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-Project Gutenberg's Monica, Volume 2 (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 2 (of 3)
-       A Novel
-
-Author: Evelyn Everett-Green
-
-Release Date: June 20, 2017 [EBook #54941]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONICA, VOLUME 2 (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. II.
-
-
-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 TWELFTH.
-                         PAGE
-
-Mrs. Bellamy      1
-
-
-CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.
-
-Randolph’s Story      23
-
-
-CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.
-
-Storm and Calm      40
-
-
-CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.
-
-A Summons to Trevlyn      61
-
-
-CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.
-
-Changes      77
-
-
-CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.
-
-United      101
-
-
-CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.
-
-A Shadow      125
-
-
-CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.
-
-In Scotland      143
-
-
-CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.
-
-A Visit to Arthur      160
-
-
-CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.
-
-Back at Trevlyn      180
-
-
-CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.
-
-An Enigma      199
-
-
-
-
-MONICA
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.
-
-MRS. BELLAMY.
-
-
-Randolph was gone; and Monica, left alone in her luxurious London
-house, felt strangely lost and desolate. Her husband had expressed a
-wish that she should go out as much as possible, and not shut herself
-up in solitude during his brief absence, and to do his will was now her
-great desire. She would have preferred to remain quietly at home. She
-liked best to sit by her fire upstairs, and make Wilberforce tell her
-of Randolph’s childhood and boyish days; his devotion to his widowed
-mother, his kindness to herself, all the deeds of youthful prowess,
-which an old nurse treasures up respecting her youthful charges
-and delights to repeat in after years. Wilberforce would talk of
-Randolph by the hour together if she were not checked, and Monica felt
-singularly little disposition to check her.
-
-However she obeyed her husband in everything, and took her morning’s
-ride as usual next day, and was met by Cecilia Bellamy, who rode beside
-her, with her train of cavaliers in attendance, and pitied the poor
-darling child who had been deserted by her husband.
-
-“I am just in the same sad predicament myself, Monica,” she said,
-plaintively. “My husband has had to go to Paris, all of a sudden, and I
-am left alone too. We must console ourselves together. You must drive
-with me to-day and come to tea, and I will come to you to-morrow.”
-
-Monica tried in vain to beg off; Cecilia only laughed at her. Monica
-had not _savoir faire_ enough to parry skilful thrusts, nor insincerity
-enough to plead engagements that did not exist. So she was monopolised
-by Mrs. Bellamy in her morning’s ride, was driven out in her carriage
-that same afternoon, and taken to several houses where her friend had
-“just a few words” to say to the hostess. She was taken back to tea,
-and had to meet Conrad, who received her with great warmth, and had the
-bad taste to address her by her Christian name before a whole roomful
-of company, and who ended by insisting on walking home with her. Yet
-his manner was so quiet and courteous, and he seemed so utterly
-unconscious of her disfavour, that she was half ashamed of it, despite
-her very real annoyance.
-
-And the worst of it was that there seemed no end to the attentions
-pressed upon her by the indefatigable Cecilia. Monica did not know
-how to escape from the manifold invitations and visits that were
-showered upon her. She seemed fated to be for ever in the society of
-Mrs. Bellamy and her friends. Beatrice Wentworth and her brother were
-themselves out of town; Randolph was detained longer than he had at
-first anticipated, and Monica found herself drawn in an imperceptible
-way—against which she rebelled in vain—into quite a new set of people
-and places.
-
-Monica was a mere baby in Cecilia’s hands. She had not the faintest
-idea of any malice on the part of her friend. She felt her attentions
-oppressive; she disliked the constant encounters with Conrad; but she
-tried in vain to free herself from the hospitable tyranny of the gay
-little woman. She was caught in some inexplicable way, and without
-downright rudeness she could not escape.
-
-As a rule, Conrad was very guarded and discreet, especially when alone
-with her. He often annoyed her by his assumption of familiarity in
-presence of others, but he was humble enough for the most part, and
-took no umbrage at her rather pointed avoidance of him. She did not
-know what he was trying to do: how he was planning a subtle revenge
-upon his enemy her husband—the husband she was beginning unconsciously
-yet very truly to love. She shrank from him without knowing why, but
-the day was rapidly approaching when her eyes were to be opened.
-
-Her instincts were so true that it was not easy to deceive her for
-long. Ignorance of the world and reluctance to suspect evil blinded
-her for a time; but she was to learn the true nature of her so-called
-friends before long.
-
-There had been a small picnic party at Richmond one day. Monica had
-tried hard to excuse herself from attending, but had been laughed and
-coaxed into consent. It mattered the less what she did now, for her
-husband was to be at home the following day, and in the gladness of
-that thought she could almost enjoy the sunshine, the fresh air, the
-sight of green grass and waving trees, the country sights and sounds
-to which she had so long been a stranger.
-
-The party, too, was small, and though Conrad was of the number, he
-held aloof from Monica, for which she was glad, for she had felt an
-increasing distrust of him of late. It was an equestrian party, and the
-long ride was a pleasure to Monica, who could have spent a whole day in
-the saddle without fatigue.
-
-And then her husband was coming. He would set all right. She would tell
-him everything—she had not felt able to do so in the little brief notes
-she had written to him—and she would take his advice for the future,
-and decline friendship with all who could not be his friends too.
-Everything would be right when Randolph came back.
-
-Then Monica was glad of an opportunity of a little quiet talk with
-Cecilia Bellamy. The wish for a private interview with her had been
-one of the reasons which had led her to consent to be one of to-day’s
-party. She had something on her mind she wished to say to her in
-private, and as yet she had found no opportunity of doing so.
-
-Yet it was not until quite late in the afternoon that Monica’s
-opportunity came; when it did, she availed herself of it at once. She
-and her friend were alone in a quiet part of the park; nobody was very
-near to them.
-
-“Cecilia,” said Monica, “there is something I wish to say to you now
-that we are alone together. I am very much obliged to you for being so
-friendly during my husband’s absence—but—but—it is difficult to say
-what I mean—but I think you ought not to have had your brother so much
-with you when you were asking me; or rather I think, as he is your
-brother, whilst I am only a friend, the best plan would be for us to
-agree not to attempt to be very intimate. We have drifted apart with
-the lapse of years, and there are reasons, as you know, why it is not
-advisable for me to see much of your brother. I am sure you understand
-me without any more words.”
-
-“Oh, perfectly!” said Mrs. Bellamy with a light laugh. “Poor child,
-what an ogre he is! Well, at least, we have made the best of the little
-time he allowed us.”
-
-Monica drew herself up very straight.
-
-“I do not understand you, Cecilia. Please to remember that you are
-speaking of my husband.”
-
-Mrs. Bellamy laughed again.
-
-“I am in no danger of forgetting, my dear. Please do not trouble
-yourself to put on such old-fashioned airs with me; as if every one did
-not know your secret by this time.”
-
-Monica turned upon her with flashing eyes.
-
-“What secret?”
-
-“The secret of your unhappy marriage, my love. It was obviously a
-_mariage de convenance_ from the first, and you take no pains to
-disguise the fact that it will never be anything else. As Randolph
-Trevlyn is rather a fascinating man, there is only one rational
-interpretation to be put upon your persistent indifference.”
-
-Monica stood as if turned to stone.
-
-“What?”
-
-“Why, that your heart was given away before he appeared on the scene.
-People like little pathetic romances, and there is something in the
-style of your beauty, my dear, that makes you an object of interest
-wherever you go. You are universally credited with a ‘history’ and a
-slowly breaking heart—an equally heart-broken lover in the background.
-You can’t think how interested we all are in you—and——”
-
-But the sentence was not finished. Mrs. Bellamy’s perceptions were not
-fine, but something in Monica’s face deterred her from permitting her
-brother’s name to pass her lips. It was easy to see that no suspicion
-of his connection with the “romance” concocted for her by gossiping
-tongues had ever crossed her mind. But she was sternly indignant, and
-wounded to the quick by what she had heard.
-
-She spoke not a word, but turned haughtily away and sought for solitude
-in the loneliest part of the park. She was terribly humiliated. She
-knew nothing of the inevitable chatter and gossip, half good-humoured,
-half mischievous, with which idle people indulge themselves about their
-neighbours, especially if that neighbour happens to be a beautiful
-woman, with an unknown past and an apparent trouble upon her. She did
-not know that spite on Conrad’s part, and flighty foolishness on that
-of his sister, had started rumours concerning her. She only felt that
-she had by her ingratitude and coolness towards the husband who had
-sacrificed so much for her, and whom she sincerely respected, and
-almost loved, had been the means of bringing his name and hers within
-the reach of malicious tongues, had given rise to cruel false rumours
-she hated ever to think of. If only her husband were with her!—at least
-he would soon be with her, and if for very shame she could not repeat
-the cruel words she had heard, at least she could show to all the world
-how false and base they were.
-
-Monica woke up at last to the fact that it was getting late, and that
-she was in a totally strange place, far away from the rest of the
-party. She turned quickly and retraced her steps. She seldom lost her
-bearings, and was able to find her way back without difficulty, but
-she had strayed farther than she knew; it took her some time to reach
-the glade in which they had lunched, and when she arrived there she
-found it quite deserted. There was nothing for it but to go back to the
-hotel, whither she supposed the others had preceded her, but when she
-reached the courtyard no one was to be seen but Conrad, who held her
-horse and his own.
-
-“Ah, Monica! here you are. We missed you just at starting. Did you lose
-yourself in the park? Nobody seemed to know what had become of you.”
-
-“I suppose I walked rather too far. Where are the rest?”
-
-“Just started five minutes ago. We only missed you then. I said I’d
-wait. We shall catch them up in two minutes.”
-
-As this was Mrs. Bellamy’s party, and Conrad was her brother, this
-mark of courtesy could not be called excessive, yet somehow it
-displeased Monica a good deal.
-
-“Where is my groom?”
-
-Conrad looked round innocently enough. “I suppose he joined the
-cavalcade, stupid fellow! Stablemen are so very gregarious. Never mind;
-we shall be up with them directly.”
-
-And Monica was forced to mount and ride after the party with Conrad.
-
-But they did not come up with the others, despite his assurances, and
-the fact that they rode very fast for a considerable time. He professed
-himself very much astonished, and declared that they must have made a
-stupid blunder, and have gone by some other road.
-
-“In that case, Sir Conrad,” said Monica, “I will dispense with your
-escort. I am perfectly well able to take care of myself alone.”
-
-He read her displeasure in her face and voice. She had an instinct that
-she had been tricked, but it was not a suspicion she could put into
-words.
-
-“_Sir_ Conrad!” he repeated, with gentle reproach. “Have I offended
-you, Monica?”
-
-“Sir Conrad, it is time we should understand one another,” said Monica,
-turning her head towards him. “I made you a sort of promise once—a
-promise of friendship I believe it was. I am not certain that I ever
-ought to have given it; but after my marriage with a man you hold as
-an enemy, it is impossible that I can look upon you as a true friend.
-I do not judge or condemn you, but I do say that we had better meet
-as infrequently as possible, and then as mere acquaintances. You have
-strained your right of friendship, as it is, by the unwarrantable and
-persistent use of my Christian name, which you must have known was not
-for you to employ now. We were playfellows in childhood, I know, but
-circumstances alter cases, and our circumstances have greatly changed.
-It must be Sir Conrad and Lady Monica now between you and me, if ever
-we meet in future.”
-
-His eyes gleamed with that wild beast ferocity that lay latent in his
-nature, but his voice was well under command.
-
-“Your will is law, Lady Monica. It is hard on me, but you know best. I
-will accept any place that you assign me.”
-
-She was not disarmed by his humility.
-
-“I assign you no place; and you know that what I say is not hard. We
-are not at Trevlyn now. You know your own world well; I am only just
-beginning to know it. You had no right ever to take liberties that
-could give occasion for criticism or remark.”
-
-He looked keenly at her, but she was evidently quite unconscious of the
-game he had tried to play for the amusement of his little circle. She
-only spoke in general terms.
-
-“There was a time, Monica,” he said gently, “when you cared less what
-the world would say.”
-
-“There was a time, Sir Conrad,” she answered, with quiet dignity, “when
-I knew less what the world might say.”
-
-Had Monica had the least suspicion of what her companion had tried
-to make it say, she would not now have been riding with him along the
-darkening streets, just as carriages were rolling by carrying people to
-dinner or to the theatres.
-
-Twice she had imperatively dismissed him, but he had absolutely
-declined to leave her.
-
-“I will not address another word to you if my presence is distasteful
-to you,” he said; “but you are my sister’s guest, and in the absence
-of her husband I stand in the place of your host. I will not leave you
-to ride home at this late hour alone. At the risk of incurring your
-displeasure I attend you to your own door.”
-
-Monica did not protest after that, but she hardly addressed a single
-word to her silent companion.
-
-As she rode up to her own house she saw that the door stood open. The
-groom was there, with his horse. He was in earnest converse with a
-tall, broad-shouldered man, who held a hunting-whip in his hand, and
-appeared about to spring into the saddle.
-
-Monica’s heart gave a sudden leap. Who was that other man standing with
-his back to her on the pavement? He turned quickly at the sound of her
-approach—it was her husband.
-
-He looked at her and her companion in perfect silence. Conrad took
-off his hat, murmured a few incoherent words, and rode quickly away.
-Randolph’s hand closed like a vice upon his whip, but he only gave one
-glance at the retreating figure, and then turned quietly to his wife
-and helped her to dismount. The groom took the horse, and without a
-word from anyone, husband and wife passed together into the house. And
-this was the meeting to which Monica had looked forward with so much
-trembling joy.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.
-
-RANDOLPH’S STORY.
-
-
-Randolph led his wife upstairs to the drawing-room, and closed the
-door behind them. It was nine o’clock, and the room was brightly
-illuminated. Randolph was in dinner dress, as though he had been some
-time at home. His face was pale, and wore an expression of stern
-repression more intense than anything Monica had ever seen there
-before. She was profoundly agitated—agitated most of all by the feeling
-that he was near her again; the husband that she had pined for without
-knowing that she pined. Her agitation was due to a kind of tumultuous
-joy more than to any other feeling, but she hardly knew this herself,
-and no one else would have credited it, from the whiteness of her face,
-and the strained look it wore. As a matter of fact, she was physically
-and mentally exhausted. She had gone through a great deal that day;
-she had eaten little, and that many hours ago; she was a good deal
-prostrated, though hardly aware of it—a state in which nervous tension
-made her unusually susceptible of impression; and she trembled and
-shrank before the displeasure in her husband’s proud face. Would he
-look like that if he really loved her? Ah, no! no! She shrank a little
-more into herself.
-
-Randolph did not hurry her. He took off his overcoat leisurely, and
-laid his whip down upon the table. He looked once or twice at her as
-she sat pale and wan in the arm-chair whither he had led her. Then he
-came and stood before her.
-
-“Monica, what have you to say to me?”
-
-She looked up at him with an expression in her dark eyes that moved and
-touched him. Something of the severity passed from his face; he sat
-down, too, and laid his hand upon hers.
-
-“You poor innocent child,” he said quietly, “I do not even believe you
-know that you have done wrong.”
-
-“I do, Randolph,” she answered. “I do know, but not as you think—I
-could not help that. I hated it—I hate him; but to-night I could
-not help myself. Where I was wrong was in not doing as you
-asked—persisting in judging for myself. But how could I know that
-people could be so cruel, so unworthy, so false? Randolph, I should
-like to-night to know that I should never see one of them again!”
-
-She spoke with a passionate energy that startled him. He had never seen
-her excited like this before.
-
-“What have they been saying to you?” he asked in surprise.
-
-“Ah! don’t ask me. It is too hateful! It was Cecilia. She seemed
-to think it was amusing—a capital joke. Ah! how can people be so
-unwomanly, so debased!”
-
-She put her hands before her eyes, as if to shut out some hideous
-image. “Yes, I will tell you, Randolph—I will. I owe it to you,
-because—because—oh, because there is just enough truth to make it so
-terribly bitter. She said that people knew it was not an ordinary
-marriage, ours—she called it a _mariage de convenance_. She said
-everybody knew we had not fallen in love with one another.” Monica’s
-hand was still pressed over her eyes; she could not look at her
-husband. “She said I showed it plainly, that I let every one see.
-I never meant to, Randolph, but perhaps I did. I don’t know how to
-pretend. But oh, she said people thought it was because I cared—for
-some one else—that I had married you whilst I loved some one else—and
-that is all a wicked, wicked lie! You believe that, Randolph, do you
-not?”
-
-She rose up suddenly and he rose too, and they stood looking into each
-other’s eyes.
-
-“You believe that at least, Randolph?” she asked, and wondered at the
-stern sorrow visible in every line of his face.
-
-“Yes, Monica, I believe that,” he answered, very quietly; yet, in spite
-of all his yearning tenderness there was still some sternness in his
-manner, for he was deeply moved, and knew that the time had come when
-at all costs he must speak out. “I, too, have heard that false rumour,
-and have heard—which I hope you have not—the name of the man to whom
-your heart is supposed to be given. Shall I tell it you? His name is
-Conrad Fitzgerald.”
