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diff --git a/58774-8.txt b/58774-0.txt index fa80838..a3dacff 100644 --- a/58774-8.txt +++ b/58774-0.txt @@ -1,29 +1,7 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Court Netherleigh, by Mrs. Henry Wood +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58774 *** -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: Court Netherleigh - A Novel -Author: Mrs. Henry Wood - -Release Date: January 26, 2019 [EBook #58774] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COURT NETHERLEIGH *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books @@ -110,7 +88,7 @@ CHAPTER XXVIII. On the Way from Blackheath. XXIX. A Dreary Life. XXX. Last Words. - XXXI. In the Old Château. + XXXI. In the Old Château. XXXII. Adela Startled. XXXIII. Despair. XXXIV. On Lady Livingstone's Arm. @@ -1790,7 +1768,7 @@ returned Mr. Grubb. "Pray understand that." to know how much longer she is to wait dinner?" "Dinner!" exclaimed the earl. "By Jove! I did not know it was so late. -Grubb, will you join us sans cérémonie?" +Grubb, will you join us sans cérémonie?" It was not the first time, by many, Mr. Grubb had dined there. He followed the earl into the drawing-room. Lady Acorn was in it, a @@ -2564,7 +2542,7 @@ to none. It had been founded by the old man, Christopher Grubb, father of the Christopher who had married Catherine Grant, and grandfather of the Francis who is waiting for his train. The two Christophers, father and son, died about the same time, and the business was carried on by -old Christopher's other son, Francis. Catherine Grubb, née Grant, was +old Christopher's other son, Francis. Catherine Grubb, née Grant, was left largely endowed, provided she did not marry again. If she did, a comparatively small portion only would remain hers, and at her disposal--about a thousand a-year; the rest would go at once to her @@ -4793,7 +4771,7 @@ whirl of gaiety there was no time to remember _that_. Mrs. Dalrymple's carriage had continued its course. It was now on its way to her dressmaker's, Madame Damereau. Dead now, and the once large business dispersed, Madame Damereau, a Frenchwoman, was famous in that -gone-by day. An enormous custom--clientèle she used to call it--had +gone-by day. An enormous custom--clientèle she used to call it--had she. Her house was handsome, and, so far as its appearance went, strictly private. It was in a private street, amidst other handsome houses, and there was nothing to betray its business except the @@ -4806,7 +4784,7 @@ fitted up were not needed to carry on the business of a milliner and dressmaker, great though that business was! Needed or not, there they were. Madame Damereau had taste, and liked them. There was a hall and a reception-room; and a painted glass-door at the end of a passage, as -the clientèle turned to ascend a handsome staircase that led to the +the clientèle turned to ascend a handsome staircase that led to the show-rooms; through which glass-door might be caught glimpses of a paved court with green shrubs and plants. Above the stairs came an anteroom, and a trying-on room--and I know not how much more. Madame @@ -4818,7 +4796,7 @@ getting away, and there was no trying to get away. Madame's expenses were very great, and she had feathered her nest pretty well: somebody paid for it. When madame's nest should be sufficiently well feathered--or what she would consider so--it was her intention to -return to La Belle France--pays chéri!--and quit England and its +return to La Belle France--pays chéri!--and quit England and its natives--les barbares!--for ever. Every thought of madame had reference to this enchanting finale: not a dress did she make, a bonnet sell, a mantle improvise, but the charges for them (very high @@ -4917,7 +4895,7 @@ upon doing a good stroke of business. "Tenez--pardon, madame," quoth she, as soon as Selina joined her, and speaking in scraps of French and English, as was her custom: though she spoke both languages almost equally well, barring her accent of -ours--which was more than could be said for the clientèle, taking them +ours--which was more than could be said for the clientèle, taking them collectively, and hence, perhaps, the origin of her having acquired the habit--"I have got the rarest caisse of articles arrived from Paris this morning. Ah! qu'ils sont ravissants!" @@ -4928,9 +4906,9 @@ Paris this morning. Ah! qu'ils sont ravissants!" said to my assistants, 'You put that up, and don't let it be seen till Madame Dalreemp comes.' Il-y-a une robe--une robe--une robe!" impressively repeated madame, turning up the whites of her eyes--"ma -chère dame, it could only have been made for you!" +chère dame, it could only have been made for you!" -Selina's eyes sparkled. She thought herself the especial protégée of +Selina's eyes sparkled. She thought herself the especial protégée of the Damereau establishment--as many another vain woman had thought before, and would think again. @@ -5064,7 +5042,7 @@ for her. "It is a high price," observed Selina. "High! Mesdames have surely not regarded it closely. These are -emeralds. Look well, ma chère Madame Dalreemp. Emeralds. It is the +emeralds. Look well, ma chère Madame Dalreemp. Emeralds. It is the very cheapest bonnet--for its real value--that I have shown this season." @@ -5103,7 +5081,7 @@ sleeves and collar I have bought. Yes, it does. I must have that." "That's a dear handkerchief, I know," cried Mrs. Cleveland. "What is it, Madame Damereau?" -"That--oh, but that's recherché, that," said madame, in a rapture. +"That--oh, but that's recherché, that," said madame, in a rapture. "Nine guineas. Ah!" "Send it home with the other things," said Selina. @@ -5182,7 +5160,7 @@ day." Atkinson, who was helping me, 'That must be for Madame Dalreemp: there is no other lady who could do it justice.' Madame," she quickly added, as if an idea had just occurred to her, "fancy this robe, fine et -belle, over a delicate pink glacé or a maize!" +belle, over a delicate pink glacé or a maize!" "Or over white," suggested Selina. @@ -5198,7 +5176,7 @@ peach-blossom colour was underneath. "Just one hundred guineas, neither more nor less: and to anybody but Madame Dalreemp I should say a hundred and twenty. But I know that when once she appears in this before the world, I shall have order -upon order. It will be, 'Where did you get that dress, ma chère Madame +upon order. It will be, 'Where did you get that dress, ma chère Madame Dalreemp?' and madame will answer, 'I got it of Damereau;' and then they will come flocking to me. Ainsi, ma bonne dame, I can afford to let you have your things cheap." @@ -5231,7 +5209,7 @@ was even more lovely than was she herself: very much, too, in the same style of delicate beauty. What would Adela be in that lace dress! "I will take it," cried Selina. "I must have a slip of that peach -glacé to wear underneath it." +glacé to wear underneath it." "It will be altogether fit for a queen," quoth madame. @@ -5241,7 +5219,7 @@ party?" "Certainly madame can." "Very well then," concluded Selina. "Or--stay: would white look better -under it, after all? I have ever so many white glacé slips." +under it, after all? I have ever so many white glacé slips." Madame's opinion was that no colour, ever seen in the earth or in the air, could or would look as well as the peach. Milady Grey could not @@ -5259,7 +5237,7 @@ night?" "Ah! that's well thought of. It must be either white or peach." -"Or mixed. Cherchez la boîte, numero deux," quietly added madame to an +"Or mixed. Cherchez la boîte, numero deux," quietly added madame to an attendant. Box, number two, was brought. And madame disentangled from its @@ -5333,9 +5311,9 @@ at the price I asked her--eighty guineas." "Mrs. Dalrymple, lace robe, one hundred guineas," read Mrs. Cooper. "What else?--making?" -"Making, two guineas. Peach glacé slip comes next." +"Making, two guineas. Peach glacé slip comes next." -"Peach glacé slip," wrote Mrs. Cooper. "The price, if you please?" +"Peach glacé slip," wrote Mrs. Cooper. "The price, if you please?" "Put it down in round figures. Ten guineas. She did not ask." @@ -5346,7 +5324,7 @@ Miss Wells. "There was no price mentioned, madame." "Fourteen and sixpence." -"Put them down at a guinea, Mrs. Cooper. Making peach glacé slip--let +"Put them down at a guinea, Mrs. Cooper. Making peach glacé slip--let me see, no lining or trimming--say fourteen shillings. White point-lace bonnet, thirteen guineas. Sleeves and collar--what did I say for that, Miss Wells?" @@ -5356,7 +5334,7 @@ say for that, Miss Wells?" "Sleeves, collar, and handkerchief of Venice point, twenty-four guineas," read Mrs. Cooper. "She must be rich, this Mrs. Dalrymple." -"Comme ça, for that," quoth madame. +"Comme ça, for that," quoth madame. "She has had for more than a thousand pounds in the last six weeks. I suppose you are sure of her, madame? She is a new customer this @@ -5732,7 +5710,7 @@ door." "You never do look an object." "Of course I don't. I guard against it. I'd give the world to go to -this fête at the Burnhams'. Every soul will be there, but me." +this fête at the Burnhams'. Every soul will be there, but me." "And why not you, if your heart is so set upon It? I think all such affairs a stupid bore: but that's nothing." @@ -5764,9 +5742,9 @@ had no patience with ignorance. "You ought to know why!" "_I have worn them all once_," was the angry answer. "And some twice, and some three times. And one---- Oscar," she broke off, "you remember -that lovely one; a sky blue, shot with white; a robe à disposition?" +that lovely one; a sky blue, shot with white; a robe à disposition?" -"What is à disposition?" +"What is à disposition?" "Oh--a silk, flounced, and the flounces have some designs upon them, embossed, or raised, sometimes of a different colour. That dress I @@ -5810,7 +5788,7 @@ wanted me never to have a new dress again." not overlook that." "Don't be foolish, Oscar. Do you fear I am going to ruin you? What's -the cost of a few dresses? I _must_ have one for Lady Burnham's fête." +the cost of a few dresses? I _must_ have one for Lady Burnham's fête." "My dear, have what you like, in reason," he said, in the innocence of his unconscious heart: "you are the best judge. Of course I can trust @@ -5834,10 +5812,10 @@ and glanced underneath. It was a goodly stock of robes; but yet not all the stock: for the lace, and muslin, and flimsy gauze, and delicate white, and delicate pearl, and delicate pink, and delicate other shades, were reposing in drawers, out of sight, between folds of -tissue paper. Barège and balzarine: satin, plain and figured; velvet; +tissue paper. Barège and balzarine: satin, plain and figured; velvet; silk, plain, damask, flowered, shot, corded, and of all the colours of the rainbow. Beautiful dresses; and yet--new, and rich, and elegant as -they were, Selina Dalrymple could not go to the fête without a new +they were, Selina Dalrymple could not go to the fête without a new one! Away she went to Madame Damereau's. Astonishing that renowned artiste @@ -5863,7 +5841,7 @@ A momentous question. They ran over in memory the mantles, scarfs, fichus, possessed by Mrs. Dalrymple, and came to the conclusion that not one of them would "go with" the gauze dress. -"I have a lace mantle," said madame--"ah! but it is recherché!--a real +"I have a lace mantle," said madame--"ah! but it is recherché!--a real Brussels. If there is one robe in my house that it ought to go with, it is that green-and-white." @@ -5874,7 +5852,7 @@ price also. "Twenty-five guineas." "Oh my goodness--twenty-five guineas!" cried Selina. "But I'll take -it. A breakfast fête does not come every day." +it. A breakfast fête does not come every day." For a wonder--_for_ a wonder--Selina, having exhibited her white lace bonnet with the emeralds only twice, came to the conclusion that that @@ -6418,7 +6396,7 @@ another thoughtless woman. Madame Damereau took the order as politely and carefully as though Mrs. Oscar Dalrymple had been made of bank notes and gold. She knew better manners--and better policy, too--than to make any objection -before others of her clientèle. But that same evening, when Selina was +before others of her clientèle. But that same evening, when Selina was dressing, she was told that a lady who gave the name of Cooper wished to see her. Selina knew that there was a Mrs. Cooper in the establishment of Madame Damereau, a partner, she fancied, or @@ -6498,7 +6476,7 @@ and was merry as the merriest there. Her husband had never seen her face brighter. On the following day, Selina proceeded to Madame Damereau's at an -early hour, before any of the other clientèle would be likely to +early hour, before any of the other clientèle would be likely to appear. But the interview, although Mrs. Cooper had said as much as she dared, was not productive of good. Madame had gradually learnt the true position of Oscar Dalrymple, that he was a very poor man, instead @@ -7311,7 +7289,7 @@ His perplexed look stopped her. "Ah," she said, changing her language, believe, of addressing Mr. Dalreemp. I am covered with contrition at intruding at this evening hour, but I know that Mrs. Dalreemp is much out in the day; I thought I might perhaps get speech of her as she was -dressing for some soirée." +dressing for some soirée." "Do you wish to see her? Have you seen her?" he asked. @@ -9390,7 +9368,7 @@ news." "You are a good girl, Fanny," returned he, in a brighter accent, "and I will send you my address as soon as I possess one. You are not to turn proud, mind, and be off the bargain, if you find it to be in a -fish-market, au cinquième." +fish-market, au cinquième." Frances laughed. "Take care of yourself, Gerard." @@ -9902,7 +9880,7 @@ here." "Had he been here, I should not have spoken," was Mr. Grubb's reply, signs of mortification on his refined and sensitive lips. -"Is your rôle going to be that of a jealous husband at last?" +"Is your rôle going to be that of a jealous husband at last?" "No," he replied. "You have striven, with unnecessary endeavour, to deaden the love for you which once filled my heart; if that love has @@ -10315,7 +10293,7 @@ growing rather monotonous. The chances were that had her husband and Grace not spoken to her, she would very speedily have thrown off Charley and his allegiance. Adela had no special pursuit whence to draw daily satisfaction. No home (the French would better express it -by the word ménage) to keep up and contrive for; the hand of wealth +by the word ménage) to keep up and contrive for; the hand of wealth was at work, and all was provided for her to satiety; she had no children to train and love; she had no husband whom it was a delight to her to yield to, to please and cherish: worse than all, she had @@ -14810,7 +14788,7 @@ sting of as long as life lasted. On the very day the separation was decided upon, not an hour after Mr. Grubb left her in her chamber after apprising her of it, Lord Acorn, as you have read, came to the house, and took her from it without -ceremony. His usual débonnaire indifference had given place to a +ceremony. His usual débonnaire indifference had given place to a sternness, against which there could be no thought of rebellion. She took up her abode at Chenevix House that day, and Darvy followed @@ -15149,7 +15127,7 @@ to stay there." "I thought they were to go to Rome for Christmas." "But Adela objects to it so much, Harriet says; so they intend to -remain where they are, in the desolate old château. They have made it +remain where they are, in the desolate old château. They have made it as air-tight as they can, and keep up large wood fires. Adela shrinks from meeting the world, and Rome is unusually full of English." @@ -15404,7 +15382,7 @@ Miss Upton paused a moment, as if lost in the past. "It is a singular coincidence, not unlike a link in a chain," she went on, dreamily, "that the present Prime Minister should be an old -habitué of Court Netherleigh; many a week in his boyhood did he pass +habitué of Court Netherleigh; many a week in his boyhood did he pass here with Uncle Francis, who was very kind to him. He has continued his friendship with me unto this day; coming down to visit me occasionally. I made a confidant of him during his last visit, telling @@ -15487,13 +15465,13 @@ enjoined, "not even to your wife; you understand that?" CHAPTER XXXI. -IN THE OLD CHÂTEAU. +IN THE OLD CHÂTEAU. -A draughty old château in Switzerland. Not that it need have been +A draughty old château in Switzerland. Not that it need have been draughty, for it lay at the foot of a mountain, sheltered from the east winds. But the doors did not fit, and the windows rattled, after -the custom of most old châteaux: and so the winter air crept in. It +the custom of most old châteaux: and so the winter air crept in. It stood in a secluded spot quite out of the beaten tracks of travellers; and it looked upon one of the most glorious prospects that even this favoured land of lovely scenery can boast. @@ -15536,13 +15514,13 @@ It was speedily decided. Lady Acorn, severe though she was with Adela, had her welfare at heart, and she thought a thorough change might be beneficial to her. An old friend, who chanced to be going abroad, took charge of Lady Adela to Geneva: Sir Sandy MacIvor and his wife met her -there, and took her back with them to the château. +there, and took her back with them to the château. -That was in October. Adela found the château as isolated as she could +That was in October. Adela found the château as isolated as she could well desire, and therefore she was pleased with it; and she told Sir Sandy and Harriet she was glad to have come. -They had never thought of staying in this château for the winter; they +They had never thought of staying in this château for the winter; they meant to go to Rome early in December. But as that month approached, Adela evinced a great dislike to move. She would not go to Rome to encounter the English there, she told them; she would stay where she @@ -15555,7 +15533,7 @@ inmate, for her money was of consequence to them. at length said Sir Sandy, who was as easy-tempered, genial-hearted a little laird as could be met with in or out of Scotland: though he stood only five feet high in his shoes, and nothing could be seen of -his face except his small retroussé nose standing out of the mass of +his face except his small retroussé nose standing out of the mass of bright yellow hair which adorned it. "It will be so cold," grumbled Harriet. "Think of all these draughts." @@ -15577,7 +15555,7 @@ Rome for the Christmas festivities, and for the carnival later." As they had no children, they were not tied to their Scottish home, and could lay their plans freely. It was decided to remain in the -château for the winter, and Sir Sandy began hammering at the doors and +château for the winter, and Sir Sandy began hammering at the doors and windows. So they settled down contentedly enough; and, cold though it was, in @@ -15755,7 +15733,7 @@ Cleveland, was read out after the will; and Francis Grubb found a private letter, written by her to himself, put into his hand. Lord Acorn was similarly astonished. Intensely so. But, in his -débonnaire manner, he carried it off with easy indifference, and did +débonnaire manner, he carried it off with easy indifference, and did not let his mortification appear. Perhaps he had not in his heart felt so sure of Court Netherleigh as he had allowed the world to think: Miss Upton's warnings might not have been quite lost upon him. Failing @@ -15907,7 +15885,7 @@ But of the particulars, I say, Sir Sandy and Lady Harriet remained in ignorance, for Grace did not write again. No one else wrote. And their extreme surprise at Mr. Grubb's inheritance had become a thing of the past, when one day a traveller, recently from England, found them out -and their old château. It was Captain Frederick Cust, brother to the +and their old château. It was Captain Frederick Cust, brother to the John Cust who stuttered. The Custs and the Acorns had always been very intimate; the young Cust lads, there were six of them, and the Ladies Chenevix had played and quarrelled together as boys and girls. Captain @@ -15999,15 +15977,15 @@ CHAPTER XXXII. ADELA STARTLED. -In a small "appartement" in the Champs Elysées, so small, indeed, that +In a small "appartement" in the Champs Elysées, so small, indeed, that the whole of it could almost have been put into the salon of the -château in Switzerland, and in its small drawing-room sat Lady Harriet -MacIvor and Monsieur le Docteur Féron. Lady Adela sat in it also; but +château in Switzerland, and in its small drawing-room sat Lady Harriet +MacIvor and Monsieur le Docteur Féron. Lady Adela sat in it also; but she went for nobody now. It was a lovely April day; the sun shone through the crimson draperies of the window, the flowers were budding, the trees were already green. -Monsieur le Docteur Féron and Lady Harriet were talking partly to, +Monsieur le Docteur Féron and Lady Harriet were talking partly to, partly _at_ Adela. Inert, listless, dispirited, she paid little or no attention to either of them, or to anything they might choose to say: life and its interests seemed to be no longer of moment to her. @@ -16019,7 +15997,7 @@ rouse her from her apathy. Sir Sandy tried reasoning and amusement; Lady Harriet alternately soothed and ridiculed; Darvy, even, ventured now and again on a good scolding. It was all one. -That exposé the previous summer, when she was put away by her husband, +That exposé the previous summer, when she was put away by her husband, seemed to have changed Adela's very nature. At first her mood was resentful; then it became repentant: that was succeeded by one of heart-sickening remorse. Remorse for her own line of conduct during @@ -16047,7 +16025,7 @@ objection; it seemed as though she no longer cared a straw where she went, or what became of her. "If we offered to box her up in a coffin and bury her for good and all, I don't believe she'd say no," said Lady Harriet one day to the laird. To Paris they went, reaching it -during March, and Monsieur le Docteur Féron was at once called in, a +during March, and Monsieur le Docteur Féron was at once called in, a man of great repute amongst the English. It was now April, and Monsieur le Docteur, with all his skill, had done nothing. @@ -16085,7 +16063,7 @@ herself, how are we to do it?" society: is it not so?" spoke the doctor, after a pause of consideration, during which he stroked his face with his gloved hand. -"Of course we do, Monsieur Féron; we are not hermits, and Paris is gay +"Of course we do, Monsieur Féron; we are not hermits, and Paris is gay just now," quickly answered Lady Harriet. "We go to the Blunts' tonight." @@ -16268,7 +16246,7 @@ bore onwards to the outer door. The carriage was called, and came up. In point of fact, Sir Sandy and his wife had privately agreed to keep it waiting, in case Adela should turn faint in the unusual scene and have to leave. In the porte -cochère they encountered a lady who was only then arriving. +cochère they encountered a lady who was only then arriving. "What, going already!" she exclaimed. @@ -16398,7 +16376,7 @@ compassion; Gerard was looking so thin and careworn. "Come to my hotel and dine with me, Gerard," he said impulsively. And Gerard went. -After dinner, they left the table d'hôte for a private room, to which +After dinner, they left the table d'hôte for a private room, to which a bottle of choice claret was ordered. Talking together of past times, the subject of the lost bracelet came up. Sir Francis, listening attentively to what Gerard said, looking at him keenly as he said it, @@ -16730,7 +16708,7 @@ image of her husband; with the longing only to see him; with the bitter, unavailing remorse for the past. That one solitary sight of him, in Paris at Mrs. Blunt's, had revived within her the pain and excitement, which had been previously subsiding into a sort of dull -apathy. The château in Switzerland had been, as a residence, lonely +apathy. The château in Switzerland had been, as a residence, lonely and wearisome; it was nothing, in those respects, compared with this old castle of Sir Sandy's. At least, Adela, found it so. In fact, she did not know what she wanted. She shrank from even the bare suggestion @@ -18722,7 +18700,7 @@ road: but Selina chose to cross the common. Surely enough, the unfortunate lot, as Mr. Bumford called them, had gathered on its outskirts, in view of their late homes, their poor -goods and chattels, much damaged in the mêlée, piled in little heaps +goods and chattels, much damaged in the mêlée, piled in little heaps around them. Men, their hearts panting for revenge, sobbing women and shivering children, there they stood, sat, or lay about. The farmers, Lee and Bumford, would later on open their barns to them for the @@ -19510,7 +19488,7 @@ Look at that costly silk costume--that shaded grey--why, you'd charge five-and-twenty guineas for that, if you charged a farthing. Don't tell me, madame." -"Plutôt thirty guineas, I believe," equably answered madame. "It is of +"Plutôt thirty guineas, I believe," equably answered madame. "It is of the richest, that silk. Miladi Frances intends it for her robe de voyage tomorrow." @@ -19736,7 +19714,7 @@ give the place a trial! She will soon come out of it again." In truth, poor Adela was at a loss what to do with her blighted life--how to get through the weary days that had no pleasure in them. Netherleigh Rectory had brought to her no more rest than Sir Sandy's -Scottish stronghold had brought, or the bleak old château in +Scottish stronghold had brought, or the bleak old château in Switzerland. She wanted peace, and she found it not. Some excitement crept into the daily monotony of her life whenever Sir @@ -19837,7 +19815,7 @@ that had been built and decorated for her during the late alterations to Moat Grange, was Mary Dalrymple. Robert, heated and flushed, had come swinging in at the gate, and caught the words across the lawn. He had been out since early morning, superintending various matters; for -today was the grand fête-day at Moat Grange, and preparations were +today was the grand fête-day at Moat Grange, and preparations were being made for it. Robert called it a house-warming. He had talked of it, as a thing to @@ -19915,7 +19893,7 @@ seems to regard politics as quite a recreation." "Don't be hard on him, Mary. He has little else now in the way of recreation." -Gerard Hope and Lady Frances had come to the Grange for the fête: +Gerard Hope and Lady Frances had come to the Grange for the fête: Gerard having coaxed a three days' holiday out of Mr. Howard, with whom he was a favourite, though the old gentleman had grumblingly reminded him that his honeymoon was not long over. Oscar Dalrymple and @@ -19951,7 +19929,7 @@ you think cannot come out? At least, not out _here_." "Francis Netherleigh. Mary Dalrymple heard from him this morning. He is kept in London by some business connected with the House. He would -have been the star of the fête. Yes, don't laugh at me--he _would_-- +have been the star of the fête. Yes, don't laugh at me--he _would_-- and we are all vexed. I wouldn't be in that House of Commons for the world," resentfully concluded Selina. "I do think he might have stretched a point today!" @@ -20029,10 +20007,10 @@ wrists. Selina sat down. Mr. Cleveland I don't know what they would do, now their father is gone." -"But all Netherleigh is en fête today So ought you to be!" +"But all Netherleigh is en fête today So ought you to be!" Adela raised her sad and beautiful eyes to Selina's in some surprise. -"The fête can have nothing to do with me, Selina. I am very glad it is +"The fête can have nothing to do with me, Selina. I am very glad it is so fine for it: and I hope every one will enjoy it, yourself included." @@ -20074,14 +20052,14 @@ Selina, in very dismay, gave her hands a slight wring. To her, it seemed that Adela might as well put herself at once out of the world. "I must be going," she said, advancing to say farewell. "You are sure -you will not come to the fête, Adela?" +you will not come to the fête, Adela?" -"I have done with fêtes for ever," replied Adela, as she drew down +"I have done with fêtes for ever," replied Adela, as she drew down Selina's face for a farewell kiss. "Perhaps you will write to me sometimes?" And Selina Dalrymple, sick and sorry for the blighted life, went out with her eyes full of tears. -The day wore on to the afternoon, and the business of the fête began. +The day wore on to the afternoon, and the business of the fête began. Old and young, gentle and simple, the aristocracy surrounding the neighbourhood, the tenant-farmers and the labourers, all congregated on the lawns, in the gardens, and in the home field, where the tents @@ -20131,7 +20109,7 @@ on my arm." "Thank you; yes, I should like it--if you will take me." -Amidst the few people of note not at the fête was Lady Adela. She had +Amidst the few people of note not at the fête was Lady Adela. She had kept to her determination not to go near it. Mr. Cleveland had asked her, when setting out himself, whether she would not go with him just to have a peep at it, but she said she preferred to sit with Mary. She @@ -20201,7 +20179,7 @@ was indeed the truth--that he had at the last found himself able to come. Yes, but only for an hour or two. She did not know that he had got -down at midday, had been to the fête, and was now on his way back to +down at midday, had been to the fête, and was now on his way back to the train, calling at home on his road. He made straight for the open doors of Miss Margery's room, and went in. @@ -20397,8 +20375,8 @@ CONCLUSION. There is little more to relate. On just such a lovely June day as described above, and twelve months -later, another fête took place. But this time it was at Court -Netherleigh. Not an open-air fête, this, or one on a large scale, for +later, another fête took place. But this time it was at Court +Netherleigh. Not an open-air fête, this, or one on a large scale, for only a few chosen friends had been invited to it. In the morning, in Netherleigh Church, and at the hands of the good @@ -20571,363 +20549,4 @@ PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Court Netherleigh, by Mrs. Henry Wood -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COURT NETHERLEIGH *** - -***** This file should be named 58774-8.txt or 58774-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/8/7/7/58774/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books -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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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58774 *** diff --git a/58774-h/58774-h.htm b/58774-h/58774-h.htm index 12d9bea..dd03241 100644 --- a/58774-h/58774-h.htm +++ b/58774-h/58774-h.htm @@ -46,40 +46,7 @@ p.hang2 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:0em;} <body> -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Court Netherleigh, by Mrs. Henry Wood - -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: Court Netherleigh - A Novel - -Author: Mrs. Henry Wood - -Release Date: January 26, 2019 [EBook #58774] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COURT NETHERLEIGH *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books - - - - - -</pre> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58774 ***</div> @@ -16327,4763 +16294,7 @@ thoughts were full of Mr. Grubb, as the verses went on. Every word came home to her aching heart.