any time with your father?" +<br> +<br> +"All my life." +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute said nothing more though Hilda seemed to expect it; so, +finding him silent, she went on without regarding him; though, if she +had known this man, she would have seen that by those words she at +once lost all that sympathy and consideration which thus far he had +felt for her. +<br> +<br> +"On deciphering that paper of which I have spoken I found that it +charged my father, General Pomeroy, with several crimes, all equally +abhorrent. I will show you the paper itself, and my interpretation of +it line by line, so that you may see for yourself the agony that such +a discovery would naturally produce in the mind of a daughter. I will +also show you those letters which you yourself wrote to my father +many years ago." +<br> +<br> +Saying this, Hilda produced some papers, which she laid on the table +before Obed Chute. +<br> +<br> +The first was the writing in cipher. +<br> +<br> +The second was her own interpretation, such as she had already shown +to Gualtier and to Zillah. +<br> +<br> +The third was the same thing, written out line by line for the sake +of legibility, as follows: +<br> +<br> +_Oh may God have mercy on my wretched soul Amen +O Pomeroy forged a hundred thousand dollars +O N Pomeroy eloped with poor Lady Chetwynde +She acted out of a mad impulse in flying +She listened to me and ran off with me +She was piqued at her husband's act +Fell in with Lady Mary Chetwynd +Expelled the army for gaming +N Pomeroy of Pomeroy Berks +O I am a miserable villain_ +<br> +<br> +Along with these she put down a paper which contained her key for +deciphering this. +<br> +<br> +Finally she laid down those letters written by Obed Chute, which have +already been given. All these Obed Chute examined carefully. The +cipher writing he looked at, compared it with the key, and then with +the interpretation written by Hilda. As she looked anxiously at his +face it struck her that when he took up that cipher writing it seemed +as though he was familiar with it. For such a thing she was not +unprepared. Obed Chute's connection with this business was mysterious +to her, but it had been of such a nature that he might be able to +read this paper, and know the fullness of its meaning. After reading +those letters which had been written by himself--among which, +however, that latest letter which Hilda had shown Zillah was not to +be seen--he took up that second paper in which she had carefully +written out in capitals the meaning of each line, such as has already +been given, where the line is extended by characters which are not +interpreted. Over this he looked long and carefully, frequently +comparing it with the first paper, which contained only the cipher +itself. +<br> +<br> +At length he laid down the papers and looked Hilda full in the face. +<br> +<br> +"Did it ever strike you," he asked, "that your translation was +slightly rambling, and a little incoherent?" +<br> +<br> +"I have hoped that it was," said Hilda, pathetically. +<br> +<br> +"You may be assured of it," said Obed. "Read it for yourself, and +think for a moment whether any human being would think of writing +such stuff as that." And he motioned contemptuously to the paper +where her interpretation was written out. "There's no meaning in it +except this, which I have now noticed for the first time--that the +miserable scoundrel who wrote this has done it so as to throw +suspicion upon the man whom he was bound to love with all his +contemptible heart, if he had one, which he hadn't. I see now. The +infernal sneak!" +<br> +<br> +And Obed, glaring at the paper, actually ground his teeth in rage. At +length he looked up, and calmly said: +<br> +<br> +"Madam, it happens that in this interpretation of yours you are +totally and utterly astray. In your deep love for your father"--and +here Hilda imagined a sneer--"you will be rejoiced to learn this. +This cipher is an old-acquaintance. I unraveled it all many years +ago--almost before you were born, certainly before you ever thought +of ciphers. I have all the papers by me. You couldn't have come to a +better person than me--in fact, I'm the only person, I suppose, that +you could come to. I will therefore explain the whole matter, so that +for the rest of your life your affectionate and guileless nature may +no longer be disturbed by those lamentable suspicions which you have +cultivated about the noblest gentleman and most stainless soldier +that ever breathed." +<br> +<br> +With these words he left the room, and shortly returned with some +papers. These he spread before Hilda. One was the cipher itself--a +fac-simile of her own. The next was a mass of letters, written out in +capitals on a square block. Every cipher was written out here in its +Roman equivalent. +<br> +<br> +As he spread this out Obed showed her the true character of it. +<br> +<br> +"You have mistaken it," he said. "In the cipher there is a double +alphabet. The upper half is written in the first, the lower half in +the second. The second alphabet has most of the letters of the first; +those of most frequent occurrence are changed, and instead of +astronomical signs, punctuation marks are used. You have succeeded, I +see, in finding the key to the upper part, but you do not seem to +have thought that the lower part required a separate examination. You +seem to suppose that all this mass of letters is unmeaning, and was +inserted by way of recreation to the mind that was wearied with +writing the first, or perhaps to mislead. Now if you had read it all +you would have seen the entire truth. The man that wrote this was a +villain: he has written it so that the upper part throws suspicion +upon his benefactor. Whether he did this by accident or on purpose +the Lord only knows. But, to my personal knowledge, he was about the +meanest, smallest, sneakin'est rascal that it was ever my luck to +light on. And yet he knew what honor was, and duty, for he had +associated all his life with the noblest gentleman that ever lived. +But I will say no more about it. See! Here is the full translation of +the whole thing." +<br> +<br> +And he laid down before Hilda another paper, which was written out in +the usual manner. +<br> +<br> +"If you look at the first paper," said Obed, pointing to the one +which gave the translation of each letter, above described, "you will +see that the first part rends like your translation, while the lower +part has no meaning. This arose from the peculiar nature of the man +who wrote it. He couldn't do any thing straight. When he made a +confession he wrote it in cipher. When he wrote in cipher he wrote it +so as to puzzle and mislead any one who might try to find it out. He +couldn't write even a cipher straight, but began in the middle and +wound all his letters about it. Do you see that letter 'M' in the +eleventh line, the twelfth one from the right side, with a cross by +the side of it? That is the first letter. You must read from that, +but toward the left, for seventeen letters, and then follow on the +line immediately above it. The writing then runs on, and winds about +this central line till this rectangular block of letters is formed. +You supposed that it read on like ordinary writing. You see what you +have found out is only those lines that happened to be the top ones, +reading in the usual way from left to right. Now take this first +paper. Begin at that cross, read from right to left for seventeen +letters, and what do you find?" +<br> +<br><img src="images/250.png" alt="Illustration (Untitled)"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration.] +<br> +<br> +Hilda did so, and slowly spelled out this: +<br> +<br> +"MY NAME IS NOT KRIEFF." +<br> +<br> +A shock of astonishment passed through her. +<br> +<br> +"Krieff?" she repeated--"Krieff?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, Krieff," said Obed; "that was his last alias." +<br> +<br> +"Alias? Krieff?" faltered Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"Yes. He had one or two others, but this was his last." +<br> +<br> +"His? Whose? Who is it, then, that wrote this?" +<br> +<br> +"Read on. But it is not worth while to bother with this block of +letters. See; I have this paper where it is all written out. Read +this;" and he handed the other paper to Hilda. She took it +mechanically, and read as follows: +<br> +<br> +"My name is not Krieff. I am a miserable villain, but I was once +named Pemberton Pomeroy, of Pomeroy, Berks. I fell into vice early in +life, and was expelled the army for gaming. I changed my name then to +Redfield Lyttoun. I fell in with Lady Mary Chetwynde. She was +thoughtless, and liked my attentions. I knew she was piqued at her +husband's act in leaving his party and losing his prospects. Out of +spite she listened to me and ran off with me. Neville followed us and +rescued her from me before it was too late. She acted out of a mad +impulse in flying, and repented bitterly. My brother saved her. Let +all know that I, Pemberton Pomeroy, eloped with poor Lady Chetwynde, +and that she was saved by Neville Pomeroy. Let the world know, too, +that I, Pemberton Pomeroy, forged a hundred thousand dollars, and my +brother paid it, and saved me. I write this in cipher, and am a +villain and a coward too. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, may God have mercy on my wretched soul! Amen." +<br> +<br> +On reading this Hilda then compared it with the other paper. She saw +at once that the lines which she had translated were only fragmentary +portions that happened to read from left to right. Doubt was +impossible, and this which Obed Chute gave her was the truth. She +laid the paper down, and looked thoughtfully away. There were several +things here which disturbed her, but above all there was the name +mentioned at the outset. For she saw that the man who had written +this had once gone by the name of Krieff. +<br> +<br> +"I think it my duty," said Obed Chute, "to give you a full +explanation, since you have asked it. The parties concerned are now +all dead, and you claim to be the daughter of one of them. There is +therefore no reason why I should not tell you all that I know. I have +made up my mind to do so, and I will. +<br> +<br> +"Neville Pomeroy, then, was an English gentleman. I have seen much of +Britishers, and have generally found that in a time of trial the +English gentleman comes out uncommonly strong. I got acquainted with +him in an odd kind of way. He was a young fellow, and had come out to +America to hunt buffaloes. I happened to be on the Plains at the same +time. I was out for a small excursion, for the office at New York was +not the kind of place where a fellow of my size could be content all +the time. We heard a great row--guns firing, Indians yelling, and +conjectured that the savages were attacking some party or other. We +dashed on for a mile or two, and came to a hollow. About fifty +rascally Sioux were there. They had surrounded two or three whites, +and captured them, and were preparing to strip each for the purpose +of indulging in a little amusement they have--that is, building a +fire on one's breast. They didn't do it that time, at any rate; and +the fight that followed when we came up was the prettiest, without +exception, that I ever saw. We drove them off, at any rate; and as we +had revolvers, and they had only common rifles, we had it all our own +way. Thirty of those Sioux devils were left behind, dead and wounded, +and the rest vamosed. +<br> +<br> +"This was my first introduction to Neville Pomeroy. I cut his bonds +first, and then introduced myself. He had no clothes on, but was as +courteous as though he was dressed in the latest Fifth Avenue +fashion. We soon understood one another. I found him as plucky as the +devil, and as tough and true as steel. He seemed to like me, and we +kept together on the prairies for three months--fighting, hunting, +starving, stuffing, and enjoying life generally. He came with me to +New York, and stopped with me. I was a broker and banker. Don't look +like one, I know; but I was, and am. The American broker is a +different animal from the broker of Europe. So is the American +banker, one of whom you see before you. +<br> +<br> +"I won't say any thing more about our personal affairs. We became +sworn friends. He went back home, and I took to the desk. Somehow we +kept writing to one another. He heard of great investments in +America, and got me to buy stock for him. He was rich, and soon had I +a large amount of money in my hands. I got the best investments for +him there were, and was glad to do any thing for a man like that. +<br> +<br> +"I'll now go on straight and tell you all that you care to hear. Some +of this--in fact, most of it--I did not find out till long afterward. +<br> +<br> +"Neville Pomeroy then had a younger brother, named Pemberton Pomeroy. +He was an officer in the Guards. He was very dissipated, and soon got +head over heels in debt. Neville had done all that he could for his +brother, and had paid off his debts three times, each time saving him +from ruin. But it was no use. There was the very devil himself in +Pemberton. He was by nature one of the meanest rascals that was ever +created, though the fellow was not bad-looking. He got deeper and +deeper into the mire, and at last got into a scrape so bad, so dirty, +that he had to quit the Guards. It was a gambling affair of so +infamous a character that it was impossible for his brother to save +him. So he quit the Guards, and went into worse courses than ever. +Neville tried still to save him; he wanted to get him an office, but +Pemberton refused. Meanwhile, out of a sense of decency, he had +changed his name to that of Redfield Lyttoun, and under this name he +became pretty well known to a new circle of friends. Under this name +he made the acquaintance of the wife of the Earl of Chetwynde. It +seems that the Earl was wrapped up in politics, and had offended her +by giving up a great office which he held rather than act +dishonorably. She was angry, and grew desperate. Redfield Lyttoun +turned up, and amused her. She compromised herself very seriously by +allowing such marked attentions from him, and people began to talk +about them. The Earl knew nothing at all about this, as he was busy +all the day. There was a sort of quarrel between them, and all her +doings were quite unknown. But Neville heard of it, and made a final +attempt to save his brother. I think this time he was actuated rather +by regard for the Earl, who was his most intimate friend, than by any +hope of saving this wretched fool of a brother of his. At any rate, +he warned him, and threatened to tell the Earl himself of all that +was going on. Pemberton took alarm, and pretended that he would do as +Neville said. He promised to give up Lady Chetwynde. But his +brother's advice had only made him savage, and he determined to carry +out this game to the end. He was desperate, reckless, and utterly +unprincipled. Lady Chetwynde was silly and thoughtless. She liked the +scoundrel, too, I suppose. At any rate, he induced her to run away +with him. For the sake of getting funds to live on he forged some +drafts. He found out that Neville had money in my hands, and drew for +this. I suspected nothing, and the drafts were paid. He got the money +in time to run off with his victim. Silly and foolish as Lady +Chetwynde was, the moment that she had taken the inevitable step she +repented. She thought that it would be impossible to retrace it, and +gave herself up to despair. They fled to America under assumed names. +<br> +<br> +"Their flight was immediately known to Neville. He lost not a moment, +but hurried out to America; and as the ship in which he sailed was +faster than the other, he reached New York first. He came at once to +me. Then he learned, for the first time, of the forgery. About one +hundred thousand dollars had been drawn and paid. We took counsel +together, and watched for the arrival of the steamer. Immediately on +its being reported in the bay we boarded her, and Pemberton Pomeroy +was arrested. He was taken to prison, and Neville induced Lady +Chetwynde to come with us. I offered my house. The privacy was a most +important thing. She had been freed from Pemberton's clutches, and +Neville showed her that it was possible for her to escape yet from +complete infamy. The suddenness of this termination to their plan +startled her and horrified her. Remorse came, and then despair. All +this preyed upon her mind, and with it all there came a great longing +for her son, whom she had left behind. The end of it all was that she +fell under an attack of brain-fever, and lingered for many months a +victim to it. She finally recovered, and went into a convent. After +staying there some time she suddenly left. That is the meaning of +those letters which you found. Of course I kept Neville Pomeroy +acquainted with these circumstances on his return. +<br> +<br> +"Meanwhile Pemberton Pomeroy had lain under arrest. Neville went to +see him, and took advantage of his misery to exact from him a solemn +promise never to search after Lady Chetwynde again, or interfere with +her in any way. Soon after that Pemberton Pomeroy was freed, for +Neville declined to appear against him, and the case dropped. Neville +then went back to England. +<br> +<br> +"Pemberton