-
-Monica recoiled as if he had struck her, and put both her hands before
-her face. Randolph continued speaking in the same concise way.
-
-“Let me tell you my tale now, Monica. I left Scotland early this
-morning, finishing business twelve hours earlier than I expected. I
-wired from Durham to you; but you had left the house before my telegram
-reached. In the train, during the last hour of the journey, some
-young fellows got in, who were amusing themselves by idle repetition
-of current gossip. I heard my wife’s name mentioned more than once,
-coupled with that of Sir Conrad Fitzgerald, in whose company she had
-evidently been frequently seen of late. I reached home—Lady Monica was
-out for the day with Mrs. Bellamy—presumably with Sir Conrad also. I
-dined at my club, to hear from more than one source that the world was
-gossiping about my handsome wife and Sir Conrad Fitzgerald. I came home
-at dusk to find the groom just returned, with the news that Sir Conrad
-was bringing my lady home, that he was dismissed from attendance; and
-in effect the man whose acquaintance I repudiate, whose presence in my
-house is an insult, rides up to my door in attendance upon my wife.
-Before I say any more, tell me your story. Monica, let me hear what you
-have been doing whilst I have been away.”
-
-Monica, roused to a passionate indignation by what she heard—an
-indignation that for the moment seemed to include the husband, who had
-uttered such cruel, wounding words, told her story with graphic energy.
-She was grateful to Randolph for listening so calmly and so patiently.
-She was vaguely aware that not all men would show such forbearance
-and self-control. She knew she had wounded him to the quick by her
-indiscretion and self-will, but he gave her every chance to exculpate
-herself. When she had told her story, she stood up very straight before
-him. Let him pronounce sentence upon her; she would bear it patiently
-if she could.
-
-“I see, Monica,” he answered, very quietly, “I understand. It is not
-all your fault. You have only been unguarded. You have been an innocent
-victim. It is Fitzgerald’s own false tongue that has set on foot these
-idle, baseless rumours. It is just like him.”
-
-Monica recoiled again.
-
-“Just like him! but, Randolph, he is my friend!”
-
-A stern look settled upon Randolph’s face.
-
-“Oblige me, Monica, by withdrawing that word. He is _not_ your friend;
-and he is my enemy.”
-
-“Your enemy?”
-
-“Yes; and _this_ is how he tries to obtain his revenge.”
-
-Monica was trembling in every limb.
-
-“I do not understand,” she said.
-
-“Sit down, then, and I will tell you.”
-
-She obeyed, but he did not sit down. He stood with his back against
-the chimney-piece, the light from the chandelier falling full upon his
-stern resolute face, with its handsome features and luminous dark eyes.
-
-“You say you know the story of Fitzgerald’s past?”
-
-“Yes; he forged a cheque. His sister told me.”
-
-Randolph looked at her intently.
-
-“Was that _all_ she told you?”
-
-“Yes; she said it was all. He deceived a friend and benefactor, and
-committed a crime. Was not that enough?”
-
-“Not enough for Fitzgerald, it seemed,” answered Randolph,
-significantly. “Monica, I am glad you did not know more, since you
-have met that man as a friend. Forgiveness is beautiful and noble—but
-there are limits. I will tell you the whole story, but in brief. The
-Colonel Hamilton of whom you heard in connection with the forgery was
-Fitzgerald’s best and kindest friend. He was a friend of my mother’s
-and of mine. I knew him intimately, and saw a good deal of his
-_protégé_ at his house and at Oxford. I did not trust him at any time.
-It was no very great surprise when, after a carefully concealed course
-of vulgar dissipation, he ended by disgracing himself in the way you
-have heard described. It cut Hamilton to the quick. ‘Why did not the
-lad come to me if he was in trouble? I would have helped him,’ he said.
-He let me into the secret, for I happened to be staying with him at the
-time; but it was all hushed up. Fitzgerald was forgiven, and vowed an
-eternal gratitude, as well as a complete reformation in his life.”
-
-“Did he keep his promise?” asked Monica in a whisper.
-
-“You shall hear how,” answered Randolph, with a gathering sternness
-in his tone not lost upon Monica. “From that moment it seemed as if a
-demon possessed him. I believe—it is the only excuse or explanation to
-be offered—that there is a taint of insanity in his blood, and that
-with him it takes, or took, the form of an inexplicable hatred towards
-the man to whom he owed so much. About this time, Colonel Hamilton,
-till then a bachelor, married a friendless, beautiful young wife,
-to whom in his very quiet and undemonstrative way he was deeply and
-passionately attached, as she was to him. But she was very young and
-very inexperienced, and when that man, with his smooth false tongue,
-set himself to poison her life by filling her mind with doubts of her
-husband’s love, he succeeded but too well. She spoke no word of what
-she suffered, but withdrew herself in her morbid jealous distress.
-She broke the faithful heart that loved her, and she broke her own
-too. It sounds a wild and foolish tale, perhaps, to one who does not
-understand the mysteries of a passionate love such as that; but it is
-all too true. I had been absent from England for some time, but came
-home, all unconscious of what had happened, to find my friend Hamilton
-in terrible grief. His young wife lay dying—dying of a rapid decline,
-brought on, it was said, by mental distress; and worse than all, she
-could not endure her husband’s presence in the room, but shrank from
-him with inconceivable terror and excitement. He was utterly broken
-down by distress. He begged me to see her, and to learn if I could,
-the cause of this miserable alteration. I did see her. I did get her
-to tell her story. I heard what Conrad Fitzgerald had done; and I
-was able, I am thankful to say, to relieve her mind of its terrible
-fear, and to bring her husband to her before the end had come. She
-died in his arms, happy at the last; but she died; and he, in his
-broken-hearted misery for her loss, and for the treachery of one he had
-loved almost as a son, did not survive her for long. Within six months,
-my true, brave friend followed her to the grave.
-
-“I was with him to the end. I need hardly say that Fitzgerald did
-not attempt to come near him. He was plunged in a round of riotous
-dissipation. Upon the day following the funeral, I chanced to come upon
-him, surrounded by a select following of his boon companions. Can I
-bring myself to tell you what he was saying before he knew that I was
-within earshot? I need not repeat his words, Monica: they are not fit
-for your ears. Suffice it to say that he was passing brutal jests upon
-the man who had just been laid in his grave, and upon the young wife
-whose heart had been broken by his own base and cruel slanders. Coupled
-with these jests were disgraceful boastings, as unmanly and false as
-the lips that uttered them.
-
-“I had in my hand a heavy riding-whip. I took him by the collar, and I
-made him recant each one of those cruel slanders he had uttered, and
-confess himself a liar and a villain. I administered, then and there,
-such a chastisement as I hope never to have to administer to any man
-again. No one interposed between us. I think even his chosen companions
-felt that he was receiving no more than his due. I thrashed him like
-the miserable hound he was. If it had been possible, I would have
-called him out and shot him like a dog.”
-
-Randolph’s voice had not risen whilst he was speaking. He was very
-calm and composed as he told his story; there was no excitement in his
-manner, and yet his quiet, quivering wrath thrilled Monica more than
-the fiercest invective could have done.
-
-“My whip broke at last. I flung him from me, and he lay writhing on
-the floor. But he was not past speech, and he had energy left still
-to curse me to my face, and to vow upon me a terrible vengeance,
-which should follow me all my life. He is trying now to keep this
-vow. History repeats itself you know. He ruined the happiness of one
-life, and brought about this tragedy, by poisoning the mind of a wife,
-and setting her against her husband; and I presume he thinks that
-experiment was successful enough to be worth repeating. There, Monica,
-I have said my say. You have now before you a circumstantial history of
-the past life of Sir Conrad Fitzgerald—your friend.”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.
-
-STORM AND CALM.
-
-
-Monica sat with her face buried in her hands, her whole frame quivering
-with emotion. Those last words of her husband’s smote her almost like
-a blow. She deserved them, no doubt; yet they were cruel, coming like
-that. He could not have spoken so if he loved her. He would not stand
-coldly aloof whilst she suffered, if he held her really dear. And yet,
-once he had almost seemed to love her, till she had alienated him by
-her pride and self-will. It was just, she admitted, yet, oh! it was
-very hard!
-
-She sat, crushed and confounded, for a time, and it was only by a great
-effort that she spoke at all.
-
-“I did not know, Randolph; I did not know. You should have told me
-before.”
-
-“I believed you did know. You told me that you did.”
-
-“Not that. Did you think I could know _that_ and treat him as a friend?
-Oh, Randolph! how could you? You ought to have told me before.”
-
-“Perhaps I ought,” he said. “But remember, Monica, I spoke out very
-plainly, and still you insisted that he was, and should continue to be,
-your friend—your repentant friend.”
-
-Monica raised her eyes to her husband’s face, full of a sort of mute
-reproach. She felt that she merited the rebuke—that he might have
-said much more without being really harsh—and yet it was very hard, in
-this hour of their re-union, to have to hear, from lips that had never
-uttered till then anything but words of gentleness and love, these
-reproofs and strictures on her conduct. She saw that he was moved: that
-there was a repressed agitation and excitement in his whole manner;
-but she could not guess how deeply he had been roused and stirred
-by the careless jests he had heard passed that day, nor how burning
-an indignation he felt towards the man who had plotted to ruin his
-happiness.
-
-“You should not have left me, Randolph,” said Monica, “if you could not
-trust me.”
-
-He went up to her quietly, and took her hands. She stood up, looking
-straight into his eyes.
-
-“I did trust you—I do trust you,” he answered, with subdued
-impetuosity. “Can I look into your face and harbour one doubt of your
-goodness and truth? I trust _you_ implicitly; it is your judgment, not
-your heart, that has been at fault.”
-
-She looked up gratefully, and drew one step nearer.
-
-“And now that you have come back, all will be right again,” she said.
-“Randolph, I will never speak to that man again.”
-
-His face was stern; it wore a look she did not understand.
-
-“I am not sure of that,” he answered, speaking with peculiar
-incisiveness. “It may be best that you _should_ speak to him again.”
-
-She looked up, bewildered.
-
-“Randolph, why do you say that? Do you think that, after all, he has
-repented?”
-
-Randolph’s face expressed an unutterable scorn. She read the meaning of
-that glance, and answered it as if it had been expressed in words.
-
-“Randolph, do you believe for a moment that I would permit any one to
-speak ill of you to me? Am I not your wife?”
-
-His face softened as he looked at her, but there was a good deal of
-sadness there, too.
-
-“I do not believe you would deliberately listen to such words from him;
-but are not poisoned shafts launched sometimes that strike home and
-rankle? Has no one ever come between you and me, since the day you
-gave yourself to me in marriage?”
-
-He saw her hesitation, and a great sadness came into his eyes. How near
-she was and yet how far! His heart ached for her in her loneliness and
-isolation, and it ached for himself too.
-
-Monica broke the silence first.
-
-“Randolph,” she said timidly; “no harm has been done to you, really? He
-cannot hurt you; can he?”
-
-His face was stern as he answered her.
-
-“He will hurt me if he can—through my wife. His threat is still
-unfulfilled; but he knows where to plant a blow, how to strike in the
-dark. Yes, Monica, he has hurt me.”
-
-She drew back a pace.
-
-“How?”
-
-“It hurts me to know that idle gossip connects my wife’s name with
-his—that he has the credit of being a lover, discarded only from
-motives of policy. I know that there is not a syllable of truth in
-these reports—that they have been set afloat by his malicious tongue.
-Nevertheless, they hurt me. They hurt me the more because my wife has
-given some countenance to such rumours, by permitting a certain amount
-of intimacy with a man whom her husband will not receive.”
-
-Monica was white to the lips. She understood now, as she had never
-done before, what Cecilia Bellamy had meant by her flighty speeches a
-few hours before. They had disgusted and offended her then, now they
-appeared like absolute insults. Randolph saw the stricken look upon her
-face, and knew that she was cut to the quick.
-
-“Monica,” he said, more gently, “what has been done can be undone by a
-little patience and self-control. We need not be afraid of a man like
-Sir Conrad. I have known him and his ways long. He has tried before to
-injure me without success. He has tried in a more subtle way this time;
-yet again I say, most emphatically, that he has failed.”
-
-But Monica hardly heard. She was torn by the tumult of her shame and
-distress.
-
-“Randolph!” she exclaimed, stretching out her hands towards him:
-“Randolph, take me home! oh! take me home, out of this cruel, cruel,
-wicked world! I cannot live here. It kills me; it stifles the very life
-out of me! I am so miserable, so desolate here! It is all so hard, and
-so terrible! Take me home! Ah! I was happy once!”
-
-“I will take you to Trevlyn, Monica, believe me, as soon as ever I can;
-but it cannot be just yet. Shall I tell you why?”
-
-She recoiled from him once more, putting up her hand with that
-instinctive gesture of distress.
-
-“You are very cruel to me Randolph,” she said, with the sharpness of
-keen misery in her voice.
-
-He stood quite still, looking at her, and then continued in the same
-quiet way:
-
-“Shall I tell you why? I cannot take you away until we have been seen
-together as before. I shall go with you to some of those houses you
-have visited without me. We must be seen riding and driving, and going
-about as if nothing whatever had occurred during my absence. If we meet
-Fitzgerald, there must be nothing in your manner or in mine to indicate
-that he is otherwise than absolutely indifferent to us. I dare say he
-will put himself in your way. He would like to force upon me the part
-of the jealous, distrustful husband, but it is a _rôle_ I decline to
-play at his bidding. I am not jealous, nor am I distrustful, and he
-and all the world shall see that this is so. If I take you away now,
-Monica, I shall give occasion for people to say that I am afraid to
-trust my wife in any place where she may meet Fitzgerald. Let us stay
-where we are, and ignore the foolish rumours he has circulated, and we
-shall soon see them drop into deserved oblivion.”
-
-“Randolph, I cannot! I cannot!” cried Monica, who was now overwrought
-and agitated to the verge of exhaustion; “I _cannot_ stay here. I
-cannot go amongst those who have dared to say such things, to believe
-such things of me. What does it matter what they think, when we are far
-away? Take me back to Trevlyn, and let us forget it all. Let me go, if
-only for a week. I have never asked you anything before. Oh! Randolph,
-do not be so hard! Say that you will take me home!”
-
-“If I loved you less, Monica,” he answered, in a very low, gentle tone,
-“I should say yes. As it is, I say no. I cannot take you to Trevlyn
-yet.”
-
-She turned away then, and left him without a word, passing slowly
-through the brilliantly-lighted room, and up the wide staircase.
-Randolph sat down and rested his head upon his hand, and a long-drawn
-sigh rose up from the very depths of his heart. This interview had
-tried him quite as much as it had done Monica—possibly even more.
-
-“Perhaps, after all, Fitzgerald _has_ revenged himself,” he muttered,
-“though not in a way he anticipated. Ah, Monica! my fair young wife,
-why cannot you trust me a little more?”
-
-Monica trusted him far more than he knew. It was not in anger that
-she had left him. In the depth of her heart she believed that he had
-judged wisely and well; it was only the wave of home-sickness sweeping
-over her that had urged her to such passionate pleading. And then
-his strong, inflexible firmness gave her a curious sense of rest and
-confidence. She herself was so torn and rent by conflicting emotions,
-by bewilderment and uncertainty, that his resolute determination
-and singleness of purpose were as a rock and tower of defence. She
-had called him cruel in the keen disappointment of the moment, but
-she knew he was not really so. Home-sick, aching for Trevlyn as she
-was—irrepressibly as she shrank from the idea of facing those to whom
-she had given cause to say that she did not love her husband, she felt
-that his decision was right. It might be hard, but it was necessary,
-and she would go through her part unflinchingly for his sake. It was
-the least that she could do to make amends for the unconscious wrong
-she had done him.
-
-She felt humbled to the very dust, utterly distrustful of herself, and
-quite unworthy of the gentleness and forbearance her husband showed
-towards her. How much he must be disappointed in her! How hard he must
-feel it to have married her out of kindness, and to be treated thus!
-
-She was very quiet and submissive during the days that followed, doing
-everything he suggested, studying in all things to please him, and to
-make up for the past. In society she was more bright and less silent
-than she had been heretofore. She was determined not to appear unhappy.
-No one should in future have cause to say that her present life was not
-congenial to her. Certainly, if anyone took the trouble to watch her
-now, it would easily be seen that she was no longer indifferent to her
-husband. Her eyes often followed him about when he was absent from her
-side. She always seemed to know where he was, and to turn to him with a
-sort of instinctive welcome when he came back to her. This clinging to
-him was quite unconscious, the natural result of her confidence in his
-strength and protecting care; but it was visible to one pair of keenly
-jealous eyes, and Conrad Fitzgerald, when he occasionally found himself
-in company with Randolph and his wife, watched with a sense of baffled
-malevolence the failure of his carefully-planned scheme.
