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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..742fafb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61482 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61482) diff --git a/old/61482-0.txt b/old/61482-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1670d56..0000000 --- a/old/61482-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3073 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Mrs. Blencarrow, by Margaret Oliphant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license - - -Title: The Mystery of Mrs. Blencarrow - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: February 22, 2020 [EBook #61482] -[Last updated: April 4, 2020] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF MRS. BLENCARROW *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was -produced from images made available by the HathiTrust -Digital Library.) - - - - - - - - - - THE MYSTERY of BLENCARROW - - - BY - - MRS. OLIPHANT. - - - CHICAGO: - DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. - 407-425 DEARBORN ST. - - - - - THE - - MYSTERY OF MRS. BLENCARROW. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE BLENCARROW HOUSEHOLD. - - -The house of Blencarrow, which, without being one of the great houses of -the county, was as comfortable and handsome as a country gentleman not -exactly of the highest importance could desire, stood in a pretty little -park of its own, by the side of a bright little mountain river, either -in Cumberland or Westmoreland or North Lancashire--for the boundaries -of these counties are to me somewhat confused, and I cannot aver where -one ends and another begins. It was built, as is not unusual in -North-country houses, on the slope of a hill, so that the principal -rooms, which were on a level with the great entrance, were on the other -side elevated by at least one lofty story from the flower-garden which -surrounded the house. The windows of the drawing-room commanded thus a -delightful view over a finely diversified country, ending in the far -distance in a glimpse of water with a range of blue hills behind, which -was one of the great lakes of that beautiful district. When sun or moon -caught this distant lake, which it did periodically at certain times of -the day and night, according to the season, it flashed suddenly into -life, like one of those new signals of science by which the sun himself -is made to interpret between man and man. In the foreground the trees of -the park clustered over the glimpses of the lively North-country river, -which, sometimes shallow and showing all its pebbles, some times -deepening into a pool, ran cheerfully by towards the lake. To the right, -scarcely visible save when the trees were bare in winter, the red roofs -of the little post-town, a mile and a half away, appeared in the -distance with a pleasant sense of neighbourhood. But the scenery, after -all, was not so interesting as the people inside. - -They were, however, a very innocent, very simple, and unexciting group -of country people. Mrs. Blencarrow had been a widow for five or six -years, having lived there for some dozen years before, the most beloved -of wives. She was not a native of the district, but had come from the -South, a beautiful girl, to whom her husband, who was a plain gentleman -of simple character and manners, could never be sufficiently grateful -for having married him. The ladies of the district thought this -sentiment exaggerated, but everybody acknowledged that Mrs. Blencarrow -made him an excellent wife. When he died he had left everything in her -hands--the entire guardianship of the children, untrammelled by any -joint authority save that of her own brothers, whose names were put in -the will as a matter of form, and without any idea that they would ever -take upon them to interfere. There were five children, the eldest of -whom was a slim girl of sixteen, very gentle and quiet, and not very -strong; two boys of fourteen and twelve, at school; and two little -ones, aged eight and nine respectively. They lived a very pleasant, -well-cared-for, happy life. Mrs. Blencarrow’s means, if not very large, -were comfortable enough. The house was handsomely _montée_, the children -had everything they could desire; the gloom of her first widowhood had -been over for some time, and she ‘saw her friends’ like any other lady -in the county, giving very pleasant dinner-parties, and even dances when -the boys were at home for their holidays--dances, perhaps, all the more -gay and easy because the children had a large share in them, and a -gentle license prevailed--the freedom of innocence and extreme youth. - -It is not to be supposed, when I say this, that anything which could in -the remotest degree be called ‘fast’ was in these assemblies. Indeed, -the very word had not been invented in those days, and Mrs. Blencarrow -was herself an impersonation of womanly dignity. The country-people were -even a little afraid of her, if truth must be told. Without being stiff -or prudish, there was a little air she had, at the faintest shade of -impropriety, which scared an offender more than denunciation. She had a -determined objection to scandal, even to gossip, and looked coldly upon -flirtation, which was not then a recognised pastime as it is now. -Nothing ever filled the neighbours with greater consternation than when -a passing visitor from London, seeing Mrs. Blencarrow for the first -time, declared that she was a woman who looked as if she had a history. - -A history! When people say that, they do not mean anything noble or -saintly; what it means is scandal, something that has been talked about. -There was a general cry, which overwhelmed the unwary stranger. Mrs. -Blencarrow a history! Yes, the very best history a woman can have--the -record of a blameless life. - -‘Nevertheless,’ said the unfortunate man, ‘there is something in her -eyes----’ - -‘Oh yes, there is everything that is good in her eyes,’ said Lady -Tremayne, who was young and enthusiastic, a sentiment in which most of -the others agreed. At a later period, however, Mrs. Bircham, of The -Leas, shook her head a little and said, ‘Now that one thinks of it, -there is something curious in Mrs. Blencarrow’s eyes.’ - -‘They are very fine eyes, if that is what you mean.’ - -‘No; that is not what I mean. She looks you too full in the face with -them, as if she were defying you to find out anything wrong about her. -Now, when there is nothing wrong to find out, a woman has no occasion to -defy you.’ - -‘It must be a strange kind of wrong that has not been found out in -eighteen years.’ - -‘Well, it might have happened before she was married--before she came -here at all; and when you know that there is something, however long the -time may be, you never can forget it, don’t you know,’ said Mrs. -Bircham, shaking her head. - -‘You seem to speak from experience, my dear,’ said her husband. - -‘No; I don’t speak from experience,’ cried the lady, growing red; ‘but I -have seen a great many things in my time. I have seen so many fine -reputations collapse, and so many people pulled down from their -pedestals.’ - -‘And helped to do it, perhaps,’ said Lady Tremayne. But she made the -observation in an aside, for no one liked to encounter Mrs. Bircham’s -enmity and power of speech. She was one of those people who can develop -a great matter from a small one, and smell out a piece of gossip at any -distance; and a seed of this description sown in her mind never died. -She was not, as it happened, particularly happy in her surroundings. -Though she was irreproachable herself, there was no lack of histories in -the Bircham family, and Kitty, her second daughter, was one of the -little flirts whose proceedings Mrs. Blencarrow so much disapproved. -Mrs. Bircham was often herself very angry with Kitty, but by a common -maternal instinct could not endure to hear from another any echo of the -same reproof which she administered freely. - -Mrs. Blencarrow was, however, entirely unaware of this arrow shot into -the air. She was still, though approaching forty, as handsome as at any -period of her career, with all the additional charms of experience and -understanding added to the still unbroken perfection of her features and -figure. She was tall and pale, with large gray eyes, singularly clear -and lustrous, which met every gaze with a full look, sometimes very -imposing, and which always conveyed an impression of pride and reserve -in the midst of their full and brave response to every questioning eye. -Mrs. Bircham, who was not without discrimination, had indeed made a -very fair hit in her description of her neighbour’s look. Sometimes -those proud and steadfast eyes would be overbearing--haughty in their -putting down of every impertinent glance. She had little colour -habitually, but was subject to sudden flushes whenever her mind or -feelings were affected, which wonderfully changed the character of her -face, and came and went like the wind. She dressed always with a rich -sobriety, in black or subdued colours--tones of violet and gray--never -quite forgetting her widowhood, her friends thought, though always -cheerful, as a woman with a family of children is bound for their sakes -to be. She was an excellent woman of business, managing her estate with -the aid of a sort of half-steward, half-agent, a young man brought up -by her husband and specially commended to her by his dying lips. People -said, when they discussed Mrs. Blencarrow’s affairs, as the affairs of -women and widows are always discussed, that it would have been better -for her to have had a more experienced and better instructed man as -steward, who would have taken the work entirely off her hands--for young -Brown was not at all a person of education; but her devotion to her -husband’s recommendation was such that she would hear of no change. And -the young fellow on his side was so completely devoted to the family, so -grateful for all that had been done for him, so absolutely trustworthy, -that the wisest concluded on the whole that she was doing the best for -her son’s interests in keeping Brown, who lived in the house, but in -quite an humble way--one of the wisest points in Mrs. Blencarrow’s -treatment of him being that she never attempted to bring him out of his -own sphere. - -Besides Brown, her household included a governess, Miss Trimmer, who -bore most appropriately that old-fashioned educational name; and an old -housekeeper, who had been there in the time of Mrs. Blencarrow’s -mother-in-law, and who had seen her late master born--an old lady always -in a brown silk dress, who conferred additional respectability on the -household, and who was immensely considered and believed in. She came -next to their mother in the affections of all the children. It was a -very harmonious, well-ordered house, ringing with pleasant noise and -nonsense when the boys came home, quiet at other times, though never -quite without the happy sound of children, save when the two little -ones, Minnie and Jimmy, were out of the way. As for Emmy, the eldest, -she was so quiet that scarcely any sound of her ever came into the -house. - -Such was the house of Blencarrow on a certain Christmas when the boys -had come home as usual for their holidays. They came back in the highest -spirits, determined that this should be the jolliest Christmas that ever -was. The word ‘jolly,’ as applied to everything that is pleasant, had -just come into use at school--I doubt even whether it had progressed -into ‘awfully jolly.’ It sounded still very piquant in the ears of the -youngsters, and still was reproved (‘Don’t be always using that dreadful -word!’) by mothers; the girls were still shy of using it at all. It was -Reginald who declared it to be the jolliest Christmas that ever had -been. The weather was mild and open, good for hunting, and the boys had -some excellent runs; though all idea of frost and skating had to be -given up. They were pleased with their own prowess and with everybody -and everything round them, and prepared to act their part with grace and -_bonhomie_--Reginald as master of the house, Bertie as his lieutenant -and henchman--at the great ball which was to be given at Blencarrow on -Christmas Eve. - -The house was quite full for this great ceremonial. At Christmas the -mixture of babes and grown-up young ladies and gentlemen is more easily -made than at any other time of the year. The children mustered very -strong. Those who were too far off to drive home that evening were with -their parents staying at Blencarrow, and every available corner was -filled. The house was illuminated all over; every passage and every -sitting-room open to the bands of invaders--the little ones who played -and the older ones who flirted--and the company was in the fullest tide -of enjoyment, when the little incident occurred which I am about to -record. - -Mrs. Blencarrow had never looked better in her life. She wore a new gray -velvet dress, long and sweeping, without any of the furbelows of the -time, which would not have suited the heavy material nor her own -admirable figure. It was open a little at the throat, with beautiful -lace surrounding the fine warm whiteness. Her hair was worn higher than -was usual at the time, in a fashion of her own, and fastened with -diamond stars. The children were very proud of their mother. She was -like a lady out of a book, said Emmy, who was a romantic girl. Reginald -felt himself more grand than words can say when he stood up beside her -at the door to receive the guests. Her eyes were something like her -diamonds--full of light; and she met every glance more proudly than -ever, with that direct look which some people thought so candid and -open, and Mrs. Bircham believed to be a defiance to all the world to -find out something that was not right. There was nothing, certainly, to -find out in that open house, where every stranger might penetrate into -every corner and welcome. Mrs. Blencarrow was a little pale, but now and -then her countenance would be covered by one of those sudden flushes of -emotion which made her radiant. She put one hand on Reginald’s shoulder -with a proud gesture, as though he were supporting her as she stood at -the door welcoming everybody; and the boy drew himself up to his fullest -height, trying to look twenty. He shook hands with everyone in the most -anxious, hospitable way. Never was the part of master of the house more -thoroughly played; and thus, with every expectation of pleasure, the -ball began. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -‘IS IT YOU?’ - - -Kitty Bircham had been a flirt almost from the time she could speak; but -even to a flirt Fate sometimes comes in the midst of her frivolity, as -well as to the simplest girl. She had played with so many hearts without -being the worse for it, that it was the greatest surprise to herself, as -well as to her mother and interested friends, to find that at last this -little witch was herself caught. I need not say that the man was the -last person whom, in her sober senses, Kitty would have chosen, or any -of her family consented to. Man! He was not even a man, but a boy--only -two or three years older than herself--a young fellow who had to go -through one of those ordeals, quite new-fangled then--things which -nobody understood--an examination for an appointment; and who had -nothing in the world but the prospect of that, a prospect daily becoming -less probable since he and she had fallen in love with each other. They -were neither of them of that high strain which is stimulated by love. -They had not force of mind to think that every day which was spent in -love-making, quarrelling and folly made it less easy for Walter Lawrence -to work the next, or to work at all; and that without work he was as -little likely to pass his examination as to fly; and that if he did not -pass that examination they could not marry. - -Both of these young fools knew all this perfectly well, but the -knowledge made no difference in their behaviour. When he was not running -after her by his own impulse, which was generally the case, Kitty used -all her wiles to draw him away from his books, sending him notes, making -appointments, inventing ways and means of meeting. His mother made -appeals to him with tears in her eyes, and almost cursed the girl who -was making her boy lose all his chances; and _her_ mother made Kitty’s -life a burden, asking her how she intended to live, and whether she -meant to support her husband by her needlework (at which everybody knew -she was so clever!), by taking in washing, or by what?--since he neither -had a penny nor would ever be able to make one for himself. This -discipline on both sides naturally threw these foolish young people -more and more into each other’s arms, and the domestic discomforts -became so great that it at last became apparent to both that there was -nothing for it but to run away. - -‘When we are married they will see that it is no use making a fuss,’ -Walter said to Kitty. ‘They will acknowledge that once it is done it -can’t be undone.’ - -‘And they _must_ lay their heads together and get you a post, or give us -something to live on,’ said Kitty to Walter. - -‘They will never let us starve,’ said he ‘after.’ - -‘And they will never give us any peace,’ said she, ‘before.’ - -So that they were in perfect accord so far as the theory went. But they -hesitated to take that tremendous step; their minds were made up, and -it was a delicious subject of conversation during the hours which they -daily spent together; but neither of them as yet had quite screwed up -courage to the sticking-point. - -This was the state of affairs on the evening of the Blencarrow ball. It -had happened to both to be unusually tried during that day. Kitty had -been scolded by her mother till she did not know, as she said, ‘whether -she was standing on her head or her heels.’ Her uncle, who had come from -a distant part of the country for Christmas, had been invited to -remonstrate with her on her folly. Papa had not said anything, but he -had been so snappish that she had not known what to do to please -him--papa, who usually stood by her under all circumstances. And Uncle -John! Kitty felt that she could not bear such another day. Walter, on -his side, had again had a scene with his mother, who had threatened to -speak to her trustees, that they might speak to Walter to show him his -duty, since he would not listen to her. - -It was some time before this suffering pair could get within reach of -each other to pour out their several plaints. Kitty had first to dance -with half a dozen uninteresting people, and to be brought back demurely -to Mrs. Bircham’s side at the end of every tedious dance; and Walter had -to ask a corresponding number of young ladies before a happy chance -brought them together out of sight of Mrs. Bircham and Mrs. Lawrence, -who were both watching with the most anxious eyes. Kitty could not even -lose time dancing when they had thus met. - -‘Oh, I have a dozen things to tell you!’ she said; ‘I must tell you, or -I shall die.’ - -They went into the conservatory, but there were some people there, and -into room after room, without finding a solitary corner. It was in the -hall that the dance was going on. The servants were preparing the -supper-table in the dining-room. The library was being used by the elder -people (horrid elder people, always getting in one’s way, who had no -feeling at all!) for their horrid cards. The morning-room was given up -to tea. People, _i.e._, other young pairs, were seated on the stairs and -in every available corner. - -‘Oh, come down here; there is nobody here,’ said Kitty, drawing her -lover to the staircase at the end of a long passage which led down to -the lower part of the house. - -Both of them knew the house thoroughly, as country neighbours do. They -had been all over it when they were children, and knew the way down into -the flower-garden, and even the private door at the back, by which -tenants and petitioners were admitted to Mrs. Blencarrow’s -business-room. The lights were dim in these deserted regions; there was -perfect silence and quiet--no other couples to push against, no spying -servants nor reproachful seniors. The young pair hurried down the long -stairs, feeling the cold of the empty passage grateful and pleasant. - -‘The old dining-room is the nicest place,’ said Kitty, leading the way. -This room was in the front of the house under the drawing-room, and -looked out upon the lawn and flower-beds. It was part of the older -house, which had served all the purposes of the Blencarrows in the days -when people had not so many wants as now. There was no light in it -except a faint glimmer from the fire. The shutters had not been closed, -and the moon looked in through the branches of the leafless trees. The -two lovers went in with a rush and sat down with quiet satisfaction upon -a sofa just within the door. - -‘Nobody will disturb us here,’ whispered Kitty with a sigh of -satisfaction. ‘We can stay as long as we like here.’ - -They were both out of breath from their rush; and to find themselves -alone in the dark, and in a place where they had no right to be, was -delightful. They sat quiet for a moment, leaning against each other -recovering their breath, and then there happened something which, -notwithstanding Kitty’s intense preoccupation with her own affairs, gave -her such a prick of still more vivid curiosity as roused every sense and -faculty in her. She became all ear and all observation in a moment. -There was a soft sound as of a door opening on the other side of the -room--the side that was in the shade--and then after a moment a voice -asked, ‘Is it you?’ - -Walter (the idiot) suppressed with pain a giggle, and only suppressed it -because Kitty flung herself upon him, putting one hand upon his mouth -and clutching his coat with the other to keep him quiet. She held her -breath and became noiseless as a mouse--as a kitten in the moment before -a spring. The voice was a man’s voice, with something threatening in -its tone. - -‘How long do you think this is going to last?’ he said. - -Oh, what a foolish thing a boy is! Walter shook with laughter, while she -listened as if for life and death. - -Then there was a pause. Again the voice asked anxiously, ‘Is it -you?’--another pause, and then the soft closing of the door more -cautiously than it had been opened. - -Walter rose up from the sofa as soon as the door was shut. ‘I must get -my laugh out,’ he whispered, sweeping Kitty out into the passage. Oh, -that foolish, foolish boy! As if it were a laughing matter! A man, a -stranger, asking somebody how long ‘this’ was to last! How long what was -to last? And who could he be? - -‘Oh, Wat, you might have stayed a moment!’ Kitty said, exasperated; ‘you -might have kept quiet! Perhaps he would have said something more. Who -could he be?’ - -‘It is no business of ours,’ said Walter; ‘one of the servants, I -suppose. Let’s go upstairs again, Kitty. We have no business here.’ - -‘Oh, don’t be so silly,’ cried Kitty; ‘we must find a quiet place, for -I’ve scores of things to tell you. There is a room at the other end with -a light in it. Let us go there.’ - -Their footsteps sounded upon the stone passage, and Kitty’s dress -rustled--there could be no eavesdropping possible there. She went on a -step in front of him and pushed open a door which was ajar; then Kitty -gave a little shriek and fell back, but too late. Mrs. Blencarrow, in -all her splendour for the ball, was standing before the fire. It was a -plainly-furnished room, with a large writing-table in it, and shelves -containing account books and papers--the business-room, where nobody -except the tenants and the workpeople ever came in. To see her standing -there, with all her diamonds flashing in the dimness, was the strangest -sight. - -‘Who is there?’ she cried, with an angry voice; then, ‘Kitty! What are -you doing here?’ - -‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Blencarrow. We did not know what room it -was. We couldn’t find a cool place. Indeed,’ said Kitty, recovering her -courage, ‘we couldn’t find a place at all, there is such a crowd--and we -thought the house was all open to-night, and that we might come -downstairs.’ - -Mrs. Blencarrow looked at them both with the fullest straight look of -those eyes, whose candour was sometimes thought to mean defiance. ‘I -think,’ she said, ‘that though the house is all open to-night, Walter -and you should not make yourselves remarkable by stealing away together. -I ought, perhaps, to tell your mother.’ - -‘Oh, don’t, Mrs. Blencarrow!’ - -‘It is very foolish of you both.’ - -‘It was my fault, Mrs. Blencarrow. Don’t let Kitty be blamed. I -remembered the old way into the garden.’ - -‘I hope you did not intend to go into the garden this cold night. Run -upstairs at once, you foolish children!’ She hesitated a moment, and -then said, with one of her sudden blushes dyeing her countenance: ‘I -have got a bad headache; the music is a little too loud. I came down -here for a moment’s quiet, and to get some eau de Cologne.’ - -‘Dear Mrs. Blencarrow,’ cried Kitty, too much unnerved for the moment to -make any comments upon the lady’s look or manner, ‘don’t please say -anything to mamma.’ - -Mrs. Blencarrow shook her head at them, looking from one to another, -which meant gentle reproof of their foolishness, but then nodded an -assent to Kitty’s prayer. But she pointed to the door at the same time, -rather impatiently, as if she wanted to be rid of them; and, glad to -escape so easily, they hastened away. Kitty felt the relief of having -escaped so strongly that she never even asked herself why Mrs. -Blencarrow should come down to the business-room in the middle of a -ball, or if that was a likely place to find eau de Cologne. She thought -of nothing (for the moment) but that she had got off rather well from -what might have been an embarrassing situation. - -‘I don’t think she’ll tell on us,’ Kitty said, with a long-drawn breath. - -‘I am sure she will not,’ said Walter, as they ran up the long stone -flight of stairs, and came back to the sound of music and dancing. - -Mrs. Bircham had just broken the monotony of a chaperon’s vigil by -taking a cup of tea. She was issuing forth from the door of the tea-room -upon the arm of one of those portly old gentlemen who are there for the -purpose, when Kitty, breathless with haste, pushing Walter along in -front of her, suddenly came within her mother’s view. - -That mother’s side Kitty did not again leave, save for the brief limits -of a dance, all the evening. She read in the glance with which she was -regarded from time to time the lecture that was in store for her. -Indeed, she knew it all by heart; there was no novelty in it for Kitty. -She gave Walter a despairing look as he passed her by, and they had time -for a moment’s whisper as to the spot where they must meet to-morrow; -for all that she had intended to confide to him lay still in Kitty’s -heart unrevealed, and she began to feel that affairs had come to a -crisis which demanded action at last. