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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..16a0d1a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54940 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54940) diff --git a/old/54940-0.txt b/old/54940-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 272ea5f..0000000 --- a/old/54940-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3784 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Monica, Volume 1 (of 3), by Evelyn Everett-Green - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Monica, Volume 1 (of 3) - A Novel - -Author: Evelyn Everett-Green - -Release Date: June 20, 2017 [EBook #54940] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONICA, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -MONICA. - - - - -MONICA. - -A Novel. - - -BY - -EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN. - -Author of - -“Torwood’s Trust,” “The Last of the Dacres,” -“Ruthven of Ruthven,” Etc. - - -_IN THREE VOLUMES._ - - -VOL. I. - - -LONDON: -WARD AND DOWNEY, -12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. -1889. - - - - -PRINTED BY -KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS, -AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -CHAPTER THE FIRST. - - PAGE - -The Trevlyns of Castle Trevlyn 1 - - -CHAPTER THE SECOND. - -Monica’s Ride 23 - - -CHAPTER THE THIRD. - -Lord Trevlyn’s Heir 43 - - -CHAPTER THE FOURTH. - -Conrad Fitzgerald 63 - - -CHAPTER THE FIFTH. - -Sunday at Trevlyn 84 - - -CHAPTER THE SIXTH. - -In Peril 103 - - -CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. - -“Wilt thou Have this Woman?” 125 - - -CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. - -“Woo’d, and Married, and A’” 145 - - -CHAPTER THE NINTH. - -Married 167 - - -CHAPTER THE TENTH. - -Mischief-makers 181 - - -CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. - -The Little Rift 206 - - - - -MONICA. - - - - -CHAPTER THE FIRST. - -THE TREVLYNS OF CASTLE TREVLYN. - - -“Good-bye, Monica. I will look in again to-morrow: but I assure you -there is no cause for anxiety. He is not worse than usual, and will be -better soon.” - -The doctor was buttoning up his heavy driving-coat as he spoke, and at -the conclusion of the sentence he opened the heavy oak door, letting in -a blast of cold air and a sheet of fine, penetrating rain. - -“Oh, Raymond, what weather! I ought not to have sent for you.” - -“Nonsense! You know I am weather-proof. Old Jack will find his way -home, if I cannot. Good-bye again.” - -The door closed upon the stalwart figure, and Lady Monica Trevlyn was -left standing alone upon the wide staircase, amid the gathering shadows -of the great hall. - -Castle Trevlyn was, in truth, a sufficiently grim and desolate place, -both within and without. Tangled park, dense pine woods, and a rocky -iron-bound coast surrounded it, cutting it off, at it were, from -communication with the outside world. Within its walls lay a succession -of vast, stately chambers, few of them now inhabited—regions where -carved black oak, faded tapestry, rusty armour, and antique relics of -bygone days seemed to reign in a sort of mournful grandeur, telling -their own tale of past magnificence and of present poverty and decay. - -Yes, the Trevlyns were a fallen race; for the past three generations -the reigning earl had been poor, and the present Lord Trevlyn had -failed to do anything towards restoring the decaying fortunes of his -house. He too was very poor, hence the air of neglect that reigned -around and within the castle. - -Monica, however, his only child, was far too well used to the gloom -and grimness of the old castle to be in the least oppressed by it. She -loved her lonely, desolate home with a curious, passionate intensity, -and could not picture anything more perfect than the utter silence and -isolation that hemmed in her life. The idea of desiring a change had -never so much as occurred to her. - -Monica was very beautiful, with a beauty of a rare kind, that haunted -the memory of those who saw her, as a strain of music sometimes haunts -the ear. Her face was always pale and grave, and at first sight cold -even to hardness, yet endued with an underlying depth and sweetness -that often eluded observation, though it never failed to make itself -felt. It was a lovely face—like that of a pictured saint for purity of -outline, of a Greek statue for perfection of feature—almost as calm and -colourless as marble itself. Yet, behind the statuesque severity lay -that strange, sad, wistful sweetness which could not quite be hidden -away, and gave to the beholder the idea that some great trouble had -overshadowed the girl’s life. Let us go with her, and see what that -trouble was. - -When the door closed upon Raymond Pendrill, she stood for a moment or -two silent and motionless, then turned and mounted the shallow stairs -once more, and, passing down a long corridor, opened the door of a -fire-lit room, and entered softly. - -The room had two tenants: one, a great mastiff dog, who acknowledged -Monica’s entrance by gently flopping his tail against the floor; the -other, a lad of seventeen, who lay upon an invalid couch, his face very -white and his brows drawn with pain. - -As Monica looked at him her face quivered, and a look of unspeakable -tenderness swept over it, transfiguring it for the moment, and showing -wonderful possibilities in every line and curve. She bent over him, -laying one cool, strong hand upon his hot head. - -“Better, Arthur?” - -“Yes, getting better. That stuff Raymond gave me is taking the pain -away. Stir up the fire, and sit where I can see you. I like that best.” - -Arthur Pendrill, cousin to Raymond Pendrill, the young doctor who had -just left the castle, was the only child by a first marriage of Lord -Trevlyn’s second wife. Hoping for an heir, the earl had married again -when Monica was seven years old, but his hopes had not been realised, -and the second Lady Trevlyn had died only a few years after her union -with him. - -Arthur, who had been only a mite of two years old when he first came -to Castle Trevlyn, knew nothing, of course, of any other home; and he -and Monica had grown up like brother and sister, and were tenderly -attached, perhaps all the more so from radical differences of character -and temperament. Their childhood had been uncloudedly happy; they had -enjoyed a glorious liberty in their wild Cornish home that could hardly -have been accorded to them anywhere else. Monica’s had always been the -leading spirit; physically as well as mentally, she had always been -the stronger; but he adored her, and emulated her with the zeal and -enthusiasm of youth. He followed her wherever she led like a veritable -shadow, until that fatal day, five years ago, which had laid him upon -a bed of sickness, and had turned Monica in a few hours’ time from a -child to a woman. - -Upon that day there had been a terrible end to the mad-cap exploits in -cliff-climbing in which the girl had always delighted, and Arthur had -been carried back to the castle, as all believed, to die. - -He did not die, however, but recovered to a suffering, helpless, -invalid life; and Monica, who held herself sternly responsible for -all, and who had nursed him with a devotion that no mother could have -surpassed, now vowed deep down in her heart that her own life should -henceforth be devoted to him, that for him she would in future live, -and that whatever she could do to lighten his load of pain and make his -future happier should be done, at whatever cost to herself, as the one -atonement possible for the rashness which had cost him so dear. - -Five years ago that vow had been recorded, and Monica, from a gay, -high-spirited girl, had grown into a pale, silent, thoughtful woman; -but she had never wearied of her self-imposed charge—never faltered in -her resolution. Arthur was her special, sacred charge. Anything that -would conduce to his welfare and happiness was to be accomplished at -whatever cost. So far, to tend and care for him had been her aim and -object of life, and her deep love had made the office sweet. It had -never occurred to her that any contingency could possibly arise by -which separation from him should prove the truest test of her devotion. - -Whilst Arthur and Monica were dreaming their own dreams upstairs, by -the light of his dancing fire, no thought of coming changes clouding -the horizon of their imagination, downstairs, in the earl’s study, a -consultation was being held between him and his sister which would have -startled Monica not a little had she heard it. - -Lord Trevlyn was a tall, stately, grey-headed man of sixty, with a -finely-chiselled face and the true Trevlyn cast of countenance that his -daughter had inherited. His countenance wore, however, a look of pallor -and ill-health that, to a practised eye, denoted weakness of the heart, -and his figure had lost its old strength and elasticity, and had grown -thin and a little bowed. His expression had much of gentleness mingling -with its pride and austerity, as if, with the advance of years, his -nature had softened and sweetened, as indeed had been the case. - -Lady Diana, on the other hand, had grown more sharp and dictatorial -with advancing age. She was a “modish” old lady, who, although quite -innocent of such adornments, always suggested the idea of powder and -patches, high-heeled shoes and hoops. She generally carried a fan in -her hand, dressed richly and quaintly, and looked something like a -human parrot, with her hooked nose, keen black eyes, and quick, sharp -voice and movements. She had an independent and sufficient income -of her own, and divided her time between her London house and her -brother’s Cornish castle. She had always expressed it as her intention -to provide for Monica, as her father could do little for his daughter, -everything going with the entail in the male line; but there was a sort -of instinctive hostility between aunt and niece, of which both were -well aware, and Lady Diana was always deeply offended and annoyed by -Monica’s quiet independence, and her devotion to Arthur. - -It was of Monica they were talking this boisterous autumn evening. - -“She has a sadly independent spirit,” remarked Lady Diana, sighing, and -fanning herself slowly, although the big panelled room was by no means -warm. “I often think of her future, and wonder what will become of her.” - -Lord Trevlyn made no immediate response, but by-and-by said slowly: - -“I have been thinking of late very seriously of the future.” - -“Why of late?” was the rather sharp question. - -“I have not been feeling so well since my illness in the spring. -Raymond Pendrill and his brother have both spoken seriously to me about -the necessity for care. I know what that means—they think my state -critical. If I am taken, what will become of Monica?” - -“I shall, of course, provide for her.” - -“I know you will do all that is kind and generous; but money is not -everything. Monica is peculiar: she wants controlling, yet——” - -“Yet no one can control her: I know that well; or only Arthur and his -whims. She has no companions but her dogs and horses. My blood runs -cold every time I see her on that wild black thing she rides, with -those great dogs bounding round her. There will be another shocking -accident one of these days. She ought to be controlled—taken away from -her extraordinary life. Yet she will not hear of coming to London with -me even on a short visit; she will not even let me speak of it,” and -Lady Diana’s face showed that she was much affronted. - -“That is just it,” said Lord Trevlyn, slowly; “her life and Arthur’s -both seem bound up in Trevlyn.” - -Lady Diana made a significant gesture, which the earl understood. - -“Just so; and yet—unless under most exceptional circumstances—unless -what I hardly dare to hope should happen—she must, they must both -leave it, at some not very distant date.” - -The hesitation of Lord Trevlyn’s manner did not escape his sister. - -“What do you mean?” she asked abruptly. - -“I mean that I have been in correspondence lately with my heir, and -that I expect him shortly at Trevlyn.” - -“Your heir?” - -“Yes, Randolph Trevlyn, one of the Warwickshire branch. The extinction -of the Trevlyns at Drayton last year, you know, made him the next in -succession. I made inquiries about him, and then entered into personal -communication.” - -Lady Diana looked keenly interested. - -“What have you made out?” - -“That he is very well spoken of everywhere as a young man of high -character and excellent parts. He is wealthy—very wealthy, I believe, -an only son, and enriched by a long minority. He is six or seven and -twenty, and he is not married.” - -Lady Diana’s eyes began to sparkle. - -“And he is coming here?” - -“Yes, next week. Of course I need not tell you what is in my thoughts. -I object to match-making, as a rule. I shall put no pressure upon -Monica of any kind, but if those two should by chance learn to love one -another, I could say my ‘Nunc dimittis’ at any time.” - -Lady Diana looked very thoughtful. - -“Monica is undoubtedly beautiful,” she said, “and she is interesting, -which perhaps is better.” Her brother, however, made no reply, and as -he did not appear inclined to discuss the matter farther—they were -seldom in entire accord in talking of Monica—she presently rose and -quitted the room, saying softly to herself as she did so, “I should -love to see that proud girl with a husband’s strong hand over her.” - -That evening, when alone with his daughter, Lord Trevlyn introduced the -topic most in his thoughts at that time. - -“Monica, do you never want a little variety? What should you say to a -visitor at Trevlyn?” - -“I would try to make one comfortable. Are you expecting anyone, father?” - -“Yes, a kinsman of ours: Mr. Trevlyn, whose acquaintance I wish to -make.” - -“Who is he? I never heard of him before.” - -“No; I have not known much about him myself till lately, when -circumstances made him my heir. Monica, have you ever thought what will -happen at Trevlyn in the event of my death?” - -A very troubled look crept into Monica’s dark, unfathomable eyes. Her -face looked pained and strained. - -“I think you ought to know, Monica,” said the earl, gently. “Perhaps -you have thought that the estates would pass to you in due course of -time.” - -Monica pressed her hands closely together, but her voice was steady, -her words were quietly spoken. - -“I do not know if I have ever thought about it; but I suppose I have -fancied you would leave all to Arthur or to me.” - -“Exactly, you would naturally inherit all I have to leave; but Trevlyn -is entailed in the male line, and goes with the title. At my death Mr. -Randolph Trevlyn will be the next earl, and all will be his.” - -Monica sat very still, feeling as if she had received some sudden -stunning blow; but she could not take in all in a moment the gist of -such intelligence. A woman in some matters, she was a child in others. - -“But, father,” she said quietly, and without apparent emotion, “Arthur -is surely much nearer to you than this Mr. Trevlyn, whom you have never -seen?” - -The earl smiled half-sadly, and shook his head. - -“My dear, you do not understand these things; I feel towards Arthur as -if he were my son, but he is not of my kindred. He is my wife’s son, -not mine; he is not a Trevlyn at all.” - -Monica’s troubled gaze rested on her father’s face. - -“He cannot live anywhere but at Trevlyn,” she said, slowly. “It would -kill him to take him anywhere else;” and in her heart she added—a -little jealous hostility rising up in her heart against the stranger -and usurper who was coming—“He _ought_ to have it. He is a son and a -brother here. By every law of right Trevlyn should be his.” - -Foolish, irrational Monica! Where Arthur was concerned her eyes were -blinded, her reason was warped by her love. And the ways of the great -outside world were so difficult to understand. - -Presently she spoke in very low, measured tones, though not without a -little falter in her voice now and then. - -“You mean that if—if you were to die—Arthur and I should be turned out -of Trevlyn.” - -“You would neither of you have any right to remain,” answered Lord -Trevlyn, choosing his words with care. “You would find a home with your -aunt; and as for Arthur, I suppose he would go to his cousins—unless, -indeed, if he seemed unable to live away from the place, some -arrangement with my successor could be made. Everything would depend on -him, but of course it would be a difficult arrangement.” - -She drew a long breath, and passed her hand across her eyes. - -“Mr. Trevlyn is coming here, you say?” - -“Yes, next week. I think it is right that we should become acquainted -with our kinsman, especially as so much may depend upon him in the -future.” - -“I think so too,” answered Monica; and then she quietly left him, -without uttering another word. - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER THE SECOND. - -MONICA’S RIDE. - - -The next morning dawned fair and clear, as is often the case after a -storm. Monica rose early, her first thought, as usual, for Arthur. She -crept on tip-toe to his room, to find him as she had left him, sleeping -calmly—as he was likely now to do for hours, after the attack of the -previous day; and finding herself no longer required by him, the girl -was not long in making up her mind how these early hours of glimmering -daylight were to be spent. - -Seven o’clock found her in the saddle, mounted on her glossy black -thorough-bred, who, gentle under her hand, would brook no other rider, -and showed his mettle in every graceful eager movement, and in the -restless quivering of his shapely limbs. His coat shone like satin in -the pale early sunlight; he pranced and curvetted as he felt his rider -upon his back. Monica and her horse together made a picture that for -beauty and grace could hardly meet its match in the length and breadth -of the land. - -The girl was perfectly at home in the saddle. She heeded no whit the -pawing of her steed, or the delighted baying of the great hounds who -formed her escort, and whose noise caused Guy’s delicate nerves many a -restive start. She gathered up her reins with practised hand, soothed -him by a gentle caress, and rode quietly and absently out of the great -grass-grown court-yard and through a stretch of tangled park beyond. -Once outside the gates, she turned to the right, and quickly gained -a narrow grass-grown track, which led for miles along the edge of -the great frowning cliffs that almost overhung at a giddy height the -tossing ocean far below. It was a perilous-looking path enough—one -false step would be enough to hurl both horse and rider to certain -destruction, but Monica rode fearlessly onward; she and her horse were -familiar with every step of the way, both knew the wild cliff path, and -both loved it; and Guy stretched his delicate supple limbs in one of -those silent gallops over the elastic turf in which his heart delighted. - -Monica seldom passed more than a day without traversing that well-known -track. She loved to feel the fresh salt wind as it blew off the -sea and met her face. Sometimes it was warm and tender as a caress, -sometimes fierce and boisterous, a wet, blinding blast, laden with -spray from the tempest-tossed waves below; but to-day it was a keen, -fresh wind, salt, and strong, and life-giving—a wind that brought the -warm colour to her cheek, the light to her eye and gave a peculiar and -indescribable radiance to her usually cold and statuesque beauty. - -To-day she felt strangely restless and uneasy. A sort of haunting -fear was upon her, a presentiment of coming trouble, that was perhaps -all the harder to bear from its very vagueness. She had never before -realised that the future would bring any change to the course of her -life, save that of gradually increasing age. Not for an instant had -it ever occurred to her that a possibility such as that hinted at last -night by her father could by any chance arise. That she and Arthur -might ever have to leave Trevlyn seemed the wildest of all wild dreams, -and yet that is what in all probability must happen in the event of her -father’s death. Monica shuddered at the bare idea. Her beautiful dark -eyes glowed strangely. It must not, it should not be. It would be too -cruel, too hard, too unjust! - -In deep abstraction, Monica rode along the cliff for some three miles, -then turning her horse’s head inland, she crossed an open space of -wind-swept down, leaped a low stone wall, and found herself in a -road, which she followed for some considerable distance. It led at -length to the quaint little town of St. Maws, a pretty little place, -nestling down in a wooded hollow, and intersected by a narrow inlet -from the sea, which was spanned by a many-arched bridge. All the trees -in the neighbourhood seemed to have collected round St. Maws, and -its inhabitants were justly proud of their stately oaks and graceful -beeches. - -Monica rode quietly through the empty streets, returning now and again -a salutation from some tradesman or rustic. It was still early—only -eight o’clock—and the sleepy little place was slowly awaking from -its night’s repose. At the far end of the town stood a good-sized -house, well hidden from view behind a high brick wall. Guy turned -in at the gate of his own accord, and, following a short, winding -carriage drive, halted before the front door. The house was of -warm red brick, mellowed by age; there was an indescribable air of -comfort and hospitality hanging over it. It was mantled by glossy -ivy, and its gables, steep pitched roof, and twisted chimneys were -charmingly picturesque. The door stood wide open as if to invite -entrance. Monica’s hounds had already announced her approach, and -a tall, wiry-looking man of some thirty summers was standing upon -the threshold. He was not much like his brother, the blue-eyed, -brown-bearded Raymond, having a thin, sharp, closely-shaved face, very -keen penetrating eyes, and a cynical mouth. Tom Pendrill was himself a -doctor, like his brother; but he did not practise on his own account, -being a man of scientific predilections, with a taste for authorship. -His college fellowship rendered him independent of lucrative -employment, and, save for assisting his brother with critical cases, -his time was spent in study and research. - -“Well, Monica, you are abroad early to-day,” was his greeting. Arthur’s -cousins had been like cousins to Monica almost ever since she could -remember. “You have come to breakfast, of course?” - -“I came to tell Raymond not to trouble to call at Trevlyn to-day, if -he is busy. Arthur is much better. I want to see Aunt Elizabeth; but I -should like some breakfast very much.” - -“I will take your horse,” said Tom, as the girl slipped from the -saddle. “You will find Aunt Elizabeth in the breakfast-room.” - -The “Aunt Elizabeth” thus alluded to was the widow of the Pendrills’ -uncle, and she had lived with them for many years, keeping their house, -and bringing into it that element of womanly refinement and comfort -which can never be found in a purely bachelor establishment. The young -men were both warmly attached to her, as was her other nephew, Arthur, -at the Castle. As for Monica, “Aunt Elizabeth” had been to her almost -like a mother, supplying that great want in the girl’s life of which -she was only vaguely conscious—the want of tender womanly comprehension -and sympathy in the trials and troubles of childhood and youth. - -It had been her habit for many years to bring all her troubles to Mrs. -Pendrill. She did not discuss them with Arthur. Her mission was to -soothe and cheer him, not to infect him with any fears or sorrows. He -was her boy, her charge, her dearly-loved brother, but Aunt Elizabeth -was her confidant and friend. - -She was a very sweet-looking old lady, with snow-white hair, and a -gentle, placid, earnest face. She greeted Monica with a peculiarly -tender smile, and asked after Arthur with the air of one who loved him. - -“He is better,” said Monica, “much better, or I could not have come. -He is asleep; he will most likely sleep till noon. I want to talk to -you, Aunt Elizabeth. I felt I must come to you. When breakfast is over, -please let us go somewhere together. There is so much I want to say.” - -When they found themselves at length secure from interruption in Mrs. -Pendrill’s pretty little parlour, Monica stood very quiet for a minute -or two, and then turning abruptly to her aunt, she asked: - -“Is my father very much out of health?” - -Mrs. Pendrill was a little startled. - -“What makes you ask that, my love?” - -“I can hardly say—I think it is the way he looked, the way he spoke. -Please tell me the truth, dear Aunt Elizabeth. I have nobody but you to -turn to,” and there was a pathetic quiver in the voice as well as in -the pale, sweet face. - -Mrs. Pendrill did not try to deceive her. She knew from both her -nephews that Lord Trevlyn’s health was in a very precarious state, and -she loved Monica too well not to wish to see her somewhat prepared for -a change that must inevitably fall upon her sooner or later. She had -always shrunk from thinking of this trouble, she shrank from bringing -it home to Monica now; but a plain question had been asked, and her -answer must not be too ambiguous. - -Monica listened very quietly, as was her wont, not betraying any -emotion save in the strained look of pain in her great dark eyes. Then -very quietly, too, she told Mrs. Pendrill what her father had said the -previous evening about his heir, and about the prospective visit. - -“Aunt Elizabeth,” said Monica suddenly after a long pause, betraying -for the first time the emotion she felt, “Aunt Elizabeth, I do not wish -to be wicked or ungenerous, but I _hate_ that man! He has no right -to be at Trevlyn, yet he will some day come and turn out Arthur and -me. I cannot help hating him for it; but oh, if only he would be good -to Arthur, if only he would let him stay, I could bear anything else -I think. _Do_ you think he would be generous, and would let him keep -his own little corner of the Castle? It does not seem much to ask, yet -father thought it might be difficult. Arthur is so patient, so good, -he might learn to love him—he might even adopt him, so to speak. Am -I very foolish to hope such things, Aunt Elizabeth?—they do not seem -impossible to me.” - -Mrs. Pendrill mused a little while. - -“Has this Mr. Trevlyn any family?” - -“I do not know. Father did not speak of a wife. I fancy he is an old -bachelor.” - -“He is old, then?” - -“I fancy he is elderly, or at any rate middle-aged, or father would -hardly care to have him on a visit. He must be younger than father, of -course, but I do not know anything more about him. Oh, it will be very -hard; but if he will only be good to Arthur, I will try to bear the -rest.” - -“I am sure you will, my Monica,” said Mrs. Pendrill tenderly. “I am -sure you will never be ungenerous or act unworthily. A dark cloud seems -hanging over your life, but there is light behind, though we cannot -always see it. And, remember, my darling, that gold shines all the -brighter for having been tried in the furnace.” - - -“I know the fellow,” said Tom Pendrill, an hour later, when Monica had -gone, and he had heard from his aunt part of what had passed between -them. “Monica is out about his age; he can’t be more than six or seven -and twenty, and a right good fellow he is too, and would make my lady -a capital husband, if he is not married already. Randolph Trevlyn -was at Oxford; I knew him there pretty well, though he was only an -undergraduate when I had taken my degree. The name sounded home-like, -and I made friends with him. He wasn’t anywhere near the title then, -but I suppose there have been deaths in the family since. Well, well, -the earl is quite right to have him down, and if he could manage to -fall in love with Monica and marry her, it would simplify matters -wonderfully; but that wild bird will need a good deal of training -before she will come at a husband’s call, and there is such a thing as -spreading the snare too much in the sight of the quarry.” - -No thought of this kind, however, entered into Monica’s head. She was -far too unversed in the ways of the world to entertain the smallest -suspicion of the hopes entertained on her account. She thought a -good deal of the coming guest as the days went by—thought of him -with bitterness, with aversion, with mistrust, but in the light of a -possible husband—never for a single instant. - -It was the day before the stranger was expected, and Monica, as the -sun was sinking in the sky, was riding alone in the pine wood that -surrounded the Castle. She was grave and pre-occupied, as she had -been for the week past, haunted by the presage of coming sorrow and -change. Her face was pale and sad, yet there was a wonderful depth of -sweetness in its expression of wistful melancholy. The setting sun, -slanting through the ruddy trunks of the tall pines, shone full upon -her, lighting her golden hair, and making an aureole of glory round her -head, showing off with peculiar clear distinctness the graceful outline -of her supple figure and the beauty of the horse she rode. - -She was in a very thoughtful mood, so absent and pre-occupied as to -be quite lost to outside impressions, when Guy suddenly swerved and -reared, with a violence that would have unseated a less practised -rider. Monica was not in the least alarmed, but the movement aroused -her from her reverie, and she was quickly made aware of what had -frightened the horse. - -A tall, broad-shouldered young man stepped forward, and laid a hand -upon Guy’s bridle, lifting his hat at the same time, and disclosing a -broad brow, with a sweeping wave of dark hair lying across it. - -“I beg a thousand pardons; I believe I frightened your horse. He is -evidently unused to the sight of trespassers. I trust you have not been -alarmed.” - -Monica smiled at the notion; her face had been somewhat set and cold -till the apology had been made. The stranger had no right to be there, -certainly, but his frank admission of the fact went far to palliate -the crime. She allowed herself to smile, and the smile was in itself a -revelation. - -“It does not matter,” she said quietly. “I know the wood is perplexing; -but if you keep bearing to the west you will find the road before long. -No, I was not frightened, thank you. Good afternoon.” - -She bent her head slightly, and the stranger uncovered again. He was -smiling now, and she could not deny that he was very good-looking, and -every inch the gentleman. - -She had not an idea who he was nor what he could be doing there; but it -was no business of hers. He was probably some tourist who had lost his -way exploring the beauties of the coast. She was just a little puzzled -by the look his face had worn as he turned away: there was a sort of -subdued amusement in the dark blue eyes, and his long brown moustache -had quivered as if with the effort to subdue a smile. Yet there had -been nothing in the least impertinent in his manner; on the contrary, -he had been particularly courtly and polished in his bearing. Monica -dismissed the subject from her mind, and rode home as the sun dipped -beneath the far horizon. - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER THE THIRD. - -LORD TREVLYN’S HEIR - - -Lord Trevlyn sat in his study in the slowly waning daylight, waiting -the arrival of his expected guest. Now that the moment had come, he -shrank from the meeting a good deal more than he had once believed -he should do. It was so long since he had seen a strange face, and -his relations with this unknown heir would perhaps be difficult: -undoubtedly the situation was somewhat strained. Would the young man -think a trap was being set for him in the person of the beautiful -Monica? Was he acting a wise or fatherly part in scheming to give her -to this stranger, if it should be possible to do so? - -He had liked the tone of Randolph Trevlyn’s courteously-worded -acceptance of his invitation. He had liked all that he heard of the -man himself. He had a sort of presentiment that his wish would in time -be realised, that this visit would not be fruitless; but his child’s -happiness: would that be secured in securing to her the possession of a -well-loved home? - -Randolph Trevlyn would hardly be likely to spend any great part of his -life at this lonely sea-bound castle. He might pass a few months there, -perhaps; but where would the bulk of his time be spent? - -Lord Trevlyn tried to picture his beautiful, wayward, freedom-loving -daughter mixing in the giddy whirl of London life, learning its ways -and following its fashions, and he utterly failed to do so. She seemed -indissolubly connected with the wild sea-coast, with the gloomy -pine-woods, with the rugged independence of her sea-girt home. Monica a -fashionable young countess, leading a gay life of social distraction! -The thing seemed impossible. - -But he had no time to indulge his imaginings farther. The door opened, -and his guest was ushered in. The old earl rose and bade him welcome -with his customary simple, stately courtesy. It was growing somewhat -dark in that oak-panelled room, and for a minute or two he hardly -distinguished the features of the stranger, but the voice and the words -in which the young man answered his greeting pleased his fastidious -taste, and a haunting dread of which he had scarcely been fully aware -faded from his mind at once and for ever in the first moment of -introduction. - -Lord Trevlyn heaved an unconscious sigh of relief when he resumed his -seat, and was able to give a closer scrutiny to his guest. One glance -at his face, figure, and dress, together with the pleasant sound of his -voice, convinced Lord Trevlyn that this young man was a gentleman in -the rather restricted sense in which he employed that elastic term. - -He was a handsome, broad-shouldered, powerful man, with a fine figure, -dark hair and moustache, dark blue eyes, frank and well-opened, a -quiet, commanding air and carriage, and that cast of countenance which -plainly showed that the blood of the Trevlyns ran in his veins. - -Lord Trevlyn eyed him with quiet satisfaction, and from the -conversation that ensued he had no reason to rescind his favourable -impression. Randolph Trevlyn was evidently a man of culture and -refinement, with a mental capacity distinctly above the average. He -was, moreover, emphatically a man of the world in its truest and -widest sense—a man who has lived in the world, and studied it closely, -learning thereby from its silent teaching the good and the evil thereof. - -The two men talked for a time of the family to which they belonged, and -the deaths that had lately taken place, bringing this young man so near -to the title. - -“The Trevlyns seem to be a dying race,” said the old earl, half sadly. -“Our family is slowly dying out. I suppose it has done its work in the -world, and is not needed any longer in these stirring times. You and -my daughter are now the sole representatives of the Trevlyns in your -generation, as my sister and I are in ours.” - -Randolph Trevlyn looked into his kinsman’s face with a great deal of -reverence and admiration. He liked to meet a man who was a genuine -specimen of the “old school.” He felt a natural reverence for the -head of his house, and his liking showed itself in voice and manner. -Lord Trevlyn saw this, and was gratified, whilst the younger man was -pleased to feel himself in accord with his host. The interview ended -with mutual satisfaction on both sides, and Randolph was taken up -the great oak staircase, down one or two dim, ghostly corridors, and -landed finally in a couple of large panelled rooms, most antiquely and -quaintly furnished, in both of which, however, great fires of pine logs -were blazing cheerily. - -“We dine at eight,” Lord Trevlyn had said, in parting with his guest. -“I shall hope then to have the pleasure of introducing you to my sister -and my daughter.” - -Left alone in his comfortable but rather grim-looking quarters, -Randolph broke into a low laugh. - -“And so this sombre old place, full of ghosts and phantoms of departed -days—this enchanted castle between sea and forest—is the home of -the lovely girl I saw yesterday! Incongruous, and yet so entirely -appropriate! She wants a setting of her own, different from anything -else. It must have been Lady Monica I encountered, the lady of the -pine-wood. What a sad, proud, lovely face it was, with its frame of -golden hair, and soft eyes like a deer’s; and her voice was as sweet as -her face, low, and rich, and full of music. What has been the secret of -her life? Some sorrow, I am certain, has overshadowed it. Who will be -the happy man to bring the sunshine back to that lovely troubled face? -Randolph Trevlyn, do not run on so fast. You are no longer a boy. You -must not judge by first impressions; you will know more of her soon.” - -Randolph’s encounter with Monica the previous day had been purely -accidental. The young man had reached St. Maws one day earlier than -he had expected, one day earlier than he had been invited to arrive -at the Castle. Some business in Plymouth which he had expected would -detain him some days had been despatched with greater speed than he had -anticipated, and he had gone on to St. Maws to renew acquaintance with -his old friend Pendrill, who lived, as he remembered, in that place. - -When he descended to the drawing room it was to find the earl and Lady -Diana there before him, and he made as favourable an impression upon -the vivacious old lady as he had done before upon her brother. Yet he -found his attention straying sometimes from the animated talk of his -companion, and his eyes would wander to the door by which Monica must -enter. - -She came at last, stately, beautiful, statuesque, her dress an -antique cream-coloured brocade, that had, without doubt, belonged to -some remote ancestress; her golden hair coiled like a crown upon her -graceful head. She had that same indescribable air of isolation and -remoteness that had struck him so much when he had seen her riding -in the wood. She did not lift her eyes when her father presented the -stranger to her, but only bent her head very slightly, and sat down by -herself, somewhat apart. - -But when dinner was announced, and Randolph gave her his arm to lead -her in, she raised her eyes, and their glances met. He saw that she -recognised him, and yet she gave not the slightest sign of having done -so, and her face settled into lines of even more severe gravity than -before. He felt that she was annoyed at his having met and addressed -her previously, and that she would brook no allusion to the encounter. - -His talk with the Pendrills had prepared him somewhat for Monica’s -coldness towards himself. It was natural enough, he thought, and -perhaps a little interesting, especially as he meant to set himself to -win her good-will at last. - -He did not make much way during dinner. Monica was very silent, and -Lady Diana engrossed almost all his attention; but he was content to -bide his time, conscious of the charm of her presence, and of the -haunting, pathetic character of her beauty, and deeply touched by the -story of her devotion to the crippled, suffering Arthur, which was told -him by the earl when they were alone together, with more of detail -than he had heard it before. - -When he returned to the drawing-room, he went straight up to Monica, -and said: - -“I am going to ask a favour of you, Lady Monica. I want to know if you -will be good enough to introduce me to your brother?” - -Her face softened slightly as she raised her eyes to his. It was a -happy instinct that had led Randolph to call Arthur by the name she -most loved to hear, “your brother.” - -“You would like to see him to-night?” - -“If it is not too late to intrude upon an invalid, I should very much.” - -“I think he would be pleased,” said Monica. “It is so seldom he has any -one to talk to.” - -The visit to Arthur was a great success. The lad took to Randolph -at once, delighted to find him so young, so pleasant, and so -companionable. Of course he identified him at once as the hero of -Monica’s adventure yesterday, and was amused to hear his account of the -meeting. Monica did not stay long in the room; but her absence enabled -Arthur to sing her praises as he loved to do, and Randolph listened -with a satisfaction that surprised himself. He was very kind to the -boy, sincerely sorry for his helpless state, and more than ready to -stand his friend if ever there should be occasion. Before he left the -invalid that night, he felt that in him, at least, he had secured a -staunch and trusty friend. - -But during the days that followed he could not hide from himself the -fact that Monica avoided him. Indeed, he sometimes hardly saw her -from morning till night, and when they did meet at the luncheon or -dinner-table, she sat still and silent, scarcely vouchsafing him a word -or a look. - -The first time Randolph found himself alone with Monica was in this -wise: he had been riding about the immediate precincts of the Castle -with the earl one morning, and his host was just expressing a wish to -extend their ride farther, in order to see some of the best views of -the neighbourhood—hesitating somewhat on his own account, as he had -been forbidden to exert himself by much exercise—when Monica suddenly -appeared, mounted on Guy, and attended by her convoy of dogs, ready for -her daily gallop. - -Lord Trevlyn’s face softened at her approach; he loved his fair -daughter with a deep and tender love. - -“Monica, my dear, you have come in good time. I want Mr. Trevlyn to see -the view of the Castle from the Black Cliff, and the wonderful archway -in the rocks farther along the coast. These fine days must not be -wasted; and I feel too tired to undertake the ride myself. Will you act -as my substitute, and do the honours of Trevlyn?” - -Monica glanced with a sort of mute wistfulness into her father’s pale -face, and assented quietly. The next moment she and Randolph were -riding side by side over the close soft turf of the sweeping downs. - -The girl’s face was set and grave, she seemed lost in thought, and -was only roused by the eccentricities of Guy’s behaviour. The spirited -little barb resented company even more than his mistress did, and -showed his distaste by every means in his power. He was so troublesome -that Randolph was half afraid for Monica’s safety, but she smiled at -the idea of danger. - -“I know Guy too well,” she answered; “it is nothing. He only hates -company. He is not used to it.” - -“Had you not better have another horse to-day?” - -“Let myself be conquered? No, thank you. I always say that if that once -were to happen, it would never be safe ever for me to ride Guy again.” - -The battle with the horse brought the colour to her face and the -light to her eyes. She looked more approachable now as