-
-People began to talk now of the devotion of Mr. Trevlyn and Lady Monica
-with as much readiness and carelessness as they had done about their
-visible estrangement. It takes very little to set idle tongues wagging,
-and every one admired the bride and liked the bridegroom, so that the
-good opinion of the world was not difficult to regain.
-
-But Monica’s peace of mind was less easily recovered. At home she
-was grave and sad, and he thought her cold; and the full and entire
-reconciliation—of which, indeed, at that time she would have felt quite
-unworthy—was not to be yet. Each was conscious of deep love on his or
-her own side, but could not read the heart of the other, and feared to
-break the existing calm by any attempt to ruffle the surface of the
-waters.
-
-They were not very much alone, for Lord Haddon and his sister spent
-many evenings with them when they were not otherwise engaged, and the
-intimacy between the two houses increased rapidly.
-
-Monica had never again alluded to the prospective return to Trevlyn—the
-half-promise made by Randolph to take her back soon. She did not know
-what “soon” might mean, and she did not ask. She had grown content now
-to leave that question in his hands.
-
-Once, when in the after-dinner twilight, she had been talking to
-Beatrice of her old home, the latter said, with eager vehemence:
-
-“How you must long to see it again! How you must ache to be out of this
-tumult, and back with your beloved sea and cliffs and pine-woods! Don’t
-you hate our noisy, busy London? Don’t you pine to go back?”
-
-Monica was silent, pondering, as it seemed. She was thinking deeply.
-When she answered out of the fulness of her heart, her words startled
-even herself.
-
-“I don’t think I do. I missed the quiet and rest at first, but, you
-see, my husband is here; I do not pine when I have him.”
-
-Beatrice’s eyes grew suddenly wistful. “Ah, no!” she answered. “I can
-understand that.”
-
-But after a long silence she rallied herself and asked:
-
-“But is he not going to take you back? Do you not want to see your
-father and brother again?”
-
-“Yes, if Randolph is willing to take me; but it must be as he likes.”
-
-“He will like what will please you best.”
-
-Monica smiled a little.
-
-“No; he will like what is best, and I shall like it too.”
-
-Beatrice studied her face intently.
-
-“Do you know, Monica, that you have changed since I saw you first?”
-
-Monica passed her hand across her brow. What a long time it seemed
-since that first meeting in the park!
-
-“Have I?”
-
-“Yes. Do you know I used to have a silly fancy that you did not much
-care for Randolph? It was absurd and impertinent, I know; but Haddon
-had brought such a strange account of your sudden wedding, called you
-the ‘snow bride,’ and had somehow got an idea that it had all been
-rather cold and sad—forgetting, of course, that the sadness was on
-account of your father’s health. I suppose I got a preconceived idea;
-and do you know, when first I knew you I used to think of you as
-the ‘snow-bride,’ and fancy you very cold to everyone—especially to
-Randolph; and now that I see more of you and know you better, it is
-just as plain that you love him with all your heart and soul.”
-
-Monica sat quite still in the darkness, turning about the ring upon
-her finger—the pledge of his wedded love. She was startled at hearing
-put into plain words the secret thought treasured deep down in her
-heart, but seldom looked into or analysed. Had it come to that? Did she
-indeed love him thus? Was that the reason she yielded up herself and
-her future so trustfully and willingly to him?—the reason that she no
-longer yearned after Trevlyn as home, so long as he was at her side?
-Yes, that was surely it. Beatrice had spoken no more than the truth
-in what she said. She did love her husband heart and soul; but did he
-love her too? There lay the sting—she had proved unworthy of him: he
-must know it and feel it. She had been near to winning his heart; but
-alas! she had not won it—and now, now perhaps it was too late. And yet
-the full truth was like a ray of sunshine in her heart. Might she not
-yet win his love by the depth and tenderness of her own? Something deep
-down within her said that the land of promise lay, after all, not so
-very far away.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.
-
-A SUMMONS TO TREVLYN.
-
-
-“Randolph! Randolph! Why did you not take me home when I begged so hard
-to go? It was cruel! cruel! And now it is too late!”
-
-This irrepressible cry of anguish burst from Monica in the first
-moments of a terrible, overmastering grief. An open telegram in
-Randolph’s hand announced the sudden death of Lord Trevlyn. He had just
-broken to his wife, with as much gentleness as he could, the news of
-this crushing sorrow. It was hardly unnatural that she should remember,
-in such a moment, how eloquently she had pleaded a few weeks back to
-be taken home to Trevlyn, yet she repented the words before they had
-passed her lips, for she saw they had hurt her husband.
-
-He was deeply grieved for her, his heart yearned over her, but his
-words were few.
-
-“Can you be ready to start, Monica, by the noon express?”
-
-She bent her head in a silent assent, and moved away as one who walks
-in a dream.
-
-“Poor child!” he said softly, “poor child! If only my love could make
-up to you for what you have lost; but alas! that is not what you want.”
-
-It was a strange, sad, silent journey, almost as sad as the one in
-which Randolph had brought his bride to London. He was taking her back
-at last to her childhood’s home. Was he any nearer to her innermost
-self than he had been that day, now nearly three months ago?
-
-He was hopeful that he had made an advance, and yet this sudden recall
-to Trevlyn disconcerted him. Apart from the question of the earl’s
-death, there was another trouble, he believed, hanging over Monica’s
-future. Tom Pendrill had been profiting by her absence to “experiment,”
-as she would have called it, upon Arthur, with results that had
-surprised even him, though he had always believed the case curable if
-properly treated. Randolph had had nothing to do directly with the
-matter, but Tom had written lately, asking him to find out the best
-authorities on spinal injuries, and get some one or two specialists
-to come and have a look at the boy. This Randolph had done at his own
-expense, and with the result, as he had heard a few days back, that
-Arthur was to be sent abroad for a year, to be under a German doctor,
-whose cures of similar cases had been bringing him into marked repute.
-
-Monica had been, by Arthur’s special wish, kept in ignorance of
-everything. He was eagerly anxious, even at the cost of considerable
-suffering, to submit to the prescribed treatment, feeling how much good
-he had already received from Tom’s more severe remedies; but he knew
-how Monica shrank from the idea of anything that could give him pain,
-how terrible she would consider the idea of parting, how vehemently
-she would struggle to thwart the proposed plan. So he had begged that
-she might be kept in ignorance till all was finally settled. Indeed,
-he had some idea, not entirely discouraged by Tom, of getting himself
-quietly removed to Germany in her absence, so that she might be spared
-all the anxiety, misery, and suspense.
-
-Randolph could hardly have been acquitted of participation in the
-scheme, the whole cost of which was to fall upon him, and he wondered
-what Monica might think of his share in it. It had been no doing of his
-that she had not been told from the first. He had urged upon the others
-the unfairness of keeping her in the dark; but Arthur’s vehement wish
-for secrecy had won the day, and he had held his peace until he should
-be permitted to speak.
-
-And now, what would happen? What was likely to be the result upon
-Monica of the inevitable disclosure? Would it not seem to her as if
-the first act of her husband, on succeeding to the family estate, was
-to banish from it the one being for whom she had so often bespoken his
-protection and brotherly care? Might she not fancy that he was in some
-way the originator of the scheme? Might she not be acute enough to see
-that but for him it never could have been carried out, owing to lack
-of necessary funds? Her father might have approved it, but he could
-not have forwarded it as Randolph was able to do. Might it not seem
-to her that he was trying to rid himself of an unwelcome burden, and
-to isolate his wife from all whom she loved best? He could not forget
-some of the words she had spoken not very long after their marriage.
-Practically those words had been rescinded by what had followed, but
-that could hardly be so in this case. Monica’s heart clung round
-Arthur with a passionate, yearning tenderness, that was one of the
-main-springs of her existence. What would she say to those who had
-banded together to take the boy from her?
-
-Randolph’s pre-occupation and gravity were not lost upon Monica, but
-she had no clue to their real cause. She felt that there was something
-in it of which she was ignorant, and there was a sort of sadness and
-constraint even in the suspicion of such a thing. She was unnerved
-and miserable, and, although, she well knew she had not merited her
-husband’s full confidence, it hurt her keenly to feel that it was
-withheld from her.
-
-Evening came on, a wild, melancholy stormy evening—is there anything
-more sad and dreary than a midsummer storm? It does not come with the
-wild, resistless might of a winter tempest, sweeping triumphantly
-along, carrying all before it in the exuberance of its power. It is a
-sad, subdued, moaning creature, full of eerie sounds of wailing and
-regret, not wrapped in darkness, but cloaked in misty twilight, grey
-and ghostlike—a pale, sorrowful, mysterious thing, that seems to know
-itself altogether out of place, and is haunted by its own melancholy
-and dreariness.
-
-It was in the fast waning light of such a summer’s evening that the
-portals of Trevlyn opened to welcome Monica again.
-
-She was in the old familiar hall that once had been so dear to her—the
-place whose stern, grim desolation had held such charms for her. Why
-did she now gaze round her with dilated eyes, a sort of horror growing
-upon her? Why did she cling to her husband’s arm so closely, as the
-frowning suits of mail and black carved faces stared at her out of the
-dusky darkness? Why was her first exclamation one of terror and dismay?
-
-“Randolph! Randolph! This is not Trevlyn! It cannot be Trevlyn! Take me
-home! ah, take me home!”
-
-There was a catch in her breath; she was shaken with nervous agitation
-and exhaustion. It seemed to her that this ghostly place was
-altogether strange and terrible. She did not know that the change was
-in herself; she thought it was in her surroundings.
-
-“What have they done to it? What have they done to Trevlyn? This is not
-my old home!”
-
-Randolph took her in his arms, alarmed by her pale looks and manifest
-disquietude.
-
-“Not know your own old home, Monica?” he said, half gravely, half
-playfully. “This is the only Trevlyn I have ever known. It is you
-that have half forgotten, you have grown used to something so very
-different.”
-
-Monica looked timidly about her, half convinced, yet not relieved of
-all her haunting fears. What a strange, vast, silent place it was!
-Voices echoed strangely in it, resounding as it were from remote
-corners. Footsteps sounded hollow and strange as they came and went
-along the deserted passages. The staircase stretched upwards into blank
-darkness, suggesting lurking horrors. All was intensely desolate. Was
-this truly the home she had loved so well?
-
-But Lady Diana appeared from one direction, and Tom Pendrill from
-another. Monica dropped her husband’s arm and stood up, her calm, quiet
-self again.
-
-Food was awaiting the travellers, and as they partook, or tried to
-partake of it, they heard all such particulars of the earl’s sudden
-death as there were to hear. He had been as well as usual; indeed,
-during the past week he had really appeared to gain in strength and
-activity. He had been out of doors on all fine days, and only yesterday
-had sat out for quite a long time upon the terrace. He had gone to
-bed apparently in his usual health; but when his man had gone to him
-in the morning he found him dead and cold. Tom Pendrill had come over
-at once, and had remained for the day, relieving Lady Diana from all
-trouble in looking after things, and thinking what was to be done. It
-was his opinion that the earl had died in his sleep, without a moment’s
-premonition. It was syncope of the heart, and was most likely almost
-instantaneous. There had been no struggle and no pain, as was evident
-from his restful attitude and expression.
-
-The next days passed sadly and heavily, and the earl was laid to rest
-amongst his forefathers in the family vault. Lady Diana took her
-departure, glad, after the strain and sorrow of the past days, to
-escape from surroundings so gloomy, and to solace herself for her long
-stay at Trevlyn, by a retreat to an atmosphere more congenial to her.
-
-Monica was glad to see her go. She shrank from her sharp words and
-sharper looks. She longed to be alone with her husband, that she might
-try to win back his heart by her own deep love that she hid away so
-well.
-
-But it was not easy even then to say what was in her heart. Randolph
-was busy from morning till night over the necessary business that must
-ensue upon the death of a landed proprietor. Tom Pendrill, who had
-been much with the earl of late, remained to assist his successor; and
-both the men seemed to take it for granted that Monica would gladly be
-spared all business discussions, and devote herself to Arthur, from
-whom she had so long been separated.
-
-Monica, very gentle and submissive, accepted the office bestowed
-upon her, and quietly bided her time. Despite the loss she had just
-sustained, she was not unhappy. How could she be unhappy when she had
-her husband? when she felt that every day they were drawing nearer and
-nearer together? She looked wistfully into his face sometimes, and
-saw the old proud, tender look shining upon her, thrilling her with
-wonderful gladness. Some little shadow still hung over them, but it
-was rolling slowly away—the dawn was breaking in its golden glory—the
-time was drawing very near when each was to know the heart of the other
-wholly and entirely won.
-
-She never shrank from hearing the new Lord Trevlyn called by his title;
-but looked at him proudly and tenderly, feeling how well he bore the
-dignity, how nobly he would fulfil the duties now devolving upon him.
-She watched him day by day with quiet, loving solicitude. She saw
-his care for her in each act or plan, knew that he thought for her
-still, made her his first object, although she had disappointed him
-so grievously once. Her heart throbbed with joy to feel that this was
-so; the sunshine deepened round her path day by day. Just a little
-patience—just a little time to show him that the old distrust and
-insubordination were over, and he would give to her—she felt sure of it
-now—the love she prized above all else on earth.
-
-Monica’s face might be pale and grave in these days, yet it wore an
-added sweetness as each passed by, for her heart was full of strange
-new joy. She loved her husband—he loved her—their hearts were all but
-united.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.
-
-CHANGES.
-
-
-“Arthur!”
-
-“Aha! my lady! you did not expect that, did you? Now look here!”
-
-Arthur, who was sitting up in an arm-chair—a thing Monica had never
-seen him do since that terrible fall from the cliffs years ago—now
-pulled himself slowly into a standing position, and by the help of a
-stout stick, shuffled a few paces to his couch, upon which he sank
-breathless, yet triumphant, though his drawn brow betrayed that the
-achievement was made at the cost of some physical pain.
-
-“Arthur, don’t! You will kill yourself!”
-
-“On the contrary, I am going to cure myself—or rather, Tom and his
-scientific friends are going to cure me,” answered Arthur, panting a
-little with the exertion, but very gay and confident. “Do you know,
-Monica, that for the last three months I have been at Tom’s tender
-mercies, and you see what I can do at the end of that time? Randolph
-paid no end of money, I believe, to send down two big swells from
-London to overhaul me; and now—now what do you think is going to
-happen?”
-
-“What?”
-
-“The day after to-morrow I am going to start for Germany—for a place
-where there are mineral springs and things; and I am going to stay
-there for a year, with a doctor who has cured people worse than me.
-Randolph is going to pay—isn’t he just awfully good? And in a year,
-Monica, I shall come back to you well—cured! What do you think of that?
-Haven’t we kept our secret well? Why, Monica, don’t look like that!
-Aren’t you pleased to think that I shall not be always a cripple?”
-
-But Monica was too utterly astounded to be able to realise all at once
-what this meant.
-
-“Arthur, I don’t understand,” she said at length. “You seeing
-doctors—you going to Germany! Whose doing is it all?”
-
-“Whose? Randolph’s practically, I suppose, since he finds the money for
-it.”
-
-“Why was not I told?”
-
-“That was my doing. I felt that if you knew you would dissuade me. But
-you can’t now, for in two days I shall be gone!”
-
-“Was Randolph willing to keep a secret from me—about you?” asked
-Monica, slowly.
-
-“No, he didn’t like it. He wanted you to be told; but I wouldn’t have
-it, and he gave in. I wanted to tell you myself when everything was
-fixed. Can you believe I am really going?”
-
-“No, I can’t. Do you want to go, Arthur—to leave Trevlyn?”
-
-“I want to get well,” he answered, eagerly. “If you had been lying on
-your back for years, Monica, you would understand.”
-
-“I do understand,” answered Monica, clasping her hands. “Only—only——”
-
-“Oh! yes, I know all that. It won’t be pleasant. But I’d do more for a
-good chance of getting well. So now it’s all settled, and I’m off the
-day after to-morrow!”
-
-“You’ve not given me much time for my preparations.”
-
-Arthur laughed outright.
-
-“Oh, you’re not going—did you think you were? Why, you’re Lady Trevlyn
-now—a full-blown countess. It would be too absurd, your tying yourself
-to me. Besides”—with a touch of manly gravity and purpose—“I wouldn’t
-have you, Monica, not at any price. I can stand things myself, but I
-can’t stand the look in your eyes. Besides, you know, it would be
-absurd now—quite absurd. You’re married, you know, and that changes
-everything.”
-
-Monica’s face was hard to read.
-
-“I should have thought that, even married, I might have been allowed
-to see you placed safely in the hands of this new doctor, after having
-been almost your only nurse all these years.”
-
-He stretched out his hand and drew her towards him, making her kneel
-down beside him, so that he could gaze right into her face.
-
-“You must not look like that, you sweet, sensitive, silly sister,” said
-Arthur, caressingly. “You must not think I have changed, because I wish
-to go away, and because I will not have you with me. I love you the
-same as ever. I know that you love me, and if you want a proof of this
-you shall have it, for I am going to ask a favour of you—a very great
-favour.”
