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diff --git a/old/54941-0.txt b/old/54941-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bc705fe..0000000 --- a/old/54941-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3772 +0,0 @@ -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_ - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Monica, Volume 2 (of 3), by Evelyn Everett-Green - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONICA, VOLUME 2 (OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 54941-0.txt or 54941-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/9/4/54941/ - -Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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