</p> <div style="margin-left:10%; font-size:smaller"> -<pre> -"But him I loved so well - Still in my heart doth dwell— - Oh, I shall ne'er forget - Robin Adair." -</pre> -</div> - -<p>Applause ensued. It was much better deserved than that usually -accorded in these cases. A minute later, and some one called out -"Hush!" for the lady had consented to sing again. The noise subsided -into silence; the singer was turning over the leaves of her -music-book.</p> - -<p>To this silence there arose an interruption. Mr. Blunt's English -butler appeared, announcing a late guest:</p> - -<p>"Sir Francis Netherleigh."</p> - -<p>The man had a low, sonorous voice, and every syllable penetrated to -Lady Adela's ear. The name struck on the chords of her memory. Sir -Francis Netherleigh! Why, he had been dead many a year. Could another -Sir Francis Netherleigh be in existence? What did it mean?—for it -must be remembered that all such news had been kept and was still kept -from her. Lady Adela gazed out from her obscure vantage-ground.</p> - -<p>Not for a minute or two did she see anything: the company was dense. -Then, threading his way through the line made for him, advanced a man -of noble form and face, the form and face of him she had once called -husband.</p> - -<p>He was in evening-dress, and in mourning. He seemed to be making -direct for the recess, and for Adela; and she shrank behind the -draperies to conceal herself.</p> - -<p>For a moment all things seemed to be in a mist, inwardly and -outwardly. What brought Mr. Grubb <i>there</i>—and who was the Sir Francis -Netherleigh that had been announced, and where was he?</p> - -<p>Not to Adela had he been advancing, neither did he see her. Mrs. Blunt -chanced to be standing before the recess; it was to her he was making -his way.</p> - -<p>"How do you do, Sir Francis?" she warmly exclaimed, meeting his hand. -"It is so good of you to come: my husband feared you would not be able -to spare the time."</p> - -<p>"I thought so also when I spoke to him this afternoon," was the -answer, given in the earnest pleasant tones Adela remembered so well. -"My stay in Paris is but for a few hours this time. Where is Mr. -Blunt?"</p> - -<p>"I saw him close by a minute ago. Ah, there he is. John," called Mrs. -Blunt, "here is Sir Francis Netherleigh."</p> - -<p>They moved towards the fireplace; the crowd closed behind them, hiding -them from sight, and Adela breathed again. So then, <i>he</i> was Sir -Francis Netherleigh! How had it all come about?</p> - -<p>Gathering her shawl around her, she escaped from the recess and glided -through the room with bent head. In the outer room, opening to the -corridor and the staircase, she came upon her sister.</p> - -<p>"Harriet, I must go," she feverishly uttered. "I can't stay here."</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed!" said Lady Harriet. "Well—I don't know."</p> - -<p>"If there's no carriage waiting, I can have a coach. Or I can walk. It -will do me no harm. I shall find my way through the streets."</p> - -<p>She ran down the stairs. Harriet felt obliged to follow her. "Will you -call up Sir Sandy MacIvor's carriage," asked Lady Harriet of the -servants standing below. "Adela, do wait an instant! One would think -the house was on fire."</p> - -<p>"I must get away," was the eager, terrified interruption, and Adela -bore onwards to the outer door.</p> - -<p>The carriage was called, and came up. In point of fact, Sir Sandy and -his wife had privately agreed to keep it waiting, in case Adela should -turn faint in the unusual scene and have to leave. In the porte -cochère they encountered a lady who was only then arriving.</p> - -<p>"What, going already!" she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Lady Harriet; "and I wish you would just tell Sir Sandy -for me: you will be sure to see him somewhere in the rooms. Say my -sister does not feel well, and we have gone home."</p> - -<p>They passed out to the carriage and were soon bowling along the -streets. Adela drew into her corner, cowering and shivering.</p> - -<p>"Did you see him?" she gasped.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, I saw him," grumblingly responded Lady Harriet, who was not -very pleased at having to quit the gay scene in this summary fashion. -"I am sure Sandy will conclude we have been spirited away, unless Mrs. -Seymour finds him. A fine flurry he'll be in."</p> - -<p>"Harriet, what did it mean? They called him Sir Francis Netherleigh."</p> - -<p>"He is Sir Francis Netherleigh."</p> - -<p>"Since when? Why did you not tell me?"</p> - -<p>"He has been Francis Netherleigh since Aunt Margery died: the name -came to him with the property. He has been Sir Francis since—oh, for -about six weeks now. The old Uncle Francis wished the baronetcy to be -revived in him, and his wishes have been carried out."</p> - -<p>Adela paused, apparently revolving the information. "Then his name is -no longer Grubb?"</p> - -<p>"In one sense, no. For all social uses that name has passed from him."</p> - -<p>"Why did you never tell me this?" repeated Adela.</p> - -<p>"From the uncertainty as to whether you would care to hear it, Adela. -We decided to say nothing until you were stronger."</p> - -<p>A second pause of thought. "If he has succeeded to the name, why, so -have I. Have I not? Though he puts me away from himself, Harriet, he -cannot take from me his name."</p> - -<p>"Of course you have succeeded to it."</p> - -<p>Pause the third. "Then I ought to have been announced tonight as Lady -Adela Netherleigh!"</p> - -<p>"Had you been announced at all. You solved the difficulty, you know, -by telling me you would not be announced—you would creep in after me -and Sandy."</p> - -<p>"What difficulty?"</p> - -<p>"Well, had you heard yourself called Netherleigh, you would have -wanted to know, there and then, the why and the wherefore. It might -have created a small commotion."</p> - -<p>Pause the fourth. "Who is he in mourning for? Aunt Margery?"</p> - -<p>"And also for his mother. Mrs. Lynn lived just long enough to see him -take up the baronetcy. I think it must have gratified her—that her -son should be the one to succeed at last. <i>She</i> would have had Court -Netherleigh in the old days, Adela, had she not displeased Uncle -Francis by her marriage, not Margery Upton. He told Margery so when he -was dying."</p> - -<p>"The world seems full of changes," sighed Adela.</p> - -<p>"It always was, and always will be. But I fancy the right mostly comes -uppermost in the end," added Lady Harriet. "Where is Mary Lynn, you -ask? She lives with Sir Francis, in Grosvenor Square; the house's -mistress."</p> - -<p>Adela ceased her questioning. Amidst the many items for reflection -suggested to her by the news, was this: that the once-hated name of -Grubb had been suppressed for ever. There flashed across her a -reminiscence of a day in the past autumn, when she was last staying at -Court Netherleigh. She had been giving some scorn to the name, after -her all-frequent custom, and Miss Upton had answered it with a -peculiar look. Adela did not then understand the look: she did now. -That expressive look, had she been able to read it, might have told -her that Mr. Grubb would not long retain the name. Adela shrank closer -into the corner of the carriage and pressed her hands upon her burning -eyes. Foolish, infatuated woman that she had been!</p> - -<p>"Did you notice how noble he looked tonight?" she murmured, after -awhile.</p> - -<p>"He always did look noble, Adela. Here we are."</p> - -<p>The carriage drew up. As Lady Harriet, after getting out herself, -turned to give her hand to Adela, still weak enough to require -especial care, she did not find it responded to.</p> - -<p>"Are you asleep, Adela? Come. We are at home."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," was the meek answer.</p> - -<p>She had only been waiting to stem the torrent of tears flowing forth. -Lady Harriet saw them glistening on her wasted cheeks by the light of -the carriage-lamps. Bitter tears, telling of a breaking heart.</p> - -<p>"Sandy," observed Lady Harriet to her husband that night, "I do not -see that a further stay here will be of any use to Adela. We may as -well be making preparations for our journey to the Highlands."</p> - -<p>"Just as you please," acquiesced Sir Sandy. "I, you know, would rather -be in the Highlands than anywhere else. Fix your own time."</p> - -<p>"Then we will start next week," decided Lady Harriet. But we must -revert for a few moments to Sir Francis Netherleigh before closing the -chapter.</p> - -<p>His stay in Paris, a matter of business having taken him there, was -limited to some four-and-twenty hours. Upon reaching Calais on his -return homewards, he found one of the worst gales blowing that Calais -had ever known, and he was greeted with the news that not a boat could -leave the harbour. All he could do was to go to an hotel, Dessin's, -and make himself comfortable until the morrow. Late in the afternoon -he strolled out to take a look at the raging sea, and found it was -with difficulty he could struggle against the wind. In returning, he -was blown against a gentleman, or the gentleman against him; the two -laughed, began an apology, and then simultaneously shook hands—for it -was Gerard Hope. Sir Francis Netherleigh's heart went out in -compassion; Gerard was looking so thin and careworn.</p> - -<p>"Come to my hotel and dine with me, Gerard," he said impulsively. And -Gerard went.</p> - -<p>After dinner, they left the table d'hôte for a private room, to which -a bottle of choice claret was ordered. Talking together of past times, -the subject of the lost bracelet came up. Sir Francis, listening -attentively to what Gerard said, looking at him keenly as he said it, -drew the absolute conclusion that Gerard was not the thief: he was -quick at distinguishing truth from falsehood.</p> - -<p>"Gerard," he quietly asked, "why have you remained so long abroad? It -bears a look, you see, to some people, that you are afraid to come -back and face the charge."</p> - -<p>"It's not that," returned Gerard. "What I can't face is my body of -creditors. They would pretty soon lay hold of me, if I went over. As -to the other affair, what could I do in it? Nothing. My uncle will -never believe me not guilty; and I could not prove that I am -innocent."</p> - -<p>"Fill your glass, Gerard. How much do you owe?"</p> - -<p>"Well, it must be as much, I'm afraid, as five hundred pounds."</p> - -<p>"Is that all?" spoke Sir Francis, rather slightingly.</p> - -<p>Gerard laughed. "Not much to many a man; but a very great deal to a -poor one. I don't know that I should be much better off at home than -here," he added in a thoughtful tone. "So long as that bracelet affair -lies in doubt, the world will look askance at me: and I expect it will -never be cleared up."</p> - -<p>"It was a most singular thing, quite a mystery, as Lady Sarah always -calls it. I suppose you have no suspicion yourself, Gerard, as to the -culprit."</p> - -<p>"Why, yes, I have, unfortunately."</p> - -<p>Sir Francis caught at the words. "Who was it?"</p> - -<p>Gerard Hope's pale face, so much paler than of yore, turned red. But -that he had been in a reverie he would not have made the unguarded -admission.</p> - -<p>"I am sorry to have said so much, Sir Francis," he avowed hastily. "It -is true that a doubt lies on my mind; but I ought not to have spoken -of it."</p> - -<p>"Nay, but you may trust me, Gerard."</p> - -<p>"I don't like to," hesitated Gerard. "It was of a lady. And perhaps I -was mistaken."</p> - -<p>"Not Alice herself," cried Sir Francis, jestingly.</p> - -<p>"No, no. I—think—Alice—holds—the—same—suspicion," he added, with -a pause between each word.</p> - -<p>"You had better trust me, Gerard. No harm shall come of it, to you or -to her; I promise you that."</p> - -<p>"I thought," breathed Gerard, "it was Selina Dalrymple."</p> - -<p>"Selina Dalrymple!" echoed Sir Francis, utterly surprised. "Since when -have you thought that?"</p> - -<p>"Ever since."</p> - -<p>"But why?"</p> - -<p>"Well, partly because no one but myself and Selina went into the room; -and I know that it was not I who took it. And partly because her visit -to the house that evening was kept secret. Her name, as I dare say you -know, was never spoken of at all in connection with the matter. Alice -did not say she had been there, and of course I did not."</p> - -<p>"But how do you know she was there?"</p> - -<p>"I opened the door to her. As I left that back-room where the jewels -lay upon the table, I looked round to speak to Alice, and I saw that -self-same glistening bracelet lying on the table behind the others. I -did not return into the room at all; what I had to say to Alice I said -with the door in my hand. Upon opening the front-door, to let myself -out, there stood Selina Dalrymple, about to ring. She asked for Alice, -and ran upstairs to her quietly, as if she did not want to be heard. -That Selina went into the room where the jewels were and admired them, -Alice casually said to me when we met in the street next day. But her -visit was never spoken of in the house, as far as I know."</p> - -<p>Sir Francis made no remark. Gerard went on.</p> - -<p>"In the first blush of the loss, I should as soon have suspected -myself as Selina Dalrymple; sooner perhaps: but when it came to -be asserted at the investigation that no other person whatever had -been in the room than myself, excepting Alice, I could not see the -reason of that assertion, and the doubt flashed upon me. For one -thing"—Gerard dropped his voice—"we learnt how terribly hard-up poor -Selina was just then. Worse than I was."</p> - -<p>"I am very sorry to have heard this, Gerard," said Sir Francis, -perceiving at once how grave were the grounds for suspicion. "Poor -Selina, indeed! It must never transpire; it would kill Oscar. At -heart, he is fond of her as ever."</p> - -<p>"Of course it must not transpire," assented Gerard. "I have never -breathed it, until now, to mortal man. But it has made things harder -for me, you see."</p> - -<p>"It was said at the time, I remember, that you denied the theft in a -half-hearted manner. Lady Sarah herself told me that. This suspicion -trammelled you?"</p> - -<p>"To be sure it did. I vowed to them I did not take the bracelet, but -in my fear of directing doubts to Selina, I was not as emphatic -as I might have been. I felt just as you express it, Sir -Francis—trammelled. And I fear," went on Gerard, after a pause, "that -this same suspicion has been making havoc with poor Alice's heart and -health. When I receive a letter from Frances, as I do now and then, -she is sure to lament over Alice's low spirits and her increasing -illness."</p> - -<p>Francis Netherleigh sat thinking. "It seems to me, Gerard," he -presently said, "that you are being punished unjustly. You ought to -return to England."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but I can't," answered Gerard, shaking his head. "The sharks -would be on to me. Before I could turn round I should be lodged in the -Queen's Bench."</p> - -<p>"No, no; not if they saw you wished to pay them later, and that there -was a fair probability of your doing so."</p> - -<p>"My wish is good enough. As to the probability—it is nowhere."</p> - -<p>"Creditors are not as hard as they are sometimes represented, Gerard. -I can assure you of that. I have always found them reasonable."</p> - -<p>Gerard laughed outright. "I dare <i>say</i> you have, Sir Francis. It would -be an odd creditor that would be hard to you."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but I meant when I have dealt with them for other people," -replied Sir Francis, joining in the laugh.</p> - -<p>"And if I did get back to London, I should have nothing to live upon," -resumed Gerard. "The pittance that I half starve upon in these cheap -places, I might wholly starve upon there. I often wish I could get -employed as a clerk; no one but myself knows how thankful I should be. -But with this other thing hanging over my head, who'd give me a -recommendation, and who'd take me without one!"</p> - -<p>"Well, well, we will see, Gerard. It is a long lane that has no -turning."</p> - -<p>They talked yet further, and then Gerard said good-night. And in the -morning Sir Francis Netherleigh heard the welcome tidings that the -wind had gone down sufficiently to allow the mail-packet to venture -out. So he went in her to England.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_33" href="#div1Ref_33">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></h4> -<h5>DESPAIR.</h5> -<br> - -<p>The year had gone on, and the season was at its height. In the -breakfast-room at Sir Francis Netherleigh's house in Grosvenor Square -sat his sister, waiting to pour out the coffee. Ah, how different -things were from what they had been in his wife's time! Then he had to -wait upon himself at breakfast, often to take it alone; now he always -found his sister down before him.</p> - -<p>Mary Lynn was good-looking as ever, her wonderful grey eyes, as Miss -Upton used to call them, were not a whit less beautiful; but the mirth -of early days had given place to a calm, sad seriousness. It could be -seen that some great sorrow had passed over her heart and left its -traces there for ever. Just now, as she laid down a letter she had -been reading, her face wore an especial air of sadness, somewhat of -perplexity. Sir Francis entered.</p> - -<p>"I have a letter from Netherleigh, Francis, from Alice Dalrymple," -began Mary, after they had said good-morning. "Mrs. Dalrymple has met -with an accident, and—but I will read you what she says," she broke -off, taking up the letter.</p> - -<p>"'Selina was driving mamma in a borrowed pony-chaise yesterday; the -pony took fright at a passing caravan—a huge thing, Selina says, -covered with brooms and baskets and shining tins—ran away, and -overturned the chaise. Selina was not hurt, she never is; but mamma -has received, it is feared, some internal injury. She asks if you will -come down to her, dear Mary. Lose no time; you know how she values -you!'"</p> - -<p>"Selina was driving carelessly, I expect," observed Sir Francis.</p> - -<p>"Of course I will go down. But it cannot be today, Francis?"</p> - -<p>"Not very well," he answered, as he took his cup of coffee from her -hand. "What should I do with the crowd, coming here tonight, without -a hostess to receive them?"</p> - -<p>For Sir Francis Netherleigh had bidden the great world to his house -that evening. Such invitations from him were rare. This was the first -he had given since his wife's departure and his mother's death.</p> - -<p>"True," observed Mary, in answer. "And you also expect that gentleman -and his wife, who are just home from India, to lunch here today. -Then I will write to Alice, and tell her I cannot be with her until -tomorrow. Her mother is not so ill, I trust, as to make a day's delay -of moment. Perhaps you will go down with me, Francis?"</p> - -<p>"If I can. I know I am wanted at Court Netherleigh."</p> - -<p>"That is settled, then. And now tell me, will the Hopes also be here -at luncheon?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I asked them last night to meet the Didnums. As I told you, -Mary, the Hopes and the Didnums were great friends out in India."</p> - -<p>Although Francis Netherleigh had put away his wife, the intimate -relations that had existed between himself and her family had not been -interrupted. He was sometimes at Lord Acorn's and at Colonel Hope's, -and they were often with him. Mr. Didnum, the head of a great -mercantile house in Calcutta, in constant correspondence with that of -Christopher Grubb and Son in London, was an old friend of Colonel -Hope, and they were now about to meet at luncheon in Grosvenor Square.</p> - -<p>Breakfast over, Sir Francis Netherleigh went to Leadenhall Street as -usual, returning in time to receive his visitors.</p> - -<p>Frances Chenevix, staying with her sister, Lady Sarah Hope, made one -of the party. "I don't know whether I am expected or whether I am not, -but I shall go," she remarked to Lady Sarah, in her careless fashion. -And she went, and was warmly welcomed. Every one liked gay-hearted -Frances Chenevix.</p> - -<p>The luncheon had been over some little time, and they were all talking -together with interest, when a telegram was brought in for Miss Lynn. -It proved to be from the Rector of Netherleigh, the Reverend Thomas -Cleveland.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Dalrymple has undergone an operation, and is in a very exhausted -condition. Come to her at once. I am sending also to Leadenhall Street -to your brother. She is asking for him."</p> - -<p>Such a message creates confusion. Sir Francis looked to ascertain at -what time they were likely to find a train to carry them to -Netherleigh, and found they could just catch one if they started at -once. A servant was sent for the fleetest-looking cab he could find; -there was no time to get the carriage round.</p> - -<p>Mary Lynn was already seated in the cab, and Sir Francis was shaking -hands with Colonel Hope, who had come out to the door, when he -remembered the guests bidden to his house that night. It caused him to -pause.</p> - -<p>"You must stay and receive them for me, colonel: be host in my place, -and your wife hostess, if she will be so good," he hastily decided. -"Explain to every one how it is: dying wishes must be attended to, you -know: and my getting back is, I dare say, out of the question."</p> - -<p>"All right," answered Colonel Hope. "Don't wait, or you will lose your -train."</p> - -<p>The colonel returned indoors, went back to the dining-room and told -his wife what was required of them. Lady Sarah stared in perplexity.</p> - -<p>"Receive the people tonight in his place! Why, we cannot do so, -colonel. Did you forget that we dine with those people at Hounslow? -It's hard to say at <i>what</i> time we shall get back."</p> - -<p>Colonel Hope looked a little perplexed too. "I did forget it," he said -in his solemn way. "What is to be done?"</p> - -<p>"Let mamma be here early and receive them," suggested Lady Frances. "I -will help her."</p> - -<p>It was an excellent solution of the difficulty. Mr. and Mrs. Didnum -took their departure; and Lady Sarah Hope, accompanied by Frances, -entered her carriage and ordered it to Chenevix House. The colonel -walked away to his club.</p> - -<p>Lady Acorn was alone when they entered. She listened to the news her -daughters told her of her son-in-law's being summoned away, and of the -request that she would take his place that night, and receive his -guests.</p> - -<p>"I suppose I must," said she, in her tart way; "but I shall have to -get round to Grosvenor Square at an inconveniently early hour. -Something is sure to happen when you want things to go particularly -smoothly. And now—who do you suppose is here?" continued Lady Acorn.</p> - -<p>"How can we tell, mamma?" cried Frances, before Sarah had time to -speak. "Mary?"</p> - -<p>"No; Adela."</p> - -<p>"<i>Adela!</i>"</p> - -<p>The countess nodded. "She and MacIvor arrived here this morning by the -Scotch mail. Sandy had an unexpected summons to London, from the -lawyers who are acting for him in the action about that small property -he lays claim to; and when he was starting from home, nothing would do -for Adela, it seems, but she must accompany him."</p> - -<p>"Has Harriet come also?" asked Lady Sarah.</p> - -<p>"No. Sandy goes back in a day or two."</p> - -<p>"And Adela? Does she return with him?"</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> don't know. Sir Sandy says she seems miserable with them, and he -thinks she will be miserable everywhere."</p> - -<p>"Where is she?" asked Frances.</p> - -<p>"Upstairs somewhere: Grace is with her. Grace pities and soothes her -just as though she were a martyr—instead of a silly woman who has -wilfully blighted her own happiness in life, and entailed no end of -anxiety on us all."</p> - -<p>After their short stay in Paris in the spring, where we last saw Lady -Adela, the MacIvors went straight to Scotland, avoiding London and the -cost that would have attended a London season, which they could ill -afford. Adela also shrank from that; she would have left them had they -sojourned in the metropolis. They took up their abode in the -Highlands, in the old castle that was the paternal stronghold of the -MacIvors, which was utterly bleak, dull, and remote; and, here, for -the past three months, Adela had been slowly dying of remorse.</p> - -<p>No wonder. Her mind, her whole being, so to say, was filled with the -image of her husband; with the longing only to see him; with the -bitter, unavailing remorse for the past. That one solitary sight of -him, in Paris at Mrs. Blunt's, had revived within her the pain and -excitement, which had been previously subsiding into a sort of dull -apathy. The château in Switzerland had been, as a residence, lonely -and wearisome; it was nothing, in those respects, compared with this -old castle of Sir Sandy's. At least, Adela, found it so. In fact, she -did not know what she wanted. She shrank from even the bare suggestion -of publicity, and she shrank from solitude. She felt herself in the -position of one whose whole interest in life has departed while yet a -long life lies before her: the saddest of all sad positions, and the -most rare.</p> - -<p>Was it to continue so for ever and for ever? Yes, she would wail out -in answer, when asking herself the question: at least, as long as time -should last. For there could be no change in it. She had forfeited all -possibility of that. The lone, miserable woman that she was now, must -she remain to the end.</p> - -<p>She wondered sometimes whether any one ever died of repentance and -regret. Existence was becoming all but unendurable. When she opened -her weary eyelids to the dawn of a new day she would moan out a faint -prayer that God in His compassion would help her to get through it, -and would bury her face in the pillow, wishing she could so bury -herself and her misery.</p> - -<p>It must not be thought she was encouraged in this state of mind. Lady -Harriet MacIvor had become intolerably cross about it long ago, openly -telling Adela she had no patience with her. From her Adela received no -sympathy whatever. Look where she would, not a gleam of brightness -shone for her. Sick at heart, fainting in spirit, it seemed to Adela -that any change would be welcome; and when Sir Sandy received a letter -one morning, telling him his presence was needed in London, and he -announced his intention of starting that same day, Adela said she -should go with him.</p> - -<p>Lady Harriet did not oppose it. In truth, it brought her relief. Adela -was becoming more of a responsibility day by day; and she had held -some anxious conferences with her husband as to the expediency of -their resigning charge of her.</p> - -<p>"It is the best thing that could have happened, Sandy," she said to -him in private. "Take her over to mamma, and tell her everything. I -think they had better keep her themselves for a time."</p> - -<p>Hence the unexpected irruption of the travellers at Chenevix House. -Lady Acorn was not pleased. Not that she was sorry to see Adela once -more; but she had lived in a chronic state of anger with her since the -separation, and the accounts written to her from time to time by her -daughter Harriet in no way diminished it.</p> - -<p>After the briefest interview with her mother, Adela escaped to the -chamber assigned her; the one she used to occupy. This left Sir Sandy -free to open the budget his wife had charged him with, and to say that -for the present he and Harriet would rather not continue to have the -responsibility of Adela. Lady Acorn, as she listened, audibly wished -Adela was a child again, that she might "have the nonsense shaken out -of her."</p> - -<p>Lady Sarah Hope raised her condemnatory shoulders, as her mother -related this. She had never had the slightest sympathy with the -trouble Adela had brought upon herself, or with the remorse it -entailed.</p> - -<p>"Will you see her, Sarah?" asked Lady Acorn.