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -AN ELOPEMENT. - - -The ball was the most brilliant and the most successful that ever had -been at Blencarrow, and nothing was wanting to make it intoxicating and -delightful to the boys, whose every whim had been thought of and all -their partialities taken into account. Mrs. Blencarrow was perfect as a -mother. She gave the young heir his place without showing any -partiality, or making Bertie one whit less the beloved and favoured son -of the house; and no one could say that she spoilt either of them, -though she considered their every wish. They were as obedient and -respectful as if they had been held within the severest discipline, and -yet how they were indulged! - -When everybody was preparing to go in to supper, Mrs. Blencarrow called -Reginald to her in sight of all the crowd. She said to him, ‘I think you -may go and fetch your friend Brown to supper, Rex. He will like to come -to supper; but I am sure he will be too shy unless you go and fetch -him.’ - -‘Oh, may I, mamma?’ said the boy. - -He was enchanted with the commission. Brown was the young steward--Mrs. -Blencarrow’s chief assistant in the management of the estate--the young -fellow whom her husband recommended to her on his death-bed. The group -which gathered round Mrs. Blencarrow, ready for the procession in to -supper, thought this was the most charming way of acknowledging the -claims of Brown. To have brought him to the dance would have been out of -place; he would have felt himself out of it. He could not have ventured -to ask anybody to dance, and to look on while you are young is dull -work. But to ask him to supper was just the right compromise. The old -gentlemen promised to themselves that they would notice Brown; they -would ask him to drink a glass of wine (which was the custom then); they -would show him that they approved of a young man who did such excellent -work and knew his place so well. - -It must be allowed that when he came, triumphantly led by Reginald, with -Bertie dancing in front of him (‘Oh, come along, Brown; mamma says -you’re to come to supper. Come along, Brown; here is a place for you’), -his looks did not conciliate these country gentlemen. He was a handsome -young man in a rather rough way, with that look of watchful suspicion so -often to be seen on the face of a man who is afraid of being -condescended to by his superiors. He was in a sort of evening dress, as -if he had been prepared for the invitation, with a doubtful coat of -which it was difficult to say whether it was a morning coat of peculiar -cut, or an old-fashioned one for evening use. He yielded unwillingly, it -seemed, to the encouragements of the boys, and he was placed far down at -the other end of the table, among the children and the youngest of the -grown-up party, where he was totally out of place. Had he been near the -other end, where the honest country gentlemen were, quite prepared to -notice and take wine with him, Brown would have been more at his ease. -He cast one glance at his mistress as he passed, a look which was -gloomy, reproachful, almost defiant. Scotch peasant faces get that look -sometimes without any bad meaning, and Cumberland faces are very like -the Scotch. He was no doubt upbraiding her for having forced him to -appear at all. - -At last it was all over, the last carriage rolling away, the last sleepy -group of visitors sent to bed. Mrs. Blencarrow stood on her own hearth, -leaning her head on the marble mantelpiece, looking down into the fire. -She had been very gay to the last, smiling upon her guests; but her face -when in perfect repose, and in the ease of solitude, no one near to spy -upon it, was very different. Anxiety and trouble came into every line of -her fine pale features. She changed her attitude after awhile, and -looked straight into the darkness of the great mirror, behind the clock -and the candelabra which stood in front of it. She looked into her own -face with a determined, steady look, her eyes opened widely. She seemed -to ask herself what she should do, but shook her head afterwards with a -vague, sad smile. The mirror repeated all these changes of countenance, -but gave no counsel. Someone came into the room at this moment, which -made her start. It was one of the ladies staying in the house, who had -forgotten something, and come back to fetch it. - -‘Not gone to bed yet?’ she said. - -‘No,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow; ‘after a business of this kind, however -tired I may be, I don’t sleep.’ - -‘I know what you are doing,’ said her friend. ‘You are asking yourself, -now that it’s all over, “What’s the good?”’ - -‘No; I don’t think so,’ she said quickly; then changed her look and -said, ‘Perhaps I was.’ - -‘Oh, I am sure you were! and it is no good except for such pleasure as -you get out of it.’ - -‘Pleasure!’ said Mrs. Blencarrow. ‘But the boys liked it,’ she said. - -‘Oh, the boys! They were more happy than words could say. I think you -measure everything by the boys.’ - -‘Not everything,’ she said with a sigh; and, taking up her candle, she -followed her friend upstairs. - -The house had fallen into perfect quiet. There was not a sound in all -the upper part; a drowsy stillness was in the broad staircase, still -dimly lighted, and the corridor above; only a distant echo from below, -from the regions which were half underground--a muffled sound of -laughter and voices--showed that the servants were still carrying on the -festivity. Mrs. Blencarrow said good-night at the door of her friend’s -room, and went on to her own, which was at the further end of the long -gallery. She left her candle upon a small table outside, where it burned -on, a strange, lonely little twinkle of light in the darkness, for half -the wintry night. - -Neither Kitty nor Walter could rest next day until they had eluded the -vigilance of their several guardians and escaped to their usual -meeting-place, where they poured into each other’s ears the dire -experiences of the previous night. Kitty had been badly scolded before, -but it had been as nothing in comparison with what she had suffered on -the way home and after her return. Mamma had been terrible; she had -outdone herself; there had been nothing too dreadful for her to say. And -papa had not stood by Kitty--the best that could be said for him was -that he had taken no active part in the demolition of all her hopes. - -‘For I am to be sent away to-morrow to my aunt’s in -Gloucestershire--fancy in Gloucestershire!’ as if there was something -specially diabolical in that county. - -‘You shall not be sent away; the time has come for us to take it into -our own hands,’ said Walter soberly, with a strain of resolution. - -He had to tell her of not unsimilar barbarities on his side. His mother -had written to her trustees. She expected Mr. Wadsett from Edinburgh, -who was also her man of business (for her property was in Scotland), -next day. - -‘To-morrow is the crisis for both of us; we must simply take it into our -own hands and forestall them,’ said Walter. ‘I knew that one day it -would come to this. If they force it on us it is their own doing,’ he -said, with a look of determination enough to make any trustee tremble. - -‘Oh, Walter!’ cried Kitty, rubbing her head against his shoulder like -the kitten she was. - -His resolute air gave her a thrill of frightened delight. Usually she -was the first person in all their conjoint movements; to be carried -along now, and feel it was not her doing, but his, was a new, ecstatic, -alarming sensation, which words could not express. - -They then began to consider without more ado (both feeling themselves -elevated by the greatness of the crisis) what was to be done. Kitty had -fondly hoped for a postchaise, which was the recognised way of romance; -but Walter pointed out that on the railway--still a new thing in that -district--there was an early train going to Edinburgh, which they could -enter far more easily and with less fear of being arrested than a -postchaise, and which would waft them to Gretna Green in less time than -it would take to go ten miles in a carriage. Gretna Green was still the -right place to which lovers flew; it was one of the nearest points in -Scotland, where marriage was so easy, where the two parties to the -union were the only ones concerned. - -Kitty was slow to give up the postchaise, but she yielded to Walter’s -argument. The train passed very early, so that it would be necessary for -her to start out of the house in the middle of the night, as it were, to -join her lover, who would be waiting for her; and then a walk of a mile -or two would bring them to the station--and then! Their foolish hearts -beat high while they made all the arrangements. Kitty shivered at the -idea of the long walk in the chill dark morning. She would have so much -preferred the sweep of the postchaise, the probable rush in pursuit, the -second postchaise rattling after them, probably only gaming the goal ten -minutes too late. She had imagined that rush many a time, and how she -might see her father or brother’s head looking out from the window, -hurrying on the postilion, but just too late to stop the hasty ceremony. -The railway would change it all, and would be much less triumphant and -satisfactory; but still, if Walter said so, it must be done, and her -practical imagination saw the conveniences as well as the drawbacks. - -Walter walked back with Kitty as near as he dared to The Leas, and then -Kitty walked back again with him. They thus made a long afternoon’s -occupation of it, during which everything was discussed and over again -discussed, and in which all the responsibility was laid on the proper -shoulders, i.e., on those of the parents who had driven them to this -only alternative. Neither of them had any doubt as to the certainty of -this, and they had at the same time fair hopes of being received back -again when it was all over, and nothing could be done to mend it. After -this, their people must acknowledge that it was no manner of use -struggling, and that it behoved them to think of making some provision -for the young pair, who after all were their own flesh and blood. - -Kitty did not undress at all, considering the unearthly hour at which -she was to set out. She flung off her evening dress into a corner, -reflecting that though it must be prepared after, instead of before, her -marriage, she must have a trousseau all the same, and that no bride puts -on again her old things after that event. Kitty put on her new winter -dress, which was very becoming, and had a pretty hat to match it, and -lay down to snatch an hour or two’s rest before the hour of starting. -She woke reluctantly to the sound of a handful of pebbles thrown against -her window, and then, though still exceedingly sleepy and greatly -tempted to pay no attention to the summons, managed at last to rouse -herself, and sprang up with a thump of her heart when she recollected -what it was--her wedding morning! She lighted a candle and put on her -hat, studying the effect in the glass, though she knew that Walter was -blowing his fingers with cold below; and then, with a fur cloak over her -arm, she stole downstairs. How dark it was, and how cold! The country -black with night, nothing visible but the waving, close to the house, of -some spectral trees. But Walter pulled her hand through his arm the -moment she slipped out, and her spirits rose. Two can face the darkness -where one would shrink before it. They had the strangest, merriest -walk--stumbling in the maddest way, jolting over stiles, going astray -into ploughed fields, rousing all the dogs in all the farms and cottages -for miles round--but at last found their way, worn out with stumbling -and laughing, to the station, where the train had not yet arrived. And -then came the rush and sweep through the night, the arrival in the gray -morning at the station, the rousing up of the grim priest known as ‘the -blacksmith’--though I am not sure that this was his trade. Kitty found -time to smarten herself up a little, to straighten the brim of her hat -and put it on as if she had taken it fresh out of its bandbox, and to -put on her white gloves--the only things truly bride-like, which she -had put in her pocket before she left home--and then the ceremony, -whatever it was, was performed, and the boy and girl were made man and -wife. - -After it was all over, Kitty and Walter looked at each other in the gray -morning light with a pale and frightened look. When the thing was done -the excitement suddenly failed, and for a moment everything was black. -Kitty cried a little, and Walter, if it had not been for his pride of -manhood, was very near following her example. What awful thing was it -they had done? Kitty was the first to recover her courage. - -‘I am dreadfully hungry,’ she said, ‘and so tired. Walter, do go and see -if we can have some breakfast anywhere. I must have some breakfast, or I -shall die.’ Kitty was very fond of this alternative, but had shown no -intention of adopting it as yet. - -‘I’ll go on to that public-house over there; but won’t you come too, -Kitty?’ - -‘No; go and order breakfast, and then come and fetch me. I’ll look over -the books and see who have gone before us,’ said Kitty. - -He left her seated, half leaning over the table, studying the records -which she had spread out before her. At that moment Kitty had a great -sympathy for everybody who had been married, and a wondering desire to -know what they had felt. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -A DISCOVERY. - - -When Walter came back, having ordered a meal such as was most easily -procurable in those regions, that is to say, tea and stale bread and -fresh oatcakes and a dish of ham and eggs, he found Kitty waiting for -him in a fever of impatience. She had one of the blacksmith’s big -register-books opened out upon the table, and her eyes were dancing with -excitement. She rushed to meet him and caught him by the arm. - -‘Wat!’ she said, ‘oh, how soon can we get back?’ - -‘Get back!’ he cried; ‘but we are not going back.’ - -‘Oh yes, but we are, as quick as we can fly. Go and order the horses -this minute--oh, I forgot, it’s a train! Can’t we have a train directly? -When is there a train?’ - -‘For goodness’ sake, Kitty, what do you mean? But we are married! You -can’t be going to turn your back upon me.’ - -‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ said Kitty, in her excitement; ‘who talks of turning -their back? I’ve found out something that will make mamma jump; it makes -me jump to begin with!’ exclaimed the girl, performing a dance on the -floor. ‘They’ll never say a word to us. They’ll be struck dumb with -this. Look! look!’ - -Walter looked with great surprise, without the slightest conception of -what it could be to which his attention was called. His eyes wandered -along the page, seeing nothing. A long array of names: what could there -be in these to call for all this commotion? Kitty pushed him aside in -her excitement. She laid her finger upon one short signature written -very small. He read it, and turned and looked at her aghast. - -‘Kitty! what do you mean? Who is it? It can’t--it can’t be----’ - -‘Well!’ cried Kitty, ‘and who could it be? “Joan Blencarrow”--there’s -only one person of that name in all the world.’ - -‘Good heavens!’ Walter cried. He had more feeling than she had, for he -stood aghast. Mrs. Blencarrow! He seemed to see her suddenly in all her -dignity and splendour, as he had seen her standing receiving her -guests. Kitty jumped with excitement, but Walter was appalled. - -‘Mrs. Blencarrow! I can’t believe it! I don’t believe it!’ he said. - -‘What does it matter whether you believe it or not, for there it is?’ -said Kitty, triumphant. ‘Oh, what a state mamma will be in! She will -never say a word to us. She will pay no attention, any more than if we -had been out for a walk. Oh, how she will like to pull down Mrs. -Blencarrow!--she that was always so grand, and people thinking there was -nobody like her. And all this time--three years----’ - -Kitty’s eyes danced with delight. To think that she should be the one to -find out such a wonderful secret intoxicated her with satisfaction and -pleasure. - -‘Kitty,’ said Walter, with hesitation, ‘we have found it out by -accident.’ - -‘Oh, don’t say _we_! _I’ve_ found it out. It would never have come into -your head to look at the books.’ - -‘Well, _you_ then. You have found it out by accident, and when we’re -happy ourselves, why should we try to make other people miserable? -Kitty!’ He put his arm round her, and pleaded with his lips close to her -ear. - -‘Oh, nonsense!’ she said; ‘all men are taken in like that; but I can’t -let her off; I won’t let her off. Why, it wouldn’t be right!’ - -‘There are some people who would think what we are doing wasn’t right,’ -said Walter. - -‘Oh, you coward,’ cried Kitty, ‘to turn round on me when we haven’t -been married an hour! As if it was my doing, when you know that but for -you----’ - -‘I am not turning round on you. I never said it was your doing. Kitty, -darling, don’t let us quarrel. You know I never meant----’ - -‘I shall quarrel, if I like,’ cried Kitty, bursting into tears; and they -had it out, as they had already done a hundred times, and would a -hundred more, enjoying it thoroughly. It suddenly occurred to Walter, -however, as the little episode drew near a close, that the ham and eggs -must be ready, and he threw in an intimation to this effect with very -telling results. Kitty jumped up, dried her eyes, straightened her hat, -and declared that she was dying of hunger. - -‘But whatever happens, and however serious things may be, you always -will go on,’ she said. - -He was magnanimous, being very hungry too, and restrained the retort -that was trembling on his tongue, that it was she who would go on; and -they flew across to the little alehouse, arm in arm, and enjoyed their -ham and eggs even more than they had enjoyed their quarrel. - -They found out that the next train ‘up’ was not till eleven o’clock, -which set their minds at rest, for they had meant to go to London before -Kitty’s mind had been all unsettled by that discovery. Walter had begun -to hope she had forgotten all about it, when she suddenly jumped up from -the table--not, however, before she had made a very satisfactory meal. - -‘Oh, what a fool I am!’ cried Kitty. ‘I never paid any attention to the -man!’ - -‘What man?’ - -‘Why, the man she was married to, you goose! A woman can’t be married -all by herself. It was a long name--Everard something. I didn’t know it, -or I should have paid more attention. Haven’t you finished yet?--for I -must run this instant----’ - -‘Where, Kitty?’ - -‘Why, to look up the book again!’ she cried. - -‘I wish you’d give this up,’ said Walter. ‘Do, to please me. We’ve got -all we wish ourselves, and why should we worry other people, Kitty?’ - -‘If you have got all you wish, I have not. I want to please them--to -make them do something for us; and when a thing like this turns up--the -very thing!--why, mamma will hug us both--she will forgive us on the -spot. She’ll be so pleased she’ll do anything for us. I don’t know about -Mrs. Lawrence----’ - -‘It won’t do us any good with my mother,’ said Walter, with a thrill of -dread coming over him, for he did not like to think of his mother and -that terrible trustee. - -‘By the way,’ cried Kitty, with a pirouette of delight, ‘it’s I that am -Mrs. Lawrence now, and she’s only the Dowager. Fancy turning a person -who has always made you shake in your shoes into the Dowager! It’s too -delightful--it’s worth all the rest.’ - -Walter did not like this to be said about his mother. He had deceived -and disappointed her, but he was not without a feeling for her. - -‘That is all nonsense,’ he said. ‘It is not as if I had come into the -property and my mother had to turn out; for everything is hers. I hope -you don’t mind being Mrs. Walter, Kitty, for my sake.’ - -Kitty considered a moment whether she should be angry, but concluded -that it was too soon after the last quarrel, and would be monotonous and -a bore, so she caught up his hat instead and thrust it into his hand. - -‘Come along,’ she said; ‘come along. We have sat a long time over -breakfast, and there is no time to lose; I must make out the other name -in that book.’ - -But here the young lady met with an unexpected check, for the blacksmith -stopped them as they entered his house, striding towards them from the -kitchen, where he, too, had finished a very satisfactory meal. - -‘What will ye be wanting?’ he said. ‘Ye will maybe think I can unmarry -ye again? but it’s not possible to do that.’ - -‘We don’t want to be unmarried,’ said Kitty; ‘we want just to look at -the book again, to see a name.’ - -‘What book?’ - -‘The register-book that is in that room,’ said Walter; ‘my wife,’ and he -gave Kitty’s arm a squeeze, ‘saw a name----’ - -‘My book!’ The blacksmith stood in the doorway like a mountain, not to -be passed by or pushed aside. ‘I’ll have no one spying into the names in -my book.’ - -‘I don’t want to spy,’ said Kitty;’ it’s somebody I know.’ - -But the big man would hear no reason; he looked at the little couple -before him, so young and so silly, as if he had been a bishop at least. - -‘I couldn’t refuse to marry ye,’ he said; ‘I hadn’t the right. But if I -had followed my own lights, I would just have sent ye home to your -parents to be put back in the nursery; and ye shall see no books of -mine, nor tell tales upon other folk.’ - -And nothing could move him from this resolution. Kitty nearly cried with -vexation when they got into the train again; her own escapade dwindled -into something quite secondary. - -‘It was so silly of me not to make sure of the name. I am sure the first -name was Everard, or something like that. And what a brute that man is, -Walter! If you had really loved me as you say, you would have pushed him -away or knocked him down.’ - -‘Why, he was six times as big as me, Kitty!’ - -‘What does that matter,’ she said, ‘when it’s for the sake of someone -you love?’ - -But perhaps this is rather a feminine view. - -There had been, as may be supposed, a great commotion in The Leas when -it was found that Kitty’s room was vacant in the morning. A girl’s -absence is more easily discovered than a boy’s. Mrs. Lawrence thought -that Walter had gone off for the day to see some of his friends, and -would come back to dinner, as he had done many times before; and though -she was angry with him for leaving his work, she was not anxious. But a -young lady does not make escapades of this sort; and when it was -discovered that Kitty’s best things had disappeared, and her favourite -locket, and that she had evidently never gone to bed in a proper and -legitimate way, the house and the neighbourhood was roused. Mrs. Bircham -sent off messengers far and near; and Mr. Bircham himself, though an -easy-minded man, went out on the same errand, visiting, among other -places, Blencarrow, where all the gaiety of a Christmas party was still -going on, and the boys were trying with delight the first faint film of -ice upon the pond to see when it would be likely to bear. Then, after a -hasty but late luncheon, he had gone to see whether Mrs. Lawrence knew -anything about the fugitive; and Mrs. Bircham, at her wits’ end, and -not knowing what to do, was alone in the drawing-room at The Leas, -pondering everything, wishing she had Kitty there to shake her, longing -to pour forth floods of wrath; but at the same time chilled by that -dread of something having happened which will come in even when a mother -is most enraged. She was saying to herself that nothing could have -happened--that it must be that young Lawrence--that the girl was an -idiot--that she washed her hands of her--that she would have nothing to -do with them--that, oh, if she had only thought to lock her up in her -bedroom and stop it all! - -‘Oh, Kitty, Kitty! where are you, child?’ she cried nervously at the -conclusion of all. - -There was a rustle and a little rush, and Kitty ran in, flinging -herself upon her knees upon the hearthrug, and replied: - -‘Here I am--here I am, mamma!’ - -Mrs. Bircham uttered a shriek. She saw Walter behind, and the situation -in a moment became clear to her. - -‘You young fools!’ she said; ‘you disobedient, ungrateful -children--you----’ - -‘Oh, mamma, one moment. We have been to Gretna Green--Walter and me!’ - -‘How dared you, sir?’ said Mrs. Bircham, turning upon the hapless -lover--‘how dared you steal my innocent child away? And then you come -here to triumph over us. Begone, sir--begone, sir, out of my house; -begone out of my house!’ - -Kitty jumped up off her knees and caught Walter by the arm. - -‘He does not go a step without me,’ she cried. ‘But, mamma, if you would -have a moment’s patience, you would not think any more about it. We were -going to London; but I came back, though I knew you would scold, to tell -you. Listen to me one moment,’ cried Kitty, running all the words into -one; ‘it’s something about Mrs. Blencarrow.’ - -Mrs. Bircham had her hands raised, presumably to draw down the curse of -heaven upon the pair, but at this name she paused; her countenance -changed. - -‘Mrs. Blencarrow?’ she gasped, and could say no more. - -‘You never heard such a thing in your life!’ cried Kitty. She dropped -Walter’s arm, and came forward in front of him. ‘Mamma, I saw her name -in the register; there it is--anyone can see it: Joan Blencarrow--there -couldn’t be another person with such a name.’ - -‘In the register? What--what do you mean?’ - -‘Mamma, I mean that Mrs. Blencarrow is married--to somebody else. She’s -been married these three years. I read her name this very day. It’s in -the register at Gretna Green.’ - -Mrs. Bircham staggered back a few steps and dropped into a chair. - -‘Married!’ she cried. ‘Mrs. Blencarrow married!’ - -‘Three years ago,’ cried Kitty glibly. ‘Fifth January--I saw the -date--three years ago!’ - -Mrs. Bircham sat with her hands clasped and her eyes glaring, ‘as if,’ -Kitty said afterwards, ‘they would come out of her head.’ She uttered a -succession of cries, from little shrieks to breathless exclamations. -‘Married!--Mrs. Blencarrow! Oh, oh, Kitty! Oh, good heavens!--Mrs. -Blencarrow! Three years ago--the time she went off to Scotland to see -her sister. Oh, oh, Kitty! In the register! Get me a glass of water, or -I think I shall die.’ - -Walter disappeared for the water, thinking that after all his -mother-in-law was a good-hearted woman, and didn’t feel as Kitty said -she would; but when he returned, his admiration of Mrs. Bircham turned -into admiration for his wife, for Kitty and her mother, sitting close as -if they were the dearest friends, were laying their heads together and -talking both at the same time; and the horror and amazement in Mrs. -Bircham’s face had given way to the dancing of a malicious light in her -eyes, and a thrill of eagerness all over her. - -‘I am not at all surprised,’ she was saying when Walter came in. ‘I felt -sure something of the kind would come to light sooner or later. I never -would have trusted her--not a step beyond what I saw. I felt sure all -wasn’t right in that house. What a mercy, Kitty, that you saw it!’ - -‘Wasn’t it a mercy, mamma!’ - -Kitty gave her young husband a look aside; she had made her peace with -her news. But Mrs. Bircham thought of nothing--neither of her daughter’s -escapade, nor her own just anger--of nothing but this wonderful news, -and what would be the best thing to do. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -‘ARE WE QUITE ALONE?’ - - -Mrs. Blencarrow had just been saying good-bye to a number of her guests, -and, what was of more importance, her boys had just left her upon a -visit to one of their uncles who lived in a Midland county, and who, if -the weather was open (and there had been a great thaw that morning), -could give them better entertainment than could be provided in a -feminine house. There was a look in her face as if she were almost glad -to see them drive away. She was at the hall-door to see them go, and -stood kissing her hand to them as they drove off shouting their -good-byes, Reginald with the reins, and Bertie with his curly head -uncovered, waving his cap to his mother. She watched them till they -disappeared among the trees, with a smile of pride and pleasure on her -face, and then there came a dead dulness over it, like a landscape on -which the sun had suddenly gone down. - -‘Emmy, you should not stand here in the cold,’ she said; ‘run upstairs, -my dear, to a warm room.’ - -‘And what are you going to do, mamma?’ - -‘I have some business to look after,’ Mrs. Blencarrow said. She went -along the stone passage and down the stairs where Kitty and Walter had -gone on the night of the ball. She had a weary look, and her footsteps, -usually so elastic, dragged a little. The business-room was as cheerful -as a large fire could make it; she opened the door with an anxious look -in her eyes, but drew a breath of relief when she saw that no one was -there. On the mantelpiece was a note in a large bold handwriting: ‘Out -on the farm, back at five,’ it said. Mrs. Blencarrow sat down in the -arm-chair in front of her writing-table. She leant her head in her -hands, covering her face, and so remained for a long time, doing -nothing, not even moving, as if she had been a figure in stone. When she -stirred at last and uncovered her face, it was almost as white as -marble. She drew a long sigh from the very depths of her being. ‘I -wonder how long this can go on,’ she said, wringing her hands, speaking -to herself. - -These were the same words which Kitty and Walter had overheard in the -dark, but not from her. There were, then, two people in the house to -whom there existed something intolerable which it was wellnigh -impossible to bear. - -She drew some papers towards her and began to look over them listlessly, -but it was clear that there was very little interest in them; then she -opened a drawer and took out some letters, which she arranged in -succession and tried to fix her attention to, but neither did these -succeed. She rose up, pushing them impatiently away, and began to pace -up and down the room, pausing mechanically now and then to look at the -note on the mantelpiece and to look at her watch, both of which things -she did twice over in five minutes. At five! It was not four yet--what -need to linger here when there was still an hour--still a whole hour? -Mrs. Blencarrow was interrupted by a knock at her door; she started as -if it had been a cannon fired at her ear, and instinctively cast a -glance at the glass over the mantelpiece to smooth the agitation from -her face before she replied. The servant had come to announce a -visitor--Mrs. Bircham--awaiting his mistress in the drawing-room. ‘Ah! -she has come to tell me about Kitty,’ Mrs. Blencarrow said to herself. - -She went upstairs wearily enough, thinking that she had no need to be -told what had become of Kitty, that she knew well enough what must have -happened, but sorry, too, for the mother, and ready to say all that she -could to console her--to put forth the best pleas she could for the -foolish young pair. She was so full of trouble and perplexity herself, -which had to be kept in rigorous concealment, that anything of which -people could speak freely, upon which they could take others into their -confidence, seemed light and easy to her. She went upstairs without a -suspicion or alarm--weary, but calm. - -Mrs. Bircham did not meet her with any appeal for sympathy either in -look or words; there was no anxiety in her face. Her eyes were full of -satisfaction and malice, and ill-concealed but pleasurable excitement. - -‘I can see,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, ‘that you have news of Kitty,’ as she -shook hands with her guest. - -‘Oh, Kitty is right enough,’ said the other hastily; and then she cast a -glance round the room. ‘Are we quite alone?’ she asked; ‘there are so -many corners in this room, one never knows who may be listening. Mrs. -Blencarrow, I do not come to speak of Kitty, but about yourself.’ - -‘About myself?’ - -‘Oh,’ said Mrs. Bircham, with a gasp, ‘you speak in that innocent tone -as if it was quite surprising that anyone could have anything to say of -you.’ - -Mrs. Blencarrow changed her position so as to get her back to the light; -one of those overwhelming flushes which were habitual to her had come -scorching over her face. - -‘No more surprising to me than--to any of us,’ she said, with an attempt -at a smile. ‘What is it that I have done?’ - -‘Oh, Mrs. Blencarrow--though why I should go on calling you Mrs. -Blencarrow when that’s not your name----’ - -‘Not my name!’ There was a shrill sort of quaver in her voice, a keen -note as of astonishment and dismay. - -‘I wish,’ cried Mrs. Bircham, growing red, and fanning herself with her -muff in her excitement--‘I wish you wouldn’t go on repeating what I say; -it’s maddening--and always as if you didn’t know. Why don’t you call -yourself by your proper name? How can you go on deceiving everybody, and -even your own poor children, living on false pretences, “lying all -round,” as my husband says? Oh, I know you’ve been doing it for years; -you’ve got accustomed to it, I suppose; but don’t you know how -disgraceful it is, and what everybody will say?’ - -Had there been any critic of human nature present, it would have gone -greatly against Mrs. Blencarrow that she was not astonished at this -attack. She rose up with a fine gesture of pride. - -‘This is an extraordinary assault to make upon me,’ she said, ‘in my own -house.’ - -‘Is it your own house, after disgracing it so?’ cried the visitor. And -then she added, after an angry pause for breath: ‘I came out of -kindness, to let you know that everything was discovered. Mr. Bircham -and I thought it was better you should have it from a friend than from -common report.’ - -‘I appreciate the kindness,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, with something like a -laugh; then she walked to the side of the fire and rang the bell. Mrs. -Bircham trembled, but her victim was perfectly calm; the assailant -looked on in amazed expectation, wondering what was to come next, but -the assailed stood quietly waiting till the servant appeared. When the -man opened the door, his mistress said: ‘Call Mrs. Bircham’s carriage, -John, and attend her downstairs.’ - -Mrs. Bircham stood gasping with rage and astonishment. ‘Is that all?’ -she said; ‘is that all you have got to say?’ - -‘All--the only reply I will make,’ said the lady of the house. She made -her visitor a stately bow, with a wave of the hand towards the door. -Mrs. Bircham, half mad with baffled rage, looked round as it were for -some moral missile to throw before she took her dismissal. She found it -in the look of the man who stood impassive at the door. John was a -well-trained servant, bound not to look surprised at anything. Mrs. -Bircham clasped her hands together, as if she had made a discovery, made -a few hasty steps towards the door, and then turned round with an -offensive laugh. ‘I suppose that’s the man,’ she said. - -Mrs. Blencarrow stood firm till the door had closed and the sound of her -visitor’s laugh going downstairs had died away: then she sank down upon -her knees in the warm fur of the hearthrug--down--down--covering her -face with her hands. She lay there for some time motionless, holding -herself together, feeling like something that had suddenly fallen into -ruin, her walls all crumbled down, her foundations giving way. - -The afternoon had grown dark, and a gray twilight filled the great -windows. Nothing but the warm glow of the fire made any light in the -large and luxurious room. It was so full of the comforts and brightness -of life--the red light twinkling in the pretty pieces of old silver and -curiosities upon the tables, catching in ruddy reflection the -picture-frames and mirror, warming and softening the atmosphere which -was so sheltered and still; and yet in no monastic cell or prison had -there ever been a prostrate figure more like despair. - -The first thing that roused her was a soft, caressing touch upon her -shoulder; she raised her head to see Emmy, her delicate sixteen-year-old -girl, bending over her. - -‘Mamma, mamma, is anything the matter?’ said Emmy. - -‘I was very tired and chilly; I did not hear you come in, Emmy.’ - -‘I met Mrs. Bircham on the stairs; she was laughing all to herself, but -when she saw me she began to cry, and said, “Poor Emmy! poor little -girl! You’ll feel it.” But she would not tell me what it was. And then I -find you, mamma, looking miserable.’ - -‘Am I looking miserable? You can’t see me, my darling,’ said her mother -with a faint laugh. She added, after a pause: ‘Mrs. Bircham has got a -new story against one of her neighbours. Don’t let us pay any attention, -Emmy; I never do, you know.’ - -‘No, mamma,’ said Emmy, with a quaver in her voice. She was very quiet -and said very little, but in her half-invalid condition she could not -help observing a great many things that eluded other people, and many -alarms and doubts and suppressed suspicions were in her mind which she -could not and would not have put in words. There was something in the -semi-darkness and in the abandon in which she had found her mother which -encouraged Emmy. She clasped Mrs. Blencarrow’s arm in both of hers, and -put her face against her mother’s dress. - -‘Oh, mamma,’ she said, ‘if you are troubled about anything, won’t you -tell me? Oh, mamma, tell me! I should be less unhappy if I knew.’ - -‘Are you unhappy, Emmy?--about me?’ - -‘Oh! I did not mean quite that; but you are unhappy sometimes, and how -can I help seeing it? I know your every look, and what you mean when you -put your hands together--like that, mamma.’ - -‘Do you, Emmy?’ The mother took her child into her arms with a strong -pressure, as if Emmy’s feeble innocence pressed against her own strong, -struggling bosom did her good. The girl felt the quiver in her mother’s -arm, which enfolded her, and felt the heavy beating of the heart against -which she was pressed, with awe and painful sympathy, but without -suspicion. She knew everything without knowing anything in her boundless -sympathy and love. But just then the clock upon the mantelpiece tingled -out its silvery chime. Five o’clock! Mrs. Blencarrow put Emmy out of her -arms with a sudden start. ‘I did not think it was so late. I have to see -some one downstairs at five o’clock.’ - -‘Oh, mamma, wait for some tea; it is just coming.’ - -‘You are very late,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow to the butler, who came in -carrying a lamp, while John followed him with the tray. Tea in the -afternoon was a very novel invention, at that time known only in a few -houses. ‘Do not be so late another day. I must go, Emmy--it is business; -but I shall be back almost directly.’ - -‘Oh, mamma, I hate business; you say you will be back directly, and you -don’t come for hours!’ - -Mrs. Blencarrow kissed her daughter and smiled at her, patting her on -the shoulder. - -‘Business, you know, must be attended to,’ she said, ‘though everything -else should go to the wall.’ - -Her face changed as she turned away; she gave a glance as she passed at -the face of the man who held open the door for her, and it seemed to -Mrs. Blencarrow that there was a gleam of knowledge in it, a suppressed -disrespect. She was aware, even while this idea framed itself in her -mind, that it was a purely fantastic idea, but the profound -self-consciousness in her own soul tinged everything she saw; she -hurried downstairs with a sort of reluctant swiftness, a longing to -escape and yet an eagerness to go. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -‘IS IT TRUE?’ - - -A few days passed without any further incident. Mrs. Blencarrow’s -appearance in the meantime had changed in a singular way. Her wonderful -self-command was shaken; sometimes she had an air of suppressed -excitement, a permanent flush under her eyes, a nervous irritation -almost uncontrollable; at other moments she was perfectly pale and -composed, but full of an acute consciousness of every sound. She spent a -great part of her time in her business-room downstairs, going and coming -on many occasions hurriedly, as if by an impulse she could not resist. -This could not be hidden from those keen observers, the servants, who -all kept up a watch upon her, quickened by whispers that began to reach -them from without. Mrs. Blencarrow, on her side, realized very well what -must be going on without. She divined the swiftness with which Mrs. -Bircham’s information would circulate through the county, and the effect -it would produce. Whether it was false or true would make no difference -at first. There would be the same wave of discussion, of wonder, of -doubt; her whole life would be investigated to see what were the -likelihoods on either side, and her recent acts and looks and words all -talked over. She was a very proud woman, and her sensations were -something like those of a civilized man who is tied to a stake and sees -the savages dancing round him, preparing to begin the torture. She -expected every moment to see the dart whirl through the air, to feel it -quiver in her flesh; the waiting at the beginning, anticipating the -first missile, must be, she thought, the worst of all. - -She watched for the first sound of the tempest, and Emmy and the -servants watched her, the one with sympathy and terror, the others with -keen curiosity not unheightened by expectation. She was a good mistress, -and some of them were fond of her; some of them were capable of standing -by her through good and evil; but it is not in human nature not to watch -with excitement the bursting of such a cloud, or to look on without a -certain keen pleasure in seeing how a victim--a heroine--will comport -herself in the moment of danger. It was to them as good as a play. There -were some in her own house who did not believe it; there were some who -had long, they said, been suspicious; but all, both those who believed -it and those who did not believe it, were keen to see how she would -comport herself in this terrible crisis of fate. - -The days went by very slowly in this extraordinary tension of spirit; -the first stroke came as such a stroke generally does--from a wholly -unexpected quarter. Mrs. Blencarrow was sitting one afternoon with Emmy -in the drawing-room. The large room looked larger with only these two in -it. Emmy, a little figure only half visible, lay in a great chair near -the fire, buried in it, her small face showing like a point of -whiteness amid the ruddy tones of the firelight and the crimson of the -chair. Her mother was on the other side of the fire, with a screen -thrown between her and the glow, scarcely betraying her existence at -all, in the shade in which she sat, by any movement. The folds of her -velvet dress caught the firelight and showed a little colour lying -coiled about her feet; but this was all that a spectator would have -seen. Emmy was busy with some fleecy white knitting, which she could go -on with in the partial darkness; the faint sound of her knitting-pins -was audible along with the occasional puff of flame from the fire, or -falling of ashes on the hearth. There was not much conversation between -them. Sometimes Emmy would ask a question: ‘When are the boys coming -home, mamma?’ ‘Perhaps to-day,’ with a faint movement in the darkness; -‘but they are going back to school on Monday,’ Mrs. Blencarrow said, -with a tone of relief. It might have been imagined that she said ‘Thank -Heaven!’ under her breath. Emmy felt the meaning of that tone as she -felt everything, but blamed herself for thinking so, as if she were -doing wrong. - -‘It is a strange thing to say,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow; ‘but I almost wish -they were going straight back to school, without coming home again.’ - -‘Oh, mamma!’ said Emmy, with a natural protest. - -‘It seems a strange thing,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, ‘to say----’ She had -paused between these two last words, and there was a slight quiver in -her voice. - -She had paused to listen; there was some sound in the clear air, which -was once more hard with frost; it was the sound of a carriage coming up -the avenue. All was so still around the house that they could hear it -for a long way. Mrs. Blencarrow drew a long, shivering breath. - -‘There’s somebody coming,’ said Emmy; ‘can it be Rex and Bertie?’ - -‘Most likely only somebody coming to call. Emmy!’ - -‘What, mamma?’ - -‘I was going to say, don’t stay in the room if--if it were. But no, -never mind; it was a mistake; I would rather you did stay.’ - -‘I will do whatever you please, mamma.’ - -‘Thank you, Emmy. If I turn to you, go. But perhaps there will be no -need.’ - -They waited, falling into a curious silence, full of expectation; the -carriage came slowly up to the door; it jingled and jogged, so that they -recognised instinctively that it must be the fly from the station. - -‘It will be the boys, after all,’ Mrs. Blencarrow said, with something -between relief and annoyance. ‘No,’ she added, with a little impatience; -‘don’t run to the door to meet them. It is too cold for you; stay where -you are; I can’t have you exposing yourself.’ - -Something of the irritability of nervous expectation was in her voice, -and presently the door opened, but not with the rush of the boys’ -return. It was opened by the butler, who came in solemnly, his white -shirt shining out in the twilight of the room, and announced in his -grandest tone, ‘Colonel and Mr. d’Eyncourt,’ as two dark figures -followed him into the room. Mrs. Blencarrow rose to her feet with a low -cry. She put her hand unconsciously upon her heart, which leaped into -the wildest beating. - -‘You!’ she said. - -They came forward, one following the other, into the circle of the -firelight, and took her hand and kissed her with solemnity. Colonel -d’Eyncourt was a tall, slim, soldierly man, the other shorter and -rotund. But there was something in the gravity of their entrance which -told that their errand was of no usual kind. When Emmy came forward to -greet her uncles, they turned to her with a mixture of impatience and -commiseration. - -‘Are you here, my poor child?’ said one; and the other told her to run -away, as they had something particular to say to her mamma. - -The butler in the meantime was lighting the candles on the mantelpiece, -which made a sudden blaze and brought the two gentlemen into sight. - -‘I am sorry I did not know you were coming,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, -recovering her fortitude with the sudden gleam of the light, ‘or I -should have sent for you to the station. Preston, bring some tea.’ - -‘No tea for us,’ said Mr. d’Eyncourt; ‘we have come to see you on family -business, if you could give us an hour undisturbed.’ - -‘Don’t bring any tea, then, Preston,’ she said with a smile, ‘and don’t -admit anyone.’ She turned and looked at Emmy, whose eyes were fixed on -her. ‘Go and look out for the boys, my dear.’ - -The two brothers exchanged glances--they were, perhaps, not men of great -penetration--they considered that their sister’s demeanour was one of -perfect calm; and she felt as if she were being suffocated, as she -waited with a smile on her face till her daughter and the footman, who -was more deliberate, were gone. Then she sat down again on her low chair -behind the screen, which sheltered her a little from the glare of the -candles as well as the fire. - -‘I hope,’ she said, ‘it is nothing of a disagreeable kind--you both look -so grave.’ - -‘You must know what we have come to talk about, Joan.’ - -‘Indeed I don’t,’ she said; ‘what is it? There is something the matter. -Reginald--Roger--what is it? You frighten me with your grave -faces--what has happened?’ - -The gentlemen looked at each other again; their eyes said, ‘It cannot be -true.’ The Colonel cleared his voice; he was the eldest, and it was upon -him that the special burden lay. - -‘If it is true,’ he said--‘you know best, Joan, whether it is true or -not--if it is true, it is the most dreadful thing that has happened in -our family.’ - -‘You frighten me more and more,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow. ‘Something about -John?’ - -John was the black sheep of the D’Eyncourt family. Again the brothers -looked at each other. - -‘You must be aware of the rumour that is filling the county,’ said the -younger brother. ‘I hear there is nothing else talked of, Joan. It is -about you--you, whom we have always been so proud of. Both Reginald and -I have got letters. They say that you have made a disgraceful marriage; -that it’s been going on for years; that you’ve no right to your present -name at all, nor to your position in this house. I cannot tell you the -half of what’s said. The first letter we paid no attention to, but when -we heard it from half a dozen different places--Joan--nothing about John -could be half so bad as a story like this about you.’ - -Mrs. Blencarrow had risen slowly to her feet, but still was in the -shade. She did not seem able to resist the impulse to stand up while she -was being accused. - -‘So this is the reason of your sudden visit,’ she said, speaking with -deliberation, which might have meant either inability to speak, or the -utmost contempt of the cause. - -‘What could we have done else?’ they both cried together, apologetic for -the first moment. ‘We, your brothers, with such a circumstantial story,’ -said the Colonel. - -‘And your nearest friends, Joan; to nobody could it be of so much -importance as to us,’ said the other. - -‘Us!’ she said; ‘it is of more importance to the children.’ - -‘My dear girl,’ said the Colonel, putting his hand on her shoulder, ‘I -am most thankful we did not trust to letters, but came. It’s enough to -look at you. You must give us your authority, and we will soon make an -end of these slanderers. By Jove! in the old days it would have been -pistols that would have done it.’ - -‘You can’t use pistols to women,’ said Mr. d’Eyncourt, ‘if you were the -greatest fire-eater that ever was.’ - -They both laughed a little at this, but the soul was taken out of the -laugh by the perception slowly dawning upon both that Mrs. Blencarrow -had said nothing, did not join either in their laugh or their -thankfulness for having come, and had, indeed, slightly shrunk from her -brother’s hand, and still stood without asking them to sit down. - -‘I’m afraid you are angry with us,’ said Roger d’Eyncourt, ‘for having -hurried here as if we believed it. But there never is any certainty in -such matters. We thought it better to settle it at once--at the -fountain-head.’ - -‘Yes,’ she said, but no more. - -The brothers looked at each other again, this time uneasily. - -‘My dear Joan,’ said the Colonel--but he did not know how to go on. - -‘The fact is,’ said Mr. d’Eyncourt, ‘that you must give us your -authority to contradict it, don’t you know--to say authoritatively that -there is not a shadow of truth----’ - -‘Won’t you sit down?’ said Mrs. Blencarrow. - -‘Eh? Ah! Oh yes,’ said both men together. They thought for a moment that -she was giving them her ‘authority,’ as they said. The Colonel rolled an -easy chair near to her. Roger d’Eyncourt stood up against the glow of -the fire. - -‘Of course, that is all we want--your word,’ said the Colonel. - -She was still standing, and seemed to be towering above him where he sat -in that low chair; and there was a dumb resistance in her attitude -which made a strange impression upon the two men. She said, after a -moment, moistening her lips painfully, ‘You seem to have taken the word -of other people against me easily enough.’ - -‘Not easily; oh no! with great distress and pain. And we did not take -it,’ said the younger brother; ‘we came at once, to hear your own----’ - -He stopped, and there was a dead silence. The Colonel sat bending -forward into the comparative gloom in which she stood, and Roger -d’Eyncourt turned to her in an attitude of anxious attention; but she -made no further reply. - -‘Joan, for God’s sake say something! Don’t you see that pride is out of -the question in such circumstances? We must have a distinct -contradiction. Heavens! here’s someone coming, after all.’ - -There was a slight impatient tap at the door, and then it was opened -quickly, as by someone who had no mind to be put back. They all turned -towards the new-comer, the Colonel whirling his chair round with -annoyance. It was Brown--Mrs. Blencarrow’s agent or steward. He was a -tall young man with a well-developed, athletic figure, his head covered -with those close curling locks which give an impression of vigour and -superabundant life. He came quickly up to Mrs. Blencarrow with some -papers in his hand and said something to her, which, in their -astonishment and excitement, the brothers did not make out. He had the -slow and low enunciation of the North-country, to which their ear was -not accustomed. She answered him with almost painful distinctness. - -‘Oh, the papers about Appleby’s lease. Put them on the table, please.’ - -He went to the table and put them down, turned for a moment undecided, -and then joined the group, which watched him with a surprised and -hostile curiosity, so far as the brothers were concerned. She turned her -face towards him with a fixed, imperious look. - -‘I forgot,’ she said hurriedly; ‘I think you have both seen my agent, -Mr. Brown.’ - -Roger d’Eyncourt gave an abrupt nod of recognition; the Colonel only -gazed from his chair. - -‘I thought Mr. Brown had been your steward, Joan.’ - -‘He is my--everything that is serviceable and trustworthy,’ she said. - -The words seemed to vibrate in the air, so full of meaning were they, -and she herself to thrill with some strong sentiment which fixed her -look upon this man. He paused a little as if he intended to speak, but -after a minute’s uncertainty, with a rustic inclination of his head, -went slowly away. Mrs. Blencarrow dropped suddenly into her chair as the -door closed, as if some tremendous tension had relaxed. The brothers -looked wonderingly at each other again. ‘That is all very well; the -people you employ are in your own hands; but this is of far more -consequence.’ - -‘Joan,’ said the Colonel, ‘I don’t know what to think. For God’s sake -answer one way or another! Why don’t you speak? For the sake of your -children, for the sake of your own honour, your credit, your family--Is -it true?’ - -‘Hush, Rex! Of course we know it isn’t true. But, Joan, be reasonable, -my dear; let’s have your word for it, that we may face the world. Of -course we know well enough that you’re the last woman to dishonour -Blencarrow’s memory--poor old fellow! who was so fond of you--and -deceive everybody.’ - -‘You seem to have believed me capable of all that, or you would not have -come here!’ - -‘No, Joan, no--not so. Do, for God’s sake, take the right view of it! -Tell us simply that you are not married, and have never thought of such -a thing, which I for one am sure of to begin with.’ - -‘Perhaps,’ she said, with a curious hard note of a laugh, ‘they have -told you, having told you so much, whom I am supposed to have married, -as you say.’ - -Again they looked at each other. ‘No one,’ said the Colonel, ‘has told -us that.’ - -She laughed again. ‘Then if this is all you know, and all I am accused -of, to have married no one knows who, no one knows when, you must come -to what conclusion you please, and make what discoveries you can. I have -nothing to say.’ - -‘Joan!’ they both cried. - -‘You must do exactly what seems good to you,’ she said, rising hastily. -‘Find out what you can, say what you like--you shall not have a word -from me.’ - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -A NIGHT OF MISERY. - - -She was gone before they could say another word, leaving them looking at -each other in consternation, not knowing what to think. - -For the rest of the night Mrs. Blencarrow shut herself up in her own -room; she would not come downstairs, not even to dinner. The boys -arrived and sought their mother in the drawing-room, wondering that she -did not come to meet them, but found only their uncles there, standing -before the fire like two baffled conspirators. Reginald and Bertie -rushed to their mother’s room, and plunged into it, notwithstanding her -maid’s exhortation to be quiet. - -‘Your mamma has got a bad headache, sir.’ - -They were not accustomed to any régime of headaches. They burst in and -found her seated in her dressing-gown over the fire. - -‘Is your head so bad? Are you going to stay out?’ said Reginald, who had -just learnt the slang of Eton. - -‘And there’s Uncle Rex and Uncle Roger downstairs,’ said Bertie. - -‘You must tell them I am not well enough to come down. You must take the -head of the table and take care of them instead of me,’ said Mrs. -Blencarrow. - -‘But what is the matter, mamma?’ said Bertie. ‘You do not look very -bad, though you are red here.’ He touched his own cheeks under his -eyes, which were shining with the cold and excitement of arriving. - -‘Never mind, my dear. Emmy and you must do the honours of the house. I -am not well enough to come downstairs. Had you good sport?’ - -‘Oh, very good one day; but then, mamma, you know this horrid frost---- -’ - -‘Yes, yes. I should not wonder if the ice on the pond would bear -to-morrow,’ she said with a smile. ‘Now run away, dear boys, and see -that your uncles have everything they want; for I can’t bear much -talking, you know, with my bad head.’ - -‘Poor mamma!’ they cried. Reginald felt her forehead with his cold hand, -as he had seen her do, and Bertie hugged her in a somewhat rude embrace. -She kissed both the glowing faces, bright with cold and fun and -superabundant life. When they were gone, noisily, yet with sudden starts -of recollection that they ought to be quiet, Mrs. Blencarrow got up from -her chair and began to walk hurriedly about the room, now and then -wringing her hands. - -‘Even my little boys!’ she said to herself, with the acutest tone of -anguish. ‘Even my little boys!’ - -For she had no headache, no weakness. Her brain was supernaturally -clear, seeing everything on every side of the question. She was before a -problem which it needed more than mortal power to solve. To do all her -duties was impossible; which was she to fulfil and which abandon? It was -not a small contradiction such as sometimes confuses a brain, but one -that was fundamental, striking at the very source of life. She was not -angry with her brothers, or with the others who had made this assault -upon her. What were they, after all? Had they never spoken a word, the -problem would still have been there, more and more difficult to solve -every day. - -No one disturbed her further that night; she sent word downstairs that -she was going to bed, and sent even her maid away, darkening the light. -But when all was still, she rose again, and, bringing out a box full of -papers, began to examine and read them, burning many--a piece of work -which occupied her till the household noises had all sunk into silence, -and the chill of midnight was within and around the great house full of -human creatures asleep. Mrs. Blencarrow had all the restlessness about -her of great mental trouble. After she had sat long over her papers, -she thrust them from her hastily, throwing some into the fire and some -into the box, which she locked with a sort of fierce energy; then rose -and moved about the room, pausing to look at herself, with her feverish -cheeks, in the great mirror, then throwing herself on her knees by her -bedside as if to pray, then rising with a despairing movement as if that -was impossible. Sometimes she murmured to herself with a low, -unconscious outcry like some wounded animal--sometimes relieved herself -by broken words. Her restlessness, her wretchedness, all seemed to -breathe that question--the involuntary cry of humanity--‘What shall I -do? What shall I do?’ At length she opened her door softly and stole -downstairs. There was moonlight outside, and stray rays from a window -here and there made the long corridors and stairs faintly visible. One -broad sweep of whiteness from a great window on the staircase crossed -the dark like a vast ribbon, and across this ghostly light her figure -appeared and passed, more strangely and in a more awful revelation than -had all been dark. Had anyone seen her, it would have been impossible to -take her for anything but a ghost. - -She went down to the hall, then noiselessly along the further passage -and bare stone stairs to the little business room. All was dark and -silent there, the moonlight coming in through the chinks of the closed -shutters. Mrs. Blencarrow stood on the threshold a moment as if she had -expected to find someone there, then went in and sat down a few minutes -in the dark. Her movements and her sudden pauses were alike full of the -carelessness of distracted action. In the solitude and midnight darkness -and silence, what could her troubled thoughts be meditating? Suddenly -she moved again unseen, and came out to the door by which tenants and -other applicants came for business or charity. She turned the key -softly, and, opening it, stood upon the threshold. The opening from the -darkness into the white world unseen was like a chill and startling -transformation; the white light streamed in, opening a narrow pathway in -the darkness, in the midst of which she stood, a ghost indeed--enough to -have curdled the blood of any spectator. She stood for another moment -between the white world without and the blackness of night and sleep -within. To steal away and be lost for ever in that white still -distance; to disappear and let the billows of light and space and -silence swallow her up, and be seen no more. Ah! but that was not -possible. The only thing possible to mortal power was a weary plodding -along a weary road, that led not to vague distances, but to some village -or town well known, where the fugitive would be discovered by the -daylight, by wondering wayfarers, by life which no one can escape. Even -should death overtake her, and the welcome chill extinguish existence, -yet still there would be found somewhere, like a fallen image, her empty -shell, her mortal garment lying in the way of the first passenger. No; -oh no; rather still the struggle, the contradictions, the despair---- - -And how could she ask God to help her?--that one appeal which is -instinctive: for there was nothing she could do that would not be full -of lies or of treachery, a shirking of one duty or another, the -abandonment of justice, truth, and love. She turned from the world -outside and closed the door; then returned again up the long stairs, and -crossed once more the broad belt of moonlight from the window in the -staircase. It was like resigning all hope of outside help, turning back -to the struggle that had to be fought out inch by inch on the well-known -and common ground. She was chilled to the heart with the icy air of the -night, and threw herself down on the hearthrug before the fire, with a -forlorn longing for warmth, which is the last physical craving of all -wounded and suffering things; and then she fell into a deep but broken -sleep, from which she fortunately picked herself up before daylight, so -as to prevent any revelation of her agitated state to the maid, who -naturally suspected much, but knew, thanks to Mrs. Blencarrow’s -miraculous self-command, scarcely anything at all. - -She did not get up next morning till the brothers, infinitely perplexed -and troubled, believing their sister to be mortally offended by the step -they had taken, and by their adoption or partial adoption of the rumours -of the neighbourhood, had gone away. They made an ineffectual attempt to -see her before they left, and finally departed, sending her a note, in -which Roger d’Eyncourt expressed the deep sorrow of both, and their hope -that she would come in time to forgive them, and to see that only -solicitude for herself and her family could have induced them to take -such a step. - -‘I hope,’ he added, ‘my dear sister, that you will not misunderstand our -motives when I say that we are bound in honour to contradict upon -authoritative grounds this abominable rumour, since our own character -may be called in question, for permitting you to retain the guardianship -of the children in such circumstances. As you refuse to discuss it with -us (and I understand the natural offence to your pride and modesty that -seems involved), we must secure ourselves by examining the books in -which the record of the marriage was said to have been found.’ - -Mrs. Blencarrow received this note while still in bed. She read it with -great apparent calm, but the great bed in which she lay quivered -suddenly, all its heavy satin draperies moving as if an earthquake had -moved the room. Both her maid and Emmy saw this strange movement with -alarmed surprise, thinking that one of the dogs had got in, or that -there had been some sinking of the foundation. - -‘The bed shook,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, clutching with her hand at the -quilt, as if for safety. ‘Yes, I felt something; but the flooring is not -very even, and worm-eaten at some places, you know.’ - -She got up immediately after, making a pretence of this to account for -her recovery so soon after her brothers’ departure, and appeared soon -afterwards downstairs, looking very pale and exhausted, but saying she -felt a little better. And the day passed as usual--quite as usual to -the boys and the servants; a cheerful day enough, the children in the -foreground, and a good deal of holiday noise and commotion going on. -Emmy from time to time looked wistfully at her mother, but Mrs. -Blencarrow took no notice, save with a kiss or an especially tender -word. - -‘I think you have got my headache, Emmy.’ - -‘Oh, mamma, I don’t mind if I can take it from you.’ - -The mother shook her head with a smile that went to Emmy’s heart. - -‘I am afraid,’ she said, ‘no one can do that.’ - -In the afternoon she sent a man over to the Vicarage, with a note to the -clergyman of the parish. He was a middle-aged man, but unmarried; a -studious and quiet parson, little in society, though regarded with -great respect in the neighbourhood; a man safe to confide in, with -neither wife nor other belongings to tempt him to the betrayal of a -secret entrusted to him. Perhaps this was why, in her uttermost need, -Mrs. Blencarrow bethought herself of Mr. Germaine. She passed the rest -of the day in the usual manner, not going out, establishing herself -behind the screen by the drawing-room fire with some work, ready to be -appealed to by the children. It was the time at which she expected -visits, but there had been no caller at Blencarrow for a day or two, -which was also a noticeable thing, for the neighbourhood was what is -called sociable, and there had been rarely a day in which some country -neighbour or other did not appear, until the last week, during which -scarcely any stranger had crossed the threshold. Was it the weather -which had become so cold? Was it that there were Christmas parties in -most of the houses, which perhaps had not quite broken up yet? Was -it----? It was a small matter, and Mrs. Blencarrow was thankful beyond -expression to be rid of them, to be free of the necessity for company -looks and company talks--but yet---- - -In the evening, after dinner, when the children were all settled to a -noisy round game, she went downstairs to her business room, bidding them -good-night before she left, and requesting that she should not be -disturbed, for her headaches lately had made her much behind with her -work, which, of course, was unusually heavy at the beginning of the -year. She went away with a curious stillness about her, pausing at the -door to give a last look at the happy little party, all flushed with -their game. It might have been the last look she should ever have of -them, from the expression in her face; and then she closed the door and -went resolutely away. The servants in their regions below sounded almost -as merry as the children, in the after-dinner ease; but they were far -from the business-room, which was perfectly quiet and empty--a shaded -lamp burning in it, the fire blazing. Mrs. Blencarrow sat down at her -writing-table, but, though she was so busy, did nothing. She looked at -her watch with a weary sigh, then leaning her head on her hands, -waited--for whom and for what, who could say? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -MRS. BLENCARROW’S CONFESSION. - - -She had been there for some time when the sound of a footstep on the -gravel outside made her start. It was followed by a knock at the door, -which she herself opened almost before the summons. She came back to the -room, immediately followed by a tall man in clerical dress. The -suppressed excitement which had been in Mrs. Blencarrow’s aspect all the -day had risen now to an extraordinary height. She was very pale, with -one flaring spot on either cheek, and trembled so much that her teeth -were with difficulty kept from chattering against each other. She was -quite breathless when she took her seat again, once more supporting her -head in her hands. - -The clergyman was embarrassed, too; he clasped and unclasped his hands -nervously, and remarked that the night was very cloudy and that it was -cold, as if, perhaps, it had been to give her information about the -weather that he came. Mr. Germaine giving her his views about the night, -and Mrs. Blencarrow listening with her face half hidden, made the most -curious picture, surrounded as it was by the bare framework of this -out-of-the-way room. She broke in abruptly at last upon the few broken -bits of information which he proceeded to give. - -‘Do you guess why I sent for you, Mr. Germaine?’ - -The Vicar hesitated, and said, ‘I am by no means sure.’ - -‘Or why I receive you here in this strange place, and let you in myself, -and treat you as if you were a visitor whom I did not choose to have -seen?’ - -‘I have never thought of that last case.’ - -‘No--but it is true enough. It is not an ordinary visit I asked you to -pay me.’ She took her hands from her face and looked at him for a -moment. ‘You have heard what people are saying of me?’ she said. - -‘Yes, but I did not believe a word. I felt sure that Kitty only meant to -curry favour at home.’ - -She gave him a strange, sudden look, then paused with a mechanical -laugh. ‘You think, then,’ she said, ‘that there are people in my own -county to whom that news would be something to conciliate; -something--something to make them forgive?’ - -‘There are people everywhere who would give much for such a story -against a neighbour, Mrs. Blencarrow.’ - -‘It is sad that such a thing should be.’ She stopped again, and looked -at him once more. ‘I am going to surprise you very much, Mr. Germaine. -You are not like them, so I think I am going to give you a great shock,’ -she said. - -She had turned her face towards him as she spoke; the two red spots on -her cheeks were like fire, yet her paleness was extreme; they only -seemed to make this the more remarkable. - -In the momentary silence the door opened suddenly, and someone came in. -In the subdued light afforded by the shaded lamp it was difficult to see -more than that a dark figure had entered the room, and, crossing over to -the further side, sat down against the heavy curtains that covered the -window. Mrs. Blencarrow made the slightest movement of consciousness, -not of surprise, at this interruption, which, indeed, scarcely was an -interruption at all, being so instantaneous and so little remarked. She -went on: - -‘You have known me a long time; you will form your own opinion of what I -am going to tell you; I will not excuse or explain.’ - -‘Mrs. Blencarrow, I am not sure whether you have perceived that we are -not alone.’ - -She cast a momentary glance at the new-comer, unnecessary, for she was -well aware of him, and of his attitude, and every line of the dark -shadow behind her. He sat bending forward, almost double, his elbows -upon his knees, and his head in his hands. - -‘It makes no difference,’ she said, with a slight impatience--‘no -difference. Mr. Germaine, I sent for you to tell you--that it was true.’ - -‘What!’ he cried. He had scarcely been listening, all his attention -being directed with consternation, almost with stupefaction, on the -appearance of the man who had come in--who sat there--who made no -difference. The words did not strike him at all for the first moment, -and then he started and cried in his astonishment, ‘What!’ as if she had -struck him a blow. - -Mrs. Blencarrow looked at him fixedly and spoke slowly, being, indeed, -forced to do so by a difficulty in enunciating the words. ‘The story you -have heard is--true.’ - -The Vicar rose from his chair in the sudden shock and horror; he looked -round him like a man stupefied, taking in slowly the whole scene--the -woman who was not looking at him, but was gazing straight before her, -with those spots of red excitement on her cheeks; the shadow of the man -in the background, with face hidden, unsurprised. Mr. Germaine slowly -received this astounding, inconceivable thought into his mind. - -‘Good God!’ he cried. - -‘I make no--explanations--no--excuses. The fact is enough,’ she said. - -The fact was enough; his mind refused to receive it, yet grasped it with -the force of a catastrophe. He sat down helpless, without a word to -say, with a wave of his hands to express his impotence, his incapacity -even to think in face of a revelation so astounding and terrible; and -for a full minute there was complete silence; neither of the three moved -or spoke. The calm ticking of the clock took up the tale, as if the room -had been vacant--time going on indifferent to all the downfalls and -shame of humanity--with now and then a crackle from the glowing fire. - -She said at last, being the first, as a woman usually is, to be moved to -impatience by the deadly silence, ‘It was not only to tell you--but to -ask, what am I to do?’ - -‘Mrs. Blencarrow--I have not a word--I--it is incredible.’ - -‘Yes,’ she said with a faint smile, ‘but very true.’ She repeated after -another pause, ‘What am I to do?’ - -Mr. Germaine had never in his life been called upon to face such a -question. His knowledge of moral problems concerned the more primitive -classes of humanity alone, where action is more obvious and the -difficulties less great. Nothing like this could occur in a village. He -sat and gazed at the woman, who was not a mere victim of passion--a -foolish woman who had taken a false step and now had to own to it--but a -lady of blameless honour and reputation, proud, full of dignity, the -head of a well-known family, the mother of children old enough to -understand her downfall and shame, with, so far as he knew, further -penalties involved of leaving them, and every habit of her life, and -following the man, whoever he was, into whatsoever wilderness he might -seek. The Vicar felt that all the ordinary advice which he would give in -such a case was stopped upon his lips. There was no parallel between -what was involved here and anything that could occur among the country -folk. He sat, feeling the problem beyond him, and without a word to say. - -‘I must tell you more,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow. At her high strain of -excitement she was scarcely aware that he hesitated to reply, and not at -all that he was so much bewildered as to be beyond speech. She went on -as if she had not paused at all. ‘A thing has happened--which must often -happen; how can I tell you? It has been--not happy--for either. We -miscalculated--ourselves and all things. If I am wrong, I -am--subject--to contradiction,’ she said, suddenly stopping with a gasp -as if for breath. - -The shades of the drama grew darker and darker. The spectator listened -with unspeakable excitement and curiosity; there was a silence which -seemed to throb with suspense and pain; but the figure in the background -neither moved nor spoke--a large motionless figure, doubled upon itself, -the shaggy head held between the hands, the face invisible, the elbows -on the knees. - -‘You see?’ she said, with a faint movement of her hands, as though -calling his attention to that silence. There was a painful flicker of a -smile about her lips; perhaps her pride, perhaps her heart, desired even -at this moment a protest. She went on again: ‘It is--as I say; you will -see how this--complicates--all that one thinks of--as duty. What am I to -do?’ - -‘Mrs. Blencarrow,’ said the clergyman--then stopped with a painful sense -that even this name could be no longer hers, a perception which she -divined, and responded to with again a faint, miserable smile--‘what can -I say to you?’ he burst out. ‘I don’t know the circumstances; what you -tell me is so little. If you are married a second time----’ - -She made a movement of assent with her hand. - -‘Then, of course--it is a commonplace; what else can I say?--your duty -to your husband must come first; it must come first. It is the most -primitive, the most fundamental law.’ - -‘What is that duty?’ she said, almost sharply, looking up; and again -there was a silence. - -The clergyman laboured to speak, but what was he to say? The presence of -that motionless figure in the background, had there been nothing else, -would have made him dumb. - -‘The first thing,’ he said, ‘in ordinary circumstances--Heaven knows I -speak in darkness--would be to own your position, at least, and set -everything in its right place. Nature itself teaches,’ he continued, -growing bolder, ‘that it is impossible to go on living in a false -position, acting, if not speaking, what can be nothing but a lie.’ - -‘It is commonplace, indeed,’ she cried bitterly, ‘all that: who should -know it like me? But will you tell me,’ she said, rising up and sitting -down in her excitement, ‘that it is my duty to leave my children who -want me, and all the work of my life which there is no one else to do, -for a useless existence, pleasing no one, needed by no one--a life -without an object, or with a hopeless object--a duty I can never fulfil? -To leave my trust,’ she went on, coming forward to the fire, leaning -upon the mantelpiece, and speaking with her face flushed and her voice -raised in unconscious eloquence, ‘the office I have held for so many -years--my children’s guardian, their steward, their caretaker--suppose -even that I had not been their mother, is a woman bidden to do all that, -to make herself useless, to sacrifice what she can do as well as what -she is?’ - -She stopped, words failing her, and stood before him, a wonderful noble -figure, eloquent in every movement and gesture, in the maturity and -dignity of her middle age; then suddenly broke down altogether, and, -hiding her face, cried out: - -‘Who am I, to speak so? Not young to be excused, not a fool to be -forgiven; a woman ashamed--and for no end.’ - -‘If you are married,’ said the Vicar, ‘it is no shame to marry. It may -be inappropriate, unsuitable, it may be even regrettable; but it is not -wrong. Do not at least take a morbid view.’ - -She raised her drooping head, and turned round quickly upon him. - -‘What am I to do?’ she said. ‘What am I to do?’ - -The Vicar’s eyes stole, in spite of himself, to the other side of the -room. The dark shadow there had not moved; the man still sat with his -head bent between his hands. He gave no evidence that he had heard a -word of the discussion; he put forth no claim except by his presence -there. - -‘What can I say?’ said Mr. Germaine. ‘Nothing but commonplace, nothing -but what I have already said. Before everything it is your duty to put -things on a right foundation; you cannot go on like this. It must be -painful to do, but it is the only way.’ - -‘It is seldom,’ she said, ‘very seldom that you are so precise.’ - -‘Because,’ he said firmly, ‘there is no doubt on the subject. It is as -clear as noonday; there is but one thing to do.’ - -Mrs. Blencarrow said nothing; she stood with a still resistance in her -look--a woman whom nothing could overcome, broken down by -circumstances, by trouble, ready to grasp at any expedient; yet -unsubdued, and unconvinced that she could not struggle against Fate. - -‘I can say nothing else,’ the Vicar repeated, ‘for there is nothing else -to say; and perhaps you would prefer that I should go. I can be of no -comfort to you, for there is nothing that can be done till this is -done--not from my point of view. I can only urge this upon you; I can -say nothing different.’ - -Again Mrs. Blencarrow made no reply. She stood so near him that he could -see the heaving of strong passion in all her frame, restrained by her -power of self-command, yet beyond that power to conceal. Perhaps she -could not speak more; at least, she did not. Mr. Germaine sat between -the two, both silent, absorbed in this all-engrossing question, till he -could bear it no longer. He rose abruptly to his feet. - -‘May God give you the power to do right!’ he said; ‘I can say no more.’ - -Mrs. Blencarrow followed him to the door. She opened it for him, and -stood outside on the threshold in the moonlight to see him go. - -‘At least,’ she said, ‘you will keep my secret; I may trust you with -that.’ - -‘I will say nothing,’ he replied, ‘except to yourself; but think of what -I have said.’ - -‘Think! If thinking would do any good!’ - -She gave him her hand, in all the veins of which the blood was coursing -like a strong stream, and then she closed the door behind him and locked -it. During all this time the man within had never stirred. Would he -move? Would he speak? Or could he speak and move? When she went -back---- - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -‘I AM HER HUSBAND.’ - - -A night and a day passed after this without any incident. What the chief -persons in this strange drama were doing or thinking was hid under an -impenetrable veil to all the world. Life at Blencarrow went on as usual. -The frost was now keen and the pond was bearing; the youngsters had -forgotten everything except the delight of the ice. Even Emmy had been -dragged out, and showed a little colour in her pale cheeks, and a flush -of pleasure in her eyes, as she made timid essays in the art of skating, -under the auspices of her brothers. When she proved too timid for much -progress, they put her in a chair and drew her carriage from end to end -of the pond, growing more and more rosy and bright. Mrs. Blencarrow -herself came down in the afternoon to see them at their play, and since -the pond at Blencarrow was famed, there was a wonderful gathering of -people whom Reginald and Bertie had invited, or who were used to come as -soon as it was known that the pond ‘was bearing.’ - -When the lady of the house came on to this cheerful scene, everybody -hurried to do her homage. The scandal had not taken root, or else they -meant to show her that her neighbours would not turn against her. -Perhaps the cessation of visits had been but an accident, such as -sometimes happens in those wintry days when nobody cares to leave home; -or perhaps public opinion, after the first shock of hearing the report -against her, had come suddenly round again, as it sometimes does, with -an impulse of indignant disbelief. However that might be, she received a -triumphant welcome from everybody. To be sure, it was upon her own -ground. People said to each other that Mrs. Blencarrow was not looking -very strong, but exceedingly handsome and interesting; her dark velvet -and furs suited her; her eyes were wonderfully clear, almost like the -eyes of a child, and exceptionally brilliant; her colour went and came. -She spoke little, but she was very gracious and made the most charming -picture, everybody said, with her children about her: Emmy, rosy with -unusual excitement and exercise, clinging to her arm, the boys making -circles round her. - -‘Mamma, come on the chair--we will take you to the end of the pond.’ - -‘Put mamma on the chair,’ they shouted, laying hold upon her. - -She allowed herself to be persuaded, and they flew along, pushing her -before them, their animated, glowing faces full of delight, showing over -her shoulders. - -‘Brown, come and give us a hand with mamma. Brown, just lay hold at this -side. Brown! Where’s Brown? Can’t he hear?’ the boys cried. - -‘Never mind Brown,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow; ‘I like my boys best.’ - -‘Ah! but he is such a fellow,’ they exclaimed. ‘He could take you over -like lightning. He is far the best skater on the ice. Turn mamma round, -Rex, and let her see Brown.’ - -‘No, my darlings, take me back to the bank; I am getting a little -giddy,’ she said. - -But, as they obeyed her, they did not fail to point out the gyrations of -Brown, who was certainly, as they said, the best skater on the ice. Mrs. -Blencarrow saw him very well--she did not lose the sight--sweeping in -wonderful circles about the pond, admired by everybody. He was heavy in -repose, but he was a picture of agile strength and knowledge there. - -And so the afternoon passed, all calm, bright, tranquil, and, according -to every appearance, happy, as it had been for years. A more charming -scene could scarcely be, even summer not brighter--the glowing faces lit -up with health and that invigorating chill which suits the hardy North; -the red sunset making all the heavens glow in emulation; the graceful, -flying movements of so many lively figures; the boyish shouts and -laughter in the clear air; the animation of everything. Weakness or -trouble do not come out into such places; there was nothing but -pleasure, health, innocent enjoyment, natural satisfaction there. Quite -a little crowd stood watching Brown, the steward, as he flew along, -making every kind of circle and figure, as if he had been on wings--far -the best skater of all, as the boys said. He was still there in the -ruddy twilight, when the visitors who had that privilege had streamed -into the warm hall for tea, and the nimble skaters had disappeared. - -The hall was almost as lively as the pond had been, the red firelight -throwing a sort of enchantment over all, rising and falling in fitful -flames. Blencarrow had not been so brilliant since the night of the -ball. Several of the young Birchams were there, though not their mother; -and Mrs. Blencarrow had specially, and with a smile of meaning, inquired -for Kitty in the hearing of everybody. They all understood her smile, -and the inquiry added a thrill of excitement to the delights of the -afternoon. - -‘The horrid little thing! How could she invent such a story?’ people -said to each other; though there were some who whispered in corners that -Mrs. Blencarrow was wise, if she could keep it up, to ‘brazen it out.’ - -Brazen it out! A woman so dignified, so proud, so self-possessed; a -princess in her way, a queen-mother. As the afternoon went on, her -strength failed a little; she began to breathe more quickly, to change -colour instantaneously from red to pale. Anxiety crept into the clear, -too clear eyes. She looked about her by turns with a searching look, as -if expecting someone to appear and change everything. When the visitors’ -carriages came to take them away, the sound of the wheels startled her. - -‘I thought it might be your uncles coming back,’ she said to Emmy, who -always watched her with wistful eyes. - -Mr. Germaine had gone back to his parsonage through the moonlight with a -more troubled mind than he had perhaps ever brought before from any -house in his parish. A clergyman has to hear many strange stories, but -this, which was in the course of being enacted, and at a crisis so full -of excitement, occupied him as no tale of erring husband or wife, or son -or daughter going to the bad--such as are also so common -everywhere--had ever done. But the thing which excited him most was the -recollection of the silent figure behind, sitting bowed down while the -penitent made her confession, listening to everything, but making no -sign. The clergyman’s interest was all with Mrs. Blencarrow; he was on -her side. To think that she--such a woman--could have got herself into a -position like that, seemed incredible, and he felt with an aching -sympathy that there was nothing he would not do to get her free--nothing -that was not contrary to truth and honour. But, granted that -inconceivable first step, her position was one which could be -understood; whereas all his efforts could not make him understand the -position of the other--the man who sat there and made no sign. How -could any man sit and hear all that and make no sign?--silent when she -made the tragical suggestion that she might be contradicted--motionless -when she herself did the servant’s part and opened the door to the -visitor--giving neither support, nor protest, nor service--taking no -share in the whole matter except the silent assertion of his presence -there? Mr. Germaine could not forget it; it preoccupied him more than -the image, so much more beautiful and commanding, of the woman in her -anguish. What the man could be thinking, what could be his motives, how -he could reconcile himself to, or how he could have been brought into, -such a strange position, was the subject of all his thoughts. It kept -coming uppermost all day; it became a kind of fascination upon him; -wherever he turned his eyes he seemed to see the strange image of that -dark figure, with hidden face and shaggy hair pushed about, between his -supporting hands. - -Just twenty-four hours after that extraordinary interview these thoughts -were interrupted by a visitor. - -‘A gentleman, sir, wishing to see you.’ - -It was late for any such visit, but a clergyman is used to being -appealed to at all seasons. The visitor came in--a tall man wrapped in a -large coat, with the collar up to his ears. It was a cold night, which -accounted sufficiently for any amount of covering. Mr. Germaine looked -at him in surprise, with a curious sort of recognition of the heavy -outline of the man; but he suddenly brightened as he recognised the -stranger and welcomed him cheerfully. - -‘Oh! it is you, Brown; come to the fire, and take a chair. Did you ever -feel such cold?’ - -Brown sat down, throwing back his coat and revealing his dark -countenance, which was cloudy, but handsome, in a rustic, heavy way. The -frost was wet and melting on his crisp, curly brown beard; he had the -freshness of the cold on his face, but yet was darkly pale, as was his -nature. He made but little response to the Vicar’s cheerful greeting, -and drew his chair a little distance away from the blaze of the fire. -Mr. Germaine tried to draw him into conversation on ordinary topics, but -finding this fail, said, after a pause: - -‘You have brought me, perhaps, a message from Mrs. Blencarrow?’ - -He was disturbed by a sort of presentiment, an uneasy feeling of -something coming, for which he could find no cause. - -‘No, I have brought no message. I come to you,’ said Brown, leaning -forward with his elbows on his knees, and his head supported by his -hands, ‘on my own account.’ - -Mr. Germaine uttered a strange cry. - -‘Good heavens!’ he said, ‘it was you!’ - -‘Last night?’ said Brown, looking up at him with his deep-set eyes. -‘Didn’t you know?’ - -Mr. Germaine could not contain himself. He got up and pushed back his -chair. He looked for a moment, being a tall man also and strong, though -not so strong as the Hercules before him, as if he would have seized -upon him and shaken him, as one dog does another. - -‘You!’ he cried. ‘The creature of her bounty! For whom she has done -everything! Obliged to her for all you are and all you have!’ - -Brown laughed a low, satirical laugh. ‘I am her husband,’ he said. - -The Vicar stood with rage in his face, gazing at this man, feeling that -he could have torn him limb from limb. - -‘How dared you?’ he said, through his clenched teeth; ‘how dared you? I -should like to kill you. You to sit there and let her appeal to you, and -let her open to me and close the door, and do a servant’s office, while -you were there!’ - -‘What do you mean?’ said Brown. ‘I am her husband. She told you so. It’s -the woman’s place in my class to do all that; why shouldn’t she?’ - -‘I thought,’ said the Vicar, ‘that however much a man stood by his -class, it was thought best to behave like a gentleman whatever you -were.’ - -‘There you were mistaken,’ said Brown. He got up and stood beside Mr. -Germaine on the hearth, a tall and powerful figure. ‘I am not a -gentleman,’ he said, ‘but I’ve married a lady. What have I made by it? -At first I was a fool. I was pleased whatever she did. But that sort of -thing don’t last. I’ve never been anything but Brown the steward, while -she was the lady and mistress. How is a man to stand that? I’ve been -hidden out of sight. She’s never acknowledged me, never given me my -proper place. Brought up to supper at the ball by those two brats of -boys, spoken to in a gracious sort of way, “My good Brown.” And I her -husband--her husband, whom it was her business to obey!’ - -‘It is a difficult position,’ said Mr. Germaine, averting his eyes. - -‘Difficult! I should think it was difficult, and a false position, as -you said. You spoke to her like a man last night; I’m glad she got it -hot for once. By----! I am sick and tired of it all.’ - -‘I hope,’ said the Vicar, not looking at him, ‘that you will not make -any sudden exposure, that you will get her consent, that you will -respect her feelings. I don’t say that you have not a hard part to play; -but you must think what this exposure will be for her.’ - -‘Exposure!’ he said. ‘I can’t see what shame there is in being my wife; -naturally I can’t see it. But you need not trouble your head about that. -I don’t mean to expose her. I am sick and tired of it all; I’m going -off to begin life anew----’ - -‘You are going off?’ Mr. Germaine’s heart bounded with sudden relief; he -could scarcely believe the man meant what he said. - -‘Yes, I’m going off--to Australia. You can go and tell her. Part of the -rents have been paid in this week; I have taken them for my expenses.’ - -He took out a pocket-book, and held it out to the Vicar, who started and -laid a sudden hand on his arm. - -‘You will not do that--not take money?’ he cried. ‘No, no, that cannot -be!’ - -‘Why not? You may be sure she won’t betray me. I am going for her good -and my own; I don’t make any pretence; it’s been a failure all round. I -want a wife of my own age and my own kind, not a grand lady who is -disgusted with all my natural ways. A man can’t stand that,’ he cried, -growing darkly red. ‘She kept it under at first. But I am not a brute, -whatever you think. I have done all I can for her, to save her from what -you call the exposure, and I take this money fairly and above-board; you -can tell her of it. I wouldn’t have chosen even you for a confidant if -she hadn’t begun. You can go and tell her I sail for Australia from -Liverpool to-morrow, and shall never see her more.’ - -‘Brown,’ said the Vicar, still with his hand on the other’s arm, ‘I -don’t know that I can let you go.’ - -‘You’ll be a great fool, then,’ Brown said. - -The two men stood looking at each other, the one with a smile, half of -contempt, half of resolution, the other troubled and uncertain. ‘They -will say you have gone off with the money--absconded.’ - -‘She’ll take care of that.’ - -‘Brown, are you sure she wishes you to go? The exposure will come, all -the same; everything is found out that is true; and she will be left to -bear it alone without any support.’ - -‘There will be no exposure,’ he said with a short laugh; ‘I’ve seen to -that, though you think me no gentleman. There’s no need for another -word, Mr. Germaine; I’ve a great respect for you, but I’m not a man that -is to be turned from his purpose. You can come and see me off if you -please, and make quite sure. I’m due at the station in an hour to catch -the up-train. Will you come?--and then you can set her mind quite at -ease and say you have seen me go.’ - -Mr. Germaine looked at his comfortable fire, his cosy room, his book, -though he had not been reading, and then at the cold road, the dreary -changes of the train, the sleepless night. After a time he said, ‘I’ll -take your offer, Brown. I’ll go with you and see you off.’ - -‘If you like, you can give me into custody on the way for going off with -Mrs. Blencarrow’s money. Mrs. Blencarrow’s money? not even that!’ he -cried, with a laugh of bitterness. ‘She is Mrs. Brown; and the money’s -the boy’s, not hers, or else it would be lawfully mine.’ - -‘Brown,’ said the Vicar tremulously, ‘you are doing a sort of generous -act--God help us!--which I can’t help consenting to, though it’s utterly -wrong; but you speak as if you had not a scrap of feeling for her or -anyone.’ - -‘I haven’t!’ he cried fiercely, ‘after three years of it. Half the time -and more she’s been ashamed of me, disgusted with me. Do you think a man -can stand that? By----! I neither can nor will. I’m going,’ he -continued, buttoning his coat hastily; ‘you can come or not, as you -please.’ - -‘You had better have some supper first,’ said the Vicar. - -‘Ah! that’s the most sensible word you have said,’ cried Brown. - -Was it bravado, was it bitterness, was it relief in escaping, or the -lightness of despair? Mr. Germaine could never tell. It was something of -all of these feelings, mingled with the fierce pride of a peasant -slighted, and a certain indignant contemptuous generosity to let her go -free--the woman who was ashamed of him. All these were in Brown’s -thoughts. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -‘HE HAS GONE--FOR EVER!’ - - -Mrs. Blencarrow spent that evening with her children; she made no -attempt to leave them after dinner. A lull had come into her heart after -the storm. She was aware that it was only temporary, nothing real in it; -but in the midst of a tempest even a few minutes of stillness and -tranquillity are dear. She had found on the mantelpiece of the -business-room the intimation, ‘Away on business till Monday,’ and though -it perplexed, it also soothed her. And the brothers returning with the -proof of Kitty’s statement, the extract which no doubt they would bring -from those books to confound her, could now scarcely arrive to-night. A -whole evening undisturbed among the children, who might so soon be torn -from her, in her own familiar place, which might so soon be hers no -longer; an evening like the past, perhaps the last before the coming of -that awful future when she must go forth to frame her life anew, -loveless and hopeless and ashamed. It was nothing but ‘the torrent’s -smoothness ere it dash below,’ the moment of calm before the storm; and -yet it was calm, and she was thankful for that one soft moment before -the last blow fell. - -The children were again lively and happy over their round game; the -sober, kind governess--about whom Mrs. Blencarrow had already concluded -in her own mind that she could secure at least the happiness of the -little ones if their mother were forced to leave them--was seated with -them, even enjoying the fun, as it is a blessed dispensation of -Providence that such good souls often do. Emmy was the only one who was -out of it; she was in her favourite corner with a book, and always a -watchful glance at her mother. Emmy, with that instinct of the heart -which stood her in place of knowledge, had a perception, she could not -have told how, of the pause in her mother’s soul. She would do nothing -to disturb that pause. She sat praying mutely that it might last, that -it might be peace coming back. Naturally Emmy, even with all her -instinct, did not know the terrible barrier that stood between her -mother and peace. - -And thus they all sat, apparently in full enjoyment of the sweet -household quiet, which by moments was so noisy and full of commotion, -the mother seated with the screen between her and the great blazing -fire, the children round the table, Emmy with her book. - -Mrs. Blencarrow’s eyes dwelt upon them with the tenderest, the most -pathetic of smiles. - - ‘She looked on sea, and hill, and shore, - As she might never see them more,’ - -with a throb of tragic wonder rising in her heart how she could ever -have thought that this was not enough for her--her children, and her -home, and this perfect peace. - -It was already late and near their bedtime when the fly from the station -drove up to the door. Mrs. Blencarrow did not hear until some minutes -after Emmy had raised her head to listen, and then for a moment longer -she would not hear it, persuading herself that it was the wind rising -among the trees. When at last it was unmistakable, and the great hall -door was heard to open, and even--or so she thought in the sudden shiver -of agitation that seized her--a breath of icy wind came in, sweeping -through the house, she was for the moment paralyzed with dismay and -fear. She said something to hurry the children to bed, to bid them -go--go! But she was inaudible even to herself, and did not attempt, nor -could indeed form any further thought on any subject, except horror of -the catastrophe which she felt to be approaching in this moment of -peace. If it had but waited till to-morrow! Till an hour later, when -she should have been alone! - -Motionless, holding by her chair, not even hearing the wondering -question, ‘Who can be coming so late?’ Mrs. Blencarrow, with wide-open -eyes fixed on the door, and her under-lip dropping in mortal anguish, -awaited her fate. - -It was the avengers returning from their search; her brothers hurrying -in one after the other. The Colonel said, ‘How delightfully warm!’ -rubbing his hands. Roger (Roger was always the kindest) came up to her -and took her hand. She had risen up to meet them, and grasped with her -other hand the only thing she could find to support her--the top of the -screen which stood between her and the fire. - -‘Joan!’ her brothers began, both speaking together. - -She was hoarse, her lips were baked, it was all she could do to -articulate. - -‘Nothing before the children!’ she said, with a harsh and breathless -voice. - -‘Joan, this does not matter. We have come to beg your pardon, most -humbly, most penitently.’ - -‘Fact is, it must all have been a mistake----’ - -‘Say an invention, Reginald.’ - -‘An invention--a cursed lie of that confounded girl! Hallo!’ - -There was a sudden crash and fall. The children all rushed to see, and -Mrs. Blencarrow stood with the light streaming upon her, and the gilt -bar of the screen in her hand. She had crushed it in her agitated grasp; -the pretty framework of gilded wood and embroidery lay in a heap at her -feet. The sound and shock had brought the blood rushing to her ghastly -tragical countenance. She stood looking vaguely at the bar in her hand; -but none of the children had any eyes for her--they were all on their -knees in a group round the gilded ruin. Save Mr. d’Eyncourt and Emmy, no -one noticed the terrible look in her face. - -‘Come and sit down here while they pick up the pieces,’ said Roger. -‘Joan, I am afraid you are very angry, and you have reason; that we -should have believed such a slander--of all the women in the world--of -you! But, my dear, we are heartily ashamed of ourselves, if that is -anything.’ - -‘Most penitent,’ said the Colonel, ‘thoroughly ashamed. I said to -Roger, “If ever there were men who had reason to be proud of their -sister----”’ - -‘And yet we gave a moment’s credence to such a barefaced lie!’ - -She heard them dimly as from a far distance, and saw them as through a -fog; but the voices thus echoing and supplementing each other like a -dull chorus gave her time to recover. She said sedately, not with any -enthusiasm: - -‘I am glad that you have found out--your mistake.’ - -Oh, heaven! Oh, miserable fate! But it was no mistake. - -Mrs. Blencarrow found herself after a time taking Kitty’s defence. - -‘She got her own pardon for it. Her mother is a great gossip, and loves -a tale against her neighbour. Don’t blame the girl too much.’ - -‘If you excuse her, Joan, who should say a word? But why in all the -world, thinking of an unlikely person to fasten such a slander upon, did -she choose you?’ - -‘Am I so unlikely, when my brothers believed it?’ she said, with a -strange smile. - -An hour full of commotion followed. The boys never tired in showing each -other and everybody else the flaw in the wood where the framework of the -screen had broken. - -‘But you must have leant on it very heavily, mamma.’ - -‘She wanted to break our heads with it,’ said the Colonel, who was in -high spirits. - -‘Fancy mamma breaking Uncle Rex’s head with the screen!’ the children -cried with shrieks of laughter; and thus, in a tumult of amusement and -gaiety, the evening closed. - -Mrs. Blencarrow went to her room with something cold and hard at her -heart like a stone. They had begged her pardon. They had not found that -record. By some chance, by some miracle--how could she tell what?--she -had escaped detection. But it was true; nothing could alter the fact. -Nothing could spirit away _him_--the husband--the man to whom she had -bound herself; the owner of her allegiance, of herself, if he chose to -exercise his rights. It occurred to her, in the silence of her room, -when she was alone there and dared to think, that her present escape was -but an additional despair. Had they found it, as they ought to have -found it, the worst would have been over. But now, to have the -catastrophe indefinitely postponed--to have it before her every day--the -sword hanging over her head, her mind rehearsing day and night what it -would be! Would it not be better to go and tell them yet, to have it -over? Her hand was on her door to obey this impulse, but her heart -failed her. Who could tell? God might be so merciful as to let her die -before it was known. - -The two gentlemen spent a very merry morning on the ice with the -children, and in the afternoon left Blencarrow the best of friends with -their sister, grateful to her for her forgiveness. Mrs. Blencarrow did -not think it necessary to go out to the pond that afternoon--she was -tired, she said--and the skating, which often lasts so short a time that -everybody feels it a duty to take advantage of it, had cleared the -house. She spent the afternoon alone, sitting over the fire, cold with -misery and anxiety and trouble. Everything seemed right again, and yet -nothing was right--nothing. False impressions, false blame, can be -resisted; but who can hold up their head against a scandal that is true? - -It was one of the women servants, in the absence of everybody else, who -showed Mr. Germaine into the drawing-room. He was himself very cold and -fatigued, having travelled all the previous night, and half the day, -returning home. He came to the fire and stood beside her, holding out -his hands to the warmth. - -‘You are alone, Mrs. Blencarrow?’ - -‘Quite alone. You look as if you had something to tell me. For God’s -sake what is it? No news can come to me but bad news,’ she said, -rising, standing by him, holding out her hands in piteous appeal. - -‘I don’t know whether you will think it bad news or good. I have come -straight from Liverpool, from the deck of a ship which sailed for -Australia to-day.’ - -‘What do you mean? What do you mean? A ship--which sailed for -Australia?’ - -‘I have come from--Everard Brown. He has thought it best to go away. I -have brought you a statement of all the affairs, showing how he has -carried with him a certain sum of money. Mrs. Blencarrow, it is too -great a shock; let me call someone.’ - -‘No!’ She caught at his arm, evidently not knowing what it was upon -which she leant. ‘No, tell me all--all!’ - -‘He has taken means--I know not what--to destroy all evidence. He has -gone away, never meaning to return. It is all wrong--wrong from -beginning to end, the money and everything; but he had a generous -meaning. He wanted to set you free. He has gone--for ever, Mrs. -Blencarrow!’ - -She had fallen at his feet without a word. - - * * * * * - -People said afterwards that they had thought for some time that Mrs. -Blencarrow was not looking well, that she was in a state to take any -illness. And there was a flaw in the drains which nobody had discovered -till then. She had a long illness, and at one time was despaired of. -Things were complicated very much by the fact that Brown, her trusted -and confidential agent, had just emigrated to Australia, a thing he had -long set his heart upon, before she fell ill. But her brother, Mr. Roger -d’Eyncourt, was happily able to come to Blencarrow and look after -everything, and she recovered finally, being a woman with a fine -constitution and in the prime of life. The family went abroad as soon as -she was well enough to travel, and have remained so, with intervals of -London, ever since. When Reginald comes of age, Blencarrow will no doubt -be opened once more; but the care of the estate had evidently become too -much for his mother, and it is not thought that she will venture upon -such a charge again. It is now in the hands of a regular man of -business, which is perhaps better on the whole. - -Kitty fell into great and well-deserved disgrace when it was found out -that she had seen what nobody else could see. Walter even, with a man’s -faculty for abandoning his partner in guilt, declared that he never saw -it, that Kitty must have dreamt it, that she tried to make him believe -it was Joan Blencarrow when it was only Jane Robinson, and many other -people were of opinion that it was all Kitty’s cleverness to get herself -forgiven and her own runaway match condoned. - -That match turned out, like most others, neither perfect happiness nor -misery. Perhaps neither husband nor wife could have explained ten years -after how it was that they were so idiotic as to think that they could -not live without each other; but they get on together very comfortably, -all the same. - - -THE END. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mystery of Mrs. Blencarrow, by -Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF MRS. 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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/license - - -Title: The Mystery of Mrs. Blencarrow - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: February 22, 2020 [EBook #61482] -[Last updated: April 4, 2020] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF MRS. BLENCARROW *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was -produced from images made available by the HathiTrust -Digital Library.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="319" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<h1>THE MYSTERY of BLENCARROW</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /><br /><br /> -MRS. OLIPHANT.