Pomeroy remained. There was no more hope for him in +England. The money which he had gained by his forgery lie, of course, +had to refund; but his brother generously gave him a few thousands to +begin life on. Pemberton then disappeared for a year or two. At the +end of that time he came back. He had gone to England, and then +returned to America, where he had lived out West. All his money was +gone. He had fallen into low courses. He had taken a wife from the +dregs of the foreign population, and, as though he had some spark of +shame left, he had changed his name to Krieff. He had spent his last +cent, and came to me for help. I helped him, and put him in the way +of getting a living. +<br> +<br> +"But he had lived a wild life, and was completely used up. When he +came to me he was pretty well gone in consumption. I saw he couldn't +last long. I went to see him a good many times. He used to profess +the deepest repentance. He told me once that he was writing a +confession of his crimes, which he was going to send to his brother. +The miserable creature had scarcely any spirit or courage left, and +generally when I visited him he used to begin crying. I put up with +him as well as I could, though. One day when I was with him he handed +me a paper, with considerable fuss, and said I was not to open it +till after his death. Not long afterward he died. I opened the paper, +and found that it contained only this cipher, together with a solemn +request that it should be forwarded to his brother. I wrote to +Neville Pomeroy, telling him of his brother's death, and he at once +came out to New York. He had him decently buried, and I gave him the +papers. I had taken a copy myself, and had found a man who helped me +to decipher it. There was nothing in it. The poor fool had wanted to +make a confession some way, but was too mean to do it like a man, and +so he made up this stuff, which was of no use to any one, and could +only be deciphered by extraordinary skill. But the fellow is dead, +and now you know all the business." +<br> +<br> +Obed Chute ended, and bent down his head in thought. Hilda had +listened with the deepest attention, and at the conclusion of this +account she, too, fell into deep thought. There were many things in +it which impressed her, and some which startled her with a peculiar +shock. +<br> +<br> +But the one idea in her mind was different from anything in this +narrative, and had no connection with the mystery of the secret +cipher, which had baffled her so long. It was not for this, not in +search of this interpretation, that she had come. She had listened to +it rather wearily, as though all that Obed could tell was a matter of +indifference, whichever way it tended. To find that her +interpretation was false had excited no very deep emotion. Once the +search into this had been the chief purpose of her life; but all the +results that could be accomplished by that search had long since been +gained. The cipher writing was a dead thing, belonging to the dead +past. She had only used it as a plausible excuse to gain admittance +to the villa for a higher purpose. +<br> +<br> +The time had now come for the revelation of that purpose. +<br> +<br> +"Sir," said she, in a low voice, looking earnestly at Obed Chute, "I +feel very grateful to you for your great kindness in favoring me with +this explanation. It has been hard for me to have this interpretation +of mine in any way affect my father's memory. I never could bring +myself to believe it, knowing him as I knew him. But, at the same +time, the very idea that there was such a charge in writing disturbed +me. Your explanation, Sir, has made all clear, and has set my mind at +rest in that particular. +<br> +<br> +"And now, Sir, will you excuse me if I mention one more thing which I +would like to ask of you. It concerns me, you will see even more +closely than this writing could have concerned me. It touches me in a +more tender place. It is very strange, and, indeed, quite +inexplicable, why you, Sir, a stranger, should be interwoven with +these things which are so sacred to me; but so it is." +<br> +<br> +Obed was affected by the solemnity of her tone, and by a certain +pathos in her last words, and by something in her manner which showed +a deeper feeling by far than she had evinced before. +<br> +<br> +What Hilda now proceeded to say she had long thought over, and +prepared with great deliberation. No doubt the woman whom Lord +Chetwynde loved lived here. Most probably she was Obed Chute's young +wife, possibly his daughter; but in any case it would be to him a +terrible disclosure, if she, Lord Chetwynde's wife, came and solemnly +informed him of the intrigue that was going on. She had made up her +mind, then, to disclose this, at all hazards, trusting to +circumstances for full and complete satisfaction. +<br> +<br><img src="images/253.png" alt="'Yes,' He Cried, 'I'll Have This Cleared Up Now, Once And Forever.'"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "'Yes,' He Cried, 'I'll Have This Cleared Up Now, Once +And Forever.'"] +<br> +<br> +"Sir," she continued, in a voice which expressed still deeper +emotion, "what I have to say is something which it pains me to say, +yet it must be said. I am Lady Chetwynde, and traveled here with Lord +Chetwynde, who is the only acquaintance I have in Florence. I hurried +from England to his sick-bed, in Switzerland, and saved his life. +Then I came here with him. +<br> +<br> +"Of late I have been suspicious of him. Some things occurred which +led me to suppose that he was paying attentions to a lady here. My +jealousy was aroused. I learned, I need not say how, that he was a +constant visitor here. I followed him to a masquerade to which he +refused to take me. I saw him with this lady, whose face I could not +see. They left you. They walked to an arbor. I listened--for, Sir, +what wife would not listen?--and I heard him make a frantic +declaration of love, and urge her to fly with him. Had I not +interrupted them at that moment they might have fled. Oh, Sir, think +of my lonely condition--think what it costs my pride to speak thus to +a stranger. Tell me, what is this? Is it possible, or do I dream? +Tell me, do you know that my husband loves this woman?" +<br> +<br> +The emotion with which Hilda spoke grew stronger. She rose to her +feet, and took a step nearer to Obed. She stood there with clasped +hands, her beautiful face turned toward him with deep entreaty. +<br> +<br> +Obed looked at her in a fresh bewilderment. He was silent for a long +time. At last he started to his feet. +<br> +<br> +"Well, marm," said he, as he clenched his fist, "I don't understand. +I can't explain. Every thing is a muddle. All I can say is +this--there's either treachery or insanity somewhere, and may I be +cut up into sausages and chawed up by Comanches if I'll stand this +any longer. Yes," he cried, "by the Lord! I'll have this cleared up +now, once and forever. I will, by the Eternal!" +<br> +<br> +He brought his huge fist down with a crash on the table, and left the +room. +<br> +<br> +Hilda sat waiting. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXXVIII. +<br> +<br> +"THE WIFE OF LORD CHETWYNDE." +<br> +<br> +Hilda sat waiting. +<br> +<br> +Obed had gone in search of those who could face this woman and answer +her story. He went first to send word to Zillah, summoning her down. +Zillah had been feebly reclining on her couch, distracted by thoughts +at once perplexing and agonizing, filled with despair at the dark +calamity which had suddenly descended, with a black future arising +before her, when she and "Windham" were to be sundered forever. He +hated her. That was her chief thought; and Windham's love had gone +down in an instant before Guy's deadly abhorrence. A lighter distress +might have been borne by the assistance of pride; but this was too +overmastering, and pride stood powerless in the presence of a +breaking heart. In such a mood as this was she when the message was +brought to her which Obed had sent. +<br> +<br> +The wife of Lord Chetwynde was down stairs, and wished to see her! +<br> +<br> +_The wife of Lord Chetwynde!_ +<br> +<br> +Those words stung her like serpents' fangs; a tumult of fierce rage +and jealousy at once arose within her; and at this new emotion her +sorrow left her, and the weakness arising from her crushed love. With +a start she rose to her feet, and hastily prepared to descend. +<br> +<br> +After summoning Zillah, Obed went in search of Lord Chetwynde. Some +time elapsed before he could find him. He had been wandering about +the grounds in a state bordering on distraction. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Hilda sat waiting. +<br> +<br> +Alone in the great room, where now the shadows were gathering, she +was left to her own dark reflections. The sufferings through which +she had passed had weakened her, and the last scene with Obed had not +been adapted to reassure her or console her. The state of suspense in +which she now was did not give her any fresh strength. Her nervous +system was disorganized, and her present position stimulated her +morbid fancy, turning it toward dark and sombre forebodings. And now +in this solitude and gloom which was about her, and in the deep +suspense in which she was waiting, there came to her mind a +thought--a thought which made her flesh creep, and her blood run +chill, while a strange, grisly horror descended awfully upon her. She +could not help remembering how it had been before. Twice she had made +an effort to anticipate fate and grasp at vengeance--once by herself +alone, and once in the person of Gualtier. Each attempt had been +baffled. It had been frustrated in the same way precisely. To each of +them there had come that fearful phantom figure, rising before them +awfully, menacingly, with an aspect of terrible import. Well she +remembered that shape as it had risen before her at the pavilion--a +shape with white face, and white clothing, and burning eyes--that +figure which seemed to emerge from the depths of the sea, with the +drip of the water in her dark, dank hair, and in her white, clinging +draperies. It was no fiction of the imagination, for Gualtier had +seen the same. It was no fiction, for she recalled her horror, and +the flight through the forest, while the shape pursued till it struck +her down into senselessness. +<br> +<br> +A shudder passed through her once more at the recollection of these +things. And there arose a question of awful import. Would it come +again? Now was the third attempt--the fateful third! Would she again +be baffled, and by _that_? She feared no human foe; but this horror +was something which she could never again encounter and live. And +there came the terror over her that she might once again see this. +<br> +<br> +She was alone amidst her terrors. It was growing late. In the great +room the dimness was deepening, and the furniture looked ghostly at +the farther end of the apartment. It was not long since Obed had +gone, but the time seemed to her interminable. It seemed to her as +though she were all alone in the great house. She struggled with her +fancies, and sat looking at the door fixedly, and with a certain +awful expectation in her eyes. +<br> +<br> +Then, as she looked, a thrill flashed through all her being. For +there, slowly and noiselessly, a figure entered--a figure which she +knew too well. Robed in white it was; the face was pale and white as +the dress; the hair was thick and ebon black, and hung down loosely; +the dress clung closely. Was it the drip of the sea-wave--was it the +wet clothing that thus clung to the figure which had once more come +from the dark ocean depths to avenge her own cause? There, in very +deed, stood the shape of horror-- +<br> +<br> + "her garments<br> + Clinging like cerements,<br> + While the wave constantly<br> + Dripped from her clothing." +<br> +<br> +It was _she_. It was the one who had been sent down to death beneath +the waters, but who now returned for the last time, no longer to warn +or to baffle, but to change from victim to avenger! +<br> +<br> +The anguish of that moment was greater fur than all the agonies which +Hilda had ever known. Her heart stopped beating; all life seemed to +ebb away from the terror of that presence. Wildly there arose a +thought of flight; but she was spellbound, her limbs were paralyzed, +and the dark, luminous eyes of the horror enchained her own gaze. +Suddenly she made a convulsive effort, mechanically, and sprung to +her feet, her hands clutching one another in a kind of spasm, and her +brain reeling beneath such thoughts as make men mad. In that deep +agony a groan burst from her, but she spoke not a word as she stood +there rooted to the spot. +<br> +<br> +As for Zillah herself, she, on entering, had seen Hilda, had +recognized her, and was stricken dumb with amazement. That amazement +made her stop and regard her, with wild, staring eyes, in utter +silence. There had been only one thought in her mind, and that was to +see who it could possibly be that dared to come here with the +pretense of being "Lord Chetwynde's wife." In her eagerness she had +come down in a rather negligé costume, and entering the room she +found herself thus face to face with Hilda. At that sight a thousand +thoughts flashed at once into her mind. In a moment she had divined +the whole extent of Hilda's perfidy. Now she could understand fully +the reason why Hilda had betrayed her; why she had formed so +carefully contrived and so elaborate a plot, which had been carried +out so patiently and so remorselessly. That sight of Hilda showed +her, too, what must have been the height and the depth and the full +extent of the plot against her young, undefended life--its cruelty, +and the baseness of its motive. It was to take her place that Hilda +had betrayed her. Out of such a motive had arisen such foul +ingratitude and such deadly crime. Yet in her generous heart, while +her mind understood this much, and her judgment condemned this vile +traitor, the old habit of tenderness awakened at the sight of the +familiar face, once so dear. Dearly had she loved her, fondly had she +trusted her; both love and faith had been outraged, and the friend +had doomed to death the unsuspecting friend; yet now even this last +wrong could not destroy the old love, and her thoughts were less of +vengeance than of sad reproach. Involuntarily a cry escaped her. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, Hilda! Hilda!" she exclaimed, in a voice of anguish, "how could +you betray your Zillah!" +<br> +<br> +To Hilda's excited and almost maddened fancy these words seemed like +reproaches flung out by the dead--the preliminaries to that awful +doom which the dead was about to pronounce or to inflict. She +trembled in dread anticipation, and in a hoarse, unnatural voice, and +in scarce audible words, gasped out, +<br> +<br> +"What do you want?" +<br> +<br> +For a few moments Zillah said not a word, though those few moments +seemed like hours to Hilda. Then, with a sudden impulse, she advanced +toward her. Her impulse was one of pity and kindliness. She could not +help seeing the anguish of Hilda. For a moment she forgot all but +this, and a vague desire to assure her of forgiveness arose within +her. But that movement of hers was terrible to Hilda. It was the +advance of the wrathful avenger of blood, the irresistible punisher +of wrong; the advent of a frightful thing, whose presence was horror, +whose approach was death. With a wild shriek of mortal fear she flung +up her arms, as if to shut out that awful sight, or to avert that +terrible fate, and then, as though the last vestige of strength had +left her utterly, she staggered back, and sank down, shuddering and +gasping for breath, into her chair, and sat there with her eyes fixed +on Zillah, and expressing an intensity of fear and apprehension which +could not be mistaken. Zillah saw it. She stopped in wonder, and thus +wondering, she stood regarding her in silence. +<br> +<br> +But at this moment footsteps were heard, and Obed Chute entered, +followed by Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +Obed had but one thought in his mind, and that was to unravel this +mystery as soon as possible; for the presence of such an inexplicable +mystery as this made him feel uncomfortable and humiliated. Until +this was explained in some way he knew that he would be able to find +rest neither by night nor by day. He was, therefore, resolved to +press things forward, in hopes of getting some clew at least to the +labyrinth in which his mind was wandering. He therefore took Lord +Chetwynde by the arm and drew him up toward Hilda, so that he stood +between her and Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"Now," he said, abruptly, turning to Hilda, "I have brought the man +you wish to see. Here he is before you, face to face. Look at him and +answer me. Is this man your husband?" +<br> +<br> +These words stung Zillah to the soul. In an instant all pity and all +tenderness toward Hilda vanished utterly. All her baseness arose +before her, unredeemed by any further thought of former love or of +her present misery. She sprang forward, her eyes flashing, her hands +clenched, her whole frame trembling, and all her soul on fire, as it +kindled with the fury of her passionate indignation. +<br> +<br> +"_Her_ husband!" she