</p> - -<p>"No; I would rather not. At least, not today. I must be going -shortly."</p> - -<p>Poor Adela! True, she had been guilty of grievous offences, but they -had brought their punishment. As we sow, so do we generally reap. This -return to her mother's home seemed to bring back all the past sin, all -the present anguish, in colours tenfold more vivid.</p> - -<p>Kneeling on the floor in the bedroom, her hands clasped round Grace's -knees as she sat, Adela sobbed out her repentance, her hopeless -longings for the life and the husband she had thrown away.</p> - -<p>"Poor child!" sighed Grace, her own tears falling as she stroked with -a gentle hand her unhappy sister's hair, "your sorrow is, I see, hard -to bear. If I only knew how to comfort you!"</p> - -<p>No answer.</p> - -<p>"Still, Adela, although he is yet, in one sense of the word, your -husband, it is not well for you to indulge these thoughts; these -regrets. Were there even the most distant hope that things between you -would alter, it would be different; but I fear there is none."</p> - -<p>"I know it," bewailed Adela. "What he did, he did for ever."</p> - -<p>"Then you should no longer, for your own peace' sake, dwell upon his -memory. Try and forget him. It seems curious advice, Adela, but I have -none better to give."</p> - -<p>"I cannot forget him. My dreams by night, my thoughts by day, are of -him, of him alone. If I could only be with him for just one week of -reconciliation, to show him how I would, if possible, atone to him, to -let him see that my repentance is lasting, though he put me away again -at the week's end, it would be something. Oh, Grace, you don't know -what my remorse is—how hard a cross I have to bear."</p> - -<p>She knelt there in her bitter distress. Not much less distressing was -it to Grace. By dint of coaxing, Adela was at length partially calmed, -and lay back, half-exhausted, in an easy-chair.</p> - -<p>At lunch-time, for this had occurred in the morning, she refused to go -down, or to take anything. In the afternoon, when Grace was back -again, Darvy brought up a cup of chocolate and some toast. Whilst -languidly taking this, Adela abruptly renewed the subject: the only -one, as she truly said, that ever occupied her mind.</p> - -<p>"Do you see him often, Grace?"</p> - -<p>"Rather often," replied Grace, knowing that the question must refer to -Sir Francis.</p> - -<p>"He is friendly with you, then?"</p> - -<p>"Quite so. The friendship has never been interrupted. We are going to -his house tonight," she added, perhaps incautiously.</p> - -<p>"To Grosvenor Square?" cried Adela.</p> - -<p>"Yes. I think it is the first entertainment he has given since you -left it. Half London will be there."</p> - -<p>"If I could only go!" exclaimed Adela, a light rising in her eye, a -flush to her pale cheek. Grace looked at her in surprise; she had -forfeited the right ever to enter there. Grace made no comment, and a -pause ensued.</p> - -<p>"Did you read the speech he made last Thursday night to the Commons?" -resumed Adela, in a low tone.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Every one was talking of it. Did <i>you</i> read it, Adela?—in -Scotland?"</p> - -<p>Grace received no answer. Sir Sandy below could have told her that -Adela used to seize upon the <i>Times</i>, when it arrived, with feverish -interest, to see whether any speech of her husband's was reported in -it. If so, Sir Sandy's belief was that she learnt it by heart, so long -did she keep the paper.</p> - -<p>The chocolate finished, she lay back in the chair, her eyes looking -into vacancy, her listless hands folded before her. Grace, sitting -opposite, ostensibly occupied with some work, for she was rarely idle, -had leisure to note her sister's countenance. It was much changed. -Worn, wan, and weary it looked, but there was no special appearance -now of ill health.</p> - -<p>"You are much better, are you not, Adela?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I am very well," was the languid answer.</p> - -<p>"Do you like Scotland?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know."</p> - -<p>Grace thought she was tired after the night journey, and resolved to -leave her to silence; but an interruption occurred. Frances came in.</p> - -<p>And, that Frances Chenevix could be melancholy for more than a minute -at any time, was not to be expected. In spite of Adela's evidently -subdued state of mind, she, after a few staid sentences, ran off at a -gay tangent.</p> - -<p>"What do you think, Grace?" she began. "We had very nearly lost our -party tonight—one, Adela, that your whilom husband gives. He and his -sister have been telegraphed for this afternoon to Netherleigh. Poor -Mrs. Dalrymple has met with some serious accident; there has been an -operation, and the result is, I suppose, uncertain. They have both -started by train, and therefore cannot be at home to receive the -people tonight."</p> - -<p>"Is the party put off, then?" questioned Grace.</p> - -<p>"No, there was not time to do it: how could he send round to all the -world and his wife? It is to take place without him, mamma playing -host in his absence."</p> - -<p>"I wonder what Mrs. Dalrymple could want with him?"</p> - -<p>"Just what I wondered, Grace. Mamma thinks it must be to speak to him -about her affairs. He is her executor, I believe: not, poor woman, -that she has much to leave."</p> - -<p>Adela had listened to this in silence: an eager look was dawning on -her face.</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to say, Frances, that he—that my husband—will not be -there at all?—in his own house?"</p> - -<p>"To be sure I mean it, Adela. He cannot be in two places at once, here -and Netherleigh. He and Mary Lynn have only now started on their way -there. I tell mamma that whilst she plays host I shall play hostess. -Won't it be fun!"</p> - -<p>"Grace," began Adela very quietly, after her sisters had left, for -Lady Sarah, thinking better of it, came up to see her for a moment, "I -shall go with you tonight."</p> - -<p>"Go—where did you say?" questioned Grace, in doubt.</p> - -<p>"To my husband's -house."</p> - -<p>Grace dropped her work in consternation. "You cannot mean it, Adela."</p> - -<p>"I do mean it. I shall go."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Adela, pray consider what you are saying. Go <i>there</i>. Why, you -know that you must not do so."</p> - -<p>"It was my house once," said Adela, in agitation.</p> - -<p>"But it is yours no longer. Pray consider. Of all people in the world, -you must not attempt to enter it. It would be unseemly."</p> - -<p>Adela burst into tears. "If you knew—if you knew how I long for a -sight of it, Gracie," she gasped, "you would not deny me. Only just -one little look at it, Grace! What can it matter? <i>He</i> is not there."</p> - -<p>How Grace would have contrived to combat this wish, cannot be told: -but Lady Acorn came in. In answer to her questioning as to what Adela -was crying about now, Grace thought it well to tell her.</p> - -<p>"Oh," said the countess, receiving the affair lightly, for she did not -suppose Adela could be serious. "Go <i>there</i>, would you! What would the -world say, I wonder, if they met Lady Adela Netherleigh at that house? -Don't be silly, child."</p> - -<p>What indeed! Adela sighed and said no more. Yet, she did so want to -go. Lying back in her chair, her thoughts busy with the past and -present, the longing took a terrible hold upon her.</p> - -<p>She dressed, but did not go down to dinner, refusing that meal as she -had refused luncheon. Lady Acorn went straight from the dinner-table -to Grosvenor Square, calling on her way at Colonel Hope's for her -daughter Frances, as had been arranged. Grace, who did not care to -leave Adela alone for too long an evening, would go later with Sir -Sandy. She hastened to dress, not having done so before dinner, and -then went to her sister's room to remain with her to the last moment.</p> - -<p>But when Grace got there, she found, to her dismay, that Adela <i>was -prepared to go also</i>. Her fan lay on the table, her gloves beside it.</p> - -<p>"Adela, indeed you must not go!" decisively spoke Grace. "Only think -how—I said it this afternoon—<i>unseemly</i> it will be."</p> - -<p>"If you only knew how I am yearning for it," came the piteous -reiteration, and Adela entwined her wasted arms entreatingly about her -sister. "My own home once, Gracie, my own home once! I seem to be -dying for a sight of it."</p> - -<p>Never had Grace felt so perplexed, rarely so distressed. "Adela, I -<i>dare</i> not sanction it; dare not take you. What would be said and -thought? Mamma——"</p> - -<p>"You need not take me; I don't wish to get you into trouble with -mamma. Darvy can tell them to get a cab. Grace, you have no right to -oppose me," went on Adela, in low, firm tones; "what right can you -have? My husband will not be there, and I must see my old home. It may -be the last time I shall have the chance of it."</p> - -<p>Sir Sandy's step was heard outside in the corridor, passing to his -chamber. Grace opened the door, and told him of the trouble. He put -his little head inside and said a few words to Adela in his mild way, -begging her not to attempt to go; and then went on to his room.</p> - -<p>"I must go, Gracie; I <i>must</i> go! Grace, don't look harshly at me, for -I am very miserable."</p> - -<p>What was Grace to do? A little more combating, and she yielded in very -helplessness. The conviction lay upon her that if she refused to the -end, Adela would certainly go alone. When an ardent desire, such as -this, takes possession of one weakened in spirit and in health, it -assumes the form of a fever that must have its course.</p> - -<p>The contention delayed them, and it was late when they went down to -the carriage. Little Sir Sandy took his seat opposite Grace and Adela.</p> - -<p>"I wash my hands of it," he said, amiably. "Do not let your mother put -the blame of it upon me, Lady Adela, and tell me I ought not to have -brought you."</p> - -<p>A few minutes, and the carriage stopped in Grosvenor Square. Other -guests were entering the house at the same moment. Adela shrank -behind Grace and Sir Sandy, and was not observed in the crowd. Her -dress was black net, as it had been at Mrs. Blunt's, though she was -not in mourning now; she kept her thin black burnous cloak on and held -it up to her face as she passed close to Hilson. The man stepped back -in astonishment, recollected himself, and saluted her with an -impassive face.</p> - -<p>Keeping in the shade as much as was possible, shrinking into corners -to avoid observation, Adela lost the others. She heard their names -shouted out in a louder voice than Hilson's, "Lady Grace Chenevix and -Sir Sandy MacIvor," and she lingered behind looking about her.</p> - -<p>How painful to her was the sight of the old familiar spots! She turned -into a small niche and halted there; her heart was beating too -painfully to go on, her breath had left her. No, she should not be -able to carry out this expedition; she saw now how wrong and foolish -it had been to attempt it; she had put herself into a false position, -and she felt it in every tingling vein.</p> - -<p>Just one peep she would give at the drawing-rooms above. Just one. No -one would notice her. Amidst the crowds pressing in she should escape -observation. One yearning look, and then she would turn back and -escape the way she came.</p> - -<p>Three or four persons in a group, strangers to her, were passing -upwards. Adela glided on behind them. Their names were shouted out as -her sister's and Sir Sandy's had been; as others were; and she stole -after them, within the portals.</p> - -<p>But only to steal back again. Nay, to start back. For a -too-well-remembered voice had greeted the visitors: "I am so glad to -see you," and a tall, distinguished form stood there with outstretched -hands: the voice and form of her husband. Later, she knew how it was. -The faintness succeeding to the operation (a very slight one), which -had alarmed Mrs. Dalrymple herself, and also the surgeon and the -Rector, had passed off, and she was really in no danger. So that when -Sir Francis learnt this on his arrival at Netherleigh, he found -himself at liberty to return.</p> - -<p>Feeling as if she must die in her agony of shame, shame at her -unwarrantable intrusion, which the unexpected sight of her husband -brought home to her, Adela got down the stairs again unseen and -unnoticed, and encountered Hilson in the hall.</p> - -<p>"Can I do anything for you, my lady?—can I get you anything?" he -asked, his tone betraying his compassion for her evident sickness.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, "yes. I want to go home; I find I am not well enough -to remain: perhaps one of the carriages outside would take me?"</p> - -<p>"Can I assist you, Lady Adela?" said a voice at her side, from one who -was then entering and had overheard the colloquy: and Adela turned to -behold Gerard Hope.</p> - -<p>"Is it you?" she faintly cried. "I thought you were abroad, Gerard. -Are you making one of the crowd here tonight?"</p> - -<p>"Not as a guest. These grand things no longer belong to me. I am in -England again, and at work—a clerk in your husband's house, Lady -Adela; and I have come here tonight to see him on a pressing matter -of business."</p> - -<p>Hilson managed it all. An obliging coachman, then setting down his -freight, was only too willing to take home a sick lady. Gerard Hope -and Hilson both went out with her.</p> - -<p>"Don't say to—to any one—that I came, Hilson," she whispered, as she -shrank into a corner of the carriage: and Hilson discerned that by -"any one" she must especially mean Sir Francis Netherleigh.</p> - -<p>"You may depend upon me, my lady. Chenevix House," he added to the -friendly coachman: and closed the door on the unhappy woman who was -once his master's indulged and idolized wife.</p> - -<p>"How she is changed!" thought Gerard, gazing after the carriage as it -bowled away. "Hilson," he said, turning to the butler, "I must see -your master for a minute or two. Have you any room that you can put me -into, away from this crowd?"</p> - -<p>"There's the housekeeper's parlour, sir: if you don't mind going -there. It's quite empty."</p> - -<p>"All right, Tell Sir Francis I bring a note from Mr. Howard. Something -important, I believe."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_34" href="#div1Ref_34">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></h4> -<h5>ON LADY LIVINGSTONE'S ARM.</h5> -<br> - -<p>The stately rooms were thrown open for the reception of the guests, -and the evening was already waning. Wax-lights innumerable shed their -rays on the gilded decorations, the exquisite paintings, the gorgeous -dresses of the ladies; the enlivening strains of the band invited to -the dance, and rare exotics shed forth a sweet perfume. Admission to -the residence of Sir Francis Netherleigh was coveted by the gay world.</p> - -<p>"There's a tear!" almost screamed a pretty-looking girl. By some -mishap in the dancing-room her partner had contrived to put his foot -upon her thin white dress, and the bottom of the skirt was half torn -away.</p> - -<p>"Quite impossible than I can finish the quadrille," quoth she, half in -amusement, half provoked at the misfortune. "You must find another -partner whilst I go and have this repaired."</p> - -<p>It was Frances Chenevix. By some neglect, no maid was at the moment in -attendance upstairs; and Frances, in her impatience, ran down to the -housekeeper's parlour. As Adela's sister, and frequently there with -Mary Lynn, she was quite at home in the house. She had gathered the -damaged dress up on her arm, but her white silk petticoat fell in rich -folds around her.</p> - -<p>"Just look what an object that stupid——" And there stopped the young -lady. For, instead of the housekeeper or maid, whom she expected to -meet, no one was in the room but a gentleman; a tall, handsome man. -She looked thunderstruck: and then slowly advanced and stared at him, -as if unable to believe her own eyes.</p> - -<p>"Gerard! Well, I should just as soon have expected to meet the dead -here."</p> - -<p>"How are you, Lady Frances?" he said, holding out his hand with -hesitation.</p> - -<p>"<i>Lady</i> Frances! I am much obliged to you for your formality. Lady -Frances returns her thanks to Mr. Hope for his polite inquiries," -continued she, honouring him with a swimming curtsy.</p> - -<p>He caught her hand. "Forgive me, Fanny, but our positions have -altered. At least, mine has: and how did I know that you were not -altered with it?"</p> - -<p>"You are an ungrateful—raven," cried she, "to croak like that. After -getting me to write to you no end of letters, with all the news about -every one, and beginning 'My dear Gerard,' and ending 'Your -affectionate Fanny,' and being as good to you as a sister, you meet me -with 'My Lady Frances!' Now, don't squeeze my hand to atoms. What on -earth have you come to England for?"</p> - -<p>"I could not stop over there," he returned, with emotion; "I was -fretting away my heart-strings. So I accepted an offer that was made -to me, and came back. Guess in what way, Frances; and what to do."</p> - -<p>"How should I know? To call me 'Lady Frances,' perhaps."</p> - -<p>"As a City clerk; earning my bread. That's what I am now. Very -consistent, is it not, for one in my position to address familiarly -Lady Frances Chenevix?"</p> - -<p>"You never spoke a grain of sense in your life, Gerard," she exclaimed -peevishly. "What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Sir Francis Netherleigh has taken me into his house in Leadenhall -Street."</p> - -<p>"Sir Francis Netherleigh!" she echoed, in surprise. "What, with -that—that——"</p> - -<p>"That crime hanging over me. Speak up, Frances."</p> - -<p>"No; I was going to say that doubt," returned the outspoken girl. "I -don't believe you were guilty: you know that, Gerard."</p> - -<p>"I have been there some little time now, Frances; and I came up -tonight from the City to bring a note to him from Mr. Howard——"</p> - -<p>"Rather late, is it not, to be in the City?"</p> - -<p>"It is foreign post night, and we are very busy. A telegram came, of -some importance, I believe, and Mr. Howard has enclosed it to Sir -Francis."</p> - -<p>"But you owned to a mountain of debt in England, Gerard; you were -afraid of arrest."</p> - -<p>"I have managed a portion of that, thanks to Sir Francis, and the rest -they are going to let me square up by instalments."</p> - -<p>"And pray, if you have been back some time, why have you not come to -see us?"</p> - -<p>"I don't care to encounter old acquaintances, Frances; still less to -intrude voluntarily upon them. They might not like it, you see."</p> - -<p>"I see that you have taken up very ridiculous notions; that you are -curiously altered."</p> - -<p>"Adversity alters most people. That bracelet has never been heard of?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's gone for good. No doubt melted down in a caldron, as the -colonel calls it, and the diamonds reset. It remains a mystery of the -past, and is never expected to be solved."</p> - -<p>"And they still suspect me! What is the matter with your dress?"</p> - -<p>"Matter enough," answered she, letting it down and turning round for -his inspection. "I came here to get it repaired. That great booby, -John Cust, did it for me."</p> - -<p>"Fanny, how is Alice Dalrymple?"</p> - -<p>"You have cause to ask after her! She is dying."</p> - -<p>"Dying!" repeated Gerard, in hushed, shocked tones.</p> - -<p>"I do not mean actually dying tonight, or going to die tomorrow; but -that she is dying by slow degrees there is no doubt. It may be weeks -yet, or months; perhaps years: I cannot tell."</p> - -<p>"Where is she?"</p> - -<p>"Still at Lady Sarah's. Just now she is making a short stay with her -mother at Netherleigh. She went home also in the spring for a month, -and when she came back Sarah was so shocked at the change in her that -she called in medical advice, and we have been trying to nurse her up. -It is all of no use: she grows thinner and weaker."</p> - -<p>"You are still at Lady Sarah's also?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, to be sure; I am a fixture there," laughed Frances.</p> - -<p>"Are the -Hopes here tonight?"</p> - -<p>"Yes: or will be. They went out somewhere to dinner, and expected to -be late."</p> - -<p>"Does my uncle ever speak of me less resentfully?"</p> - -<p>"Not he. I think his storming over it has only made his suspicion -stronger. Not a week passes but he begins again about that detestable -bracelet. He is unalterably persuaded that you took it, and no one -must dare to put in a word in your defence."</p> - -<p>"And does your sister honour me with the same belief?" demanded the -young man, bitterly.</p> - -<p>"Sarah is silent on the point to me: I think she scarcely knows what -to believe. You see I tell you all freely, Gerard."</p> - -<p>"Fanny," he said, dropping his voice, "how is it that I saw Lady Adela -here tonight?"</p> - -<p>"Lady Adela!" retorted Frances, who knew nothing of the escapade. -"That you never did."</p> - -<p>"But I assure you——"</p> - -<p>"Hush, for goodness' sake. Here comes Sir Francis."</p> - -<p>"Why, Fanny," he exclaimed to his sister-in-law as he entered, "you -here!"</p> - -<p>"Yes: look at the sight they have made of me," replied she, shaking -down her dress for his benefit, as she had previously done for -Gerard's. "I am waiting for some of the damsels to mend it for me: I -suppose Mr. Hope's presence has scared them sway. Won't mamma be in a -rage when she sees it! it is new on tonight."</p> - -<p>She made her escape. Sir Francis's business with Gerard was soon over, -when he walked with him into the hall. Who should be standing there -but Colonel Hope. He started back when he saw Gerard.</p> - -<p>"Can I believe my senses?" stuttered he. "Sir Francis Netherleigh, is -he one of your guests?"</p> - -<p>"He is here on business," was the reply. "Pass on, colonel."</p> - -<p>"No, sir, I will not pass on," cried the enraged colonel, who had not -rightly caught the word business. "Or if I do pass on, it will only be -to warn your guests to take care of their jewellery. So, sir," he -added, turning to his nephew, "you can come back, can you, when the -proceeds of your theft are spent! You have been starring it in Calais, -I hear. How long did the bracelet last you to live upon?"</p> - -<p>"Sir," answered Gerard, with a pale face, "it has been starving rather -than starring. I asserted my innocence at the time, Colonel Hope, and -I repeat it now."</p> - -<p>"Innocence!" ironically repeated the colonel, turning to all sides of -the hall, as if he took delight in parading the details of the -unfortunate past. "The trinkets were spread out on a table in Lady -Sarah's own house: you came stealthily into it—after having been -forbidden it for another fault—went stealthily into the room, and the -next minute the diamond bracelet was missing. It was owing to my -confounded folly in listening to a parcel of women that I did not -bring you to trial at the time; I have only once regretted not doing -it, and that has been ever since. A little wholesome correction at the -Penitentiary might have made an honest man of you. Good-night, Sir -Francis; if you encourage him in your house, you don't have me in it."</p> - -<p>Now another gentleman had entered and heard this: some servants also -heard it. Colonel Hope, who firmly believed in his nephew's guilt, -turned off, peppery and indignant; his wife had gone upstairs; and -Gerard, giving vent to sundry unnephew-like expletives, strode after -him. The colonel made a dash into a street cab, and Gerard walked -towards the City.</p> - -<p>The evening went on. Lady Frances Chenevix, her dress all right again, -at least to appearance, was waiting to regain breath, after a whirling -waltz. Next to her stood a lady who had also been whirling. Frances -did not know her.</p> - -<p>"You are quite exhausted: we kept it up too long," said the gentleman -in attendance on the stranger. "Sit down. What can I get you?"</p> - -<p>"My fan: there it is. Thank you. Nothing else."</p> - -<p>"What an old creature to dance herself down!" thought Frances. "She's -forty, if she's a day."</p> - -<p>The lady opened her fan, and, whilst using it, the diamonds of her -rich bracelet gleamed right in the eyes of Frances Chenevix. Frances -looked at it, and started: she strained her eyes and looked at it -again: she bent nearer to it, and became agitated with emotion. If her -recollection did not play her false, that was the lost bracelet.</p> - -<p>She saw Grace at a distance, and glided up to her. "Who is that lady?" -she asked, pointing to the stranger.</p> - -<p>"I don't know who she is," replied Grace. "I was standing by mamma -when she was introduced, but did not catch the name. She came late, -with the Cadogans."</p> - -<p>"The idea of people being in the house that you don't know!" -indignantly spoke Frances, who was working herself into a fever. -"Where's Sarah? Do you know that?"</p> - -<p>"In the card-room, at the whist-table."</p> - -<p>Lady Sarah, however, had left it, for Frances only turned from Grace -to encounter her. "I do believe your lost bracelet is in the room," -she whispered, in agitation. "I think I have seen it."</p> - -<p>"Impossible!" responded Lady Sarah Hope.</p> - -<p>"It looks exactly the same; gold links interspersed with diamonds: and -the clasp is the same; three stars. A tall, ugly woman has it on, her -black hair strained off her face." For, it should be remarked <i>en -passant</i>, that such was not the fashion then.</p> - -<p>"So very trying for plain people!" remarked Lady Sarah, carelessly. -"Where is she?"</p> - -<p>"There: she is standing up now. Let us get close to her. Her dress is -that beautiful maize colour, with old lace."</p> - -<p>Lady Sarah Hope drew near, and obtained a sight of the bracelet. The -colour flew into her face.</p> - -<p>"It is mine, Fanny," she whispered.</p> - -<p>But the lady, at that moment, took the gentleman's arm, and moved -away. Lady Sarah followed her, with the view of obtaining another -look. Fanny went to Sir Francis, and told him. He showed himself hard -of belief.</p> - -<p>"You cannot be sure at this distance of time, Fanny. And, besides, -more bracelets than one may have been made of that pattern."</p> - -<p>"I am so certain, that I feel as if I could swear to the bracelet," -eagerly replied Lady Frances.</p> - -<p>"Hush, hush, Fanny."</p> - -<p>"I recollect it perfectly: the bracelet struck me the moment I saw it. -How singular that I should have been talking to Gerard Hope about it -tonight!"</p> - -<p>Sir Francis smiled. "Imagination is very deceptive, Frances. Your -having spoken to Mr. Hope of the bracelet brought it into your -thoughts."</p> - -<p>"But it could not have brought it to my eyes," returned the girl. -"Stuff and nonsense about imagination, Francis Netherleigh! I am -positive it is the bracelet. Here comes Sarah."</p> - -<p>"I suppose Frances has been telling you," observed Lady Sarah to her -brother-in-law. "I feel convinced it is my own bracelet."</p> - -<p>"But—as I have just remarked to Frances—other bracelets may have -been made precisely similar to yours," he urged.</p> - -<p>"If it is mine, the -initials 'S. H.' are scratched on the back of the middle star. I did -it one day with a penknife."</p> - -<p>"You never mentioned that fact before."</p> - -<p>"No. I was determined to give no clue. I was always afraid of the -affair being traced home to Gerard, and it would have reflected so -much disgrace on my husband's name."</p> - -<p>"Did you speak to the lady?—did you ask where she got the bracelet?" -interrupted Frances.</p> - -<p>"How could I ask her?" retorted Lady Sarah. "I do not know her."</p> - -<p>"I will," cried Frances, in a resolute tone.</p> - -<p>"My dear Fanny!" remonstrated Sir Francis.</p> - -<p>"I vow I will," she persisted. But they did not believe her.</p> - -<p>Frances kept her word. She found the strange lady in the -refreshment-room. Locating herself by her side, she entered upon a few -trifling remarks, which were civilly received. Suddenly she dashed at -once to her subject.</p> - -<p>"What a beautiful bracelet!"</p> - -<p>"I think it is," was the stranger's reply, holding out her arm for its -inspection, without any reservation.</p> - -<p>"One does not often see such a bracelet as this," pursued Frances. -"Where did you buy it?—if you don't mind my asking."</p> - -<p>"Garrards are my jewellers," she replied.</p> - -<p>This very nearly did for Frances: for it was at Garrards' that the -colonel originally purchased it: and it seemed to give a colouring to -Sir Francis Netherleigh's view of more bracelets having been made of -the same pattern. But she was too anxious and determined to stand upon -ceremony—for Gerard's sake: and he was dearer to her than the world -suspected.</p> - -<p>"We—one of my family—lost a bracelet exactly like this some time -back. When I saw it on your arm, I thought it was the same. I hoped it -was."</p> - -<p>The lady froze directly, and laid down her arm, making no reply.</p> - -<p>"Are you—pardon me, there are painful interests involved—are you -sure you purchased this at Garrards'?"</p> - -<p>"I have said that Messrs. Garrard are my jewellers," replied the -stranger, in cold, repelling tones; and the words sounded evasive to -Frances. "More I cannot say: neither am I aware by what law of -courtesy you thus question me, nor whom you may be."</p> - -<p>The young lady drew herself up, proudly secure in her name and rank. -"I am Lady Frances Chenevix. And I must beg you to pardon me."</p> - -<p>But the stranger only bowed in silence, and turned to the -refreshment-table. Frances went to find the Cadogans, and to question -them.