-
-Monica smoothed his hair with her hand.
-
-“A favour, Arthur?—Something that I can grant? You know you have only
-to ask.”
-
-“I want you to lend me Randolph,” he said, with a little laugh, as
-if amused at the form of words he had chosen. “I want to know if you
-can spare him for the journey. Tom is going to take me, but somehow,
-Tom—well, he is very clever and kind, but he does hurt me, there’s no
-denying, and I don’t feel quite resigned to be entirely at his mercy.
-But Randolph is different. He is so very strong, he moves me twice as
-easily, and he is so awfully kind and gentle: he stops in a moment if
-he thinks it hurts. He has been here a good bit with Tom since he got
-back, and you can’t think how different his handling is. I don’t like
-to take him away from you. You must miss him so awfully: he is such a
-splendid fellow!”
-
-“Have you said anything to Randolph about it?”
-
-“Oh, no. I couldn’t till I’d asked you. I do feel horrid to suggest
-such a thing; but you’ve made me selfish, you know, by spoiling me. It
-will take us three days to go; but he could come back much quicker. Tom
-is going to stop on for a bit, to study cures with this old fogey; so I
-shall have somebody with me. I’ll not keep Randolph a day after I get
-landed there, but I should like him for the journey uncommonly.”
-
-Monica stooped and kissed him. “I will arrange that for you,” she said,
-quietly, and went away without another word.
-
-She went slowly downstairs to the study, where her husband was
-generally to be found. She was dazed and confused by the astounding
-piece of news she had heard: hurt, pleased, hopeful, grieved, anxious,
-and half indignant all in one. Her indignation was all for Tom
-Pendrill, whom she had always regarded, where Arthur was concerned,
-something in the light of a natural foe. For her husband’s quiet
-generosity and goodness she had nothing but the warmest gratitude. He
-would not be led away by professional enthusiasm, or wish to inflict
-suffering upon Arthur just for the sake of scientific inquiry. He would
-not wish to send him from Trevlyn unless he believed that some great
-benefit would result from that banishment.
-
-She smiled proudly as she thought of Conrad’s old prediction fulfilling
-itself so exactly now. Once she would have felt this deed of his as a
-crushing blow, aimed at the very foundation of her love and happiness;
-now she only saw in it a new proof of her husband’s single-minded love
-and strength. He would do even that which he knew would cause present
-pain, if he felt assured it were best to do so. He had proved his
-strength like this before, and she knew that he had been in the right.
-Should she distrust him now? Never again! never again! She had done
-with distrust now. She loved him too truly to feel a shadow of doubt.
-Whatever he did must be true and right. She would find him now, and
-thank him for his goodness towards her boy.
-
-She went straight to the study, full of this idea. Her eyes were
-shining strangely; her face showed that her feelings had been deeply
-stirred. But when she opened the door, she paused with a start
-expressive of slight discomfiture, for her husband was not alone—Tom
-Pendrill was with him. They had guide-books and a Continental Bradshaw
-open before them, and were deep in discussions and plans.
-
-They looked up quickly as Monica appeared, and Randolph, seeing by
-her face that she knew all, nerved himself to meet displeasure and
-misunderstanding. Monica could not say now what she had rehearsed on
-the way. Tom was there, and she was not sure that she quite forgave
-him, although she believed he acted from motives of kindness; but
-certainly she could not speak out before him. The words she had come
-prepared to utter died away on her lips, and her silence and whole
-attitude looked significant of deep-lying distress and displeasure.
-
-“You have heard the news, Monica?” said Tom, easily.
-
-“Yes, I have heard the news,” she answered, very quietly. “Is it true
-that you take him away the day after to-morrow?”
-
-“Quite true,” answered Tom, looking very steadily at her. “Do you
-forgive us, Monica?”
-
-She was silent for a moment; sort of quiver passed over her face.
-
-“I am not quite sure if I forgive _you_,” she answered in a low even
-tone.
-
-She had not looked at her husband all this time, nor attempted to speak
-to him. She was labouring visibly under the stress of subdued emotion.
-Randolph believed he knew only too well the struggle that was going on
-within her.
-
-“Monica,” he said—and his voice sounded almost cold in his effort to
-keep it thoroughly under control—“I am afraid this has been a shock to
-you. I am sure you will feel it very much. Will you try to believe that
-we are acting as we believe for the best as regards Arthur’s future,
-and pardon the mystery that has surrounded our proceedings?”
-
-Monica gave him one quick look—so quick and transient that he could not
-catch the secret it revealed. She spoke very quietly.
-
-“Everything has been settled, and I must accept the judgment of others.
-Results alone can quite reconcile me to the idea; but at least I have
-learned to know that I do not always judge best in difficult questions.
-Arthur wishes to go, and I will not stand in his way. There is only one
-thing that I want to ask,” and she looked straight at her husband.
-
-“What is that, Monica?”
-
-“I want you to go with him, Randolph.”
-
-“You want me to go with him?”
-
-“Yes, to settle him in his new quarters, and to come and tell me all
-about it, and how he has borne the journey. Tom will not be back for
-weeks—and I don’t know if I quite trust Tom’s truthfulness. Will you go
-too, Randolph? I shall be happier if I know he is in your keeping as
-well.”
-
-He looked at her earnestly. Did she wish to get rid of him for a time?
-Was his presence distasteful to her after this last act of his? He
-could not tell, but his heart was heavy as he gave the required assent.
-
-“I will do as you wish, Monica. If you do not mind being a few days
-alone at Trevlyn, I will go with Arthur. It is the least I can do, I
-suppose, after taking him away from you.”
-
-“Thank you, Randolph,” she said, with one more of those inexplicable
-glances. “I need not be alone at Trevlyn. Aunt Elizabeth will come, I
-am sure, and stay with me;” and she went quietly away without another
-word.
-
-“I say, Trevlyn, you have tamed my lady pretty considerably,” remarked
-Tom, when the men were alone together. “I expected no end of a shine
-when she found out, and she yields the point like a lamb. Seems to me
-you’ve cast a pretty good spell over her during the short time you’ve
-had her in hand.”
-
-Randolph pulled thoughtfully at his moustache as he turned again to
-the papers on the table. He did not reply directly to Tom’s remark,
-but presently observed, rather as if it were the outcome of his own
-thoughts:
-
-“All the same, I would give a good deal if one of my first acts after
-coming into the property were not to banish Arthur from Trevlyn for a
-considerable and indeterminate time.”
-
-“Oh, bosh!” ejaculated Tom, taking up Bradshaw again. “Why, even Monica
-would never put a construction like that upon this business.”
-
-This day and the next flew by as if on wings. There was so much to
-think of, so much to do, and Monica had Arthur so much upon her mind,
-that she found no opportunity to say to Randolph what she had purposed
-doing in the heat of the moment. Speech was still an effort to her; her
-reserve was too deep to be easily overcome. She was busy and he was
-pre-occupied. When he returned she would tell him all, and thank him
-for his generous goodness towards her boy.
-
-“Monica,” said Arthur, as she came to bid him good-night upon the eve
-of his journey—he had had a soothing draught administered, and was no
-longer excited, but quiet and drowsy—“Monica, you will be quite happy,
-will you not, with only Randolph now? You love him very much, don’t
-you?”
-
-She bent her head and kissed him.
-
-“Yes, Arthur,” she answered, softly. “I love him with all my heart.”
-
-“Just as he loves you,” murmured Arthur. “I can see it in his face,
-in every tone of his voice, especially when he talks of you—which is
-pretty nearly always—we both like it so much. I am so glad you feel
-just the same. I thought you did. I shall like to think about you
-so—how happy you will be!”
-
-The next day after Arthur had been placed in the carriage that was to
-take him away from Trevlyn, and Monica had said her last adieu to him,
-and had turned away with pale face and quivering lips, she felt her
-hands taken in her husband’s strong warm clasp.
-
-“Monica,” he said tenderly, “good-bye. I will take every care of him.
-You shall hear everything, and shall not regret, if I can help it,
-trusting him to me.”
-
-Monica looked up suddenly into his face, and put her arms about his
-neck. She did not care at that moment for the presence of Tom or of the
-servants. Her husband was leaving her—she had only thoughts for him.
-
-“Take care of yourself, Randolph,” she said, her voice quivering, and
-almost breaking. “Take care of yourself, and come back to me as quickly
-as you can. I shall miss you, oh! so much, till I have you safe home
-again. Good-bye, dear husband, good-bye!”
-
-He held her for a moment in his arms. His heart beat tumultuously; for
-an instant everything seemed to recede, and leave him and his wife
-alone in the world together; but it was no time now to indulge in
-raptures. He kissed her brow and lips, and gently unloosed her clasp.
-
-“Good-bye, my wife,” he said gently. “God bless and keep you always.”
-
-The next moment the carriage was rolling rapidly away along the road,
-Monica gazing after it, her soul in her eyes.
-
-“Ah; my darling,” said Mrs. Pendrill, coming and taking her by the
-hand, “it is very hard to part with him; but it was kind to Arthur to
-spare him, and it is only for a few days.”
-
-“I know, I know,” answered Monica passing her hand across her eyes.
-“I would not have kept him here. Arthur wanted him so much—I can
-understand so well what he felt—it would have been selfish to hold him
-back. But it feels so lonely and desolate without him; as if everything
-were changed and different. I can’t express it; but oh! I do feel it
-all so keenly.”
-
-Mrs. Pendrill pressed the hand she held.
-
-“You love him, then, so very much?”
-
-“Ah, yes,” she answered; “how could I help it?”
-
-“It makes me very happy to hear you say that. For I was sometimes
-rather afraid that you were hurried into marriage before you had
-learned to know your own heart, I thought.”
-
-Monica passed her hand across her brow.
-
-“Was I hurried?” she asked dreamily. “It is so hard to remember all
-that now. It seems as if I had always loved Randolph—as if he had
-always been the centre of my life.”
-
-And Mrs. Pendrill was content. She said no more, asked no more
-questions.
-
-“You know, Randolph,” said Arthur to his kindest of nurses and
-attendants, as he lay in bed at night, after rather a hard day’s
-travelling, “I don’t wonder now that you’ve so completely cut me out.
-I shouldn’t have believed it possible once, but it seems not only
-possible, but natural enough, now that I know what kind of a fellow you
-are.”
-
-“What do you mean, my boy?” asked Randolph.
-
-“Mean? Why, what I say to be sure. I understand now why you’ve so
-completely cut me out with Monica. I only hold quite a subordinate
-place in her affections now. It is quite right, and I shall never be
-jealous of you, old fellow; only mind you always let me be her brother.
-I can’t give up that. You may have all the rest, though. You deserve
-it, and you’ve got it too, by her own showing.”
-
-Randolph started a little involuntarily.
-
-“What do you mean?”
-
-“Mean? why, that she loves you heart and soul, of course. You must know
-it as well as I, and I had it from her own lips.”
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-“My wife, my wife!” said Randolph, as he paced beneath the starry
-heavens that night. “Then I was not deceived or mistaken—my wife—my
-Monica—my very own—God bless you, my darling, and bring me safe home to
-you and to your love!”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.
-
-UNITED.
-
-
-During the days that followed Monica lived as in one long, happy dream.
-The clouds all seemed to have rolled away, letting in the sunshine to
-the innermost recesses of her heart.
-
-Why was she so calmly and serenely happy, despite the real sorrow
-hanging over her in the recent death of a tenderly-loved father? Why
-did even the loss of the brother, to whom she had vowed such changeless
-devotion, give her no special pang? She had felt his going much, yet
-it did not weigh her down with any load of sorrow. She well knew why
-these changes were. The old love had not changed nor waned, but it
-had been eclipsed in the light of the deep wonderful happiness that
-had grown up in her heart, since she had come to know how well and
-faithfully she loved Randolph, and to believe at last in his love for
-her.
-
-Yes, she no longer doubted that now. Something in the very perfectness
-of her own love drove away the haunting doubts and fears that had
-troubled her for so long. He had her heart, and she had his, and when
-once she had him home again the last shadow would have vanished away.
-How her heart beat as she pictured that meeting! How she counted the
-hours till she had him back!
-
-Only once was she disturbed in her quiet, dreamy time of waiting.
-
-Once, as she was riding through the loneliest part of the lonely pine
-wood, Conrad Fitzgerald suddenly stood in her path, gazing earnestly at
-her with a look she could not fathom.
-
-Her face flushed and paled. She regarded him with a glance of haughty
-displeasure.
-
-“Let me pass, Sir Conrad.”
-
-He did not move; he was still fixedly regarding her.
-
-“I told you how it would be, Monica,” he said. “I told you Arthur would
-be sent away.”
-
-She smiled a smile he did not understand.
-
-“Let me pass,” she said again.
-
-His eyes began to glow dangerously. Her beauty and her scorn drove him
-to a sort of fury.
-
-“Is this the way you keep your promise? Is this how you treat a man you
-have promised to call your friend?”
-
-“My friend!” Monica repeated the words very slowly, with an inflection
-the meaning of which could not be misunderstood; nor did he affect to
-misunderstand her.
-
-“Lady Monica,” he said, “you have heard some lying story, I perceive,
-trumped up by that scoundrel you call your husband.”
-
-He was forced to spring on one side then, for Monica had urged her
-horse forward, regardless of his presence, and the flash in her eye
-made him recoil for a moment; but he was wild with rage, and sprang at
-her horse, catching him by the bridle.
-
-“You shall hear me!” he cried. “You shall, I say! You have heard his
-story, now hear mine. He has brought false reports. I know him of old.
-He is my enemy. He has poisoned others against me before now. Lady
-Monica, upon my word of honour——”
-
-“_Your honour!_”
-
-That was all. Indeed, there was no more to be said. Even Conrad felt
-that, and his grasp upon the reins relaxed. Monica was not in the
-least afraid of him. She looked him steadily over as she moved quietly
-onward, without the least haste or flurry. Her quiet courage, her lofty
-scorn of him, stung him to madness.
-
-“Very good, Lady Monica—I beg your pardon—Lady Trevlyn, I should say
-now. Very good. We understand each other excellently well. You have
-made a promise, only to break it—I will show you how a vow _can_ be
-kept. I, too, have made a vow in my time. I make another now. I have
-vowed to ruin the happiness and prosperity of Randolph Trevlyn’s life;
-now I will do more. I will destroy your peace and happiness also!”
-
-He was following Monica as he spoke, and there was a deep, steady
-malevolence in every tone of his voice, and in each word that he
-uttered, which gave something of sinister significance to threats that
-might well have been mere idle bravado. Monica paid not the slightest
-heed. She rode on as if she did not even hear; but she wished she had
-her husband beside her. She was not afraid for herself, only for him;
-and in his absence it was easy to be haunted by vague, yet terrible,
-fears.
-
-But days sped by; news from Germany was good. Randolph’s task was
-accomplished, and he was on his way home; nay, he would be there almost
-as soon as the letter which announced him. He did not specify exactly
-how he would come, but he bid her look for him about dusk that very day.
-
-How her heart throbbed with joy! She could not strenuously combat Mrs.
-Pendrill’s determination to return home at once, so that husband and
-wife should be alone on his return. She wanted Randolph all to herself.
-She hungered for him; she hardly knew how to wait for the slowly
-crawling hours to pass.
-
-She drove Mrs. Pendrill to St. Maws, and on her return wandered
-aimlessly about the great lonely house, saying to herself, in a sort of
-ceaseless cadence:
-
-“He is coming. He is coming. He is coming.”
-
-Dusk was falling in the dim house. The shadows were growing black in
-the gloomy hall, where Monica was restlessly pacing. The last pale
-gleam of sunlight flickered and faded as she watched and waited with
-intense expectancy.
-
-A man’s firm step upon the terrace without—a man’s tall shadow across
-the threshold. Monica sprang forward with a low cry.
-
-“Randolph!”
-
-“Not exactly that, Lady Trevlyn!”
-
-She stopped short, and threw up her head like some beautiful wild
-creature at bay.
-
-“Sir Conrad, how _dare_ you! Leave my husband’s house this instant! Do
-you wish him to find you here? Do you wish a second chastisement at his
-hands?”
-
-Conrad’s face flushed crimson, darkening with the intensity of his
-rage, as he heard those last words.
-
-He had been drinking deeply; his usual caution and cowardice were
-merged in a passionate desire for revenge at all costs. And what better
-revenge could he enjoy at that moment than to be surprised by the
-master of the house upon his return in company with his wife? Monica
-had asked him if he wished Randolph to find him there—it was just that
-wish which had brought him.
-
-“Monica!” he cried passionately, “you shall hear me. I will be heard!
-You shall not judge me till I can plead my own cause. The veriest
-criminal is heard in his defence.”
-
-He advanced a step nearer, but she recoiled before him, and pointed to
-the door.
-
-“Go, Sir Conrad, unless you wish to be expelled by my servants. I will
-listen to nothing.”
