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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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