</p> - -<p>She was a Lady Livingstone, they told her, wife of Sir Jasper -Livingstone. The husband had made a mint of money at something or -other, and had been knighted; and now they were launching out into -high society.</p> - -<p>The nose of Lady Frances went into the air. A City knight and his -wife: that was it, was it! How could Mrs. Cadogan have taken up with -<i>them?</i></p> - -<p>The Honourable Mrs. Cadogan did not choose to say: beyond the -assertion that they were extremely worthy, good sort of people. She -could have said that her spendthrift of a husband had borrowed money -from Sir Jasper Livingstone; and to prevent being bothered for it, and -keep them in good humour, they introduced the Livingstones where they -could.</p> - -<p>It seemed that nothing more could be done. Frances Chenevix went home -with her sister Sarah in great excitement, ready to go through fire -and water, if that would have set her doubts at rest one way or the -other.</p> - -<p>They found Colonel Hope in excitement on another score, and Lady Sarah -learnt what it was that had caused her husband not to make his -appearance in the rooms, which she had thought quite unaccountable. -The colonel treated them to a little abuse of Gerard, prophesying that -the young man would come to be hanged—which he would deserve, if for -impudence alone—and wondering what on earth could possess Francis -Netherleigh to make that Leadenhall house of his a refuge for the -ill-doing destitute.</p> - -<p>Before Frances went to bed, she wrote a full account of what had -happened to Alice Dalrymple, at Netherleigh, saying she was <i>quite -sure</i> it was the lost bracelet, and also telling her of Gerard's -return.</p> - -<p>It may, perhaps, as well be mentioned, before we have quite done with -the evening, that the sudden disappearance of Adela caused some -commotion in the minds of those two individuals, Grace Chenevix and -Sir Sandy MacIvor, who were alone cognizant of her presence in the -house. When Grace saw Sir Francis Netherleigh standing in his place as -host, she turned sharply round to motion back Adela, following, as she -believed, behind. But she did not see her: and at the moment Sir -Francis advanced, took Grace's hand, and began telling her about Mrs. -Dalrymple.</p> - -<p>What had become of Adela? Grace's face went hot and cold, and as soon -as she got away from Sir Francis, she looked about for her. Not -finding her, unable to inquire after her of any of the guests, as it -would have betrayed Adela's unlawful presence in the house, fearing -she knew not what, Grace grew so troubled that she had no resource but -to seek her mother and whisper the news. Lady Acorn, whilst giving a -few hard words to Adela and to Grace also, hit upon the truth—that -the sight of her husband had terrified her away, and she had in all -probability gone back home. "Hilson will know; he is in the hall," -she said to Grace: and Grace went to Hilson, and found her mother's -view the correct one.</p> - -<p>But, although it had ended without exposure, Lady Acorn could not -forgive it. She spent the next day telling Adela what she thought of -her, and that she must be getting into a fit state for a lunatic -asylum.</p> -<br> - -<p>The letter of Frances Chenevix so troubled Alice Dalrymple that she -showed it to Selina, confessing at the same time what a terrible -nightmare the loss of the bracelet had been to her. Selina told her -she was "silly;" that but for her weak health she would surely never -have suspected either herself or Gerard of taking it. "Go back to -London without delay," was her emphatic advice to Alice, "and sift it, -if you can, to the bottom." And, as Mrs. Dalrymple was certainly out -of danger, Alice went up at once.</p> - -<p>She found Frances Chenevix had lost none of her eager excitement, -whilst Lady Sarah had nearly determined not to move in the matter: the -bracelet seen on Lady Livingstone's arm must have been one of the same -pattern sold to that lady by Messrs. Garrard. To the colonel nothing -had been said. Frances, however, would not let it drop.</p> - -<p>The following morning, saying she wanted to do an errand or two, -Frances got possession of Lady Sarah's carriage, and down she went to -the Haymarket to see the Messrs. Garrard. Alice—more fragile than -ever, her once lovely countenance so faded now that she looked to be -dying, as Frances had said to Gerard Hope—waited her return in a -pitiable state of anxiety. Frances came in, all excitement.</p> - -<p>"Alice, it <i>is</i> the bracelet. I am more certain of it than ever. -Garrards' people say they have sold many articles of jewellery to Lady -Livingstone, but not a diamond bracelet. Moreover, they say that they -never had, of that precise pattern, but the one bracelet Colonel Hope -bought."</p> - -<p>"What is to be done?" exclaimed Alice.</p> - -<p>"I know: I shall go to those Livingstones; Garrards' people gave me -their address. Gerard shall not remain under this cloud if I can help -him out of it. Sir Francis won't act in it; he laughs at me: Sarah -won't act; and we dare not tell the colonel. He is so obstinate and -wrongheaded, he would be for arresting Gerard, pending the -investigation."</p> - -<p>"Frances——"</p> - -<p>"Now, don't preach, Alice. When I will a thing, I <i>will</i>. I am like my -lady mother for that. Sarah says she scratched her initials on the -gold inside the bracelet, and I shall demand to see it: if these -Livingstones refuse, I'll put the detectives on the scent. I will; as -sure as my name is Frances Chenevix."</p> - -<p>"And if the investigation should bring the guilt home to—to—Gerard?" -whispered Alice, in hollow tones.</p> - -<p>"And if it should bring it home to you! and if it should bring it home -to me!" spoke the exasperated Frances. "For shame, Alice! it cannot -bring it home to Gerard, for he was never guilty."</p> - -<p>Alice sighed; she saw there was no help for it, for Lady Frances was -resolute. "I have a deeper stake in this than you," she said, after a -pause of consideration: "let me go to the Livingstones. Yes, Frances, -you must not refuse me; I have a very, very urgent motive for wishing -it."</p> - -<p>"You, you weak mite of a thing! you would faint before you were -half-way through the interview," cried Frances, in tones between jest -and vexation.</p> - -<p>Alice persisted: and Frances at length conceded the point, though with -much grumbling. The carriage was still at the door, for Frances had -desired that it should wait, and Alice hastily dressed herself and -went down to it, without speaking to Lady Sarah. The footman was -closing the door upon her, when out flew Frances.</p> - -<p>"Alice, I have made up my mind to go with you; I cannot keep my -patience until you are back again. I can sit in the carriage whilst -you go in, you know. Lady Livingstone will be two feet higher from -today—that the world should have been gladdened with a spectacle of -Lady Frances Chenevix waiting humbly at her door."</p> - -<p>They drove off. Frances talked incessantly on the road, but Alice was -silent: she was deliberating what she should say, and was nerving -herself to the task. Lady Livingstone was at home; and Alice, sending -in her card, was conducted to her presence, leaving Lady Frances in -the carriage.</p> - -<p>Frances had described her to be as thin as a whipping-post, with a red -nose: and Alice found Lady Livingstone answer to it very well. Sir -Jasper, who was also present, was much older than his wife, and short -and stout; a good-natured looking man, with a wig on the top of his -head.</p> - -<p>Alice, refined and sensitive, scarcely knew how she opened her -subject, but she was met in a different manner from what she had -expected. The knight and his wife were really worthy people, as Mrs. -Cadogan had said: but the latter had a mania for getting into "high -life and high-lived company:" a feat she would never be able -thoroughly to accomplish. They listened to Alice's tale with courtesy, -and at length with interest.</p> - -<p>"You will readily conceive the nightmare this has been to me," panted -Alice, for her emotion was great. "The bracelet was under my charge, -and it disappeared in this extraordinary way. All the trouble it has -been productive of to me I am not at liberty to tell you, but it has -certainly helped to shorten my life."</p> - -<p>"You look very ill," observed Lady Livingstone, with sympathy.</p> - -<p>"I am worse than I look. I am going into the grave rapidly. Others -less sensitive, or with stronger health, might have battled -successfully with the distress and annoyance; I could not. I shall die -in greater peace if this unhappy affair can be cleared. Should it -prove to be the same bracelet, we may be able to trace out how it was -lost."</p> - -<p>Lady Livingstone left the room and returned with the diamond bracelet. -She held it out to Miss Dalrymple, and the colour rushed into Alice's -poor wan face at the gleam of the diamonds: for she believed she -recognized them.</p> - -<p>"But, stay," she said, drawing back her hand as she was about to touch -it: "do not give it me just yet. If it be the one we lost, the letters -'S. H.' are scratched irregularly on the back of the middle star. -Perhaps you will first look if they are there, Lady Livingstone."</p> - -<p>Lady Livingstone turned the bracelet, glanced at the spot indicated, -and then silently handed it to Sir Jasper. The latter smiled.</p> - -<p>"Sure enough here's something on the gold—I can't see distinctly -without my glasses. What is it, Lady Livingstone?"</p> - -<p>"The letters 'S. H.,' as Miss Dalrymple described: I cannot deny it."</p> - -<p>"Deny it! no, my lady, why should we deny it? If we are in possession -of another's bracelet, lost by fraud, and if the discovery will set -this young lady's mind at ease, I don't think either you or I shall be -the one to deny it. Examine it for yourself, ma'am," added he, giving -it to Alice.</p> - -<p>She turned it about, she put it on her arm, her eyes lighting with the -eagerness of conviction. "It is certainly the same bracelet," she -affirmed: "I could be sure of it, I think, without proof; but Lady -Sarah's initials are there, scratched irregularly, just as she -describes to have scratched them."</p> - -<p>"It is not beyond the range of possibility that initials may have been -scratched on this bracelet, without its being the same," observed Lady -Livingstone.</p> - -<p>"I think it must be the same," mused Sir Jasper. "It looks -suspicious."</p> - -<p>"Lady Frances Chenevix understood you to say you bought this of -Messrs. Garrard," resumed Alice.</p> - -<p>Lady Livingstone felt rather foolish. "What I said was, that Messrs. -Garrard were my jewellers. The fact is, I do not know exactly where -this was bought: but I did not consider myself called upon to proclaim -that fact to a young lady who was a stranger to me, and in answer to -questions which I thought verged on impertinence."</p> - -<p>"Her anxiety, scarcely less than my own, may have rendered her -abrupt," replied Alice, by way of apology for Frances. "Our hope is -not so much to regain the bracelet, as to penetrate the mystery of its -disappearance. Can you not let me know where you did buy it?"</p> - -<p>"I can," interposed Sir Jasper: "there's no disgrace in having bought -it where I did. I got it at a pawnbroker's."</p> - -<p>Alice's heart beat violently. A pawnbroker's! Was her haunting fear -growing into a dread reality?</p> - -<p>"I was one day at the East-end of London, walking fast, when I saw a -topaz-and-amethyst cross in a pawnbroker's window," said Sir Jasper. -"The thought struck me that it would be a pretty ornament for my wife, -and I went in to look at it. In talking about jewellery with the -master, he reached out this diamond bracelet, and told me <i>that</i> would -be a present worth making. Now, I knew my lady's head had been running -on a diamond bracelet; and I was tempted to ask what was the lowest -figure he would put it at. He said it was the most valuable article of -the sort he had had for a long while, the diamonds of the first water, -worth four hundred guineas of anybody's money; but that, being -second-hand, he could part with it for two hundred and fifty. And I -bought it. There's where I got the bracelet, ma'am."</p> - -<p>"That was just the money Colonel Hope gave for it new at Garrards'," -said Alice. "Two hundred and fifty guineas."</p> - -<p>Sir Jasper stared at her: and then broke forth with a comical attempt -at rage, for he was one of the best-tempered men in the world.</p> - -<p>"The old wretch of a cheat! Sold it to me at second-hand price, as he -called it, for the identical sum it cost new! Why, he ought to be -prosecuted for usury."</p> - -<p>"It is just what I tell you, Sir Jasper," grumbled his lady. "You will -go to these low second-hand dealers, who always cheat where they can, -instead of to a regular jeweller; and nine times out of ten you get -taken in."</p> - -<p>"But your having bought it of this pawnbroker does not bring me any -nearer to knowing how he procured it," observed Alice.</p> - -<p>"I shall go to him this very day and ascertain," returned Sir Jasper. -"Tradespeople may not sell stolen bracelets with impunity. You shall -hear from me as soon as possible," he added to Alice, as he escorted -her out to the carriage.</p> - -<p>But Sir Jasper Livingstone found it easier to say a thing than to do -it. The pawnbroker protested his ignorance and innocence. If the -bracelet was a stolen bracelet, he knew nothing of that. He had bought -it, he said, in the regular course of business, at one of the -pawnbrokers' periodical sales: and of this he convinced Sir Jasper.</p> - -<p>Frances Chenevix was in despair. She made a confidante of Lady Sarah, -and got her to put the affair once more into the hands of the -detectives; the same officer who had charge of it before, Mr. Pullet, -taking it up again. He had something to work upon now.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_35" href="#div1Ref_35">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></h4> -<h5>LIGHT AT LAST.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Some weeks later, in an obscure room of a low and dilapidated -lodging-house, in a low and dilapidated neighbourhood, there sat a man -one evening in the coming twilight: a towering, gaunt skeleton, whose -remarkably long arms and legs looked little more than skin and bone. -The arms were fully exposed to view, since their owner, though he -possessed and wore a waistcoat, dispensed with the use of a shirt. An -article, once a coat, lay on the floor, to be donned at will—if it -could be got into for the holes. The man sat on the floor in a corner, -his head finding a resting-place against the wall, and he had dropped -into a light sleep; but if ever famine was depicted in a face, it was -in his. Unwashed, unshaven, with matted hair and feverish lips: the -cheeks were hollow, the nostrils white and pinched. Some one tried, -and shook the door; it aroused him, and he started up, but only to -cower in a bending attitude, and listen.</p> - -<p>"I hear you," cried a voice. "How are you tonight, Joe? Open the -door."</p> - -<p>The voice was not one he knew; consequently not one that might be -responded to.</p> - -<p>"Do you call this politeness, Joe Nicholls? If you don't open the -door, I shall take the liberty of opening it for myself: which will -put you to the trouble of mending the fastenings afterwards."</p> - -<p>"Who are you?" cried Nicholls, reading determination in the voice. -"I'm gone to bed, and I can't admit folks tonight."</p> - -<p>"Gone to bed at eight o'clock?"</p> - -<p>"Yes: I am ill."</p> - -<p>"I give you one minute, and then I come in. You will open it, if you -wish to save trouble."</p> - -<p>Nicholls yielded to his fate: and opened the door.</p> - -<p>The gentleman—he looked like one—cast his keen eyes round the room. -There was not a vestige of furniture in it; nothing but the bare dirty -walls, from which the mortar crumbled, and the bare dirty boards.</p> - -<p>"What did you mean by saying you were gone to bed, eh?"</p> - -<p>"So I was. I was asleep there," pointing to the corner, "and that's my -bed. What do you want?" added Nicholls, peering at the stranger's face -in the gloom of the evening, but seeing it imperfectly, for his hat -was drawn low over it.</p> - -<p>"A little talk with you. That last sweepstake you put into——"</p> - -<p>The man lifted his face, and burst forth with such eagerness that the -stranger could only arrest his own words and listen.</p> - -<p>"It was a swindle from beginning to end. I had scraped together the -ten shillings to put in it; and I drew the right horse, and was -shuffled out of the gains, and I have never had my dues; not a -farthing of 'em. Since then I've been ill, and I can't get about to -better myself. Are you come, sir, to make it right?"</p> - -<p>"Some"—the stranger coughed—"friends of mine were in it also," said -he: "and they lost their money."</p> - -<p>"Everybody lost it; the getters-up bolted with all they had drawn into -their fingers. Have they been took, do you know?"</p> - -<p>"All in good time; they have left their trail. So you have been ill, -have you?"</p> - -<p>"Ill! just take a sight at me! There's a arm for a big man."</p> - -<p>He stretched out his naked arm for inspection: it appeared as if a -touch would snap it. The stranger laid his hand upon its fingers, and -his other hand appeared to be stealing furtively towards his own -pocket.</p> - -<p>"I should say this looks like starvation, Joe."</p> - -<p>"Some'at akin to it."</p> - -<p>A pause of unsuspicion, and the handcuffs were clapped on the -astonished man. He started up with an oath.</p> - -<p>"No need to make a noise, Nicholls," said the detective, with a -careless air, as he lifted off his hat: "I have two men waiting -outside. Do you know me?"</p> - -<p>The prisoner gave a gasp. "Why, it's Mr. Pullet!"</p> - -<p>"Yes; it's Mr. Pullet, Joe."</p> - -<p>"I swear I wasn't in the plate robbery," passionately uttered the man. -"I knew of it, but I didn't join 'em, and I never had the worth of as -much as a saltspoon, after it was melted down. And they call me a -coward, and they leave me here to starve and die! Sir, I swear I -wasn't in it."</p> - -<p>"We'll talk of the plate robbery another time," said the officer; "you -have got these bracelets on, my man, for another sort of bracelet. A -diamond one. Don't you remember it?"</p> - -<p>The prisoner's mouth fell. "I thought that was over and done with, all -this time—— I don't know what you mean," he added, correcting -himself.</p> - -<p>"No," said the officer, "it is just beginning. The bracelet is found, -and has been traced to you. You were a clever fellow, Joe, and I had -my doubts of you at the time, you know. I thought then you were too -clever to go on long."</p> - -<p>"I should be ashamed to play the sneak, and catch a fellow in this -way," cried Joe, driven to exasperation. "Why couldn't you come -openly, in your proper clothes—not playing the spy in the garb of a -friendly civilian?"</p> - -<p>"My men are in their proper clothes,'" was the equable answer, "and -you will have the honour of their escort presently. I came in because -they did not know you, and I did. You might have had a host of friends -around you here."</p> - -<p>"Three officers to take a single man, and he a skeleton!" retorted -Nicholls, with a great show of indignation.</p> - -<p>"Ay; but you were powerful once, and ferocious too. The skeleton -aspect is a recent one."</p> - -<p>"And to be took for nothing! I know naught of any bracelet."</p> - -<p>"Don't trouble yourself with inventions, Nicholls. Your friend is safe -in our hands, and has made a full confession."</p> - -<p>"What friend?" asked Nicholls, too eagerly.</p> - -<p>"The lady you got to dispose of it for you."</p> - -<p>Nicholls was startled to incaution. "She hasn't split, has she?"</p> - -<p>"Every particular she knew or guessed at. Split to save herself."</p> - -<p>"Then there's no faith in woman."</p> - -<p>"There never was yet," returned Mr. Pullet. "If they are not at the -top and bottom of every mischief, Joe, they are sure to be in the -middle. Is this your coat?" touching it gingerly.</p> - -<p>"She's a disgrace to the female sex, she is!" raved Nicholls, -disregarding the question as to his coat. "But it's a relief now I'm -took: it's a weight off my mind. I was always expecting it: and I -shall, at any rate, get food in the Old Bailey."</p> - -<p>"Ah," said the officer, "you were in good service as a respectable -servant, Nicholls: you had better have stuck to your duties."</p> - -<p>"The temptation was so great," returned the man, who had evidently -abandoned all idea of denial; and, now that he had done so, was ready -to be voluble with remembrances and particulars.</p> - -<p>"Don't say anything to me. It will be used against you."</p> - -<p>"It all came of my long legs," cried Nicholls, ignoring the friendly -injunction, and proceeding to enlarge on the feat he had performed. -And it may as well be observed that legs so long as his are rarely -seen. "I have never had a happy hour since; it's true, sir. I was -second footman there, and a good place I had: and I have wished, -thousands of times, that the bracelet had been at the bottom of the -sea. Our folks had took a house in the neighbourhood of Ascot for the -race-week; they had left me at home to take care of the kitchen-maid -and another inferior or two, carrying the rest of the servants with -them. I had to clean the winders before they returned, and I had druv -it off till the Thursday evening, when out I got on the balqueny, -intending to begin with the back drawing-room——"</p> - -<p>"What do you say you got out on?"</p> - -<p>"The balqueny. The thing with the green rails round it, that -encloses the winder. While I was leaning over the rails sorting my -wash-leathers, I heard something like click, click, click, going on in -the fellow-room next door—which was Colonel Hope's—just as if light -articles of some sort were being laid sharp on a table. Presently two -voices began to talk, a lady's and a gentleman's, and I listened——"</p> - -<p>"No good ever comes of listening, Joe," interrupted the officer.</p> - -<p>"I didn't listen for the sake of listening; but it was awful hot, -standing outside there in the sun, and listening was better than -working. I didn't want to hear, neither, for I was thinking of my own -concerns, and what a fool I was to have idled away my time all day -till the sun come on the back winders. Bit by bit, I heard what they -were talking of—that it was jewels they had got there, and that one -of 'em was worth two hundred guineas. Thinks I, if that was mine, -I'd do no more work. After a while, I heard them go out of the room, -and I thought I'd have a look at the rich things, so I stepped over -slant-ways on to the little ledge running along the houses, holding on -by our balqueny, and then I passed my hands along the wall till I got -hold of their balqueny—but one with ordinary legs and arms couldn't -have done it. You couldn't, sir."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps not," remarked the officer.</p> - -<p>"There wasn't fur to fall, if I had fell, only on to the kitchen leads -underneath: leastways not fur enough to kill one, and the leads was -flat. But I didn't fall, and I raised myself on to their balqueny, and -looked in. My! what a show it was! stunning jewels, all laid out there: -so close, that if I had put my hand inside, it must have struck all -among 'em: and the fiend prompted me to take one. I didn't stop to -look, I didn't stop to think: the one that twinkled the brightest and -had the most stones in it was the nearest to me, and I clutched it, -and slipped it into my footman's undress jacket, and stepped back -again."</p> - -<p>"And got safe into your balcony?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and inside the room. I didn't clean the winder that night. I was -upset like, by what I had done; and, if I could have put it back -again, I think I should; but there was no opportunity. I wrapped it in -my winder-leather, and then in a sheet of brown paper, and then I put -it up the chimbley in one of the spare bedrooms. I was up the next -morning afore five, and I cleaned my winders: I'd no trouble to awake -myself, for I had never slept. The same day, towards evening—or -the next was it? I forget—you called, sir, and asked me some -questions—whether we had seen any one on the leads at the back, and -such like. I said that master was just come home from Ascot, and would -you be pleased to speak to him."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" again remarked the officer, "you were a clever fellow that day. -But if my suspicions had not been strongly directed to another -quarter, I might have looked you up more sharply."</p> - -<p>"I kep' it by me for a month or two, and then I gave warning to -leave. I thought I'd have my fling, and I had made acquaintance with -her—that lady you've just spoke of—and somehow she wormed out of me -that I had got it, and I let her dispose of it for me, for she said -she knew how to do it without danger."</p> - -<p>"What did you get for it?"</p> - -<p>The skeleton shook his head. "Thirty-four pounds, and I had counted on -a hundred and fifty. She took her oath she had not helped herself to a -sixpence."</p> - -<p>"Oaths are plentiful with some ladies," remarked Mr. Pullet.</p> - -<p>"She stood to it she hadn't kep' a farthing, and she stopped and -helped me to spend the change. After that was done she went over to -stop with somebody else who was in luck. And I have tried to go on, -and I can't: honestly or dishonestly, it seems all one: nothing -prospers, and I'm naked and famishing. I wish I was dying."</p> - -<p>"Evil courses rarely do prosper, Nicholls," said the officer, as he -called in the policemen and consigned the gentleman to their care.</p> -<br> - -<p>So Gerard Hope was innocent!</p> - -<p>"But how was it you skilful detectives could not be on this man's -scent?" asked Colonel Hope of Mr. Pullet, when he heard the tale.</p> - -<p>"Colonel, I was thrown off it. Your positive belief in your nephew's -guilt infected me; appearances were certainly very strong against him. -Neither was his own manner altogether satisfactory to my mind. He -treated the obvious suspicion of him more as a jest than in earnest; -never, so far as I heard, giving a downright hearty denial to it."</p> - -<p>"He was a fool," interjected the colonel.</p> - -<p>"Also," continued Mr. Pullet, "Miss Dalrymple's evidence served to -throw me off other suspicion. She said, if you remember, sir, that she -did not leave the room; but it now appears that she did leave it when -your nephew did, though only for a few moments. Those few moments -sufficed to do the job."</p> - -<p>"It is strange she could not tell the exact truth," growled the -colonel.</p> - -<p>"She probably thought she was exact enough, since she remained outside -the door, and could answer for it that no one entered by it. She -forgot the window. I thought of the window the instant the loss was -mentioned to me; but Miss Dalrymple's assertion, that she never had -the window out of her view, prevented my dwelling on it. I did go to -the next door, and saw this very fellow who committed the robbery, but -his manner was sufficiently satisfactory. He talked too freely; I did -not like that; but I found he had been in the same service fifteen -months; and, as I must repeat, in my mind the guilt lay with another."</p> - -<p>"It is a confoundedly unpleasant affair for me," cried the colonel. "I -have published my nephew's disgrace all over London."</p> - -<p>"It is more unpleasant for him, colonel," was the rejoinder of Mr. -Pullet.</p> - -<p>"And I have kept him short of money, and suffered him to be sued for -debt; and I have let him go and live among the runaway scamps over the -water; and now he is working as a merchant's clerk! In short, I have -played the very deuce with him."</p> - -<p>"But reparation lies, doubtless, in your own heart and hands, -colonel."</p> - -<p>"I don't know that, sir," testily concluded the colonel.</p> - -<p>Once more Gerard Hope entered his uncle's house; not as an interloper, -stealing into it in secret; but as an honoured guest, to whom -reparation was due, and must be made. Alice Dalrymple chanced to be -alone. She was leaning back in her invalid-chair, a joyous flush on -her wasted cheek, a joyous happiness in her eye. Still the shadow of -coming death was there, and Mr. Hope was shocked to see her—more -shocked and startled than he had expected, or chose to express.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Alice! what has done this?"</p> - -<p>"That has helped it on," she answered, pointing to the bracelet; -which, returned to its true owner, lay on the table. "I should not -have lived very many years; of that I am convinced: but I think this -has taken a little from my life. The bracelet has been the cause of -misery to many of us. Lady Sarah says she shall never regard it but as -an ill-starred trinket, or wear it with any pleasure."</p> - -<p>"But, Alice, why should you have suffered it thus to affect you?" he -remonstrated. "You knew your own innocence, and you say you believed -and trusted in mine: what did you fear?</p> - -<p>"I will tell you, Gerard," she whispered, a deeper hectic rising to -her cheeks. "I could not have confessed my fear, even in dying; it was -too distressing, too terrible; but now that it is all clear, I will -tell it. <i>I believed my sister had taken the bracelet</i>."</p> - -<p>"Ah," said Gerard, carelessly.