-
-She moved as if to summon assistance, but he sprang forward and seized
-her hand, holding her wrist in so fierce a grasp that she could neither
-free herself nor reach the bell. She was a prisoner at his mercy.
-
-But Monica was a true Trevlyn, and a stranger to mere physical fear.
-The madness in his gleaming eyes, the ferocity of his whole aspect,
-were sufficiently alarming. She knew in this vast place that it would
-be in vain to call for help, no one would hear her voice; but she faced
-her enemy with cool, inflexible courage, trusting to her own strong
-will, and the inherent cowardice of a man who could thus insult a woman
-alone in her husband’s house.
-
-“Loose me, Sir Conrad!” she said.
-
-“Not until you have heard me.”
-
-“I will not hear you. I know as much of your story as there is any need
-I should. Loose me, I say! Do you know that my husband will be here
-immediately? Do you wish _him_ to expel you from his house?”
-
-Conrad laughed wildly, a sort of demoniac laugh, that made her shudder
-in spite of herself. Was he mad? Yes, mad with drink and with fury—not
-irresponsible, yet so blind, so crazed, so possessed with thoughts of
-vengeance, that he was almost more dangerous than a raving maniac would
-have been. His eyes glowed with sullen fire. His voice was hoarse and
-strained.
-
-“Do I wish him to find me here? Yes, I do—I do!” he laughed wildly.
-“Kiss me, Monica—call me your friend again! There is yet time—show him
-you are not his slave—show him how you assert yourself in his absence.”
-
-Monica recoiled with a cry of horror; but the strength of madness was
-upon him. He held her fast by the wrist. It was unspeakably hideous to
-be alone in that dim place with this terrible madman.
-
-“Monica, I love you—you shall—you must be mine!”
-
-Was that another step without? It was—it was! Thank Heaven he had come!
-
-“Randolph! Randolph! Randolph!”
-
-Monica’s voice rang out with that sudden piercing clearness that
-bespeaks terror and distress.
-
-The next moment Conrad was hurled backwards, with a force that sent him
-staggering against the wall, breathless and powerless. Before he could
-recover himself he was lifted bodily off his feet, shaken like a rat,
-and literally thrown down the terrace steps, rolling over and over in
-the descent, till he lay at the foot stunned, bruised and shaken. He
-picked himself slowly up, muttering curses as he limped away. Little
-were his curses heeded by the two he had left behind.
-
-Monica, white, trembling, unnerved by all she had gone through during
-the past minutes, held out her arms to her husband.
-
-“Randolph! Oh, Randolph!”
-
-He clasped her close to his heart, and held her there as if he never
-meant to let her go. He bent his head over her, and she felt his kisses
-on her cheek. He did not doubt—he did not distrust her! His strong arms
-pressed her even closer and closer. She lay against his breast, feeling
-no wish ever to leave that shelter. Oh, he was so true and noble—her
-own loving, faithful husband! How she loved him she had never known
-until that supreme moment.
-
-At last she stirred in his arms and lifted her face to his.
-
-“Randolph, you must never leave me again,” she said. “I cannot bear
-it—I cannot.”
-
-“I will not, my dear wife,” he answered. “Never again shall aught but
-death part thee and me.”
-
-She clung to him, half shuddering.
-
-“Ah! do not talk of death, Randolph. I cannot bear it—I cannot listen.”
-
-He pressed a kiss upon her trembling lips.
-
-“Does my wife love me now?” he asked, very gravely and tenderly. “Let
-me hear it from your own sweet lips, my Monica.”
-
-“Ah, Randolph, I love, I love you;” she lifted her eyes to his as she
-spoke. There was something almost solemn in their deep, earnest gaze.
-“Randolph, I do not think any one but your wife could know such a love
-as mine.”
-
-“Not your husband?” he asked, returning her look with one equally full
-of meaning. “Monica, you may love as well, but I think you cannot love
-more than I do.”
-
-She laid her head down again. It was unspeakably sweet to hear him say
-so, to feel his arms about her, to know that they were united at last,
-and that nothing could part them now.
-
-“Not even death,” said Monica to herself; “for love like ours is
-stronger than death.”
-
-“How came that scoundrel here?” asked Randolph, somewhat later as they
-stood together on the terrace, watching the moonlight on the sea.
-
-“I think he came to frighten me—perhaps to try and hurt us once more by
-his wicked words and deeds. Randolph, is he mad? He looked so dreadful
-to-day. He was not the old Conrad I once knew. It was terrible—till you
-came.”
-
-“I believe at times he is mad,” answered Randolph, “with a sort of
-madness that is not actual insanity, though somewhat akin to it. It
-is the madness of ungovernable passion and hatred that rises up in
-him from time to time against certain individuals, and becomes, as it
-seems, a sort of monomania with him. It was so with his friend and
-benefactor Colonel Hamilton, when once he felt himself found out. Ever
-since the horsewhipping I administered to him, I believe he has felt
-vindictively towards me. Our paths led us wide apart for several years,
-but as soon as we met again the old enmity rose up once more. He tried
-to hurt me through my wife.” Randolph looked down at her with a proud
-smile upon his handsome face. “I need not say how utterly and miserably
-he has failed.”
-
-Monica glanced up at him, a world of loving confidence in her eyes; yet
-the clinging clasp of her hands tightened upon his arm. He fancied she
-trembled a little.
-
-“What is it, my Monica?”
-
-She pressed a little more closely towards him.
-
-“Randolph, do you think he will try to hurt you now—try to do you some
-injury?”
-
-The husband smiled re-assuringly at her.
-
-“Hurt me? How, Monica?”
-
-“Oh, I don’t know; but he has spoken such cruel, wicked words. He said
-he had vowed to ruin our happiness—he looked as if he meant it—so
-vindictive, so terrible!” she shivered a little.
-
-He took her hands, and held them in his warm, strong clasp.
-
-“Are you afraid of what that bad man says, Monica—a man who is a coward
-and a scoundrel of the deepest dye? Are you afraid of idle threats from
-his lips? How could he ruin our happiness now?”
-
-She looked up at him, still with a sort of undefined trouble in her
-eyes.
-
-“He might hurt you, Randolph,” she half whispered. “What hurts you,
-hurts me. If—if—he were to take you away from me——”
-
-Randolph laid his hand smilingly upon her lips.
-
-“My darling, you are unnerved by the fright he gave you. When was
-Monica troubled by idle fears before?”
-
-“I don’t know what I fear, Randolph; but I have feelings
-sometimes—premonitions, presentiments, and I cannot shake them off.
-Ever since Conrad came, I felt a kind of horror of him, even though I
-tried to call him friend. Sometimes I think it must mean something.”
-
-“No doubt it does,” answered Randolph. “It is the natural shrinking of
-your pure soul from his evil, vicious nature. I can well understand it.
-It could hardly be otherwise. He could not deceive you long.”
-
-She looked gravely out before her.
-
-“No, I do not think he really deceived me long—not my innermost self
-of all. But I was very self-willed. I wanted to judge for myself, and
-I could not judge him rightly. I believed him. I did not want to be
-unjust—and he deceived me.”
-
-Randolph smiled and laid his hand caressingly upon her shoulder. She
-looked up with a smile.
-
-“That is right, Monica. You must put away these sad, wistful looks.
-We must not let this evening’s happiness be marred by any doubts and
-fears. You have your husband again. Is not that enough?”
-
-She turned and laid her head against his shoulder. His arm was fast
-about her in a moment. She drew a long breath, almost like a sigh.
-
-“Randolph, I think that moments like this must be a foretaste of
-heaven.”
-
-He kissed her, and she added, low and dreamily:
-
-“Only there, there will be no fear of parting. Death could not part us
-there.”
-
-“Death could not sunder our hearts even here, my Monica,” said
-Randolph. “Some love is for eternity.”
-
-“Yes,” she answered, looking out over the wide sea with a deep smile,
-that seemed as if it were reading the future in the vast, heaving
-expanse of moon-lit water. “Our love is like that—not for time alone,
-but for eternity.”
-
-He caught the gravity of her mood. Some subtle sympathy drew them ever
-closer and more close together.
-
-“And so,” he added gravely and tenderly, “we need fear nothing; for
-nothing can alter that one great thing. Nothing can change our love. We
-belong to one another always—always.”
-
-She stood very still and quiet.
-
-“Yes,” she said, “for ever and ever. Randolph, if we could both die
-to-night I think it would be a happy thing for us.”
-
-“Why?”
-
-“Because then there would be no parting to fear.”
-
-“And now?”
-
-“Now I do fear it. I fear it without knowing why. _He_ will part us if
-he can.”
-
-Randolph strained his wife close to his heart.
-
-“_If_ he can! Monica, look up; put away these idle fears, my love. Can
-I not take care of you and of myself? Let us put him for ever out of
-our lives.”
-
-“Ah! if only we could!” breathed Monica.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.
-
-A SHADOW.
-
-
-The days that followed were very full of happiness and peace for Monica
-and her husband. They were alone together in the dim old castle, far
-away from the busy whirl of life they had so gladly left behind, free
-to be with each other every moment of the flying hours, learning to
-know and to love one another with a more perfect comprehending love
-with each succeeding day.
-
-Not one tiny cloud of reserve or distrust clouded the sunshine of
-their horizon. Monica had laid before Randolph that unlucky letter
-of Lady Diana’s, had listened with a sort of mingling of delight and
-indignation to his comments on the composition—delight to hear that he
-had always loved her from the first, that in gratifying her father’s
-desire he had but been gratifying the dearest desire of his own
-heart—indignation towards the mischief-making relative, who had tried
-to deceive and humiliate her, who had told her one half of the story
-and concealed the other.
-
-But indignation was only a momentary feeling. Monica was too happy to
-cherish resentment. Her anger was but a passing spark.
-
-“I should like to speak my mind to Lady Diana,” remarked Randolph, as
-he tore the paper into small fragments and tossed them over the cliff.
-“I always distrusted her wisdom, but I did not look for deliberate
-malice like that. Why did you not show me that letter when it came,
-Monica, and let me see what I had to say to it?”
-
-She looked up with a smile.
-
-“Because I was so foolish and distrustful in those days. I did long to
-once, but then came the thought—Suppose it should be true?”
-
-And then they both smiled. There was a charm and sweetness in thus
-discussing the past, with the light of the happy present shining upon
-it.
-
-“But she meant to be your friend, Randolph. We must not forget that.
-I suppose she thought that you would tell me of your love, but that
-she ought to inform me of your generosity. Poor Aunt Diana! we
-should get on better now. In those days, Randolph, I think I was very
-_difficile_—very wilful and unapproachable. I used to think it would
-kill me ever to leave Trevlyn. I think now that it would have been the
-ruin of me to stay. It is not good to grow up in one narrow groove, and
-to gain no knowledge of anything beyond.”
-
-“That is quite true, Monica. Does that mean that you will be willing to
-leave Trevlyn, by and-bye?”
-
-“I shall be willing to do anything that you wish, Randolph. You know I
-would go anywhere with you. Do you want to take me away again?”
-
-“Presently I think I do. I should like to take you to Scotland in
-August, to stay a month or two at my little shooting-box there. You
-would like the free, roving life you could lead there, amongst that
-world of heather. And then there are things to be done at Trevlyn.
-Monica, will you be able to reconcile yourself to changes here?”
-
-“Changes?”
-
-“Yes. I should like to see Trevlyn restored to what it must have been
-a century ago. The glory has departed of late years, but you have only
-to look round to see what the place must have been once. I want to
-restore that faded glory—not to introduce glaring changes, but to make
-it something like what it must have been when our ancestors lived there
-long years ago. Would you like that, Monica? It would not go against
-you, would it, to see Trevlyn look so? I want it to be worthy of the
-mistress who will preside there. It is a wish that has haunted me ever
-since I entered its precincts and met you there.”
-
-Monica was glad to enter into any plan proposed by her husband. She was
-willing he should restore Trevlyn in any way that he wished; but she
-preferred that he should make his own arrangements about it, and let
-her only judge by the result. She could not yet enter with any sense of
-realisation into projects for making Trevlyn other than she had known
-it all her life; but she trusted Randolph’s taste and judgment, and let
-him plan and settle everything as he would.
-
-She was ready to leave home whenever he wished it, the more so that
-Conrad Fitzgerald still occupied a suite of rooms in his half
-dismantled house, and hung about the neighbourhood in an odd, aimless
-sort of fashion.
-
-How he spent his time no one seemed to know, but he must have developed
-roving tendencies, for Monica was constantly seeing him in unexpected
-places, down by the rocky shore, wandering over the trackless downs,
-or crouching in the heather or behind a tree, as she and her husband
-passed along in their daily walks or rides.
-
-He never met them face to face. He appeared to endeavour always to
-keep out of sight. Randolph, as a matter of fact, seldom saw him,
-and paid no heed, when he did, to the vindictive scowl upon the yet
-beautiful face. But Monica seemed haunted by this persistent watching
-and waiting. She was ever on the look-out for the crouching figure in
-some place of concealment, for the glitter of the fierce blue eyes, and
-the cruel sneer of the pale lips. She felt intensely nervous and timid
-beneath that sense of _espionage_; and she was glad when August came,
-and she was to leave Trevlyn and its spectre behind.
-
-Accounts from Germany were very good. Arthur wrote little pencil notes
-every week, informing Monica that he was getting on “like a house on
-fire,” and singing the praises of Tom, who had stayed so long with him,
-“like the good fellow he was,” and would have remained longer only it
-really wasn’t worth while.
-
-“I’m afraid I’ve been very unjust to Tom,” said Monica. “I want to
-tell him so when he comes back. May we wait till he does? I want to
-hear all about Arthur at first hand, as I may not go to see him yet.”
-
-So they waited for the return of the traveller.
-
-Monica did sincerely wish to hear about Arthur, but she had something
-else to report to Tom as well. She had the greatest confidence in his
-acuteness and penetration, and could sometimes say to him what she
-would have despaired of communicating intelligibly to any one else.
-
-There was no difficulty in securing a private interview when once he
-had come back. Every one knew how anxious Monica would be to hear every
-detail of Arthur’s present life, and Tom resigned himself, and told
-his tale with all possible fulness and accuracy.
-
-Monica listened with an absorbed look upon her face. When he had told
-all, she said simply:
-
-“Thank you, Tom, for all your goodness to him. I am very sorry I ever
-misunderstood you, and said such hard things of and to you. You have
-got the best of it in the end, by heaping coals of fire upon me.”
-
-He smiled slightly.
-
-“My dear Monica, you don’t suppose I troubled my head over your
-ladyship’s righteous wrath. I found it very amusing, I assure you.”
-
-“I believe you did,” assented Monica, smiling in turn; “which made
-things a little trying for me. Tom, I believe you have always been my
-friend, even when we have seemed most bitterly opposed.”
-
-The sudden earnestness of her manner made him look at her keenly, and
-he spoke without his usual half-mocking intonation.
-
-“I hope so, Monica. I wish to have the right to call myself your
-friend.”
-
-He looked steadily at her, knowing there was more to follow. She was
-silent for a time, and then came a sudden and most unexpected question,
-and one apparently most irrelevant.
-
-“Do you know Sir Conrad Fitzgerald?”
-
-“I used to know him when he was a child. I knew him slightly at Oxford.
-He has made no attempt to renew the acquaintance since he has been down
-here; and, judging by what I have heard, I should not be inclined to
-encourage him if he did.”
-
-“But there would be nothing extraordinary in your visiting him?”
-
-“Possibly not; but I cannot say I have any wish to try the experiment.”
-
-“You know his history, perhaps?—the dark stain.”
-
-“I heard of it at the time it happened—not from Trevlyn, though. It’s
-a sort of story that doesn’t make one yearn to renew acquaintance with
-the hero.”
-
-For a few moments Monica sat very still and silent. Then she asked
-quietly:
-
-“Do you think he is the kind of man to be dangerous?”
-
-“Dangerous?”
-
-“Yes—if he had taken a vow of vengeance. Do you think——?”
-
-“Well, what?”
-
-“Think he would try very hard to accomplish such a vow? Do people never
-in these days try to do an injury to a man they hate?”
-
-Tom began to understand her now.
-
-“Well, one cannot lay down hard and fast lines; but it is not now
-customary for a man to attempt the sort of vengeance that he would have
-done a century or so back. He tries in these days to hurt an enemy
-morally by injuring his reputation; and I think no one need stand in
-much awe of Fitzgerald, least of all a man like your husband. It is
-necessary to possess a reputation of one’s own to undermine that of
-another with much success. Fitzgerald certainly has a reputation, but
-not the kind that makes him dangerous as an enemy.”
-
-Monica heard this dictum in silence. She did not appear much relieved,
-and he saw it.
-
-“Now you anticipate,” he continued, quite quietly and unemotionally,
-“that he will make a regular attack upon Trevlyn one of these days?”
-
-“I am afraid so sometimes,” answered Monica. “It may be very foolish;
-but I am afraid. He always seems watching us. Hardly a day goes by but
-I see him, with such an evil look in his eye. Tom, I sometimes think
-that he is going mad.”