<br /><br /><br /> -CHICAGO:<br /> -DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO.<br /> -<span class="smcap">407-425 Dearborn St.</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span></p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="margin:1em auto 1em auto;max-width:35%;padding:.2em;border:2px solid gray;"> -<tr><td class="c"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter: I., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X. </a></td></tr> -</table> - -<h1>THE<br /> MYSTERY OF MRS. BLENCARROW.</h1> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /><br /> -<small>THE BLENCARROW HOUSEHOLD.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> house of Blencarrow, which, without being one of the great houses of -the county, was as comfortable and handsome as a country gentleman not -exactly of the highest importance could desire, stood in a pretty little -park of its own, by the side of a bright little mountain river, either -in Cumberland or Westmoreland or North Lancashire—for the boundaries -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> these counties are to me somewhat confused, and I cannot aver where -one ends and another begins. It was built, as is not unusual in -North-country houses, on the slope of a hill, so that the principal -rooms, which were on a level with the great entrance, were on the other -side elevated by at least one lofty story from the flower-garden which -surrounded the house. The windows of the drawing-room commanded thus a -delightful view over a finely diversified country, ending in the far -distance in a glimpse of water with a range of blue hills behind, which -was one of the great lakes of that beautiful district. When sun or moon -caught this distant lake, which it did periodically at certain times of -the day and night, according to the season, it flashed suddenly into -life, like one of those new signals of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> science by which the sun himself -is made to interpret between man and man. In the foreground the trees of -the park clustered over the glimpses of the lively North-country river, -which, sometimes shallow and showing all its pebbles, some times -deepening into a pool, ran cheerfully by towards the lake. To the right, -scarcely visible save when the trees were bare in winter, the red roofs -of the little post-town, a mile and a half away, appeared in the -distance with a pleasant sense of neighbourhood. But the scenery, after -all, was not so interesting as the people inside.</p> - -<p>They were, however, a very innocent, very simple, and unexciting group -of country people. Mrs. Blencarrow had been a widow for five or six -years, having lived there for some dozen years before,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> the most beloved -of wives. She was not a native of the district, but had come from the -South, a beautiful girl, to whom her husband, who was a plain gentleman -of simple character and manners, could never be sufficiently grateful -for having married him. The ladies of the district thought this -sentiment exaggerated, but everybody acknowledged that Mrs. Blencarrow -made him an excellent wife. When he died he had left everything in her -hands—the entire guardianship of the children, untrammelled by any -joint authority save that of her own brothers, whose names were put in -the will as a matter of form, and without any idea that they would ever -take upon them to interfere. There were five children, the eldest of -whom was a slim girl of sixteen, very gentle and quiet, and not very -strong;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> two boys of fourteen and twelve, at school; and two little -ones, aged eight and nine respectively. They lived a very pleasant, -well-cared-for, happy life. Mrs. Blencarrow’s means, if not very large, -were comfortable enough. The house was handsomely <i>montée</i>, the children -had everything they could desire; the gloom of her first widowhood had -been over for some time, and she ‘saw her friends’ like any other lady -in the county, giving very pleasant dinner-parties, and even dances when -the boys were at home for their holidays—dances, perhaps, all the more -gay and easy because the children had a large share in them, and a -gentle license prevailed—the freedom of innocence and extreme youth.</p> - -<p>It is not to be supposed, when I say this, that anything which could in -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> remotest degree be called ‘fast’ was in these assemblies. Indeed, -the very word had not been invented in those days, and Mrs. Blencarrow -was herself an impersonation of womanly dignity. The country-people were -even a little afraid of her, if truth must be told. Without being stiff -or prudish, there was a little air she had, at the faintest shade of -impropriety, which scared an offender more than denunciation. She had a -determined objection to scandal, even to gossip, and looked coldly upon -flirtation, which was not then a recognised pastime as it is now. -Nothing ever filled the neighbours with greater consternation than when -a passing visitor from London, seeing Mrs. Blencarrow for the first -time, declared that she was a woman who looked as if she had a history.</p> - -<p>A history! When people say that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> they do not mean anything noble or -saintly; what it means is scandal, something that has been talked about. -There was a general cry, which overwhelmed the unwary stranger. Mrs. -Blencarrow a history! Yes, the very best history a woman can have—the -record of a blameless life.</p> - -<p>‘Nevertheless,’ said the unfortunate man, ‘there is something in her -eyes——’</p> - -<p>‘Oh yes, there is everything that is good in her eyes,’ said Lady -Tremayne, who was young and enthusiastic, a sentiment in which most of -the others agreed. At a later period, however, Mrs. Bircham, of The -Leas, shook her head a little and said, ‘Now that one thinks of it, -there is something curious in Mrs. Blencarrow’s eyes.’</p> - -<p>‘They are very fine eyes, if that is what you mean.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘No; that is not what I mean. She looks you too full in the face with -them, as if she were defying you to find out anything wrong about her. -Now, when there is nothing wrong to find out, a woman has no occasion to -defy you.’</p> - -<p>‘It must be a strange kind of wrong that has not been found out in -eighteen years.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, it might have happened before she was married—before she came -here at all; and when you know that there is something, however long the -time may be, you never can forget it, don’t you know,’ said Mrs. -Bircham, shaking her head.</p> - -<p>‘You seem to speak from experience, my dear,’ said her husband.</p> - -<p>‘No; I don’t speak from experience,’ cried the lady, growing red; ‘but I -have seen a great many things in my time. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> have seen so many fine -reputations collapse, and so many people pulled down from their -pedestals.’</p> - -<p>‘And helped to do it, perhaps,’ said Lady Tremayne. But she made the -observation in an aside, for no one liked to encounter Mrs. Bircham’s -enmity and power of speech. She was one of those people who can develop -a great matter from a small one, and smell out a piece of gossip at any -distance; and a seed of this description sown in her mind never died. -She was not, as it happened, particularly happy in her surroundings. -Though she was irreproachable herself, there was no lack of histories in -the Bircham family, and Kitty, her second daughter, was one of the -little flirts whose proceedings Mrs. Blencarrow so much disapproved. -Mrs. Bircham was often<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> herself very angry with Kitty, but by a common -maternal instinct could not endure to hear from another any echo of the -same reproof which she administered freely.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow was, however, entirely unaware of this arrow shot into -the air. She was still, though approaching forty, as handsome as at any -period of her career, with all the additional charms of experience and -understanding added to the still unbroken perfection of her features and -figure. She was tall and pale, with large gray eyes, singularly clear -and lustrous, which met every gaze with a full look, sometimes very -imposing, and which always conveyed an impression of pride and reserve -in the midst of their full and brave response to every questioning eye. -Mrs. Bircham, who was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> without discrimination, had indeed made a -very fair hit in her description of her neighbour’s look. Sometimes -those proud and steadfast eyes would be overbearing—haughty in their -putting down of every impertinent glance. She had little colour -habitually, but was subject to sudden flushes whenever her mind or -feelings were affected, which wonderfully changed the character of her -face, and came and went like the wind. She dressed always with a rich -sobriety, in black or subdued colours—tones of violet and gray—never -quite forgetting her widowhood, her friends thought, though always -cheerful, as a woman with a family of children is bound for their sakes -to be. She was an excellent woman of business, managing her estate with -the aid of a sort of half-steward, half-agent, a young man brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> up -by her husband and specially commended to her by his dying lips. People -said, when they discussed Mrs. Blencarrow’s affairs, as the affairs of -women and widows are always discussed, that it would have been better -for her to have had a more experienced and better instructed man as -steward, who would have taken the work entirely off her hands—for young -Brown was not at all a person of education; but her devotion to her -husband’s recommendation was such that she would hear of no change. And -the young fellow on his side was so completely devoted to the family, so -grateful for all that had been done for him, so absolutely trustworthy, -that the wisest concluded on the whole that she was doing the best for -her son’s interests in keeping Brown, who lived in the house, but in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> -quite an humble way—one of the wisest points in Mrs. Blencarrow’s -treatment of him being that she never attempted to bring him out of his -own sphere.</p> - -<p>Besides Brown, her household included a governess, Miss Trimmer, who -bore most appropriately that old-fashioned educational name; and an old -housekeeper, who had been there in the time of Mrs. Blencarrow’s -mother-in-law, and who had seen her late master born—an old lady always -in a brown silk dress, who conferred additional respectability on the -household, and who was immensely considered and believed in. She came -next to their mother in the affections of all the children. It was a -very harmonious, well-ordered house, ringing with pleasant noise and -nonsense when the boys came home, quiet at other times, though never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> -quite without the happy sound of children, save when the two little -ones, Minnie and Jimmy, were out of the way. As for Emmy, the eldest, -she was so quiet that scarcely any sound of her ever came into the -house.</p> - -<p>Such was the house of Blencarrow on a certain Christmas when the boys -had come home as usual for their holidays. They came back in the highest -spirits, determined that this should be the jolliest Christmas that ever -was. The word ‘jolly,’ as applied to everything that is pleasant, had -just come into use at school—I doubt even whether it had progressed -into ‘awfully jolly.’ It sounded still very piquant in the ears of the -youngsters, and still was reproved (‘Don’t be always using that dreadful -word!’) by mothers; the girls were still shy of using it at all. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> was -Reginald who declared it to be the jolliest Christmas that ever had -been. The weather was mild and open, good for hunting, and the boys had -some excellent runs; though all idea of frost and skating had to be -given up. They were pleased with their own prowess and with everybody -and everything round them, and prepared to act their part with grace and -<i>bonhomie</i>—Reginald as master of the house, Bertie as his lieutenant -and henchman—at the great ball which was to be given at Blencarrow on -Christmas Eve.</p> - -<p>The house was quite full for this great ceremonial. At Christmas the -mixture of babes and grown-up young ladies and gentlemen is more easily -made than at any other time of the year. The children mustered very -strong. Those who were too far off to drive home that evening<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> were with -their parents staying at Blencarrow, and every available corner was -filled. The house was illuminated all over; every passage and every -sitting-room open to the bands of invaders—the little ones who played -and the older ones who flirted—and the company was in the fullest tide -of enjoyment, when the little incident occurred which I am about to -record.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow had never looked better in her life. She wore a new gray -velvet dress, long and sweeping, without any of the furbelows of the -time, which would not have suited the heavy material nor her own -admirable figure. It was open a little at the throat, with beautiful -lace surrounding the fine warm whiteness. Her hair was worn higher than -was usual at the time, in a fashion of her own, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> fastened with -diamond stars. The children were very proud of their mother. She was -like a lady out of a book, said Emmy, who was a romantic girl. Reginald -felt himself more grand than words can say when he stood up beside her -at the door to receive the guests. Her eyes were something like her -diamonds—full of light; and she met every glance more proudly than -ever, with that direct look which some people thought so candid and -open, and Mrs. Bircham believed to be a defiance to all the world to -find out something that was not right. There was nothing, certainly, to -find out in that open house, where every stranger might penetrate into -every corner and welcome. Mrs. Blencarrow was a little pale, but now and -then her countenance would be covered by one of those sudden flushes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> -emotion which made her radiant. She put one hand on Reginald’s shoulder -with a proud gesture, as though he were supporting her as she stood at -the door welcoming everybody; and the boy drew himself up to his fullest -height, trying to look twenty. He shook hands with everyone in the most -anxious, hospitable way. Never was the part of master of the house more -thoroughly played; and thus, with every expectation of pleasure, the -ball began.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /><br /> -<small>‘IS IT YOU?’</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Kitty Bircham</span> had been a flirt almost from the time she could speak; but -even to a flirt Fate sometimes comes in the midst of her frivolity, as -well as to the simplest girl. She had played with so many hearts without -being the worse for it, that it was the greatest surprise to herself, as -well as to her mother and interested friends, to find that at last this -little witch was herself caught. I need not say that the man was the -last person whom, in her sober senses, Kitty would have chosen, or any -of her family con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span>sented to. Man! He was not even a man, but a boy—only -two or three years older than herself—a young fellow who had to go -through one of those ordeals, quite new-fangled then—things which -nobody understood—an examination for an appointment; and who had -nothing in the world but the prospect of that, a prospect daily becoming -less probable since he and she had fallen in love with each other. They -were neither of them of that high strain which is stimulated by love. -They had not force of mind to think that every day which was spent in -love-making, quarrelling and folly made it less easy for Walter Lawrence -to work the next, or to work at all; and that without work he was as -little likely to pass his examination as to fly; and that if he did not -pass that examination they could not marry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></p> - -<p>Both of these young fools knew all this perfectly well, but the -knowledge made no difference in their behaviour. When he was not running -after her by his own impulse, which was generally the case, Kitty used -all her wiles to draw him away from his books, sending him notes, making -appointments, inventing ways and means of meeting. His mother made -appeals to him with tears in her eyes, and almost cursed the girl who -was making her boy lose all his chances; and <i>her</i> mother made Kitty’s -life a burden, asking her how she intended to live, and whether she -meant to support her husband by her needlework (at which everybody knew -she was so clever!), by taking in washing, or by what?—since he neither -had a penny nor would ever be able to make one for himself. This -discipline on both<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> sides naturally threw these foolish young people -more and more into each other’s arms, and the domestic discomforts -became so great that it at last became apparent to both that there was -nothing for it but to run away.</p> - -<p>‘When we are married they will see that it is no use making a fuss,’ -Walter said to Kitty. ‘They will acknowledge that once it is done it -can’t be undone.’</p> - -<p>‘And they <i>must</i> lay their heads together and get you a post, or give us -something to live on,’ said Kitty to Walter.</p> - -<p>‘They will never let us starve,’ said he ‘after.’</p> - -<p>‘And they will never give us any peace,’ said she, ‘before.’</p> - -<p>So that they were in perfect accord so far as the theory went. But they -hesitated to take that tremendous step; their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span> minds were made up, and -it was a delicious subject of conversation during the hours which they -daily spent together; but neither of them as yet had quite screwed up -courage to the sticking-point.</p> - -<p>This was the state of affairs on the evening of the Blencarrow ball. It -had happened to both to be unusually tried during that day. Kitty had -been scolded by her mother till she did not know, as she said, ‘whether -she was standing on her head or her heels.’ Her uncle, who had come from -a distant part of the country for Christmas, had been invited to -remonstrate with her on her folly. Papa had not said anything, but he -had been so snappish that she had not known what to do to please -him—papa, who usually stood by her under all circumstances. And Uncle -John! Kitty felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> that she could not bear such another day. Walter, on -his side, had again had a scene with his mother, who had threatened to -speak to her trustees, that they might speak to Walter to show him his -duty, since he would not listen to her.</p> - -<p>It was some time before this suffering pair could get within reach of -each other to pour out their several plaints. Kitty had first to dance -with half a dozen uninteresting people, and to be brought back demurely -to Mrs. Bircham’s side at the end of every tedious dance; and Walter had -to ask a corresponding number of young ladies before a happy chance -brought them together out of sight of Mrs. Bircham and Mrs. Lawrence, -who were both watching with the most anxious eyes. Kitty could not even -lose time dancing when they had thus met.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘Oh, I have a dozen things to tell you!’ she said; ‘I must tell you, or -I shall die.’</p> - -<p>They went into the conservatory, but there were some people there, and -into room after room, without finding a solitary corner. It was in the -hall that the dance was going on. The servants were preparing the -supper-table in the dining-room. The library was being used by the elder -people (horrid elder people, always getting in one’s way, who had no -feeling at all!) for their horrid cards. The morning-room was given up -to tea. People, <i>i.e.</i>, other young pairs, were seated on the stairs and -in every available corner.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, come down here; there is nobody here,’ said Kitty, drawing her -lover to the staircase at the end of a long passage<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span> which led down to -the lower part of the house.</p> - -<p>Both of them knew the house thoroughly, as country neighbours do. They -had been all over it when they were children, and knew the way down into -the flower-garden, and even the private door at the back, by which -tenants and petitioners were admitted to Mrs. Blencarrow’s -business-room. The lights were dim in these deserted regions; there was -perfect silence and quiet—no other couples to push against, no spying -servants nor reproachful seniors. The young pair hurried down the long -stairs, feeling the cold of the empty passage grateful and pleasant.</p> - -<p>‘The old dining-room is the nicest place,’ said Kitty, leading the way. -This room was in the front of the house under the drawing-room, and -looked out upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> the lawn and flower-beds. It was part of the older -house, which had served all the purposes of the Blencarrows in the days -when people had not so many wants as now. There was no light in it -except a faint glimmer from the fire. The shutters had not been closed, -and the moon looked in through the branches of the leafless trees. The -two lovers went in with a rush and sat down with quiet satisfaction upon -a sofa just within the door.</p> - -<p>‘Nobody will disturb us here,’ whispered Kitty with a sigh of -satisfaction. ‘We can stay as long as we like here.’</p> - -<p>They were both out of breath from their rush; and to find themselves -alone in the dark, and in a place where they had no right to be, was -delightful. They sat quiet for a moment, leaning against<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> each other -recovering their breath, and then there happened something which, -notwithstanding Kitty’s intense preoccupation with her own affairs, gave -her such a prick of still more vivid curiosity as roused every sense and -faculty in her. She became all ear and all observation in a moment. -There was a soft sound as of a door opening on the other side of the -room—the side that was in the shade—and then after a moment a voice -asked, ‘Is it you?’</p> - -<p>Walter (the idiot) suppressed with pain a giggle, and only suppressed it -because Kitty flung herself upon him, putting one hand upon his mouth -and clutching his coat with the other to keep him quiet. She held her -breath and became noiseless as a mouse—as a kitten in the moment before -a spring. The voice was a ma<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span>n’s voice, with something threatening in -its tone.</p> - -<p>‘How long do you think this is going to last?’ he said.</p> - -<p>Oh, what a foolish thing a boy is! Walter shook with laughter, while she -listened as if for life and death.</p> - -<p>Then there was a pause. Again the voice asked anxiously, ‘Is it -you?’—another pause, and then the soft closing of the door more -cautiously than it had been opened.</p> - -<p>Walter rose up from the sofa as soon as the door was shut. ‘I must get -my laugh out,’ he whispered, sweeping Kitty out into the passage. Oh, -that foolish, foolish boy! As if it were a laughing matter! A man, a -stranger, asking somebody how long ‘this’ was to last! How long what was -to last? And who could he be?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘Oh, Wat, you might have stayed a moment!’ Kitty said, exasperated; ‘you -might have kept quiet! Perhaps he would have said something more. Who -could he be?’</p> - -<p>‘It is no business of ours,’ said Walter; ‘one of the servants, I -suppose. Let’s go upstairs again, Kitty. We have no business here.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, don’t be so silly,’ cried Kitty; ‘we must find a quiet place, for -I’ve scores of things to tell you. There is a room at the other end with -a light in it. Let us go there.’</p> - -<p>Their footsteps sounded upon the stone passage, and Kitty’s dress -rustled—there could be no eavesdropping possible there. She went on a -step in front of him and pushed open a door which was ajar; then Kitty -gave a little shriek and fell back,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> but too late. Mrs. Blencarrow, in -all her splendour for the ball, was standing before the fire. It was a -plainly-furnished room, with a large writing-table in it, and shelves -containing account books and papers—the business-room, where nobody -except the tenants and the workpeople ever came in. To see her standing -there, with all her diamonds flashing in the dimness, was the strangest -sight.</p> - -<p>‘Who is there?’ she cried, with an angry voice; then, ‘Kitty! What are -you doing here?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Blencarrow. We did not know what room it -was. We couldn’t find a cool place. Indeed,’ said Kitty, recovering her -courage, ‘we couldn’t find a place at all, there is such a crowd—and we -thought the house was all open to-night, and that we might come -downstairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow looked at them both with the fullest straight look of -those eyes, whose candour was sometimes thought to mean defiance. ‘I -think,’ she said, ‘that though the house is all open to-night, Walter -and you should not make yourselves remarkable by stealing away together. -I ought, perhaps, to tell your mother.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, don’t, Mrs. Blencarrow!’</p> - -<p>‘It is very foolish of you both.’</p> - -<p>‘It was my fault, Mrs. Blencarrow. Don’t let Kitty be blamed. I -remembered the old way into the garden.’</p> - -<p>‘I hope you did not intend to go into the garden this cold night. Run -upstairs at once, you foolish children!’ She hesitated a moment, and -then said, with one of her sudden blushes dyeing her countenance: ‘I -have got a bad headache; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> music is a little too loud. I came down -here for a moment’s quiet, and to get some eau de Cologne.’</p> - -<p>‘Dear Mrs. Blencarrow,’ cried Kitty, too much unnerved for the moment to -make any comments upon the lady’s look or manner, ‘don’t please say -anything to mamma.’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow shook her head at them, looking from one to another, -which meant gentle reproof of their foolishness, but then nodded an -assent to Kitty’s prayer. But she pointed to the door at the same time, -rather impatiently, as if she wanted to be rid of them; and, glad to -escape so easily, they hastened away. Kitty felt the relief of having -escaped so strongly that she never even asked herself why Mrs. -Blencarrow should come down to the business-room in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> middle of a -ball, or if that was a likely place to find eau de Cologne. She thought -of nothing (for the moment) but that she had got off rather well from -what might have been an embarrassing situation.