</p> - -<p>"Selina called to see me that evening, as you saw, and she was for a -minute or two in the room alone with the trinkets: I went upstairs to -get a letter. She wanted money badly at the time, as you cannot -fail to remember, and I feared she had been tempted to take the -bracelet—just as this unfortunate man was tempted. Oh, Gerard! the -dread of it has been upon me night and day, preying upon my fears, -weighing down my spirits, wearing away my health and my life. Now hope -would be in the ascendant, now fear. And I had to bear it all in -silence. It is that enforced, dreadful silence that has so tried me."</p> - -<p>"Why did you not question Selina?"</p> - -<p>"I did. She denied it. As good as laughed at me. But you know how -light-headed and careless her nature is; and the fear remained with -me."</p> - -<p>"It must have been a morbid fear, Alice."</p> - -<p>"Not so—if you knew all. But it is at an end, and I am very thankful. -I have only one hope now," she added, looking up at him with a sunny -smile. "Ah, Gerard, can you not guess it?"</p> - -<p>"No," he answered, in a stifled voice. "I can only guess that you are -lost to me."</p> - -<p>"Lost to all here. Have you forgotten our brief conversation, the -night you went into exile? I told you then there was one far more -worthy of you than I could have ever been."</p> - -<p>"None will ever be half so worthy; or—I will say it, Alice, in spite -of your warning hand—half so loved."</p> - -<p>"Gerard," sinking her voice, "she has waited for you."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense," he rejoined.</p> - -<p>"She has. When she shall be your wife, you may tell her that I saw it -and said it. She might have had John Cust."</p> - -<p>"My darling——"</p> - -<p>"Stay, Gerard," she gravely interrupted; "those words of endearment -are not for me. Can you deny that you love her?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I do—in a degree. Next to yourself——"</p> - -<p>"Put me out of your thoughts whilst we speak. If I were—where I may -perhaps soon be, would she not be dearer to you than any one on earth? -Would you not be well pleased to make her your wife?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I might be."</p> - -<p>"That is enough, Gerard. Frances——"</p> - -<p>"Wait a bit," interrupted Gerard. "Don't you think, Alice, that you -have the morbid feeling on you yet? With this dread removed—which, as -you truly express it, must have been to you a very nightmare—you may, -nay, I think you will, regain health and strength, and be a comfort to -us all for years."</p> - -<p>"I may regain it in a measure. It is simply impossible that in any -case my life will be a long one. Let me—dear Gerard!—let me make -some one happy while I may! Hark! that's the door—and this is her -light step on the stairs!"</p> - -<p>Frances Chenevix came in. "Good gracious, is it you, Gerard!" she -exclaimed. "You and Alice look as if you had been talking secrets."</p> - -<p>"So we have been," said Alice. "Frances, what can we do to keep him -amongst us? Do you know what Colonel Hope has told him?"</p> - -<p>"No. What?"</p> - -<p>"That though he shall be reinstated in favour as to money matters, he -shall not be in his affection or his home, unless he prove sorry for -that past rebellion of his."</p> - -<p>"When did the colonel tell him? When did he see him?"</p> - -<p>"This morning: before Gerard came here. I think Gerard <i>is</i> sorry for -it: you must help him to be more so."</p> - -<p>"Fanny," said Gerard, while a damask flush mantled in her cheeks, -deeper than the hectic making havoc with those of Alice, "<i>will</i> you -help me?"</p> - -<p>"As if I could make head or tail of what you two are rambling about!" -cried she, as she attempted to turn away; but Gerard caught her to his -side.</p> - -<p>"Fanny—will you drive me again from the house?"</p> - -<p>She lifted her eyes, twinkling with a little spice of mischief. "I did -not drive you before."</p> - -<p>"In a manner, yes. Do you know what did drive me?" She had known it at -the time; and Gerard read it in her face.</p> - -<p>"I see it all," he murmured; "you have been far kinder to me than I -deserved. Fanny, let me try and repay you for it."</p> - -<p>"Are you sure you would not rather have Alice?" she asked, in her -clear-sighted independence.</p> - -<p>He shook his head sorrowfully. Alice caught their hands together, and -held them between her own, with a mental aspiration for their life's -future happiness. Some time back she could not have breathed it in so -fervent a spirit: but—as she had said—the present world and its -hopes were closing to her.</p> - -<p>"But you know, Gerard," cried Lady Frances, in a saucy tone, "if you -ever do help yourself to somebody's bracelet in reality, you must not -expect me to go to prison with you."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I shall," he answered promptly. "A wife must share the fortunes -of her husband. She takes him for better—or for worse."</p> - -<p>He sealed the compact with a kiss. And there was much rejoicing that -day in the house of Colonel Hope.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_36" href="#div1Ref_36">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></h4> -<h5>VISITORS AT MOAT GRANGE.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Autumn weather lay on the world and on Netherleigh.</p> - -<p>Things were coming to a revolt. Never were poor tenant-farmers so -ground down and oppressed as those on the estate of Moat Grange. Rents -were raised, fines imposed, expenses, properly belonging to landlords, -refused to be paid or allowed for. Oscar Dalrymple was ruling with a -hand of iron, hard and cruel.</p> - -<p>At least, Oscar had the credit of it. In point of fact, he was perhaps -a little ashamed of the existing state of things, and would have -somewhat altered it if he could. A year ago Oscar had let the whole -estate to a sort of agent, a man named Pinnett, and Pinnett was -playing Old Gooseberry with everything.</p> - -<p>That was the expressive phrase, whatever it might mean, the indignant -people used. They refused to lay the blame on Pinnett, utterly refused -to recognize him in the matter; arguing, perhaps rightly, that unless -he had Mr. Dalrymple's sanction to harsh measures, he could not -exercise them, and that Mr. Dalrymple was, therefore, alone to blame. -Most likely Oscar had no resource but to sanction it all, tacitly at -any rate.</p> - -<p>As to the Grange itself, the mansion, it was now the dreariest of the -dreary. It had not been let with the estate, and Oscar and his wife -still lived in it. Two maids were kept, and a man for outdoor -work—the garden and the poultry. Most of the rooms were locked up. -Selina would unlock the doors sometimes and open the shutters; and -pace about the lonely floors, and wish she had not been guilty of the -folly which had led to these wretched retrenchments. Things indoors -and out were growing worse day by day.</p> - -<p>One morning John Lee called at the Grange: a respectable man, whose -name you cannot have forgotten. He had rented all his life, and his -father before him, under the Dalrymples.</p> - -<p>"Sir," he began to Oscar, without circumlocution, "I have come up -about that paper which has been sent to me by Jones, your lawyer. It's -a notice that next Michaelmas, when my lease will expire, the rent is -to be raised."</p> - -<p>"Well?" said Mr. Dalrymple.</p> - -<p>"A pound an acre. <i>A pound an acre</i>," repeated the farmer, with -increased emphasis. "Jones must have made a mistake, sir."</p> - -<p>"I fancy not. But Jones is not my lawyer, you know; he is Mr. -Pinnett's."</p> - -<p>"We don't want to have anything to do with Mr. Pinnett, or to hear his -name, sir. I have always rented under the Dalrymples; and I hope to do -it still, sir, with your leave."</p> - -<p>"You know, Lee, that Pinnett has a lease of the whole estate. What he -proposes is no doubt fair. Your farm will well bear the increased rent -he means to put on it."</p> - -<p>"Increased by a pound an acre!" cried the farmer, in his excitement. -"No, sir; it won't bear it, for I'll never pay it."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry for that, Mr. Lee, because it will leave Pinnett only one -alternative: to substitute in its place a notice to quit."</p> - -<p>"To quit! to quit the farm!" reiterated Lee, in his astonishment. "Why, -it has been my home all my life, sir, and it was my father's before -me. I was born on that farm, Mr. Dalrymple, years and years before you -ever came into the world, and I mean to die on it. I have spared -neither money nor labour to bring it to its present flourishing -condition."</p> - -<p>"My good sir, I say as you do, that the land is flourishing: -sufficiently so to justify the advanced rent Pinnett proposes. Two of -you were here yesterday on this same errand—Watkins and Rumford."</p> - -<p>"They have spent money on their farms, too, expecting to reap future -benefit. You see, we never thought of Mr. Dalrymple's dying young, -and——"</p> - -<p>"Are you speaking of young Robert Dalrymple?"</p> - -<p>"No, no, poor fellow: of his father. Mr. Dalrymple did die young, so -to say; you can't call a man under fifty old. His death, and his son's -close upon it, brought you, sir, to rule over us, and I am sorry to -say your rule's a very hard one."</p> - -<p>"It will not be made easier," curtly replied Oscar Dalrymple, who was -getting angry. "And I will not detain you longer, Mr. Lee," he added, -rising. "Your time is valuable."</p> - -<p>"And what is to be my answer, sir?"</p> - -<p>"It no longer lies with me to give an answer, Lee, and I must request -that you do not refer to me again. Pinnett's answer will no doubt be -that you must renew the lease at the additional rent demanded, or else -give up the farm."</p> - -<p>Farmer Lee swung away in a passion. In turning out of the first field -he met two ladies: one young and very pretty, the other getting to -look old; her thin features were white and her hair was grey. They -were Mrs. Dalrymple and Mary Lynn. Close upon Mrs. Dalrymple's -recovery from her accident, which turned out to have been not at all -formidable, she caught a violent cold; it laid her up longer than a -cold had ever laid her up before, and seemed to have tried her -greatly. Mary Lynn had now just come again to Netherleigh to stay a -week or two with her.</p> - -<p>"Is it you, ma'am!" cried the farmer, touching his hat. "I'm glad to -see you out again."</p> - -<p>"At one time I thought I never should be out again," she answered; "I -am very weak still. And how are you, Mr. Lee?"</p> - -<p>"Middling, ma'am. Anything but well just now, in temper." And the -farmer touched upon his grievances, spoke of the interview he had just -held at the Grange, and of its master's harshness.</p> - -<p>"<i>Is</i> it right to us, ma'am?" he wound up with. "<i>Is</i> it just, Miss -Lynn?" turning to that young lady. "Ah, if poor young Mr. Robert had -but lived! We should have had no oppression then."</p> - -<p>Mary turned away her face, blushing almost to tears with unhappy -remembrances. Robert! Robert!</p> - -<p>"I do believe it will come to a revolt!" said the farmer to Mrs. -Dalrymple. "Not with us tenants; you know better than to think that -likely, ma'am; but with those people at the cottages. They are getting -ripe for it."</p> - -<p>"Ay," she answered, in a low, grieved tone. "And the worst of it, Mr. -Lee, the worst to me is, that I am powerless for help or remedy."</p> - -<p>"We cannot quite think—it is impossible to think or believe, that Mr. -Oscar Dalrymple should have put all control out of his power. -Therefore, his refusing to interfere with Pinnett seems all the more -harsh. You must see that, ma'am."</p> - -<p>"I have no comfort, no advice to give," she whispered, putting her -hand into Mr. Lee's as she turned away. For Mrs. Dalrymple could not -bear to speak of the existing state of things, the trouble that had -come of Selina's folly and Oscar's rule.</p> - -<p>Yet Oscar was kind to her. Continuously so. In no way would he allow -her income, that which he allowed her, to be in the slightest degree -diminished. He pinched himself, but he would not pinch poor Mrs. -Dalrymple. Over and over again had she wished Reuben to leave her, but -Oscar would not hear of it. Neither, for the matter of that, would -Reuben. He did not want wages, he said, but he would not desert his -mistress in her premature old age, her sickness, and her sorrow. A -small maid only was kept in addition to Reuben; and the man had -degenerated (as he might have called it but for his loyalty) to little -better than a man-of-all-work. He stood behind the ladies now at a -respectful distance, having stopped when they stopped.</p> - -<p>The grievance alluded to by Mr. Lee, ready to ripen into open revolt, -had nothing to do with the tenant-farmers. It was this. In a very -favourable position on the estate, as regarded situation, stood a -cluster of small dwellings. They were for the most part very poor, -some of them little better than huts, but they commanded a lovely -view. They were inhabited by labourers employed on the land, and were -called the Mill Cottages: a mill, done away with now, having formerly -stood close by.</p> - -<p>One fine day it had struck the new man, Pinnett—looking about here -and there to discover some means of adding to the profits he meant to -make off the land—that if these cottages were taken down and handsome -dwellings erected in their place, it would be a great improvement, -pecuniarily and artistically, for such houses would let directly in -this picturesque locality. No sooner thought of than resolved upon. -Miles Pinnett was not a man to linger over his plans, and he gave -these small tenants notice to quit.</p> - -<p>It was rebelled against. Some of the men had been in the cottages as -long as Farmer Lee had been in his farm, and to be ordered to leave -seemed a terrible hardship. It no doubt increased the difficulty that -there were no other small dwellings on the estate the men could go -into: all others were already occupied: and, if they left these, they -must go to a distance whence they would have a two or three miles' -walk to their day's work. And so, encouraged perhaps by the feeling -pervading the neighbourhood, of sympathy with them and opposition to -Pinnett, the men, one and all, refused to go out. The next step would -be ejectment; and it was looked for day by day.</p> - -<p>For all this, Oscar Dalrymple suffered in opinion. Pinnett could not -go to such lengths, oppress them as he was oppressing, against the -will of the owner, Mr. Dalrymple, argued the community, rich and poor. -Perhaps he could not. But how it really was, no one knew, or what -power Mr. Dalrymple had put out of his own hands, and into Pinnett's, -when he leased him the demesne.</p> - -<p>Farmer Lee's visit to Moat Grange was paid in the morning. In the -afternoon the Grange had another visitor—Lady Adela Netherleigh.</p> - -<p>Adela had not lingered long at her mother's in London. After a few -weeks' sojourn she came down to Netherleigh Rectory, invited by the -Rector and his wife, her sister Mary. They had gone to London for a -day, had been struck with compassion at Adela's evident state of -mental suffering, and they asked her to return with them for a little -change.</p> - -<p>"It is not change I want," she had answered, speaking to Lady Mary. -"What I want is peace. Perhaps I shall find it with you, Mary, at the -Rectory."</p> - -<p>Lady Mary Cleveland hesitated. Peace? The word posed her.</p> - -<p>"Adela," she said, "we should be very glad to have you, and there is -plenty of room for you and Darvy. But, as to peace—I don't know about -that. The Rectory is full of children great and small, and I'm afraid -it is noisy and bustling from morning till night."</p> - -<p>Adela smiled faintly. The peace her heart craved for was not that -imparted by the absence of noise. She might feel all the better for -having the bustle of children about her; it might draw her at moments -out of her own sorrow. But another thought struck her.</p> - -<p>"My——" husband, she had been about to say, but changed the words. -"Sir Francis is not staying at Court Netherleigh? Is he?"</p> - -<p>"No. It is said he means to take up his abode there later; he is not -there yet."</p> - -<p>"Then I will come to you, Mary. And I will stay with you for months -and months if I like it—and you must allow me to contribute towards -your housekeeping as Sir Sandy and Harriet did."</p> - -<p>Lady Mary winced a little at that, but she did not say no. With all -those children—she had two of her own now—and the Rector's moderate -income, they could not be rich.</p> - -<p>So Adela and Darvy went down with them to Netherleigh. That was in -summer, now it was autumn: and, so far as could be seen or judged, the -change had not as yet effected much for her. Adela seemed just as -before; wan, weary, sick, and sorry.</p> - -<p>And yet, there was a change in a certain degree. The bitter rebellion -at her fate had partly passed from her mind, and therefore its traces -had left her face. The active repining in which her days had been -spent was giving place to a sort of hopeless resignation. She strove -to accept her punishment, strove to bear it, to be patient and gentle -always, hardly ever ceasing day or night to beseech God to blot out -the past from the book of the Recording Angel. The sense of shame, -entailed by her conduct of long years, had not lifted itself in the -least degree; nay, it seemed to grow of a deeper scarlet as time went -on. Sometimes she would think if she could trample upon herself and -annihilate all power of remembrance, she would do it gladly; but that -would not stamp it out of her ever-living soul. Adela had erred; -wilfully, cruelly, persistently; and if ever retribution came home to -a woman, it surely had come to her.</p> - -<p>On this same day, when the sky was blue and the afternoon sun lay on -the green fields at Netherleigh, Lady Adela went out, and turned her -languid steps towards Moat Grange. Selina had called to see her at the -Rectory several times; each time Adela had promised to pay return -visits, and had not yet done so. The direct road lay, as the reader -may perhaps remember, through the village and past Court Netherleigh. -Lingeringly would her eyes look on the house whenever this happened, -lingeringly they rested on it now. The home, in which she had spent so -many happy days with Aunt Margery, was closed to her for ever. Of all -people in the living world, she was the only one debarred from -entering it. Very rarely indeed was Sir Francis at Netherleigh. It had -been supposed that he meant to take up his abode in it for the autumn -months; but this appeared to be a mistake; when he did come it was but -for a flying visit of a few hours. Mr. Cleveland privately told his -wife that he believed Sir Francis stayed away from the place because -Adela was in it.</p> - -<p>Selina was in the larger of the two drawing-rooms when Adela reached -the Grange. Selina rarely used it now, her husband never, but she had -gone into it this afternoon. Opening the shutters and the window, she -sat there making herself a lace collar. The time had gone by when she -could order these articles of a Madame Damereau, and pay a fabulous -price for them.</p> - -<p>Adela untied her bonnet strings and took off her gloves as she sat -down opposite Selina. Not strong now, the walk had greatly tired her. -Selina could but notice how fragile and delicate she looked, as the -light from the window fell upon her face. The once rounded cheeks were -wasted, their bright colour had faded to the faintest tinge of pink; -from the once lustrous eyes shone only sadness.</p> - -<p>"Let me get you something, Adela," cried Selina, impulsively. "A cup -of tea—I will make it for you directly. Of wine—well, I am not sure, -really, that we possess any. I can ask Oscar."</p> - -<p>"Not anything, not anything," returned Adela, "I could not take it. -Thank you all the same. As to my looks—I look as I always do."</p> - -<p>"Ah me," sighed Selina, "it is a weary life. A weary life, Adela, for -you and for me."</p> - -<p>"If that were all—its weariness—it might be better borne," murmured -Adela. "And yet I do try to bear," she added, pushing her pretty brown -hair from her aching brow, and for once induced to speak of her -troubles to this friend, who had suffered too—though not as she had. -"But there is the remorse as well, you see. Oh, how wrong, how -foolish, how <i>wicked</i> we were!—at least <i>I</i> was. Do you ever think of -our past folly, Selina?—of the ease and happiness we then held in our -hands, and flung away?"</p> - -<p>"We have paid for it," said Selina. "Yes, I do sometimes think of the -past, Adela; and then I wonder at the folly of women. See to what -folly has reduced me!—to drag out a dead-alive existence in a -semi-prison, for the Grange is no better now, with never a friend to -stay with me, or a shilling to spend. And all for the sake of a few -fine bonnets and gowns! Would you believe it," she added, laughing, -"that the costly things have not half come to an end yet?"</p> - -<p>"Just for <i>that?</i>" dissented Adela, in her pain, and losing sight of -Selina's trouble in her own. "If it had been for nothing more than -that!"</p> - -<p>"Well, well, we have paid for it, I say. Bitterly and cruelly."</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> have. You have not."</p> - -<p>"No?" somewhat indifferently returned Selina, her attention partly -given to her lace again, for she was never serious long together. "How -do you make that out?"</p> - -<p>"You have your husband still. Poverty with him, with one we love, must -carry little sting with it. But for me—my whole life is one of -never-ending loneliness, without a future, without hope. Do you know -what fanciful thought came to me the other night?" she went on, after -a pause. "I have all sorts of fanciful ideas when I sit alone in the -twilight. I thought that life might be so much happier if God gave us -a chance once of beginning it all over again from the first. Just -once, when we found out what dreadful mistakes we had been making."</p> - -<p>"And we should make the same again, though we began it fifty times -over, Adela. Unless we could carry back with us our dearly-bought -experience."</p> - -<p>Adela sighed. "Yes, I suppose so. God would have so ordered it had it -been well for us. He knows best. But there are some women who seem -never to make mistakes, who go on their way smoothly and happily."</p> - -<p>"Placing themselves under God's guidance, I imagine," returned Selina. -"That's what my mother says to me, when she lectures me on the past."</p> - -<p>Adela's eyes filled with tears. "Yes, yes," she murmured, meekly, -recalling that it was what she had been striving to do for some little -time now—to hold on her way, under submission to God.</p> - -<p>The conversation turned into other channels, and by-and-by, when Adela -was rested, she rose to leave. Selina accompanied her into the hall.</p> - -<p>"Won't you just say 'How d'you do' to my husband?" she cried, opening -the door of their common sitting-room. "He is here."</p> - -<p>Adela made no objection, and followed Selina. Oscar was standing in -the bay window, facing the door. And some one else, towering nearly a -head above him, was standing at his side.</p> - -<p>Sir Francis Netherleigh.</p> - -<p>They stood, the husband and wife, face to face. With a faint cry, -Adela put up her hands, as if to ward off the sight—as if to bespeak -pardon in all humility for herself, for her intrusion—and disappeared -again, whiter than death. It was rather an awkward moment for them -all. Selina disappeared after her, and shut the door.</p> - -<p>"Is Lady Adela ill?" asked Sir Francis of Oscar, the question breaking -from him involuntarily in the moment's impulse—for she did, indeed, -look fearfully so.</p> - -<p>"Ay," replied Oscar, "ill with remembrance. Repentance has made her -sick unto death. Remorse has told upon her."</p> - -<p>But Sir Francis said no more.</p> - -<p>Adela had departed across the fields with the best speed she could -command. About half-way home she came upon Mr. Cleveland, seated on a -stile and whistling softly.</p> - -<p>"Those two young rascals of mine"—alluding to two of his little -sons—"seduced me from my study to help fly their kites," he began to -Adela. "Here I follow them, to the appointed field, and find them -nowhere, little light-headed monkeys! But, my dear, what's the matter -with you?" he added, with fatherly kindness, as he remarked her pale, -troubled face. "You look alarmed."</p> - -<p>"I have just seen my husband," she panted, her breath painfully short. -All the old pain that she had been striving to subdue had come back -again; the sight of him, whom she now passionately loved, had stirred -distressing emotion within her.</p> - -<p>"Well?" said Mr. Cleveland.</p> - -<p>"Did you know he was at Netherleigh?"</p> - -<p>"He came down today."</p> - -<p>"He was in the bay-parlour with Oscar, and I went into it. It has -agitated me."</p> - -<p>"But why should it agitate you?" rejoined the old Rector, who was very -matter-of-fact. "It seems to me that you ought to accustom yourself to -bear these chance meetings with equanimity, child. You can scarcely -expect to go through life without seeing him now and then."</p> - -<p>Adela bent her head to the stile and broke into sobs. Mr. Cleveland -laid his protecting hand upon her shoulder.</p> - -<p>"My dear! my dear! Strive to be calm. Surely a momentary sight of him -ought not to put you into this state. Is it that you still dislike him -so much?"</p> - -<p>"Dislike him!" she exclaimed, the contrast between the word and the -truth striking her painfully, and causing her to say more than she -would have said. "I am dying for his forgiveness; dying to show him -how true is my remorse; dying because I lost him."</p> - -<p>The Rector did not quite see what answer to make to this. He held his -tongue, and Adela resumed.</p> - -<p>"I wish I was a Roman Catholic!"</p> - -<p>The good man, evangelical Protestant, felt as if his gray hair were -standing on end with surprise. "Oh, hush!" said he. "You don't know -what you are saying."</p> - -<p>"I do wish it," she sobbed. "I could then go into a convent, and find -peace."</p> - -<p>"Peace!" echoed Mr. Cleveland. "No, child, don't let your imagination -run away with that idea. It is a false one. No woman, entering a -convent in the frame of mind you seem to be entertaining, could expect -peace, or find it."</p> - -<p>"Any way, I should feel more at rest: I should <i>have</i> to bear life -then, you know. And, oh, I was trying to do so: I was indeed trying!"</p> - -<p>Thoroughly put out, the Rector made no comment. Perhaps would not -trust himself to make any.</p> - -<p>"I suppose there are no such things as Protestant convents, or -sisterhoods," she went on, "that receive poor creatures who have no -longer any place in this world?"</p> - -<p>"Not to my knowledge," sharply spoke Mr. Cleveland, as he jumped off -the stile. "It is time we went home, Adela."</p> - -<p>They walked away side by side. Gaining the Rectory—a large, -straggling, red-brick building, its old walls covered with -time-honoured ivy—Adela ascended to her chamber, and shut herself in -with her grief.</p> - -<p>How scornfully her husband must despise her!—despise her for her past -shame and sin; despise her in her present contemptible humiliation, -she reflected, a low moan escaping her—he so pure and upright in all -his ways, so good and generous and noble! Oh that she could hide to -the end from him and from the world!</p> - -<p>Lifting her trembling hands, her despairing face, Adela breathed a -faint petition that the Most High would be pleased to vouchsafe to her -somewhat of His heavenly comfort, or take her out of the tribulation -that she could so hardly battle with.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_37" href="#div1Ref_37">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></h4> -<h5>AN ALARM.</h5> -<br> - -<p>It was a few days later. Mrs. Oscar Dalrymple, who had been spending -the afternoon with her mother and Mary Lynn, was preparing to return -to the Grange. Alice had just come home again, a brilliant hectic on -her cheeks, but weaker, as it seemed to them all. Alice was happier -than she had been for years, in her sweet unselfishness. The trouble -which had divided Colonel Hope and his nephew was at an end; Gerard -had been reinstated in his uncle's favour, and was to marry Frances -Chenevix. Lying on the sofa by the window, in the fading light, Alice -had been giving them various particulars of this; and Selina, greatly -interested, lingered longer than she had intended. But she had to go.</p> - -<p>Rising hurriedly, she put on her bonnet and cloak. Mrs. Dalrymple rang -the bell. It was to tell Reuben to be in readiness to attend her -daughter.</p> - -<p>"As if I wanted old Reuben with me, mamma!" exclaimed Selina. "Why, I -shall run home in no time!"</p> - -<p>"He had better be with you," sighed Mrs. Dalrymple: the sigh given to -the disturbed state of things abroad. "The neighbourhood is not very -quiet today, as you know, Selina, and it is growing dusk."</p> - -<p>It was not quiet at all. The summary process, eviction, had been -resorted to by Pinnett, as regarded the tenants of the Mill Cottages. -He had forced them out with violence. One of them, named Thoms, had -resisted to the last. Go out he would not, and the assailants could -not get him out.</p> - -<p>A meeting was to be held this same evening at Farmer Lee's. It could -not be called a secret meeting; the farmer would have disdained the -name; but those about to attend it waited until the dusk should -shelter them, conscious that they were likely to speak treason against -their landlord.