exclaimed, with infinite passion and unutterable +contempt--"_her_ husband! Say, Mr. Chute, do you know who it is that +you see before you? I will tell you. Behold, Sir, the woman who +betrayed me; the false friend who sought my life, and, in return for +the love and confidence of years, tried to cast me, her friend, to +death. This, Sir, is the woman whom you have been so long seeking, +herself--the paramour of that wretch, Gualtier--my betrayer and my +assassin--_Hilda Krieff_." +<br> +<br> +These words were flung forth like lava-fire, scorching and blighting +in their hot and intense hate. Her whole face and manner and tone had +changed. From that gentle girl who, as Miss Lorton, had been never +else than sweet and soft and tender and mournful, she was now +transformed to a wrathful and pitiless avenger, a baleful fury, +beautiful, yet terrific; one inspired by love stronger than death, +and jealousy as cruel as the grave; one who was now pitiless and +remorseless; one whose soul was animated by the one feeling only of +instant and implacable vengeance. The fierceness of that inexorable +wrath glowed in her burning eyes, and in the rigid outstretched arm +with which she pointed toward Hilda. In this moment of her fervid +passion her Indian nature was all revealed in its hot, tempestuous, +unreasoning fury; and the Zillah of this scene was that same Zillah +who, years before, had turned away from the bedside of her dying +father to utter those maledictions, those taunts, and those bitter +insults, which Lord Chetwynde so well remembered. +<br> +<br> +Yet to Hilda at that instant these words, with all their fury and +inexorable hate, came like balm and sweetness--like the gentle +utterances of peace and calm. They roused her up at last from that +great and unendurable horror into which she had fallen; they brought +back her vanished strength; they restored her to herself. For they +showed her this one thing plainly, and this above all things, that it +was not the dead who stood thus before her, but the living! Had her +former suspense been delayed a few moments more she would have died +in her agony; but now the horror had vanished; the one before her +bore no longer the terrors of the unseen, but became an ordinary +living being. It was Zillah herself, not in death as an apparition, +but in life as a woman. She cared nothing for the hate and the +vengeance, nothing for the insult and the scorn. She cared nothing +for the mystery that enshrouded Zillah, nor was it of any consequence +to her then how she had been saved. Enough was it that Zillah was +really alive. At this she revived. Her weakness left her. She drew a +long breath, and all the vigor of her strong soul returned. +<br> +<br> +But on the others the effect of Zillah's words was overwhelming. Obed +Chute started back in amazement at this revelation, and looked +wonderingly upon this woman, who had but lately been winning his +sympathy as an injured wife; and he marveled greatly how this +delicate, this beautiful and high-bred lady, could, by any +possibility, be identified with that atrocious monster whose image +had always existed in his mind as the natural form of Zillah's +traitorous friend. +<br> +<br> +On Lord Chetwynde the effect of all this, though equally great, was +different. One look at Hilda in her first consternation and horror, +and another at Zillah in her burning passion, had been enough. As +Zillah finished, he caught her outstretched hand as it was pointing +toward Hilda, and there rushed through all his being a rapture beyond +words, as a dim perception of the truth came to his mind. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my darling!" he cried, "say it again. Can this be possible? Is +_she_, then, an impostor? Have I, indeed, been blinded and deceived +all this time by her?" +<br> +<br> +Zillah tore her hand away from his grasp. In that moment of fury +there came to her a thousand jealous fears to distract her. The +thought that he had been so far deceived as to actually believe this +woman his wife was intolerable. There was a wrathful cloud upon her +brow as she turned her eyes to look at him, and in those eyes there +was a glance, hard, stern, and cold, such as might befit an outraged +and injured wife. But as she thus turned to look at him the glance +that met hers was one before which her fury subsided. It was a glance +upon which she could not look and cherish hate, or even coldness; for +she saw in his face a wild rapture, and in his eyes a gleam of +exultant joy, while the flushed cheeks and the ecstatic smile showed +how deeply and how truly he loved her. On that face there was no +cloud of shame, no trace of embarrassment, no sign of any +consciousness of acts that might awaken her displeasure. There was +nothing there but that old tenderness which she had once or twice +seen on the face of Windham--a tenderness which was all for her. And +she knew by that sign that Guy was Windham; and being Windham, he was +hers, and hers alone. At this all her hardness, and all her anger, +and all the fury of her passion were dispelled as quickly as they had +arisen, and a great calm, full and deep, came over all her being. He +loved her! That was enough. The fears which had tormented her since +Mrs. Hart's revelation, the fury which had arisen but a few moments +ago at the dark promptings of jealousy, were now all dispelled, and +she saw in Lord Chetwynde her own Windham. +<br> +<br> +Quickly and swiftly had these thoughts and feelings come and gone; +but in that moment, when Zillah's attention was diverted to Lord +Chetwynde, Hilda gained more of her self-command. All was lost; but +still, even in her despair, she found a fresh strength. Here all were +her enemies; she was in their power and at their mercy; her very life +was now at their disposal; they could wreak on her, if they chose, a +full and ample vengeance; yet the thought of all this only +strengthened her the more, for that which deepened her despair only +intensified her hate. And so it was that at this last moment, when +all was lost, with her enemies thus before her, the occasion only +served to stimulate her. Her strength had returned; she summoned up +all her energies, and stood grandly at bay. She rose to her feet and +confronted them all--defiant, haughty, and vindictive--and brought +against them all the unconquerable pride of her strong and stubborn +nature. +<br> +<br> +"Tell me again," said Obed Chute, "what name was it that you gave +this woman?" +<br> +<br> +"I am Zillah, daughter of General Pomeroy, and this woman is Hilda +Krieff," was the reply. +<br> +<br> +"Hilda--Hilda--Hilda Krieff! Hilda Krieff!" said Obed Chute. "My good +Lord!" +<br> +<br> +But Hilda did not notice this, nor any thing else. +<br> +<br> +"Well," she said, in a cold and bitter tone, "it seems that I've lost +the game. Amen. Perhaps it's just as well. And so you're alive, after +all, are you, Zillah, and not in the sea? Gualtier, then, deceived +me. That also is, after all, just as well." +<br> +<br> +"Wretched woman," said Lord Chetwynde, solemnly, "Gualtier did not +deceive you. He did his work. It was I who saved her from death. In +any case, you have the stain of murder on your soul." +<br> +<br> +"Perhaps I have, my lord," said Hilda, coolly, "and other stains +also, all of which make it highly inappropriate for me to be your +wife. You will, however, have no objection to my congratulating you +on the charming being you have gained, and to whom you have addressed +such very passionate vows." +<br> +<br> +"This woman," said Lord Chetwynde, "hardly deserves to be treated +with ordinary civility. At any rate, she is not fit for _you_," he +added, in a low voice, to Zillah; "and you are too agitated for +further excitement. Shall I lead you away?" +<br> +<br> +"Not yet," said Zillah, "till I have asked one question. Hilda +Krieff," she continued, "answer me one thing, and answer me truly. +What was it that made you seek my death? Will you answer?" +<br> +<br> +"With pleasure," said Hilda, mockingly. "Because I hated you." +<br> +<br> +"Hated me!" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, hated you always, intensely, bitterly, passionately." +<br> +<br> +"And why? What had I ever done?" +<br> +<br> +"Nothing. The reason of my hate was in other things. I will tell you. +Because I was your father's daughter, and you supplanted me." +<br> +<br> +"You! Impossible!" +<br> +<br> +"I will tell you. In my childhood he was fond of me. I was taken to +India at an early age. After you were born he forgot all about me. +Once I was playing, and he talked to me with his old affection. I had +a locket around my neck with this name on it--'_Hilda Pomeroy_.' He +happened to look at it, and read the name. 