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t think she’ll tell on us,’ Kitty said, with a long-drawn breath.</p> - -<p>‘I am sure she will not,’ said Walter, as they ran up the long stone -flight of stairs, and came back to the sound of music and dancing.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bircham had just broken the monotony of a chaperon’s vigil by -taking a cup of tea. She was issuing forth from the door of the tea-room -upon the arm of one of those portly old gentlemen who are there for the -purpose, when Kitty, breathless with haste, pushing Walter along in -front of her, suddenly came within her mother’s view.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span></p> - -<p>That mother’s side Kitty did not again leave, save for the brief limits -of a dance, all the evening. She read in the glance with which she was -regarded from time to time the lecture that was in store for her. -Indeed, she knew it all by heart; there was no novelty in it for Kitty. -She gave Walter a despairing look as he passed her by, and they had time -for a moment’s whisper as to the spot where they must meet to-morrow; -for all that she had intended to confide to him lay still in Kitty’s -heart unrevealed, and she began to feel that affairs had come to a -crisis which demanded action at last.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>AN ELOPEMENT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> ball was the most brilliant and the most successful that ever had -been at Blencarrow, and nothing was wanting to make it intoxicating and -delightful to the boys, whose every whim had been thought of and all -their partialities taken into account. Mrs. Blencarrow was perfect as a -mother. She gave the young heir his place without showing any -partiality, or making Bertie one whit less the beloved and favoured son -of the house; and no one could say that she spoilt either of them, -though she considered their every<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span> wish. They were as obedient and -respectful as if they had been held within the severest discipline, and -yet how they were indulged!</p> - -<p>When everybody was preparing to go in to supper, Mrs. Blencarrow called -Reginald to her in sight of all the crowd. She said to him, ‘I think you -may go and fetch your friend Brown to supper, Rex. He will like to come -to supper; but I am sure he will be too shy unless you go and fetch -him.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, may I, mamma?’ said the boy.</p> - -<p>He was enchanted with the commission. Brown was the young steward—Mrs. -Blencarrow’s chief assistant in the management of the estate—the young -fellow whom her husband recommended to her on his death-bed. The group -which gathered round Mrs. Blen<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span>carrow, ready for the procession in to -supper, thought this was the most charming way of acknowledging the -claims of Brown. To have brought him to the dance would have been out of -place; he would have felt himself out of it. He could not have ventured -to ask anybody to dance, and to look on while you are young is dull -work. But to ask him to supper was just the right compromise. The old -gentlemen promised to themselves that they would notice Brown; they -would ask him to drink a glass of wine (which was the custom then); they -would show him that they approved of a young man who did such excellent -work and knew his place so well.</p> - -<p>It must be allowed that when he came, triumphantly led by Reginald, with -Bertie dancing in front of him (‘Oh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> come along, Brown; mamma says -you’re to come to supper. Come along, Brown; here is a place for you’), -his looks did not conciliate these country gentlemen. He was a handsome -young man in a rather rough way, with that look of watchful suspicion so -often to be seen on the face of a man who is afraid of being -condescended to by his superiors. He was in a sort of evening dress, as -if he had been prepared for the invitation, with a doubtful coat of -which it was difficult to say whether it was a morning coat of peculiar -cut, or an old-fashioned one for evening use. He yielded unwillingly, it -seemed, to the encouragements of the boys, and he was placed far down at -the other end of the table, among the children and the youngest of the -grown-up party, where he was totally out of place. Had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> he been near the -other end, where the honest country gentlemen were, quite prepared to -notice and take wine with him, Brown would have been more at his ease. -He cast one glance at his mistress as he passed, a look which was -gloomy, reproachful, almost defiant. Scotch peasant faces get that look -sometimes without any bad meaning, and Cumberland faces are very like -the Scotch. He was no doubt upbraiding her for having forced him to -appear at all.</p> - -<p>At last it was all over, the last carriage rolling away, the last sleepy -group of visitors sent to bed. Mrs. Blencarrow stood on her own hearth, -leaning her head on the marble mantelpiece, looking down into the fire. -She had been very gay to the last, smiling upon her guests; but her face -when in perfect repose, and in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> ease of solitude, no one near to spy -upon it, was very different. Anxiety and trouble came into every line of -her fine pale features. She changed her attitude after awhile, and -looked straight into the darkness of the great mirror, behind the clock -and the candelabra which stood in front of it. She looked into her own -face with a determined, steady look, her eyes opened widely. She seemed -to ask herself what she should do, but shook her head afterwards with a -vague, sad smile. The mirror repeated all these changes of countenance, -but gave no counsel. Someone came into the room at this moment, which -made her start. It was one of the ladies staying in the house, who had -forgotten something, and come back to fetch it.</p> - -<p>‘Not gone to bed yet?’ she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘No,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow; ‘after a business of this kind, however -tired I may be, I don’t sleep.’</p> - -<p>‘I know what you are doing,’ said her friend. ‘You are asking yourself, -now that it’s all over, “What’s the good?”<span class="lftspc">’</span></p> - -<p>‘No; I don’t think so,’ she said quickly; then changed her look and -said, ‘Perhaps I was.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, I am sure you were! and it is no good except for such pleasure as -you get out of it.’</p> - -<p>‘Pleasure!’ said Mrs. Blencarrow. ‘But the boys liked it,’ she said.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, the boys! They were more happy than words could say. I think you -measure everything by the boys.’</p> - -<p>‘Not everything,’ she said with a sigh; and, taking up her candle, she -followed her friend upstairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span></p> - -<p>The house had fallen into perfect quiet. There was not a sound in all -the upper part; a drowsy stillness was in the broad staircase, still -dimly lighted, and the corridor above; only a distant echo from below, -from the regions which were half underground—a muffled sound of -laughter and voices—showed that the servants were still carrying on the -festivity. Mrs. Blencarrow said good-night at the door of her friend’s -room, and went on to her own, which was at the further end of the long -gallery. She left her candle upon a small table outside, where it burned -on, a strange, lonely little twinkle of light in the darkness, for half -the wintry night.</p> - -<p>Neither Kitty nor Walter could rest next day until they had eluded the -vigilance of their several guardians and escaped to their usual -meeting-place,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> where they poured into each other’s ears the dire -experiences of the previous night. Kitty had been badly scolded before, -but it had been as nothing in comparison with what she had suffered on -the way home and after her return. Mamma had been terrible; she had -outdone herself; there had been nothing too dreadful for her to say. And -papa had not stood by Kitty—the best that could be said for him was -that he had taken no active part in the demolition of all her hopes.</p> - -<p>‘For I am to be sent away to-morrow to my aunt’s in -Gloucestershire—fancy in Gloucestershire!’ as if there was something -specially diabolical in that county.</p> - -<p>‘You shall not be sent away; the time has come for us to take it into -our own hands,’ said Walter soberly, with a strain of resolution.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> - -<p>He had to tell her of not unsimilar barbarities on his side. His mother -had written to her trustees. She expected Mr. Wadsett from Edinburgh, -who was also her man of business (for her property was in Scotland), -next day.</p> - -<p>‘To-morrow is the crisis for both of us; we must simply take it into our -own hands and forestall them,’ said Walter. ‘I knew that one day it -would come to this. If they force it on us it is their own doing,’ he -said, with a look of determination enough to make any trustee tremble.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Walter!’ cried Kitty, rubbing her head against his shoulder like -the kitten she was.</p> - -<p>His resolute air gave her a thrill of frightened delight. Usually she -was the first person in all their conjoint movements; to be carried -along now, and feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> it was not her doing, but his, was a new, ecstatic, -alarming sensation, which words could not express.</p> - -<p>They then began to consider without more ado (both feeling themselves -elevated by the greatness of the crisis) what was to be done. Kitty had -fondly hoped for a postchaise, which was the recognised way of romance; -but Walter pointed out that on the railway—still a new thing in that -district—there was an early train going to Edinburgh, which they could -enter far more easily and with less fear of being arrested than a -postchaise, and which would waft them to Gretna Green in less time than -it would take to go ten miles in a carriage. Gretna Green was still the -right place to which lovers flew; it was one of the nearest points in -Scotland, where marriage was so easy, where<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span> the two parties to the -union were the only ones concerned.</p> - -<p>Kitty was slow to give up the postchaise, but she yielded to Walter’s -argument. The train passed very early, so that it would be necessary for -her to start out of the house in the middle of the night, as it were, to -join her lover, who would be waiting for her; and then a walk of a mile -or two would bring them to the station—and then! Their foolish hearts -beat high while they made all the arrangements. Kitty shivered at the -idea of the long walk in the chill dark morning. She would have so much -preferred the sweep of the postchaise, the probable rush in pursuit, the -second postchaise rattling after them, probably only gaming the goal ten -minutes too late. She had imagined that rush many<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> a time, and how she -might see her father or brother’s head looking out from the window, -hurrying on the postilion, but just too late to stop the hasty ceremony. -The railway would change it all, and would be much less triumphant and -satisfactory; but still, if Walter said so, it must be done, and her -practical imagination saw the conveniences as well as the drawbacks.</p> - -<p>Walter walked back with Kitty as near as he dared to The Leas, and then -Kitty walked back again with him. They thus made a long afternoon’s -occupation of it, during which everything was discussed and over again -discussed, and in which all the responsibility was laid on the proper -shoulders, i.e., on those of the parents who had driven them to this -only alternative. Neither of them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span> had any doubt as to the certainty of -this, and they had at the same time fair hopes of being received back -again when it was all over, and nothing could be done to mend it. After -this, their people must acknowledge that it was no manner of use -struggling, and that it behoved them to think of making some provision -for the young pair, who after all were their own flesh and blood.</p> - -<p>Kitty did not undress at all, considering the unearthly hour at which -she was to set out. She flung off her evening dress into a corner, -reflecting that though it must be prepared after, instead of before, her -marriage, she must have a trousseau all the same, and that no bride puts -on again her old things after that event. Kitty put on her new winter -dress, which was very becoming, and had a pretty hat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span> to match it, and -lay down to snatch an hour or two’s rest before the hour of starting. -She woke reluctantly to the sound of a handful of pebbles thrown against -her window, and then, though still exceedingly sleepy and greatly -tempted to pay no attention to the summons, managed at last to rouse -herself, and sprang up with a thump of her heart when she recollected -what it was—her wedding morning! She lighted a candle and put on her -hat, studying the effect in the glass, though she knew that Walter was -blowing his fingers with cold below; and then, with a fur cloak over her -arm, she stole downstairs. How dark it was, and how cold! The country -black with night, nothing visible but the waving, close to the house, of -some spectral trees. But Walter pulled her hand through his arm the -moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> she slipped out, and her spirits rose. Two can face the darkness -where one would shrink before it. They had the strangest, merriest -walk—stumbling in the maddest way, jolting over stiles, going astray -into ploughed fields, rousing all the dogs in all the farms and cottages -for miles round—but at last found their way, worn out with stumbling -and laughing, to the station, where the train had not yet arrived. And -then came the rush and sweep through the night, the arrival in the gray -morning at the station, the rousing up of the grim priest known as ‘the -blacksmith’—though I am not sure that this was his trade. Kitty found -time to smarten herself up a little, to straighten the brim of her hat -and put it on as if she had taken it fresh out of its bandbox, and to -put on her white gloves—the only things truly bride-like,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span> which she -had put in her pocket before she left home—and then the ceremony, -whatever it was, was performed, and the boy and girl were made man and -wife.</p> - -<p>After it was all over, Kitty and Walter looked at each other in the gray -morning light with a pale and frightened look. When the thing was done -the excitement suddenly failed, and for a moment everything was black. -Kitty cried a little, and Walter, if it had not been for his pride of -manhood, was very near following her example. What awful thing was it -they had done? Kitty was the first to recover her courage.</p> - -<p>‘I am dreadfully hungry,’ she said, ‘and so tired. Walter, do go and see -if we can have some breakfast anywhere. I must have some breakfast, or I -shall die.’ Kitty was very fond of this alternative,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> but had shown no -intention of adopting it as yet.</p> - -<p>‘I’ll go on to that public-house over there; but won’t you come too, -Kitty?’</p> - -<p>‘No; go and order breakfast, and then come and fetch me. I’ll look over -the books and see who have gone before us,’ said Kitty.</p> - -<p>He left her seated, half leaning over the table, studying the records -which she had spread out before her. At that moment Kitty had a great -sympathy for everybody who had been married, and a wondering desire to -know what they had felt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /><br /> -<small>A DISCOVERY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> Walter came back, having ordered a meal such as was most easily -procurable in those regions, that is to say, tea and stale bread and -fresh oatcakes and a dish of ham and eggs, he found Kitty waiting for -him in a fever of impatience. She had one of the blacksmith’s big -register-books opened out upon the table, and her eyes were dancing with -excitement. She rushed to meet him and caught him by the arm.</p> - -<p>‘Wat!’ she said, ‘oh, how soon can we get back?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘Get back!’ he cried; ‘but we are not going back.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh yes, but we are, as quick as we can fly. Go and order the horses -this minute—oh, I forgot, it’s a train! Can’t we have a train directly? -When is there a train?’</p> - -<p>‘For goodness’ sake, Kitty, what do you mean? But we are married! You -can’t be going to turn your back upon me.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ said Kitty, in her excitement; ‘who talks of turning -their back? I’ve found out something that will make mamma jump; it makes -me jump to begin with!’ exclaimed the girl, performing a dance on the -floor. ‘They’ll never say a word to us. They’ll be struck dumb with -this. Look! look!’</p> - -<p>Walter looked with great surprise, without the slightest conception of -what it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> could be to which his attention was called. His eyes wandered -along the page, seeing nothing. A long array of names: what could there -be in these to call for all this commotion? Kitty pushed him aside in -her excitement. She laid her finger upon one short signature written -very small. He read it, and turned and looked at her aghast.</p> - -<p>‘Kitty! what do you mean? Who is it? It can’t—it can’t be——’</p> - -<p>‘Well!’ cried Kitty, ‘and who could it be? “Joan Blencarrow”—there’s -only one person of that name in all the world.’</p> - -<p>‘Good heavens!’ Walter cried. He had more feeling than she had, for he -stood aghast. Mrs. Blencarrow! He seemed to see her suddenly in all her -dignity and splendour, as he had seen her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> standing receiving her -guests. Kitty jumped with excitement, but Walter was appalled.</p> - -<p>‘Mrs. Blencarrow! I can’t believe it! I don’t believe it!’ he said.</p> - -<p>‘What does it matter whether you believe it or not, for there it is?’ -said Kitty, triumphant. ‘Oh, what a state mamma will be in! She will -never say a word to us. She will pay no attention, any more than if we -had been out for a walk. Oh, how she will like to pull down Mrs. -Blencarrow!—she that was always so grand, and people thinking there was -nobody like her. And all this time—three years——’</p> - -<p>Kitty’s eyes danced with delight. To think that she should be the one to -find out such a wonderful secret intoxicated her with satisfaction and -pleasure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘Kitty,’ said Walter, with hesitation, ‘we have found it out by -accident.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, don’t say <i>we</i>! <i>I’ve</i> found it out. It would never have come into -your head to look at the books.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, <i>you</i> then. You have found it out by accident, and when we’re -happy ourselves, why should we try to make other people miserable? -Kitty!’ He put his arm round her, and pleaded with his lips close to her -ear.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, nonsense!’ she said; ‘all men are taken in like that; but I can’t -let her off; I won’t let her off. Why, it wouldn’t be right!’</p> - -<p>‘There are some people who would think what we are doing wasn’t right,’ -said Walter.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, you coward,’ cried Kitty, ‘to turn round on me when we have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span>n’t -been married an hour! As if it was my doing, when you know that but for -you——’</p> - -<p>‘I am not turning round on you. I never said it was your doing. Kitty, -darling, don’t let us quarrel. You know I never meant——’</p> - -<p>‘I shall quarrel, if I like,’ cried Kitty, bursting into tears; and they -had it out, as they had already done a hundred times, and would a -hundred more, enjoying it thoroughly. It suddenly occurred to Walter, -however, as the little episode drew near a close, that the ham and eggs -must be ready, and he threw in an intimation to this effect with very -telling results. Kitty jumped up, dried her eyes, straightened her hat, -and declared that she was dying of hunger.</p> - -<p>‘But whatever happens, and however<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> serious things may be, you always -will go on,’ she said.</p> - -<p>He was magnanimous, being very hungry too, and restrained the retort -that was trembling on his tongue, that it was she who would go on; and -they flew across to the little alehouse, arm in arm, and enjoyed their -ham and eggs even more than they had enjoyed their quarrel.</p> - -<p>They found out that the next train ‘up’ was not till eleven o’clock, -which set their minds at rest, for they had meant to go to London before -Kitty’s mind had been all unsettled by that discovery. Walter had begun -to hope she had forgotten all about it, when she suddenly jumped up from -the table—not, however, before she had made a very satisfactory meal.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘Oh, what a fool I am!’ cried Kitty. ‘I never paid any attention to the -man!’</p> - -<p>‘What man?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, the man she was married to, you goose! A woman can’t be married -all by herself. It was a long name—Everard something. I didn’t know it, -or I should have paid more attention. Haven’t you finished yet?—for I -must run this instant——’</p> - -<p>‘Where, Kitty?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, to look up the book again!’ she cried.</p> - -<p>‘I wish you’d give this up,’ said Walter. ‘Do, to please me. We’ve got -all we wish ourselves, and why should we worry other people, Kitty?’</p> - -<p>‘If you have got all you wish, I have not. I want to please them—to -make<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> them do something for us; and when a thing like this turns up—the -very thing!—why, mamma will hug us both—she will forgive us on the -spot. She’ll be so pleased she’ll do anything for us. I don’t know about -Mrs. Lawrence——’</p> - -<p>‘It won’t do us any good with my mother,’ said Walter, with a thrill of -dread coming over him, for he did not like to think of his mother and -that terrible trustee.</p> - -<p>‘By the way,’ cried Kitty, with a pirouette of delight, ‘it’s I that am -Mrs. Lawrence now, and she’s only the Dowager. Fancy turning a person -who has always made you shake in your shoes into the Dowager! It’s too -delightful—it’s worth all the rest.’</p> - -<p>Walter did not like this to be said about his mother. He had deceived -and dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span>appointed her, but he was not without a feeling for her.</p> - -<p>‘That is all nonsense,’ he said. ‘It is not as if I had come into the -property and my mother had to turn out; for everything is hers. I hope -you don’t mind being Mrs. Walter, Kitty, for my sake.’</p> - -<p>Kitty considered a moment whether she should be angry, but concluded -that it was too soon after the last quarrel, and would be monotonous and -a bore, so she caught up his hat instead and thrust it into his hand.</p> - -<p>‘Come along,’ she said; ‘come along. We have sat a long time over -breakfast, and there is no time to lose; I must make out the other name -in that book.’</p> - -<p>But here the young lady met with an unexpected check, for the blacksmith -stopped them as they entered his house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> striding towards them from the -kitchen, where he, too, had finished a very satisfactory meal.</p> - -<p>‘What will ye be wanting?’ he said. ‘Ye will maybe think I can unmarry -ye again? but it’s not possible to do that.’</p> - -<p>‘We don’t want to be unmarried,’ said Kitty; ‘we want just to look at -the book again, to see a name.’</p> - -<p>‘What book?’</p> - -<p>‘The register-book that is in that room,’ said Walter; ‘my wife,’ and he -gave Kitty’s arm a squeeze, ‘saw a name——’</p> - -<p>‘My book!’ The blacksmith stood in the doorway like a mountain, not to -be passed by or pushed aside. ‘I’ll have no one spying into the names in -my book.’</p> - -<p>‘I don’t want to spy,’ said Kitty;’ it’s somebody I know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>But the big man would hear no reason; he looked at the little couple -before him, so young and so silly, as if he had been a bishop at least.</p> - -<p>‘I couldn’t refuse to marry ye,’ he said; ‘I hadn’t the right. But if I -had followed my own lights, I would just have sent ye home to your -parents to be put back in the nursery; and ye shall see no books of -mine, nor tell tales upon other folk.’</p> - -<p>And nothing could move him from this resolution. Kitty nearly cried with -vexation when they got into the train again; her own escapade dwindled -into something quite secondary.</p> - -<p>‘It was so silly of me not to make sure of the name. I am sure the first -name was Everard, or something like that. And <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span>what a brute that man is, -Walter! If you had really loved me as you say, you would have pushed him -away or knocked him down.’</p> - -<p>‘Why, he was six times as big as me, Kitty!’</p> - -<p>‘What does that matter,’ she said, ‘when it’s for the sake of someone -you love?’</p> - -<p>But perhaps this is rather a feminine view.</p> - -<p>There had been, as may be supposed, a great commotion in The Leas when -it was found that Kitty’s room was vacant in the morning. A girl’s -absence is more easily discovered than a boy’s. Mrs. Lawrence thought -that Walter had gone off for the day to see some of his friends, and -would come back to dinner, as he had done many times before; and though -she was angry with him for leaving his work,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> she was not anxious. But a -young lady does not make escapades of this sort; and when it was -discovered that Kitty’s best things had disappeared, and her favourite -locket, and that she had evidently never gone to bed in a proper and -legitimate way, the house and the neighbourhood was roused. Mrs. Bircham -sent off messengers far and near; and Mr. Bircham himself, though an -easy-minded man, went out on the same errand, visiting, among other -places, Blencarrow, where all the gaiety of a Christmas party was still -going on, and the boys were trying with delight the first faint film of -ice upon the pond to see when it would be likely to bear. Then, after a -hasty but late luncheon, he had gone to see whether Mrs. Lawrence knew -anything about the fugitive; and Mrs. Bircham, at her wits<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span>’ end, and -not knowing what to do, was alone in the drawing-room at The Leas, -pondering everything, wishing she had Kitty there to shake her, longing -to pour forth floods of wrath; but at the same time chilled by that -dread of something having happened which will come in even when a mother -is most enraged. She was saying to herself that nothing could have -happened—that it must be that young Lawrence—that the girl was an -idiot—that she washed her hands of her—that she would have nothing to -do with them—that, oh, if she had only thought to lock her up in her -bedroom and stop it all!