</p> - -<p>"Thoms is out," cried Farmer Bumford, as he entered Mr. Lee's house in -excitement.</p> - -<p>"How did they get him out?"</p> - -<p>"Unroofed him, Lee. Pulled his place to pieces bit by bit, and so -forced him out. He is now with the rest of the unfortunate lot."</p> - -<p>"I thought such practices were confined to Ireland," said the honest -farmer. "It's time something was done to protect us. Oscar Dalrymple -will have his sins to answer for."</p> - -<p>It was at this hour, when the autumn twilight was deepening, that -Selina started for home. She chose the way by the common: a longer -way, and in other respects not a desirable one tonight. Selina's -spirit was fearless enough, and she wanted to see whether the rumour -could be true—that the unhappy people, just ejected, had collected -there, meaning to encamp on it. Reuben, with the licence of an old and -faithful servant, remonstrated, begging her to go home by the turnpike -road: but Selina chose to cross the common.</p> - -<p>Surely enough, the unfortunate lot, as Mr. Bumford called them, had -gathered on its outskirts, in view of their late homes, their poor -goods and chattels, much damaged in the mêlée, piled in little heaps -around them. Men, their hearts panting for revenge, sobbing women and -shivering children, there they stood, sat, or lay about. The farmers, -Lee and Bumford, would later on open their barns to them for the -night; but at present they expected to encamp under the stars.</p> - -<p>In the midst of the harsh converse that prevailed, the oaths, and the -abuse lavished on Oscar Dalrymple—for these poor, ignorant labourers -refused, like their betters, to believe that Pinnett could so act -without the landlord's orders—they espied, hurrying past them at a -swift pace, their landlord's wife. Selina walked with her head down; -now that she saw the threatening aspect of affairs, she wished she had -listened to Reuben, and taken the open road. One of them came running -up; a resolute fellow, named Dyke.</p> - -<p>"You'd hurry by, would you?" said he, in tones that spoke more of -plaint than threat. "Won't you turn your eyes once to the ruin your -husband has wrought? Look at the mud and mortar! If the walls weren't -of new brick or costly stone, they was good enough for us. They were -our homes. Look at the spot now."</p> - -<p>Selina trembled visibly. She was aware of the awful feeling abroad -against her husband, and a dread rushed into her heart that they might -be going to visit it on her. Would they ill-use her?—beat her, or -kill her?</p> - -<p>Reuben spoke up: but he was powerless against so many, and he knew it; -therefore his tone was more conciliating than it would otherwise have -been.</p> - -<p>"What do you mean by molesting this lady? Stand away, Dyke, and let -her pass. You wouldn't hurt her; if she is Mr. Dalrymple's wife, she -was the Squire's daughter, and he was always good to you."</p> - -<p>"Stand away yourself, old man; who said we were going to hurt her?" -roughly retorted Dyke. "'Taint likely; and you've said the reason why. -Ma'am, do you see these ruins? Do they make you blush?"</p> - -<p>"I am very sorry to see them, Dyke," answered Selina. "It is no fault -of mine."</p> - -<p>"Is it hard upon us, or not, that we should be turned out of the poor -walls that sheltered us? We paid our bit of rent, all on us; not one -was a defaulter. How would you like to be turned out of your home, and -told the poorhouse was afore you and an order for it, if you liked to -go there?"</p> - -<p>"I can only say how very sorry I am," she returned, distressed as well -as terrified. "I wish I could help you, and put you into better -cottages tomorrow! But I am as powerless as you are."</p> - -<p>"Will you tell the master to do it? We be coming up to ask him. Will -you tell him to come out and face us, and look at the ruins he have -made, and look at our wives and little ones a-shivering there in the -cold?"</p> - -<p>Selina seemed to be shivering as much as they were. "It is Pinnett who -has done it," she said, "not Mr. Dalrymple. You should lay the blame -on him."</p> - -<p>"Pinnett!" roared Dyke, throwing his arm before the other men, now -surrounding them, to silence their murmurings, for he thought his own -eloquence the best. "Would Pinnett have dared to do this without the -master's orders? Pinnett's a tool in his hands. Say to him, ma'am, -please, that we're not going to stand Pinnett's doings and be quiet; -we'll drownd him first, let us once catch hold on him; and we be -coming up to the Grange ourselves to say so to the master."</p> - -<p>Finding she was to be no further detained, Selina sped on to the -Grange. Oscar was in the oak-parlour. She threw herself into a chair, -and burst into tears.</p> - -<p>"Oscar, I have been so terrified. As I came by the common with Reuben, -the men were there, and——"</p> - -<p>"What men?" interrupted Mr. Dalrymple.</p> - -<p>"Those who have been ejected from the cottages. They stopped me, and -began to speak about their wrongs."</p> - -<p>"Their—<i>wrongs</i>—did they say?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and I must say it also," she firmly answered, induced by fright -and excitement to remonstrate against the injustice she had hitherto -not liked to interfere with. "Cruel wrongs. Oscar, if you go on like -this, oppressing all on the estate, you will be murdered as sure as -you are living. They are threatening to drown Pinnett, if they can get -hold of him; and they do not lay the blame on Pinnett, except as your -agent, but on you."</p> - -<p>"Pinnett is not my agent. What Pinnett does, he does on his own score. -As to these harsh measures—as they are called—my sanction was not -asked for them."</p> - -<p>"But the poor men cannot see it in that light, Oscar; cannot be -brought to believe it," she returned, the tears running down her -cheeks. "It does seem so impossible to believe that Pinnett can be -allowed to——"</p> - -<p>"There, that's enough," interrupted Oscar. "Let it end."</p> - -<p>"Yes; but the trouble won't end, Oscar. And the men say they are -coming up here. There's a meeting, too, at Lee's tonight."</p> - -<p>"They can come if they please, and hold as many meetings as they -please," equably observed Oscar. "Men who are living in a state of -semi-rebellion must learn a wholesome lesson."</p> - -<p>"They have been provoked to it. They were never rebellious in papa's -time."</p> - -<p>He made no reply. Selina, her feelings strongly excited, her -sympathies bubbling up, continued.</p> - -<p>"It will be cruel to the farmers if you turn them from their farms; it -is doubly cruel to have forced these poor men from their cottages. -They paid their rent. You should see the miserable wives and children -huddled together on the common. I could not have acted so, Oscar, if I -had not a shilling in the world."</p> - -<p>Mr. Dalrymple wheeled round his chair to face his wife. "Whose cruel -conduct has been the original cause of it?" he asked in his cold -voice, that to her sounded worse than another man's anger. "Who -got into secret debt, to the tune of some seven or eight thousand -pounds—ay, nearer ten thousand, counting expenses—and let the bills -come in to me?"</p> - -<p>She dropped her eyes then, for his reproach was true.</p> - -<p>"And forced me to retrench, almost to starvation, and to exact the -last farthing that the estate will yield, to keep me from a prison? -Was it you or I, Mrs. Dalrymple?"</p> - -<p>"But things need not be made quite so bad," she took courage to say in -a timid tone; "you need not proceed to these extremes."</p> - -<p>"Your father's system was one of indulgence, mine is not; and the -tenants, large and small, don't know what to make of it. As to -Pinnett, he does not consider himself responsible to me for his -actions; and I—I cannot interfere with them. So long as I am a poor -man, struggling to pay your debts, Selina, so long must Pinnett take -his own course."</p> - -<p>Oscar turned back again, caught up the book he had laid down, and went -on reading it. Selina took a seat on the other side of the table, and -sat supporting her head with her hands. She wished things were not so -wretchedly uncomfortable, or that some good fairy would endow her with -a fortune. Suddenly a tramp of feet arose outside the house. Oscar -heard it, unmoved; Selina, her ears covered, did not hear it, or she -might have flown sooner to bar the doors. Before she could effect -this, the malcontents of the common were in the hall, their numbers -considerably augmented. It looked a formidable invasion. Was it murder -they intended?—or arson?—what was it not? Selina, in her terror, -flew to the top of the house, a servant-maid after her: they both, -with one accord, seized upon a rope, and the great alarm-bell boomed -out from the Grange.</p> - -<p>Up came the people from far and near; up came the fire-engines, from -the station close by, and felt exceedingly aggrieved at finding no -fire: the farmers, disturbed in the midst of their pipes and ale, -rushed up from Mr. Lee's. It was nothing but commotion. Old Mrs. -Dalrymple, terrified at the alarm-bell, hastened to the scene, Mary -Lynn with her, and Reuben coming up behind them.</p> - -<p>Contention, prolonged and bitter, was going on in the hall. Oscar -Dalrymple was at one end, listening, and not impatiently, to his -undesirable visitors, who would insist upon being heard at length. He -answered them calmly and civilly, not exasperating them in any way, -but he gave no hope of a change in the existing policy.</p> - -<p>After seeing his mistress seated in the hall, for she insisted on -making one of the audience, poor Reuben, grieved to the heart at the -aspect of affairs altogether, went outside the house, and paced about -in the moonlight. It was a fine, light night. He had strolled near the -stables, when he was accosted by some one who stood aloof, under the -shade of the walls.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter here, that people should be running, in this way, -into the Grange?"</p> - -<p>"I should call it something like a rise," answered Reuben, -sorrowfully. "Are you a stranger, sir?"</p> - -<p>"I am a stranger. Until this night I have not been in the -neighbourhood for years. But I formerly was on intimate terms with the -Dalrymple family, and have stayed here with them for weeks together."</p> - -<p>"Have you, though!" cried Reuben. "In the Squire's time, sir?"</p> - -<p>"In the Squire's time. I remember you, I think. Reuben."</p> - -<p>"Ay, I am Reuben, sir. Sad changes have taken place since then. My old -master's gone, and Mr. Robert is gone, and the Grange is now Oscar -Dalrymple's."</p> - -<p>"I knew of Mr. Dalrymple's death. What became of his son?"</p> - -<p>"He soon followed his father. It will not do to talk of, sir."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean that he died?" returned the stranger. But before Reuben -could answer, Farmer Lee came up and commenced a warm comment on the -night's work.</p> - -<p>"I hope there'll be no bloodshed," said he; "we don't want that; but -the men are growing more excited, and Mr. Dalrymple has sent off a -private messenger to the police-station."</p> - -<p>"This gentleman used to know the family," interposed Reuben; "he has -come to the place tonight for the first time for years. This riot is -a fine welcome for him."</p> - -<p>"I was asking some particulars of what has transpired since my -absence," explained the stranger. "I have been out of England, and now -thought to renew my acquaintance with the family. What did Robert -Dalrymple die of? I knew him well."</p> - -<p>"He fell into trouble, sir," interposed Reuben. "A random, wicked -London set got hold of him, fleeced and ruined him, and he could not -bear up against it."</p> - -<p>"Died of it?" questioned the stranger.</p> - -<p>"He put an end to himself," said Mr. Lee, in a low tone. "Threw -himself into the Thames from one of the London bridges, and was -drowned."</p> - -<p>"How deplorable! And so the Grange passed to Oscar Dalrymple."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the farmer. "He married the eldest of the young ladies, -Selina, and something not pleasant arose with them. They went to -London, and there she ran very deeply into debt. Her husband brought -her back to the Grange; and since then he has been an awful landlord, -grinding us all down to powder. Things have come to such a pass now -that we expect a riot. The poor labourers who tenanted the Mill -Cottages have been ejected today; they have come up to have it out -with Oscar Dalrymple, leaving their families and chairs and tables on -the common. One of them, Thoms, could not be forced out, so they just -took his roof off and his doors out."</p> - -<p>The stranger seemed painfully surprised. "I never thought to hear this -of a Dalrymple!"</p> - -<p>But here Reuben again interposed. Jealous for the name, even though -borne by Oscar, he told of the leasing of the estate to Pinnett, and -that it was he, not Oscar, who was proceeding to these cruel -extremities.</p> - -<p>"I should call that so much nonsense," said the stranger. "Lease the -estate! that has a curious sound. Has he leased away all power over -it? One cannot believe that."</p> - -<p>"No; and we don't believe it," said the farmer, "not one of us; Mr. -Dalrymple can't make us, though he tries hard to do so. He is playing -Old Nick with us, sir, and nothing else. It was a fatal night for us -that took Mr. Robert."</p> - -<p>"You would have been better off under him, you think?"</p> - -<p>"Think!" indignantly retorted the farmer. "You could not have known -Robert Dalrymple to ask it."</p> - -<p>"Robert Dalrymple died in debt, I take it. Did he owe much in this -neighbourhood?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing here."</p> - -<p>"Did he owe you anything?"</p> - -<p>"Me!" cried the farmer. "Not he. Why, only a day before his death I -had sent five hundred pounds to him to invest for me. He had not time -to do it himself, but a gentleman who took a great deal of interest in -Mr. Robert, and saw to his affairs afterwards, did it."</p> - -<p>"What gentleman was that?"</p> - -<p>"It was Mr. Grubb: he is Sir Francis Netherleigh now, and has come -into Court Netherleigh. His sister—who is at the Grange tonight with -old Mrs. Dalrymple—and Mr. Robert were to have been married. She has -stayed single for his sake."</p> - -<p>"Robert Dalrymple may not be dead," spoke the stranger.</p> - -<p>But this hypothesis was received with disfavour; not to say scorn. The -stranger maintained his opinion, saying that it was his opinion.</p> - -<p>"Then perhaps you'll enjoy your opinion in private," rebuked Mr. Lee. -"To talk in that senseless manner only makes us feel the fact of his -death more sharply."</p> - -<p>"What if I tell you I met him abroad, only a year ago?" There was a -dead pause. Reuben breathed heavily. "Oh, don't play with us!" he -cried out; "if my dear young master's alive, let me know it. But he -cannot be alive," he added mournfully: "he would have made it known to -us before now."</p> - -<p>The stranger unwound a large handkerchief, in which his face and chin -had been muffled, raised his soft round hat from his brows, and -advanced from the shade into the moonlight.</p> - -<p>"Reuben! John Lee! do I look anything like him?"</p> - -<p>Reuben sank on his knees, too faint to support himself in the -overwhelming surprise and joy. For it was indeed his young master, -Robert Dalrymple, raised, as it seemed, from a many years' grave. The -old servant broke into sobs that would not be controlled.</p> - -<p>"But it is nothing less than magic," cried the farmer, when he had -wrung Robert's hand as if he would wring it off, and both he and -Reuben had had time to take in the full truth of the revelation. -"Dead—yet living!"</p> - -<p>"I never was dead," said Robert. "The night that I found myself -irretrievably ruined——"</p> - -<p>But here Robert Dalrymple's explanation was interrupted by a noise. -The malcontents, driven wild by Oscar's cold equanimity, which they -took to be purely supercilious, were rushing out of the Grange by the -front-entrance, fierce threats and oaths pouring from their lips. -Oscar Dalrymple might go to perdition! They'd fire the place over his -head, commencing with the barns and outhouses!</p> - -<p>"Stay, stay, stay! let me have a few words with you before you begin," -spoke one, meeting them with assured, but kind authority; and his calm -voice acted like oil poured upon troubled waters.</p> - -<p>It was Sir Francis Netherleigh. Hearing of the riot, he had hastened -up. He reasoned with the men, promised to see what he could do to get -their wrongs redressed, told them that certain barns and outhouses of -his were being warmed and made comfortable for them for the night, and -their wives and children were already on their way to take possession. -Finally, he subdued them to peace and good temper.</p> - -<p>But while this was taking place in front of the house, there had been -another bit of by-play near the stables. Mary Lynn, terrified for the -effect of the riotous threats on Mrs. Dalrymple in her precarious -state of health, begged her to return home, and ran out to look -for Reuben. Mr. Lee discerned her leaning over the gate of the -kitchen-garden, gazing about on all sides in the moonlight. A bright -idea struck him, quite a little bit of romance.</p> - -<p>"I'll fetch her to you here, Mr. Robert," he said. "I'll break the -glad news to her carefully. And—<i>you</i> won't turn as out of our homes, -will you, sir?" he lingered to say.</p> - -<p>"That I certainly will not; and those who are already out shall go -back again. But," added Robert, smiling, "I fear I shall be obliged to -turn somebody out of the Grange."</p> - -<p>"There's Pinnett, sir?" came the next doubting remark. "If Mr. Oscar -Dalrymple has leased him the estate, who knows but the law may give -him full power over us——"</p> - -<p>"Leased him the estate!" interposed Robert. "Why, my good friend, it -was not Oscar Dalrymple's to lease: it was mine. Be at rest."</p> - -<p>Relieved at heart, the farmer marched up to Mary; managing, despite -the most ingenious intentions, to startle and confuse her. He opened -the conference by telling her, with an uncomfortably mysterious air, -that a dead man had come to life again who was waiting to see her: and -Mary's thoughts, greatly disturbed, flew to a poor labourer who had -died, really died, that morning.</p> - -<p>"What do you mean, Mr. Lee?" she interrupted, with some awe. "You -can't know what you are saying. Colter come to life again!"</p> - -<p>"There! I know how I always bungle over this sort o' thing," cried the -abashed farmer. "You must just forgive me. And you can well afford to, -Miss Mary, for it's not Colter come to life at all; it is young Mr. -Robert Dalrymple. And here he is, walking towards you."</p> - -<p>The farmer discreetly disappeared. Mary tottered into the shade, and -stood for support against the trunk of the great elm-tree. Robert drew -her from it to the shelter of his faithful heart.</p> - -<p>"Yes; it is I, my darling; I, myself—do not tremble so," he -whispered. "God has been very merciful to me, more merciful than I -deserve, and has brought me back to you and to home again."</p> - -<p>She lay there, on his breast, the strong arms around her that would -henceforth be her shelter throughout life.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_38" href="#div1Ref_38">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>ROBERT DALRYMPLE.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Sundry shouts startling the night-air, combined with the dashing up of -horsemen, caused no little stir amidst the crowd. The booming of the -alarm-bell somewhat earlier in the evening had been less ominous than -this.</p> - -<p>They were the police-officers from Netherleigh, sent for by Oscar -Dalrymple, and they had come mounted, for the sake of speed. The -moon had gone under a cloud, the old structure, Moat Grange, -appeared shadowy and indistinct, and to the imagination of these poor -excited labourers, assembled to discuss their position, the three -officers—for there were but three—looked magnified into a formidable -number. Sir Francis Netherleigh had appeased their anger, but he could -not subdue the sense of wrong that burnt in the men's minds; and when -he left them, they, instead of dispersing quietly in accordance with -his recommendation, lingered where they were, and whispered together -of Pinnett and of treason.</p> - -<p>On the other side of the house was a group, more peaceful, but not a -whit less excited. Of all the surprises met with by Francis -Netherleigh in his own life, he had never had so complete a one as -this, or one so satisfactory. Searching about after malcontents that -might have scattered themselves, he came round by the outhouses and -the kitchen-garden; and there he saw a stranger talking with his -sister Mary, Farmer Lee and Reuben standing at a little distance. The -moon was bright then; the stranger stood bareheaded, and there was -that in his form and in the outlines of his face that thrilled chords -in the memory of Sir Francis.</p> - -<p>"Don't be frightened, sir," spoke Farmer Leo to him, in whispered -tones, as befitted the wonderful subject; "it is himself, and not his -ghost. It is, indeed."</p> - -<p>"But <i>who</i> is it?" cried Sir Francis, his eyes strained earnestly on -the stranger.</p> - -<p>"Himself, I say, sir—Robert Dalrymple."</p> - -<p>"Robert Dalrymple!"</p> - -<p>"Ay. Come back from the dead, as one may say. He made himself known to -me and Reuben; and then I went and broke the news to Miss Mary. And -there they both are, talking together."</p> - -<p>But Mary had discerned her brother, and they were coming forward. "Is -it possible to believe it?" asked Sir Francis, as they met, his hand -clasping Robert's with a warm grasp.</p> - -<p>"I think you may; I think you cannot fail to recognize me, changed and -aged though I know I am," answered Robert, with an emotion that -bordered upon tears.</p> - -<p>"You have been alive all this time—and not dead, as we have deplored -you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, all this time; and I never knew until a little while ago that I -was looked upon as dead."</p> - -<p>"But what became of you, Robert? It was thought, that dreadful night, -that you——"</p> - -<p>"Threw myself into the Thames," put in Robert, in the slight pause -made by Sir Francis. They were all standing together now, Mary a -little apart, her hand upon the gate, and the moonlight flickered on -them through the branches of the thinning autumn trees. "I was very -near doing it," he continued; "nearer than any one, save God, can -know. It was a dreadful night to me, one of shame and despair. Knowing -myself to be irretrievably ruined, a rogue upon earth——"</p> - -<p>"Hold there, sir," cried Reuben, "a rogue you never were."</p> - -<p>"I was, Reuben. And you shall all hear how. Mary,"—turning to -her—"<i>you</i> shall hear also. A beggar myself, I staked that night at -the gaming-table the money I held of yours, Lee, the five hundred -pounds you had entrusted to me, staked it, and lost it. I cannot -understand how you—but I'll leave that just now. The money gone, I -wandered about the streets, a desperate man, and found myself on -Westminster Bridge. It was in my heart to leap into the river, to take -the blind leap into futurity my uncle had taken before me. I was -almost in the very act of doing it, when a passer-by, seeing my -perilous position, pulled me back, and asked what I meant by hanging -over there. It is to him I owe my life."</p> - -<p>"Under God," breathed Mary, remembering her dream.</p> - -<p>"Ay," assented Robert, "under God. It proved to be one Joseph Horn, a -young man employed at my tailor's, and he recognized me. I made an -excuse about the heat of the night, that I was leaning over for a -breath of air from the water: and finally Horn left me. But the -incident had served to arrest my purpose; to show me my folly and my -sin. I am not ashamed to confess that I knelt down, there and then, to -ask God to help me, and to save me from myself; and—He did it. I -quitted the dangerous spot——"</p> - -<p>"Your hat was found in the Thames, and brought back the next day, Mr. -Robert," interrupted poor, bewildered, happy Reuben.</p> - -<p>"It blew off, into the river; it was one of the windiest nights I was -ever out in, except at sea," answered Robert. "I walked about the -streets till morning, taking myself sharply to task, and considering -how I could give myself a chance for a better life. I had still my -watch and ring, both of value—they would have gone long before, just -as everything else had gone, but that they had been my father's, and -were given over by him to me on his death-bed. I parted with them now, -disguised myself in rough clothes, went to Liverpool, and thence to -America."</p> - -<p>"But why did you not come to me instead?" asked Sir Francis.</p> - -<p>"I was ashamed to do so. Look at the debts I owed; at what I had done -with Lee's money! No, there was nothing for it but to hide my head -from you all, and from the world. Had I made a fortune, I should have -come back in triumph, but I never did make it. I found employment as a -clerk at New Orleans, and kept myself; that was all."</p> - -<p>"If you had only just let us know you were alive, Robert!" cried Mary.</p> - -<p>He shook his head. "I did not suppose any one would care to know it. I -expected that the extent of my villainy had come out, and that you -would all be thankful if I disappeared for ever. So there I remained, -in the Crescent City, passing as 'Mr. Charles,' my second name, and -making the best of my blighted life. I"—his tone suddenly changed to -laughter—"nearly married and settled there."</p> - -<p>"Oh!"—Mary gave quite a start.</p> - -<p>"I had an excellent offer; yes, I assure you I had. It was leap-year. -A flourishing widow, some few years older than myself, took a fancy to -me. She had a fine house and grounds on the banks of the Mississippi, -and an income not to be despised; and she proposed that I should throw -up my wearisome daily work and become the master of all this—and of -her. I took it into consideration, I can tell you."</p> - -<p>"And what prevented your accepting it?" laughed Sir Francis.</p> - -<p>"Well, the one bare thought—it did not amount to hope—that a turn of -good fortune <i>might</i> some time bring me back here, to find"—with a -glance at Mary—"what I have found."</p> - -<p>"And the good fortune came, sir—and has brought you back!" exclaimed -the farmer.</p> - -<p>"Yes; it came," replied Robert, "it came: a turn that was very like -romance, and once more exemplified the saying that truth is stranger -than fiction. You are aware, I think, that my father had a relative -living in Liverpool, Benjamin Dalrymple?" added Robert, chiefly -addressing Sir Francis—who nodded in reply.</p> - -<p>"Benjamin Dalrymple never corresponded with us, would not notice us; a -serious difference had arisen between him and my father in early days. -But, a year after my father's death, when I chanced to be in -Liverpool, I called upon him. He was cordial enough with me, seemed -rather to take a fancy to me, and I stayed with him three weeks. He -was a cotton-broker, and would take me down to his office in a -morning, and show me his routine of business, verily hoping, I -believe, that I should take to it and join him. When, later, I became -hard up, and had not a shilling to turn to in the world, I wrote to -Benjamin Dalrymple from London, asking him to help me. Not by the -smallest fraction, he replied; a young man who could run into debt, -with my patrimony, would run into debt to the end of the chapter, -though his income might number tens of thousands. Well, all that -passed away; and——"</p> - -<p>Robert paused.</p> - -<p>"The house I served in America exported cotton home in large -quantities," he continued rapidly. "Benjamin Dalrymple was amongst -their larger correspondents. Some few months ago, his confidential -clerk, a taciturn gentleman named Patten, came over on business to New -Orleans, to this very house I was in. He saw me and recognized me; we -had dined together more than once at old Benjamin's table in -Liverpool. Patten had believed me dead; drowned; and it no doubt gave -him a turn when he saw me alive. I told him my history, asking him -not to let it transpire in the old world or the new. But it seems he -considered it his duty to repeat it to old Benjamin on his return -home: and he did so. The result was, that Benjamin set up a -correspondence with me, and finally commanded me to give up my place -as clerk and go back to him. I did so; and I——"</p> - -<p>Again Robert stopped; this time in evident emotion.</p> - -<p>"Go on, Robert," said Sir Francis. "What is it?"</p> - -<p>"My story has a sad ending," answered Robert, his tone depressed. "I -landed at Liverpool to find Benjamin Dalrymple ill with a mortal -illness. He had been ailing for some time, but the fatal truth had -then declared itself. He was so changed, too!—I suppose people do -change when they are about to die. From being a cold, hard man, he had -become gentle and loving in manner. I must remain with him until the -end, he said, and be to him as a son."</p> - -<p>"Was he not married, sir?" asked Farmer Lee.</p> - -<p>"He had never married. I did remain with him, doing what I could for -him, and making no end of promises, which he exacted, with regard to -my future life and conduct. In twenty-one days, exactly, from the day -I landed, the end came."</p> - -<p>"He died?"</p> - -<p>"He died. I waited for his funeral. And," concluded Robert, modestly, -"he has made me his heir."