she cantered -along beside him (victorious at last, with her dogs bounding about -her) than she had ever done before. He drew her out a little about -her four-footed favourites, and being a lover of animals himself, and -knowing their ways, they found a good deal to say without trenching in -any way upon dangerous or personal topics. - -They visited the places indicated by Lord Trevlyn, and Randolph admired -the beauties of the wild coast with a genuine appreciation that -satisfied Monica. Had her companion been anybody but himself—an alien -usurper come to spy out the land that would some time be his own—had -his praises been less sounded in her ears by Lady Diana, whose praise -was in Monica’s eyes worse than any open condemnation—she could almost -have found it in her heart to like him; but as it was, jealous distrust -drove all kindlier feelings away, and even his handsome person and -pleasant address added to her sense of hostility and disfavour. - -Why was he to win all hearts—he who would so ruthlessly act the part of -tyrant and foe, as soon as his chance came? Did not even his friend, -Lady Diana, continually repeat that his succession to the Trevlyn -estate must inevitably mean an immediate break-up of all existing forms -and usages? Was it not an understood thing that he would exercise his -power without considering anything but his strict legal right? Lady -Diana knew the world—that world to which Randolph evidently belonged. -If this was her opinion, was it not presumably the right one? She -sneered openly at the suggestion her niece had once thrown out of the -possibility of his granting to Arthur liberty to remain at Trevlyn. - -“You foolish child!” she said sharply. “What is Arthur to him? Men do -not make sentimental attachments to each other. Arthur has no right -here, and Mr. Trevlyn will show him so very plainly when the time -comes.” - -Was it any wonder that Monica’s heart rose in revolt against this -handsome, powerful stranger, who seemed in a manner to hold her whole -future in his strong hands? Was it strange she avoided him? Was it -difficult to understand that she distrusted him, and that only his -present kindness to Arthur and the lad’s affection for him enabled her -to tolerate with any kind of submission his presence in the house? - -He tried now to make her talk of herself, of Arthur, of her home and -her life there, but she became at once impenetrably silent. Her face -assumed its old look of statuesque _hauteur_. The ride back to the -Castle was a very silent one. Randolph had enjoyed the hour he had -spent in the company of Lady Monica, but he could not flatter himself -that much ground had been gained. - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER THE FOURTH. - -CONRAD FITZGERALD. - - -Whether Monica would ever have thawed towards him of her own free will -Randolph Trevlyn could not tell; but during a sharp attack of illness -that prostrated Arthur at this juncture, he was so much in the sick -boy’s room, and so kind and patient and helpful there, that the girl’s -coldness began insensibly to melt; and before the attack had passed, he -felt that if she did not share her brother’s liking for him, at least -the old antipathy, hostility, had somewhat abated. - -They rode out together sometimes now, exploring the country round the -Castle, or galloping over the wind-swept moors. Monica was generally -silent, always reserved and unapproachable, and yet he felt that a -certain vantage-ground had been gained, and he did not intend to allow -it to slip away. Unconsciously almost to himself, the wish had grown to -win the heart of this wild, beautiful, lonely young creature. Yet the -charm of her solitary tamelessness was so great that he hardly wished -the spell to be too suddenly broken. He could not picture Monica other -than she was—and yet he was growing to love her with every fibre of his -being. - -But fortune was not kind to Randolph, as an incident that quickly -followed showed him. - -He and Monica had ridden one day across a wild sweep of trackless -moorland, when they came in sight of a picturesque Elizabethan house, -in a decidedly dilapidated condition, whose red brick walls and -mullioned windows took Randolph’s fancy. He asked who lived there. - -“No one now,” answered Monica, with a touch as of regret in her voice; -“no one has lived there for years and years. Once it was such a bright, -happy home—we used to play there so often, Arthur and I, when we were -children; but the master died, the children were taken away, and the -house was shut up. That was ten years ago. I have never been there -since.” - -“Who is the owner? Does he never reside here now?” - -“He has never been back. I believe he is not rich, and could not keep -up the place. He must be about five-and-twenty by this time. He is Sir -Conrad Fitzgerald—he was such a nice boy when I used to play with him.” - -Randolph started suddenly; he controlled himself in a moment, but -Monica’s eyes were very quick, and she had seen the instinctive recoil -at the sound of the name. - -“Do you know Conrad Fitzgerald?” she asked. - -“We have met,” he answered, somewhat grimly. “I do not claim the honour -of his acquaintance.” - -Monica glanced at him. She saw something in the stern lines of -Randolph’s face that told a tale of its own. She was not afraid to -state the conclusion she reached by looking at him. - -“That means that you have quarrelled,” she said. - -“I am not at liberty to explain what it means,” was the answer, spoken -with a certain stern gravity, not lost upon Monica. She had never seen -her companion look like this before. The strength and resolution of his -face compelled a sort of involuntary respect, yet she revolted against -hearing the friend and playmate of her childhood tacitly condemned by -this stranger. - -“I do not like innuendoes, Mr. Trevlyn,” she said. “If you have -anything to say against a man I think it is better spoken out.” - -“I have nothing at all to say upon the subject of Sir Conrad -Fitzgerald,” he answered, quietly. - -“Ungenerous! unmanly!” was Monica’s mental comment. “I cannot bear -hearing a character _hinted_ away. I loved Conrad once, and he loved -me. I do not believe he has done anything for which he should be -condemned.” - -Randolph thought little of the few chance words respecting Sir Conrad -Fitzgerald at the time when they were spoken; but he was destined to -think a good deal about that individual before many days had passed. - -Finding his way to Arthur’s room towards dusk one day, as he often -did, he was surprised to find quite a little group around the glowing -fire. Monica and the dogs were objects sufficiently familiar to him by -this time, but who was that graceful, fair-haired youth who sat beside -the girl, his face turned towards her and away from Randolph, whilst -he made some gay, laughing rejoinder to her in a very sweet, musical -voice? - -Randolph recognised that laugh and that voice with another start of -dismay. His face set itself in very stern lines, and he would have -withdrawn in silence had he been able to do so unobserved; but Arthur -saw him as he moved to go, and cried gladly: - -“Oh, here is Randolph—that is right. Our old friend and our new one -must be introduced. Sir Conrad Fitzgerald—Mr. Randolph Trevlyn.” - -Randolph’s eyes were fixed full upon the face of the younger man as -he made the slightest possible inclination of the head. His hand -had unconsciously clenched itself in a gesture that was a little -significant. Monica’s eyes were fixed upon Conrad. Was it possible -that he quailed and flinched a little beneath the steady gaze bent -upon him? She did not think so, she was sure it could not be; no, he -was only drawing himself up to return that cold salutation with one -expressive of sovereign contempt. - -Not a word was exchanged between the two men. Randolph sat down beside -Arthur, and began to talk to him. Conrad drew nearer to Monica, and -entered into a low-toned conversation with her. His voice sounded -tender and caressing, and ever and anon such words as these reached -young Trevlyn’s ears: - -“Do you remember, Monica?”—“Ah, those sweet days of childhood!”—“You -have not forgotten?”—“How often have I thought of it all.” - -Evidently they were discussing the happy past—the bright days that -had been shared by them before the cloud had fallen upon Monica’s -life. Randolph could not keep his eyes away from her face. It was -lit up with a new expression, half sad, and yet strangely—infinitely -sweet. Conrad’s face was very beautiful too, with its delicate, almost -effeminate colouring and serious, melancholy blue eyes. He had been a -lovely child, and his beauty had not faded with time. It had stood him -in good stead in many crises of his life, and was doing so still. There -is an irrational association in most minds between beauty and goodness. - -But Randolph’s face grew more and more dark as he watched the pair -opposite. Old memories were stirring within him, and at last he rose -and quitted the room, feeling that he could no longer stand the -presence of that man within it, could no longer endure to see him -bending over Monica, and talking to her in that soft, caressing way. - -Conrad looked after him, a vindictive light in his soft blue eyes. As -the door closed he uttered a low laugh. - -“What is it?” asked Arthur. - -“Oh, nothing. I was only wondering how long he would be able to brazen -it out?” - -“Brazen what out?” - -“Why, sitting there with my eye upon him. Couldn’t you see how restless -he got?” - -“Restless!” repeated Arthur, quickly. “Why should he be restless?” - -Conrad laughed again. - -“Never mind, my boy. I bear him no malice. The least said the soonest -mended.” - -Monica was silent and a little troubled. She liked to understand things -plainly. It seemed to her an unnatural thing for two men to be at -almost open feud, yet unwilling to say a word as to the cause of their -mutual antagonism. She thought that if they met beneath her father’s -roof they should be willing to do so as friends. - -Her gravity did not escape Conrad’s notice. - -“Has he been maligning me already?” he asked, suddenly, with a subdued -flash in his eyes. - -“No,” answered Monica, with a sort of involuntary coldness. “He has -not said a word. I do not think,” she added presently, with a gentle -dignity of manner, “that I should listen very readily from the lips of -a stranger to stories detrimental to an old companion and playmate, -told behind his back.” - -Conrad gave her a look of humble gratitude. He would have taken -her hand and kissed it had she been anybody else, but somehow, -demonstrations of such a kind always seemed impossible where Monica was -concerned. Even to him she was decidedly unapproachable. - -“It is good indeed of you to say so,” he said; “but, Monica—I may call -you Monica still, may I not? as I have always thought of you all these -long years—you might hear stories to my detriment that would not be -untrue. There have been faults and follies and sins in my past life -that I would gladly blot out if I could. I have been wild and reckless -often. I lost my parents very young, as you know, and it is hard for -a boy without home and home influences to grow up as he should do.” -Conrad paused, and then added, with a good deal of feeling: “Monica, -can a man do more than repent the past? Can nothing ever wipe away the -stain, and give him back his innocence again? Must he always bear about -the shadow of sorrow and shame?” - -Monica’s face was grave and thoughtful. She shook her head as she -replied: - -“It is no use coming to me with hard questions, Conrad; I know so -little, so very little of the world you live in. Yet it seems to me -that it would be hard indeed if repentance did not bring forgiveness -in its wake.” - - “‘Who with repentance is not satisfied, - Is not of heaven nor of earth.’” - -quoted Arthur, lazily. “What is it you have done? Can’t you tell us all -the story, and let us judge for ourselves—old friends and playmates as -we are?” - -“I should like to,” answered Conrad, gently. “Some day I will; but do -not let us spoil this first meeting with bitter memories. Let it be -enough for me to have come home, and have found my friends unchanged -towards me. May I venture still to call you my friends?” - -“To be sure,” cried Arthur, readily; but Conrad’s eyes were fixed on -Monica’s face; and she saw it, and looked back at him with her steady, -inscrutable gaze. - -“I do not think I change easily,” she said, with her gentle dignity -of manner. “You were my friend and playmate in our happy childhood. I -should like to think of you always as a friend.” - -“Of course,” put in Arthur, gaily; “of course we are all friends, and -you must make friends with Randolph, too. He is such a good fellow.” - -“I have no objection at all,” answered Conrad, with a short laugh. “The -difficulty, I imagine, will be on his side. Some men never forget or -forgive any one who succeeds in finding them out.” - -“Oh, we will manage Randolph, never fear. You are ready, then, to make -it up if he is?” - -“Most certainly,” was the ready answer. - -“He is the nobler man of the two,” said Monica to herself—at least -her reason and judgment said so; her instinct, oddly enough, spoke in -exactly opposite words; but surely it was right to listen first to the -voice of reason. - -“I say, Randolph,” said Arthur, half an hour later, when the young -baronet had taken his departure and the other guest had returned to the -invalid’s room. “Conrad is quite willing to make it up with you.” - -Randolph’s smile was a little peculiar. - -“Sir Conrad Fitzgerald is very kind.” - -“Well, you know, it’s always best to make friends, isn’t it? Deadly -feuds are a nuisance in these days, don’t you think so?” - -Randolph smiled again; but his manner was certainly a little baffling. - -“Come now, Randolph,” persisted Arthur, with boyish insistence, “you -won’t hang back now that he is ready for the reconciliation. He is the -injured party, is he not?” - -There was rather a strange light in Randolph’s dark blue eyes. His -manner was exceedingly quiet, yet he looked as if he could be a little -dangerous. - -“Possibly,” was the rather inconclusive answer. - -“You know he has come to stay some little time in the neighbourhood, -and he will often be here. It will be so awkward if you are at daggers -drawn all the time.” - -“My dear boy, you need not put yourself about. I will take care that -there shall be no annoyance to anybody.” - -“You will make friends, then?” - -“I will meet Sir Conrad Fitzgerald, whenever he is your father’s guest, -with the courtesy due from one man to another, when circumstances bring -them together beneath the roof of the same hospitable host. But to take -his hand in reconciliation or friendship is a thing that I cannot and -will not do. Do you understand now?” - -Arthur looked at him intently, as for once Monica was doing also. - -“Randolph,” he said, a little inconsequently, “do you know I think I -could almost be afraid of you sometimes. I never saw you look before as -you looked just then.” - -The stern lines on Randolph’s face relaxed a little but he still looked -grave and pre-occupied, sitting with his elbow on his knee, leaning -forward, and pulling his moustache with an abstracted air. - -“You are rather unforgiving too, I think,” pursued the boy. “Conrad -admitted he had done wrong, but he is very sorry for the past; and I -think it is hard when old offences, repented of, are not consigned to -oblivion.” - -Randolph was silent. - -“Don’t you agree?” - -Still only impenetrable silence. - -“Come, Randolph, don’t be so mysterious and so revengeful. Let us have -the whole story, and judge for ourselves.” - -“Excuse me, Arthur; but the life of Sir Conrad Fitzgerald is not one -that I choose to discuss. His affairs are no concern of mine, nor, if -you will pardon my saying so, any concern of yours, either. You are at -liberty to renew past friendship with him if it pleases you to do so; -but it is useless to ask me to do the same.” - -And with that Randolph rose, and quitted the room without another word. - -“There is something odd about it all,” said Arthur, who was inclined to -indulge a good deal of curiosity about other people’s affairs: “but I -think Conrad behaves the better of the two.” - -Monica quietly assented; but perhaps she might have changed her opinion -had she heard the muttered threats breathed by Conrad as he rode across -the darkening moor: - -“So, Randolph Trevlyn, our paths have crossed once more! I have vowed -vengeance upon you to your very face, and perhaps my day has come at -last. I see through you. I see the game you are playing. I will baulk -you, if I can; but in any case I will have my revenge.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER THE FIFTH. - -SUNDAY AT TREVLYN. - - -It was Sunday, and Monica, with Randolph beside her, was making her -way by the path along the cliff towards the little old church perched -high upon the crags, between Trevlyn and St. Maws, but nearer to the -town than the Castle. Randolph had found out the ways of the house -by this time. He knew now that Monica played the organ in the little -church, that she started early and walked across the downs, instead -of going in the carriage with her father and aunt. He knew that she -generally lunched with the Pendrills between services, and that one of -her cousins walked back with her to the Castle, and spent an hour with -Arthur afterwards. - -He had found out all this during his first two Sundays, and upon the -third he had ventured to ask permission to be her escort. - -Randolph was quite aware that he had lost ground with Monica of late; -that the barrier, partially broken down during the week of anxiety -about Arthur, had risen up again as impenetrably as ever. How far Sir -Conrad Fitzgerald’s appearance upon the scene was to blame for this he -could not tell, nor could Monica herself have explained; but there was -no mistaking the added coldness on her part, and the sense of restraint -experienced in his presence. - -And yet he was conscious that his love for her increased every day, -and that no coldness on her part checked or dwarfed its growth. He -sometimes wondered at himself for the depth and intensity of his -passion, for he was a man who had passed almost unscathed heretofore -from the shafts of the blind god, nor was he by nature impulsive or -susceptible. But then Monica was like no woman he had ever met before, -and from the very first she had exercised a curious fascination over -him. Also their relative positions were peculiar; she the daughter and -he the heir of the old earl, whose life was evidently so very frail. -Randolph had a shrewd idea that his kinsman had little to leave apart -from the entail, and in the event of his death what would become of -the fair girl his daughter? Would it be her fate to be placed in the -keeping of that worldly spinster, the Lady Diana? Randolph’s whole soul -revolted from such an idea. - -So, altogether, his interest in Monica was hardly more than natural, -and his sense of protecting championship not entirely uncalled for. One -thing he had resolutely determined upon—that she should never suffer -directly or indirectly on his account. He had made no definite plans as -regarded the future, but on that point his mind was made up. - -To-day, for the first time, he ventured to allude to a subject hitherto -never touched upon between them. - -“You have a very beautiful home, Lady Monica,” he said. “It is no -wonder that you love it.” - -Her glance met his for a moment, and then her eyes dropped again. - -“Is it true that you have never left Trevlyn all your life?” - -“Except for a few days with Arthur, never.” - -“You have never seen London?” - -“No, never,” very emphatically. - -“Nor wish to do so?” - -“No.” - -He mused a little. Somehow it was more difficult than he had believed -to convey to her the information he had desired to hint at. He entered -upon another topic. - -“Have you ever been advised, Lady Monica, to try what the German baths -could do for Arthur? Very wonderful cures sometimes are accomplished -there.” - -She raised her head suddenly, with something of a flash in her eyes. - -“Tom Pendrill has been talking to you!” - -“Indeed, no.” - -“That is what he wants—what he is always driving at. He does not care -how my poor boy suffers, if only he has the pleasure of experimenting -upon him for the benefit of science. I will not have it. It would -kill him, it would kill me. You do not know how he suffers in being -moved; a journey like that would be murder. He can live nowhere but -at Trevlyn—Trevlyn or the neighbourhood, at least. Promise me never -to suggest such a thing, never to take sides against me in it. Mr. -Trevlyn, I appeal to your honour and your humanity. Promise me never to -league with Tom Pendrill to send Arthur away to die!” - -He had never seen her so vehement or excited. He was astonished at the -storm he had aroused. - -“Indeed, Lady Monica, you may trust me,” he said. “I have not the least -wish to distress you, or to urge anything in opposition to your wishes. -The idea merely occurred to me, because I happen to have heard of many -wonderful cures. But I will never allude to the subject again if it -distresses you. It is certainly not for me to dictate to you as to the -welfare of your brother.” - -The flush of excitement had faded from Monica’s face. She turned it -towards him with something of apology and appeal. - -“Forgive me if I spoke too hastily,” she said, with a little quiver -in her voice which he thought infinitely pathetic, “but I have so few -to love, and the thought of losing them is so very sad. And then Tom -has so often frightened me about Arthur and taking him away; and I -know that I understand him better than anybody else, though I am not a -doctor, nor a man of science.” - -He looked at her with grave sympathy. - -“I think that is highly possible, Lady Monica. You may trust me to say -or do nothing that could give you anxiety or pain.” - -“Thank you,” answered Monica with unusual gentleness. “I do trust you.” - -His heart thrilled with gladness at those simple words. They had almost -reached the church now, and Monica paused at the edge of the cliff, -turning her gaze seawards, a strange, sad wistfulness upon her face. - -Her companion watched her in silence. - -“There will be a storm before long,” she said at last. - -The air was curiously clear and still, and the sea the same; yet there -was a sullen booming sound far below that sounded threatening and -rather awful. - -“You are weather-wise, Lady Monica?” he asked with a smile. - -“I ought to be,” she answered, turning away at length with a long drawn -breath. “I know our sea so well, so very well.” - -And then she walked on and entered the church by her own little door, -leaving Randolph musing alone without. - -He, too, lunched with the Pendrills that day. He had been over several -times to see them since his arrival at Trevlyn, and had made his way in -that house as successfully as he had done at the Castle. - -Tom walked with him to church for the afternoon service. He spoke of -Monica with great frankness. - -“I have always likened her to a sort of Undine,” he remarked, “though -not in the generally accepted sense. There are latent capacities within -her that might make her a very remarkable woman; but half her nature -is sleeping still. According to the tradition, love must awake the -slumbering soul. I often think it is that which wanted to transform and -humanise my Lady Monica.” - -Randolph was silent. The smallest suspicion of criticism of Monica -jarred upon him. Tom saw this, and smiled to himself. - -They reached the little cliff church long before the rustic -congregation had begun to assemble. The sound of the organ was audible -from within. - -Tom laid his fingers on his lips and made a sign to his companion to -follow him. They softly mounted a little quaint stairway towards the -organ loft, and reached a spot where, hidden themselves by the dark -shadows, they could watch the player as she sat before the instrument. - -Monica had taken off her heavily-plumed hat, and the golden sunshine -glowed about her fair head in a sort of mist of liquid brightness. Her -face wore a dreamy, softened look, pathetically sad and sweet. Her -lustrous dark eyes were full of feeling. It seemed as if she were -breathing out her soul in the sweet, low strains of music that sounded -in the air. - -Randolph gazed for one long minute, and then silently withdrew; it -seemed a kind of sacrilege to take her unawares like that, when she was -unconscious of their presence. - -“Saint Cecilia!” he murmured softly, as he descended the stairs once -again. “Monica, my Monica! will you ever be mine in reality? Will you -ever learn to love me?” - -Monica’s face still wore its softened dreamy look as she joined -Randolph at the close of the service. Music exercised a strange power -over her, raising her for a time above the level of the region in which -she moved at other times. She looked pale and a little tired, as if -the strain of the week of anxiety about Arthur had not yet quite passed -off. As they reached the top of the down and turned the angle of the -cliff, the wind, which had been gradually rising all day and now blew -half a gale, struck them with all its force, and Monica staggered a -little beneath its sudden fury. - -“Take my arm, Lady Monica,” said Randolph. “This is too much for you.” - -“Thank you,” she answered, gently; and a sudden thrill ran through -Randolph’s frame as he felt the clinging pressure of her hand upon his -arm, and was conscious that she was grateful for the strong support -against the fury of the elements. - -“It will be a dreadful night at sea,” said the girl presently, when -a lull in the wind made speech more easy. “Look at the waves now? Are -they not magnificent?” - -The sea was looking very wild and grand; Randolph halted a moment -beneath the shelter of a projecting crag, and gazed at the -tempest-tossed ocean beneath. - -“You like a storm at sea, Lady Monica?” - -She looked at him with a sort of horror in her eyes. - -“Like a storm!” - -“You were admiring the grandeur of the sea just now.” - -“Ah, you do not understand!” she said, and gazed out before her, a -far-away look in her eyes. Presently she spoke again, looking at him -for a moment with a world of sadness in her eyes, and then away over -the tossing sea. “It is all very grand, very beautiful, very wonderful; -but oh, so cruel, so pitiless in its strength and beauty! Think of the -sailors, the fishermen out on the sea on a night like this, and the -wives and mothers and little children, waiting at home for those who, -perhaps, will never come back again. You do not understand. You belong -to another world. You are not one of us. I have been down amongst them -on wild, stormy nights. I have paced the beach with weeping women, -watching, waiting for the boats that never came back, or came only to -be dashed in pieces against the cruel rocks before our very eyes.” -She paused a moment, and he felt her shudder in every limb; but her -voice was still low and quiet, just vibrating with the depth of her -feelings, but very calm and even. “I have seen boats go down within -sight of home, within sound of our voices, almost within reach of our -outstretched hands—almost, but not quite; and I have seen brave men, -men I have known from childhood, swept away to their death, whilst -we—their wives, their mothers, and I—have stood at the water’s edge, -powerless to succour them. Ah, you do not, you cannot understand! I -have seen all that, and more—and you ask me if I like a storm at sea!” - -She stood very still for a few seconds, and then took his arm again. - -“Let us go home,” she said, drooping a little as the wind met them once -more. “I am so tired.” - -He sheltered her all he could against the fury of the gale, and -presently they were able to seek the shelter of the pine wood as they -neared the Castle. Monica’s face was very pale, and he looked at her -with a gentle concern that somehow in no wise offended her. - -“You are very tired,” he said, compassionately. “The walk has been too -much for you.” - -“Not the walk exactly,” answered Monica, with a little falter in her -voice; “it was the music and the storm together, I think. I am glad we -sung the hymn for those at sea to-night.” - -He looked down at her earnestly. - -“And yet the sea is your best friend, Lady Monica. You have told me so -yourself.” She looked at him with strange, wistful intensity. - -“Yes, it is, it is,” she answered; “my best and earliest friend; and -yet—and yet——” - -She paused, falling into a deep reverie; he roused her by a question: - -“Yet what, Lady Monica?” - -Again that quick, strange glance. - -“Do you believe in presentiments?” - -“I am not sure that I do.” - -“Ah! then you cannot be a true Trevlyn. We Trevlyns have a strange -forecasting power. Coming events cast their shadow over us, and we feel -it—we feel it!” - -He had never seen her in this mood before. He was intensely interested. - -“And you have a presentiment, Lady Monica?” - -She bent her head, but did not speak. - -“And having said so much, will you not say more, and tell me what it -is?” - -She stopped still, looked earnestly at him for a moment, and then -passed her hand wearily across her face. - -“Sometimes I think,” she said, “that it will be the great sea, my -childhood’s friend, that will bring to me the greatest sorrow of my -life; for is it not the emblem of separation? Please take me in now. I -think a storm is very sad and terrible.” - -He looked into her pale, sweet face, and perhaps there was something in -his glance that touched her, for as they stood in the hall at last she -looked up with a shadowy smile, and said: - -“Thank you very much. You have been very kind to me.” - -That smile and those few simple words were like a ray of sunlight in -his path. - - - - -CHAPTER THE SIXTH. - -IN PERIL. - - -Perhaps there was some truth in what Monica had said about her ability -to presage coming trouble. At least she was haunted just now by a -strange shadow of approaching change that future events justified only -too well. - -She often caught her father’s glance resting upon her with a strange, -searching wistfulness, with something almost of pleading and appeal -in his face. She had a suspicion that Arthur sometimes looked at her -almost in the same way, as if he too would ask some favour of her, -could he but bring his mind to do so. She felt that she was watched by -all the household, that something was expected of her, and was awaited -with a sort of subdued expectancy; but the nature of this service she -had not fathomed, and greatly shrank from attempting to do so. She told -herself many times that she would do anything for those she loved, that -no sacrifice would be too great which should add to or secure their -happiness; but she did not fully understand what was expected of her; -only some instinct told her that it was in some way connected with -Randolph Trevlyn. - -Sir Conrad Fitzgerald came from time to time to the Castle. He was -cordially received by the Earl and Lady Diana, who had respected and -liked his parents, and remembered him well as a fair-haired boy, the -childish playfellow and friend of Monica and Arthur. Old feelings of -intimacy sprang up anew after the lapse of time. It seemed as if he had -hardly been more than a year or two away. It was difficult to realise -that the young man was practically an entire stranger, of whose history -they were absolutely ignorant. - -Monica felt the change most by a certain instinctive and involuntary -shrinking from Conrad that she could not in the least explain or -justify. She wished to like him; she told herself that she did like -him, and yet she was aware that she never felt at ease in his presence, -and that he inspired her with a certain indescribable sense of -repulsion, which, oddly enough, was shared by her four-footed friends, -the dogs. - -Monica had a theory of her own that dogs brought up much in human -society became excellent judges of character, but if so, she ought -certainly to modify some of her own opinions, for the dogs all adored -Randolph, and welcomed him effusively whenever he appeared; but they -shrank back sullenly when Conrad attempted to make advances, and no -effort on his part conquered their instinctive aversion. - -Conrad himself observed this, and it annoyed him. He greatly resented -Randolph’s protracted stay at the Castle, as he detested above all -things the necessity of encountering him. - -“How long is that fellow going to palm himself upon your father’s -hospitality?” he asked Monica one day, with some appearance of anger. -He had encountered Randolph and the Earl in the park as he came up, -and he was aware that the cold formality of the greeting which passed -between them had not been lost upon the keen observation of the latter. -“I call it detestable taste hanging on here as he does. When is he -leaving?” - -“I do not know. Father enjoys his company, and so does Arthur. I have -not heard anything about his going yet.” - -“Perhaps you enjoy his company too?” suggested Conrad, with a touch of -insolence in his manner. - -A faint flush rose in Monica’s pale face. Her look expressed a good -deal of cool scorn. - -“Perhaps I do,” she answered. - -Conrad saw at once that he had made a blunder. Face and voice alike -changed, and he said in his gentle, deprecating way: - -“Forgive me, Monica. I had no right to speak as I did. It was rude and -unjustifiable. Only if you knew as much as I do about that fellow, you -would not wonder that I hate to see him hanging round you as he is -doing now, waiting, as it were, to step into the place that is his by -legal, but by no moral right. It would be hard to see anyone acting -such a part. It is ten times harder when you know your man.” - -Monica looked straight at Conrad. - -“What do you know against Mr. Trevlyn? My father is acquainted with all -his past history, and can learn nothing to his discredit. What story -have you got hold of? I would rather hear facts than hints.” - -Conrad laughed uneasily. - -“I know that he is a cad, and a sneak, and a spy; but I have no wish to -upset your father’s confidence in him. We were at Oxford together, and -of course it was not pleasant to me to hear his boasting of his future -lordship at Trevlyn. That was the first thing that made me dislike him. -Later on I had fresh cause.” - -Had Monica been more conversant with the family history, she would have -known that this boasting could never have taken place, as Randolph had -been far enough from the peerage at that time. As it was, she looked -grave and a little severe as she asked: - -“Did he do that?” and listened with instinctive repugnance to the -details fabricated by the inventive genius of Conrad. - -He next cleverly alluded again to his past follies, and appealed to -Monica’s generosity not to change towards him because he had sinned. - -“It is so hard to feel cast off by old friends,” he said, with a very -expressive look at the girl. “I know what it is to see myself cold -shouldered by those to whom I have learned to look up with reverence -and affection. I have suffered very much from misrepresentation and -hardness—suffered beyond what I deserve. I did fall once—I was sorely -tempted, and I did commit one act of ingratitude and deceit that I have -most bitterly repented of. I was very young and sorely tempted, and -I did something which might have placed me in the felon’s dock, and -would have done so had somebody not far away had his will. But I was -forgiven by the man I had injured, and I have tried my utmost since -to make atonement for the past. The hardest part of all has been to -see myself scorned and contemned by those whose good-will I have most -wished to win. Sometimes I have known sorrow that has been akin to -despair. I have been met with coldness and disdain when most I needed -help and sympathy. Monica, you will not help to push me back into the -abyss? You will not help to make me think that repentance is in vain?” - -She looked at him very seriously, her eyes full of a sort of thoughtful -surprise. - -“I, Conrad. What have I to do with it or with you?” - -“This much,” he answered, taking her hand and looking straight into her -eyes: “this much, Monica—that nothing so helps a man who has fallen -once as the friendship of a noble woman like yourself; nothing hurts -him more than her ill-will or distrust. Give me your friendship, and -I will make myself worthy of it; turn your back coldly upon me, and I -shall feel doomed to despair.” - -“We have been friends all our lives, Conrad,” said Monica, with gentle -seriousness. “You know that if I could help you in the way you mean I -should like to do so.” - -“You will not change—you will not turn your back upon me, whatever he -may say of me?” - -She looked at him steadily, and answered, “No.” - -“You promise, Monica?” - -“There is no need for that, Conrad. When I say a thing I mean it. We -are friends, and I do not change without sufficient reason.” - -He saw that he had said enough; he raised her hand to his lips and -kissed it once with a humility and reverence that could not offend her. -Monica wandered down by the lonely cliff path to the shore, revolving -many thoughts in her mind, feeling strangely absorbed and abstracted. - -The wind blew fresh and strong off the sea. The tide rolled in fast, -salt, and strong. Monica felt that she wanted to be alone to-day—alone -with the great wild ocean that she loved so well, even whilst she -feared it too in its fiercer moods. She therefore made her way with -the agility and sure-footed steadiness of long practice over a number -of great boulders, and along a jutting ledge of rock that stretched -a considerable distance out to sea—a sunken reef that had brought to -destruction many a hapless fisherman’s craft, and more than one stately -vessel. - -At high tide it was covered, but it would not be high water for some -hours yet, and Monica, in her restless state of mental tension, had -forgotten that the high spring tides were lashing the sea to fury just -now upon this iron-bound coast, rendered more swift and strong and high -by the steady way in which the wind set towards the land. - -Standing on the great flat rock at the end of the sunken reef, a rock -that was never covered even at the highest tides, Monica was soon lost -in so profound a reverie that time flew by unheeded; and only when the -giant waves began to throw their spray about her feet as they dashed -up against the rock, did she suddenly rouse up to the consciousness -that for once in her life she had forgotten herself, and forgotten the -uncertain temper of her tyrant playfellow, and had allowed her retreat -to be cut off. - -She looked round her quietly and steadily, not frightened, but fully -conscious of her danger. The reef was already covered; it would be -impossible to retrace her footsteps with the waves dashing wildly over -the sunken rocks. Monica was a bold and practised swimmer, but to swim -ashore in a heavy sea such as was now running was obviously out of the -question. To stand upon that lonely rock until the tide fell again was -a feat of strength and endurance almost equally impossible. Her best -chance lay in being seen from the shore and rescued. Someone might pass -that way, or even come in search of her. Only the daylight was already -failing, and would soon be gone. - -Monica looked round her, awed, yet calm, understanding, without -realising, the deadly peril in which she stood. There was always a -boat—her little boat—lying at anchor in the bay, ready for her use at -any moment. Her eyes turned towards it instinctively, and as they did -so she became aware of something bobbing up and down in the water—the -head of a swimmer, as she saw the next moment, swimming out towards her -boat. - -Someone must have seen her, then, and as all the fishing-smacks -were out, and there was no way of reaching the anchored boat, save -by swimming, had elected to run some personal risk rather than waste -precious time in seeking aid farther afield. - -A glow of gratitude towards her courageous rescuer filled Monica’s -heart, and this did not diminish as she saw the difficulty he had -first in reaching the boat, then in casting it loose, and last, but -not least, in guiding and pushing it towards an uncovered rock and in -getting in. But this difficult and perilous office was accomplished in -safety at last, and the boat was quickly rowed over the heaving, angry -waves to the spot where Monica stood alone, amid the tossing waste of -water. - -Nearer and nearer came the tiny craft, and Monica experienced an odd -sensation of mingled surprise and dismay as she recognised in her -preserver none other than Randolph Trevlyn. - -But it was not a time in which speeches could be made or thanks spoken. -To bring the boat up to the rock in the midst of the rolling breakers -was a task of no little difficulty and danger, and had not Randolph -been experienced from boyhood in matters pertaining to the sea, he -could not possibly have accomplished the feat unaided and alone. -There was no bungling on Monica’s part, either. With steady nerve and -quiet courage she awaited the moment for the downward spring. It was -made at exactly the right second; the boat swayed, but righted itself -immediately. Randolph had the head round in a moment away from the -dangerous rock. In ten minutes they had reached the shore and had -landed upon the beach. - -Not a word had been spoken all that time. Monica had given Randolph one -expressive glance as she took her seat in the boat, and that is all -that had so far passed between them. - -When, however, he gave her his hand to help her to disembark, and they -stood together on the shingle, she said, very seriously and gently: - -“It was very kind of you to come out to me, Mr. Trevlyn. I think I -should have been drowned but for you,” and she turned her eyes seaward -with a gaze that was utterly inscrutable. - -He looked at her a moment intently, and then stooped and picked up his -overcoat, which lay beside his pilot jacket and boots, upon the stones. - -“Will you oblige me by putting this on in place of your own wet jacket? -You are drenched with spray.” - -She woke up from her reverie then, and looked up quickly, doing as -he asked without a word; but when she had donned the warm protecting -garment, she said: - -“You are drenched to the skin yourself.” - -“Yes, so a garment more or less is of no consequence. Now walk on, -please; do not wait for me; I will be after you in two minutes.” - -Again she did his bidding in the same dreamy way, and walked on towards -the ascent by the steep cliff path. He was not long in following her, -and they walked in almost unbroken silence to the Castle. When they -reached the portal, Monica paused, and raised her eyes once more to his -face. - -“You have saved my life to-day,” she said. “I am—I