'Ah,' said he, 'that is a +better name than Hilda Krieff. My child, I wish you could wear that +name.' I wanted him to tell me what he meant, but he wouldn't. At +another time he spoke of you as being my 'little sister.' He +frequently called me daughter. At last I found some old papers of my +mother's, when I saw that her name was Hilda Pomeroy, and then I +understood it all. She was his first wife, though I believe now that +they were not married. He, of course, deceived her, and though she +thought she was his wife, yet her child could not take his name. I +asked him this, but he refused to explain, and warned me never to +mention the subject. This only showed me still more plainly the +miserable truth. +<br> +<br> +"Years passed. I found myself driven out from my father's affections. +You were the world to him. I, his eldest daughter, was nothing. You +were his heiress. Good God! woman, do you think I could help hating +one who calmly appropriated every thing that ought to be mine?" +<br> +<br> +"Now you know about as much as you need know. I began years ago to +plan against you, and kept it up with never-failing patience. It was +the only pleasure I had in life. I won't go into particulars. I'll +only say that nearly all your troubles came through my management. +From time to time hereafter you will gradually remember various +things, and think with tender regret upon your loving Hilda. +<br> +<br> +"At last things were all ripe, and I slipped away. I got you out of +the way also, and I frankly avow that I never expected to have the +pleasure of seeing you again. I also hoped that Lord Chetwynde would +not come back from India. But he came, and there is where I broke +down. That is all I have to say." +<br> +<br> +Hilda stopped, and looked defiantly at them. +<br> +<br> +"Young woman," said Obed Chute, in calm, measured tones, "you are +very aggravating. It is well that you have generous people to deal +with. I don't know but that I ought to take you now and hand you over +to the police, to be lodged in the same cell with your friend +Gualtier; but--" +<br> +<br> +"Gualtier!" groaned Hilda. "What?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes, Gualtier. I caught him yesterday, and handed him over to the +police." +<br> +<br> +Hilda looked around wildly, and with a deeper despair in her heart. +<br> +<br> +"You," continued Obed, "are much worse than he. In this business he +was only your tool. But you're a woman, and are, therefore, sacred. +You are safe. It would be better, however, and much more becoming in +you, to refrain from that aggravating way of speaking which you have +just used. But there is one question which I wish to ask, and then +our interview will terminate: +<br> +<br> +"You say you believe yourself to be the elder daughter of General +Pomeroy?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Do you know your mother's maiden name?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes. Hilda Krieff." +<br> +<br> +"Did she ever tell you about her marriage?" +<br> +<br> +"I was too young when she died." +<br> +<br> +"Did you ever see any record of her marriage?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"You know nothing definite about it, then?" +<br> +<br> +"No." +<br> +<br> +"Well, then, allow me to inform you that you are as much astray here +as you were in that other thing. This Hilda Krieff was the wife of +Pemberton Pomeroy--married after his elopement business. He took her +name. You were their daughter. I saw you once or twice when visiting +him. You were then a baby. Neville Pomeroy took charge of your mother +and you after your father's death. These are the facts of the case." +<br> +<br> +"What is all this?" cried Zillah, eagerly, as she heard these names. +"Do _you_ know about papa?" +<br> +<br> +"This lady came here with some questions about a cipher writing which +she had misunderstood, and I explained it all. She thought the +General was guilty, but I explained that he was the best fellow that +ever lived. It's too long to tell now. I'll explain it all to you +to-morrow." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, thank God!" murmured Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"What! _you_ couldn't have believed it?" cried Obed Chute. +<br> +<br> +"Never! never!" said Zillah; "though _she_ tried hard to make me." +<br> +<br> +Hilda had no more to say. The news about Gualtier, and the truth as +to her parentage, were fresh shocks, and already her strength began +to give way. Her spirit could not long be kept up to that height of +audacity to which she had raised it. Beneath all was the blackness of +her despair, in which was not one ray of hope. +<br> +<br> +She rose in silence. Obed accompanied her to her carriage, which was +yet waiting there. Soon the wheels rattled over the gravel, and Hilda +drove toward Florence. +<br> +<br> +Obed walked out and sauntered through the grounds. There was a +twinkle in his eye. He walked on and on, till he reached a place in +the depths of the woods far away from the villa. +<br> +<br> +Then he gave utterance to his feelings. +<br> +<br> +How? +<br> +<br> +Did he clench his fists, curse Heaven, weep, and rave? +<br> +<br> +Not he; not Obed. +<br> +<br> +He burst forth into peals of stentorian laughter. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, dear!" he screamed. "Oh, creation! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Oh, +Lord! making love on the sly! getting spooney! taking romantic walks! +reading poetry! and all to his own wife! Oh, ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha, ha! +And he stole off with her at the masquerade, and made a 'passionate +declaration'--to his--good thunder!--_his wife_! _his own wife_! Oh, +Lord! oh, Lord! I'll never get over this!" +<br> +<br> +He certainly did not get over it for at least two hours. +<br> +<br> +He had at last fully comprehended the whole thing. Now the true state +of mind between the quondam Windham and Miss Lorton became evident. +Now he began to suspect how desperately they had been in love. A +thousand little incidents occurred to his memory, and each one +brought on a fresh explosion. Even his own proposal to Zillah was +remembered. He wondered whether Windham had proposed also, and been +rejected. This only was needed to his mind to complete the joke. +<br> +<br> +For two hours the servants at the villa heard singular noises in the +woods, and passers-by heard with awe the same mysterious sounds. It +was Obed enjoying the "joke." It was not until quite late that he had +fully exhausted it. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER LXXIX. +<br> +<br> +MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING. +<br> +<br> +Meanwhile Lord Chetwynde and Zillah were left together. A few hours +before they had been sitting in this same room, alone, when Mrs. Hart +entered. Since then what wonders had taken place! What an overturn to +life! What an opening into unlooked-for happiness! For a few moments +they stood looking at one another, not yet able to realize the full +weight of the happiness that had come so suddenly. And as they +looked, each could read in the face of the other all the soul of +each, which was made manifest, and the full, unrestrained expression +of the longing which each had felt. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde folded her in his arms. +<br> +<br> +"What is all this?" he said, in a low voice. "What can it mean? I can +not yet believe it; can you? What, my darling, are we not to have our +stolen interviews any more? Have we no longer our great secret to +keep? Are you really mine? I don't understand, but I'm content to +hold you in my arms. Oh, my wife!" +<br> +<br> +Zillah murmured some inaudible protest, but her own bewilderment had +not yet passed away. In that moment the first thought was that her +own Windham was at last all her own in very truth. +<br> +<br> +"And are you sure," she said at last, "that you have got over your +abhorrence of me?" +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde did not understand this question, but considering it a +joke, he responded in the customary manner. +<br> +<br> +"But what possible means could have induced you to leave Chetwynde +Castle at all?" he asked; for, as he had not yet heard her story, he +was all in the dark. +<br> +<br> +"Because you wrote that hideous, that horrible letter," said Zillah; +and as the memory of that letter came to her she made an effort to +draw away from his embrace. But the effort was fruitless. +<br> +<br> +"Hideous letter! What letter?" +<br> +<br> +"The last one." +<br> +<br> +"My darling, I don't