-
-The young man’s face changed slightly.
-
-“That, of course, would put a new colour on the matter. Have you any
-reasons upon which to base your suspicions?”
-
-“Nothing that you would perhaps call reasons, but they make me
-suspicious. Randolph, spoke of a touch of insanity that he had fancied
-lurked in his brain. At least, when he hates he seems to hate with a
-ferocity that suggests the idea of madness. Tom, if you were to see
-him, should you know?”
-
-Tom mused a little.
-
-“I might be able to hazard a shrewd guess, perhaps. Why do you want so
-much to know?”
-
-Without answering, Monica propounded another question. “If he were mad,
-he would be much more dangerous, would he not?”
-
-“Yes; and if really dangerous, could be placed under proper control.”
-
-A look of relief crossed Monica’s face.
-
-“Could that be done?”
-
-“Certainly, if absolute madness could be proved. But you know in
-many cases this is most difficult to demonstrate; and in Fitzgerald’s
-independent position it might be exceedingly hard to get the needful
-evidence.”
-
-Her face clouded again.
-
-“But you will see him, Tom? You will try to find out?”
-
-He hesitated a little. To tell the truth he did not care about the
-job. He had a hearty contempt for the man himself, did not attach much
-weight to Monica’s suspicions, and thought her fears far-fetched. But
-her pleading face prevailed.
-
-“Well, Monica, if you particularly wish it, I will endeavour to meet
-him, and enter into a sort of speaking acquaintance. I don’t promise to
-force myself upon him if he avoids me pointedly, but I will do what
-I can in a casual sort of way to find out something about him. But
-it is not at all likely he will prove mad enough to be placed under
-restraint.”
-
-“I believe he drinks,” said Monica, softly. “He used not to, but I
-believe he does now.”
-
-“Well, if he has a screw loose and drinks as well, he may make an end
-of himself in time. At any rate, if it will relieve your mind, I will
-find out what I can about him.”
-
-“Thank you, Tom; I am very much obliged to you; and if you cannot do
-much, at least you can keep your eye upon him, and let me know how long
-he stays here. I—I—it may be very foolish; but I don’t want Randolph to
-come back till he has gone.”
-
-Tom’s eyebrows went up.
-
-“Then you really are afraid?”
-
-She smiled faintly.
-
-“I believe I am.”
-
-“Well, it sounds very absurd; but I have a sort of a faith in your
-premonitions. Anyway, I will keep your words in mind, and do what I
-can; and we will try and get him off the field before you are ready to
-return to it. I should not think the attractions of the place will hold
-him long.”
-
-So Monica went off to Scotland with a lightened heart; and yet the
-shadow of the haunting fear did not vanish entirely even in the
-sunshine of her great happiness.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.
-
-IN SCOTLAND.
-
-
-“An empty sky and a world of heather.”
-
-Such was the scene that met Monica’s eye as she stepped out into the
-clear morning sunshine, and gazed out over the wide expanse of moorland
-that lay in a kind of purple glory all around her.
-
-Randolph’s shooting-box was situated in a very lonely, yet wonderfully
-picturesque spot. It seemed as if it had just been dropped down upon
-its little craggy eminence amid this rolling sea of billowy heather,
-and had anchored itself there without more ado. There was no attempt
-at park or garden, or enclosed ground of any kind. The moor itself was
-park and garden in one, and the heather and gorse grew right up to the
-wide terrace walk upon which the south windows of the little house
-opened. A plantation of pine and fir behind gave protection from the
-winter winds, and shade from the summer sun; but save for this little
-wood—an oasis in a blooming desert—the moor stretched away in its wild
-freedom on every hand, the white road alone, glimpses of which could be
-seen here and there, seeming to connect it with the great world beyond.
-
-Trevlyn was lonely and isolated enough, but it almost seemed to Monica,
-as she gazed over the sunny moorland that glorious summer morning, as
-if she had never been so utterly remote from the abode of man as she
-was to-day.
-
-There was a step behind her, and a hand was laid upon her shoulder.
-
-“Well, Monica?”
-
-She turned to him with lips that quivered as they smiled.
-
-“It is all so exquisite, Randolph—so perfect. You did not tell me half.”
-
-“You like it, my Monica?”
-
-“Like it! It seems as if you and I were just alone in the world
-together.” He bent his head and touched her brow with his lips.
-
-“And that contents you, Monica?”
-
-She looked up with eloquent eyes.
-
-“Need you ask that question now?”
-
-His smile expressed an unspeakable happiness; he put his arm about her
-saying softly:
-
-“There are some questions one never tires of hearing answered, sweet
-wife. Ah, Monica! when I think of the past, I feel as if it were almost
-necessary to have lived through that, to know what such happiness as
-ours can be. It is the former doubt that makes the present certainty so
-unutterably sweet. Do you ever feel that yourself, my darling?”
-
-He spoke gravely and gently, as they stood together in the golden
-sunshine. She looked up into his face with deep love and reverence, yet
-he felt her slight form quiver in his clasp. He looked at her smilingly.
-
-“What is it, Monica?”
-
-“Nothing—only a strange feeling I have sometimes. I know what you
-mean, Randolph. You are quite, quite right—only do not let us to-day
-think of the sorrow that went before. Let us be happy with one another.”
-
-“We will, my Monica. You are quite right. This is our bridal holiday,
-of which circumstances cheated us at the outset, and as such we will
-enjoy it. Come in to breakfast now; and then we will have the horses
-out, and you and I will explore our new world together, and forget
-there is any other before or behind us.”
-
-The shadow fled from Monica’s brow, the happy light came back to her
-eyes, came back and took up its abode there as if never to depart
-again. What happy, happy days were those that followed! No one invaded
-the solitude which was such bliss to the two who had sought it; no
-foot crossed the threshold of the peaceful home that Randolph had made
-ready with such care for the reception of his bride.
-
-And yet, as everything must end at last, pleasure as well as pain, joy
-as well as sorrow, a day came at last when it was needful to leave this
-happy seclusion, and mingle once again with the busier stream of life
-that flowed onwards, ever onwards, outside the walls of their retreat.
-
-Engagements had been made before, pledges given to various friends that
-visits should be paid during that period so dear to the heart of man,
-“the shooting season.” Little enough did Randolph care for sport in his
-present mood; far rather would he have spent longer time alone with
-his wife in happy isolation; but his friends became urgent, letters
-persecuted them with increased vehemence, and Monica, casting away her
-first reluctance, roused herself to say at last that she thought they
-ought to go.
-
-“We shall be together still, Randolph,” she said, with a little laugh.
-“It is not as if we should not have one another. No one can separate us
-now, and we ought to be able to be happy anywhere together.”
-
-And yet, when the time came, it was very hard to go. Randolph came upon
-Monica the last evening at sunset, watching the glorious pageantry of
-the sky, with something of the old wistfulness upon her face.
-
-“You are sorry to be leaving then, Monica?”
-
-She started, and turned to him, almost as if for protection.
-
-“Yes, I am sorry. We have been so very, very happy here. Randolph, is
-it very foolish? Sometimes I feel as if such happiness were too great
-for this world—as if it _could_ not go on always so. It seems almost
-too beautiful, too perfect. Do you ever feel the same?”
-
-“I know what you mean, sweet wife. Yet I am not afraid of our happiness
-or of the future. It is love that brings the brightness with it, and I
-think nothing now can change our love.”
-
-“Ah, no, no!” she cried impetuously; “nothing can change that. You
-always understand. Randolph, you are so strong, so good, so patient.
-Ah! what should I do without you now?”
-
-“You have not got to do without me, Monica. A husband cannot be set
-aside by anyone or anything. You must not let nervous fears get the
-better of you. Tell me, is anything troubling you to-night?”
-
-“No, no; only that the old feeling will sometimes come back. It is
-foolish, I know; but I cannot quite rid myself of it.”
-
-“The old feeling?”
-
-“Yes, that some trouble is coming upon me—upon us. I cannot explain;
-but I feel it sometimes—I feel as if it were coming nearer.”
-
-He did not laugh at her fears. He only said very gently and tenderly:
-
-“I pray God, my sweet wife, that trouble may be very far away from you;
-yet if it comes, I know it will be bravely, nobly borne, and that the
-furnace of sorrow will only bring out the gold more bright and pure
-than ever.”
-
-She glanced at him, and then over the purple moorlands and into the
-glorious western sky. A look of deep, settled purpose shone out of
-her eyes, and her face grew calm and resolute. She thought of that
-moment often in days to come, and of her husband’s words. It was a
-recollection always fraught with much of strengthening comfort.
-
-The round of inevitable visits to be paid proved less irksome than
-Monica had anticipated.
-
-Randolph’s friends were pleasant, well-bred people, with whom it was
-easy to get on, and to make things more easy for Monica, Beatrice
-Wentworth and her brother were not unfrequently numbered among the
-house party they were invited to meet.
-
-Both the young earl and his sister were devoted to Monica, and their
-presence added much to her enjoyment of the different visits that
-they paid together. Lord Haddon was her constant attendant whenever
-her husband could not be with her, and his frank, boyish homage was
-accepted in the spirit in which it was offered. Monica, though much
-admired and liked, was not “popular” in the ordinary sense of the term.
-She did not attract round her a crowd of amused admirers, as Beatrice
-did, and most young men, however much they might admire her stately
-beauty, found her somewhat difficult to get on with. With elderly
-people she was more at ease, and a great favourite from her gentleness
-and peculiar refinement of thought and manner; but for the most part,
-during the gay doings of the day, she was left to the attendance of
-Randolph or Haddon, and no arrangement could have been more to her own
-liking.
-
-Yet one trifling incident occurred to disturb her peace of mind,
-although she thought she possibly dwelt upon it more than the
-circumstance warranted.
-
-She was at a large luncheon party, to which her hostess and guests had
-alike been invited to meet many other parties from surrounding houses.
-
-A grand battue in the park had drawn away most of the sportsmen, and
-the ladies were lunching almost by themselves. Monica’s surprise was
-somewhat great to find in her right-hand neighbour none other than
-Cecilia Bellamy, with whom her last interview had been anything but
-agreeable.
-
-Mrs. Bellamy, however, seemed to have forgotten all about that.
-
-“It is really you, Monica. I hoped I should meet you somewhere; I
-heard you were staying about; I know I’ve behaved badly. I ought to
-have written to you when your father died. I was awfully sorry, I was
-indeed. We were always fond of the earl, Conrad and I. He was so good
-to us when we were children. It was horrid of me not to write, but I
-never do know how to write a letter of condolence. I hope you’re not
-very angry with me.”
-
-“Indeed, no,” answered Monica. “Indeed, I never thought about it.”
-
-“I knew you wouldn’t care to hear from me,” pursued the lively little
-woman. “I didn’t behave nicely to you, Monica, and I’m sorry now I
-listened to Conrad’s persuasions; but I’m so easy-going, and thought
-it all fun. I’m sorry now. I really am, for I’ve got shaken in my
-confidence in Master Conrad. I believe he’ll go to the dogs still, for
-all his professions. By-the-bye, did you ever see him after you got
-back to Trevlyn?”
-
-“Once or twice. I believe he was living in his house down there.”
-
-“That dreadful old barn! I can’t think how he can exist there. He will
-take to drink, and go mad, I do believe, if he stays six months in such
-a place. Monica, I don’t want to frighten you—I may be silly to think
-such a thing, but I can’t believe he’s after any good there.”
-
-Monica shivered a little instinctively.
-
-“What do you mean?”
-
-“I don’t quite know what I do mean. If you weren’t such an old friend,
-of course I couldn’t say a word; but you know perhaps that there’s
-something rather odd sometimes about Conrad.”
-
-“Odd?”
-
-“Yes—I know he’s bad enough; but it’s when he has his odd fits on that
-he’s worse. I don’t believe he is always altogether responsible. He’s
-given way, and now he can’t always help himself, I do think. He isn’t
-mad, of course, but he can be very wild at times,” and she glanced at
-her companion with something of significance.
-
-“Why do you say all this to me?” asked Monica, with a sort of
-apprehension.
-
-Mrs. Bellamy laughed a little.
-
-“Why, can’t you see? Don’t you know how he hates your husband?”
-
-Monica’s face blanched a little.
-
-“But you don’t mean——”
-
-“No, no, of course not,” with a short laugh that had little of mirth
-in it. “I don’t mean anything—only I think, if ever Conrad is lurking
-about in his wild moods, that Lord Trevlyn had better keep a sharp look
-out. Your woods and cliffs are nasty lonely places, and it’s always
-well to be on the safe side.”
-
-Monica sat pale and silent; Mrs. Bellamy laughed again in that half
-uneasy way.
-
-“Now, don’t look like that, and keep your own counsel. I’m a silly
-woman, as you know, and nobody minds what I say, but I can’t be quite
-comfortable without just warning you. For mischief is sometimes done in
-a moment between two angry men that never can be undone so long as the
-world lasts. Now don’t go and get frightened, Monica—it may be all a
-ridiculous fancy; but just keep your eyes open.”
-
-“Thank you, Cecilia,” said Monica quietly. “I will.”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.
-
-A VISIT TO ARTHUR.
-
-
-“Are you getting tired of this sort of thing, Monica?” asked Randolph,
-about three days later.
-
-He had fancied he detected traces of weariness at times—weariness or
-anxiety: he could hardly have told which—in the lines of her face; and
-he thought that possibly some trouble was resting upon her. He was very
-quick to note the least change in one he loved so well.
-
-Her smile, however, was very reassuring.
-
-“I think I should never be really tired of any life you shared,
-Randolph; but I like being alone together best.”
-
-“I, too,” he responded, with great sincerity. “Monica, as we have done
-our duty by society now, shall we indulge ourselves once more, and
-leave the world to wag on its own way, and forget it again for a few
-more happy weeks?”
-
-Her face was bright and eager.
-
-“Go back to the moorland shooting-box, Randolph?” she questioned.
-
-“No; not that quite. The season is getting a little late for remaining
-up in the north. I have a better plan in my head for you.”
-
-“Are we going back to Trevlyn, then?”
-
-“Trevlyn is not ready for us; it will be some time before it is. Can
-you think of nothing else you would like to do?—of nobody you want to
-see?”
-
-A flush rose suddenly into Monica’s face: her eyes shone with happiness.
-
-“Oh, Randolph! are you going to take me to see Arthur?”
-
-“You would like to go?”
-
-“Above everything.”
-
-“Then the thing is done. We will start next week. I talked about it to
-the doctor when I saw him, and he advised three months of entire quiet
-and seclusion whilst he settled down to the new life. After that, he
-believed there would be no reason at all against his seeing friends
-from home. I wrote again last week to put the question definitely, and
-the answer is entirely satisfactory. If you want to go, Monica, the
-whole question is settled.”
-
-She came close up to him, clasping her hands upon his shoulder, and
-looking up with loving gratitude and delight.
-
-“You think of everything, Randolph. You are so good to me. It is just
-the one thing to make my happiness complete: to see my boy again, and
-make sure with my own eyes that he is well cared for and content with
-his life. I want to be able to picture him where he is. I want to hear
-him say that he is happy: that he does not pine after Trevlyn.”
-
-“I think you will have your wish, then, Monica, for, from what I can
-gather, he is very well pleased with his quarters, and improved health
-makes life pleasant and full of zest. He has the natural love of change
-that you never knew, and your inherited love for your old home is not
-really shared by him to any great extent now that he has tried another
-life. Trevlyn is not woven into the very fibres of his heart as into
-yours. I think the home-sickness passed off quickly with him.”
-
-“Yes, I daresay. I believe I was foolish myself about Trevlyn, and
-taught him to be foolish too. Why is it that the younger we are, and
-the less we know, the more we are convinced we are always right? I
-have made so many, many mistakes. Once I thought you did not love me,
-Randolph.”
-
-It was sweet to him still to hear her speak thus, with the intonation
-that always thrilled him through—with the look upon her face so
-much more eloquent than any words. It was sweet to feel her loving
-confidence and dependence. Again and again he vowed deep down in his
-heart that she should never know a trouble from which he could save her.
-
-The journey was approved by both. It would take them away once again
-from the round of social duties and pleasures—of which for the time
-being they had had enough—and leave them practically alone together, to
-be all in all to one another, as was now their greatest happiness.
-
-“It is too bad of you to run away, Monica,” Beatrice grumbled, when she
-heard the news. “Your brother can’t want you more than we do here. And
-if you go, you’ll vanish no one knows for how long, as you did before,
-and then you will go and bury yourselves in your enchanted castle right
-away by the sea, and nobody will hear of you any more. I call it too
-bad: just as we were getting to be friends and learning to know you.”
-
-Monica smiled at the imputation of vanishing so entirely.
-
-“You shall hear of us sometimes, I promise you,” she answered. “If you
-and your brother will not find the ‘enchanted castle’ too dull, I hope
-you will come and see us there when we go back in the autumn. There are
-not a great many attractions, I am afraid, but there is some shooting
-and hunting. I should like to show you Trevlyn some day, Beatrice,
-though I believe it will be a good deal changed from the place I have
-sometimes described to you.”