think I am—very -grateful to you.” - -Arthur’s excitement and delight when he heard of the adventure were -very great. - -“So he saved you, Monica—at the risk of his life? Ah, that just proves -it!” - -“Proves what?” - -“Why, that he is in love with you, of course, just as he ought to be, -and will marry you some day, make us all happy; and keep us all at -Trevlyn. What could be more delightful and appropriate?” - -A wave of colour swept over Monica’s face. - -“You are a foolish boy, Arthur.” - -“I am not a foolish boy!” he answered, exultingly; “I know what I am -saying. Randolph _does_ love you; I can see it more plainly every day. -He loves you with all his heart, and some day soon he will ask you to -be his wife. Of course you will say yes—you must like him, I am sure, -as much as every one else does; and then everything will come right, -and we shall all be perfectly happy. Things always do come right in the -end, if we only will but believe it.” - -Monica sat very still, a strange, dream-like feeling stealing over her. -Arthur’s playful words shed a sudden flood of light upon much that had -been dark before, and for a moment she was blinded and dazzled. - -Randolph Trevlyn loved her! Yes, she could well believe it, little as -she knew of love, thinking of the glance bent upon her not long ago, -which had thrilled her then, she knew not why. - -Monica trembled, yet she was dimly conscious of a strange under-current -of startled joy beneath the troubled waters of doubt, despondency, -and perplexity. She could not understand herself, nor read her heart -aright, yet it seemed as if through the lifting of the clouds, she -obtained a rapid passing glimpse of a land of golden sunshine beyond, -whither her face and footsteps alike were turned—as a traveller amid -the mountain mists sees before him now and again the bright sunny -smiling valley beneath which he will shortly reach. - -The land of promise was spreading itself out already before Monica’s -eyes, and a dim perception in her heart was telling her that this was -so. Yet the sandy desert path still lay before her for awhile, for like -many others, her eyes were partially blinded, and she turned from the -direct way, and wandered still for awhile in the arid waste. She lacked -the faith to grasp the promise; but it was shining before her all the -while, and in her heart of hearts she felt it, though she could not yet -grasp the truth. - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. - -“WILT THOU HAVE THIS WOMAN?” - - -Lord Trevlyn was not unobservant of the feelings with which Randolph -regarded Monica. Quiet and self-contained as the young man was, -his admiration and the pleasure he took in her society was still -sufficiently obvious, and his own opinions were triumphantly endorsed -by those of Lady Diana. - -“He is over head and ears in love with her!” exclaimed that sharp-eyed -dame to her brother, about a couple of days after Monica’s rescue by -Randolph, of which, however, she luckily knew nothing. Indeed, the -story of that adventure had only been told by the girl to Arthur and -her father, and both had had the tact and discrimination not to broach -the subject to Lady Diana. - -“He is over head and ears in love with her, but she gives him not the -smallest encouragement, the haughty minx! and he is modest, and keeps -his feelings to himself. It seems to me that the time has come when -you ought to speak out yourself, Trevlyn; we cannot expect to keep -a gay young man like Randolph for ever in these solitudes. Speak to -him yourself, and see if you cannot manage to bring about some proper -understanding.” - -Lord Trevlyn had, in fact, some such idea in his own mind. He and his -young kinsman were by this time upon easy and intimate terms. They felt -a mutual liking and respect, and had at times very nearly approached -the subject so near to the hearts of both. That very night as they -sat together in the earl’s study, after the rest of the household had -retired, Lord Trevlyn spoke to his guest with frankness and unreserve -of the thoughts that had for long been stirring in his mind. - -He spoke to his kinsman and heir of his anxieties as to the future of -his dearly-loved and only child, who would at his death be only very -inadequately provided for. He did not attempt to conceal the hope he -had cherished in asking Randolph to be his guest, that some arrangement -might be made which should conduce to her future happiness; and just as -the young man’s heart began to beat high with the tumult of conflicting -feelings within him, the old earl looked him steadily in the face, -and concluded with a certain stately dignity that was exceedingly -impressive. - -“Randolph Trevlyn, I had heard much in your favour before I saw you, -so much, indeed, that I ventured to entertain hopes that may sound -scheming and cold-blooded when put into words, yet which do not, I -trust, proceed from motives altogether unworthy. My daughter is very -dear to me. To see her happily settled in life, under the protecting -care of one who will truly love and cherish her, has been the deepest -wish of my life. In our secluded existence here there has been small -chance of realising this wish. I will not deny that in asking you to be -our guest it was with hopes I need not farther specify. Some of these -hopes have been amply realised. I will not seem to flatter, yet let me -say that in you I have found every quality I most hoped to see in the -man who is to be my successor here. You are a true Trevlyn, and I am -deeply thankful it is so; and besides this, I have lately entertained -hopes that another wish of mine is slowly fulfilling itself. I have -sometimes thought—let me say it plainly—that you have learned to love -my daughter.” - -“Lord Trevlyn,” said Randolph, with a calmness of manner that betokened -deep feeling held resolutely under control, “I do love your daughter. -I think I have done so ever since our first meeting. Every day that -passes only serves to deepen my love. If I have your consent to try and -win her hand, I shall count myself a happy man indeed, although I fear -her heart is not one to be easily moved or won.” - -Lord Trevlyn’s face expressed a keen satisfaction and gladness. He held -out his hand to his young kinsman, and said quietly: - -“You have made a happy man of me, Randolph Trevlyn. In your hands I can -place the future of my child with perfect confidence. You love her, and -you will care for her, and make her life happy.” - -Randolph wrung the proffered hand. - -“Indeed you may trust me to do all in my power. I love her with my -whole heart. I would lay down my life to serve her.” - -“As you have demonstrated already,” said the old earl, with a grave -smile. “I have not thanked you for saving my child’s life. I hope in -the future she will repay the debt by making your life happy, as you, -I am convinced, will make hers.” - -Randolph’s bronzed cheek flushed a little at these words. - -“Lord Trevlyn,” he said, “to gain your goodwill and assent in this -matter is a source of great satisfaction to me; but I cannot blind -my eyes to the fear that Lady Monica herself, with whom the decision -must rest, has not so far given me any encouragement to hope that she -regards me as anything beyond a mere acquaintance and chance guest. -I love her too well, I think, not to be well aware of her feelings -towards me, and I cannot flatter myself for a moment by the belief that -these are anything warmer than a sort of gentle liking, little removed -from indifference.” - -The earl’s face was full of thought. - -“Monica’s nature is peculiar,” he said; “her feelings lie very deep, -and are difficult to read; no one can really know what they may be.” - -“I admit that; yet I confess I have little hope—at least in the -present.” - -“Whilst I,” said Lord Trevlyn, quietly, “have little fear.” - -An eager look crossed Randolph’s face. - -“You think——” - -“I cannot easily explain what I think, but I believe there will be -less difficulty with Monica than you anticipate. She does not yet know -her own heart—that I admit. She may be startled at first, but that is -not necessarily against us. Will you let me break this matter to her? -Will you let me act as your ambassador? I understand Monica as you -can hardly do. Will you let me see if I cannot plead your cause as -eloquently as you can do it for yourself? Trust me it will be better -so. My daughter and I understand one another well.” - -Randolph was silent a moment, then he said, very gravely and seriously: - -“If you think that it will be best so, I gladly place myself in your -hands. I confess I should find it difficult to approach the subject -myself—at any rate at present. But”—he paused a moment, and looked the -other full in the face—“pardon me for saying as much—you do not propose -putting any pressure upon your daughter? Believe me, I would rather -never see her face again than feel that she accepted me as a husband -under any kind of compulsion or restraint.” - -Lord Trevlyn smiled a smile of approval. - -“You need not fear,” he answered, quietly. “Monica’s nature is not one -to submit tamely to any kind of coercion, nor am I the man to attempt -to constrain her feelings upon a matter so important as this.” - -“And if,” pursued Randolph, with quiet resolution, “Lady Monica -declines the proposal made to her on my behalf, I shall request you to -join with me in breaking the entail; for I can never consent to be the -means of taking from her that which by every moral right is hers. I -could not for a moment tolerate the idea of wresting from her the right -to style herself, as she has always been styled, the Lady of Trevlyn. -This is her rightful home, and I shall appeal to you, if my suit fails, -to assist me in installing her there for life.” - -The old earl looked much moved. - -“This is very noble of you—most noble and generous: but we will not -talk of it yet. I am not sure that I could bring myself to help in -separating the old title from the old estate. You are very generous -to think of making the sacrifice; whether I ought to permit you to -do so is another thing. At least let us wait and see what our first -negotiation brings forth. Monica ought to know——” he paused, smiled, -and held out his hand. “Good-night. I will speak to my daughter upon -the first opportunity. You shall have your answer to-morrow.” - -The next day Randolph spent at St. Maws with Tom Pendrill. He felt that -whilst his fate hung in the balance it would be impossible to remain at -Trevlyn. He rode across to his friend’s house quite early in the day, -and twilight had fallen before he returned to the sombre precincts of -the Castle. - -He made his way straight to the earl’s study; the old man rose quickly -upon his entrance, and held out his hand. His face beamed with an -inward happiness and satisfaction. - -“I wish you joy, Randolph,” he said, wringing the young man’s hand. “We -may congratulate each other, I think. Monica is yours—take her, with -her father’s blessing. It seems to me as if I had nothing left to wish -for now, save to see you made my son, for such indeed you are to me -now.” - -Randolph stood very still. He could hardly believe his own ears. He had -not for a moment expected any definite answer, save a definite refusal. - -“Lady Monica consents to be my wife?” he questioned. “Are you sure that -this is so?” - -“I am quite sure. I had it from her own lips.” - -Randolph’s breath came rather fast. - -“Does she love me?” - -“Presumably she does. Monica would never give her hand for the sake of -rank or wealth.” - -“No, no,” he answered quickly, and took one or two turns about the -darkening room. He was in a strange tumult of conflicting feeling, and -did not hear or heed the low-spoken words addressed to the servant, who -had just entered with fresh logs for the fire. His heart was beating -wildly; he knew not what to think or hope. He asked no more questions, -not knowing what to ask. - -And then all at once he saw Monica standing before him, standing with -one hand closely locked in that of her father, looking gravely at him -in the shadowy twilight, with an inscrutable wistful sweetness in her -fathomless eyes. - -“Randolph,” said Lord Trevlyn, “here is your promised wife. I give her -to you with my blessing. May you both be as happy as you have made me -to-day by this mutual act. Be very good to her, guard her and shield -her, and love her tenderly. She is used to love and care from her -father; let me feel that in her husband’s keeping she will gain and not -lose by the change in her future life. Monica, my child, love your -husband truly and faithfully. He is worthy of you, and you are worthy -of him.” - -Lord Trevlyn placed the hand he held within Randolph’s grasp, and -silently withdrew. - -For a moment neither moved nor spoke. The young man held the hand of -his promised wife between both of his, and stood quite still, looking -down with strange intensity of feeling into the half-averted face. - -“Monica,” he said at last, “can this be true?” - -She lifted her eyes to his for a moment, and then dropped them before -his burning glance. - -“Monica,” he said again, “can it be true that you love me?” - -“I will be your wife if you will have me,” she said, in a very clear, -low tone. “I will love you—if I can. I will try, indeed. I think I -can—some day.” - -He was too passionately in love himself at that moment to be chilled -by this response. It was more than he had ever looked for, that sweet -surrender of herself. Protestations of love would sound strangely -from Monica’s lips. He hardly even wished to hear them. She must feel -some tenderness towards him. She had given herself to him to love and -cherish; surely his great love could accomplish the rest. - -He drew her gently towards him. She did not resist; she let herself be -encircled by his protecting arm. - -“I will try to make you very happy,” he said, with a sort of manly -simplicity that meant more than the most ardent protestations could -have done. “May I kiss you, Monica?” - -She lifted her down-bent face a little, and he pressed a kiss upon her -brow. She made no attempt to return the caress, but he did not expect -it. It was enough that she permitted him to worship her. - -“You have made me very happy, Monica,” he said presently, whilst the -shadows deepened round them. “Will you not let me hear you say that you -are happy too?” - -She looked at him at last. He could not read the meaning of that gaze. - -“I want to make you happy, my darling,” said Randolph, very softly. - -Again that strange, earnest gaze. - -“Make my father and Arthur happy,” she said, sweetly and steadily, -“and I shall be happy too.” - -He did not understand the full drift of those words, as he might -perhaps have done had he been calmer—did not realise as at another -moment he might have done their deep significance. He was desperately, -passionately in love, carried away inwardly, if not outwardly, by the -tumult of his feelings. He did not realise—it was hardly likely that he -should—that to secure her father’s happiness and the future well-being -and happiness of her brother Monica had promised to be his wife. She -respected him, she liked him, she was resolved to make him a true and -faithful wife; and she knew so little of the true nature of wedded love -that it never occurred to her to think of the injury she might be doing -to him in giving the hand without the heart. - -She had been moved and disquieted by Arthur’s words of a few days back. -Her father’s appeal to her that day had touched her to the quick. What -better could she do with her life than secure with it the happiness -of those she loved? How better could she keep her vow towards Arthur -than by making the promise asked of her? Monica thought first of others -in this matter, it is true, and yet there was a strange throb akin -to joy deep down in her heart, when she thought of the love tendered -to her by one she had learned to esteem and to trust. Those sweet, -sudden glimpses of the golden land of sunshine beyond kept flashing -before her eyes, and thrilled her with feelings that made her almost -afraid. She did not know what it all meant. She did not know that it -was but the foreshadowing of the deep love that was rooting itself, all -unknown, in the tenderest fibres of her nature. She never thought she -loved Randolph Trevlyn, but she was conscious of a strange exultation -and stress of feeling, which she attributed to the enthusiasm of the -sacrifice she had made for those she loved. She did not yet know the -secret of her own heart. - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. - -“WOO’D, AND MARRIED, AND A’.” - - -So Monica had engaged herself to her kinsman, Randolph Trevlyn, and the -neighbourhood, though decidedly astonished at this sudden surrender of -liberty on the part of the fair, unapproachable girl, could not but see -how desirable was the match from every point of view, and rejoice in -the thought that Trevlyn would never lose its well-loved lady. - -As for Monica herself, the days passed by as in a dream—a strong -dream of misty sunshine and sweet, faint fragrance, through which she -wandered with uncertain steps, led onward by a sense of brighter light -beyond. - -She was not unhappy; indeed, a strange new sense of calm and rest -had fallen upon her since she had laid her hand in Randolph’s and -promised to love him if she could. A few short weeks ago how she would -have chafed against the fetters she wore! Now she hardly felt them as -fetters; they neither galled nor hurt her. Indeed, after the feeling -of uncertainty, of impending change that had hung over her of late, -this peaceful calm was doubly grateful. It seemed at last as if she had -reached the shelter of a safe haven, and pausing there, with a sense -of grateful well-being, she felt as if no storm or tempest could ever -reach her again. - -Monica’s nature was not introspective; she did not easily analyse her -feelings. Had she done so now, she might have laid bare a secret deep -down within her that would have surprised her not a little; but she -never attempted to look into her heart, she rather avoided definite -thought; she lived in a sort of vaguely sweet dream, glad and thankful -for the undercurrent of happiness which had so unexpectedly crept into -her life. She did not seek to know its source—it was enough that it was -there. - -Randolph was very good to her, she did not attempt to deny that. -Nothing could have been more tender and chivalrous than his manner -towards her. He arrogated none of the rights which an affianced husband -might fairly have claimed; he was content with what she gave him; he -never tried to force her confidence or to win words or promises that -did not come spontaneously to her lips. - -She was shy with him for some time after the engagement had been -ratified, more silent and reserved than she had been before; yet there -was a charm in her very silence that went home to his heart, and he -felt that she was nearer to him day by day. - -“I will win her yet—heart and soul,” he would say sometimes, with a -thrill of proud joy as he looked into the sweet eyes raised to his, -and read a something in their depths that made his heart throb gladly. -“Give me time, only time, and she shall be altogether mine.” - -She never shunned him. She let him be her companion when and where he -would, and she began to look for him, and to feel more satisfied when -he was at her side. He was too wise to overdo her with his society, -or seem to infringe the liberty in which she had grown up; but he -frequently accompanied her on her walks or rides, and he had the -satisfaction of feeling that his presence was not distasteful to her; -indeed, as days went by, and she grew used to the idea that had been at -first so strange, he fancied that there was something of welcome in the -smile that greeted his approach. - -She never spoke of the future when they should be man and wife, and -only by a hint here and there did he broach the subject or tell of -his private affairs. Both were content for the time being to live in -the present—that present that seemed so calm and bright and full of -promise. - -As days and weeks fled by, a colour dawned upon Monica’s cheeks and a -light in her eyes; she grew more beautiful every day or so, thought -those who loved her, and watched her with loving scrutiny; and Mrs. -Pendrill, who was, so to speak, the girl’s good angel in this crisis of -her life, would caress the golden head sometimes, and ask with gentle, -motherly solicitude: - -“My Monica is happy, is she not?” - -“I think so, Aunt Elizabeth,” Monica answered once, speaking out more -freely than she had done before. “Other people are happy—the dread and -uncertainty about the future seems all gone. Trevlyn is not sad any -longer—it is my own home again, my very own. I cannot quite express it, -but something seems to have come into my life and changed everything. -I am happy often now—nearly always, I think.” - -Mrs. Pendrill smiled a little. - -“Does your happiness result from the knowledge that you—you and Arthur: -I suppose I must include him—need never leave Trevlyn, and that you -have pleased your father? Tell me, Monica, is that all?” - -A faint colour mantled the girl’s face. - -“I know it sounds selfish; but I hardly think anyone knows what Trevlyn -is to us, and what Arthur’s welfare is to me.” Then reading the meaning -of the earnest glance bent upon her, she added quickly, “Ah, yes, Aunt -Elizabeth, I know there is _that_ too. He is very, very good to me, and -I will do everything to make him happy, and to be a good wife when the -time comes. Indeed, I do think of him. I know what he is, and what he -deserves—only—only I cannot talk about that even to you.” - -“I do not want you to talk, my love, I only want you to feel.” - -And very low the answer was spoken. - -“I think I do feel.” - -Certainly things were going well, very well. It seemed as if the -course of Randolph’s true love might run smoothly enough to the very -end now. Tom Pendrill chaffed him somewhat mercilessly on the easy -victory he had obtained over the somewhat difficult subject, and he -felt an exultant sense of joyful triumph when he compared his position -of to-day with the one he had occupied a week or two back. Monica’s -gentleness and growing dependence upon him were inexpressibly sweet, -the dawn of a quiet happiness in her face filled his heart with -delight. The victory was not quite won yet, but he began to feel a -confidence that it was not far distant. - -And this hope would in all probability have been realised in due -course, had it not been for untoward circumstances, and from the -presence of enemies in the camp, one his sworn foe, the other his -champion and ally: but despite this, a born mischief-maker and mar-plot. - -So long as Randolph was on the spot all went well. His strong will -dominated all others, and his influence upon Monica produced its own -effect. Love like his could not but win its way to the heart of the -woman he loved. - -But Randolph could not remain always at Trevlyn. Hard as it was to -tear himself away, the conventionalities of life demanded his absence -from time to time, and other duties called him elsewhere. And it was -when his back was fairly turned that the mischief-makers began their -task of undoing, as far as was possible, all the good that had been -done. - -Randolph had been exceedingly careful to say nothing to Monica about -hastening their marriage. He saw that she took for granted a long -engagement, that she had hardly contemplated as yet the inevitable -end whither that engagement tended; and until he had assured himself -that her heart was wholly his, nothing would have induced him to ask -her to give herself irrevocably to him. When the right moment came she -would surrender herself willingly, for Monica was not one who would -do anything by halves. Till that day came, however, he was resolved to -wait, and breathe no word of the future that awaited them. - -Lady Diana was of a different way of thinking. She had been amazed -at Monica’s pliability in the matter of her engagement, so surprised -and so well pleased that, for some considerable time, she had acted -with unusual discretion, and had avoided saying anything to irritate -or alarm the sensitive feelings of her niece. Possibly she stood in -a little unconscious awe of Randolph, for certainly so long as he -remained she was quiet and discreet enough. But when his presence was -once removed, then began a system of petty persecution and annoyance -that was the very thing to rouse in Monica a spirit of opposition and -hostility. - -Lady Diana had set her heart upon a speedy marriage, half afraid that -her niece might change her mind; she took a half spiteful pleasure -in the knowledge that the girl’s independence was at last to be -curbed, and that she was about to take upon herself the common lot of -womanhood. She lost no opportunities of reading homilies on wifely -submission and subjection. She bestirred herself over the matter of the -_trousseau_ as if the day were actually fixed, and Monica’s indignant -protests were laughed at and ignored as if too childish for serious -argument. - -The girl began to observe, too, that her father spoke of her marriage -as of something speedily approaching, and that he, Lady Diana, and -even Arthur, seemed to understand that she would spend much of her -time away from Trevlyn, when once that ceremony had taken place. Her -father and brother spoke cheerfully of her leaving them, taking it for -granted that her affianced husband was first in her thoughts, and that -they must make her way easy to go away with him, without one regret -for those left behind. Lady Diana, with more of feminine insight, had -less of kindliness in her method of approaching the subject; but when -she found them all agreed upon the point, the girl felt almost as if -she had been betrayed. There was no Randolph to shield and protect her. -She could not put into written words the tumult of her conflicting -feelings; she could only struggle and suffer, and feel like a wild -thing trapped in the hunter’s toils. Ah, if only Randolph had not left -her! But when the poison had done its work, she ceased even to wish for -him back. - -Another enemy to her peace of mind was Conrad Fitzgerald. Monica was -growing to feel a great repugnance to this fair-haired, smooth-tongued -man, despite the nominal friendship that existed between him and those -of her name. She knew that her feelings were changing towards him; but, -like other young things, she was ashamed of any such change, regarding -it as treacherous and ungenerous, especially after the pledge she had -given him. - -Conrad thus found opportunities of seeing her from time to time, and -set to work with malicious pleasure to poison her mind against her -affianced husband. She would not listen to a single direct word against -him: that he discovered almost at once, somewhat to his astonishment -and chagrin; but “there are more ways of killing a cat than by hanging -it,” as he said to himself; and a well-directed shaft steeped in -poison, and launched with a practised hand, struck home and did its -work only too well. - -He insinuated that after her marriage Trevlyn would never be her home -during her father’s life-time, at least, possibly never any more. -Randolph had property of his own; was it likely he would bury himself -and his beautiful young wife in a desolate place like that? Of course -her care of Arthur would be a thing entirely put on one side. It was -out of the question that she should ever be allowed to devote herself -to him as of old, when once she had placed her neck beneath the -matrimonial yoke. Most likely some excuse would be forthcoming to rid -Trevlyn of the undesirable presence of the invalid. Randolph was not a -man to be deterred by any nice scruples from going his own way. Words -spoken before marriage were never regarded seriously when once the -inevitable step had been taken. - -Monica heard, and partly believed—believed enough to make her restless -and miserable. Never a word crossed her lips that could show her trust -in Randolph shaken. She was loyal to him outwardly, but she suffered -keenly, nevertheless. He was not there to give her confidence, as he -could well have done, by his unwavering love and devotion, and in his -absence, the influence he had won slowly waned, and the old fear and -distrust crept back. - -It might have vanished had he returned to charm it away: but, alas! he -only came to make Monica his wife in sudden, unexpected fashion, before -her heart was really won. - -Lord Trevlyn had been taken dangerously ill. It was an attack similar -to those he had suffered from once or twice before, but in a more -severe form. His life was in imminent danger; nothing could save him, -the doctors agreed, but the most perfect rest of body and mind; and it -seemed as if only the satisfaction of calling Randolph son, of seeing -him Monica’s husband, could secure to him that repose of spirit so -absolutely essential to his recovery. - -Monica did not waver when her father looked pleadingly into her face, -and asked if she were ready. Her assent was calmly and firmly spoken, -and after that she left all in other hands, and did not quit her -father’s presence night or day. - -He was better for the knowledge that the wish of his heart was about -to be consummated, and she was so utterly absorbed in him as to be all -but unconscious of the flight of time. She knew that days sped by as on -wings. She even heard them speak of “to-morrow” without any stirring of -heart. She was absorbed in care for her almost dying father; she had no -thought to spare for aught else. - -On the evening of that day Randolph stood before her, holding her hands -in his warm clasp. - -“Is this your wish, my Monica?” - -She thrilled a little beneath his ardent gaze, a momentary sense of -comfort and protection came over her in his presence; but physical -languour blunted her feelings; she was too weary even to feel acutely. - -“It is my wish,” she answered gently. - -He bent his head and kissed her tenderly and lingeringly, looking -earnestly into the pale, sweet face that seemed not quite so responsive -as it had done when he saw it last; but he could not read the look -it wore. He kissed her and went away, breathing half sadly, half -triumphantly, the word “To-morrow.” - -Lady Diana, ever indefatigable and contriving, had managed as if by -magic to have all things in readiness; rich white satin and brocade, -orange blossom and lace veil—all was in readiness—as if she had had -weeks for her preparations. - -Monica started and half recoiled as she saw the bridal dress laid out -for her adornment, but she was quiet and passive in the hands of her -attendants as they arrayed her in her snowy robes, and well she repaid -their efforts. Only Lady Diana felt any dissatisfaction. - -“Why, child,” she said, impatiently, “you look like a snow maiden. You -might be a nun about to take the veil instead of a bride going to her -wedding. I have no patience with such pale looks. Randolph will think -we have brought him a corpse for his bride.” - -Randolph was waiting in the little church on the cliff. His heart beat -thick and fast; he himself began to feel as if he were living in a -dream. He could not realise that the time had come when he was to call -Monica his own. - -Lady Diana and Mrs. Pendrill were there, and a friend of his own, young -Lord Haddon, who had accompanied him from town the previous day, to -play the part of best man at the ceremony. There was a little rustle -and little stir outside, and then Monica entered, leaning on Tom -Pendrill’s arm, and, without once lifting her eyes, walked steadily up -the church, till she stood beside Randolph. - -Never, perhaps, had she looked more lovely, yet never, perhaps, more -remote and unapproachable, than when she stood before the altar in her -bridal robes, to pledge herself for better for worse to the man who -loved her, till death should them part. - -He looked at her with a strange pang and aching at heart; but the -moment was not one when hesitation or drawing back was possible. - -In a few more minutes Monica and Randolph Trevlyn were made man and -wife. - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER THE NINTH. - -MARRIED. - - -“Married! Married! Married!” - -The monstrous vibrating throb of the express train seemed ceaselessly -repeating that one word. The sound of it was beaten in upon Monica’s -brain as with hot hammers, and yet she did not feel as if she -understood what it meant, or realised what happened to her. One thing -only was clear to her; that she had been torn away from Trevlyn, from -her father, who, though pronounced convalescent, was still in a very -precarious state; from Arthur, who after the anxiety and excitement -of the past days, was prostrated by a sharp attack of illness; from -everything and everybody she held most dear; and cast as it were upon -the mercy of a comparative stranger, who did not seem the less strange -to her, because he had the right to call himself her husband. - -What had happened during the three days that had passed since Monica -had stood beside Randolph in the little cliff church, and had pledged -herself to him for better or worse? - -She herself could not have said, but the facts can be summed up in a -few words. - -When once Lord Trevlyn had seen Monica led by Randolph to his bedside -in her bridal white, and knew that they were man and wife, a change for -the better had taken place in his condition, very slight at first, but -increasing every hour. Little by little the danger passed away, and for -the time at least his life was safe. - -But Monica’s mind, no sooner relieved on his account, was thrown into -fresh misery and suspense by a bad attack of illness on Arthur’s part, -and the strain upon her was so great, that, coming as it did after all -the mental conflict she had lately endured, her own health threatened -to break down, and this caused no small anxiety in the minds of all -about her. - -“There is only one thing to be done, and that is to take her right away -out of it all,” said Tom Pendrill, with authority. “She will break -down as sure as fate if she stays here. The associations of the place -are quite too much for her. She will have a brain or nervous fever if -she is not taken away. You have a house in London, Trevlyn? Take her -there and keep her quiet, but let her have change of scene; let her see -fresh faces, and get into new habits, and see the world from a fresh -stand-point. It will do her all the good in the world. She may rebel at -first, and think herself miserable; but look at her now. What can be -worse than the way in which she is going on? Trevlyn is killing her, -whether she knows it or not. Let us see what London can do for her.” - -No dissentient voice was raised against this suggestion. The earl, Lady -Diana, Randolph, and even Arthur, were all in accord, and Monica heard -her sentence with that unnatural quietude that had disturbed them all -so much. - -She did not protest or rebel, but accepted her fate very quietly, as -she had accepted the marriage that had been the preliminary step. - -How white she looked as she lay back in her corner of the carriage! how -lonely, how frail, how desolate! Randolph’s heart ached for her, for he -knew her thoughts were with her sick father and suffering brother; knew -that it, not unnaturally, seemed very, very hard to be taken away at a -crisis such as the present. She could not estimate the causes that made -a change so imperative for her. She could not see why she was hurried -away so relentlessly. It had all been very hard upon her, and upon him -also, had he had thought to spare for himself; but he was too much -absorbed in sorrow for her to consider his own position over-much. - -He was indirectly the cause of her grief, and his whole being was -absorbed in the longing to comfort her. - -She looked so white and wan as the hours passed by, that he grew -alarmed about her. He had done before all he could to make her warm -and comfortable, and had then withdrawn a little, fancying his close -proximity distasteful to her, but she looked so ill at last that he -could keep away no longer, and came over to her, taking her hand in his. - -“Monica,” he said gently. - -The long lashes stirred a little and slowly lifted themselves. The dark -eyes were dim and full of trouble. She looked at him wonderingly for a -moment, almost as if she did not know him, and then she closed her eyes -with a little shuddering sigh. - -He was alarmed, and not without cause, for the strain of the past days -was showing itself now, and want of rest and sleep had worn down her -strength to the lowest ebb. She was so faint and weary that all power -of resistance had left her. She let her husband do what he would, -submitted passively to be tended like a child, and heaved a sigh that -sounded almost like one of relief as he drew her towards him, so that -her weary head could rest upon his broad shoulder. There was something -restful and supporting, of which she was dumbly conscious in the deep -love and protecting gentleness of this strong man. - -She only spoke once to him, and that was as they neared their -destination, and the lights of the great city began to flash upon her -bewildered gaze. Then she sat up, though with an effort, and looking -at her husband, said gently: - -“You have been very good to me, Randolph.” - -His heart bounded at the words, but he only asked. “Are you better, -Monica?” - -She pressed her hand to her brow. - -“My head aches so,” she said, and the white strained look came back -to her face. She was almost frightened by the flashing lights and the -myriads of people she saw as the train steamed into the terminus; and -she could only cling to Randolph’s arm in hopeless bewilderment, as he -piloted her through the crowd to the carriage that was awaiting them. - -Randolph owned a house near to the Park, in a pleasant open situation. -It had been left to him by an uncle, a great traveller, and was quite -a museum of costly and interesting treasures, and fitted up in the -luxurious fashion that appeals to men who have grown used to Oriental -ease and splendour. - -The young man had often pictured Monica in such surroundings, had -wondered what she would say to it all, how she would feel in a place so -strange and unlike anything she had ever known. He had fancied that the -open situation of the house would please her, that she might be pleased -too by the quaint beauty and harmony of all she saw. He had often -pictured the moment when he should lead her into her new home and bid -her welcome there, and now, when the time had come, she was so worn out -and ill that her heavy eyes could hardly look around her, and all he -could do was to support her to her room, to be tended by his old nurse, -Wilberforce, whose services he had bespoken for his wife in preference -to those of a more youthful and accomplished _femme de chambre_. - -For some days Monica was really ill, not with any specific complaint, -but prostrated by nervous exhaustion—too weary and exhausted to have a -clear idea of what went on around her, only conscious that everything -was very strange, that she was far away from Trevlyn, and that -strangers were watching over and tending her. - -Her husband’s care was unremitting. He was ever by her side. She seemed -to turn to him instinctively amid the other strange faces, and to be -more quiet and tranquil when he was near. Yet she seldom spoke to him; -he was not always certain that she knew him; but that half unconscious -dependence was inexpressibly sweet, and Randolph felt hope growing -stronger day by day. Surely she was slowly learning to love him; and -indeed she was, only she knew it not as yet. - -Then a day came when the feverish fancies and distressful exhaustion -gave way to more cheering symptoms. Monica could leave her room, and -leaning on her husband’s arm, wander slowly about the new home that -looked so strange to her. The smiles began to come back to her eyes, a -faint flush of colour to her cheeks, and when at length she was laid -down upon a luxurious ottoman beside the drawing-room fire, she held -her husband’s hand between both of hers, and looked up at him with a -glance that went to his very heart. - -“You have been so very, very good to me, Randolph, though I have only -been a trouble to you all this time. I never thought I could feel like -this away from Trevlyn. Indeed I will try to make you happy too.” - -He bent down and kissed her, a thrill of intense joy running through -him. - -“Does that mean that you can be happy here, my Monica?” he asked. - -She was always perfectly truthful, and paused a little before -answering; yet there was a light in her eyes and a little smile upon -her lips. - -“It feels very strange,” she said, “and very like a dream. Of course I -miss Trevlyn—of course I would rather be there; but——” and here she -lifted her eyes with the sweetest glance of trusting confidence. “I -know that you know best, Randolph, I know that you judge more wisely -than I can do; and that you always think of my happiness first. You -have been very, very good to me all this time, far better than I -deserve. I am going to be happy here, and when I may go home, I know -you will be the first to take me there.” - -He laid his hand upon her head in a tender caress. - -“I will, indeed, my Monica,” he answered; “but, believe me, for the -present you are better here. You will grow strong faster away from -Trevlyn than near it.” - -She smiled a little, very sweetly. - -“I will try to think so, too, Randolph, for I am very sure that you are -wiser than I; and I have learned how good you are to me—always.” - -That evening passed very quietly, yet very happily. - -Was this the beginning of better things to come? - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER THE TENTH. - -MISCHIEF-MAKERS. - - -“Now that you have been a fortnight in town, and have begun to feel -settled in your new life,” wrote Lady Diana, “I think it is time you -should be made aware of a few facts relative to your engagement and -marriage, which you are not likely to hear from the lips of your too -indulgent husband, but with which, nevertheless, you ought to be made -conversant, in my opinion, in order that you may the better appreciate -the generous sacrifices made on behalf of you and your family, and -return him the measure of gratitude he deserves for the benefits he -has bestowed.” - -Monica was alone when she received this letter, breakfasting in her -little boudoir at a late hour, for although almost recovered now, she -had not yet resumed her old habit of early rising. - -She had risen this morning feeling more light at heart than usual. She -had chatted with unusual freedom to her husband, had kissed him before -he went out to keep an appointment with his lawyer, and had promised -to ride with him at twelve o’clock, if he would