know what you mean." +<br> +<br> +"Don't you remember how you reviled me?" +<br> +<br> +"I didn't; I don't understand." +<br> +<br> +"You called me a Hindu, and an imp." +<br> +<br> +"Good Heavens! what do you mean?" +<br> +<br> +"But you do not hate me now, do you? Tell me, and tell me truly, are +you sure that your abhorrence has all passed away?" +<br> +<br> +"Abhorrence!" +<br> +<br> +"Ah! you need not fear to confess it now. You did abhor me, you +know." +<br> +<br> +"On my honor, I do not know what you are talking about, my own +darling. I never wrote about you except with respect; and that, too, +in spite of those awful, cutting, sneering letters which you wrote +for years, and that last one, written after my father's death." +<br> +<br> +"Heavens! what do you mean?" cried Zillah, aghast. "I sent letters to +you regularly, but I never wrote any thing but affectionate words." +<br> +<br> +"Affectionate words! I never received a letter that was not a sneer +or an insult. I came home under an assumed name, thinking that I +would visit Chetwynde unknown, to see what sort of a person this was +who had treated me so. I changed my intention, however, and went +there in my own name. I found that woman there--an impostor. How was +I to know that? But I hated her from the outset." +<br> +<br> +"Ah," said Zillah, "you were then full of memories of Inez Cameron." +<br> +<br> +This thought had suddenly stung her, and, forgetting the Windham of +Marseilles, she flung it out. +<br> +<br> +"Of what? Inez? What is that?" asked Lord Chetwynde, in a puzzle. +<br> +<br> +"Inez Cameron." +<br> +<br> +"Inez Cameron! Who is Inez Cameron?" +<br> +<br> +"Inez Cameron," said Zillah, wondering--"that fair companion of so +many evenings, about whom you wrote in such impassioned +language--whose image you said was ever in your heart." +<br> +<br> +"In the name of Heaven," cried Lord Chetwynde, "what is it that you +mean? Who is she?" +<br> +<br> +"Captain Cameron's sister," said Zillah. +<br> +<br> +"Captain Cameron's sister?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"Captain Cameron has no sister. I never saw any one named Inez +Cameron. I never mentioned such a name in any letter, and I never had +any image in my heart except yours, my darling." +<br> +<br> +"Why, what does it all mean?" +<br> +<br> +"It means this," said Lord Chetwynde, "that we have for years been +the victims of some dark plot, whose depths we have not yet even +imagined, and whose subtle workings we have not yet begun to trace. +Here we are, my darling, asking questions of one another whose +meaning we can not imagine, and making charges which neither of us +understand. You speak of some letter which I wrote containing +statements that I never thought of. You mention some Inez Cameron, a +lady whom I never heard of before. You say also that you never wrote +those letters which imbittered my life so much." +<br> +<br> +"Never, never. I never wrote any thing but kindness." +<br> +<br> +"Then who wrote them?" +<br> +<br> +"Oh!" cried Zillah, suddenly, as a light burst on her; "I see it all! +But is it possible? Yes, that must be it. And if you did not write +that last letter, then _she_ wrote it." +<br> +<br> +"_She_! Who?" +<br> +<br> +"Hilda." +<br> +<br> +Hereupon ensued a long explanation, the end of which was that each +began to understand better the state of the case. And Lord Chetwynde +exulted at finding that all the baseness which he had imagined +against his wife was the work of another; and Zillah felt ecstasy in +the thought that Lord Chetwynde had never loathed her, and had never +carried in his despairing heart the image of that dreaded and hated +phantom, Inez Cameron. +<br> +<br> +"The fact is, I couldn't have written that letter for another reason, +little girl. I always made allowances even for those letters which +you did not write, and until that last one came I always laid great +stress on my father's love for you, and hoped some day to gain your +love." +<br> +<br> +"And that you would have done in the ordinary way if we had met in +Chetwynde Castle." +<br> +<br> +"Would I, indeed?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes," sighed Zillah; "for I think I learned to love you from your +letters to your father." +<br> +<br> +"Oh no! no, no," laughed Lord Chetwynde; "for did you not at once +fall in love with that Windham?" +<br> +<br> +So the time passed. But amidst these murmurs of affection, and these +explanations of vanished mysteries, Lord Chetwynde caught himself +looking to the past few months at Florence. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, those interviews!" he murmured, "those sweet, stolen +interviews!" +<br> +<br> +"Why, Sir," said Zillah, "you speak as though you feel sorry for all +this!" +<br> +<br> +"No, my darling. My fond recollection of these can not interfere with +my joy at the present; for the great meaning of this present is that +while we live we shall never part again." +<br> +<br> +*** +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde did not go back to Florence that night. There were a +thousand things to talk over. On the following day Obed explained all +about the cipher, and told many stories about his early association +with Neville Pomeroy. These things took up all the next day. Lord +Chetwynde was in no hurry now. His Indian appointment was quietly +given up. He had no immediate desire to go to his lodgings, and Obed +insisted that Lord and Lady Chetwynde should be his guests during +their stay in Florence. +<br> +<br> +To this, Lord and Lady Chetwynde agreed, and enforced a promise from +Obed Chute that he would be their guest in Chetwynde Castle. +<br> +<br> +Sometimes their thoughts turned on Hilda. They had no desire to +pursue her. To Zillah she was an old friend; and her treason was not +a thing which could be punished in a court of justice. To Lord +Chetwynde she was, after all, the woman who had saved his life with +what still seemed to him like matchless devotion. He knew well, what +Zillah never knew, how passionately Hilda loved him. To Obed Chute, +finally, she was a _woman_, and now undeniably a woman in distress. +That was enough. "Let the poor thing go; I half wish that I could +save her from going to the devil." Such were his sentiments. +<br> +<br> +On the second day Lord Chetwynde drove in to his rooms. He returned +looking very pale and grave. Zillah, who had gone out smilingly to +greet him, wondered at this. +<br> +<br> +"We talked about sparing her," said he, softly. "My darling wife, she +is beyond our reach now." +<br> +<br> +Zillah looked at him with fearful inquiry. +<br> +<br> +"She has gone--she is dead!" +<br> +<br> +"Dead!" cried Zillah, in a voice of horror. +<br> +<br> +"Yes, and by her own hand." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde then told her that on reaching his rooms he was waited +on by the _concierge_, who informed him that on the previous day the +lady whom the _concierge_ supposed to be his wife was found dead in +her bed by her maid. No one knew the cause. The absence of her +husband was much wondered at. Lord Chetwynde was so much shocked that +his deportment would have befitted one who was really a bereaved +husband. On questioning the maid he found that she had her +suspicions. She had found a vial on the table by the bed, about which +she had said nothing. She knew her duty to a noble family, and held +her tongue. She gave the vial to Lord Chetwynde, who recognized the +presence of strychnine. The unhappy one had no doubt committed +suicide. There was a letter addressed to him, which he took away. It +was a long manuscript, and contained a full account of all that she +had done, together with the most passionate declarations of her love. +He thought it best, on the whole, not to show this to Zillah. +<br> +<br> +He knew that she had committed suicide, but he did not know, nor did +any living being, the anguish that must have filled the wretched one +as she nerved her heart for the act. All this he could conjecture +from her letter, which told him how often she had meditated this. At +last it had come. Leaving the villa in her despair, she had gone to +her lodgings, passed the night in writing this manuscript, and then +flung her guilty soul into the presence of her Maker. +<br> +<br> +As Lord Chetwynde had not gone into Florentine society at all, +Hilda's death created but little sensation. There was no scandal +connected with his name; there was no bewildering explanation of +things that might have seemed incredible. All was quieted, and even +hate itself was buried in the grave of the dead. +<br> +<br> +The death of Hilda gave a shock to those who had known her, even +though