</p> - -<p>"Thank Heaven for that!" murmured old Reuben.</p> - -<p>"How much it is, I cannot tell you," said Robert, "but an enormous -sum. Patten puts it down at half a million: and, that, after clerks -and other dependents have been well provided for. So, every one who -has ever suffered by me in the shape of debt will be recompensed; and -Moat Grange will hold its own again."</p> - -<p>But his return had to be made known to others who were interested in -it: his mother, his sisters, Oscar Dalrymple. Of the latter Robert -spoke some hard words.</p> - -<p>"I had thought to give him a fair portion of this wealth in right of -Selina," avowed he. "But I don't know now. A man who can so oppress an -estate does not merit much favour."</p> - -<p>"Oscar has been worse thought of than he deserves," explained Sir -Francis Netherleigh. "Rely upon that, Robert. He has been sorely -tried, sorely put to for money for some few years now, through no -fault of his own——"</p> - -<p>"No; through Selina's," interrupted Robert. "Old Benjamin knew all -about it."</p> - -<p>"He has been striving to make both ends meet, to pay his obligations -justly and honourably, and he could only do it by dint of pinching and -screwing," went on Sir Francis. "The great mistake of his later life -was leasing the estate to Pinnett. It is thought that he could have -arrested Pinnett's harsh acts; my opinion is that he could not."</p> - -<p>"I am glad to hear you say so," cried Robert, cordially. "Oscar was -always near, but he was just."</p> - -<p>They were moving slowly through the garden to the house, when a -disturbance struck upon their ears. It came from the front of the -Grange; and all, except Mary, hastened round to the scene. It was, in -fact, the moment of the arrival of the mounted police. The officers -shouted, the crowd rebelled; and Oscar Dalrymple ran out. The police, -hasty as usual, were for taking up the malcontents wholesale; the -latter resisted, protesting they had done nothing to be taken up for. -They had only come up to speak to Mr. Dalrymple, and "there was no law -against that," said they.</p> - -<p>"You break the law when you use threats to a man in his own house," -cried Featherston, the chief constable.</p> - -<p>"We haven't used no threats," retorted Dyke. "We want an answer from -Mr. Dalrymple; whether he's going to force us to lodge under the wind -and the rain, or whether he'll find us roofs in place of them he has -destroyed. They've bid us go to the workhouse; but he knows that if we -go there we lose all chance of getting our living, and shall never -have a home for our families again."</p> - -<p>"There's no longer room for you on the estate; no dwellings for you -left upon it," spoke up a voice; and the men turned sharply, for they -knew it was Pinnett's. Countenanced by the presence of the constables, -the agent came out from some shelter or other, and showed himself -openly.</p> - -<p>"We won't say nothing about mercy," savagely cried Dyke; "but we'd -like justice. Justice, sir!" turning to Oscar Dalrymple, as he stood -by the side of Mr. Cleveland, who had just come up. "Hands off, Mr. -Constable! I'm doing nothing yet, save asking a plain question. Is -there any justice?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, there is justice," interrupted another voice, which thrilled -through the very marrow of Oscar Dalrymple, as Robert advanced and -took his place near Mr. Cleveland, who started back in positive -fright. "Oscar, you know me, I see; gentlemen, some of you know me: I -am Robert Dalrymple, and I have returned to claim my own."</p> - -<p>Was it a spectre? Many of them looked as if they feared so. Was it -some deception of the moonlight? Featherston, brave policeman though -he was, backed away in terror.</p> - -<p>"I find you have all thought me dead," proceeded Robert; "but I am not -dead, and never was dead; I have simply been abroad. I fell into debt -and difficulty; but, now that the difficulties are over, I have come -amongst you again."</p> - -<p>"It's the Squire!" burst forth the men, as they gradually awoke to the -truth; "we've never called the other one so. Our own young Squire's -come home again, and our troubles are over. Good luck to the ship that -brought him!"</p> - -<p>Robert laughed. "Yes, your troubles shall be over. I hear that there -has been dissatisfaction; and, perhaps, oppression. I can only say -that I will set everything right. The tenants who have been served -with a notice to quit"—glancing round at Lee and Bumford—"may burn -it; and you, my poor fellows, who have been ejected from your -cottages, shall be reinstalled in them."</p> - -<p>"But, my dear young master," cried Dyke, despondingly, "some of the -roofs be off, and the walls be pretty nigh levelled with the ground."</p> - -<p>"I will build them up for you, Dyke, stronger than ever," said -Robert, heartily. "Here's my hand upon it."</p> - -<p>Not only Dyke, but many more pressed forward to clasp Robert's hands; -and so hard and earnest were the pressures, that Robert was almost -tempted to cry for quarter. In the midst of this, Pinnett thought it -time to speak.</p> - -<p>"You talk rather fast, sir: even if you are Mr. Robert Dalrymple. The -estate is mine for some six years to come. It has been leased to me by -its owner."</p> - -<p>"That it certainly has not been," returned Robert, his tone one of -conscious power. "I am its owner. The estate has been mine throughout; -as I did not die, it could not have lapsed from me. My brother-in-law, -acting under a mistake, entered into possession, but he has never been -the legal owner. Consequently, whatever acts be may have ordered, -performed, or sanctioned, are NULL and VOID. Constables, I think your -services will not be required here."</p> - -<p>Pinnett ground his teeth. "It's to know whether you <i>are</i> Robert -Dalrymple—and not an impostor."</p> - -<p>"I can certify that it is really Robert Dalrymple; I baptized him," -laughed Mr. Cleveland. "There is no mistaking him and his handsome -face."</p> - -<p>"And I and Mr. Lee can swear to it, if you like," put in Reuben, -looking at Pinnett. "So could the rest of us. I wish we were all as -sure of heaven!"</p> - -<p>Robert put his hand into Oscar's under cover of the darkness. "You -know me, Oscar, well enough. Let us be friends. I have not come home -to sow discord; rather peace and goodwill. The Grange must be mine -again, you know; I can't help that; but, when you and Selina quit it -for your own place, you shall not go out empty-handed.</p> - -<p>"I don't understand you," returned Oscar.</p> - -<p>"I have come back a rich man; and you shall share in the good. Next to -endowing my mother, I shall take care of my sisters. Ah, Oscar, these -past few years have been full of gloom and trouble for many of us. Now -that the clouds have broken, let us hope that the future will bring -with it a good deal of sunshine."</p> - -<p>The assemblage began to disperse. Mr. Cleveland undertook to break the -glad news to Mrs. Dalrymple and Selina.</p> - -<p>Reuben crept up to his master with an anxious, troubled face. "Mr. -Robert," he breathed, "have you quite left off the—the PLAY? You will -not be tempted to take to it again?"</p> - -<p>"Never, Reuben," was the grave, hushed answer. "That night, which you -all thought fatal to me, and which was so near being so, as I stood on -the bridge, looking into the dark water, I took a solemn oath that I -would never again touch a card, or any other incentive to gambling. I -never shall."</p> - -<p>"Heaven be praised!" murmured Reuben. And the old man felt that he was -ready to say with Simeon of old: "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant -depart in peace."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_39" href="#div1Ref_39">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></h4> -<h5>LADY ADELA.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Winter had come, and passed; and spring flowers and sunshine gladdened -the land.</p> - -<p>In my Lady Acorn's dressing-room at Chenevix House stood my lady -herself, her head and hands betraying temper, her tart tongue in loud -assertion. Opposite to her, the same blonde, suave dame she had ever -been, waited Madame Damereau. Madame was not tart or rude; she could -not be that; but nevertheless she maintained her own cause, and gave -my lady answer for answer.</p> - -<p>Every available place in the room was covered with a robe, bonnet, -mantle, or other choice article essential to a lady's attire: on the -sofa lay a costly bridal dress. You might have fancied it the -show-room itself of Madame Damereau. Lady Frances Chenevix was to be -married on the morrow to Gerard Hope. The colonel had been telling -them both ever since Christmas that he thought they ought to fix the -day if they meant to marry at all, and so arrangements were made, and -they named one early in April.</p> - -<p>The articles lying about formed part of the trousseau of Lady Frances; -the grievance distracting Lady Acorn was connected with them; for she -saw great many more spread out than she had ordered, and was giving -way to wrath. Madame Damereau, condescending to appear at Chenevix -House this afternoon, to superintend, herself, the trying-on of the -bridal robe, had arrived just in time for the storm.</p> - -<p>"Was anything so unreasonable, was anything so extravagant ever seen -before in this world?" demanded Lady Acorn, spreading out her arms to -right and left. "I tell you there are fifty things here that I -never ordered; that I never should order, unless I lost my senses. -Look at that costly silk costume—that shaded grey—why, you'd charge -five-and-twenty guineas for that, if you charged a farthing. Don't -tell me, madame."</p> - -<p>"Plutôt thirty guineas, I believe," equably answered madame. "It is of -the richest, that silk. Miladi Frances intends it for her robe de -voyage tomorrow."</p> - -<p>"She may intend to go voyaging about in gold, but be no nearer doing -it," retorted the countess. "I never ordered that dress, and I won't -take it."</p> - -<p>"Is anything the matter?" interrupted a joyous voice at this juncture, -and Frances ran into the room with her bonnet on. "I am sorry to have -kept you waiting, madame, but I could not help it. Is my lady mother -scolding at my extravagance?"</p> - -<p>"Extravagance is not the name for it," retorted the countess. "How -dare you do these wild things, Frances? Do you suppose I should accept -all these things, or pay for them?"</p> - -<p>"No, mamma, I knew you would not," laughed Frances, "I shall pay for -them myself."</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed! Where will the money come from?"</p> - -<p>"Colonel Hope gave it me," said the happy girl, executing a pirouette. -"A few days ago he put three bank-notes of one hundred pounds each -into my hands, saying he supposed I could spend it; and I went to -madame's at once. What a love of a costume!" cried Frances, turning to -the grey silk which had so excited her mother's ire. "I am going away -in that."</p> - -<p>But the great event of this afternoon, that of trying-on the bridal -dress, must be proceeded with, for Madame Damereau's time was more -precious than that of ordinary mortals. The bride-elect was arrayed in -it, and was pacing about in her splendour, peeping into all the -mirrors, when a message was brought to Lady Acorn that Mr. Cleveland -was below. He had come up from Netherleigh to perform the marriage -ceremony, and was to be the guest for a day or two of Lord and Lady -Acorn.</p> - -<p>She went down at once, leaving Frances and Madame Damereau. There were -many odds and ends of Netherleigh gossip she wished to hear from the -Rector. He was bending over the drawing-room fire.</p> - -<p>"Are you cold?" inquired Lady Acorn.</p> - -<p>"Rather. As we grow older, we feel the cold and fatigue of a journey -more keenly," he added, smiling. "It is a regular April day: warm in -the sun, very cold in the wind and shade."</p> - -<p>"He is getting older," thought Lady Acorn, as she looked at his face, -chilled and grey, and his whitening hair; though, for a wonder, she -did not tell him so. They had not met for some months. He had paid no -visit to London since the previous November, and then his errand had -been the same as now—to celebrate a marriage.</p> - -<p>And, of the events of the past autumn and winter months there is not -much to relate. Oscar Dalrymple was in his own place now, Knutford, -Selina with a handsome income settled on her; and Robert and his wife -lived at Moat Grange. They had been married from Grosvenor Square in -November, Mr. Cleveland, as again now, coming up for it. Lady Adela -was still at Netherleigh Rectory. And, perhaps it was of her that the -countess wanted chiefly to question the Rector. She did not, however, -do that all at once.</p> - -<p>"All quite well at home?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Tolerably so, thank you," he replied. "Mary, as you know, is ailing: -and will be for some little time to come."</p> - -<p>"Dear me, yes," came the quick, irritable assent. "This baby will make -the third. I can't think what you want with so many."</p> - -<p>The Rector laughed. "Mary sent her love to you; and especially to -Frances: and I was to be sure to say to Frances how sorry she was not -to be able to be at her wedding. Adela also sent her love."</p> - -<p>"Ah! And how is <i>she?</i>"</p> - -<p>"She——" Mr. Cleveland hesitated. "She is much the same. Tolerably -well in health, I think."</p> - -<p>"I suppose Robert Dalrymple and his wife are coming up today?"</p> - -<p>"They came with me. Francis Netherleigh's carriage was waiting for -them at the terminus. It brought me on also."</p> - -<p>"And that poor girl Alice, is she any stronger?"</p> - -<p>"She will never be stronger in this world," said the Rector, shaking -his head. "But she is pretty well—for her. I think her life may be -prolonged some few years yet."</p> - -<p>"She and Gerard Hope had a love affair once; I am pretty sure of it. -He liked her better than he liked Frances."</p> - -<p>"Well, she could never have married. One so sickly as Alice ought not -to become a wife; and she had, I expect, the good sense to see that. -I know she is pleased at his marriage with Frances. She is most -unselfish; truly good; there are not many like Alice Dalrymple. Her -mother is surprisingly well," he went on, after a pause; "seems to -have gone from an old woman into a young one. Robert's coming back did -that for her."</p> - -<p>"And now—what about Adela's behaviour? how is she going on?" snapped -Lady Acorn, as if the very subject soured her.</p> - -<p>"I wanted to speak to you about Adela," said Mr. Cleveland. "In one -sense of the word, she is not going on satisfactorily. Though her -health is pretty good, I believe, her mind is anything but healthy. -Mary and I often talk of it in private, and she said I had better -speak to you."</p> - -<p>"Why, it is just the case of the MacIvors over again!" interrupted -Lady Acorn. "Harriet sent Sandy to talk to me about it, just in this -way, last summer."</p> - -<p>"Yes, there has not been much change since then, I fancy. I confess -that I am very sorry for Adela."</p> - -<p>"Is she still like a shadow?"</p> - -<p>"Like little else. The fever of the mind is consuming the body. I look -upon it as the most hopeless case I have ever known. Adela does the -same, though from a different point of view. She is dying for her -husband's forgiveness. She would like to live in his memory as one not -abjectly despicable, and she knows she must and does so live in it. -She pictures his contempt for her, his condemnation of the way she -acted in the past; and her humiliation, coupled with remorse, has -grown into a disease. Yes, it is a miserable case. They are as -entirely and hopelessly separated as they could be by death."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Cleveland! You are here, then?"</p> - -<p>The interruption came from the earl. He stepped forward to shake -hands, and drew a chair beside the Rector.</p> - -<p>"We were talking of Adela," said the countess, when the few words of -greeting were over. "She has not come to her senses yet."</p> - -<p>"I was saying that her case is certainly one of the most hopeless ever -known," observed Mr. Cleveland. "She is as utterly separated from her -husband as she could be by death, whilst both are yet living, and have -probably a long life before them."</p> - -<p>Lord Acorn sighed. "One can't help being sorry for Adela, wrong and -mistaken though she was."</p> - -<p>Mr. Cleveland glanced at the earl. "I am glad you came in," he said. -"I wanted to speak to you as well as to Lady Acorn. Adela talks of -going into a Sisterhood."</p> - -<p>"Into a <i>what?</i>" cried her ladyship; her tone one of unbounded -surprise.</p> - -<p>"She has had the idea in her mind for some time, I fancy," continued -the Rector. "I heard of it first last autumn, when she startled me one -day by suddenly expressing a wish that she was a Roman Catholic. I -found that the wish did not proceed from any desire to change her -creed, but simply because the Roman Catholics possess places of refuge -in the shape of convents, into which a poor creature, as Adela -expressed it, tired of having no longer a place in the world, might -enter, and find peace."</p> - -<p>"She'd soon wish herself out again!" cried Lady Acorn: while the -earl's generally impassive face wore a look of disturbance.</p> - -<p>"I heard no more of this for some time," resumed Mr. Cleveland, "and -dismissed it from my memory, believing it to have been only a hasty -expression arising from some moment's vexation. But a week or two ago -Mary discovered that Adela was really and truly thinking of retiring -into some place of refuge or other."</p> - -<p>"Into a convent?" cried Lady Acorn.</p> - -<p>"No. And not into any institution of the Roman Catholics. It seems she -has been corresponding lately with some of her former acquaintances, -who might, as she thought, help her, and making inquiries of them. I -noticed that letters came for her rather frequently, and I hoped she -was beginning to take a little more interest in life. However, through -some person or other, she has heard of an institution that she feels -inclined to try. I think——"</p> - -<p>"What is this institution?" imperatively demanded the countess. "If -it's not a convent, what is it?"</p> - -<p>"Well, it is not, as I gather, a religious institution at all, in the -sense of setting itself up for religion especially, or professing any -one particular creed over other creeds," replied Mr. Cleveland. "It -is, in point of fact, a nursing institution. And Adela, if she enters -it, will have to attend to the sick, night or day."</p> - -<p>"Heaven help her for a simpleton!" ejaculated her ladyship. "Why, you -might take every occupation known to this world, and not find one to -which she is less suited. Adela could not nurse the sick, however good -her will night be. She has no vocation for it."</p> - -<p>"Just what my wife says. Some people are, so to say, born nurses, -while others, and Adela is one of them, could never fit themselves for -it. Mary told her so only yesterday. To this, and to other -remonstrance, Adela has only one answer—that the probationary -training she will have to undergo will remedy her defects and -inexperience," replied the Rector.</p> - -<p>"But the life of a sick-nurse is so exhausting, so wearying to the -frame and spirit!" cried Lord Acorn, who had listened in dismay. -"Where is this place?"</p> - -<p>"It is in Yorkshire. Three or four ladies, sisters, middle-aged, -educated women of fortune, set up the scheme. Wishing, it is said, to -satisfy their consciences by doing some useful work in the world, they -pitched upon nursing, and began by going out of their home, first one -and then another, whenever any poor peasant turned sick. They were, no -doubt, good Christian women, sacrificing their own ease, comfort, and -income for the benefit of others. From that arose the Institution, as -it is called now; other ladies joined it, and it is known far and -wide. I have not one word to say against it: rather would I speak in -its praise; but it will not do for Adela. Perhaps you can remonstrate -with her. It is not settled, I believe," added Mr. Cleveland. "Adela -has not finally made up her mind to go; though Mary fears she will do -so at once."</p> - -<p>"Let her," cried the countess, in her vexation. "Let my young lady -give the place a trial! She will soon come out of it again."</p> - -<p>In truth, poor Adela was at a loss what to do with her blighted -life—how to get through the weary days that had no pleasure in them. -Netherleigh Rectory had brought to her no more rest than Sir Sandy's -Scottish stronghold had brought, or the bleak old château in -Switzerland. She wanted peace, and she found it not.</p> - -<p>Some excitement crept into the daily monotony of her life whenever Sir -Francis was staying at Court Netherleigh. It was not often. She could -not bear to see him, for it brought back to her all the cruel pain of -having lost him; and yet, when she knew he was at Netherleigh, she was -unable to rest indoors, but must go out in the hope that she should -meet him at some safe distance; for she never ventured within view. It -was as a fever. And perhaps this very fact—that she could not, when -he was breathing the same atmosphere, rest without striving to see -him, combined with the consciousness that she ought not to do -so—rendered her more anxious to get away from Netherleigh and be -employed, mentally and bodily, at some wholesome daily work. Anyway, -what Mr. Cleveland stated was quite true: Lady Adela was corresponding -with this nursing institution in Yorkshire, with the view of entering -it.</p> - -<p>One phase of torment, which has not been mentioned, was growing to lie -so heavily upon her mind as to be almost insupportable. It was the -thought of the income allowed her by her husband. That she, who had -blighted his life, should be living upon his bounty, indebted to him -for every luxury that remained to her, was in truth hard to bear. If -she could only get a living for herself, though ever so poor a one, -how thankful she should be, she often told herself. And, perhaps this -trouble turned the scale, or speedily would turn it, in regard to -embracing this life of usefulness: for there would no longer be any -necessity for the allowance from Sir Francis.</p> -<br> - -<p>The wedding-day, Thursday, rose bright and glorious; just the day that -should shine on all happy bridals. Frances was given away by her -father, and Gerard was attended by a former fellow-clerk in the Red -Tape Office. Colonel Hope had settled an income upon his nephew; but -Gerard was still in the house in Leadenhall Street, and was likely to -remain there: for the colonel disapproved of idle young men. Gerard -had taken a small and pretty house at Richmond, and would travel to -the City of a morning.</p> - -<p>At the wedding breakfast-table at Lord Acorn's, Grace and Sir Francis -Netherleigh sat side by side. Towards its close, Grace took the -opportunity of saying something to him in a whisper.</p> - -<p>"We have been so confidential on many points for years, you and I, -unhappily have had to be so," she began, "that I think I scarcely need -make an apology, or ask your forgiveness, for a few words I wish to -say to you now."</p> - -<p>"Say on, Grace," was the cordial answer.</p> - -<p>"It is about Adela." And then she briefly touched upon what her father -and mother had heard from Mr. Cleveland the day before: of Adela's -unhappy frame of mind, and her idea of entering a nursing institution, -to become one of its sisterhood.</p> - -<p>Sir Francis heard her to the end in silence. But he heard her -apparently without interest: and somehow Grace's anxious spirit felt -thrown back upon itself.</p> - -<p>"It has troubled us all to hear this, my father especially," she said. -"It would be so laborious a life, so very unsuited to one delicate as -Adela."</p> - -<p>"I can readily understand that you would not altogether like it," he -replied, at length. "If money could be of any use——"</p> - -<p>"Oh no, no," interrupted Grace, flushing painfully. "The allowance you -have made from the first has been so wonderfully liberal. I don't know -why I mentioned the subject to you—except that we think it is -altogether undesirable for Adela."</p> - -<p>"Lord and Lady Acorn must be the best judges of that," was the very -indifferent answer.</p> - -<p>"Her mind is in the most unhappy state conceivable; as it has been all -along. For one thing," added Grace, her voice sinking to a yet lower -key, "I think she is pining for your forgiveness."</p> - -<p>"That is not at all likely, I fancy," coldly returned Sir Francis. And -as he evinced no inclination to continue the subject, but rather the -contrary, Grace said no more.</p> - -<p>She could not have told herself why she introduced it. Had it been -with any hope, consciously, or unconsciously, of being of service to -Adela, it had signally failed. Evidently his wife and her concerns -were topics that bore no longer any interest for Francis Netherleigh.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_40" href="#div1Ref_40">CHAPTER XL.</a></h4> -<h5>AT COURT NETHERLEIGH.</h5> -<br> - -<p>"Oh, Robert, what a lovely day!"</p> - -<p>Standing at the open window of her own pretty sitting-room, a room -that had been built and decorated for her during the late alterations -to Moat Grange, was Mary Dalrymple. Robert, heated and flushed, had -come swinging in at the gate, and caught the words across the lawn. He -had been out since early morning, superintending various matters; for -today was the grand fête-day at Moat Grange, and preparations were -being made for it.</p> - -<p>Robert called it a house-warming. He had talked of it, as a thing to -come, ever since his marvellous return—and marvellous the world -thought that return still: but he had waited for his marriage with -Mary Lynn to take place, and then for the alterations to be completed -that were to make the gloomy old house into a new one, and finally for -the warm summer weather. For this was to be an open-air entertainment, -for the gratification of the poor as well as the rich. Improvements -had gone on without doors as well as within. Those cottages by the old -mill had been rebuilt, and their humble tenants were reinstated. -Gratitude and contentment had taken the place of rebellion, and the -once angry men thought they could never do enough for their young -Squire, Robert Dalrymple.</p> - -<p>"What a lovely day!" repeated Mary.</p> - -<p>It was the first day of June, and one of the sweetest days that -charming month ever put forth. Excepting for a light fleecy cloud here -and there, the sky was of a deep blue; the sun flickered through the -trees, that yet wore somewhat of their tender green, and caught -Robert's head as he stood looking up at his wife.</p> - -<p>"Ay, it is," said Robert, in reply to her remark, "very lovely. But it -will be uncommonly hot, Mary; it is so already."</p> - -<p>She leaned from the window in her cool white morning gown, smiling at -her husband. How good-looking they both were—and how happy! Every now -and then, even yet, Mary could scarcely realize the change—the -intense happiness which had succeeded to the years of what had -appeared irredeemable sorrow.</p> - -<p>"And now, Robert," said Mary, "I think you must want breakfast—if you -have not had it."</p> - -<p>"But I have had it. I ran in to my mother's, and took some with her -and Alice. The tents are all up, Mary, and the people are getting into -their Sunday best."</p> - -<p>"So soon! Don't forget, if you please, sir, that we sit down to lunch -today at one o'clock precisely. We can't do without you then, you -know, though we did without you at breakfast."</p> - -<p>Robert drew a little nearer to the window. "Where are they all?" he -asked.</p> - -<p>"Gone for a stroll. I told them that I had a famished husband coming -in and must wait at home for him. I think Gerard and his wife have -only gone to your mother's. I don't know about Oscar and Selina. -Perhaps she is gone to see the new baby at the Rectory."</p> - -<p>"Selina does not care for babies."</p> - -<p>"But she cares for gossip. And Lady Mary is well enough for any amount -of that."</p> - -<p>"What is that letter in your hand?" asked Robert.</p> - -<p>His wife's face changed to sadness. "It contains bad news, Robert; and -though I have been chattering to you so gaily and lightly, it is lying -on my heart. Francis cannot come."</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>"Some dreadful measure—important, he calls it—has to be debated upon -in committee in the House this afternoon, and Francis has to stay for -it."</p> - -<p>"Well, I am disappointed," cried Robert.</p> - -<p>"As we all are. Robert, I do think it is too bad. I do think Francis -might have spared this one day to us," added Mary, with a sigh. "He -seems to regard politics as quite a recreation."</p> - -<p>"Don't be hard on him, Mary. He has little else now in the way of -recreation."</p> - -<p>Gerard Hope and Lady Frances had come to the Grange for the fête: -Gerard having coaxed a three days' holiday out of Mr. Howard, with -whom he was a favourite, though the old gentleman had grumblingly -reminded him that his honeymoon was not long over. Oscar Dalrymple and -Selina had also arrived the previous night from their own place, -Knutford. Perhaps in his heart Oscar had not been sorry to give up the -Grange and its troubles. At any rate, he made no sign of regret. Peace -and plenty had supervened on discomfort, and he and Selina were -friends with all.</p> - -<p>Mary had guessed rightly: Selina had gone to the Rectory. If not to -see the new baby, to see the baby's mother. The baby was more than two -weeks old, and Lady Mary was seated on a sofa, doing some useful work.