come back for her. She -had only once been out since her arrival in town, and that was in the -carriage. She was quite excited at the prospect of being in the saddle -again. She had almost told herself that she should yet be happy in -her married life—and now came this cruel, cruel letter to dash to the -ground all her faint dawning hopes. - -Lady Diana had felt very well-disposed, even if a little spiteful, as -she had penned this unlucky letter; but she certainly was not nice -in her choice of words or of epithets. Not being sensitive herself, -she had little comprehension of the susceptibilities of others, and -the impression its perusal conveyed to the mind of Monica was that -Randolph had married her simply out of generosity to herself and -regard for her father: that the proposal was none of his own making, -and that his unvarying kindness arose from his knowledge of her very -difficult temper, and a wish to secure for himself by bribes and -caresses a peaceful home and an amiable wife. In conclusion it was -added that Monica, in return for all that had been done for her, must -do her utmost to please and gratify him. Of course he would wish to -show his beautiful wife in the world of fashion to which he belonged. -He would wish her to join in the life of social gaiety to which he -was about to introduce her, and any hanging back on her part would be -most unbecoming and ungrateful. It behoved her to keep in mind all -these facts, to remember the sacrifices he had made for her, and to -act accordingly. He had not chosen a wife from his own world, as it -was presumable he would have preferred to do. He had consented to the -family match proposed to him, and she must do her utmost to make up to -him for the sacrifice he had made. - -A few weeks back such a letter, though it might have hurt Monica’s -pride, would not have cut her to the quick, as it did now. In the -first place, she would then have simply disbelieved it, whereas recent -circumstances had given her a very much greater respect for the -opinions of those who knew the world so much better than she did, and -who had forecasted so accurately events that had afterwards fulfilled -themselves almost as a matter of course. She had begun to distrust -her own convictions, to believe more in those of others, who had had -experience of life, and could estimate its chances better than she -could. She believed her aunt when she told her these things, and the -poisoned shaft struck home to her heart. A few days ago she could have -borne it better. Her pride would have been hurt, but the sting would -have been less keen. She did not know why the doubt of her husband’s -love hurt her so cruelly; but hurt her it did, and for a moment she -felt stricken to the earth. She had said to herself many times that she -did not want such a wealth of love, when she had none on her side to -bestow; but yet, when she had learned that it was not hers after all, -but was only the counterfeit coin of a hollow world—the bribe by which -her submission and gratitude were to be obtained—the knowledge was -unspeakably bitter. She felt she would rather have died than have been -forced to doubt. - -As she dressed for her ride, pride came to the assistance of her -crushed spirit. Wilberforce, the faithful servant who had tended -and loved Randolph from his infancy, and was ready to love his wife -for his sake and her own, was aware of a subtle change in her young -mistress that she did not understand, and which she could not well have -described. Monica had been very quiet and gentle since her arrival, and -very silent too. She was quiet enough to-day; but the gentleness had -been replaced by a certain inexplicable _hauteur_. The pale face wore -a glow of warm colour; the dark eyes that had been languid and heavy -were wide open and full of fire. Monica looked superbly handsome in the -brilliant radiance of her beauty, and yet the faithful attendant was -not certain that she liked the change in her. - -Randolph detected it the moment he entered the room, and found his -wife equipped for the proposed ride. - -“Why, Monica,” he said, smiling, “you have got quite a colour. It looks -natural to see you dressed for the saddle.” - -“Yes,” she answered, coolly: “we must turn over a new leaf now, must we -not? You will be dying of _ennui_ cooped up at home so long. Let us go -out and enjoy ourselves. We must learn to do in Rome as Rome does.” - -Randolph felt one keen pang of disappointment that the first return to -health and strength should have brought a return of the former coldness -and aloofness; but he had gained ground before, and why not now? Could -he expect to win his way without a single repulse? So he took courage, -and tried to ignore the change he saw in his wife. - -He led her down the staircase to the hall door where the horses were -waiting, and he saw the sudden flash of joyful recognition that crossed -her face. - -“Guy!” she exclaimed, “my own little Guy!” - -Yes, there could be no mistake about it; it was her own little delicate -thorough-bred, standing with ill-repressed excitement at the door, his -glossy neck arched in a sort of proud impatience, his supple limbs -trembling with eagerness, as he stepped daintily to and fro upon the -pavement. He turned his shapely head at the sound of Monica’s voice, -pricked his ears, and uttered a low whinney of joyful recognition. - -“It was good of you to think of it, Randolph,” she said, a softer light -in her eyes as she turned them towards her husband. “It is like a -little bit of home having him.” - -“I thought you would like him better than a stranger, though I have his -counterpart in the stable waiting for you to try. He has been regularly -exercised in Piccadilly every morning, and I coaxed him to let me ride -him once myself in the Park, though he did not much like it. I don’t -think he will be very troublesome now, and I know you are not afraid of -his restive moods; though this is very different from Trevlyn.” - -Monica’s eyes grew wistful, and her husband saw it. He guessed -whither her thoughts had fled, and he let her dream on undisturbed. -He exchanged bows with many acquaintances as they passed onwards -and entered the Row, and many admiring glances were levelled at -his beautiful young wife, whose unusual loveliness and perfect -horsemanship alike attracted attention; but he attempted no -introductions; and Monica, dreamy and absorbed, noticed nothing, till -the sight of Conrad in the Row awoke her to consciousness of her -surroundings. - -Conrad in London! How long had he been there? Did he bring news from -Trevlyn? She looked almost wistfully at Randolph as she returned the -young baronet’s bow, but his face wore its rather stern expression, and -she dared not attempt to speak with her former friend. - -Conrad, however, saw the look, and smiled to himself. - -“My day will come yet,” he said. - -“Shall we push on, Monica?” asked Randolph. “Guy is aching to stretch -his limbs.” - -Monica was only too willing, and they had soon reached the farther end -of the Row, which was much less full than the other had been. - -A pretty, dark, vivacious looking girl, accompanied by a fair-haired -young man, rather like her, were approaching with glances of -recognition. - -“Randolph, I am angry with you—yes, very angry. You have been a whole -fortnight in town—I heard so yesterday—and we have never seen you once, -and you have never let me have the pleasure of an introduction to your -wife. I call it very much too bad!” - -“Well, it is never too late to mend,” answered Randolph, smiling. -“Monica, may I present to you Lady Beatrice Wentworth, whom I have -had the honour of knowing intimately since the days of our early -acquaintance, when she wore pinafores and pigtails. Lord Haddon, I -think I need not introduce again. You have met before.” - -The little flush deepened in Monica’s face. She had fancied the face of -the brother was not totally unfamiliar to her; but she did not remember -until this moment where or when she could possibly have seen him. - -“Oh, Haddon has been raving about Lady Monica ever since the auspicious -day when he saw her,” cried Beatrice, gaily. “I hope your father is -quite recovered now?” she added, with a touch of quick sympathy, “since -you were able to leave him so soon.” - -“I think he is much better, thank you,” answered Monica, quietly; “but -he was still very ill when I left him.” - -“And, Randolph, you have not explained away your guilt yet. Why have -you been all this time without letting us see you or your wife? I call -it shameful!” - -“My wife has been very unwell herself ever since we came up,” answered -Randolph. “She has not been fit to see anybody.” - -“You should have made an exception in my favour,” persisted Beatrice, -bringing her horse alongside of Monica’s, and walking on with her. “You -see, I have known Randolph so long, he seems almost like a brother. -I feel defrauded when he does not behave himself as such. We must be -great friends, Lady Monica, for his sake. He has told us all about you -and your delightful Cornish home. I suppose you know all about us, -too, and what near neighbours we are—near for London, at least.” - -But Monica had never heard the name of the girl beside her. She -knew nothing of her husband’s friends, never having taken the least -interest in subjects foreign to all her past associations. She hinted -something of the kind in a gently indifferent way, that was sincere, -without being in the least discourteous. She was wondering why it -was that her husband, who could value his own friends and appreciate -their good-will, was so strenuously set against receiving the only -acquaintance she possessed in this vast city. - -Nevertheless, when, upon a forenoon two days later, at an hour she -knew her husband was away, Conrad presented himself in her boudoir, -following the man who had brought his card without waiting to be -invited, Monica was conscious of a feeling of distinct displeasure -and distrust. She knew very little of the ways of the world, but she -felt that he had no right to be there, forcing himself upon her in her -private room, when her husband would hardly speak to him or receive -him, and that he merited instant dismissal. - -But then came a revulsion of feeling. Was he not her childhood’s -friend? Had she not promised not to turn her back upon him, and help -to drive him to despair by her coldness? Had he not come with news of -Trevlyn and of home? And in that last eager thought all else was lost, -and she met him gladly, almost eagerly. - -He told her all she longed to know. He came primed with the latest news -from Trevlyn. His manner was quiet and gentle. He was very cautious not -to alarm or disturb her. - -“I shall not be able to see much of you in the future, Monica,” he -said, “but you will let me call myself still your friend?” - -She bent her head in a sort of assent. - -“And will you let me take a friend’s privilege, and ask one question. -Are you happy in your new life?” - -Monica’s face took a strange expression. - -“It is very gay, very lively. I shall like it better as I get more used -to it.” - -“I see,” he answered, very gently, “I understand. And when are you -going home again?” - -“I am at home now,” she answered, steadily. - -He looked searchingly at her. - -“I thought Trevlyn was to be always home. Has he thrown off the mask so -soon?” - -“I think,” said Monica, with a little gleam in her eye, “that you -forget you are speaking of my husband.” - -Conrad’s eyes gleamed too; but she did not see it. - -“Forgive me, Monica; I did forget. It is all so strange and sudden. -Then he makes you happy? Tell me that! Let me have the assurance that -at least he makes his captive happy.” - -She started a little; but Conrad’s face expressed nothing but the -quietest, sincerest good-will and sympathy. - -“He is very, very good to me,” she said, quietly. “He studies me as -I have never been studied before. All my wishes are forestalled: he -thinks of everything, he does everything. I cannot tell you how good he -is. I have never known anything like it before. Did you ever see anyone -more surrounded by beauty and luxury than I am?” - -He looked at her steadily. She knew that she had evaded his question—a -question he had no right to put, as she could not but feel—and that he -knew she had done so. - -“Ah!” he murmured, “the gilded cage, the gilded cage; but only a cage, -after all. Monica, forgive me for expressing a doubt; but I know the -man so well, and my whole soul revolts at seeing you dragged as it -were at his chariot wheels for all the world to look at and admire. To -take you from your wild free home, and bribe you into submission—I hate -to think of it!” - -Monica’s cheek had flushed suddenly; but before she could frame a -rejoinder the door opened to admit Randolph. He carried in his hand -some hot-house flowers, which he had brought for his wife. He stopped -short when he saw who was Monica’s guest, and her cheek flamed anew, -for she knew he would not understand how she came to receive him in -her private room, and she felt that by a want of firmness and _savoir -faire_ she had allowed herself to be placed in a false position. - -Conrad’s exit was effected with more despatch than dignity, yet he -contrived in his farewell words to insinuate that he had passed a very -happy morning with his hostess, instead of a brief ten minutes. - -Randolph did not speak a word, but stood leaning against the -chimney-piece with a stern look on his handsome face. Monica was angry -with herself and with Conrad, yet she felt half indignant at the way -her husband ignored her guest. - -“Monica,” said Randolph, speaking first, “I am sorry to have to say it; -but I cannot receive Sir Conrad Fitzgerald as a guest beneath my roof.” - -“You had better give your orders, then, accordingly.” - -He stepped forward and took her hand. - -“Surely, Monica, you cannot have any real liking for this man?” - -“I do not know what you call real liking. We have been friends from -childhood; and I do not easily change. He was always welcomed to my -father’s house.” - -“Your father did not know his history.” - -“Perhaps not; but I do. At least I know this much: that he has sinned -and has repented. Is not repentance enough?” - -“_Has_ he repented?” - -“Yes, indeed he has.” - -Randolph’s face expressed a fine incredulity and scorn. There was no -relenting in its lines. Monica was not going to sue longer. - -“Am I also to be debarred from seeing Cecilia, his sister, who is -married, and not living so very far away? Am I to give her up, too—my -old playmate?” - -“I have nothing against Mrs. Bellamy, except that she is his sister. I -suppose you need not be very intimate?” - -Monica’s overwrought feelings vented themselves in a burst of -indignation. - -“I see what you want to do—to separate me from all my friends—to break -all old ties—to make me forget all but your world, your life. I am to -like your friends, to receive them, and be intimate with them; but I -am to turn my back with scorn on all whom I have known and loved. You -are very hard, Randolph, very hard. It is not that I care for Conrad—I -know he has done wrong, though I do believe in his repentance. I liked -him once, and Cecilia too; I should like to know them still. They are -not much to me, but they belong to the old life—which you do not—which -nothing does here. Can you not see how hard it is, and how unjust, to -try and cut me off from everything?” - -He looked at her with a great pity in his eyes, and then gently put the -flowers into her hand. - -“I brought them for you to wear to-night, Monica. Will you have them? -Believe me, my child, I would do much to spare you pain, yet in some -things I must be the judge. Some day, perhaps, I shall be able to make -my meaning plain; meantime I must ask my wife to trust me.” He stooped -and kissed her pale brow, and went away without another word. - -Monica stood still and silent, the fragrant, spotless blossoms, his -gift, clasped close in her hands. - -“Randolph, Randolph!” she murmured, “if you only loved me I could bear -anything; but they all see it—only I am blind—it is the golden cage -with its captive, and they know the ways of their world so well, so -well! He bribes me with gifts, with kind words, but it is only the -peaceful home and the handsome wife that he wants—not me myself, not -my heart, my love. Well, he shall have what he craves. I will not -disappoint him. I will do his bidding in all things. He has got his -prize—let that content him—but for the wifely love, the wifely trust I -have striven so to offer—he does not care for them—let them go, like -these.” She pressed the flowers for a moment to her lips, and then -flung them from the open casement. - -Randolph, lost in silent thought, standing at a window below, saw the -white blossoms as they fell to the earth, and knew what they were and -whence they had come. - - - - -CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. - -THE LITTLE RIFT. - - -A little misunderstanding easily arises between two people not yet in -perfect accord—so very soon arises, and is so difficult to lay to rest. - -Randolph saw plainly now, that Monica’s late gentleness had been caused -simply by exhaustion and ill-health. She had submitted to his caressing -care merely because she had been too weak to resist, but the first -indication of restored health had been the effort to repel him. He was -grieved and saddened by this conviction, but he accepted his fate with -quiet patience. He would draw back a little, stand aside, as it were, -and let her feel her way in the new life; and win her confidence, if -he could, by slow and imperceptible degrees. He did not despair of -winning her yet. He had had more than one of those rapturous moments -when he had felt that she was _almost_ his. He would not give up, but -he would be more self-restrained and reserved. He would not attempt too -much at once. - -Monica was keenly conscious of the change in her husband’s manner, -though she could not understand why it was that it cut her so deeply. -She was conscious of the great blank in her life, and though her face -was always calm and quiet, her manner gently cold and tinged with -sadness, yet she tried in all things to study her husband’s wishes, -and to follow out any hints he might let fall as to his tastes and -feelings. - -She made no effort to see anything of Cecilia Bellamy, her former -child-friend, and even when that vivacious little woman sought her out, -and tried to strike up a great friendship, she did not respond with -any ardour. Mrs. Bellamy, indeed, was not at all a woman that Monica -would be inclined to cultivate at this crisis of her life; they had -almost nothing in common, but the past was a sort of link that could -not entirely be broken. Cecilia appeared to love to talk of Trevlyn; -she was always eager to hear the latest news from thence, to recall -the by-gone days of childhood, and bring back the light and colour to -Monica’s face by reminiscences of the past. - -But the young wife tried to be loyal to her husband’s wishes, and was -laughed at by her friend for her “old fashioned” ways. Once, when -in course of conversation, Conrad’s name was mentioned between them, -Monica asked, in her straightforward way, what it was that he had done -to draw upon him censure and distrust. - -“Why, do you not even know that much? Poor boy! I will tell you all -about it. He was very young, and you know we are miserably poor. He -got into bad company, and that led him into frightful embarrassments. -He got so miserable and desperate at last that I believe his mind was -almost unhinged for a time, and in the end,” lowering her voice to a -whisper, “he forged a cheque in the name of a rich friend. Of course it -was a mad thing to do. He paid his debts, but the fraud was discovered -within a few weeks, and you know what _might_ have happened. Colonel -Hamilton, however, who had been a kind friend to Conrad before, forgave -him, and took no steps against him; and the poor boy was so shocked -and humiliated that he quite turned over a new leaf, and has been -perfectly steady ever since. He was working hard to pay off the debt, -but Colonel Hamilton died before he could do so. Randolph Trevlyn, -your husband, my dear, was intimate with the Colonel, and knew all -about this. He had always disliked Conrad—I suspect they were rivals -once in the affections of some lady, and that he did not get the best -of the rivalry—and I always believe it was through him that the story -leaked out. At any rate, people did hear something, and poor Conrad -got dreadfully cold-shouldered. He had always been wild and reckless, -and people are so fond of hitting a man when he is down. But I call -it very unkind and unjust, and I did think that an old friend like you -would be above it. It hurts Conrad dreadfully to find you so cold to -him. I should have thought you would have liked to help him to recover -the ground he had lost.” - -“That can hardly be my office now,” said Monica, gravely. - -“But at least you need not be unkind. I do assure you the poor boy has -gone through quite enough, as it is.” - -“You have told me the whole truth about his past, Cecilia?” asked -Monica, after a brief silence. “There is nothing worse you are keeping -back?” - -Mrs. Bellamy clasped her hands together with a little gesture of -astonished dismay. - -“Is not forgery bad enough for you, Monica? What _has_ your husband -been telling you? Did you think he had committed a murder?” - -Monica left Mrs. Bellamy’s presence somewhat relieved in mind. She -was glad to know the secret of Conrad’s past, the cause of her -husband’s disdain and distrust of the man. It was natural, she thought, -that Randolph, as a friend of Colonel Hamilton’s, should feel deep -indignation at the ingratitude and treachery of the fraud, and yet she -felt a sort of relief that it was nothing blacker and baser. She had -begun to have an undefined feeling, since she had entered somewhat into -the tumultuous life of the great world, that there were depths of folly -and sin and crime beneath its smooth, polished surface, of whose very -existence she had never dreamed before. - -When she returned home that day, and said from whose house she had just -come, she fancied a shade gathered on her husband’s brow. “Do you not -go there rather often, Monica?” - -“We were friends as children,” she said. “Am I to give up everything -that seems connected with the past—with my home?” - -“I lay no embargo upon you, Monica,” he said; “or at least only one: -I cannot permit Sir Conrad Fitzgerald to visit my wife, nor enter my -house. If his sister is your friend, and you wish to continue the -friendship, I say nothing against it. You shall be the judge whether or -not you visit at a house your husband cannot enter, and run the risk of -meeting a man whose hand he can never touch. You shall do exactly as -you wish in the matter. I leave you entire liberty.” - -A flush rose slowly in Monica’s face. - -“I want to do what is right to every one,” she said. “You put things -very hardly, Randolph. You only see one side, and even that you view -very harshly. I have heard Conrad’s story; it is very painful and -shameful; but he has repented—he has indeed, and done all he could to -make amends. I have been taught that repentance makes atonement, even -in God’s sight. I cannot sit in judgment then, and condemn him utterly.” - -Randolph looked at her keenly. - -“Do you know all?” - -“Yes,” she answered steadily, “I know all. It is very bad; but he has -repented.” - -“I have seen no signs of repentance.” - -“Have you ever given yourself the chance to do so?” - -He was still gazing earnestly at her. - -“Monica,” he said, very gravely, “be advised by me. Do not make -yourself Fitzgerald’s champion.” - -“I do not intend,” she answered, coldly, “but neither will I be his -judge.” - -There was silence for a moment, then Randolph spoke. - -“We will discuss this question no further. It is a painful one for me. -I can never meet that man in friendship; I could wish that you could -be content to forget him too; but he is an old friend. You are not -connected with the dark passages in his life, and if his repentance is -sincere I will not forbid your meeting him or speaking to him, if you -find yourself in his company. It goes against me, I confess, Monica. -But I do not feel I have the right to say more. If you are acquainted -with the story of his life, you are able to form your own estimate of -his deserts.” - -The subject ended there, but it left a sort of sore constraint in the -minds of both. It was almost with a feeling of relief a few mornings -later that Randolph opened a letter from the bailiff of his Scotch -estate, requesting the presence of the master for a few days. The young -man had been getting his shooting-box renovated and beautified for the -reception of his young wife, hoping to prevail upon her in the autumn -to come north with him, and his own presence on the spot had become a -matter of necessity. - -Monica heard of his proposed absence with perfect quietness, which, -however, hid a good deal of sinking at heart. She did not venture -to ask to accompany him, nor did she suggest, as he had half feared, -returning to Trevlyn. She assented quietly to the proposition, and gave -no outward sign of dismay. - -Randolph sighed as he noted her indifference. Once she would have -dreaded being left alone in the strange world of London, have begged -him not to leave her, but now she was quite happy to see him depart. -He was gradually growing sorrowfully convinced that his marriage had -been a great mistake, and that Monica’s love would never be his. There -had been sweet moments both before and after marriage, but they were -few and far between, and the hope he had once so ardently cherished was -growing fainter every day. - -However, life must go on in its accustomed groove, and the night before -his departure was spent with Beatrice and her brother, who were giving -a select dinner party. Randolph and Monica seldom spent an evening at -home alone now. - -Beatrice Wentworth’s little parties were very popular. She was an -excellent hostess, her endless sparkle and flow of spirit kept her -guests well amused, and she treated her numerous admirers with a -provoking friendliness and equality that was diverting to witness. -Lord Haddon was a favourite, too, from his good-natured simplicity and -frankness; and there was an easy unconstrained atmosphere about their -house that made it a pleasant place of resort to its _habitués_. - -Monica had grown fond of Beatrice, in her quiet, undemonstrative -fashion, and felt more at home in her house than in any other. -Sometimes when those two were alone together Beatrice would lay aside -that brilliant sparkle and flow of spirit, and lapse into a sudden -gravity and seriousness that would have astonished many of her friends -and acquaintances had they chanced to witness it. Sometimes Monica -fancied at such moments that some kind of cloud rested upon the -handsome, dashing girl, that her past held some tear-stained page, some -sad or painful memory; and it was this conviction that had won Monica’s -confidence and friendship more than anything else. She could not make a -true friend of any one who had never known sorrow. - -To-night Monica was unusually _distraite_, sad and heavy at heart, she -hardly knew why; finding it unusually difficult to talk or smile, or -to hide from the eyes of others the melancholy that oppressed her. She -felt a strange craving for her husband’s presence. She wanted him near -her. She longed to return to those first days of married life, when his -compassion for her made him so tender, when he was always with her, and -she believed that he loved her. Sometimes she had been almost happy -then, despite the wrench from the old associations and the strangeness -of all around. Now she was always sad and heavy-hearted; and to-night -she was curiously oppressed. - -It was only at this house that she could ever be persuaded to sing, -and to-night it was not till the end of the evening that Lord Haddon’s -entreaties prevailed with her. She rose at last and crossed to the -piano, and sitting down without any music before her, sang a simple -melodious setting to some words of Christina Rossetti’s:— - - “When I am dead, my dearest, - Sing no sad songs for me; - Plant thou no roses at my head, - Nor shady cypress-tree. - Be the green grass above me, - With showers and dew-drops wet; - And if thou wilt, remember— - And if thou wilt, forget. - - “I shall not see the shadows, - I shall not feel the rain; - I shall not hear the nightingale, - Sing on as if in pain. - But dreaming through the twilight, - Which doth not rise nor set, - I haply may remember— - And haply may forget.” - -As she sang, the room, the company, all faded from her view and from -her mind—all but Randolph. One strange longing filled her soul—the -longing that she might indeed lie sleeping and at rest in some quiet, -wind-swept spot, her spirit hovering free—to see if her husband ever -came to stand beside that grave, to see if he would in such a case -remember—or forget. - -For herself Monica, knew well that remembrance would be her portion. -She never could forget. - -There was a wonderful sweetness and pathos in her voice as she sang. -The listeners held their breath, and sudden tears started to Beatrice’s -eyes. When the last note had died away, Randolph crossed the room and -laid his hand upon his wife’s shoulder. There was a subdued murmur all -through the room, but she only heard her husband’s voice. - -“That was very sweet, Monica,” he said gently. “I have never heard it -before; but you make it sound so unutterably sad.” - -She looked up at him wistfully. - -“I think sad songs are always sweetest—they are more like life, at -least.” - -His eyes were very full of tenderness; she saw it, and it almost -unmanned her. - -“I am so tired, Randolph; will you take me home? The carriage will not -be here, but it is such a little way. I should like best to walk.” - -A very few moments later they were out in the warm, spring air, under -the twinkling stars. She held his arm closely. Her hand trembled a -little, he fancied. He drew her light lace wrap more closely round her, -thinking she felt chilled. At this little mark of thoughtfulness she -looked up at him with a tremulous smile. - -“I shall miss you when you are gone, Randolph,” she said, softly. “You -will not be long away?” - -His heart beat high, but his words were very quietly spoken. - -“No Monica, only four or five days.” - -“And you will take care of yourself? You will come back safe—you will -not get into any danger!” - -“Why no,” he answered with a smile. “Danger! What are you thinking -about, Monica?” - -“I don’t know. Sometimes my heart is very heavy. It is heavy to-night. -Promise you will take care of yourself—for my sake.” - -Randolph did not, after all, go away quite comfortless. - - -END OF VOL. I. - - - - -Transcriber's Notes - - -Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired. - -Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Monica, Volume 1 (of 3), by Evelyn Everett-Green - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONICA, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 54940-0.txt or 54940-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/9/4/54940/ - -Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Monica, Volume 1 (of 3) - A Novel - -Author: Evelyn Everett-Green - -Release Date: June 20, 2017 [EBook #54940] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONICA, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<h1>MONICA.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="screenonly figcenter" style="width: 562px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="562" height="800" alt="book cover" /> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"><p class="center huge">MONICA.</p> - -<p class="center big">A Novel.</p> - - -<p class="center mt2">BY</p> - -<p class="center big">EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN.</p> - -<p class="center">Author of</p> - -<p class="center">“<span class="smcap">Torwood’s Trust</span>,” “<span class="smcap">The Last of the Dacres</span>,” -“<span class="smcap">Ruthven of Ruthven</span>,” <span class="smcap">Etc.</span></p> - - -<p class="center mt2"><i>IN THREE VOLUMES.</i></p> - - -<p class="center mt2">VOL. <abbr title="1">I.</abbr></p> - - -<p class="center mt4">LONDON:<br /> -WARD AND DOWNEY,<br /> -12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.<br /> -1889. -</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<p class="center mt4">PRINTED BY<br /> -KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS,<br /> -AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> - - - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE FIRST.</td> - <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Trevlyns of Castle Trevlyn</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE SECOND.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Monica’s Ride</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE THIRD.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lord Trevlyn’s Heir</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE FOURTH.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Conrad Fitzgerald</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE FIFTH.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sunday at Trevlyn</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE SIXTH.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In Peril</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">Wilt thou Have this Woman?</span>”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">Woo’d, and Married, and A’</span>”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_145">145</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE NINTH.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Married</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE TENTH.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mischief-makers</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdc">CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Little Rift</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<p class="huge center">MONICA.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2 title="1. THE TREVLYNS OF CASTLE TREVLYN">CHAPTER THE FIRST.<br /> - -<small>THE TREVLYNS OF CASTLE TREVLYN.</small></h2> - - -<p>“Good-bye, Monica. I will look in again -to-morrow: but I assure you there is no -cause for anxiety. He is not worse than -usual, and will be better soon.”</p> - -<p>The doctor was buttoning up his heavy -driving-coat as he spoke, and at the conclusion -of the sentence he opened the -heavy oak door, letting in a blast of cold -air and a sheet of fine, penetrating rain.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Raymond, what weather! I ought -not to have sent for you.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> -<p>“Nonsense! You know I am weather-proof. -Old Jack will find his way home, -if I cannot. Good-bye again.”</p> - -<p>The door closed upon the stalwart figure, -and Lady Monica Trevlyn was left standing -alone upon the wide staircase, amid the -gathering shadows of the great hall.</p> - -<p>Castle Trevlyn was, in truth, a sufficiently -grim and desolate place, both within and -without. Tangled park, dense pine woods, -and a rocky iron-bound coast surrounded -it, cutting it off, at it were, from communication -with the outside world. Within its -walls lay a succession of vast, stately -chambers, few of them now inhabited—regions -where carved black oak, faded -tapestry, rusty armour, and antique relics -of bygone days seemed to reign in a sort -of mournful grandeur, telling their own -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>tale of past magnificence and of present -poverty and decay.</p> - -<p>Yes, the Trevlyns were a fallen race; for -the past three generations the reigning earl -had been poor, and the present Lord -Trevlyn had failed to do anything towards -restoring the decaying fortunes of his -house. He too was very poor, hence the -air of neglect that reigned around and -within the castle.</p> - -<p>Monica, however, his only child, was -far too well used to the gloom and grimness -of the old castle to be in the least -oppressed by it. She loved her lonely, -desolate home with a curious, passionate -intensity, and could not picture anything -more perfect than the utter -silence and isolation that hemmed in -her life. The idea of desiring a change -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>had never so much as occurred to -her.</p> - -<p>Monica was very beautiful, with a beauty -of a rare kind, that haunted the memory -of those who saw her, as a strain of music -sometimes haunts the ear. Her face was -always pale and grave, and at first sight -cold even to hardness, yet endued with an -underlying depth and sweetness that often -eluded observation, though it never failed -to make itself felt. It was a lovely face—like -that of a pictured saint for purity of -outline, of a Greek statue for perfection -of feature—almost as calm and colourless -as marble itself. Yet, behind the statuesque -severity lay that strange, sad, -wistful sweetness which could not quite be -hidden away, and gave to the beholder -the idea that some great trouble had over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>shadowed -the girl’s life. Let us go with -her, and see what that trouble was.</p> - -<p>When the door closed upon Raymond -Pendrill, she stood for a moment or two -silent and motionless, then turned and -mounted the shallow stairs once more, and, -passing down a long corridor, opened the -door of a fire-lit room, and entered -softly.</p> - -<p>The room had two tenants: one, a great -mastiff dog, who acknowledged Monica’s -entrance by gently flopping his tail against -the floor; the other, a lad of seventeen, -who lay upon an invalid couch, his face -very white and his brows drawn with -pain.</p> - -<p>As Monica looked at him her face -quivered, and a look of unspeakable -tenderness swept over it, transfiguring -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>it for the moment, and showing wonderful -possibilities in every line and curve. She -bent over him, laying one cool, strong hand -upon his hot head.</p> - -<p>“Better, Arthur?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, getting better. That stuff Raymond -gave me is taking the pain away. -Stir up the fire, and sit where I can see -you. I like that best.”</p> - -<p>Arthur Pendrill, cousin to Raymond -Pendrill, the young doctor who had just -left the castle, was the only child by a -first marriage of Lord Trevlyn’s second -wife. Hoping for an heir, the earl -had married again when Monica was -seven years old, but his hopes had not -been realised, and the second Lady Trevlyn -had died only a few years after her union -with him.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> -<p>Arthur, who had been only a mite of -two years old when he first came to Castle -Trevlyn, knew nothing, of course, of any -other home; and he and Monica had grown -up like brother and sister, and were -tenderly attached, perhaps all the more -so from radical differences of character -and temperament. Their childhood had -been uncloudedly happy; they had enjoyed -a glorious liberty in their wild Cornish -home that could hardly have been accorded -to them anywhere else. Monica’s -had always been the leading spirit; physically -as well as mentally, she had always -been the stronger; but he adored her, and -emulated her with the zeal and enthusiasm -of youth. He followed her wherever she -led like a veritable shadow, until that -fatal day, five years ago, which had laid -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>him upon a bed of sickness, and had -turned Monica in a few hours’ time from a -child to a woman.</p> - -<p>Upon that day there had been a terrible -end to the mad-cap exploits in cliff-climbing -in which the girl had always -delighted, and Arthur had been carried -back to the castle, as all believed, to die.</p> - -<p>He did not die, however, but recovered -to a suffering, helpless, invalid life; and -Monica, who held herself sternly responsible -for all, and who had nursed him with -a devotion that no mother could have -surpassed, now vowed deep down in her -heart that her own life should henceforth -be devoted to him, that for him she would -in future live, and that whatever she could -do to lighten his load of pain and make -his future happier should be done, at -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>whatever cost to herself, as the one atonement -possible for the rashness which had -cost him so dear.</p> - -<p>Five years ago that vow had been -recorded, and Monica, from a gay, high-spirited -girl, had grown into a pale, silent, -thoughtful woman; but she had never -wearied of her self-imposed charge—never -faltered in her resolution. Arthur was -her special, sacred charge. Anything that -would conduce to his welfare and happiness -was to be accomplished at whatever cost. -So far, to tend and care for him had -been her aim and object of life, and -her deep love had made the office -sweet. It had never occurred to her that -any contingency could possibly arise by -which separation from him should prove -the truest test of her devotion.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> -<p>Whilst Arthur and Monica were dreaming -their own dreams upstairs, by the light -of his dancing fire, no thought of coming -changes clouding the horizon of their -imagination, downstairs, in the earl’s study, -a consultation was being held between him -and his sister which would have startled -Monica not a little had she heard it.</p> - -<p>Lord Trevlyn was a tall, stately, grey-headed -man of sixty, with a finely-chiselled -face and the true Trevlyn cast of countenance -that his daughter had inherited. His -countenance wore, however, a look of pallor -and ill-health that, to a practised eye, denoted -weakness of the heart, and his figure -had lost its old strength and elasticity, and -had grown thin and a little bowed. His -expression had much of gentleness mingling -with its pride and austerity, as if, with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>the advance of years, his nature had -softened and sweetened, as indeed had -been the case.</p> - -<p>Lady Diana, on the other hand, had -grown more sharp and dictatorial with -advancing age. She was a “modish” -old lady, who, although quite innocent of -such adornments, always suggested the -idea of powder and patches, high-heeled -shoes and hoops. She generally carried a -fan in her hand, dressed richly and -quaintly, and looked something like a -human parrot, with her hooked nose, keen -black eyes, and quick, sharp voice and -movements. She had an independent and -sufficient income of her own, and divided -her time between her London house and -her brother’s Cornish castle. She had -always expressed it as her intention to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>provide for Monica, as her father could -do little for his daughter, everything -going with the entail in the male line; but -there was a sort of instinctive hostility between -aunt and niece, of which both were -well aware, and Lady Diana was always -deeply offended and annoyed by Monica’s -quiet independence, and her devotion to -Arthur.