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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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