</p> - -<p>"It is early days for that, is it not?" cried Selina, as she went in.</p> - -<p>"Not at all," laughed Lady Mary. "With all my little ones, I have to -be always at work. And I am thankful to be well enough for it. You -reached the Grange yesterday?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—and found all well. Mamma came up to dinner last night. She is -quite young and active. Gerard and Frances have gone to see Alice, who -is much better—and then Frances is coming here to see you. Every one -seems to be better," concluded Selina.—"And what delightful weather -we have for today!"</p> - -<p>"Where is your husband?"</p> - -<p>"Oscar! He went across the fields to the Mead House to see old -Bridport. What a pity you cannot come out today, Mary! And who else do -you think cannot come out? At least, not out <i>here</i>."</p> - -<p>"Who is that?"</p> - -<p>"Francis Netherleigh. Mary Dalrymple heard from him this morning. He -is kept in London by some business connected with the House. He would -have been the star of the fête. Yes, don't laugh at me—he <i>would</i>— -and we are all vexed. I wouldn't be in that House of Commons for the -world," resentfully concluded Selina. "I do think he might have -stretched a point today!"</p> - -<p>"Y-e-s—if he wished to come," was: the doubting assent. "The question -is—did he wish it?"</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" asked Selina.</p> - -<p>Mary Cleveland dropped her needle and looked at Mrs. Oscar Dalrymple. -"It has struck me that he has not cared to come here, you know. -Instead of taking up his abode at Court Netherleigh, he pays only a -flying visit to it now and then. My husband and I both think that he -does not choose to subject himself to the chance of meeting Adela."</p> - -<p>"I should not wonder. They were talking about Adela at the Grange last -night," resumed Selina, in accents of hesitation—"saying something -about her joining a sisterhood of nurses. But I'm sure <i>that</i> can't be -true."</p> - -<p>"It is quite true, Selina."</p> - -<p>Selina opened her amazed eyes. "True! Why, she would have to put her -hair under a huge cap, and wear straight-down cotton gowns and white -aprons!"</p> - -<p>Lady Mary smiled. <i>That</i> part of the programme would assuredly have -kept Selina from entering on anything of the sort.</p> - -<p>"Yes; it is true," repeated Mary. "The negotiations have been pending -for some time; but it is decided at last, and Adela departs for -Yorkshire on Saturday, the day after tomorrow, to shut herself into -the institution."</p> - -<p>"And will she never come out again?"</p> - -<p>Lady Mary shook her head. "We cannot foresee the future, Selina. All -we know is, that Adela is most unfitted for the kind of work, and we -shall be surprised if she does not break down under it. Her frame is -slight and delicate, her instincts are sensitive and refined. Fancy -Adela dressing broken heads, or sitting up for a week with a family of -children ill with fever!"</p> - -<p>Selina put her hands before her eyes. "Oh!" she cried in horror. "But -she surely won't have to do all that?"</p> - -<p>"She will. She must take any case she is appointed to."</p> - -<p>Lady Mary took up her work again, and Selina, serious and sobered for -once in her life, sat revolving what she had heard.</p> - -<p>"Surely she will not do this, Mary!"</p> - -<p>"Indeed she will. She is fully determined to enter upon it, and she -intends that it shall be for life. Her father came down here to -remonstrate with her: he has always had more influence over her than -any one else: but it availed nothing. They were together for an hour -in Adela's sitting-room here—and I could see how distressing to her -the interview had been. Her eyes were swollen with crying."</p> - -<p>"Well, I can't understand it," concluded Selina, rising. "Had it been -a question of necessity, there might be reason in her wanting to make -a guy of herself, but it is not so. Those big linen caps are -dreadful."</p> - -<p>The door of the red parlour was open as Selina gained the hall. Adela -sat there sewing: and Selina went in. How fragile and dainty and -delicate she looked, this still young and lovely woman, in her simple -muslin dress, with a ribbon at her throat and an edging of lace at the -wrists. Selina sat down.</p> - -<p>"At work today, Adela!"</p> - -<p>"I am making frocks for that poor Widow Jeffrey's children. But for -Mr. Cleveland I don't know what they would do, now their father is -gone."</p> - -<p>"But all Netherleigh is en fête today So ought you to be!"</p> - -<p>Adela raised her sad and beautiful eyes to Selina's in some surprise. -"The fête can have nothing to do with me, Selina. I am very glad it is -so fine for it: and I hope every one will enjoy it, yourself -included."</p> - -<p>"Thank you: I'm sure I shall. Adela, what is this we hear about you?" -broke forth Selina, unable to keep silence longer. "You are going to -shut yourself up in a grim building, and wear a most disfiguring -costume, and nurse cases of fever!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," sighed Adela.</p> - -<p>"But you surely never will?"</p> - -<p>"I must do it. I leave for it the day after tomorrow."</p> - -<p>Selina lowered her voice. "Have you sat down and <i>counted the cost?</i>"</p> - -<p>"Over and over again. It will be less painful than what I have long -been enduring: bodily discomfort is more tolerable than remorse. I -shall live a useful life, at any rate, Selina. For a long while now it -has been worse than a wasted one."</p> - -<p>"They think—Mary does at least—that you will not be strong enough to -stand the fatigue."</p> - -<p>"I must do my best," sighed Adela. "I hope the strength—in all -ways—will come with the need."</p> - -<p>"I dare say they give nothing but suet puddings for dinner four days -out of the seven!"</p> - -<p>Adela faintly smiled. "I don't expect to find luxuries, Selina."</p> - -<p>"Do you take Darvy?"</p> - -<p>"Darvy!" echoed Lady Adela. "No, indeed. I shall be, so to say, a -servant myself."</p> - -<p>Selina, in very dismay, gave her hands a slight wring. To her, it -seemed that Adela might as well put herself at once out of the world.</p> - -<p>"I must be going," she said, advancing to say farewell. "You are sure -you will not come to the fête, Adela?"</p> - -<p>"I have done with fêtes for ever," replied Adela, as she drew down -Selina's face for a farewell kiss. "Perhaps you will write to me -sometimes?" And Selina Dalrymple, sick and sorry for the blighted -life, went out with her eyes full of tears.</p> - -<p>The day wore on to the afternoon, and the business of the fête began. -Old and young, gentle and simple, the aristocracy surrounding the -neighbourhood, the tenant-farmers and the labourers, all congregated -on the lawns, in the gardens, and in the home field, where the tents -were placed. Of the attendants, Reuben was chief, his fresh face happy -again as of yore.</p> - -<p>Amidst games, dancing, and various other entertainments, there was a -fancy-fair, the proceeds of it to be distributed to the poor: though -indeed it was more for fun than gain, fortune-telling, post-offices, -and mock auctions prevailing.</p> - -<p>Alice Dalrymple had a corner in this tent for her reclining chair, and -watched with pleasure the busy scene. Lady Frances Hope stood by her; -her husband was flitting from stall to stall. Robert's coming back had -worked wonders for Alice.</p> - -<p>"There!" said Gerard, coming up to her, his face gay as usual, -his tone light, as he handed a charming bouquet to Alice: "a fine -squabble I have had to get you this. Ten shillings those keepers of -the flower-stall wanted, if you'll believe me I gave them five, and -told them they were harpies."</p> - -<p>"You should not have bought it for me," smiled Alice, gratefully -inhaling at the same time the scent of the flowers. "You are just what -you always were, Gerard—thinking of every one else, never of self."</p> - -<p>"Why should I think of self?" returned Gerard, his wife having left -them for a distant stall. "But you know you always liked to lecture -me, Alice."</p> - -<p>"For your good," she answered, raising her eyes to his.</p> - -<p>"Was it for my good? Ah, Alice," he added, his tone changing to one of -regret, "if you had only taken me into your hands, as you might have -done—as I prayed you to do—you would have made a Solomon of me for -wisdom——"</p> - -<p>"Hush, Gerard. Best as it is," she impressively whispered, gently -laying her hand upon his. "I was not fit—in any way. As it is, I have -you both to love, and I am supremely happy. And I think you are."</p> - -<p>"Ah, well," quaintly conceded Gerard, "one is warned not to expect -perfect bliss in this sublunary world, so one can only make the best -of what fate and fortune bestow upon us. Would you not like to walk -round and look at the stalls, Alice? You can go comfortably, I think, -on my arm."</p> - -<p>"Thank you; yes, I should like it—if you will take me."</p> - -<p>Amidst the few people of note not at the fête was Lady Adela. She had -kept to her determination not to go near it. Mr. Cleveland had asked -her, when setting out himself, whether she would not go with him just -to have a peep at it, but she said she preferred to sit with Mary. She -had heard the news, spoken openly by the Rector at the luncheon-table, -that Sir Francis Netherleigh was not coming to it. And in Lady Mary's -room she sat, pursuing her work.</p> - -<p>But as the afternoon advanced, and its hours struck, one after the -other, Adela grew weary and restless, needing a little fresh air. She -put on her garden-hat and went out: not with any view of going near -the gaiety, rather of keeping securely away from it. And little fear -was there of her encountering any stragglers, for the feasting was -just beginning, and no Englishman voluntarily walks away from that.</p> - -<p>These later hours of the day, as the earlier ones had been, were warm -and beautiful. Adela walked gently along, until she came to Court -Netherleigh. A sudden impulse prompted her to enter the grounds. She -had never yet done so during these months of sojourn, had always -driven back the almost irrepressible yearning. Surely there would be -no harm in entering now: she did want to see the place once more -before quitting Netherleigh and civilized life for ever. No one -would see her. She was perfectly secure from interruption by Sir -Francis—and from all other people besides, the world and his wife -having gone a-gadding.</p> - -<p>Not by the lodge-gates and the avenue did she enter; but by a little -gate, higher up the road, that she had gone in and out of so often in -the time of Aunt Margery. Drawing near to the house, she sat down -under a group of trees in view of the favourite apartment that used to -be called Miss Margery's parlour, the glass-doors of which were -standing open. Cool and gentle she looked as she sat there; she wore -the same simple muslin gown that she had worn in the morning. -Unfastening the strings of her straw hat, she pushed it somewhat back -from her delicate face, and sat on, thinking of the past.</p> - -<p>Of the past generally and of her own particular part in it—when was -it absent from her memory? Of the means of happiness that had been -bestowed upon her in a degree Heaven seldom vouchsafes to mortal -woman, and of her terrible ingratitude. How different all would have -been now had she only been what she might have been!</p> - -<p>Not only had she wrecked her own life, but also her husband's. The -bitter requital she had dealt out to him day after day and year after -year in return for all the loving care he lavished on her, was very -present to her now. For a long while past she had pined for his -forgiveness—just to hear him speak it; she coveted it more than ever -now that she was about to put all chance of hearing it beyond -possibility. God's pardon she hoped she was obtaining, for she prayed -for it night and day—but she yearned for her husband's.</p> - -<p>It was close upon two years since he put her away from him and from -her home. It would be two years next Christmas since Miss Margery -died. All that time to have been feeding the bitter grief that played -upon her heart-strings!—to have been doing perpetual battle with her -remorse!</p> - -<p>Lost in these regrets, Adela sat on, taking no heed of the time, when -a movement caught her eye. Some one, who appeared to have come in by -the same little gate, was striding towards the house. With a faint -exclamation of dismay, Adela drew back within the trees. For it was -her husband.</p> - -<p>Of all the world that could intrude, she had deemed herself most -secure from <i>him</i>: knowing that he was detained in London, and could not -be down. How was it, ran her tumultuous thoughts. She supposed—what -was indeed the truth—that he had at the last found himself able to -come.</p> - -<p>Yes, but only for an hour or two. She did not know that he had got -down at midday, had been to the fête, and was now on his way back to -the train, calling at home on his road. He made straight for the open -doors of Miss Margery's room, and went in.</p> - -<p>A strange impulse seized upon Adela. What if she dared speak to him -now? to sue for the forgiveness for which her heart seemed breaking? -He could not kill her for it: and perhaps he might speak it—and she -should carry with her to her isolation so much of peace.</p> - -<p>Without pausing to weigh the words she should utter, or the -consequences of her act, she glided after him into the room. Sir -Francis stood at a table, his back to the window, apparently taking -some papers out of his pocketbook. The sudden darkening of the -light, for she made no noise, must have caused him to turn: and there -they stood face to face, each gazing, if they so minded, at the -ravages time had made in the other. She was the more changed. Her -once-brilliant eyes were sad and gentle, her cheeks bore the hectic of -emotion, all the haughtiness had gone out of her sweet face for ever. -And he? He was noble as always, but his hair had grey threads in it, -and his forehead was lined.</p> - -<p>"May I be allowed to speak to you for a moment?" she panted, breaking -the silence, yet hardly able to articulate "I—I——" And then she -broke down from sheer inability to draw breath.</p> - -<p>He stood quite still by the table, as if waiting, his tall form drawn -to its full height, his face and bearing perfectly calm. But he made -no answer.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," she humbly began again, having halted just inside -the window. "I would not have presumed to follow you in, or to speak -to you, but that it is the last opportunity we shall have of meeting -on earth. I go away the day after tomorrow to seclude myself from the -world; and I—I cannot go without your forgiveness. When I saw you -come in now, not knowing even that you were at Netherleigh—an impulse -I could not resist brought me after you to ask you to forgive me. Just -to ask it!"</p> - -<p>But still Sir Francis did not answer. Poor Adela, now white, now -hectic, went on, in her weak and imploring tone.</p> - -<p>"It has seemed to me that if I went away for good without your -forgiveness, I should almost die as the days went on—knowing that I -could never ask it then. If you could believe how truly, how bitterly -I have repented, perhaps you would not in pity withhold it from me. -Will you not give it me? Will you not hear me?" she added, lifting her -trembling hands, as he yet made no sign. "God forgives: will not you -forgive also?"</p> - -<p>Advancing, she sank on her knees before him, as he stood; her sad face -lifted to his in yearning. He drew a step back: he had listened in -impassive silence; but he spoke now.</p> - -<p>"Rise, rise, Lady Adela. Do not kneel to me."</p> - -<p>She bent forward; she laid her poor weak hands upon him; the scalding -tears began to stream down her face, so pitiful in its sad entreaty. -Sir Francis gently touched her hands with his, essaying to raise her; -a cold, distant touch, evidently not of goodwill.</p> - -<p>"Lady Adela, I will not say another word, or allow you to say one, -until you rise. You must be aware that you are only vexing me."</p> - -<p>She rose to her feet obediently. She stood still, apart from him. He -drew back yet, and stood still also, his arms folded.</p> - -<p>"Tell me what it is you wish. I scarcely understand."</p> - -<p>"Only your forgiveness, your pardon for the past. It will be a comfort -to carry it with me where I am going."</p> - -<p>"Where is it that you are going?"</p> - -<p>"I am going to join some ladies in Yorkshire, who pass their time in -nursing the poor and sick," she answered. "It is called a Sisterhood. -I have been thinking that perhaps in that retirement, and in the -occupation it will entail, I may find peace. Once entered, I feel sure -I shall never have courage to leave it: therefore I know that we shall -not meet again."</p> - -<p>He did not speak.</p> - -<p>"And I should like to thank you, if I may dare, for all your -consideration, your generous loving-kindness. Believe me, that, in the -midst of the humiliation of accepting it, I have been grateful. When -once I have entered this refuge, the necessity for your bounty will -cease. Thank you deeply for all."</p> - -<p>"You are tired of the world?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. It has been to me so full of shame and misery."</p> - -<p>"Do you know that you brought a great deal of misery upon <i>me?</i>"</p> - -<p>"Oh, it is the consciousness of <i>that</i> that is killing me. If I could -undo it with my life, I would; and be thankful. The recollection of -the past, the cruel remorse ever haunting my conscience, has well-nigh -crushed me. I want you to say that you will try to be happy in your -life; there will be less impediment, perhaps, now that I shall be far -away: I shall be to you as one dead. If I could only know that you -were happy! that I have not quite blighted your life, as I have my -own!"</p> - -<p>"Do you like the idea of entering this retreat?"</p> - -<p>"As well as I could like anything that can be open to me in this -world now. It will be a refuge; and I dare to hope—I have dared to -<i>pray</i>—that I may in time gain peace."</p> - -<p>"Could the past come over again, you would, then, be a different wife -to me?"</p> - -<p>"Don't reproach me," she sobbed. "None can know how cruel my fate is, -how bitter my repentance. Will you not be merciful?—will you not say -that you forgive me before I go away for ever?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Adela, I will say it," he answered then. "I forgive you from my -heart. I will say more. If you do wish to atone for the past, to be my -true and loving wife, these arms are open to you."</p> - -<p>He opened them as he spoke. She staggered back, unable to comprehend -or believe. He did not move: simply stood still where he was, his -extended arms inviting her.</p> - -<p>"Do not mock me, pray," she feebly wailed. "Do not be cruel: you were -never that. I have told you how bitterly I repent—that my remorse is -greater than I can bear. If my life could undo the past, could atone -to you in the least degree, I would gladly lay it down."</p> - -<p>"Adela, I am not mocking you. You cannot surely think it, knowing me -as you do. You may come back to me, if you will, and be once more my -dear wife. My arms are waiting for you; my heart is waiting for you: -it shall be as you will."</p> - -<p>Panting, breathless, the hectic coming and going on her wasted cheeks, -she slowly, doubtfully advanced; and when near him she halted and fell -at his feet. His own breath was shortening, emotion nearly overcame -him. Raising her, he enfolded her to his loving heart.</p> - -<p>For a little while, as she lay in his arms, their tears mingled -together; ay, even his were falling. A moment of agitation, such as -this, does not often visit a man during his lifetime.</p> - -<p>"There must be no mistake in future, Adela? You will be to me a loving -wife?"</p> - -<p>Once more, in deep humiliation, she bent before him. "Your loving and -faithful wife for ever and for ever."</p> -<br> - -<p>Quietly enough they walked, side by side, through the park. Who, -watching them, could have suspected the agitation just lived through, -the momentous change that had taken place in their lives? Sir Francis -went on his way to the railway-station, for he had to go back to -London. Adela returned to the Rectory.</p> - -<p>And that night, in the solitude of her chamber, its window open to the -stars of the summer sky, she spent hours on her knees in prayer and -thanksgiving.</p> - -<p>On the following morning Mr. Cleveland took Adela to Chenevix House. -Sir Francis had been there to prepare the way for her. It was great -news for the earl and countess; but it had not much diminished my -lady's tartness. She had been too angry with Adela to come round at -once.</p> - -<p>"Do you know where you are going this evening, Adela?" Grace asked her -in a whisper, a happy light in her eyes.</p> - -<p>"No. Where?"</p> - -<p>"Francis Netherleigh has some mission that is taking him to Paris—my -belief is, he has improvised it. He starts tonight, and he will take -you with him—if you are very good."</p> - -<p>"How kind he is!" murmured Adela.</p> - -<p>"Have a care how you behave in future, Adela," said her father, in -solemn admonition that evening, as Sir Francis stood ready to take her -out to his carriage, which waited to convey them to the station.</p> - -<p>"I will, papa: Heaven helping me. Good-bye, dear mamma."</p> - -<p>"Oh, good-bye, and a pleasant journey to you! It's more than you -deserve," retorted my lady.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_41" href="#div1Ref_41">CHAPTER XLI.</a></h4> -<h5>CONCLUSION.</h5> -<br> - -<p>There is little more to relate.</p> - -<p>On just such a lovely June day as described above, and twelve months -later, another fête took place. But this time it was at Court -Netherleigh. Not an open-air fête, this, or one on a large scale, for -only a few chosen friends had been invited to it.</p> - -<p>In the morning, in Netherleigh Church, and at the hands of the good -Rector, the infant heir of Court Netherleigh had been made one of -Christ's fold.</p> - -<p>Court Netherleigh was made their chief home by Sir Francis and his -wife. Grosvenor Square was visited occasionally, but not for very long -together. Adela's tastes had totally changed: fashion and frivolity no -longer held chief places in her heart: higher aims and duties had -superseded them. Lady Mary Cleveland herself was not so actively -anxious for the welfare of the poor and distressed as was Adela, -Netherleigh.</p> -<div style="margin-left:10%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px"> -"Sweet are the uses of adversity,<br> -Which like a toad, ugly and venomous,<br> -Wears yet a precious jewel in its head."</p> -</div> - -<p>As she stood this morning at the baptismal font, her child in the arms -of Mr. Cleveland, tears of joy silently trickled down her face. Hardly -a day or a night of this latter twelvemonth, but they had risen in -gratitude, contrasting what had been with what was.</p> - -<p>Lord and Lady Acorn were present; and Grace, who was godmother, held -the baby in readiness for the clergyman. Mr. Howard had come down with -Colonel and Lady Sarah Hope; Robert Dalrymple and Mary were there from -Moat Grange, and the Rector's wife.</p> - -<p>While walking back to Court Netherleigh after the ceremony, the party -were joined by another guest—Sir Turtle Kite.</p> - -<p>Sir Turtle's presence was quite unexpected. Deeply sensible of the -service he once rendered them—for, had the little alderman chosen to -be crusty then, where would Charles Cleveland have been, where Lady -Adela?—the Acorn family had not dropped him with the passing moment. -Neither had Sir Francis Netherleigh. On this particular day—a very -splendid one in London—the knight chanced to think he should like to -air himself in the sunbeams, and take a holiday. Remembering the -standing invitation to Court Netherleigh—of which he had not yet -availed himself—and knowing that Sir Francis was staying there and -not in Grosvenor Square, Sir Turtle travelled down, and met the party -as they were going home from church.</p> - -<p>"Dear me I am very sorry," he cried, somewhat disconcerted. "I had no -idea—I had better go home again."</p> - -<p>"Not a bit of it," said Sir Francis, heartily, as he clasped his hand. -"You are all the more welcome. I am sure you will like to join us in -good wishes to my little boy. Adela will show him to you."</p> - -<p>So Sir Turtle's beaming face made one at the luncheon-table, none so -delighted as he. And he surreptitiously scribbled a note in his -pocketbook to purchase the handsomest christening-cup that could be -found for money.</p> - -<p>Luncheon over, they went out into the charming sunshine, some -strolling hither and thither, some taking refuge on the shaded benches -under the trees. Adela gained possession of her baby in the nursery, -and carried him out to show him to Sir Turtle. He was a fine little -fellow of six weeks old, promising to be as noble-looking as his -father, and certainly possessing his beautiful grey-blue eyes.</p> - -<p>"What is its name?" asked Sir Turtle, venturing to pat the soft little -cheek with his forefinger, and rather at a loss what to say, for he -did not understand as much about babies as he did about tallow.</p> - -<p>"Francis," answered Adela. "Francis Upton. I would not have had any -name but Francis for the world, and my husband thought he would like -to add Upton, in remembrance of Miss Upton who used to live here."</p> - -<p>"Francis is a very nice name; better than mine," observed Sir Turtle, -sitting down by Adela. "And who are its godfathers?" he resumed, still -at sea as to the proper things to be said of a baby.</p> - -<p>"My father is one, Mr. Howard the other. Sir Francis fixed upon papa, -and I upon Mr. Howard. Formerly I used not to like Mr. Howard," -ingenuously added Lady Adela, "but I have learnt his worth."</p> - -<p>"Ay, a worthy man, my lady; first-rate in business. Talking of -business," broke off the little alderman, glad, no doubt, to leave the -subject of the baby, but none the less inopportunely, "do you chance -to know what has become of a young fellow who got into some trouble at -Grubb and Howard's—the Rector's son, yonder"—nodding towards Mr. -Cleveland—"Charles, I think, his name was. I have often wished to ask -about him."</p> - -<p>Lady Adela bent over her child, as if to do something to its cap: her -face had flushed blood-red.</p> - -<p>"Charles Cleveland is in India," she said. "He is doing well, very -well. My husband was—was very kind to him, and pushes him forward. He -is kind to every one."</p> - -<p>Rising rather abruptly from the bench, she gave the baby to the nurse -and went into the house. Her mother, standing at one of the windows of -the large drawing-room, turned round as she entered.</p> - -<p>"What have you been doing to flush your face so, Adela?" called out my -lady—for it was glowing still.</p> - -<p>"Oh, nothing: the sun perhaps," answered Adela, carelessly.</p> - -<p>"You were talking with Sir Turtle Kite."</p> - -<p>"Yes, he was looking at baby, and asking me his name. I told him his -father's—Francis."</p> - -<p>"Ah," said Lady Acorn, with her irrepressible propensity for bringing -up disagreeable reminiscences, "I remember the time when you would not -have your child's name Francis, because it was your husband's."</p> - -<p>"Oh, mamma, don't! That was in the mistaken years of long ago."</p> - -<p>"And I hope you were civil to Sir Turtle," continued my lady: "you -seemed to leave him very abruptly. He is a funny little round-headed -man, and nothing but an alderman; but he means well. Think what <i>your</i> -fate might have been now—but for his—his clemency."</p> - -<p>"If you would <i>please</i> not recall these things, mother!" besought -Adela, meekly, tears starting to her eyes. "Especially today, when we -are all so happy."</p> - -<p>Somehow the past, with all its terrible mistakes and the misery they -had entailed, came rushing upon her mind so vividly that she could not -control her emotion. Passing into the next room, and not perceiving -her husband, her sobs broke forth. He came forward.</p> - -<p>"My love, what is it?"</p> - -<p>"Only——"</p> - -<p>"Nay, tell me."</p> - -<p>"Something mamma said made me think of that cruel time when—when I -was so wrong and wicked. Francis, the shame and sin seemed all to come -back again."</p> - -<p>He held her before him; his tone one of tender reproof. "But the shame -and sin never can come back, Adela. My wife, you know it."</p> - -<p>"I know how good you are. And I know how merciful to me God has been," -she replied, glancing at him through her wet lashes, with eyes full of -love and devotion.</p> - -<p>"Very merciful: very merciful to me and to you," whispered Francis -Netherleigh. "Do you know, my darling, that through all that dark -time, I never lost my trust in Him."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>THE END.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<hr class="W90"> -<h5>PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Court Netherleigh, by Mrs. Henry Wood - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COURT NETHERLEIGH *** - -***** This file should be named 58774-h.htm or 58774-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/8/7/7/58774/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books -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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