</p> - -<p>It was of Monica they were talking this -boisterous autumn evening.</p> - -<p>“She has a sadly independent spirit,” -remarked Lady Diana, sighing, and fanning -herself slowly, although the big panelled -room was by no means warm. “I often -think of her future, and wonder what will -become of her.”</p> - -<p>Lord Trevlyn made no immediate response, -but by-and-by said slowly:</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> -<p>“I have been thinking of late very -seriously of the future.”</p> - -<p>“Why of late?” was the rather sharp -question.</p> - -<p>“I have not been feeling so well since -my illness in the spring. Raymond Pendrill -and his brother have both spoken -seriously to me about the necessity for -care. I know what that means—they -think my state critical. If I am taken, -what will become of Monica?”</p> - -<p>“I shall, of course, provide for her.”</p> - -<p>“I know you will do all that is kind -and generous; but money is not everything. -Monica is peculiar: she wants -controlling, yet——”</p> - -<p>“Yet no one can control her: I know -that well; or only Arthur and his whims. -She has no companions but her dogs and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>horses. My blood runs cold every time I -see her on that wild black thing she -rides, with those great dogs bounding -round her. There will be another shocking -accident one of these days. She ought to -be controlled—taken away from her extraordinary -life. Yet she will not hear of -coming to London with me even on a short -visit; she will not even let me speak of it,” -and Lady Diana’s face showed that she was -much affronted.</p> - -<p>“That is just it,” said Lord Trevlyn, -slowly; “her life and Arthur’s both seem -bound up in Trevlyn.”</p> - -<p>Lady Diana made a significant gesture, -which the earl understood.</p> - -<p>“Just so; and yet—unless under most -exceptional circumstances—unless what I -hardly dare to hope should happen—she -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>must, they must both leave it, at some not -very distant date.”</p> - -<p>The hesitation of Lord Trevlyn’s manner -did not escape his sister.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” she asked -abruptly.</p> - -<p>“I mean that I have been in correspondence -lately with my heir, and that I -expect him shortly at Trevlyn.”</p> - -<p>“Your heir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Randolph Trevlyn, one of the -Warwickshire branch. The extinction of -the Trevlyns at Drayton last year, you -know, made him the next in succession. I -made inquiries about him, and then entered -into personal communication.”</p> - -<p>Lady Diana looked keenly interested.</p> - -<p>“What have you made out?”</p> - -<p>“That he is very well spoken of every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>where -as a young man of high character -and excellent parts. He is wealthy—very -wealthy, I believe, an only son, and enriched -by a long minority. He is six or -seven and twenty, and he is not married.”</p> - -<p>Lady Diana’s eyes began to sparkle.</p> - -<p>“And he is coming here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, next week. Of course I need not -tell you what is in my thoughts. I object -to match-making, as a rule. I shall put no -pressure upon Monica of any kind, but if -those two should by chance learn to love -one another, I could say my ‘Nunc -dimittis’ at any time.”</p> - -<p>Lady Diana looked very thoughtful.</p> - -<p>“Monica is undoubtedly beautiful,” she -said, “and she is interesting, which perhaps -is better.” Her brother, however, made -no reply, and as he did not appear in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>clined -to discuss the matter farther—they -were seldom in entire accord in talking of -Monica—she presently rose and quitted the -room, saying softly to herself as she did so, -“I should love to see that proud girl with -a husband’s strong hand over her.”</p> - -<p>That evening, when alone with his -daughter, Lord Trevlyn introduced the -topic most in his thoughts at that time.</p> - -<p>“Monica, do you never want a little -variety? What should you say to a visitor -at Trevlyn?”</p> - -<p>“I would try to make one comfortable. -Are you expecting anyone, father?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, a kinsman of ours: Mr. Trevlyn, -whose acquaintance I wish to make.”</p> - -<p>“Who is he? I never heard of him -before.”</p> - -<p>“No; I have not known much about -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>him myself till lately, when circumstances -made him my heir. Monica, have you -ever thought what will happen at Trevlyn -in the event of my death?”</p> - -<p>A very troubled look crept into Monica’s -dark, unfathomable eyes. Her face looked -pained and strained.</p> - -<p>“I think you ought to know, Monica,” -said the earl, gently. “Perhaps you have -thought that the estates would pass to you -in due course of time.”</p> - -<p>Monica pressed her hands closely together, -but her voice was steady, her words -were quietly spoken.</p> - -<p>“I do not know if I have ever thought -about it; but I suppose I have fancied you -would leave all to Arthur or to me.”</p> - -<p>“Exactly, you would naturally inherit -all I have to leave; but Trevlyn is entailed -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>in the male line, and goes with the title. -At my death Mr. Randolph Trevlyn will be -the next earl, and all will be his.”</p> - -<p>Monica sat very still, feeling as if she -had received some sudden stunning blow; -but she could not take in all in a moment -the gist of such intelligence. A woman in -some matters, she was a child in others.</p> - -<p>“But, father,” she said quietly, and -without apparent emotion, “Arthur is -surely much nearer to you than this Mr. -Trevlyn, whom you have never seen?”</p> - -<p>The earl smiled half-sadly, and shook his -head.</p> - -<p>“My dear, you do not understand these -things; I feel towards Arthur as if he were -my son, but he is not of my kindred. He -is my wife’s son, not mine; he is not a -Trevlyn at all.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> -<p>Monica’s troubled gaze rested on her -father’s face.</p> - -<p>“He cannot live anywhere but at -Trevlyn,” she said, slowly. “It would kill -him to take him anywhere else;” and in -her heart she added—a little jealous -hostility rising up in her heart against the -stranger and usurper who was coming—“He -<em>ought</em> to have it. He is a son and a -brother here. By every law of right -Trevlyn should be his.”</p> - -<p>Foolish, irrational Monica! Where -Arthur was concerned her eyes were -blinded, her reason was warped by her -love. And the ways of the great outside -world were so difficult to understand.</p> - -<p>Presently she spoke in very low, -measured tones, though not without a -little falter in her voice now and then.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> -<p>“You mean that if—if you were to die—Arthur -and I should be turned out of -Trevlyn.”</p> - -<p>“You would neither of you have any -right to remain,” answered Lord Trevlyn, -choosing his words with care. “You -would find a home with your aunt; and -as for Arthur, I suppose he would go to -his cousins—unless, indeed, if he seemed -unable to live away from the place, some -arrangement with my successor could be -made. Everything would depend on him, -but of course it would be a difficult -arrangement.”</p> - -<p>She drew a long breath, and passed her -hand across her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Trevlyn is coming here, you -say?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, next week. I think it is right -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>that we should become acquainted with -our kinsman, especially as so much may -depend upon him in the future.”</p> - -<p>“I think so too,” answered Monica; and -then she quietly left him, without uttering -another word.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> -<img src="images/i_022.jpg" width="350" height="109" alt="decoration" /> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="2. MONICA’S RIDE">CHAPTER THE SECOND.<br /> - -<small>MONICA’S RIDE.</small></h2></div> - - -<p>The next morning dawned fair and clear, -as is often the case after a storm. Monica -rose early, her first thought, as usual, for -Arthur. She crept on tip-toe to his room, -to find him as she had left him, sleeping -calmly—as he was likely now to do for -hours, after the attack of the previous day; -and finding herself no longer required by -him, the girl was not long in making up -her mind how these early hours of -glimmering daylight were to be spent.</p> - -<p>Seven o’clock found her in the saddle, -mounted on her glossy black thorough-bred, -who, gentle under her hand, would brook -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>no other rider, and showed his mettle in -every graceful eager movement, and in -the restless quivering of his shapely limbs. -His coat shone like satin in the pale early -sunlight; he pranced and curvetted as he -felt his rider upon his back. Monica and -her horse together made a picture that for -beauty and grace could hardly meet its -match in the length and breadth of the -land.</p> - -<p>The girl was perfectly at home in the -saddle. She heeded no whit the pawing of -her steed, or the delighted baying of the -great hounds who formed her escort, and -whose noise caused Guy’s delicate nerves -many a restive start. She gathered up her -reins with practised hand, soothed him by -a gentle caress, and rode quietly and -absently out of the great grass-grown -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>court-yard and through a stretch of -tangled park beyond. Once outside the -gates, she turned to the right, and quickly -gained a narrow grass-grown track, which -led for miles along the edge of the great -frowning cliffs that almost overhung at a -giddy height the tossing ocean far below. -It was a perilous-looking path enough—one -false step would be enough to hurl -both horse and rider to certain destruction, -but Monica rode fearlessly onward; she -and her horse were familiar with every step -of the way, both knew the wild cliff path, -and both loved it; and Guy stretched his -delicate supple limbs in one of those silent -gallops over the elastic turf in which his -heart delighted.</p> - -<p>Monica seldom passed more than a day -without traversing that well-known track. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>She loved to feel the fresh salt wind as it -blew off the sea and met her face. Sometimes -it was warm and tender as a caress, -sometimes fierce and boisterous, a wet, -blinding blast, laden with spray from the -tempest-tossed waves below; but to-day it -was a keen, fresh wind, salt, and strong, -and life-giving—a wind that brought the -warm colour to her cheek, the light to her -eye and gave a peculiar and indescribable -radiance to her usually cold and statuesque -beauty.</p> - -<p>To-day she felt strangely restless and -uneasy. A sort of haunting fear was upon -her, a presentiment of coming trouble, -that was perhaps all the harder to bear -from its very vagueness. She had never -before realised that the future would bring -any change to the course of her life, save -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>that of gradually increasing age. Not for -an instant had it ever occurred to her that -a possibility such as that hinted at last -night by her father could by any chance -arise. That she and Arthur might ever -have to leave Trevlyn seemed the wildest -of all wild dreams, and yet that is what in -all probability must happen in the event of -her father’s death. Monica shuddered at -the bare idea. Her beautiful dark eyes -glowed strangely. It must not, it should -not be. It would be too cruel, too hard, -too unjust!</p> - -<p>In deep abstraction, Monica rode along -the cliff for some three miles, then turning -her horse’s head inland, she crossed an -open space of wind-swept down, leaped a -low stone wall, and found herself in a road, -which she followed for some considerable -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>distance. It led at length to the quaint -little town of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Maws, a pretty little -place, nestling down in a wooded hollow, -and intersected by a narrow inlet from the -sea, which was spanned by a many-arched -bridge. All the trees in the neighbourhood -seemed to have collected round <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Maws, -and its inhabitants were justly proud of -their stately oaks and graceful beeches.</p> - -<p>Monica rode quietly through the empty -streets, returning now and again a salutation -from some tradesman or rustic. It was -still early—only eight o’clock—and the -sleepy little place was slowly awaking -from its night’s repose. At the far end of -the town stood a good-sized house, well -hidden from view behind a high brick -wall. Guy turned in at the gate of his -own accord, and, following a short, winding -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>carriage drive, halted before the front door. -The house was of warm red brick, mellowed -by age; there was an indescribable air of -comfort and hospitality hanging over it. -It was mantled by glossy ivy, and its gables, -steep pitched roof, and twisted chimneys -were charmingly picturesque. The door -stood wide open as if to invite entrance. -Monica’s hounds had already announced -her approach, and a tall, wiry-looking -man of some thirty summers was standing -upon the threshold. He was not much -like his brother, the blue-eyed, brown-bearded -Raymond, having a thin, sharp, -closely-shaved face, very keen penetrating -eyes, and a cynical mouth. Tom Pendrill -was himself a doctor, like his brother; but -he did not practise on his own account, -being a man of scientific predilections, with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>a taste for authorship. His college -fellowship rendered him independent of -lucrative employment, and, save for assisting -his brother with critical cases, his time -was spent in study and research.</p> - -<p>“Well, Monica, you are abroad early -to-day,” was his greeting. Arthur’s -cousins had been like cousins to Monica -almost ever since she could remember. -“You have come to breakfast, of -course?”</p> - -<p>“I came to tell Raymond not to trouble -to call at Trevlyn to-day, if he is busy. -Arthur is much better. I want to see -Aunt Elizabeth; but I should like some -breakfast very much.”</p> - -<p>“I will take your horse,” said Tom, as -the girl slipped from the saddle. “You will -find Aunt Elizabeth in the breakfast-room.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> -<p>The “Aunt Elizabeth” thus alluded to -was the widow of the Pendrills’ uncle, -and she had lived with them for many -years, keeping their house, and bringing -into it that element of womanly refinement -and comfort which can never -be found in a purely bachelor establishment. -The young men were both warmly -attached to her, as was her other nephew, -Arthur, at the Castle. As for Monica, -“Aunt Elizabeth” had been to her almost -like a mother, supplying that great want -in the girl’s life of which she was only -vaguely conscious—the want of tender -womanly comprehension and sympathy in -the trials and troubles of childhood and -youth.</p> - -<p>It had been her habit for many years to -bring all her troubles to Mrs. Pendrill. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>She did not discuss them with Arthur. -Her mission was to soothe and cheer him, -not to infect him with any fears or sorrows. -He was her boy, her charge, her dearly-loved -brother, but Aunt Elizabeth was her -confidant and friend.</p> - -<p>She was a very sweet-looking old lady, -with snow-white hair, and a gentle, placid, -earnest face. She greeted Monica with a -peculiarly tender smile, and asked after -Arthur with the air of one who loved -him.</p> - -<p>“He is better,” said Monica, “much -better, or I could not have come. He is -asleep; he will most likely sleep till noon. -I want to talk to you, Aunt Elizabeth. I -felt I must come to you. When breakfast -is over, please let us go somewhere -together. There is so much I want to say.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> -<p>When they found themselves at length -secure from interruption in Mrs. Pendrill’s -pretty little parlour, Monica stood very -quiet for a minute or two, and then turning -abruptly to her aunt, she asked:</p> - -<p>“Is my father very much out of -health?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Pendrill was a little startled.</p> - -<p>“What makes you ask that, my love?”</p> - -<p>“I can hardly say—I think it is the way -he looked, the way he spoke. Please tell -me the truth, dear Aunt Elizabeth. I have -nobody but you to turn to,” and there was -a pathetic quiver in the voice as well as in -the pale, sweet face.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Pendrill did not try to deceive her. -She knew from both her nephews that Lord -Trevlyn’s health was in a very precarious -state, and she loved Monica too well not to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>wish to see her somewhat prepared for a -change that must inevitably fall upon her -sooner or later. She had always shrunk -from thinking of this trouble, she shrank -from bringing it home to Monica now; but -a plain question had been asked, and her -answer must not be too ambiguous.</p> - -<p>Monica listened very quietly, as was her -wont, not betraying any emotion save in -the strained look of pain in her great dark -eyes. Then very quietly, too, she told Mrs. -Pendrill what her father had said the previous -evening about his heir, and about -the prospective visit.</p> - -<p>“Aunt Elizabeth,” said Monica suddenly -after a long pause, betraying for the first -time the emotion she felt, “Aunt Elizabeth, -I do not wish to be wicked or ungenerous, -but I <em>hate</em> that man! He has no right to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>be at Trevlyn, yet he will some day come -and turn out Arthur and me. I cannot -help hating him for it; but oh, if only he -would be good to Arthur, if only he would -let him stay, I could bear anything else I -think. <em>Do</em> you think he would be -generous, and would let him keep his own -little corner of the Castle? It does not -seem much to ask, yet father thought it -might be difficult. Arthur is so patient, so -good, he might learn to love him—he -might even adopt him, so to speak. Am I -very foolish to hope such things, Aunt -Elizabeth?—they do not seem impossible -to me.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Pendrill mused a little while.</p> - -<p>“Has this Mr. Trevlyn any family?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know. Father did not speak -of a wife. I fancy he is an old bachelor.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> -<p>“He is old, then?”</p> - -<p>“I fancy he is elderly, or at any rate -middle-aged, or father would hardly care -to have him on a visit. He must be -younger than father, of course, but I do -not know anything more about him. Oh, -it will be very hard; but if he will only be -good to Arthur, I will try to bear the rest.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure you will, my Monica,” said -Mrs. Pendrill tenderly. “I am sure you -will never be ungenerous or act unworthily. -A dark cloud seems hanging over your life, -but there is light behind, though we -cannot always see it. And, remember, my -darling, that gold shines all the brighter -for having been tried in the furnace.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“I know the fellow,” said Tom Pendrill, -an hour later, when Monica had gone, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>he had heard from his aunt part of what -had passed between them. “Monica is out -about his age; he can’t be more than six -or seven and twenty, and a right good -fellow he is too, and would make my lady -a capital husband, if he is not married -already. Randolph Trevlyn was at Oxford; -I knew him there pretty well, though he was -only an undergraduate when I had taken -my degree. The name sounded home-like, -and I made friends with him. He -wasn’t anywhere near the title then, but I -suppose there have been deaths in the -family since. Well, well, the earl is quite -right to have him down, and if he could -manage to fall in love with Monica and -marry her, it would simplify matters -wonderfully; but that wild bird will need -a good deal of training before she will -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>come at a husband’s call, and there is such -a thing as spreading the snare too much -in the sight of the quarry.”</p> - -<p>No thought of this kind, however, -entered into Monica’s head. She was far -too unversed in the ways of the world to -entertain the smallest suspicion of the -hopes entertained on her account. She -thought a good deal of the coming guest -as the days went by—thought of him with -bitterness, with aversion, with mistrust, but -in the light of a possible husband—never -for a single instant.</p> - -<p>It was the day before the stranger was -expected, and Monica, as the sun was -sinking in the sky, was riding alone in the -pine wood that surrounded the Castle. -She was grave and pre-occupied, as she -had been for the week past, haunted -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>by the presage of coming sorrow and -change. Her face was pale and sad, yet -there was a wonderful depth of sweetness -in its expression of wistful melancholy. -The setting sun, slanting through the ruddy -trunks of the tall pines, shone full upon -her, lighting her golden hair, and making -an aureole of glory round her head, -showing off with peculiar clear distinctness -the graceful outline of her supple figure -and the beauty of the horse she rode.</p> - -<p>She was in a very thoughtful mood, so -absent and pre-occupied as to be quite lost -to outside impressions, when Guy suddenly -swerved and reared, with a violence that -would have unseated a less practised rider. -Monica was not in the least alarmed, but -the movement aroused her from her -reverie, and she was quickly made -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>aware of what had frightened the -horse.</p> - -<p>A tall, broad-shouldered young man -stepped forward, and laid a hand upon -Guy’s bridle, lifting his hat at the same -time, and disclosing a broad brow, with a -sweeping wave of dark hair lying across it.</p> - -<p>“I beg a thousand pardons; I believe I -frightened your horse. He is evidently -unused to the sight of trespassers. I trust -you have not been alarmed.”</p> - -<p>Monica smiled at the notion; her face -had been somewhat set and cold till the -apology had been made. The stranger -had no right to be there, certainly, but his -frank admission of the fact went far to -palliate the crime. She allowed herself to -smile, and the smile was in itself a revelation.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> -<p>“It does not matter,” she said quietly. -“I know the wood is perplexing; but if -you keep bearing to the west you will -find the road before long. No, I was -not frightened, thank you. Good afternoon.”</p> - -<p>She bent her head slightly, and the -stranger uncovered again. He was smiling -now, and she could not deny that he was -very good-looking, and every inch the -gentleman.</p> - -<p>She had not an idea who he was -nor what he could be doing there; but -it was no business of hers. He was -probably some tourist who had lost his -way exploring the beauties of the coast. -She was just a little puzzled by the look -his face had worn as he turned away: -there was a sort of subdued amusement in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>the dark blue eyes, and his long brown -moustache had quivered as if with the -effort to subdue a smile. Yet there had -been nothing in the least impertinent in his -manner; on the contrary, he had been -particularly courtly and polished in his -bearing. Monica dismissed the subject -from her mind, and rode home as the sun -dipped beneath the far horizon.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> -<img src="images/i_042.jpg" width="350" height="199" alt="decoration" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="3. LORD TREVLYN’S HEIR">CHAPTER THE THIRD.<br /> - -<small>LORD TREVLYN’S HEIR</small></h2></div> - - -<p>Lord Trevlyn sat in his study in the -slowly waning daylight, waiting the -arrival of his expected guest. Now that -the moment had come, he shrank from -the meeting a good deal more than he -had once believed he should do. It -was so long since he had seen a -strange face, and his relations with -this unknown heir would perhaps be -difficult: undoubtedly the situation was -somewhat strained. Would the young -man think a trap was being set for him in -the person of the beautiful Monica? Was -he acting a wise or fatherly part in schem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>ing -to give her to this stranger, if it should -be possible to do so?</p> - -<p>He had liked the tone of Randolph -Trevlyn’s courteously-worded acceptance -of his invitation. He had liked all that -he heard of the man himself. He -had a sort of presentiment that his wish -would in time be realised, that this visit -would not be fruitless; but his child’s -happiness: would that be secured in -securing to her the possession of a well-loved -home?</p> - -<p>Randolph Trevlyn would hardly be -likely to spend any great part of his -life at this lonely sea-bound castle. He -might pass a few months there, perhaps; -but where would the bulk of his time be -spent?</p> - -<p>Lord Trevlyn tried to picture his beau<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>tiful, -wayward, freedom-loving daughter -mixing in the giddy whirl of London life, -learning its ways and following its fashions, -and he utterly failed to do so. She -seemed indissolubly connected with the -wild sea-coast, with the gloomy pine-woods, -with the rugged independence of her sea-girt -home. Monica a fashionable young -countess, leading a gay life of social distraction! -The thing seemed impossible.</p> - -<p>But he had no time to indulge his -imaginings farther. The door opened, and -his guest was ushered in. The old earl -rose and bade him welcome with his customary -simple, stately courtesy. It was -growing somewhat dark in that oak-panelled -room, and for a minute or two -he hardly distinguished the features of -the stranger, but the voice and the words -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>in which the young man answered his -greeting pleased his fastidious taste, and a -haunting dread of which he had scarcely -been fully aware faded from his mind at -once and for ever in the first moment of -introduction.</p> - -<p>Lord Trevlyn heaved an unconscious -sigh of relief when he resumed his seat, -and was able to give a closer scrutiny to -his guest. One glance at his face, figure, -and dress, together with the pleasant sound -of his voice, convinced Lord Trevlyn that -this young man was a gentleman in the -rather restricted sense in which he employed -that elastic term.</p> - -<p>He was a handsome, broad-shouldered, -powerful man, with a fine figure, dark -hair and moustache, dark blue eyes, frank -and well-opened, a quiet, commanding air -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>and carriage, and that cast of countenance -which plainly showed that the blood of the -Trevlyns ran in his veins.</p> - -<p>Lord Trevlyn eyed him with quiet -satisfaction, and from the conversation -that ensued he had no reason to rescind -his favourable impression. Randolph -Trevlyn was evidently a man of culture -and refinement, with a mental capacity -distinctly above the average. He was, -moreover, emphatically a man of the world -in its truest and widest sense—a man who -has lived in the world, and studied it -closely, learning thereby from its silent -teaching the good and the evil thereof.</p> - -<p>The two men talked for a time of the -family to which they belonged, and the -deaths that had lately taken place, bringing -this young man so near to the title.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> -<p>“The Trevlyns seem to be a dying -race,” said the old earl, half sadly. “Our -family is slowly dying out. I suppose it -has done its work in the world, and is not -needed any longer in these stirring times. -You and my daughter are now the sole -representatives of the Trevlyns in your -generation, as my sister and I are in ours.”</p> - -<p>Randolph Trevlyn looked into his kinsman’s -face with a great deal of reverence -and admiration. He liked to meet a man -who was a genuine specimen of the “old -school.” He felt a natural reverence for -the head of his house, and his liking -showed itself in voice and manner. Lord -Trevlyn saw this, and was gratified, whilst -the younger man was pleased to feel himself -in accord with his host. The interview -ended with mutual satisfaction on both -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>sides, and Randolph was taken up the -great oak staircase, down one or two dim, -ghostly corridors, and landed finally in a -couple of large panelled rooms, most -antiquely and quaintly furnished, in both -of which, however, great fires of pine logs -were blazing cheerily.</p> - -<p>“We dine at eight,” Lord Trevlyn had -said, in parting with his guest. “I shall -hope then to have the pleasure of -introducing you to my sister and my -daughter.”</p> - -<p>Left alone in his comfortable but rather -grim-looking quarters, Randolph broke -into a low laugh.</p> - -<p>“And so this sombre old place, full of -ghosts and phantoms of departed days—this -enchanted castle between sea and forest—is -the home of the lovely girl I saw -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>yesterday! Incongruous, and yet so entirely -appropriate! She wants a setting -of her own, different from anything else. -It must have been Lady Monica I encountered, -the lady of the pine-wood. What -a sad, proud, lovely face it was, with its -frame of golden hair, and soft eyes like a -deer’s; and her voice was as sweet as her -face, low, and rich, and full of music. -What has been the secret of her life? -Some sorrow, I am certain, has overshadowed -it. Who will be the happy man -to bring the sunshine back to that lovely -troubled face? Randolph Trevlyn, do not -run on so fast. You are no longer a boy. -You must not judge by first impressions; -you will know more of her soon.”</p> - -<p>Randolph’s encounter with Monica the -previous day had been purely accidental. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>The young man had reached <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Maws one -day earlier than he had expected, one day -earlier than he had been invited to arrive -at the Castle. Some business in Plymouth -which he had expected would detain him -some days had been despatched with greater -speed than he had anticipated, and he had -gone on to <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Maws to renew acquaintance -with his old friend Pendrill, who lived, as -he remembered, in that place.</p> - -<p>When he descended to the drawing room -it was to find the earl and Lady Diana -there before him, and he made as favourable -an impression upon the vivacious old -lady as he had done before upon her -brother. Yet he found his attention straying -sometimes from the animated talk of -his companion, and his eyes would wander -to the door by which Monica must enter.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> -<p>She came at last, stately, beautiful, statuesque, -her dress an antique cream-coloured -brocade, that had, without doubt, belonged -to some remote ancestress; her golden hair -coiled like a crown upon her graceful head. -She had that same indescribable air of isolation -and remoteness that had struck him -so much when he had seen her riding in -the wood. She did not lift her eyes when -her father presented the stranger to her, -but only bent her head very slightly, and -sat down by herself, somewhat apart.</p> - -<p>But when dinner was announced, and -Randolph gave her his arm to lead her in, -she raised her eyes, and their glances met. -He saw that she recognised him, and yet -she gave not the slightest sign of having -done so, and her face settled into lines of -even more severe gravity than before. He -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>felt that she was annoyed at his having met -and addressed her previously, and that she -would brook no allusion to the encounter.</p> - -<p>His talk with the Pendrills had prepared -him somewhat for Monica’s coldness -towards himself. It was natural enough, -he thought, and perhaps a little interesting, -especially as he meant to set himself to win -her good-will at last.</p> - -<p>He did not make much way during -dinner. Monica was very silent, and Lady -Diana engrossed almost all his attention; -but he was content to bide his time, -conscious of the charm of her presence, -and of the haunting, pathetic character of -her beauty, and deeply touched by the -story of her devotion to the crippled, -suffering Arthur, which was told him by -the earl when they were alone together, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>with more of detail than he had heard it -before.</p> - -<p>When he returned to the drawing-room, -he went straight up to Monica, and said:</p> - -<p>“I am going to ask a favour of you, -Lady Monica. I want to know if you will -be good enough to introduce me to your -brother?”</p> - -<p>Her face softened slightly as she raised -her eyes to his. It was a happy instinct -that had led Randolph to call Arthur by -the name she most loved to hear, “your -brother.”</p> - -<p>“You would like to see him to-night?”</p> - -<p>“If it is not too late to intrude upon an -invalid, I should very much.”</p> - -<p>“I think he would be pleased,” said -Monica. “It is so seldom he has any one -to talk to.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> -<p>The visit to Arthur was a great success. -The lad took to Randolph at once, delighted -to find him so young, so pleasant, -and so companionable. Of course he -identified him at once as the hero of -Monica’s adventure yesterday, and was -amused to hear his account of the meeting. -Monica did not stay long in the room; but -her absence enabled Arthur to sing her -praises as he loved to do, and Randolph -listened with a satisfaction that surprised -himself. He was very kind to the boy, -sincerely sorry for his helpless state, and -more than ready to stand his friend if ever -there should be occasion. Before he left -the invalid that night, he felt that in him, -at least, he had secured a staunch and -trusty friend.</p> - -<p>But during the days that followed he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>could not hide from himself the fact that -Monica avoided him. Indeed, he sometimes -hardly saw her from morning till night, and -when they did meet at the luncheon or -dinner-table, she sat still and silent, scarcely -vouchsafing him a word or a look.</p> - -<p>The first time Randolph found himself -alone with Monica was in this wise: he -had been riding about the immediate precincts -of the Castle with the earl one -morning, and his host was just expressing a -wish to extend their ride farther, in order -to see some of the best views of the neighbourhood—hesitating -somewhat on his own -account, as he had been forbidden to exert -himself by much exercise—when Monica -suddenly appeared, mounted on Guy, and -attended by her convoy of dogs, ready for -her daily gallop.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> -<p>Lord Trevlyn’s face softened at her -approach; he loved his fair daughter with -a deep and tender love.</p> - -<p>“Monica, my dear, you have come in -good time. I want Mr. Trevlyn to see the -view of the Castle from the Black Cliff, and -the wonderful archway in the rocks farther -along the coast. These fine days must not -be wasted; and I feel too tired to undertake -the ride myself. Will you act as my -substitute, and do the honours of -Trevlyn?”</p> - -<p>Monica glanced with a sort of mute -wistfulness into her father’s pale face, and -assented quietly. The next moment she -and Randolph were riding side by side -over the close soft turf of the sweeping -downs.</p> - -<p>The girl’s face was set and grave, she -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>seemed lost in thought, and was only -roused by the eccentricities of Guy’s -behaviour. The spirited little barb resented -company even more than his -mistress did, and showed his distaste by -every means in his power. He was so -troublesome that Randolph was half afraid -for Monica’s safety, but she smiled at the -idea of danger.</p> - -<p>“I know Guy too well,” she answered; -“it is nothing. He only hates company. He -is not used to it.”</p> - -<p>“Had you not better have another horse -to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Let myself be conquered? No, thank -you. I always say that if that once were -to happen, it would never be safe ever for -me to ride Guy again.”</p> - -<p>The battle with the horse brought the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>colour to her face and the light to her -eyes. She looked more approachable -now as she cantered along beside him -(victorious at last, with her dogs bounding -about her) than she had ever done before. -He drew her out a little about her four-footed -favourites, and being a lover of -animals himself, and knowing their ways, -they found a good deal to say without -trenching in any way upon dangerous or -personal topics.</p> - -<p>They visited the places indicated by -Lord Trevlyn, and Randolph admired the -beauties of the wild coast with a genuine -appreciation that satisfied Monica. Had -her companion been anybody but himself—an -alien usurper come to spy out the -land that would some time be his own—had -his praises been less sounded in her -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>ears by Lady Diana, whose praise was in -Monica’s eyes worse than any open condemnation—she -could almost have found it in -her heart to like him; but as it was, -jealous distrust drove all kindlier feelings -away, and even his handsome person and -pleasant address added to her sense of hostility -and disfavour.</p> - -<p>Why was he to win all hearts—he who -would so ruthlessly act the part of tyrant -and foe, as soon as his chance came? Did -not even his friend, Lady Diana, continually -repeat that his succession to the -Trevlyn estate must inevitably mean an immediate -break-up of all existing forms and -usages? Was it not an understood thing -that he would exercise his power without -considering anything but his strict legal -right? Lady Diana knew the world—that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>world to which Randolph evidently belonged. -If this was her opinion, was it not -presumably the right one? She sneered -openly at the suggestion her niece had once -thrown out of the possibility of his granting -to Arthur liberty to remain at Trevlyn.</p> - -<p>“You foolish child!” she said sharply. -“What is Arthur to him? Men do not -make sentimental attachments to each -other. Arthur has no right here, and Mr. -Trevlyn will show him so very plainly -when the time comes.”</p> - -<p>Was it any wonder that Monica’s heart -rose in revolt against this handsome, -powerful stranger, who seemed in a -manner to hold her whole future in his -strong hands? Was it strange she avoided -him? Was it difficult to understand that -she distrusted him, and that only his -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>present kindness to Arthur and the lad’s -affection for him enabled her to tolerate -with any kind of submission his presence -in the house?</p> - -<p>He tried now to make her talk of herself, -of Arthur, of her home and her life there, -but she became at once impenetrably silent. -Her face assumed its old look of statuesque -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">hauteur</i>. The ride back to the Castle was -a very silent one. Randolph had enjoyed the -hour he had spent in the company of Lady -Monica, but he could not flatter himself -that much ground had been gained.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> -<img src="images/i_062.jpg" width="350" height="179" alt="decoration" /> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="4. CONRAD FITZGERALD">CHAPTER THE FOURTH.<br /> - -<small>CONRAD FITZGERALD.</small></h2></div> - - -<p>Whether Monica would ever have thawed -towards him of her own free will Randolph -Trevlyn could not tell; but during a sharp -attack of illness that prostrated Arthur at -this juncture, he was so much in the sick -boy’s room, and so kind and patient and -helpful there, that the girl’s coldness began -insensibly to melt; and before the attack -had passed, he felt that if she did not share -her brother’s liking for him, at least the old -antipathy, hostility, had somewhat abated.</p> - -<p>They rode out together sometimes now, -exploring the country round the Castle, or -galloping over the wind-swept moors. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>Monica was generally silent, always -reserved and unapproachable, and yet he -felt that a certain vantage-ground had been -gained, and he did not intend to allow it to -slip away. Unconsciously almost to himself, -the wish had grown to win the heart -of this wild, beautiful, lonely young -creature. Yet the charm of her solitary -tamelessness was so great that he hardly -wished the spell to be too suddenly broken. -He could not picture Monica other than -she was—and yet he was growing to love -her with every fibre of his being.</p> - -<p>But fortune was not kind to Randolph, -as an incident that quickly followed showed -him.</p> - -<p>He and Monica had ridden one day -across a wild sweep of trackless moorland, -when they came in sight of a picturesque -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>Elizabethan house, in a decidedly dilapidated -condition, whose red brick walls and -mullioned windows took Randolph’s fancy. -He asked who lived there.</p> - -<p>“No one now,” answered Monica, with -a touch as of regret in her voice; “no one -has lived there for years and years. Once -it was such a bright, happy home—we used -to play there so often, Arthur and I, when -we were children; but the master died, the -children were taken away, and the house -was shut up. That was ten years ago. I -have never been there since.”