-
-“It is sure to be perfect, whatever it is like,” was the quick
-response. “I should think we would come—Haddon and I—if ever we get an
-invitation. I always did long to see Trevlyn, and I am sure he does the
-same, though he is no hand at pretty speeches, poor old boy!”
-
-Haddon smiled, and coloured a little; but answered frankly enough.
-
-“Lady Trevlyn does not want pretty speeches, as you call it, made to
-her, Beatrice. She knows quite well what a pleasure it would be to
-visit her and Randolph at Trevlyn.”
-
-“I should like my husband’s oldest friends to see the place,” she
-answered, smiling. “So we will call that matter settled when we really
-do get home; though I do not quite know when that will be.”
-
-Next day Randolph and Monica said good-bye to Scotland, and began their
-journey southward. They were in no great haste, and travelled by easy
-stages. Arthur was to be told nothing of the prospective visit, which
-was to be kept as a surprise till the last moment. Monica was never a
-very good correspondent, even where Arthur was concerned, and if she
-posted a letter to him, last thing before leaving England, he would
-not be surprised at a silence of a fortnight or more, by which time at
-latest she would be with him.
-
-So they took their time over their journey, and the strangeness of all
-she saw possessed a curious charm for Monica, when viewed beneath her
-husband’s protecting care, and in his constant company. He took her to
-a few quaint Norman towns, with their fine old churches and picturesque
-streets and market-places; then to Paris, where a few days were passed
-in seeing the sights, and watching the vivid, hurrying, glittering life
-of that gay capital.
-
-Steering an erratic course, turning this way and that to visit any
-place of interest, or any romantic spot that Randolph thought would
-please his wife, they approached their destination, and presently
-reached the pretty, picturesque little town, hardly more than a
-village, which was only just rising to importance, on account of the
-value of its mineral springs lately discovered.
-
-One good-sized hotel and the doctor’s establishment, both of which
-stood at the same end of the village, and a little distance from it,
-testified to the rising importance of the place. Randolph had secured
-comfortable rooms in the former, where they arrived late one evening.
-
-Monica liked the place; it was not in the least like what she had
-pictured, far more pretty, more primitive, and more country-like.
-Wooded hills, surrounded the valley in which it lay. A broad rapid
-stream ran through it, spanned by more than one grey stone bridge, and
-the irregularly-built village was quite a picture in its way, with
-its quaint old houses, with their carved gables and little wooden
-balconies, and the spire of its church rising above the surrounding
-trees. Viewed by moonlight, as she saw it first, it was a charming
-little place; and the charm did not vanish with the more prosaic light
-of day.
-
-The interview with the doctor was most satisfactory. He was a kindly,
-simple-minded man, much interested in his patient from a professional
-standpoint, and fond of the lad for his own sake. Monica’s beauty
-and sweetness were evidently not lost upon him. He had heard much of
-her from the young Herr, he explained, and could understand well the
-feelings he had so often heard expressed.
-
-No, the invalid had not been told of the expected arrival. He did not
-know but that Lord and Lady Trevlyn were in England. Did the noble lady
-wish to go to him? He would honour himself by leading the way.
-
-Monica followed him with a beating heart. They went up a wide
-carpetless staircase, and on the first landing her guide paused, and
-indicated a certain door.
-
-“He is up; madame can go straight in. A joyful surprise will but do him
-good.”
-
-Monica turned the handle, and entered, as quietly and calmly as if this
-had been the daily visit to the old room at Trevlyn. Arthur was lying
-with his back to the door. He was reading, and did not turn his head,
-fancying it was the servant entering, as he heard the rustle of a dress.
-
-Monica came and stood behind him, laying her hand upon his head.
-
-“Arthur!” she said softly.
-
-Then he started as if he had been shot.
-
-He sat up with an energy that showed a decided increase of strength,
-holding out his hands in eager welcome.
-
-“Monica! Monica!” he cried, in a sort of rapturous excitement. “It is
-Monica herself!”
-
-She bent over him and kissed him again and again, and would have made
-him lie down again; but he was too excited to obey.
-
-“Monica! My own Monica! When did you come? What does it all mean? Oh,
-this is too splendid! Where’s Randolph?”
-
-“Here,” answered that familiar voice, just within the door. “Well, my
-boy, how are you getting on? Like a house on fire, eh? Monica and I
-are on our wedding trip, you know. We thought we would finish it off
-by coming to have a look at you. Well, you look pretty comfortable up
-here, and have made fine progress, I hear, since I saw you last. Like
-everything as much as you make out in your letters, eh?”
-
-“Oh! I’m all right enough. Never mind me. Tell me about yourselves.
-Whose idea was this? I call it just splendid!”
-
-“Randolph’s idea,” answered Monica. “All the good ideas are his now,
-Arthur. We have come to stay a whole fortnight with you; and when I
-have seen everything with my own eyes, and am quite convinced that
-everybody is treating you well, I shall go home content to Trevlyn, to
-wait till you can join us there.”
-
-“I mustn’t think of that just yet,” answered Arthur, cheerfully. “My
-old doctor says it will be a year—perhaps two—before I shall really be
-on my legs again; but he is quite sure he is going to cure me, which
-is all that matters. I am awfully comfortable here, and there are
-some jolly little children of his, who come and amuse me by the hour
-together. Oh, yes! I have capital times. I couldn’t be more comfortable
-anywhere: and if you and Randolph come sometimes to see me, I shall
-have nothing left to wish for.”
-
-Certainly Arthur was surrounded by every luxury that wealth could
-bestow. There was none of the foreign bareness about his rooms that
-characterised its other apartments. Randolph had ordered everything
-that could possibly add to his comfort, and make things home-like for
-him, even to the open fire-place, with its cheerful fire of logs,
-although the stove still retained its place, and in cold weather did
-valuable service in keeping an even temperature in the room.
-
-Arthur’s visitors had made him gradually understand how much more
-sumptuously he was lodged than other patients, and he well knew to
-whom he owed the luxuries he enjoyed. He explained all this to Monica,
-and in her own sweet way she thanked her husband for his tenderness
-towards her boy.
-
-“I always feel as if Arthur were a sort of link between us, Monica,” he
-said. “I am sure he was in those old days, when we were strangers to
-each other. I owe him a great deal that he knows nothing about. Were it
-only for that, I must always love him, and feel towards him as towards
-a brother.”
-
-Quickly and happily the days slipped by and the pleasant visit drew
-to its close. It lengthened out into nearly three weeks; but at last
-the news came that Trevlyn was ready for its master and mistress, and
-Arthur bid a brave farewell to those who had done so much for him,
-and settled himself with cheerful readiness to his winter with his new
-friends. A visit next spring and summer was confidently promised, and
-he saw his guest go with an unselfish brightness that was in no way
-assumed.
-
-Monica was quite happy about him now, and, though the parting was a
-little hard, she was as brave as he. She turned her face homeward with
-a light heart. Only one little cloud of anxiety lay upon her heart.
-“What was Conrad Fitzgerald doing? Was he still lurking about Trevlyn?”
-
-Even that question was destined to be answered in a satisfactory manner
-before many days had passed.
-
-They travelled rapidly homewards, as the season was advancing, and
-they were anxious to be once more at Trevlyn.
-
-They were in a train, which had stopped at some station, when another
-train from an opposite direction steamed up and also stopped. Monica,
-leaning back in her corner seat, noticed nothing for a time, but was
-roused to the consciousness that she was being intently regarded by a
-passenger in the opposite train, whose face was pressed close against
-the glass.
-
-For some seconds she resisted the impulse to look; but as she felt the
-glance withdrawn, she presently turned her eyes in the direction of the
-half-seen face, and then she started violently.
-
-Conrad Fitzgerald, his face pale and sharp, wearing a frightfully
-malevolent expression, was gazing, or rather glaring, at her husband,
-with eyes like those of a wild beast, in their fiery, hungry hate.
-
-Randolph, seated opposite her, reading the paper, was perfectly
-unconscious of the proximity of his foe; but Monica recoiled with a
-feeling of horror she could hardly have explained.
-
-The next moment the train had moved on. At least, it was some comfort
-to know that they were being rapidly carried in opposite directions.
-Yet it was long before she could forget the vindictive hatred of the
-gaze she had seen directed towards her husband.
-
-Would Conrad Fitzgerald ever do him the deadly injury he had vowed?
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.
-
-BACK AT TREVLYN.
-
-
-“Randolph! Can this really be Trevlyn?”
-
-The young countess stood in all her radiant loveliness upon the
-threshold of her old home, and turned her happy face towards the
-husband who stood beside her, watching with a smile in his eyes for the
-effect to be produced by his labour of love.
-
-“Can this really be Trevlyn?”
-
-“You seemed destined never to know your old home again when you have
-been banished from it, Monica,” he answered, smiling. “Well, is it as
-much changed as you expected?”
-
-“It is perfect,” said Monica simply; adding, after another long look
-round her: “If only my father could have seen this—could have lived to
-witness the realisation of his dream!”
-
-But he would not let her indulge one sad thought that should cloud the
-brightness of this happy home-coming. He kissed her gently in token of
-his sympathy, and then drew her towards the blazing fire, whose dancing
-flames were illuminating the great hall.
-
-“Does it realise your dream, too, my Monica?” he asked softly.
-
-She looked up in his face, deep feeling welling up in the glance of her
-soft dark eyes.
-
-“To be with you is my dream, Randolph. That is enough for me.”
-
-He saw that she was moved, and knew that the associations of Trevlyn,
-the old home, were crowding upon her. Without speaking, he led her
-towards a door, which in old days led to a room vast and empty, save
-for the odds and ends of lumber that gradually accumulated there.
-Monica glanced up in a sort of surprise as he turned the handle. Why
-was he taking her there?
-
-She paused on the threshold, and looked about her in mute amaze.
-
-The floor was of polished parquetrie work; the panelled walls, quaintly
-and curiously carved, shone with the care that had been bestowed upon
-them; the vaulted roof had been carefully restored and was a fine
-specimen of mediæval skill and beauty. The mullioned window to the
-west had been filled with rich stained glass, that gave back a dusky
-glimmer through its tinted panes, though the daylight was failing fast.
-Near to the window stood the one great feature of the room, an organ,
-which Monica’s eyes saw at once was a particularly fine and perfect
-instrument. An organ of her very own! It was just like Randolph to
-think of it! She gave him one sweet glance of gratitude, and went up to
-it in the dim, dusky twilight.
-
-“How good you are to me!” she said softly.
-
-He heard the little quiver in her voice, and bent his head to kiss her;
-but he spoke in a lighter tone.
-
-“Do you like it? I am so glad! I thought your home ought not to be
-without its music-room. See, Monica, your organ will be a sort of
-friend to whom you can confide all your secrets; for you want nobody
-to blow it for you. You can set the bellows at work by just turning
-this handle, and nobody need disturb your solitude when you want to be
-alone.”
-
-She looked up gratefully. He never forgot anything—not even her old
-love for solitude.
-
-“I never want to be alone now, Randolph,” she said. “I always want you.”
-
-“And you generally have me, sweet wife. I think we have hardly been
-separated for more than a few hours at a time since that happy, happy
-day that made you really mine.”
-
-“I want it always to be like that,” said Monica, dreamily; “always like
-that.”
-
-He looked at her, and carried the hand that he held to his lips.
-
-“Will you play, Monica?”
-
-She sat down and struck a few dreamy chords, gradually leading up to
-the theme that was in her mind. Randolph leaned against the mullioned
-window-frame and watched her. He could see, even in the darkness, the
-pure, pale outline of her perfect profile, and the crown of her golden
-hair that framed her face like an aureole.
-
-“Another dream realised, Monica,” he said softly, as she turned to him
-at length.
-
-“What dream, Randolph?”
-
-“A dream that came to me once, in the little cliff church where we were
-married, as I watched you—little as you knew it—sitting at the organ,
-and playing to yourself, one sunny afternoon. But this is better than
-any dream of pictured saint or spirit—my Monica, my own true wife.”
-
-She looked up at him, and came and put her arms about his neck—an
-unusual demonstration, even now, for her, and they stood very close
-together in the gathering darkness that was not dark to them.
-
-
-Monica paid an early visit to St. Maws to see her friends, and to
-confide to Mrs. Pendrill a little of the wonderful happiness that had
-flooded her life with sunshine. Then, too, she wanted to see Tom, and
-to ask him the result of the mission he had half promised to undertake.
-So far she had learned nothing save that Fitzgerald had not been seen
-near Trevlyn for many weeks, and was supposed to have gone abroad.
-
-“Did you see him, Tom?” she asked, when she had found the opportunity
-she desired.
-
-“Yes, once or twice. I had a good look at him. I should not call him
-exactly mad, though in a decidedly peculiar mental state. We merely
-met, as it were, by chance, and talked on indifferent subjects for the
-most part. Once he asked me, in a sort of veiled way, for professional
-advice, describing certain unpleasant symptoms and sensations. I
-advised him to give up the use of spirits, and to try what travelling
-would do for him. He seemed to think he would take my advice, and
-shortly afterwards he disappeared from the neighbourhood; but where he
-has gone I do not know.”
-
-Monica knew that this advice had been followed. “He may go anywhere he
-likes, if he will only keep away from here,” she said. “I am very much
-obliged to you, Tom, for doing as I asked.”
-
-“Pray don’t mention it.”
-
-“I must mention it, because it was very good of you. Tom, will you come
-and stay at Trevlyn next week? We have one or two people coming for the
-pheasants, and we want you to make one of the party, if you will.”
-
-“Oh, very well; anything to please. I have had no shooting worth
-speaking of so far. I should like a week’s holiday very well.”
-
-So that matter was speedily and easily arranged.
-
-Tom did not ask who were the guests he was to meet, and Monica did not
-think of naming such entire strangers, Lord Haddon and Lady Beatrice
-Wentworth. She forgot that Tom and the young earl had met once before
-on a different occasion.
-
-Those two were to be the first guests. Perhaps later on they would ask
-more, but Monica was too entirely happy in her present life to wish it
-in any way disturbed, and Randolph by no means cared to be obliged to
-give up to guests those happy hours that heretofore he had always spent
-with Monica. But Beatrice and her brother had already been invited.
-They were his oldest friends, and were Monica’s friends too. She was
-glad to welcome them to her old home, and the rapturous admiration that
-its beauties elicited would have satisfied a more exacting nature than
-hers.
-
-Beatrice was, as usual, radiant, bewitching, delightful. Monica wished
-that Tom had come in time to see her arrival, and listen to her
-sparkling flow of talk. Tom professed to be a woman-hater, or next door
-to it, but she thought that even he would have to make an exception in
-favour of Lady Beatrice Wentworth.
-
-She went upstairs with her guest to her room at length, when Beatrice
-suddenly turned towards her, with quite a new expression upon her face.
-
-“Monica,” she said, looking straight into her eyes, “you are
-changed—you are different from what you were in London—different even
-from what you were in Scotland, though I saw a change then. I don’t
-know how to express it, but you are beautified—glorified. What is it?
-What has changed you since I first knew you?”
-
-Monica knew right well; but some feelings could not be translated into
-words.
-
-“I am very happy,” she said, quietly. “If there is any change, that
-must be the cause.”
-
-“Happier than you have ever been before?”
-
-“Yes; I think every week makes me happier. I learn to know my husband
-better and better, you see.”
-
-A sudden wistful sadness flashed into the eyes so steadily regarding
-her. Monica saw it before it had been blotted out by the arch drollery
-of the look that immediately succeeded.
-
-“And it does not wear off, Monica? Sometimes it does, you know—after a
-time. Will it ever, in your case, do you think?”
-
-“I think not,” she answered.
-
-“And I think not, too,” answered Beatrice. “Ah me! How happy some
-people are!”
-
-She laughed, but there was something of bitterness in the tone. Monica
-looked at her seriously.
-
-“Are you not happy, Beatrice?”
-
-The girl’s audacious smile beamed out over her face.
-
-“Don’t I look so?”
-
-“Sometimes—not always.”
-
-“One must have variety before all things, you know,” was the gay
-answer. “It would never do to be always in the same style—it lacks
-piquancy after a time. Now let me have time to beautify myself in
-harmony with this most charming of old places, and come back for me
-when you are dressed; I feel as if I should lose my way, or see bogies
-in these delightful corridors and staircases.”
-
-And Monica left her guest as desired, coming back, half an hour later,
-to find her transformed into the semblance of some pictured dame of
-a century or two gone by, in stiff amber brocade, quaintly cut about
-the neck and sleeves, and relieved here and there by dazzling scarlet
-blossoms. Beatrice never at any time looked like anybody else, but
-to-night she was particularly, strikingly original.
-
-“Ah, you black-robed queen, you will just do as a foil for me!” was
-the greeting Monica received. “Whenever I see you in any garb, no
-matter what it is, I always think it is just one that suits you best of
-everything. Are you having a dinner-party to-night?”