they had suffered by her; but there was another thing which +gave sadness in the midst of new-found happiness. When Mrs. Hart had +left the room, after that eventful evening when she had found Lord +Chetwynde and Zillah, she was taken to her bed. From that bed she was +destined never to rise again. During the last few months she had +suffered more than she could bear. Had she lived in quiet at +Chetwynde, life might possibly have been prolonged for a few years. +But the illness which she had at Chetwynde had worn her down; and she +had scarce risen from her bed, and begun to totter about the house, +than she fled on a wild and desperate errand. She had gone, half +dying, to Florence, to search after Lord Chetwynde, so as to warn him +of what she suspected. Her anxiety for him had given her a fitful and +spasmodic strength, which had sustained her. The little jewelry which +she possessed furnished the means for prolonging a life which she +only cherished till she might find Lord Chetwynde. For weeks she had +kept up her search, growing feebler every day, and every day spending +more and more of her little store, struggling vehemently against that +mortal weakness which she felt in all her frame, and bearing up +constantly even amidst despair. At last Obed Chute had found her. She +had seen "her boy"--she had found him with Zillah. The danger which +she had feared seemed to her to have been averted, she knew not how; +and her cup was full. +<br> +<br> +A mighty revulsion of feeling took place from the depths of despair +to the heights of happiness. Her purpose was realized. There was +nothing more to live for. +<br> +<br> +But now, since that purpose was gained, the false strength which had +sustained her so long gave way utterly. Her weary frame was at last +extended upon a bed from which she would no longer be compelled to +rise for the watch and the march and the vigil. Her labor was over. +Now came the reaction. Rapidly she yielded. It seemed as though joy +had killed her. Not so. A great purpose had given her a fictitious +strength; and now, when the purpose was accomplished, the strength +departed, and a weakness set in commensurate with the strength--the +weakness of approaching dissolution. +<br> +<br> +She herself knew that all was over. She would not have it otherwise. +She was glad that it was so. It was with her now a time to chant a +_nunc dimittis_--welcome death! Life had nothing more to offer. +<br> +<br> +Once again Zillah stood at her bedside, constant and loved and +loving. But there was one whose presence inspired a deeper joy, for +whom her dying eyes watched--dying eyes wistful in their watch for +him. How she had watched during the past months! How those eyes had +strained themselves through the throngs of passers-by at Florence, +while, day by day, the light of hope grew dimmer! Now they waited for +his coming, and his approach never failed to bring to them the +kindling light of perfect joy. +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde himself was true to that fond affection which he had +always expressed for her and shown. He showed himself eager to give +up all pleasures and all recreations for the sake of being by her +bedside. +<br> +<br><img src="images/260.png" alt="My Boy, Have You Ever Heard About Your Mother?"> +<br> +<br> +[Illustration: "My Boy, Have You Ever Heard About Your Mother?"] +<br> +<br> +On this Obed Chute used to look with eyes that sometimes glistened +with manly tears. +<br> +<br> +Days passed on, and Mrs. Hart grew weaker. It was possible to count +the hours that remained for mortal life. A strange desolation arose +in Lord Chetwynde's heart as the prospect of her end lowered before +him. +<br> +<br> +One day Mrs. Hart was alone with him. Obed Chute had called away +Zillah for some purpose or other. Before doing so he had whispered +something to the dying woman. As they left she held out her hand to +Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"Come here and sit nearer," she wailed forth--"nearer; take my hand, +and listen." +<br> +<br> +Lord Chetwynde did so. He sat in a chair by the bedside, and held her +hand. Mrs. Hart lay for a moment looking at him with an earnest and +inexplicable gaze. +<br> +<br> +"Oh!" she moaned, "my boy--my little Guy! can you bear what I am +going to say? Bear it! Be merciful! I am dying now. I must tell it +before I go. You will be merciful, will you not, my boy?" +<br> +<br> +"Do not talk so," faltered Lord Chetwynde, in deep emotion. +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my boy!" said Mrs. Hart, "do you know--have you ever heard any +thing about--your--your mother?" +<br> +<br> +"My mother?" +<br> +<br> +"Yes." +<br> +<br> +"No; nothing except that she died when I was an infant." +<br> +<br> +"Oh, my boy! she did not die, though death would have been a +blessing." +<br> +<br> +A thrill passed through Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +"Nurse! nurse!" he cried--"my dear old nurse, what is it that you +mean? My mother? She did not die? Is she alive? In the name of God, +tell me all!" +<br> +<br> +"My boy!" said Mrs. Hart, grasping the hand that held hers +convulsively--"my boy! can you bear it?" +<br> +<br> +"Where is my mother?" asked Lord Chetwynde. +<br> +<br> +Mrs. Hart struggled up. For a moment she leaned on her elbow. In her +eyes there gleamed the light of undying love--love deep, yearning, +unfathomable--love stronger than life. It was but a faint whisper +that escaped her wan, white lips, but that whisper pierced to the +soul of the listener, and rang through all his being with echoes that +floated down through the years. +<br> +<br> +And that whisper uttered these words: +<br> +<br> +"_Oh, my son_! _I--I--am your mother_!" +<br> +<br> +A low moan burst from Lord Chetwynde. He caught her dying form in his +arms, and a thousand words of love burst from him, as though by that +embrace and by those words of love he would drag her back from her +immortality. And then, at last, in that embrace and in the hearing of +those words of love, there were some few moments of happiness for one +who had sinned and suffered so much; and as she lay back her face was +overspread with an expression of unutterable peace. +<br> +<br> +When Zillah returned she saw Lord Chetwynde bowed down, with his arms +clasping the form of Mrs. Hart. The smile was still on her face, but +it was only the form of that one who had suffered and loved so much +which now lay there; for she herself had departed from earth forever, +and found a place "where the weary are at rest." +<br> +<br> +*** +<br> +<br> +Long afterward Zillah learned more about the past history of that +woman whom she had known and loved as Mrs. Hart. It was Obed Chute +who told her this, on one of his frequent visits to Chetwynde Castle. +He himself had heard it from the former Lady Chetwynde, at the time +when she was in New York, and before she joined the Sisters of +Charity. +<br> +<br> +Neville Pomeroy had known her well as a boy, and they had carried on +an unmeaning flirtation, which might have developed into something +more serious had it not been prevented by her mother, who was on the +look-out for something higher. Lord Chetwynde met her ambitious +views, and though he was poor, yet his title and brilliant prospects +dazzled the ambitious mother. The daughter married him without loving +him, in the expectation of a lofty position. When this was lost by +Lord Chetwynde's resignation of his position she could not forgive +him. She indulged in folly which ended in sin, until she was weak and +wicked enough to desert the man whom she had sworn to love. When it +was too late she had repented. Neville Pomeroy and Obed Chute had +saved her from ruin. The remainder of her life was evident. She had +left the Sisters of Charity, from some yearning after her child, and +had succeeded in gaining employment in Chetwynde Castle. Such changes +had been wrought in her by her sufferings that the Earl never +recognized her; and so she had lived, solacing herself with her +child. +<br> +<br> +The knowledge of her history, which was afterward communicated to her +son, did not interfere with his filial affection. Her remains now lie +in the vaults of Chetwynde Castle beside those of the Earl. +<br> +<br> +THE END. +<br> +<br> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cryptogram, by James De Mille + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRYPTOGRAM *** + +***** This file should be named 28435-h.htm or 28435-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/4/3/28435/ + +Produced by Marlo Dianne + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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