</p> - -<p>“Who is the owner? Does he never -reside here now?”</p> - -<p>“He has never been back. I believe he -is not rich, and could not keep up the -place. He must be about five-and-twenty -by this time. He is Sir Conrad Fitzgerald<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>—he -was such a nice boy when I used to -play with him.”</p> - -<p>Randolph started suddenly; he controlled -himself in a moment, but Monica’s -eyes were very quick, and she had seen the -instinctive recoil at the sound of the -name.</p> - -<p>“Do you know Conrad Fitzgerald?” she -asked.</p> - -<p>“We have met,” he answered, somewhat -grimly. “I do not claim the honour of his -acquaintance.”</p> - -<p>Monica glanced at him. She saw something -in the stern lines of Randolph’s face -that told a tale of its own. She was not -afraid to state the conclusion she reached -by looking at him.</p> - -<p>“That means that you have quarrelled,” -she said.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> -<p>“I am not at liberty to explain what it -means,” was the answer, spoken with a -certain stern gravity, not lost upon Monica. -She had never seen her companion look -like this before. The strength and resolution -of his face compelled a sort of involuntary -respect, yet she revolted against -hearing the friend and playmate of her -childhood tacitly condemned by this -stranger.</p> - -<p>“I do not like innuendoes, Mr. Trevlyn,” -she said. “If you have anything to say -against a man I think it is better spoken -out.”</p> - -<p>“I have nothing at all to say upon the -subject of Sir Conrad Fitzgerald,” he -answered, quietly.</p> - -<p>“Ungenerous! unmanly!” was Monica’s -mental comment. “I cannot bear hearing -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>a character <em>hinted</em> away. I loved Conrad -once, and he loved me. I do not believe -he has done anything for which he should -be condemned.”</p> - -<p>Randolph thought little of the few -chance words respecting Sir Conrad Fitzgerald -at the time when they were spoken; -but he was destined to think a good deal -about that individual before many days -had passed.</p> - -<p>Finding his way to Arthur’s room -towards dusk one day, as he often did, he -was surprised to find quite a little group -around the glowing fire. Monica and the -dogs were objects sufficiently familiar to -him by this time, but who was that -graceful, fair-haired youth who sat beside -the girl, his face turned towards her and -away from Randolph, whilst he made -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>some gay, laughing rejoinder to her in a -very sweet, musical voice?</p> - -<p>Randolph recognised that laugh and that -voice with another start of dismay. His -face set itself in very stern lines, and he -would have withdrawn in silence had he -been able to do so unobserved; but Arthur -saw him as he moved to go, and cried -gladly:</p> - -<p>“Oh, here is Randolph—that is right. -Our old friend and our new one must be -introduced. Sir Conrad Fitzgerald—Mr. -Randolph Trevlyn.”</p> - -<p>Randolph’s eyes were fixed full upon the -face of the younger man as he made the -slightest possible inclination of the head. -His hand had unconsciously clenched itself -in a gesture that was a little significant. -Monica’s eyes were fixed upon Conrad. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>Was it possible that he quailed and flinched -a little beneath the steady gaze bent upon -him? She did not think so, she was sure -it could not be; no, he was only drawing -himself up to return that cold salutation -with one expressive of sovereign contempt.</p> - -<p>Not a word was exchanged between the -two men. Randolph sat down beside -Arthur, and began to talk to him. Conrad -drew nearer to Monica, and entered into a -low-toned conversation with her. His -voice sounded tender and caressing, and -ever and anon such words as these reached -young Trevlyn’s ears:</p> - -<p>“Do you remember, Monica?”—“Ah, -those sweet days of childhood!”—“You -have not forgotten?”—“How often have I -thought of it all.”</p> - -<p>Evidently they were discussing the happy -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>past—the bright days that had been shared -by them before the cloud had fallen upon -Monica’s life. Randolph could not keep -his eyes away from her face. It was lit -up with a new expression, half sad, and yet -strangely—infinitely sweet. Conrad’s face -was very beautiful too, with its delicate, -almost effeminate colouring and serious, -melancholy blue eyes. He had been a lovely -child, and his beauty had not faded with -time. It had stood him in good stead in -many crises of his life, and was doing so -still. There is an irrational association in -most minds between beauty and goodness.</p> - -<p>But Randolph’s face grew more and -more dark as he watched the pair opposite. -Old memories were stirring within him, -and at last he rose and quitted the room, -feeling that he could no longer stand the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>presence of that man within it, could no -longer endure to see him bending over -Monica, and talking to her in that soft, -caressing way.</p> - -<p>Conrad looked after him, a vindictive -light in his soft blue eyes. As the door -closed he uttered a low laugh.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” asked Arthur.</p> - -<p>“Oh, nothing. I was only wondering -how long he would be able to brazen it -out?”</p> - -<p>“Brazen what out?”</p> - -<p>“Why, sitting there with my eye upon -him. Couldn’t you see how restless he -got?”</p> - -<p>“Restless!” repeated Arthur, quickly. -“Why should he be restless?”</p> - -<p>Conrad laughed again.</p> - -<p>“Never mind, my boy. I bear him -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>no malice. The least said the soonest -mended.”</p> - -<p>Monica was silent and a little troubled. -She liked to understand things plainly. -It seemed to her an unnatural thing for -two men to be at almost open feud, yet -unwilling to say a word as to the cause of -their mutual antagonism. She thought -that if they met beneath her father’s -roof they should be willing to do so as -friends.</p> - -<p>Her gravity did not escape Conrad’s -notice.</p> - -<p>“Has he been maligning me already?” -he asked, suddenly, with a subdued flash in -his eyes.</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Monica, with a sort of -involuntary coldness. “He has not said -a word. I do not think,” she added -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>presently, with a gentle dignity of manner, -“that I should listen very readily from -the lips of a stranger to stories detrimental -to an old companion and playmate, told -behind his back.”</p> - -<p>Conrad gave her a look of humble -gratitude. He would have taken her hand -and kissed it had she been anybody else, -but somehow, demonstrations of such a -kind always seemed impossible where -Monica was concerned. Even to him she -was decidedly unapproachable.</p> - -<p>“It is good indeed of you to say so,” he -said; “but, Monica—I may call you -Monica still, may I not? as I have always -thought of you all these long years—you -might hear stories to my detriment that -would not be untrue. There have been -faults and follies and sins in my past life -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>that I would gladly blot out if I could. I -have been wild and reckless often. I lost -my parents very young, as you know, and -it is hard for a boy without home and -home influences to grow up as he should -do.” Conrad paused, and then added, -with a good deal of feeling: “Monica, -can a man do more than repent the past? -Can nothing ever wipe away the stain, and -give him back his innocence again? -Must he always bear about the shadow of -sorrow and shame?”</p> - -<p>Monica’s face was grave and thoughtful. -She shook her head as she -replied:</p> - -<p>“It is no use coming to me with hard -questions, Conrad; I know so little, so very -little of the world you live in. Yet it -seems to me that it would be hard indeed -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>if repentance did not bring forgiveness in -its wake.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“‘Who with repentance is not satisfied,</div> - <div class="verse">Is not of heaven nor of earth.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>quoted Arthur, lazily. “What is it you -have done? Can’t you tell us all the -story, and let us judge for ourselves—old -friends and playmates as we are?”</p> - -<p>“I should like to,” answered Conrad, -gently. “Some day I will; but do not -let us spoil this first meeting with bitter -memories. Let it be enough for me to -have come home, and have found my -friends unchanged towards me. May I -venture still to call you my friends?”</p> - -<p>“To be sure,” cried Arthur, readily; -but Conrad’s eyes were fixed on Monica’s -face; and she saw it, and looked back -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>at him with her steady, inscrutable -gaze.</p> - -<p>“I do not think I change easily,” she -said, with her gentle dignity of manner. -“You were my friend and playmate in our -happy childhood. I should like to think -of you always as a friend.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” put in Arthur, gaily; “of -course we are all friends, and you must -make friends with Randolph, too. He is -such a good fellow.”</p> - -<p>“I have no objection at all,” answered -Conrad, with a short laugh. “The -difficulty, I imagine, will be on his side. -Some men never forget or forgive any one -who succeeds in finding them out.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, we will manage Randolph, never -fear. You are ready, then, to make it up -if he is?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> -<p>“Most certainly,” was the ready answer.</p> - -<p>“He is the nobler man of the two,” said -Monica to herself—at least her reason and -judgment said so; her instinct, oddly -enough, spoke in exactly opposite words; -but surely it was right to listen first to the -voice of reason.</p> - -<p>“I say, Randolph,” said Arthur, half an -hour later, when the young baronet had -taken his departure and the other guest -had returned to the invalid’s room. -“Conrad is quite willing to make it up -with you.”</p> - -<p>Randolph’s smile was a little peculiar.</p> - -<p>“Sir Conrad Fitzgerald is very kind.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you know, it’s always best to -make friends, isn’t it? Deadly feuds -are a nuisance in these days, don’t you -think so?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> -<p>Randolph smiled again; but his manner -was certainly a little baffling.</p> - -<p>“Come now, Randolph,” persisted Arthur, -with boyish insistence, “you won’t hang -back now that he is ready for the reconciliation. -He is the injured party, is he -not?”</p> - -<p>There was rather a strange light in Randolph’s -dark blue eyes. His manner was -exceedingly quiet, yet he looked as if he -could be a little dangerous.</p> - -<p>“Possibly,” was the rather inconclusive -answer.</p> - -<p>“You know he has come to stay some -little time in the neighbourhood, and he -will often be here. It will be so awkward -if you are at daggers drawn all the -time.”</p> - -<p>“My dear boy, you need not put your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>self -about. I will take care that there -shall be no annoyance to anybody.”</p> - -<p>“You will make friends, then?”</p> - -<p>“I will meet Sir Conrad Fitzgerald, -whenever he is your father’s guest, with -the courtesy due from one man to another, -when circumstances bring them together -beneath the roof of the same hospitable -host. But to take his hand in reconciliation -or friendship is a thing that I cannot -and will not do. Do you understand -now?”</p> - -<p>Arthur looked at him intently, as for -once Monica was doing also.</p> - -<p>“Randolph,” he said, a little inconsequently, -“do you know I think I could -almost be afraid of you sometimes. I -never saw you look before as you looked -just then.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> -<p>The stern lines on Randolph’s face -relaxed a little but he still looked grave -and pre-occupied, sitting with his elbow on -his knee, leaning forward, and pulling his -moustache with an abstracted air.</p> - -<p>“You are rather unforgiving too, I -think,” pursued the boy. “Conrad admitted -he had done wrong, but he is very sorry -for the past; and I think it is hard when -old offences, repented of, are not consigned -to oblivion.”</p> - -<p>Randolph was silent.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you agree?”</p> - -<p>Still only impenetrable silence.</p> - -<p>“Come, Randolph, don’t be so mysterious -and so revengeful. Let us have the -whole story, and judge for ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, Arthur; but the life of Sir -Conrad Fitzgerald is not one that I choose -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>to discuss. His affairs are no concern of -mine, nor, if you will pardon my saying -so, any concern of yours, either. You -are at liberty to renew past friendship with -him if it pleases you to do so; but it is -useless to ask me to do the same.”</p> - -<p>And with that Randolph rose, and -quitted the room without another word.</p> - -<p>“There is something odd about it all,” -said Arthur, who was inclined to indulge -a good deal of curiosity about other -people’s affairs: “but I think Conrad -behaves the better of the two.”</p> - -<p>Monica quietly assented; but perhaps -she might have changed her opinion had -she heard the muttered threats breathed by -Conrad as he rode across the darkening -moor:</p> - -<p>“So, Randolph Trevlyn, our paths have -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>crossed once more! I have vowed vengeance -upon you to your very face, and -perhaps my day has come at last. I see -through you. I see the game you are -playing. I will baulk you, if I can; but -in any case I will have my revenge.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/i_083.jpg" width="400" height="62" alt="decoration" /> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="5. SUNDAY AT TREVLYN">CHAPTER THE FIFTH.<br /> - -<small>SUNDAY AT TREVLYN.</small></h2></div> - - -<p>It was Sunday, and Monica, with Randolph -beside her, was making her way by the path -along the cliff towards the little old church -perched high upon the crags, between -Trevlyn and <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Maws, but nearer to the -town than the Castle. Randolph had found -out the ways of the house by this time. -He knew now that Monica played the -organ in the little church, that she started -early and walked across the downs, instead -of going in the carriage with her father -and aunt. He knew that she generally -lunched with the Pendrills between services, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>and that one of her cousins walked back -with her to the Castle, and spent an hour -with Arthur afterwards.</p> - -<p>He had found out all this during his first -two Sundays, and upon the third he had -ventured to ask permission to be her -escort.</p> - -<p>Randolph was quite aware that he had -lost ground with Monica of late; that the -barrier, partially broken down during the -week of anxiety about Arthur, had risen up -again as impenetrably as ever. How far -Sir Conrad Fitzgerald’s appearance upon -the scene was to blame for this he could -not tell, nor could Monica herself have -explained; but there was no mistaking the -added coldness on her part, and the -sense of restraint experienced in his -presence.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> -<p>And yet he was conscious that his love -for her increased every day, and that no -coldness on her part checked or dwarfed -its growth. He sometimes wondered at -himself for the depth and intensity of his -passion, for he was a man who had passed -almost unscathed heretofore from the -shafts of the blind god, nor was he by -nature impulsive or susceptible. But then -Monica was like no woman he had ever -met before, and from the very first she had -exercised a curious fascination over him. -Also their relative positions were peculiar; -she the daughter and he the heir of the old -earl, whose life was evidently so very frail. -Randolph had a shrewd idea that his -kinsman had little to leave apart from the -entail, and in the event of his death what -would become of the fair girl his daughter? -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>Would it be her fate to be placed in the -keeping of that worldly spinster, the Lady -Diana? Randolph’s whole soul revolted -from such an idea.</p> - -<p>So, altogether, his interest in Monica -was hardly more than natural, and his sense -of protecting championship not entirely -uncalled for. One thing he had resolutely -determined upon—that she should never -suffer directly or indirectly on his account. -He had made no definite plans as regarded -the future, but on that point his mind was -made up.</p> - -<p>To-day, for the first time, he ventured to -allude to a subject hitherto never touched -upon between them.</p> - -<p>“You have a very beautiful home, Lady -Monica,” he said. “It is no wonder that -you love it.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> -<p>Her glance met his for a moment, and -then her eyes dropped again.</p> - -<p>“Is it true that you have never left -Trevlyn all your life?”</p> - -<p>“Except for a few days with Arthur, -never.”</p> - -<p>“You have never seen London?”</p> - -<p>“No, never,” very emphatically.</p> - -<p>“Nor wish to do so?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>He mused a little. Somehow it was more -difficult than he had believed to convey -to her the information he had desired -to hint at. He entered upon another -topic.</p> - -<p>“Have you ever been advised, Lady -Monica, to try what the German baths -could do for Arthur? Very wonderful -cures sometimes are accomplished there.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> -<p>She raised her head suddenly, with -something of a flash in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Tom Pendrill has been talking to -you!”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, no.”</p> - -<p>“That is what he wants—what he is -always driving at. He does not care how -my poor boy suffers, if only he has the -pleasure of experimenting upon him for the -benefit of science. I will not have it. It -would kill him, it would kill me. You do -not know how he suffers in being moved; -a journey like that would be murder. -He can live nowhere but at Trevlyn—Trevlyn -or the neighbourhood, at least. -Promise me never to suggest such a thing, -never to take sides against me in it. Mr. -Trevlyn, I appeal to your honour and your -humanity. Promise me never to league -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>with Tom Pendrill to send Arthur away to -die!”</p> - -<p>He had never seen her so vehement or -excited. He was astonished at the storm -he had aroused.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, Lady Monica, you may trust -me,” he said. “I have not the least wish -to distress you, or to urge anything in -opposition to your wishes. The idea -merely occurred to me, because I happen to -have heard of many wonderful cures. But -I will never allude to the subject again if -it distresses you. It is certainly not for -me to dictate to you as to the welfare of -your brother.”</p> - -<p>The flush of excitement had faded from -Monica’s face. She turned it towards him -with something of apology and appeal.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me if I spoke too hastily,” she -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>said, with a little quiver in her voice -which he thought infinitely pathetic, “but -I have so few to love, and the thought of -losing them is so very sad. And then -Tom has so often frightened me about -Arthur and taking him away; and I know -that I understand him better than anybody -else, though I am not a doctor, nor a man -of science.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her with grave sympathy.</p> - -<p>“I think that is highly possible, Lady -Monica. You may trust me to say or do -nothing that could give you anxiety or -pain.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” answered Monica with -unusual gentleness. “I do trust you.”</p> - -<p>His heart thrilled with gladness at those -simple words. They had almost reached -the church now, and Monica paused at -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>the edge of the cliff, turning her gaze -seawards, a strange, sad wistfulness upon -her face.</p> - -<p>Her companion watched her in silence.</p> - -<p>“There will be a storm before long,” she -said at last.</p> - -<p>The air was curiously clear and still, and -the sea the same; yet there was a sullen -booming sound far below that sounded -threatening and rather awful.</p> - -<p>“You are weather-wise, Lady Monica?” -he asked with a smile.</p> - -<p>“I ought to be,” she answered, turning -away at length with a long drawn breath. -“I know our sea so well, so very well.”</p> - -<p>And then she walked on and entered the -church by her own little door, leaving -Randolph musing alone without.</p> - -<p>He, too, lunched with the Pendrills that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>day. He had been over several times to -see them since his arrival at Trevlyn, and -had made his way in that house as -successfully as he had done at the Castle.</p> - -<p>Tom walked with him to church for the -afternoon service. He spoke of Monica -with great frankness.</p> - -<p>“I have always likened her to a sort -of Undine,” he remarked, “though not in -the generally accepted sense. There are -latent capacities within her that might -make her a very remarkable woman; but -half her nature is sleeping still. According -to the tradition, love must awake the -slumbering soul. I often think it is that -which wanted to transform and humanise -my Lady Monica.”</p> - -<p>Randolph was silent. The smallest -suspicion of criticism of Monica jarred -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>upon him. Tom saw this, and smiled to -himself.</p> - -<p>They reached the little cliff church long -before the rustic congregation had begun -to assemble. The sound of the organ was -audible from within.</p> - -<p>Tom laid his fingers on his lips and -made a sign to his companion to follow -him. They softly mounted a little quaint -stairway towards the organ loft, and -reached a spot where, hidden themselves -by the dark shadows, they could watch -the player as she sat before the instrument.</p> - -<p>Monica had taken off her heavily-plumed -hat, and the golden sunshine glowed about -her fair head in a sort of mist of liquid -brightness. Her face wore a dreamy, -softened look, pathetically sad and sweet. -Her lustrous dark eyes were full of feeling. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>It seemed as if she were breathing out her -soul in the sweet, low strains of music that -sounded in the air.</p> - -<p>Randolph gazed for one long minute, -and then silently withdrew; it seemed a -kind of sacrilege to take her unawares -like that, when she was unconscious of -their presence.</p> - -<p>“Saint Cecilia!” he murmured softly, -as he descended the stairs once again. -“Monica, my Monica! will you ever be -mine in reality? Will you ever learn to -love me?”</p> - -<p>Monica’s face still wore its softened -dreamy look as she joined Randolph at the -close of the service. Music exercised a -strange power over her, raising her for -a time above the level of the region -in which she moved at other times. She -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>looked pale and a little tired, as if the -strain of the week of anxiety about Arthur -had not yet quite passed off. As they -reached the top of the down and turned -the angle of the cliff, the wind, which had -been gradually rising all day and now blew -half a gale, struck them with all its force, -and Monica staggered a little beneath its -sudden fury.</p> - -<p>“Take my arm, Lady Monica,” said -Randolph. “This is too much for you.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” she answered, gently; -and a sudden thrill ran through Randolph’s -frame as he felt the clinging -pressure of her hand upon his arm, and -was conscious that she was grateful for the -strong support against the fury of the -elements.</p> - -<p>“It will be a dreadful night at sea,” -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>said the girl presently, when a lull in the -wind made speech more easy. “Look at the -waves now? Are they not magnificent?”</p> - -<p>The sea was looking very wild and -grand; Randolph halted a moment beneath -the shelter of a projecting crag, and gazed -at the tempest-tossed ocean beneath.</p> - -<p>“You like a storm at sea, Lady -Monica?”</p> - -<p>She looked at him with a sort of horror -in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Like a storm!”</p> - -<p>“You were admiring the grandeur of the -sea just now.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, you do not understand!” she said, -and gazed out before her, a far-away look -in her eyes. Presently she spoke again, -looking at him for a moment with a world -of sadness in her eyes, and then away -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>over the tossing sea. “It is all very grand, -very beautiful, very wonderful; but oh, so -cruel, so pitiless in its strength and beauty! -Think of the sailors, the fishermen out on -the sea on a night like this, and the wives -and mothers and little children, waiting at -home for those who, perhaps, will never -come back again. You do not understand. -You belong to another world. You are -not one of us. I have been down amongst -them on wild, stormy nights. I have -paced the beach with weeping women, -watching, waiting for the boats that never -came back, or came only to be dashed in -pieces against the cruel rocks before our -very eyes.” She paused a moment, and he -felt her shudder in every limb; but her -voice was still low and quiet, just vibrating -with the depth of her feelings, but very -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>calm and even. “I have seen boats go -down within sight of home, within sound -of our voices, almost within reach of our -outstretched hands—almost, but not quite; -and I have seen brave men, men I have -known from childhood, swept away to -their death, whilst we—their wives, their -mothers, and I—have stood at the water’s -edge, powerless to succour them. Ah, you -do not, you cannot understand! I have -seen all that, and more—and you ask me -if I like a storm at sea!”</p> - -<p>She stood very still for a few seconds, -and then took his arm again.</p> - -<p>“Let us go home,” she said, drooping a -little as the wind met them once more. -“I am so tired.”</p> - -<p>He sheltered her all he could against -the fury of the gale, and presently they -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>were able to seek the shelter of the pine -wood as they neared the Castle. Monica’s -face was very pale, and he looked at her -with a gentle concern that somehow in no -wise offended her.</p> - -<p>“You are very tired,” he said, compassionately. -“The walk has been too -much for you.”</p> - -<p>“Not the walk exactly,” answered -Monica, with a little falter in her voice; “it -was the music and the storm together, I -think. I am glad we sung the hymn for -those at sea to-night.”</p> - -<p>He looked down at her earnestly.</p> - -<p>“And yet the sea is your best friend, -Lady Monica. You have told me so yourself.” -She looked at him with strange, -wistful intensity.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is, it is,” she answered; “my -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>best and earliest friend; and yet—and -yet——”</p> - -<p>She paused, falling into a deep reverie; -he roused her by a question:</p> - -<p>“Yet what, Lady Monica?”</p> - -<p>Again that quick, strange glance.</p> - -<p>“Do you believe in presentiments?”</p> - -<p>“I am not sure that I do.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! then you cannot be a true Trevlyn. -We Trevlyns have a strange forecasting -power. Coming events cast their shadow -over us, and we feel it—we feel it!”</p> - -<p>He had never seen her in this mood -before. He was intensely interested.</p> - -<p>“And you have a presentiment, Lady -Monica?”</p> - -<p>She bent her head, but did not speak.</p> - -<p>“And having said so much, will you -not say more, and tell me what it is?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> -<p>She stopped still, looked earnestly at -him for a moment, and then passed her -hand wearily across her face.</p> - -<p>“Sometimes I think,” she said, “that it -will be the great sea, my childhood’s friend, -that will bring to me the greatest sorrow -of my life; for is it not the emblem of -separation? Please take me in now. I -think a storm is very sad and terrible.”</p> - -<p>He looked into her pale, sweet face, and -perhaps there was something in his glance -that touched her, for as they stood in the -hall at last she looked up with a shadowy -smile, and said:</p> - -<p>“Thank you very much. You have been -very kind to me.”</p> - -<p>That smile and those few simple words -were like a ray of sunlight in his path.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="6. IN PERIL">CHAPTER THE SIXTH.<br /> - -<small>IN PERIL.</small></h2></div> - - -<p>Perhaps there was some truth in what -Monica had said about her ability to -presage coming trouble. At least she -was haunted just now by a strange shadow -of approaching change that future events -justified only too well.</p> - -<p>She often caught her father’s glance -resting upon her with a strange, searching -wistfulness, with something almost of -pleading and appeal in his face. She had -a suspicion that Arthur sometimes looked -at her almost in the same way, as if -he too would ask some favour of her, -could he but bring his mind to do so. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>She felt that she was watched by all the -household, that something was expected -of her, and was awaited with a sort -of subdued expectancy; but the nature -of this service she had not fathomed, and -greatly shrank from attempting to do so. -She told herself many times that she would -do anything for those she loved, that no -sacrifice would be too great which should -add to or secure their happiness; but she -did not fully understand what was expected -of her; only some instinct told her that it -was in some way connected with Randolph -Trevlyn.</p> - -<p>Sir Conrad Fitzgerald came from time -to time to the Castle. He was cordially -received by the Earl and Lady Diana, -who had respected and liked his parents, -and remembered him well as a fair-haired -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>boy, the childish playfellow and friend of -Monica and Arthur. Old feelings of intimacy -sprang up anew after the lapse of -time. It seemed as if he had hardly been -more than a year or two away. It was -difficult to realise that the young man was -practically an entire stranger, of whose -history they were absolutely ignorant.</p> - -<p>Monica felt the change most by a certain -instinctive and involuntary shrinking from -Conrad that she could not in the least -explain or justify. She wished to like -him; she told herself that she did like -him, and yet she was aware that she never -felt at ease in his presence, and that he -inspired her with a certain indescribable -sense of repulsion, which, oddly enough, -was shared by her four-footed friends, the -dogs.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> -<p>Monica had a theory of her own that -dogs brought up much in human society -became excellent judges of character, but if -so, she ought certainly to modify some of -her own opinions, for the dogs all adored -Randolph, and welcomed him effusively -whenever he appeared; but they shrank -back sullenly when Conrad attempted to -make advances, and no effort on his part -conquered their instinctive aversion.</p> - -<p>Conrad himself observed this, and it -annoyed him. He greatly resented Randolph’s -protracted stay at the Castle, as he -detested above all things the necessity of -encountering him.</p> - -<p>“How long is that fellow going to palm -himself upon your father’s hospitality?” he -asked Monica one day, with some appearance -of anger. He had encountered -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>Randolph and the Earl in the park as he -came up, and he was aware that the cold -formality of the greeting which passed -between them had not been lost upon the -keen observation of the latter. “I call it -detestable taste hanging on here as he does. -When is he leaving?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know. Father enjoys his -company, and so does Arthur. I have -not heard anything about his going yet.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you enjoy his company too?” -suggested Conrad, with a touch of insolence -in his manner.</p> - -<p>A faint flush rose in Monica’s pale face. -Her look expressed a good deal of cool scorn.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I do,” she answered.</p> - -<p>Conrad saw at once that he had made -a blunder. Face and voice alike changed, -and he said in his gentle, deprecating way:</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> -<p>“Forgive me, Monica. I had no right -to speak as I did. It was rude and -unjustifiable. Only if you knew as much -as I do about that fellow, you would not -wonder that I hate to see him hanging -round you as he is doing now, waiting, as -it were, to step into the place that is his -by legal, but by no moral right. It would -be hard to see anyone acting such a part. -It is ten times harder when you know -your man.”</p> - -<p>Monica looked straight at Conrad.</p> - -<p>“What do you know against Mr. -Trevlyn? My father is acquainted with -all his past history, and can learn nothing -to his discredit. What story have you -got hold of? I would rather hear facts -than hints.”</p> - -<p>Conrad laughed uneasily.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> -<p>“I know that he is a cad, and a sneak, -and a spy; but I have no wish to upset -your father’s confidence in him. We were -at Oxford together, and of course it was -not pleasant to me to hear his boasting of -his future lordship at Trevlyn. That was -the first thing that made me dislike him. -Later on I had fresh cause.”</p> - -<p>Had Monica been more conversant with -the family history, she would have known -that this boasting could never have taken -place, as Randolph had been far enough -from the peerage at that time. As it was, -she looked grave and a little severe as -she asked:</p> - -<p>“Did he do that?” and listened with -instinctive repugnance to the details -fabricated by the inventive genius of -Conrad.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> -<p>He next cleverly alluded again to his past -follies, and appealed to Monica’s generosity -not to change towards him because he had -sinned.</p> - -<p>“It is so hard to feel cast off by old -friends,” he said, with a very expressive -look at the girl. “I know what it is to see -myself cold shouldered by those to whom -I have learned to look up with reverence -and affection. I have suffered very much -from misrepresentation and hardness—suffered -beyond what I deserve. I did -fall once—I was sorely tempted, and I did -commit one act of ingratitude and deceit -that I have most bitterly repented of. I -was very young and sorely tempted, and I -did something which might have placed -me in the felon’s dock, and would have -done so had somebody not far away had his -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>will. But I was forgiven by the man I -had injured, and I have tried my utmost -since to make atonement for the past. -The hardest part of all has been to see -myself scorned and contemned by those -whose good-will I have most wished to -win. Sometimes I have known sorrow that -has been akin to despair. I have been -met with coldness and disdain when most I -needed help and sympathy. Monica, you -will not help to push me back into the -abyss? You will not help to make me -think that repentance is in vain?”</p> - -<p>She looked at him very seriously, her -eyes full of a sort of thoughtful surprise.</p> - -<p>“I, Conrad. What have I to do with it -or with you?”</p> - -<p>“This much,” he answered, taking her -hand and looking straight into her eyes: -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>“this much, Monica—that nothing so -helps a man who has fallen once as the -friendship of a noble woman like yourself; -nothing hurts him more than her ill-will or -distrust. Give me your friendship, and I -will make myself worthy of it; turn your -back coldly upon me, and I shall feel -doomed to despair.”</p> - -<p>“We have been friends all our lives, -Conrad,” said Monica, with gentle seriousness. -“You know that if I could help -you in the way you mean I should like to -do so.”</p> - -<p>“You will not change—you will not turn -your back upon me, whatever he may say -of me?”</p> - -<p>She looked at him steadily, and answered, -“No.”</p> - -<p>“You promise, Monica?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> -<p>“There is no need for that, Conrad. -When I say a thing I mean it. We are -friends, and I do not change without -sufficient reason.”</p> - -<p>He saw that he had said enough; he -raised her hand to his lips and kissed it -once with a humility and reverence that -could not offend her. Monica wandered -down by the lonely cliff path to the shore, -revolving many thoughts in her mind, -feeling strangely absorbed and abstracted.</p> - -<p>The wind blew fresh and strong off the -sea. The tide rolled in fast, salt, and -strong. Monica felt that she wanted to be -alone to-day—alone with the great wild -ocean that she loved so well, even -whilst she feared it too in its fiercer -moods. She therefore made her way with -the agility and sure-footed steadiness of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>long practice over a number of great -boulders, and along a jutting ledge of rock -that stretched a considerable distance out -to sea—a sunken reef that had brought to -destruction many a hapless fisherman’s -craft, and more than one stately vessel.</p> - -<p>At high tide it was covered, but it would -not be high water for some hours yet, and -Monica, in her restless state of mental -tension, had forgotten that the high spring -tides were lashing the sea to fury just now -upon this iron-bound coast, rendered more -swift and strong and high by the steady -way in which the wind set towards the -land.</p> - -<p>Standing on the great flat rock at the -end of the sunken reef, a rock that was -never covered even at the highest tides, -Monica was soon lost in so profound a -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>reverie that time flew by unheeded; and -only when the giant waves began to throw -their spray about her feet as they dashed -up against the rock, did she suddenly rouse -up to the consciousness that for once in her -life she had forgotten herself, and forgotten -the uncertain temper of her tyrant playfellow, -and had allowed her retreat to be -cut off.</p> - -<p>She looked round her quietly and -steadily, not frightened, but fully conscious -of her danger. The reef was already -covered; it would be impossible to retrace -her footsteps with the waves dashing wildly -over the sunken rocks. Monica was a -bold and practised swimmer, but to swim -ashore in a heavy sea such as was now -running was obviously out of the question. -To stand upon that lonely rock until the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>tide fell again was a feat of strength and -endurance almost equally impossible. Her -best chance lay in being seen from the -shore and rescued. Someone might pass -that way, or even come in search of her. -Only the daylight was already failing, and -would soon be gone.</p> - -<p>Monica looked round her, awed, yet -calm, understanding, without realising, the -deadly peril in which she stood. There -was always a boat—her little boat—lying -at anchor in the bay, ready for her use at -any moment. Her eyes turned towards it -instinctively, and as they did so she became -aware of something bobbing up and down -in the water—the head of a swimmer, as -she saw the next moment, swimming out -towards her boat.</p> - -<p>Someone must have seen her, then, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>as all the fishing-smacks were out, and -there was no way of reaching the anchored -boat, save by swimming, had elected to -run some personal risk rather than waste -precious time in seeking aid farther afield.</p> - -<p>A glow of gratitude towards her -courageous rescuer filled Monica’s heart, -and this did not diminish as she saw the -difficulty he had first in reaching the boat, -then in casting it loose, and last, but not -least, in guiding and pushing it towards an -uncovered rock and in getting in. But -this difficult and perilous office was accomplished -in safety at last, and the boat was -quickly rowed over the heaving, angry -waves to the spot where Monica stood -alone, amid the tossing waste of -water.</p> - -<p>Nearer and nearer came the tiny craft, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>and Monica experienced an odd sensation -of mingled surprise and dismay as she -recognised in her preserver none other than -Randolph Trevlyn.</p> - -<p>But it was not a time in which speeches -could be made or thanks spoken. To bring -the boat up to the rock in the midst of the -rolling breakers was a task of no little -difficulty and danger, and had not Randolph -been experienced from boyhood in matters -pertaining to the sea, he could not possibly -have accomplished the feat unaided and -alone. There was no bungling on Monica’s -part, either. With steady nerve and quiet -courage she awaited the moment for the -downward spring. It was made at exactly -the right second; the boat swayed, but -righted itself immediately. Randolph had -the head round in a moment away from the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>dangerous rock. In ten minutes they had -reached the shore and had landed upon the -beach.</p> - -<p>Not a word had been spoken all that -time. Monica had given Randolph one -expressive glance as she took her seat in -the boat, and that is all that had so far -passed between them.</p> - -<p>When, however, he gave her his hand -to help her to disembark, and they stood -together on the shingle, she said, very -seriously and gently:</p> - -<p>“It was very kind of you to come out -to me, Mr. Trevlyn. I think I should have -been drowned but for you,” and she turned -her eyes seaward with a gaze that was -utterly inscrutable.