-
-“Not exactly. A few men are coming, who have asked Randolph to shoot
-since we came back. You and I are the only ladies.”
-
-And then they went down to the empty drawing-room a good half-hour
-before any one else was likely to appear.
-
-Beatrice chatted away very brightly. She seemed in gay spirits, and
-had a great deal to tell of what had passed since their farewell in
-Scotland a month or two ago.
-
-She moved about the drawing-room, examining the various treasures it
-contained, and admiring the beauty of the pictures. She was standing
-half concealed by the curtains draping a recessed window, when the door
-opened, admitting Tom Pendrill. He was in dinner dress, having arrived
-about an hour previously.
-
-“You have come then, Tom,” said Monica. “I am glad. I was afraid you
-meant to desert us after all.”
-
-“The wish being father to the thought, I presume,” answered Tom,
-shaking hands. “By-the-bye, here is a letter from Arthur’s doctor I’ve
-brought to show you. He gives a capital account of his patient. Can you
-read German writing, or shall I construe? He writes about as crabbedly
-as——”
-
-And here Tom stopped short, seeing that Monica was not alone.
-
-“I beg your pardon,” he added, drawing himself up with a
-ceremoniousness quite unusual with him.
-
-“Not at all,” answered Monica, quietly. “Let me introduce you to Lady
-Beatrice Wentworth—Mr. Tom Pendrill.”
-
-They exchanged bows very distantly. Monica became suddenly aware, in
-some subtle, inexplicable fashion, that these two were not strangers
-to one another—that this was not their first meeting. Moreover, it
-appeared as if their former acquaintance, such as it was, could have
-been by no means agreeable to either, for it was easy to see that a
-sort of covert antagonism existed between them which neither of them
-took over much pains to conceal.
-
-Tom’s face assumed its most sharply cynical expression, as he drew
-at once into his hardest shell of distant reserve and sarcastic
-politeness.
-
-Beatrice opened her feather fan, and wielded it with a sort of
-aggressive negligence. She dropped into a seat beside Monica, and
-began to talk to her with an air of studied affectation utterly at
-variance with her ordinary manner, ignoring Tom as entirely as if no
-introduction had passed between them, and that with an assumption of
-hauteur that could only be explained by a deeply-seated antipathy.
-
-Monica tried to include Tom in the conversation; but he declined to be
-included, returned an indifferent answer, and withdrew to a distant
-corner of the room, where he remained deeply engrossed, as it seemed,
-in the study of a photographic album.
-
-Monica was perplexed. She could not imagine what it all meant. She had
-never heard the Pendrills speak of Lady Beatrice Wentworth, and she was
-sufficiently acquainted with Tom’s history to render this perplexity
-the greater. She was certain Mrs. Pendrill had heard the name of her
-expected guest, and it had aroused no emotion in her. Yet she would
-presumably know the name of a lady towards whom her nephew cherished
-so great an antipathy. Monica could not make it out. But one thing was
-plain enough: those two were sworn foes, and intended to remain so—and
-they were guests beneath the same roof!
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.
-
-AN ENIGMA.
-
-
-It was a relief when the other men came in, and when dinner was
-announced. Randolph evidently knew nothing of any disturbing element in
-the party as he handed Beatrice in to dinner, and again made a sort of
-attempt to introduce her to Tom, who was seated opposite, not knowing
-that Monica had already had an opportunity of performing that little
-ceremony.
-
-“You are two of my oldest friends, you know,” said their host, in
-his pleasant, easy fashion, “and you are both my guests now, so you
-will have a capital opportunity of expatiating together upon my many
-perfections.”
-
-“No need for that, Randolph,” answered Beatrice, gaily. “They speak too
-loud for themselves, and your wife’s eyes tell too many tales of them.
-You know I never could bear paragons. If you turn into one, I shall
-have no more to say to you.”
-
-“You are very cutting, Beatrice; almost as much so as Tom here. It is
-really rather a trying position to be hedged in between a clever woman
-and a clever man.”
-
-“If you call me a clever woman again, Randolph, I’ll never forgive you.
-I abominate the whole race!” cried Beatrice, hotly; “and as for clever
-men—I _detest_ them!”
-
-This was said so heartily as to elicit a guffaw of laughter from a
-ruddy-faced young gentleman of sporting tastes, who was her neighbour
-on the other side. She turned to him with one of her most sparkling
-glances.
-
-“Now you, I am quite certain, agree with me. Your face tells me you
-do. Don’t you think that it is the clever people who make the world an
-intolerable place?”
-
-“They’re the greatest nuisance out,” assented that young gentleman,
-cordially. “I always did say so. I was never clever. I was plucked
-three times, I think, for my little-go.”
-
-“Then you and I are sure to be great friends,” said Beatrice, laughing.
-“I am quite, quite sure I should _never_ have passed any examination if
-I had been a man. I was at Oxford once, long ago; and oh! you know, the
-only men that were any good at all were those who had been ‘plucked,’
-as they call it, or fully expected to be. The clever, good, precocious
-boys were—oh! well, let us not think of them. It takes away one’s
-appetite!”
-
-The sporting gentleman laughed, and enjoyed this summary verdict; but
-Randolph just glanced across at his wife. He, too, was aware that there
-was something odd in Beatrice’s manner. He detected the covert vein of
-bitterness in her tone; and he was as much at a loss to understand it
-as any one else could be. Tom’s face and impenetrable silence puzzled
-him likewise.
-
-Dinner, however, passed smoothly enough. Beatrice was very lively, and
-her witticisms kept all the table alive. Her young neighbour lost his
-heart to her at once, and she flirted with him in the most frank and
-open fashion possible. She could be very fascinating when she chose,
-and to-night, after the first edge had been taken off her sallies, she
-was, undoubtedly, exceedingly attractive.
-
-If there was something a little forced in her mirth, at least nobody
-detected it, save those who knew her very well, and not even all of
-those, for Haddon was obviously unconscious that anything was wrong,
-and talked to Monica in the most unconcerned fashion possible. What Tom
-thought of it all nobody could hazard an opinion.
-
-At length Monica gave the signal to her animated guest, and they two
-withdrew together. Beatrice laughed gaily, as she half walked half
-waltzed across the hall, humming a dance tune the while.
-
-“What a lovely place this would be for a dance!” she exclaimed,
-“a masked, or, better still, a fancy dress ball. Shouldn’t we look
-charming in these panelled rooms, flitting about this great baronial
-hall, and up and down that delightful staircase? Monica, you and
-Randolph mustn’t get lazy; you must live up to your house. It is too
-beautiful to be wasted. If you don’t know how to manage matters, I must
-come and teach you?”
-
-And so she rattled on, first on one theme, and then on another, in
-restless, aimless fashion, as people do who are talking against time,
-or talking with a purpose, determined not to let silence fall between
-them and their companions. It was easy to see that Beatrice wished to
-avoid any confidential conversation—wished to escape from any kind of
-questioning, or from quiet talk, of whatever description it might be.
-When at length she did let Monica go back to the drawing-room, it was
-not with any idea of silence. She went straight to the piano, and began
-playing stormily.
-
-Presently, after dashing off fragments vocal and instrumental in a
-sort of confused medley, Monica, growing dreamy as she listened to the
-succession of changing harmonies, she began once again with more of
-purpose and of passion in her voice—indeed, there was so much of pain
-and passion, that Monica was aroused to listen.
-
-    “My heart, my heart is like a singing bird
-      Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
-    My heart, my heart is like an apple-tree,
-      Whose boughs are hung with thick-set fruit.
-    My heart, my heart is like a rainbow-shell
-      That paddles in a halcyon sea;
-    My heart, my heart is gladder than all these,
-      Because my love, my love has come to me.
-    My heart——”
-
-And then the singer’s voice failed utterly; a dismal discordant chord
-broke the eager harmonies that had followed one another so rapidly.
-Beatrice broke into a sudden storm of tears, and hurried from the room
-without a word.
-
-Monica sat aghast and bewildered. What could it all mean? Was she
-by chance to come upon the secret sorrow of Beatrice’s life?—the
-sorrow she had half suspected sometimes, but had never heard in any
-way explained. Was it to be explained to her now? Was Tom Pendrill
-connected with that sorrow? If so, what part had he taken? Could
-they ever have been lovers? Did she not remember, long ago, hearing
-something of a suspicion on Mrs. Pendrill’s part that Tom had been
-“jilted” by the woman he loved? Was there not a time, long ago, when
-he was not the reserved, cynical man he affected now to be; but was
-genial, brilliant, the pleasantest of companions? Yes, Monica was sure
-of it—was certain that he had changed, and changed somewhat suddenly,
-many years since; but she had paid but little heed to the matter then,
-as it was about that time when every faculty was absorbed in watching
-over Arthur, who long lay hovering between life and death. Changes
-after that passed almost unheeded. Had not her whole life been changed
-too?
-
-She did not follow Beatrice, however, to try and comfort her, or
-attempt to force her confidence. She treated her as she would wish
-herself to be treated in similar case; and shortly after the gentlemen
-had joined them, had the satisfaction of seeing Beatrice come back as
-brilliant and full of vivacity as ever, and there was no need after
-her appearance, to wonder how the evening should be passed, it seemed
-quite sufficient entertainment for the company to sit in a circle round
-her, and hear Beatrice talk. Tom Pendrill was the one exception. He did
-not attempt to join the magic ring. He took Monica a little apart, and
-talked over with her the latest news from Germany.
-
-When the guests had departed, and Beatrice, as well as her brother and
-Monica, had gone upstairs, Tom turned his face towards Randolph with
-its hardest and most cynical look.
-
-“Tell you what, Trevlyn, don’t you ask that poor young fellow Radlet
-here again, so long as that arrant flirt is a guest under your roof.”
-
-Randolph simply smiled.
-
-“The ‘arrant flirt,’ as you are polite enough to call my guest, is one
-of my oldest friends. Kindly keep that fact in mind in talking of her
-to me.”
-
-“I am not talking of her. I am talking of poor young Radlet.”
-
-“It seems to me that poor young Radlet, as you call him, is very well
-able to take care of himself.”
-
-“Oh, you think that, do you? Shows how much _you_ know! Can’t you see
-she was doing her very best to enslave his fancy, and that he was
-falling under the spell as fast as ever he could?”
-
-“Pooh! Nonsense!” answered Randolph; “they were just exchanging a
-little of the current coin that is constantly passing in gay society.
-Young Radlet is not a green-horn. They understand their game perfectly.”
-
-“She does, of course—no one better; but it’s a question if he does.”
-
-“Well, he’s a greater fool than he looks, if he does not!” answered
-Randolph. “Does he expect a girl like Beatrice Wentworth to be enslaved
-by his charms in the course of a few hours? The thing’s a manifest
-absurdity!”
-
-“Possibly; but that woman can make a man think anything.”
-
-Randolph looked at his friend with some attention.
-
-“You seem to have formed very exhaustive conclusions about Lady
-Beatrice Wentworth.”
-
-It almost seemed as if Tom coloured a little as he turned impatiently
-away.
-
-Next day Beatrice seemed to have regained her usual even flow of
-spirits. She met Tom at breakfast as she would meet any guest under the
-same roof, and neither courted nor avoided him in any way. He seemed to
-take his cue from her; but his face still wore the thin-lipped cynical
-expression that betrayed a certain amount of subdued irritation.
-However, sport was the all-prevailing topic of the hour, and as soon as
-breakfast was concluded, the men departed, with the dogs and keepers in
-their wake.
-
-“What would you like to do, Beatrice?” asked Monica when the sportsmen
-had disappeared. “We have the whole day before us.”
-
-“Like to do? Why, everything must be delightful in this lovely
-out-of-the-world place. Monica, no wonder you are just yourself—not
-one bit like any one else—brought up here with only the sea, and the
-clouds, and the sunshine for companions and playmates. I used to look
-at you in a sort of wonder, but I understand it all now. You ought
-always to live at Trevlyn—never anywhere else. What should I like to
-do? Why, anything. Suppose we ride. I should love to gallop along
-the cliffs with you. I want to see the queer little church Haddon
-described to me, where you were married, and the picturesque little
-town where—where Randolph and he put up on the eve of that day. I want
-to see everything that belongs to your past life, Monica. It interests
-me more than I can express.”
-
-Monica smiled in her tranquil fashion.
-
-“Very well; you shall gratify your wish. I will order the horses at
-once. If we go to St. Maws, I ought to go and see Aunt Elizabeth—Mrs.
-Pendrill that is, aunt to Arthur, and to Tom Pendrill and his brother.
-She is sure to want us to stay to luncheon with her if we do. She will
-be all alone; Tom here, and Raymond on his rounds. Would you dislike
-that, Beatrice? She is a sweet old lady, and seems more a part of my
-past life than anything else I can show you, though I could not perhaps
-explain why.”
-
-A curious light shone in Beatrice’s eyes.
-
-“Dislike it! I should like it above everything. I love old ladies. They
-are so much more interesting than young ones, I often wish I were old
-myself—not middle-aged, you know, but really old, _very_ old, with
-lovely white hair, and a waxen face all over tiny wrinkles, like my own
-grandmother—the most beautiful woman without exception that I ever saw.
-Yes, Monica, let us do that. It will be delightful. Why did you never
-mention the Pendrills to me before?”
-
-She put the question with studied carelessness. Yet Monica was certain
-it was asked with effort.
-
-“Did I not? I thought I used to tell you so much about my past life.”
-
-“So you did; but I never heard that name.”
-
-“You knew Arthur was a Pendrill.”
-
-“Indeed I did not. He was always Arthur to you. I wonder I never asked
-his surname; but somehow I never did. I had a vague idea that some such
-people as these Pendrills existed; but I never heard you name them.”
-
-“Perhaps you heard, and forgot it?” suggested Monica tentatively.
-
-“That I am sure I never did,” was the very emphatic answer.
-
-Beatrice was delighted with her morning’s ride. It was a beautiful
-autumn day, and everything was looking its best. The sea flashed and
-sparkled in the sunlight; the sky was clear and soft above them, the
-horses, delighted to feel the soft turf beneath their feet, pranced
-and curvetted and galloped, with that easy elastic motion that is so
-peculiarly exhilarating.
-
-The girl herself looked peculiarly and vividly beautiful, and Monica
-was not surprised at the affectionate interest Mrs. Pendrill evinced in
-her from the first moment of introduction.
-
-But she was a little surprised at the peculiar sweetness of Beatrice’s
-demeanour towards the old lady. Whilst retaining all her arch
-brightness and vivacity, the girl managed to infuse into her manner,
-her voice, and her words something gentle and deferential and winning
-that was inexplicably fascinating; all the more so from its evident
-unconscious sincerity.
-
-Mrs. Pendrill was charmed with the beauty and sweetness of the girl,
-and it seemed as if Beatrice on her side was equally fascinated. When
-the time came to say good-bye, and the old lady held both her hands,
-and gazed into her bright face, as she asked for another visit very
-soon, she stooped suddenly, and kissed her with pretty, spontaneous
-warmth.
-
-“Come again! Of course I will, as often as Monica will bring me.
-Good-bye, Mrs. Pendrill—Aunt Elizabeth I should _like_ to say”—with a
-little rippling laugh. “I think you are just fit to be Monica’s ‘Saint
-Elizabeth.’ Is it the air of this place that makes you all so perfectly
-delightful? I shall have to come and live here too, I think.”
-
-And as she and Monica rode home together over the sweeping downs,
-Beatrice turned to her after a long pause of silence and said:
-
-“Monica, it was a dangerous experiment asking me to Trevlyn.”
-
-“Why?”
-
-“Because I don’t feel as if I should ever want to leave it again. And
-I’m a dreadful sort of creature when I’m bent on my own way.”
-
-Monica smiled.
-
-“You will have to turn me out neck and crop in the end, I firmly
-believe. I feel I should just take root here, and never wish to go.”
-
-Monica shook her head with a look of subdued amusement.
-
-“I am very glad it pleases you so much; but do you know, Beatrice, I
-think you will have a different tale to tell in a week or two? You
-cannot realise, till you have tried it, how solitary and isolated we
-are, especially as the winter draws on. Very soon you will think it is
-a dreadfully lonely place—a sort of enchanted castle, as Randolph used
-to call it; and you will be pining to get back to the gay, busy whirl
-of life, that you have left behind.”
-
-Monica stopped short there struck by the strange look turned upon her
-by her companion. Beatrice’s face had grown grave and almost pale. A
-curious wistful sadness shone in her eyes; it almost seemed as if tears
-glistened on the long lashes.
-
-Her words were almost as enigmatical as her looks.
-
-She gazed at Monica for a moment speechlessly, and then softly murmured:
-
-“Et tu Brute!”
-
-
-END OF VOLUME II.
-
-
-PRINTED BY
-KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS,
-AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.
-
-
-
-
-Transcriber's Notes
-
-
-Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired.
-
-Italic text is denoted by _underscores_
-
-
-
-
-
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