</p> - -<p>He looked at her a moment intently, and -then stooped and picked up his overcoat, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>which lay beside his pilot jacket and boots, -upon the stones.</p> - -<p>“Will you oblige me by putting this on -in place of your own wet jacket? You -are drenched with spray.”</p> - -<p>She woke up from her reverie then, and -looked up quickly, doing as he asked -without a word; but when she had donned -the warm protecting garment, she said:</p> - -<p>“You are drenched to the skin yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, so a garment more or less is of no -consequence. Now walk on, please; do -not wait for me; I will be after you in -two minutes.”</p> - -<p>Again she did his bidding in the same -dreamy way, and walked on towards the -ascent by the steep cliff path. He was not -long in following her, and they walked in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>almost unbroken silence to the Castle. -When they reached the portal, Monica -paused, and raised her eyes once more to -his face.</p> - -<p>“You have saved my life to-day,” she -said. “I am—I think I am—very grateful -to you.”</p> - -<p>Arthur’s excitement and delight when he -heard of the adventure were very great.</p> - -<p>“So he saved you, Monica—at the risk -of his life? Ah, that just proves it!”</p> - -<p>“Proves what?”</p> - -<p>“Why, that he is in love with you, of -course, just as he ought to be, and will -marry you some day, make us all happy; -and keep us all at Trevlyn. What could -be more delightful and appropriate?”</p> - -<p>A wave of colour swept over Monica’s -face.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> -<p>“You are a foolish boy, Arthur.”</p> - -<p>“I am not a foolish boy!” he answered, -exultingly; “I know what I am saying. -Randolph <em>does</em> love you; I can see it more -plainly every day. He loves you with all -his heart, and some day soon he will ask -you to be his wife. Of course you will say -yes—you must like him, I am sure, as much -as every one else does; and then everything -will come right, and we shall all be -perfectly happy. Things always do come -right in the end, if we only will but -believe it.”</p> - -<p>Monica sat very still, a strange, dream-like -feeling stealing over her. Arthur’s -playful words shed a sudden flood of light -upon much that had been dark before, -and for a moment she was blinded and -dazzled.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> -<p>Randolph Trevlyn loved her! Yes, she -could well believe it, little as she knew of -love, thinking of the glance bent upon her -not long ago, which had thrilled her then, -she knew not why.</p> - -<p>Monica trembled, yet she was dimly -conscious of a strange under-current of -startled joy beneath the troubled waters of -doubt, despondency, and perplexity. She -could not understand herself, nor read her -heart aright, yet it seemed as if through -the lifting of the clouds, she obtained a -rapid passing glimpse of a land of golden -sunshine beyond, whither her face and -footsteps alike were turned—as a traveller -amid the mountain mists sees before him -now and again the bright sunny smiling -valley beneath which he will shortly reach.</p> - -<p>The land of promise was spreading itself -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>out already before Monica’s eyes, and a -dim perception in her heart was telling -her that this was so. Yet the sandy -desert path still lay before her for awhile, -for like many others, her eyes were -partially blinded, and she turned from the -direct way, and wandered still for awhile -in the arid waste. She lacked the faith to -grasp the promise; but it was shining -before her all the while, and in her heart -of hearts she felt it, though she could not -yet grasp the truth.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/i_124.jpg" width="400" height="41" alt="decoration" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="7. “WILT THOU HAVE THIS WOMAN?”">CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.<br /> - -<small>“WILT THOU HAVE THIS WOMAN?”</small></h2></div> - - -<p>Lord Trevlyn was not unobservant of the -feelings with which Randolph regarded -Monica. Quiet and self-contained as the -young man was, his admiration and the -pleasure he took in her society was still -sufficiently obvious, and his own opinions -were triumphantly endorsed by those of -Lady Diana.</p> - -<p>“He is over head and ears in love with -her!” exclaimed that sharp-eyed dame to -her brother, about a couple of days after -Monica’s rescue by Randolph, of which, -however, she luckily knew nothing. -Indeed, the story of that adventure had -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>only been told by the girl to Arthur and -her father, and both had had the tact and -discrimination not to broach the subject to -Lady Diana.</p> - -<p>“He is over head and ears in love with -her, but she gives him not the smallest -encouragement, the haughty minx! and he -is modest, and keeps his feelings to himself. -It seems to me that the time has come -when you ought to speak out yourself, -Trevlyn; we cannot expect to keep a gay -young man like Randolph for ever in these -solitudes. Speak to him yourself, and see -if you cannot manage to bring about some -proper understanding.”</p> - -<p>Lord Trevlyn had, in fact, some such idea -in his own mind. He and his young -kinsman were by this time upon easy and -intimate terms. They felt a mutual liking -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>and respect, and had at times very nearly -approached the subject so near to the -hearts of both. That very night as they sat -together in the earl’s study, after the rest -of the household had retired, Lord Trevlyn -spoke to his guest with frankness and unreserve -of the thoughts that had for long -been stirring in his mind.</p> - -<p>He spoke to his kinsman and heir of -his anxieties as to the future of his dearly-loved -and only child, who would at his -death be only very inadequately provided -for. He did not attempt to conceal the -hope he had cherished in asking Randolph -to be his guest, that some arrangement -might be made which should conduce -to her future happiness; and just as the -young man’s heart began to beat high -with the tumult of conflicting feelings -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>within him, the old earl looked him steadily -in the face, and concluded with a certain -stately dignity that was exceedingly impressive.</p> - -<p>“Randolph Trevlyn, I had heard much -in your favour before I saw you, so much, -indeed, that I ventured to entertain hopes -that may sound scheming and cold-blooded -when put into words, yet which do not, I -trust, proceed from motives altogether unworthy. -My daughter is very dear to me. -To see her happily settled in life, under -the protecting care of one who will truly -love and cherish her, has been the deepest -wish of my life. In our secluded existence -here there has been small chance of -realising this wish. I will not deny that in -asking you to be our guest it was with -hopes I need not farther specify. Some of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>these hopes have been amply realised. I -will not seem to flatter, yet let me say that -in you I have found every quality I most -hoped to see in the man who is to be my -successor here. You are a true Trevlyn, -and I am deeply thankful it is so; and -besides this, I have lately entertained hopes -that another wish of mine is slowly fulfilling -itself. I have sometimes thought—let me -say it plainly—that you have learned to -love my daughter.”</p> - -<p>“Lord Trevlyn,” said Randolph, with a -calmness of manner that betokened deep -feeling held resolutely under control, “I -do love your daughter. I think I have done -so ever since our first meeting. Every day -that passes only serves to deepen my love. -If I have your consent to try and win her -hand, I shall count myself a happy man -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>indeed, although I fear her heart is not one -to be easily moved or won.”</p> - -<p>Lord Trevlyn’s face expressed a keen -satisfaction and gladness. He held out -his hand to his young kinsman, and said -quietly:</p> - -<p>“You have made a happy man of me, -Randolph Trevlyn. In your hands I can -place the future of my child with perfect -confidence. You love her, and you will -care for her, and make her life happy.”</p> - -<p>Randolph wrung the proffered hand.</p> - -<p>“Indeed you may trust me to do all in -my power. I love her with my whole heart. -I would lay down my life to serve her.”</p> - -<p>“As you have demonstrated already,” -said the old earl, with a grave smile. “I -have not thanked you for saving my child’s -life. I hope in the future she will repay -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>the debt by making your life happy, as you, -I am convinced, will make hers.”</p> - -<p>Randolph’s bronzed cheek flushed a little -at these words.</p> - -<p>“Lord Trevlyn,” he said, “to gain your -goodwill and assent in this matter is a -source of great satisfaction to me; but I -cannot blind my eyes to the fear that Lady -Monica herself, with whom the decision -must rest, has not so far given me any -encouragement to hope that she regards me -as anything beyond a mere acquaintance -and chance guest. I love her too well, I -think, not to be well aware of her feelings -towards me, and I cannot flatter myself for -a moment by the belief that these are -anything warmer than a sort of gentle -liking, little removed from indifference.”</p> - -<p>The earl’s face was full of thought.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> -<p>“Monica’s nature is peculiar,” he said; -“her feelings lie very deep, and are difficult -to read; no one can really know what they -may be.”</p> - -<p>“I admit that; yet I confess I have -little hope—at least in the present.”</p> - -<p>“Whilst I,” said Lord Trevlyn, quietly, -“have little fear.”</p> - -<p>An eager look crossed Randolph’s face.</p> - -<p>“You think——”</p> - -<p>“I cannot easily explain what I think, -but I believe there will be less difficulty -with Monica than you anticipate. She -does not yet know her own heart—that I -admit. She may be startled at first, but -that is not necessarily against us. Will -you let me break this matter to her? -Will you let me act as your ambassador? -I understand Monica as you can hardly do. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>Will you let me see if I cannot plead your -cause as eloquently as you can do it for -yourself? Trust me it will be better so. -My daughter and I understand one another -well.”</p> - -<p>Randolph was silent a moment, then he -said, very gravely and seriously:</p> - -<p>“If you think that it will be best so, I -gladly place myself in your hands. I -confess I should find it difficult to approach -the subject myself—at any rate at present. -But”—he paused a moment, and looked -the other full in the face—“pardon me for -saying as much—you do not propose -putting any pressure upon your daughter? -Believe me, I would rather never see her -face again than feel that she accepted me -as a husband under any kind of compulsion -or restraint.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> -<p>Lord Trevlyn smiled a smile of approval.</p> - -<p>“You need not fear,” he answered, -quietly. “Monica’s nature is not one to -submit tamely to any kind of coercion, nor -am I the man to attempt to constrain her -feelings upon a matter so important as this.”</p> - -<p>“And if,” pursued Randolph, with quiet -resolution, “Lady Monica declines the -proposal made to her on my behalf, I shall -request you to join with me in breaking -the entail; for I can never consent to be -the means of taking from her that which -by every moral right is hers. I could not -for a moment tolerate the idea of wresting -from her the right to style herself, as she -has always been styled, the Lady of -Trevlyn. This is her rightful home, and I -shall appeal to you, if my suit fails, to -assist me in installing her there for life.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> -<p>The old earl looked much moved.</p> - -<p>“This is very noble of you—most noble -and generous: but we will not talk of it -yet. I am not sure that I could bring -myself to help in separating the old title -from the old estate. You are very -generous to think of making the sacrifice; -whether I ought to permit you to do so is -another thing. At least let us wait and see -what our first negotiation brings forth. -Monica ought to know——” he paused, -smiled, and held out his hand. “Good-night. -I will speak to my daughter upon -the first opportunity. You shall have your -answer to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>The next day Randolph spent at <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> -Maws with Tom Pendrill. He felt that -whilst his fate hung in the balance it -would be impossible to remain at Trevlyn. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>He rode across to his friend’s house quite -early in the day, and twilight had fallen -before he returned to the sombre precincts -of the Castle.</p> - -<p>He made his way straight to the earl’s -study; the old man rose quickly upon his -entrance, and held out his hand. His face -beamed with an inward happiness and -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“I wish you joy, Randolph,” he said, -wringing the young man’s hand. “We -may congratulate each other, I think. -Monica is yours—take her, with her -father’s blessing. It seems to me as if I -had nothing left to wish for now, save to -see you made my son, for such indeed you -are to me now.”</p> - -<p>Randolph stood very still. He could -hardly believe his own ears. He had not -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>for a moment expected any definite answer, -save a definite refusal.</p> - -<p>“Lady Monica consents to be my wife?” -he questioned. “Are you sure that this is -so?”</p> - -<p>“I am quite sure. I had it from her -own lips.”</p> - -<p>Randolph’s breath came rather fast.</p> - -<p>“Does she love me?”</p> - -<p>“Presumably she does. Monica would -never give her hand for the sake of rank -or wealth.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he answered quickly, and -took one or two turns about the darkening -room. He was in a strange tumult of -conflicting feeling, and did not hear or -heed the low-spoken words addressed to -the servant, who had just entered with -fresh logs for the fire. His heart was -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>beating wildly; he knew not what to think -or hope. He asked no more questions, not -knowing what to ask.</p> - -<p>And then all at once he saw Monica -standing before him, standing with one -hand closely locked in that of her father, -looking gravely at him in the shadowy -twilight, with an inscrutable wistful sweetness -in her fathomless eyes.</p> - -<p>“Randolph,” said Lord Trevlyn, “here -is your promised wife. I give her to you -with my blessing. May you both be as -happy as you have made me to-day by this -mutual act. Be very good to her, guard -her and shield her, and love her tenderly. -She is used to love and care from her -father; let me feel that in her husband’s -keeping she will gain and not lose by the -change in her future life. Monica, my -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>child, love your husband truly and faithfully. -He is worthy of you, and you are -worthy of him.”</p> - -<p>Lord Trevlyn placed the hand he held -within Randolph’s grasp, and silently withdrew.</p> - -<p>For a moment neither moved nor spoke. -The young man held the hand of his -promised wife between both of his, and -stood quite still, looking down with strange -intensity of feeling into the half-averted -face.</p> - -<p>“Monica,” he said at last, “can this be -true?”</p> - -<p>She lifted her eyes to his for a moment, -and then dropped them before his burning -glance.</p> - -<p>“Monica,” he said again, “can it be -true that you love me?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> -<p>“I will be your wife if you will have -me,” she said, in a very clear, low tone. -“I will love you—if I can. I will try, -indeed. I think I can—some day.”</p> - -<p>He was too passionately in love himself -at that moment to be chilled by this -response. It was more than he had ever -looked for, that sweet surrender of herself. -Protestations of love would sound strangely -from Monica’s lips. He hardly even wished -to hear them. She must feel some tenderness -towards him. She had given herself -to him to love and cherish; surely his -great love could accomplish the rest.</p> - -<p>He drew her gently towards him. She -did not resist; she let herself be encircled -by his protecting arm.</p> - -<p>“I will try to make you very happy,” -he said, with a sort of manly simplicity -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>that meant more than the most ardent -protestations could have done. “May I -kiss you, Monica?”</p> - -<p>She lifted her down-bent face a little, and -he pressed a kiss upon her brow. She -made no attempt to return the caress, but -he did not expect it. It was enough that -she permitted him to worship her.</p> - -<p>“You have made me very happy, -Monica,” he said presently, whilst the -shadows deepened round them. “Will -you not let me hear you say that you are -happy too?”</p> - -<p>She looked at him at last. He could -not read the meaning of that gaze.</p> - -<p>“I want to make you happy, my -darling,” said Randolph, very softly.</p> - -<p>Again that strange, earnest gaze.</p> - -<p>“Make my father and Arthur happy,” -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>she said, sweetly and steadily, “and I shall -be happy too.”</p> - -<p>He did not understand the full drift of -those words, as he might perhaps have -done had he been calmer—did not realise -as at another moment he might have done -their deep significance. He was desperately, -passionately in love, carried away inwardly, -if not outwardly, by the tumult of his -feelings. He did not realise—it was hardly -likely that he should—that to secure her -father’s happiness and the future well-being -and happiness of her brother Monica had -promised to be his wife. She respected -him, she liked him, she was resolved to -make him a true and faithful wife; and -she knew so little of the true nature of -wedded love that it never occurred to her -to think of the injury she might be doing -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>to him in giving the hand without the -heart.</p> - -<p>She had been moved and disquieted by -Arthur’s words of a few days back. Her -father’s appeal to her that day had touched -her to the quick. What better could she -do with her life than secure with it the -happiness of those she loved? How better -could she keep her vow towards Arthur -than by making the promise asked of her? -Monica thought first of others in this -matter, it is true, and yet there was a -strange throb akin to joy deep down in her -heart, when she thought of the love -tendered to her by one she had learned to -esteem and to trust. Those sweet, sudden -glimpses of the golden land of sunshine -beyond kept flashing before her eyes, and -thrilled her with feelings that made her -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>almost afraid. She did not know what it -all meant. She did not know that it was -but the foreshadowing of the deep love that -was rooting itself, all unknown, in the -tenderest fibres of her nature. She never -thought she loved Randolph Trevlyn, but -she was conscious of a strange exultation -and stress of feeling, which she attributed -to the enthusiasm of the sacrifice she had -made for those she loved. She did not yet -know the secret of her own heart.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> -<img src="images/i_144.jpg" width="350" height="132" alt="decoration" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="8. “WOO’D, AND MARRIED, AND A’.”">CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.<br /> - -<small>“WOO’D, AND MARRIED, AND A’.”</small></h2></div> - - -<p>So Monica had engaged herself to her -kinsman, Randolph Trevlyn, and the -neighbourhood, though decidedly astonished -at this sudden surrender of liberty -on the part of the fair, unapproachable -girl, could not but see how desirable was -the match from every point of view, and -rejoice in the thought that Trevlyn would -never lose its well-loved lady.</p> - -<p>As for Monica herself, the days passed -by as in a dream—a strong dream of misty -sunshine and sweet, faint fragrance, -through which she wandered with un<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>certain -steps, led onward by a sense of -brighter light beyond.</p> - -<p>She was not unhappy; indeed, a strange -new sense of calm and rest had fallen upon -her since she had laid her hand in -Randolph’s and promised to love him if she -could. A few short weeks ago how she -would have chafed against the fetters she -wore! Now she hardly felt them as -fetters; they neither galled nor hurt her. -Indeed, after the feeling of uncertainty, of -impending change that had hung over her -of late, this peaceful calm was doubly -grateful. It seemed at last as if she had -reached the shelter of a safe haven, and -pausing there, with a sense of grateful well-being, -she felt as if no storm or tempest -could ever reach her again.</p> - -<p>Monica’s nature was not introspective; -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>she did not easily analyse her feelings. -Had she done so now, she might have laid -bare a secret deep down within her that -would have surprised her not a little; but -she never attempted to look into her heart, -she rather avoided definite thought; she -lived in a sort of vaguely sweet dream, glad -and thankful for the undercurrent of happiness -which had so unexpectedly crept into -her life. She did not seek to know its source—it -was enough that it was there.</p> - -<p>Randolph was very good to her, she did -not attempt to deny that. Nothing could -have been more tender and chivalrous -than his manner towards her. He arrogated -none of the rights which an affianced -husband might fairly have claimed; he was -content with what she gave him; he never -tried to force her confidence or to win -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>words or promises that did not come -spontaneously to her lips.</p> - -<p>She was shy with him for some time -after the engagement had been ratified, -more silent and reserved than she had been -before; yet there was a charm in her very -silence that went home to his heart, and -he felt that she was nearer to him day by -day.</p> - -<p>“I will win her yet—heart and soul,” -he would say sometimes, with a thrill of -proud joy as he looked into the sweet eyes -raised to his, and read a something in their -depths that made his heart throb gladly. -“Give me time, only time, and she shall be -altogether mine.”</p> - -<p>She never shunned him. She let him be -her companion when and where he would, -and she began to look for him, and to feel -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>more satisfied when he was at her side. He -was too wise to overdo her with his society, -or seem to infringe the liberty in which she -had grown up; but he frequently accompanied -her on her walks or rides, and he -had the satisfaction of feeling that his -presence was not distasteful to her; indeed, -as days went by, and she grew used to the -idea that had been at first so strange, he -fancied that there was something of -welcome in the smile that greeted his -approach.</p> - -<p>She never spoke of the future when they -should be man and wife, and only by a hint -here and there did he broach the subject -or tell of his private affairs. Both were -content for the time being to live in the -present—that present that seemed so calm -and bright and full of promise.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> -<p>As days and weeks fled by, a colour -dawned upon Monica’s cheeks and a light -in her eyes; she grew more beautiful every -day or so, thought those who loved her, and -watched her with loving scrutiny; and Mrs. -Pendrill, who was, so to speak, the girl’s -good angel in this crisis of her life, would -caress the golden head sometimes, and ask -with gentle, motherly solicitude:</p> - -<p>“My Monica is happy, is she not?”</p> - -<p>“I think so, Aunt Elizabeth,” Monica -answered once, speaking out more freely -than she had done before. “Other people -are happy—the dread and uncertainty -about the future seems all gone. Trevlyn -is not sad any longer—it is my own home -again, my very own. I cannot quite -express it, but something seems to have -come into my life and changed everything. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>I am happy often now—nearly always, I -think.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Pendrill smiled a little.</p> - -<p>“Does your happiness result from the -knowledge that you—you and Arthur: I -suppose I must include him—need never -leave Trevlyn, and that you have pleased -your father? Tell me, Monica, is that -all?”</p> - -<p>A faint colour mantled the girl’s face.</p> - -<p>“I know it sounds selfish; but I hardly -think anyone knows what Trevlyn is to us, -and what Arthur’s welfare is to me.” Then -reading the meaning of the earnest glance -bent upon her, she added quickly, “Ah, -yes, Aunt Elizabeth, I know there is <em>that</em> -too. He is very, very good to me, and I -will do everything to make him happy, and -to be a good wife when the time comes. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>Indeed, I do think of him. I know what -he is, and what he deserves—only—only I -cannot talk about that even to you.”</p> - -<p>“I do not want you to talk, my love, I -only want you to feel.”</p> - -<p>And very low the answer was spoken.</p> - -<p>“I think I do feel.”</p> - -<p>Certainly things were going well, very -well. It seemed as if the course of -Randolph’s true love might run smoothly -enough to the very end now. Tom Pendrill -chaffed him somewhat mercilessly on the -easy victory he had obtained over the -somewhat difficult subject, and he felt an -exultant sense of joyful triumph when he -compared his position of to-day with the -one he had occupied a week or two back. -Monica’s gentleness and growing dependence -upon him were inexpressibly sweet, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>the dawn of a quiet happiness in her -face filled his heart with delight. The -victory was not quite won yet, but he -began to feel a confidence that it was not -far distant.</p> - -<p>And this hope would in all probability -have been realised in due course, had it -not been for untoward circumstances, and -from the presence of enemies in the camp, -one his sworn foe, the other his champion -and ally: but despite this, a born mischief-maker -and mar-plot.</p> - -<p>So long as Randolph was on the spot -all went well. His strong will dominated -all others, and his influence upon Monica -produced its own effect. Love like his -could not but win its way to the heart of -the woman he loved.</p> - -<p>But Randolph could not remain always -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>at Trevlyn. Hard as it was to tear himself -away, the conventionalities of life demanded -his absence from time to time, and -other duties called him elsewhere. And it -was when his back was fairly turned that -the mischief-makers began their task of -undoing, as far as was possible, all the -good that had been done.</p> - -<p>Randolph had been exceedingly careful -to say nothing to Monica about hastening -their marriage. He saw that she took for -granted a long engagement, that she had -hardly contemplated as yet the inevitable -end whither that engagement tended; and -until he had assured himself that her -heart was wholly his, nothing would have -induced him to ask her to give herself -irrevocably to him. When the right -moment came she would surrender herself -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>willingly, for Monica was not one who -would do anything by halves. Till that -day came, however, he was resolved to -wait, and breathe no word of the future -that awaited them.</p> - -<p>Lady Diana was of a different way of -thinking. She had been amazed at -Monica’s pliability in the matter of her -engagement, so surprised and so well -pleased that, for some considerable time, -she had acted with unusual discretion, -and had avoided saying anything to irritate -or alarm the sensitive feelings of her niece. -Possibly she stood in a little unconscious -awe of Randolph, for certainly so long as -he remained she was quiet and discreet -enough. But when his presence was once -removed, then began a system of petty persecution -and annoyance that was the very -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>thing to rouse in Monica a spirit of opposition -and hostility.</p> - -<p>Lady Diana had set her heart upon a -speedy marriage, half afraid that her niece -might change her mind; she took a half -spiteful pleasure in the knowledge that the -girl’s independence was at last to be -curbed, and that she was about to take -upon herself the common lot of womanhood. -She lost no opportunities of reading -homilies on wifely submission and -subjection. She bestirred herself over the -matter of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">trousseau</i> as if the day were -actually fixed, and Monica’s indignant -protests were laughed at and ignored as if -too childish for serious argument.</p> - -<p>The girl began to observe, too, that her -father spoke of her marriage as of something -speedily approaching, and that he, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>Lady Diana, and even Arthur, seemed to -understand that she would spend much of -her time away from Trevlyn, when once -that ceremony had taken place. Her -father and brother spoke cheerfully of her -leaving them, taking it for granted that her -affianced husband was first in her thoughts, -and that they must make her way easy to -go away with him, without one regret for -those left behind. Lady Diana, with more -of feminine insight, had less of kindliness -in her method of approaching the subject; -but when she found them all agreed upon -the point, the girl felt almost as if she had -been betrayed. There was no Randolph to -shield and protect her. She could not put -into written words the tumult of her conflicting -feelings; she could only struggle and -suffer, and feel like a wild thing trapped in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>the hunter’s toils. Ah, if only Randolph -had not left her! But when the poison -had done its work, she ceased even to wish -for him back.</p> - -<p>Another enemy to her peace of mind -was Conrad Fitzgerald. Monica was growing -to feel a great repugnance to this -fair-haired, smooth-tongued man, despite -the nominal friendship that existed between -him and those of her name. She -knew that her feelings were changing -towards him; but, like other young things, -she was ashamed of any such change, -regarding it as treacherous and ungenerous, -especially after the pledge she had given -him.</p> - -<p>Conrad thus found opportunities of -seeing her from time to time, and set to -work with malicious pleasure to poison -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>her mind against her affianced husband. -She would not listen to a single direct word -against him: that he discovered almost at -once, somewhat to his astonishment and -chagrin; but “there are more ways of -killing a cat than by hanging it,” as he -said to himself; and a well-directed shaft -steeped in poison, and launched with a -practised hand, struck home and did its -work only too well.</p> - -<p>He insinuated that after her marriage -Trevlyn would never be her home during -her father’s life-time, at least, possibly never -any more. Randolph had property of his -own; was it likely he would bury himself -and his beautiful young wife in a desolate -place like that? Of course her care of -Arthur would be a thing entirely put on -one side. It was out of the question that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>she should ever be allowed to devote -herself to him as of old, when once she -had placed her neck beneath the matrimonial -yoke. Most likely some excuse -would be forthcoming to rid Trevlyn of -the undesirable presence of the invalid. -Randolph was not a man to be deterred by -any nice scruples from going his own -way. Words spoken before marriage were -never regarded seriously when once the -inevitable step had been taken.</p> - -<p>Monica heard, and partly believed—believed -enough to make her restless and -miserable. Never a word crossed her lips -that could show her trust in Randolph -shaken. She was loyal to him outwardly, -but she suffered keenly, nevertheless. He -was not there to give her confidence, as -he could well have done, by his unwaver<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>ing -love and devotion, and in his absence, -the influence he had won slowly waned, -and the old fear and distrust crept back.</p> - -<p>It might have vanished had he returned -to charm it away: but, alas! he only -came to make Monica his wife in sudden, -unexpected fashion, before her heart was -really won.</p> - -<p>Lord Trevlyn had been taken dangerously -ill. It was an attack similar to those he -had suffered from once or twice before, but -in a more severe form. His life was in -imminent danger; nothing could save him, -the doctors agreed, but the most perfect -rest of body and mind; and it seemed as if -only the satisfaction of calling Randolph -son, of seeing him Monica’s husband, could -secure to him that repose of spirit so -absolutely essential to his recovery.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> -<p>Monica did not waver when her father -looked pleadingly into her face, and asked -if she were ready. Her assent was calmly -and firmly spoken, and after that she left -all in other hands, and did not quit her -father’s presence night or day.</p> - -<p>He was better for the knowledge that -the wish of his heart was about to be -consummated, and she was so utterly -absorbed in him as to be all but unconscious -of the flight of time. She knew that -days sped by as on wings. She even -heard them speak of “to-morrow” without -any stirring of heart. She was absorbed -in care for her almost dying father; she -had no thought to spare for aught else.</p> - -<p>On the evening of that day Randolph -stood before her, holding her hands in his -warm clasp.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> -<p>“Is this your wish, my Monica?”</p> - -<p>She thrilled a little beneath his ardent -gaze, a momentary sense of comfort and -protection came over her in his presence; -but physical languour blunted her -feelings; she was too weary even to feel -acutely.</p> - -<p>“It is my wish,” she answered gently.</p> - -<p>He bent his head and kissed her tenderly -and lingeringly, looking earnestly into the -pale, sweet face that seemed not quite so -responsive as it had done when he saw -it last; but he could not read the look -it wore. He kissed her and went away, -breathing half sadly, half triumphantly, the -word “To-morrow.”</p> - -<p>Lady Diana, ever indefatigable and contriving, -had managed as if by magic to -have all things in readiness; rich white -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>satin and brocade, orange blossom and -lace veil—all was in readiness—as if she -had had weeks for her preparations.</p> - -<p>Monica started and half recoiled as she -saw the bridal dress laid out for her adornment, -but she was quiet and passive in the -hands of her attendants as they arrayed -her in her snowy robes, and well she repaid -their efforts. Only Lady Diana felt any dissatisfaction.</p> - -<p>“Why, child,” she said, impatiently, -“you look like a snow maiden. You might -be a nun about to take the veil instead of -a bride going to her wedding. I have no -patience with such pale looks. Randolph -will think we have brought him a corpse -for his bride.”</p> - -<p>Randolph was waiting in the little -church on the cliff. His heart beat thick -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>and fast; he himself began to feel as if he -were living in a dream. He could not -realise that the time had come when he -was to call Monica his own.</p> - -<p>Lady Diana and Mrs. Pendrill were there, -and a friend of his own, young Lord -Haddon, who had accompanied him from -town the previous day, to play the part of -best man at the ceremony. There was a -little rustle and little stir outside, and then -Monica entered, leaning on Tom Pendrill’s -arm, and, without once lifting her eyes, -walked steadily up the church, till she stood -beside Randolph.</p> - -<p>Never, perhaps, had she looked more -lovely, yet never, perhaps, more remote -and unapproachable, than when she stood -before the altar in her bridal robes, to -pledge herself for better for worse to the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>man who loved her, till death should them -part.</p> - -<p>He looked at her with a strange pang -and aching at heart; but the moment was -not one when hesitation or drawing back -was possible.</p> - -<p>In a few more minutes Monica and -Randolph Trevlyn were made man and -wife.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> -<img src="images/i_166.jpg" width="350" height="78" alt="decoration" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="9. MARRIED">CHAPTER THE NINTH.<br /> - -<small>MARRIED.</small></h2></div> - - -<p>“Married! Married! Married!”</p> - -<p>The monstrous vibrating throb of the -express train seemed ceaselessly repeating -that one word. The sound of it was -beaten in upon Monica’s brain as with hot -hammers, and yet she did not feel as if -she understood what it meant, or realised -what happened to her. One thing only -was clear to her; that she had been torn -away from Trevlyn, from her father, who, -though pronounced convalescent, was still -in a very precarious state; from Arthur, -who after the anxiety and excitement of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>the past days, was prostrated by a sharp -attack of illness; from everything and -everybody she held most dear; and cast -as it were upon the mercy of a comparative -stranger, who did not seem the less strange -to her, because he had the right to call -himself her husband.</p> - -<p>What had happened during the three -days that had passed since Monica had -stood beside Randolph in the little cliff -church, and had pledged herself to him -for better or worse?</p> - -<p>She herself could not have said, but the -facts can be summed up in a few words.</p> - -<p>When once Lord Trevlyn had seen -Monica led by Randolph to his bedside in -her bridal white, and knew that they were -man and wife, a change for the better had -taken place in his condition, very slight at -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>first, but increasing every hour. Little by -little the danger passed away, and for the -time at least his life was safe.</p> - -<p>But Monica’s mind, no sooner relieved -on his account, was thrown into fresh -misery and suspense by a bad attack of -illness on Arthur’s part, and the strain -upon her was so great, that, coming as it -did after all the mental conflict she had -lately endured, her own health threatened -to break down, and this caused no small -anxiety in the minds of all about her.</p> - -<p>“There is only one thing to be done, -and that is to take her right away out of -it all,” said Tom Pendrill, with authority. -“She will break down as sure as fate if she -stays here. The associations of the place -are quite too much for her. She will have -a brain or nervous fever if she is not taken -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>away. You have a house in London, -Trevlyn? Take her there and keep her -quiet, but let her have change of scene; -let her see fresh faces, and get into new -habits, and see the world from a fresh -stand-point. It will do her all the good -in the world. She may rebel at first, and -think herself miserable; but look at her -now. What can be worse than the way in -which she is going on? Trevlyn is killing -her, whether she knows it or not. Let us -see what London can do for her.”</p> - -<p>No dissentient voice was raised against -this suggestion. The earl, Lady Diana, -Randolph, and even Arthur, were all in -accord, and Monica heard her sentence -with that unnatural quietude that had -disturbed them all so much.</p> - -<p>She did not protest or rebel, but accepted -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>her fate very quietly, as she had accepted -the marriage that had been the preliminary -step.</p> - -<p>How white she looked as she lay back -in her corner of the carriage! how lonely, -how frail, how desolate! Randolph’s -heart ached for her, for he knew her -thoughts were with her sick father and -suffering brother; knew that it, not -unnaturally, seemed very, very hard to be -taken away at a crisis such as the present. -She could not estimate the causes that -made a change so imperative for her. She -could not see why she was hurried away so -relentlessly. It had all been very hard -upon her, and upon him also, had he had -thought to spare for himself; but he was -too much absorbed in sorrow for her to -consider his own position over-much.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> -<p>He was indirectly the cause of her grief, -and his whole being was absorbed in the -longing to comfort her.</p> - -<p>She looked so white and wan as the -hours passed by, that he grew alarmed -about her. He had done before all he -could to make her warm and comfortable, -and had then withdrawn a little, fancying -his close proximity distasteful to her, but -she looked so ill at last that he could keep -away no longer, and came over to her, -taking her hand in his.</p> - -<p>“Monica,” he said gently.</p> - -<p>The long lashes stirred a little and -slowly lifted themselves. The dark eyes -were dim and full of trouble. She looked -at him wonderingly for a moment, almost -as if she did not know him, and then she -closed her eyes with a little shuddering sigh.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> -<p>He was alarmed, and not without cause, -for the strain of the past days was showing -itself now, and want of rest and sleep had -worn down her strength to the lowest ebb. -She was so faint and weary that all power -of resistance had left her. She let her -husband do what he would, submitted -passively to be tended like a child, and -heaved a sigh that sounded almost like one -of relief as he drew her towards him, so -that her weary head could rest upon his -broad shoulder. There was something -restful and supporting, of which she was -dumbly conscious in the deep love and -protecting gentleness of this strong man.</p> - -<p>She only spoke once to him, and that -was as they neared their destination, and -the lights of the great city began to flash -upon her bewildered gaze. Then she sat -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>up, though with an effort, and looking at -her husband, said gently:</p> - -<p>“You have been very good to me, -Randolph.”</p> - -<p>His heart bounded at the words, but he -only asked. “Are you better, Monica?”</p> - -<p>She pressed her hand to her brow.</p> - -<p>“My head aches so,” she said, and the -white strained look came back to her face. -She was almost frightened by the flashing -lights and the myriads of people she saw -as the train steamed into the terminus; and -she could only cling to Randolph’s arm in -hopeless bewilderment, as he piloted her -through the crowd to the carriage that was -awaiting them.</p> - -<p>Randolph owned a house near to the -Park, in a pleasant open situation. It -had been left to him by an uncle, a great -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>traveller, and was quite a museum of -costly and interesting treasures, and fitted -up in the luxurious fashion that appeals to -men who have grown used to Oriental ease -and splendour.</p> - -<p>The young man had often pictured -Monica in such surroundings, had wondered -what she would say to it all, how she -would feel in a place so strange and -unlike anything she had ever known. He -had fancied that the open situation of the -house would please her, that she might be -pleased too by the quaint beauty and -harmony of all she saw. He had often -pictured the moment when he should lead -her into her new home and bid her -welcome there, and now, when the time -had come, she was so worn out and ill -that her heavy eyes could hardly look -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>around her, and all he could do was to -support her to her room, to be tended by -his old nurse, Wilberforce, whose services -he had bespoken for his wife in preference -to those of a more youthful and accomplished -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">femme de chambre</i>.</p> - -<p>For some days Monica was really ill, -not with any specific complaint, but -prostrated by nervous exhaustion—too -weary and exhausted to have a clear idea -of what went on around her, only conscious -that everything was very strange, that she -was far away from Trevlyn, and that -strangers were watching over and tending -her.</p> - -<p>Her husband’s care was unremitting. -He was ever by her side. She seemed to -turn to him instinctively amid the other -strange faces, and to be more quiet and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>tranquil when he was near. Yet she -seldom spoke to him; he was not always -certain that she knew him; but that half -unconscious dependence was inexpressibly -sweet, and Randolph felt hope growing -stronger day by day. Surely she was -slowly learning to love him; and indeed -she was, only she knew it not as -yet.</p> - -<p>Then a day came when the feverish -fancies and distressful exhaustion gave -way to more cheering symptoms. Monica -could leave her room, and leaning on her -husband’s arm, wander slowly about the -new home that looked so strange to her. -The smiles began to come back to her eyes, -a faint flush of colour to her cheeks, and -when at length she was laid down upon a -luxurious ottoman beside the drawing-room -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>fire, she held her husband’s hand between -both of hers, and looked up at him with a -glance that went to his very heart.</p> - -<p>“You have been so very, very good to -me, Randolph, though I have only been a -trouble to you all this time. I never -thought I could feel like this away from -Trevlyn. Indeed I will try to make you -happy too.”</p> - -<p>He bent down and kissed her, a thrill of -intense joy running through him.</p> - -<p>“Does that mean that you can be happy -here, my Monica?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She was always perfectly truthful, and -paused a little before answering; yet there -was a light in her eyes and a little smile -upon her lips.</p> - -<p>“It feels very strange,” she said, “and -very like a dream. Of course I miss -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>Trevlyn—of course I would rather be -there; but——” and here she lifted her -eyes with the sweetest glance of trusting -confidence. “I know that you know best, -Randolph, I know that you judge more -wisely than I can do; and that you -always think of my happiness first. You -have been very, very good to me all this -time, far better than I deserve. I am -going to be happy here, and when I may -go home, I know you will be the first to -take me there.”</p> - -<p>He laid his hand upon her head in a -tender caress.</p> - -<p>“I will, indeed, my Monica,” he -answered; “but, believe me, for the -present you are better here. You will -grow strong faster away from Trevlyn than -near it.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> -<p>She smiled a little, very sweetly.</p> - -<p>“I will try to think so, too, Randolph, -for I am very sure that you are wiser than -I; and I have learned how good you are to -me—always.”</p> - -<p>That evening passed very quietly, yet -very happily.</p> - -<p>Was this the beginning of better things -to come?</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/i_180.jpg" width="400" height="63" alt="decoration" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="10. MISCHIEF-MAKERS.">CHAPTER THE TENTH.<br /> - -<small>MISCHIEF-MAKERS.</small></h2></div> - - -<p>“Now that you have been a fortnight in -town, and have begun to feel settled in -your new life,” wrote Lady Diana, “I think -it is time you should be made aware of a -few facts relative to your engagement and -marriage, which you are not likely to hear -from the lips of your too indulgent -husband, but with which, nevertheless, you -ought to be made conversant, in my -opinion, in order that you may the better -appreciate the generous sacrifices made on -behalf of you and your family, and return -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>him the measure of gratitude he deserves -for the benefits he has bestowed.”</p> - -<p>Monica was alone when she received this -letter, breakfasting in her little boudoir at -a late hour, for although almost recovered -now, she had not yet resumed her old habit -of early rising.</p> - -<p>She had risen this morning feeling more -light at heart than usual. She had chatted -with unusual freedom to her husband, had -kissed him before he went out to keep an -appointment with his lawyer, and had -promised to ride with him at twelve -o’clock, if he would come back for her. -She had only once been out since her -arrival in town, and that was in the -carriage. She was quite excited at the -prospect of being in the saddle again. -She had almost told herself that she -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>should yet be happy in her married life—and -now came this cruel, cruel letter to dash -to the ground all her faint dawning hopes.</p> - -<p>Lady Diana had felt very well-disposed, -even if a little spiteful, as she had penned -this unlucky letter; but she certainly was -not nice in her choice of words or of -epithets. Not being sensitive herself, she had -little comprehension of the susceptibilities -of others, and the impression its perusal -conveyed to the mind of Monica was that -Randolph had married her simply out of -generosity to herself and regard for her -father: that the proposal was none of his -own making, and that his unvarying kindness -arose from his knowledge of her very -difficult temper, and a wish to secure for -himself by bribes and caresses a peaceful -home and an amiable wife. In conclusion -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>it was added that Monica, in return for all -that had been done for her, must do her -utmost to please and gratify him. Of -course he would wish to show his beautiful -wife in the world of fashion to which -he belonged. He would wish her to join -in the life of social gaiety to which he -was about to introduce her, and any -hanging back on her part would be most -unbecoming and ungrateful. It behoved -her to keep in mind all these facts, to -remember the sacrifices he had made for -her, and to act accordingly. He had not -chosen a wife from his own world, as it -was presumable he would have preferred -to do. He had consented to the family -match proposed to him, and she must do -her utmost to make up to him for the -sacrifice he had made.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> -<p>A few weeks back such a letter, though -it might have hurt Monica’s pride, would -not have cut her to the quick, as it did -now. In the first place, she would then -have simply disbelieved it, whereas recent -circumstances had given her a very much -greater respect for the opinions of those -who knew the world so much better than -she did, and who had forecasted so -accurately events that had afterwards -fulfilled themselves almost as a matter of -course. She had begun to distrust her -own convictions, to believe more in those -of others, who had had experience of life, -and could estimate its chances better than -she could. She believed her aunt when -she told her these things, and the poisoned -shaft struck home to her heart. A few -days ago she could have borne it better. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>Her pride would have been hurt, but the -sting would have been less keen. She did not -know why the doubt of her husband’s love -hurt her so cruelly; but hurt her it did, -and for a moment she felt stricken to the -earth. She had said to herself many times -that she did not want such a wealth of love, -when she had none on her side to bestow; -but yet, when she had learned that it was -not hers after all, but was only the -counterfeit coin of a hollow world—the -bribe by which her submission and gratitude -were to be obtained—the knowledge -was unspeakably bitter. She felt she -would rather have died than have been -forced to doubt.</p> - -<p>As she dressed for her ride, pride came -to the assistance of her crushed spirit. -Wilberforce, the faithful servant who had -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>tended and loved Randolph from his -infancy, and was ready to love his wife for -his sake and her own, was aware of a -subtle change in her young mistress that -she did not understand, and which she -could not well have described. Monica -had been very quiet and gentle since her -arrival, and very silent too. She was quiet -enough to-day; but the gentleness had -been replaced by a certain inexplicable -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">hauteur</i>. The pale face wore a glow of -warm colour; the dark eyes that had been -languid and heavy were wide open -and full of fire. Monica looked superbly -handsome in the brilliant radiance of her -beauty, and yet the faithful attendant was -not certain that she liked the change -in her.</p> - -<p>Randolph detected it the moment -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>he entered the room, and found his wife -equipped for the proposed ride.</p> - -<p>“Why, Monica,” he said, smiling, “you -have got quite a colour. It looks natural -to see you dressed for the saddle.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she answered, coolly: “we must -turn over a new leaf now, must we not? -You will be dying of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ennui</i> cooped up at -home so long. Let us go out and enjoy -ourselves. We must learn to do in Rome -as Rome does.”</p> - -<p>Randolph felt one keen pang of disappointment -that the first return to health -and strength should have brought a return of -the former coldness and aloofness; but he -had gained ground before, and why not now? -Could he expect to win his way without a -single repulse? So he took courage, and -tried to ignore the change he saw in his wife.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> -<p>He led her down the staircase to the hall -door where the horses were waiting, and -he saw the sudden flash of joyful recognition -that crossed her face.</p> - -<p>“Guy!” she exclaimed, “my own little -Guy!”</p> - -<p>Yes, there could be no mistake about it; -it was her own little delicate thorough-bred, -standing with ill-repressed excitement at the -door, his glossy neck arched in a sort of -proud impatience, his supple limbs trembling -with eagerness, as he stepped daintily to -and fro upon the pavement. He turned -his shapely head at the sound of Monica’s -voice, pricked his ears, and uttered a low -whinney of joyful recognition.</p> - -<p>“It was good of you to think of it, -Randolph,” she said, a softer light in her -eyes as she turned them towards her -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>husband. “It is like a little bit of home -having him.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you would like him better -than a stranger, though I have his counterpart -in the stable waiting for you to try. -He has been regularly exercised in Piccadilly -every morning, and I coaxed him to let me -ride him once myself in the Park, though -he did not much like it. I don’t think he -will be very troublesome now, and I know -you are not afraid of his restive moods; -though this is very different from Trevlyn.”</p> - -<p>Monica’s eyes grew wistful, and her -husband saw it. He guessed whither her -thoughts had fled, and he let her dream -on undisturbed. He exchanged bows with -many acquaintances as they passed onwards -and entered the Row, and many admiring -glances were levelled at his beautiful -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>young wife, whose unusual loveliness and -perfect horsemanship alike attracted attention; -but he attempted no introductions; -and Monica, dreamy and absorbed, noticed -nothing, till the sight of Conrad in the -Row awoke her to consciousness of her -surroundings.</p> - -<p>Conrad in London! How long had he -been there? Did he bring news from -Trevlyn? She looked almost wistfully at -Randolph as she returned the young -baronet’s bow, but his face wore its rather -stern expression, and she dared not attempt -to speak with her former friend.</p> - -<p>Conrad, however, saw the look, and -smiled to himself.</p> - -<p>“My day will come yet,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Shall we push on, Monica?” asked Randolph. -“Guy is aching to stretch his limbs.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> -<p>Monica was only too willing, and they -had soon reached the farther end of the -Row, which was much less full than the -other had been.</p> - -<p>A pretty, dark, vivacious looking girl, -accompanied by a fair-haired young man, -rather like her, were approaching with -glances of recognition.</p> - -<p>“Randolph, I am angry with you—yes, -very angry. You have been a whole fortnight -in town—I heard so yesterday—and -we have never seen you once, and you -have never let me have the pleasure of -an introduction to your wife. I call it -very much too bad!”</p> - -<p>“Well, it is never too late to mend,” -answered Randolph, smiling. “Monica, -may I present to you Lady Beatrice Wentworth, -whom I have had the honour of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>knowing intimately since the days of our -early acquaintance, when she wore pinafores -and pigtails. Lord Haddon, I think I -need not introduce again. You have met -before.”</p> - -<p>The little flush deepened in Monica’s face. -She had fancied the face of the brother -was not totally unfamiliar to her; but -she did not remember until this moment -where or when she could possibly have -seen him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Haddon has been raving about -Lady Monica ever since the auspicious day -when he saw her,” cried Beatrice, gaily. -“I hope your father is quite recovered -now?” she added, with a touch of quick -sympathy, “since you were able to leave -him so soon.”</p> - -<p>“I think he is much better, thank you,” -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>answered Monica, quietly; “but he was -still very ill when I left him.”</p> - -<p>“And, Randolph, you have not explained -away your guilt yet. Why have you been -all this time without letting us see you or -your wife? I call it shameful!”</p> - -<p>“My wife has been very unwell herself -ever since we came up,” answered Randolph. -“She has not been fit to see anybody.”</p> - -<p>“You should have made an exception in -my favour,” persisted Beatrice, bringing -her horse alongside of Monica’s, and walking -on with her. “You see, I have known -Randolph so long, he seems almost like a -brother. I feel defrauded when he does -not behave himself as such. We must be -great friends, Lady Monica, for his sake. -He has told us all about you and your -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>delightful Cornish home. I suppose you -know all about us, too, and what near neighbours -we are—near for London, at least.”</p> - -<p>But Monica had never heard the name of -the girl beside her. She knew nothing of -her husband’s friends, never having taken -the least interest in subjects foreign to -all her past associations. She hinted something -of the kind in a gently indifferent -way, that was sincere, without being in the -least discourteous. She was wondering -why it was that her husband, who could -value his own friends and appreciate their -good-will, was so strenuously set against -receiving the only acquaintance she -possessed in this vast city.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, when, upon a forenoon -two days later, at an hour she knew her -husband was away, Conrad presented him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>self -in her boudoir, following the man who -had brought his card without waiting to be -invited, Monica was conscious of a feeling -of distinct displeasure and distrust. She -knew very little of the ways of the world, -but she felt that he had no right to be -there, forcing himself upon her in her -private room, when her husband would -hardly speak to him or receive him, and -that he merited instant dismissal.</p> - -<p>But then came a revulsion of feeling. -Was he not her childhood’s friend? Had -she not promised not to turn her back -upon him, and help to drive him to despair -by her coldness? Had he not come with -news of Trevlyn and of home? And -in that last eager thought all else was -lost, and she met him gladly, almost -eagerly.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> -<p>He told her all she longed to know. He -came primed with the latest news from -Trevlyn. His manner was quiet and -gentle. He was very cautious not to alarm -or disturb her.</p> - -<p>“I shall not be able to see much of you -in the future, Monica,” he said, “but -you will let me call myself still your -friend?”</p> - -<p>She bent her head in a sort of assent.</p> - -<p>“And will you let me take a friend’s -privilege, and ask one question. Are you -happy in your new life?”</p> - -<p>Monica’s face took a strange expression.</p> - -<p>“It is very gay, very lively. I shall like -it better as I get more used to it.”</p> - -<p>“I see,” he answered, very gently, “I -understand. And when are you going -home again?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> -<p>“I am at home now,” she answered, -steadily.</p> - -<p>He looked searchingly at her.</p> - -<p>“I thought Trevlyn was to be always -home. Has he thrown off the mask so -soon?”</p> - -<p>“I think,” said Monica, with a little -gleam in her eye, “that you forget you are -speaking of my husband.”</p> - -<p>Conrad’s eyes gleamed too; but she did -not see it.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, Monica; I did forget. It -is all so strange and sudden. Then he -makes you happy? Tell me that! Let me -have the assurance that at least he makes -his captive happy.”</p> - -<p>She started a little; but Conrad’s face -expressed nothing but the quietest, sincerest -good-will and sympathy.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> -<p>“He is very, very good to me,” she said, -quietly. “He studies me as I have never -been studied before. All my wishes are -forestalled: he thinks of everything, he -does everything. I cannot tell you how -good he is. I have never known anything -like it before. Did you ever see anyone -more surrounded by beauty and luxury -than I am?”</p> - -<p>He looked at her steadily. She knew -that she had evaded his question—a question -he had no right to put, as she could -not but feel—and that he knew she had -done so.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he murmured, “the gilded cage, -the gilded cage; but only a cage, after all. -Monica, forgive me for expressing a doubt; -but I know the man so well, and my whole -soul revolts at seeing you dragged as it -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>were at his chariot wheels for all the world -to look at and admire. To take you from -your wild free home, and bribe you into -submission—I hate to think of it!”</p> - -<p>Monica’s cheek had flushed suddenly; -but before she could frame a rejoinder the -door opened to admit Randolph. He -carried in his hand some hot-house flowers, -which he had brought for his wife. He -stopped short when he saw who was -Monica’s guest, and her cheek flamed anew, -for she knew he would not understand how -she came to receive him in her private -room, and she felt that by a want of firmness -and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">savoir faire</i> she had allowed herself -to be placed in a false position.</p> - -<p>Conrad’s exit was effected with more -despatch than dignity, yet he contrived in -his farewell words to insinuate that he had -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>passed a very happy morning with his -hostess, instead of a brief ten minutes.</p> - -<p>Randolph did not speak a word, but -stood leaning against the chimney-piece -with a stern look on his handsome face. -Monica was angry with herself and with -Conrad, yet she felt half indignant at the -way her husband ignored her guest.</p> - -<p>“Monica,” said Randolph, speaking first, -“I am sorry to have to say it; but I cannot -receive Sir Conrad Fitzgerald as a guest -beneath my roof.”</p> - -<p>“You had better give your orders, then, -accordingly.”</p> - -<p>He stepped forward and took her hand.</p> - -<p>“Surely, Monica, you cannot have any -real liking for this man?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know what you call real -liking. We have been friends from child<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>hood; -and I do not easily change. He was -always welcomed to my father’s house.”</p> - -<p>“Your father did not know his history.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not; but I do. At least I -know this much: that he has sinned and -has repented. Is not repentance enough?”</p> - -<p>“<em>Has</em> he repented?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed he has.”</p> - -<p>Randolph’s face expressed a fine -incredulity and scorn. There was no -relenting in its lines. Monica was not -going to sue longer.</p> - -<p>“Am I also to be debarred from seeing -Cecilia, his sister, who is married, and not -living so very far away? Am I to give -her up, too—my old playmate?”</p> - -<p>“I have nothing against Mrs. Bellamy, -except that she is his sister. I suppose you -need not be very intimate?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> -<p>Monica’s overwrought feelings vented -themselves in a burst of indignation.</p> - -<p>“I see what you want to do—to separate -me from all my friends—to break all old -ties—to make me forget all but your -world, your life. I am to like your friends, -to receive them, and be intimate with them; -but I am to turn my back with scorn on -all whom I have known and loved. You -are very hard, Randolph, very hard. It is -not that I care for Conrad—I know he has -done wrong, though I do believe in his -repentance. I liked him once, and Cecilia -too; I should like to know them still. They -are not much to me, but they belong to -the old life—which you do not—which -nothing does here. Can you not see how -hard it is, and how unjust, to try and cut -me off from everything?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> -<p>He looked at her with a great pity in -his eyes, and then gently put the flowers -into her hand.</p> - -<p>“I brought them for you to wear to-night, -Monica. Will you have them? -Believe me, my child, I would do much to -spare you pain, yet in some things I must -be the judge. Some day, perhaps, I shall -be able to make my meaning plain; meantime -I must ask my wife to trust me.” He -stooped and kissed her pale brow, and went -away without another word.</p> - -<p>Monica stood still and silent, the fragrant, -spotless blossoms, his gift, clasped close in -her hands.</p> - -<p>“Randolph, Randolph!” she murmured, -“if you only loved me I could bear anything; -but they all see it—only I am blind—it -is the golden cage with its captive, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>they know the ways of their world so well, -so well! He bribes me with gifts, with -kind words, but it is only the peaceful home -and the handsome wife that he wants—not -me myself, not my heart, my love. Well, -he shall have what he craves. I will not -disappoint him. I will do his bidding in -all things. He has got his prize—let that -content him—but for the wifely love, the -wifely trust I have striven so to offer—he -does not care for them—let them go, like -these.” She pressed the flowers for a -moment to her lips, and then flung them -from the open casement.</p> - -<p>Randolph, lost in silent thought, standing -at a window below, saw the white blossoms -as they fell to the earth, and knew what -they were and whence they had come.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 title="11. THE LITTLE RIFT">CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.<br /> - -<small>THE LITTLE RIFT.</small></h2></div> - - -<p>A little misunderstanding easily arises -between two people not yet in perfect -accord—so very soon arises, and is so -difficult to lay to rest.</p> - -<p>Randolph saw plainly now, that Monica’s -late gentleness had been caused simply by -exhaustion and ill-health. She had submitted -to his caressing care merely because -she had been too weak to resist, but the first -indication of restored health had been the -effort to repel him. He was grieved and -saddened by this conviction, but he accepted -his fate with quiet patience. He would -draw back a little, stand aside, as it were, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>and let her feel her way in the new life; and -win her confidence, if he could, by slow -and imperceptible degrees. He did not -despair of winning her yet. He had had -more than one of those rapturous moments -when he had felt that she was <em>almost</em> his. -He would not give up, but he would be -more self-restrained and reserved. He -would not attempt too much at once.</p> - -<p>Monica was keenly conscious of the -change in her husband’s manner, though -she could not understand why it was that -it cut her so deeply. She was conscious of -the great blank in her life, and though her -face was always calm and quiet, her manner -gently cold and tinged with sadness, yet -she tried in all things to study her husband’s -wishes, and to follow out any hints -he might let fall as to his tastes and feelings.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> -<p>She made no effort to see anything of -Cecilia Bellamy, her former child-friend, -and even when that vivacious little woman -sought her out, and tried to strike up -a great friendship, she did not respond -with any ardour. Mrs. Bellamy, indeed, -was not at all a woman that Monica would -be inclined to cultivate at this crisis of her -life; they had almost nothing in common, -but the past was a sort of link that could -not entirely be broken. Cecilia appeared -to love to talk of Trevlyn; she was always -eager to hear the latest news from thence, -to recall the by-gone days of childhood, -and bring back the light and colour to -Monica’s face by reminiscences of the past.</p> - -<p>But the young wife tried to be loyal -to her husband’s wishes, and was laughed -at by her friend for her “old fashioned” -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>ways. Once, when in course of conversation, -Conrad’s name was mentioned between -them, Monica asked, in her straightforward -way, what it was that he had done to draw -upon him censure and distrust.</p> - -<p>“Why, do you not even know that -much? Poor boy! I will tell you all -about it. He was very young, and you -know we are miserably poor. He got -into bad company, and that led him into -frightful embarrassments. He got so -miserable and desperate at last that I -believe his mind was almost unhinged for -a time, and in the end,” lowering her voice -to a whisper, “he forged a cheque in the -name of a rich friend. Of course it was a -mad thing to do. He paid his debts, but -the fraud was discovered within a few weeks, -and you know what <em>might</em> have happened. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>Colonel Hamilton, however, who had been -a kind friend to Conrad before, forgave -him, and took no steps against him; and -the poor boy was so shocked and humiliated -that he quite turned over a new leaf, and -has been perfectly steady ever since. He -was working hard to pay off the debt, but -Colonel Hamilton died before he could do -so. Randolph Trevlyn, your husband, my -dear, was intimate with the Colonel, and -knew all about this. He had always -disliked Conrad—I suspect they were -rivals once in the affections of some lady, -and that he did not get the best of the -rivalry—and I always believe it was -through him that the story leaked out. At -any rate, people did hear something, and -poor Conrad got dreadfully cold-shouldered. -He had always been wild and reckless, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>people are so fond of hitting a man when -he is down. But I call it very unkind and -unjust, and I did think that an old friend -like you would be above it. It hurts Conrad -dreadfully to find you so cold to him. I -should have thought you would have liked to -help him to recover the ground he had lost.”</p> - -<p>“That can hardly be my office now,” -said Monica, gravely.</p> - -<p>“But at least you need not be unkind. -I do assure you the poor boy has gone -through quite enough, as it is.”</p> - -<p>“You have told me the whole truth -about his past, Cecilia?” asked Monica, -after a brief silence. “There is nothing -worse you are keeping back?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bellamy clasped her hands together -with a little gesture of astonished dismay.</p> - -<p>“Is not forgery bad enough for you, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>Monica? What <em>has</em> your husband been -telling you? Did you think he had committed -a murder?”</p> - -<p>Monica left Mrs. Bellamy’s presence -somewhat relieved in mind. She was glad -to know the secret of Conrad’s past, the -cause of her husband’s disdain and distrust -of the man. It was natural, she thought, -that Randolph, as a friend of Colonel -Hamilton’s, should feel deep indignation at -the ingratitude and treachery of the fraud, -and yet she felt a sort of relief that it was -nothing blacker and baser. She had begun -to have an undefined feeling, since she had -entered somewhat into the tumultuous life -of the great world, that there were depths -of folly and sin and crime beneath its -smooth, polished surface, of whose very -existence she had never dreamed before.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> -<p>When she returned home that day, and -said from whose house she had just come, -she fancied a shade gathered on her husband’s -brow. “Do you not go there rather -often, Monica?”</p> - -<p>“We were friends as children,” she -said. “Am I to give up everything that -seems connected with the past—with my -home?”</p> - -<p>“I lay no embargo upon you, Monica,” -he said; “or at least only one: I cannot -permit Sir Conrad Fitzgerald to visit my -wife, nor enter my house. If his sister is -your friend, and you wish to continue the -friendship, I say nothing against it. You -shall be the judge whether or not you visit -at a house your husband cannot enter, and -run the risk of meeting a man whose hand -he can never touch. You shall do exactly -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>as you wish in the matter. I leave you -entire liberty.”</p> - -<p>A flush rose slowly in Monica’s face.</p> - -<p>“I want to do what is right to every -one,” she said. “You put things very -hardly, Randolph. You only see one side, -and even that you view very harshly. I -have heard Conrad’s story; it is very painful -and shameful; but he has repented—he -has indeed, and done all he could to -make amends. I have been taught that -repentance makes atonement, even in -God’s sight. I cannot sit in judgment -then, and condemn him utterly.”</p> - -<p>Randolph looked at her keenly.</p> - -<p>“Do you know all?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she answered steadily, “I know -all. It is very bad; but he has repented.”</p> - -<p>“I have seen no signs of repentance.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> -<p>“Have you ever given yourself the -chance to do so?”</p> - -<p>He was still gazing earnestly at her.</p> - -<p>“Monica,” he said, very gravely, “be -advised by me. Do not make yourself -Fitzgerald’s champion.”</p> - -<p>“I do not intend,” she answered, coldly, -“but neither will I be his judge.”</p> - -<p>There was silence for a moment, then -Randolph spoke.</p> - -<p>“We will discuss this question no -further. It is a painful one for me. I -can never meet that man in friendship; I -could wish that you could be content to -forget him too; but he is an old friend. -You are not connected with the dark -passages in his life, and if his repentance is -sincere I will not forbid your meeting him -or speaking to him, if you find yourself in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>his company. It goes against me, I confess, -Monica. But I do not feel I have the right -to say more. If you are acquainted with -the story of his life, you are able to form -your own estimate of his deserts.”</p> - -<p>The subject ended there, but it left a sort -of sore constraint in the minds of both. It -was almost with a feeling of relief a few -mornings later that Randolph opened a letter -from the bailiff of his Scotch estate, requesting -the presence of the master for a few -days. The young man had been getting -his shooting-box renovated and beautified -for the reception of his young wife, hoping -to prevail upon her in the autumn to come -north with him, and his own presence on -the spot had become a matter of necessity.</p> - -<p>Monica heard of his proposed absence -with perfect quietness, which, however, hid -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>a good deal of sinking at heart. She did -not venture to ask to accompany him, nor -did she suggest, as he had half feared, -returning to Trevlyn. She assented quietly -to the proposition, and gave no outward -sign of dismay.</p> - -<p>Randolph sighed as he noted her indifference. -Once she would have dreaded being -left alone in the strange world of London, -have begged him not to leave her, but now -she was quite happy to see him depart. He -was gradually growing sorrowfully convinced -that his marriage had been a great -mistake, and that Monica’s love would -never be his. There had been sweet -moments both before and after marriage, -but they were few and far between, and -the hope he had once so ardently cherished -was growing fainter every day.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> -<p>However, life must go on in its accustomed -groove, and the night before his -departure was spent with Beatrice and her -brother, who were giving a select dinner -party. Randolph and Monica seldom spent -an evening at home alone now.</p> - -<p>Beatrice Wentworth’s little parties were -very popular. She was an excellent -hostess, her endless sparkle and flow of -spirit kept her guests well amused, and -she treated her numerous admirers with a -provoking friendliness and equality that -was diverting to witness. Lord Haddon -was a favourite, too, from his good-natured -simplicity and frankness; and there was an -easy unconstrained atmosphere about their -house that made it a pleasant place of -resort to its <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">habitués</i>.</p> - -<p>Monica had grown fond of Beatrice, in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>her quiet, undemonstrative fashion, and -felt more at home in her house than in any -other. Sometimes when those two were -alone together Beatrice would lay aside -that brilliant sparkle and flow of spirit, and -lapse into a sudden gravity and seriousness -that would have astonished many of her -friends and acquaintances had they chanced -to witness it. Sometimes Monica fancied at -such moments that some kind of cloud -rested upon the handsome, dashing girl, -that her past held some tear-stained page, -some sad or painful memory; and it was -this conviction that had won Monica’s confidence -and friendship more than anything -else. She could not make a true friend of -any one who had never known sorrow.</p> - -<p>To-night Monica was unusually <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">distraite</i>, -sad and heavy at heart, she hardly knew -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>why; finding it unusually difficult to talk -or smile, or to hide from the eyes of others -the melancholy that oppressed her. She -felt a strange craving for her husband’s -presence. She wanted him near her. She -longed to return to those first days of -married life, when his compassion for her -made him so tender, when he was always -with her, and she believed that he loved -her. Sometimes she had been almost happy -then, despite the wrench from the old -associations and the strangeness of all -around. Now she was always sad and -heavy-hearted; and to-night she was -curiously oppressed.</p> - -<p>It was only at this house that she could -ever be persuaded to sing, and to-night it -was not till the end of the evening that -Lord Haddon’s entreaties prevailed with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>her. She rose at last and crossed to the -piano, and sitting down without any music -before her, sang a simple melodious setting -to some words of Christina Rossetti’s:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“When I am dead, my dearest,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Sing no sad songs for me;</div> - <div class="verse">Plant thou no roses at my head,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Nor shady cypress-tree.</div> - <div class="verse">Be the green grass above me,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With showers and dew-drops wet;</div> - <div class="verse">And if thou wilt, remember—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And if thou wilt, forget.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“I shall not see the shadows,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I shall not feel the rain;</div> - <div class="verse">I shall not hear the nightingale,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Sing on as if in pain.</div> - <div class="verse">But dreaming through the twilight,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Which doth not rise nor set,</div> - <div class="verse">I haply may remember—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And haply may forget.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>As she sang, the room, the company, all -faded from her view and from her mind—all -but Randolph. One strange longing -filled her soul—the longing that she might -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>indeed lie sleeping and at rest in some -quiet, wind-swept spot, her spirit hovering -free—to see if her husband ever came to -stand beside that grave, to see if he would -in such a case remember—or forget.</p> - -<p>For herself Monica, knew well that -remembrance would be her portion. She -never could forget.</p> - -<p>There was a wonderful sweetness and -pathos in her voice as she sang. The -listeners held their breath, and sudden -tears started to Beatrice’s eyes. When the -last note had died away, Randolph crossed -the room and laid his hand upon his wife’s -shoulder. There was a subdued murmur -all through the room, but she only heard -her husband’s voice.</p> - -<p>“That was very sweet, Monica,” he said -gently. “I have never heard it before; -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>but you make it sound so unutterably -sad.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him wistfully.</p> - -<p>“I think sad songs are always sweetest—they -are more like life, at least.”</p> - -<p>His eyes were very full of tenderness; -she saw it, and it almost unmanned her.</p> - -<p>“I am so tired, Randolph; will you take -me home? The carriage will not be here, -but it is such a little way. I should like -best to walk.”</p> - -<p>A very few moments later they were out -in the warm, spring air, under the twinkling -stars. She held his arm closely. Her hand -trembled a little, he fancied. He drew her -light lace wrap more closely round her, -thinking she felt chilled. At this little -mark of thoughtfulness she looked up at -him with a tremulous smile.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> -<p>“I shall miss you when you are gone, -Randolph,” she said, softly. “You will -not be long away?”</p> - -<p>His heart beat high, but his words were -very quietly spoken.</p> - -<p>“No Monica, only four or five days.”</p> - -<p>“And you will take care of yourself? -You will come back safe—you will not get -into any danger!”</p> - -<p>“Why no,” he answered with a smile. -“Danger! What are you thinking about, -Monica?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. Sometimes my heart is -very heavy. It is heavy to-night. Promise you -will take care of yourself—for my sake.”</p> - -<p>Randolph did not, after all, go away -quite comfortless.</p> - - -<p class="center mt2 big">END OF VOL. I.</p> - -<div class="transnote"> -<h2>Transcriber's Notes</h2> -<p>Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Monica, Volume 1 (of 3), by Evelyn Everett-Green - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONICA, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 54940-h.htm or 54940-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/9/4/54940/ - -Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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