</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Kitty, Kitty! where are you, child?’ she cried nervously at the -conclusion of all.</p> - -<p>There was a rustle and a little rush,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> and Kitty ran in, flinging -herself upon her knees upon the hearthrug, and replied:</p> - -<p>‘Here I am—here I am, mamma!’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bircham uttered a shriek. She saw Walter behind, and the situation -in a moment became clear to her.</p> - -<p>‘You young fools!’ she said; ‘you disobedient, ungrateful -children—you——’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, mamma, one moment. We have been to Gretna Green—Walter and me!’</p> - -<p>‘How dared you, sir?’ said Mrs. Bircham, turning upon the hapless -lover—‘how dared you steal my innocent child away? And then you come -here to triumph over us. Begone, sir—begone, sir, out of my house; -begone out of my house!’</p> - -<p>Kitty jumped up off her knees and caught Walter by the arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘He does not go a step without me,’ she cried. ‘But, mamma, if you would -have a moment’s patience, you would not think any more about it. We were -going to London; but I came back, though I knew you would scold, to tell -you. Listen to me one moment,’ cried Kitty, running all the words into -one; ‘it’s something about Mrs. Blencarrow.’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bircham had her hands raised, presumably to draw down the curse of -heaven upon the pair, but at this name she paused; her countenance -changed.</p> - -<p>‘Mrs. Blencarrow?’ she gasped, and could say no more.</p> - -<p>‘You never heard such a thing in your life!’ cried Kitty. She dropped -Walter’s arm, and came forward in front of him. ‘Mamma, I saw her name -in the register; there it is—anyone can see it: Joan<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> Blencarrow—there -couldn’t be another person with such a name.’</p> - -<p>‘In the register? What—what do you mean?’</p> - -<p>‘Mamma, I mean that Mrs. Blencarrow is married—to somebody else. She’s -been married these three years. I read her name this very day. It’s in -the register at Gretna Green.’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bircham staggered back a few steps and dropped into a chair.</p> - -<p>‘Married!’ she cried. ‘Mrs. Blencarrow married!’</p> - -<p>‘Three years ago,’ cried Kitty glibly. ‘Fifth January—I saw the -date—three years ago!’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bircham sat with her hands clasped and her eyes glaring, ‘as if,’ -Kitty said afterwards, ‘they would come out of her head.’ She uttered a -succes<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span>sion of cries, from little shrieks to breathless exclamations. -‘Married!—Mrs. Blencarrow! Oh, oh, Kitty! Oh, good heavens!—Mrs. -Blencarrow! Three years ago—the time she went off to Scotland to see -her sister. Oh, oh, Kitty! In the register! Get me a glass of water, or -I think I shall die.’</p> - -<p>Walter disappeared for the water, thinking that after all his -mother-in-law was a good-hearted woman, and didn’t feel as Kitty said -she would; but when he returned, his admiration of Mrs. Bircham turned -into admiration for his wife, for Kitty and her mother, sitting close as -if they were the dearest friends, were laying their heads together and -talking both at the same time; and the horror and amazement in Mrs. -Bircham’s face had given way to the dancing of a malicious light in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> her -eyes, and a thrill of eagerness all over her.</p> - -<p>‘I am not at all surprised,’ she was saying when Walter came in. ‘I felt -sure something of the kind would come to light sooner or later. I never -would have trusted her—not a step beyond what I saw. I felt sure all -wasn’t right in that house. What a mercy, Kitty, that you saw it!’</p> - -<p>‘Wasn’t it a mercy, mamma!’</p> - -<p>Kitty gave her young husband a look aside; she had made her peace with -her news. But Mrs. Bircham thought of nothing—neither of her daughter’s -escapade, nor her own just anger—of nothing but this wonderful news, -and what would be the best thing to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /><br /> -<small>‘ARE WE QUITE ALONE?’</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Blencarrow</span> had just been saying good-bye to a number of her guests, -and, what was of more importance, her boys had just left her upon a -visit to one of their uncles who lived in a Midland county, and who, if -the weather was open (and there had been a great thaw that morning), -could give them better entertainment than could be provided in a -feminine house. There was a look in her face as if she were almost glad -to see them drive away. She was at the hall-door to see them go, and -stood kissing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span> her hand to them as they drove off shouting their -good-byes, Reginald with the reins, and Bertie with his curly head -uncovered, waving his cap to his mother. She watched them till they -disappeared among the trees, with a smile of pride and pleasure on her -face, and then there came a dead dulness over it, like a landscape on -which the sun had suddenly gone down.</p> - -<p>‘Emmy, you should not stand here in the cold,’ she said; ‘run upstairs, -my dear, to a warm room.’</p> - -<p>‘And what are you going to do, mamma?’</p> - -<p>‘I have some business to look after,’ Mrs. Blencarrow said. She went -along the stone passage and down the stairs where Kitty and Walter had -gone on the night of the ball. She had a weary look,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> and her footsteps, -usually so elastic, dragged a little. The business-room was as cheerful -as a large fire could make it; she opened the door with an anxious look -in her eyes, but drew a breath of relief when she saw that no one was -there. On the mantelpiece was a note in a large bold handwriting: ‘Out -on the farm, back at five,’ it said. Mrs. Blencarrow sat down in the -arm-chair in front of her writing-table. She leant her head in her -hands, covering her face, and so remained for a long time, doing -nothing, not even moving, as if she had been a figure in stone. When she -stirred at last and uncovered her face, it was almost as white as -marble. She drew a long sigh from the very depths of her being. ‘I -wonder how long this can go on,’ she said, wringing her hands, speaking -to herself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> - -<p>These were the same words which Kitty and Walter had overheard in the -dark, but not from her. There were, then, two people in the house to -whom there existed something intolerable which it was wellnigh -impossible to bear.</p> - -<p>She drew some papers towards her and began to look over them listlessly, -but it was clear that there was very little interest in them; then she -opened a drawer and took out some letters, which she arranged in -succession and tried to fix her attention to, but neither did these -succeed. She rose up, pushing them impatiently away, and began to pace -up and down the room, pausing mechanically now and then to look at the -note on the mantelpiece and to look at her watch, both of which things -she did twice over in five minutes. At five! It was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span> four yet—what -need to linger here when there was still an hour—still a whole hour? -Mrs. Blencarrow was interrupted by a knock at her door; she started as -if it had been a cannon fired at her ear, and instinctively cast a -glance at the glass over the mantelpiece to smooth the agitation from -her face before she replied. The servant had come to announce a -visitor—Mrs. Bircham—awaiting his mistress in the drawing-room. ‘Ah! -she has come to tell me about Kitty,’ Mrs. Blencarrow said to herself.</p> - -<p>She went upstairs wearily enough, thinking that she had no need to be -told what had become of Kitty, that she knew well enough what must have -happened, but sorry, too, for the mother, and ready to say all that she -could to console her—to put forth the best pleas she could for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span> -foolish young pair. She was so full of trouble and perplexity herself, -which had to be kept in rigorous concealment, that anything of which -people could speak freely, upon which they could take others into their -confidence, seemed light and easy to her. She went upstairs without a -suspicion or alarm—weary, but calm.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bircham did not meet her with any appeal for sympathy either in -look or words; there was no anxiety in her face. Her eyes were full of -satisfaction and malice, and ill-concealed but pleasurable excitement.</p> - -<p>‘I can see,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, ‘that you have news of Kitty,’ as she -shook hands with her guest.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Kitty is right enough,’ said the other hastily; and then she cast a -glance round the room. ‘Are we quite alone?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span>’ she asked; ‘there are so -many corners in this room, one never knows who may be listening. Mrs. -Blencarrow, I do not come to speak of Kitty, but about yourself.’</p> - -<p>‘About myself?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh,’ said Mrs. Bircham, with a gasp, ‘you speak in that innocent tone -as if it was quite surprising that anyone could have anything to say of -you.’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow changed her position so as to get her back to the light; -one of those overwhelming flushes which were habitual to her had come -scorching over her face.</p> - -<p>‘No more surprising to me than—to any of us,’ she said, with an attempt -at a smile. ‘What is it that I have done?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, Mrs. Blencarrow—though why I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span> should go on calling you Mrs. -Blencarrow when that’s not your name——’</p> - -<p>‘Not my name!’ There was a shrill sort of quaver in her voice, a keen -note as of astonishment and dismay.</p> - -<p>‘I wish,’ cried Mrs. Bircham, growing red, and fanning herself with her -muff in her excitement—‘I wish you wouldn’t go on repeating what I say; -it’s maddening—and always as if you didn’t know. Why don’t you call -yourself by your proper name? How can you go on deceiving everybody, and -even your own poor children, living on false pretences, “lying all -round,” as my husband says? Oh, I know you’ve been doing it for years; -you’ve got accustomed to it, I suppose; but don’t you know how -disgraceful it is, and what everybody will say?’</p> - -<p>Had there been any critic of human<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> nature present, it would have gone -greatly against Mrs. Blencarrow that she was not astonished at this -attack. She rose up with a fine gesture of pride.</p> - -<p>‘This is an extraordinary assault to make upon me,’ she said, ‘in my own -house.’</p> - -<p>‘Is it your own house, after disgracing it so?’ cried the visitor. And -then she added, after an angry pause for breath: ‘I came out of -kindness, to let you know that everything was discovered. Mr. Bircham -and I thought it was better you should have it from a friend than from -common report.’</p> - -<p>‘I appreciate the kindness,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, with something like a -laugh; then she walked to the side of the fire and rang the bell. Mrs. -Bircham trembled, but her victim was perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span> calm; the assailant -looked on in amazed expectation, wondering what was to come next, but -the assailed stood quietly waiting till the servant appeared. When the -man opened the door, his mistress said: ‘Call Mrs. Bircham’s carriage, -John, and attend her downstairs.’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bircham stood gasping with rage and astonishment. ‘Is that all?’ -she said; ‘is that all you have got to say?’</p> - -<p>‘All—the only reply I will make,’ said the lady of the house. She made -her visitor a stately bow, with a wave of the hand towards the door. -Mrs. Bircham, half mad with baffled rage, looked round as it were for -some moral missile to throw before she took her dismissal. She found it -in the look of the man who stood impassive at the door. John was a -well-trained servant, bound<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span> not to look surprised at anything. Mrs. -Bircham clasped her hands together, as if she had made a discovery, made -a few hasty steps towards the door, and then turned round with an -offensive laugh. ‘I suppose that’s the man,’ she said.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow stood firm till the door had closed and the sound of her -visitor’s laugh going downstairs had died away: then she sank down upon -her knees in the warm fur of the hearthrug—down—down—covering her -face with her hands. She lay there for some time motionless, holding -herself together, feeling like something that had suddenly fallen into -ruin, her walls all crumbled down, her foundations giving way.</p> - -<p>The afternoon had grown dark, and a gray twilight filled the great -windows. Nothing but the warm glow of the fire<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span> made any light in the -large and luxurious room. It was so full of the comforts and brightness -of life—the red light twinkling in the pretty pieces of old silver and -curiosities upon the tables, catching in ruddy reflection the -picture-frames and mirror, warming and softening the atmosphere which -was so sheltered and still; and yet in no monastic cell or prison had -there ever been a prostrate figure more like despair.</p> - -<p>The first thing that roused her was a soft, caressing touch upon her -shoulder; she raised her head to see Emmy, her delicate sixteen-year-old -girl, bending over her.</p> - -<p>‘Mamma, mamma, is anything the matter?’ said Emmy.</p> - -<p>‘I was very tired and chilly; I did not hear you come in, Emmy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘I met Mrs. Bircham on the stairs; she was laughing all to herself, but -when she saw me she began to cry, and said, “Poor Emmy! poor little -girl! You’ll feel it.” But she would not tell me what it was. And then I -find you, mamma, looking miserable.’</p> - -<p>‘Am I looking miserable? You can’t see me, my darling,’ said her mother -with a faint laugh. She added, after a pause: ‘Mrs. Bircham has got a -new story against one of her neighbours. Don’t let us pay any attention, -Emmy; I never do, you know.’</p> - -<p>‘No, mamma,’ said Emmy, with a quaver in her voice. She was very quiet -and said very little, but in her half-invalid condition she could not -help observing a great many things that eluded other people, and many -alarms<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> and doubts and suppressed suspicions were in her mind which she -could not and would not have put in words. There was something in the -semi-darkness and in the abandon in which she had found her mother which -encouraged Emmy. She clasped Mrs. Blencarrow’s arm in both of hers, and -put her face against her mother’s dress.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, mamma,’ she said, ‘if you are troubled about anything, won’t you -tell me? Oh, mamma, tell me! I should be less unhappy if I knew.’</p> - -<p>‘Are you unhappy, Emmy?—about me?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh! I did not mean quite that; but you are unhappy sometimes, and how -can I help seeing it? I know your every look, and what you mean when you -put your hands together—like that, mamma.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘Do you, Emmy?’ The mother took her child into her arms with a strong -pressure, as if Emmy’s feeble innocence pressed against her own strong, -struggling bosom did her good. The girl felt the quiver in her mother’s -arm, which enfolded her, and felt the heavy beating of the heart against -which she was pressed, with awe and painful sympathy, but without -suspicion. She knew everything without knowing anything in her boundless -sympathy and love. But just then the clock upon the mantelpiece tingled -out its silvery chime. Five o’clock! Mrs. Blencarrow put Emmy out of her -arms with a sudden start. ‘I did not think it was so late. I have to see -some one downstairs at five o’clock.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, mamma, wait for some tea; it is just coming.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘You are very late,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow to the butler, who came in -carrying a lamp, while John followed him with the tray. Tea in the -afternoon was a very novel invention, at that time known only in a few -houses. ‘Do not be so late another day. I must go, Emmy—it is business; -but I shall be back almost directly.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, mamma, I hate business; you say you will be back directly, and you -don’t come for hours!’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow kissed her daughter and smiled at her, patting her on -the shoulder.</p> - -<p>‘Business, you know, must be attended to,’ she said, ‘though everything -else should go to the wall.’</p> - -<p>Her face changed as she turned away; she gave a glance as she passed at -the face<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> of the man who held open the door for her, and it seemed to -Mrs. Blencarrow that there was a gleam of knowledge in it, a suppressed -disrespect. She was aware, even while this idea framed itself in her -mind, that it was a purely fantastic idea, but the profound -self-consciousness in her own soul tinged everything she saw; she -hurried downstairs with a sort of reluctant swiftness, a longing to -escape and yet an eagerness to go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /><br /> -<small>‘IS IT TRUE?’</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">A few</span> days passed without any further incident. Mrs. Blencarrow’s -appearance in the meantime had changed in a singular way. Her wonderful -self-command was shaken; sometimes she had an air of suppressed -excitement, a permanent flush under her eyes, a nervous irritation -almost uncontrollable; at other moments she was perfectly pale and -composed, but full of an acute consciousness of every sound. She spent a -great part of her time in her business-room downstairs, going and coming -on many occa<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span>sions hurriedly, as if by an impulse she could not resist. -This could not be hidden from those keen observers, the servants, who -all kept up a watch upon her, quickened by whispers that began to reach -them from without. Mrs. Blencarrow, on her side, realized very well what -must be going on without. She divined the swiftness with which Mrs. -Bircham’s information would circulate through the county, and the effect -it would produce. Whether it was false or true would make no difference -at first. There would be the same wave of discussion, of wonder, of -doubt; her whole life would be investigated to see what were the -likelihoods on either side, and her recent acts and looks and words all -talked over. She was a very proud woman, and her sensations were -something like those of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span> civilized man who is tied to a stake and sees -the savages dancing round him, preparing to begin the torture. She -expected every moment to see the dart whirl through the air, to feel it -quiver in her flesh; the waiting at the beginning, anticipating the -first missile, must be, she thought, the worst of all.</p> - -<p>She watched for the first sound of the tempest, and Emmy and the -servants watched her, the one with sympathy and terror, the others with -keen curiosity not unheightened by expectation. She was a good mistress, -and some of them were fond of her; some of them were capable of standing -by her through good and evil; but it is not in human nature not to watch -with excitement the bursting of such a cloud, or to look on without a -certain keen pleasure in seeing how a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> victim—a heroine—will comport -herself in the moment of danger. It was to them as good as a play. There -were some in her own house who did not believe it; there were some who -had long, they said, been suspicious; but all, both those who believed -it and those who did not believe it, were keen to see how she would -comport herself in this terrible crisis of fate.</p> - -<p>The days went by very slowly in this extraordinary tension of spirit; -the first stroke came as such a stroke generally does—from a wholly -unexpected quarter. Mrs. Blencarrow was sitting one afternoon with Emmy -in the drawing-room. The large room looked larger with only these two in -it. Emmy, a little figure only half visible, lay in a great chair near -the fire, buried in it, her small face show<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span>ing like a point of -whiteness amid the ruddy tones of the firelight and the crimson of the -chair. Her mother was on the other side of the fire, with a screen -thrown between her and the glow, scarcely betraying her existence at -all, in the shade in which she sat, by any movement. The folds of her -velvet dress caught the firelight and showed a little colour lying -coiled about her feet; but this was all that a spectator would have -seen. Emmy was busy with some fleecy white knitting, which she could go -on with in the partial darkness; the faint sound of her knitting-pins -was audible along with the occasional puff of flame from the fire, or -falling of ashes on the hearth. There was not much conversation between -them. Sometimes Emmy would ask a question: ‘When are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> boys coming -home, mamma?’ ‘Perhaps to-day,’ with a faint movement in the darkness; -‘but they are going back to school on Monday,’ Mrs. Blencarrow said, -with a tone of relief. It might have been imagined that she said ‘Thank -Heaven!’ under her breath. Emmy felt the meaning of that tone as she -felt everything, but blamed herself for thinking so, as if she were -doing wrong.</p> - -<p>‘It is a strange thing to say,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow; ‘but I almost wish -they were going straight back to school, without coming home again.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, mamma!’ said Emmy, with a natural protest.</p> - -<p>‘It seems a strange thing,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, ‘to say——’ She had -paused between these two last words, and there was a slight quiver in -her voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span></p> - -<p>She had paused to listen; there was some sound in the clear air, which -was once more hard with frost; it was the sound of a carriage coming up -the avenue. All was so still around the house that they could hear it -for a long way. Mrs. Blencarrow drew a long, shivering breath.</p> - -<p>‘There’s somebody coming,’ said Emmy; ‘can it be Rex and Bertie?’</p> - -<p>‘Most likely only somebody coming to call. Emmy!’</p> - -<p>‘What, mamma?’</p> - -<p>‘I was going to say, don’t stay in the room if—if it were. But no, -never mind; it was a mistake; I would rather you did stay.’</p> - -<p>‘I will do whatever you please, mamma.’</p> - -<p>‘Thank you, Emmy. If I turn to you, go. But perhaps there will be no -need.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>They waited, falling into a curious silence, full of expectation; the -carriage came slowly up to the door; it jingled and jogged, so that they -recognised instinctively that it must be the fly from the station.</p> - -<p>‘It will be the boys, after all,’ Mrs. Blencarrow said, with something -between relief and annoyance. ‘No,’ she added, with a little impatience; -‘don’t run to the door to meet them. It is too cold for you; stay where -you are; I can’t have you exposing yourself.’</p> - -<p>Something of the irritability of nervous expectation was in her voice, -and presently the door opened, but not with the rush of the boys’ -return. It was opened by the butler, who came in solemnly, his white -shirt shining out in the twilight of the room, and announced in his -grandest tone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> ‘Colonel and Mr. d’Eyncourt,’ as two dark figures -followed him into the room. Mrs. Blencarrow rose to her feet with a low -cry. She put her hand unconsciously upon her heart, which leaped into -the wildest beating.</p> - -<p>‘You!’ she said.</p> - -<p>They came forward, one following the other, into the circle of the -firelight, and took her hand and kissed her with solemnity. Colonel -d’Eyncourt was a tall, slim, soldierly man, the other shorter and -rotund. But there was something in the gravity of their entrance which -told that their errand was of no usual kind. When Emmy came forward to -greet her uncles, they turned to her with a mixture of impatience and -commiseration.</p> - -<p>‘Are you here, my poor child?’ said one; and the other told her to run -away,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span> as they had something particular to say to her mamma.</p> - -<p>The butler in the meantime was lighting the candles on the mantelpiece, -which made a sudden blaze and brought the two gentlemen into sight.</p> - -<p>‘I am sorry I did not know you were coming,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, -recovering her fortitude with the sudden gleam of the light, ‘or I -should have sent for you to the station. Preston, bring some tea.’</p> - -<p>‘No tea for us,’ said Mr. d’Eyncourt; ‘we have come to see you on family -business, if you could give us an hour undisturbed.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t bring any tea, then, Preston,’ she said with a smile, ‘and don’t -admit anyone.’ She turned and looked at Emmy, whose eyes were fixed on -her. ‘Go and look out for the boys, my dear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>The two brothers exchanged glances—they were, perhaps, not men of great -penetration—they considered that their sister’s demeanour was one of -perfect calm; and she felt as if she were being suffocated, as she -waited with a smile on her face till her daughter and the footman, who -was more deliberate, were gone. Then she sat down again on her low chair -behind the screen, which sheltered her a little from the glare of the -candles as well as the fire.</p> - -<p>‘I hope,’ she said, ‘it is nothing of a disagreeable kind—you both look -so grave.’</p> - -<p>‘You must know what we have come to talk about, Joan.’</p> - -<p>‘Indeed I don’t,’ she said; ‘what is it? There is something the matter. -Reginald—Roger—what is it? You frighten<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> me with your grave -faces—what has happened?’</p> - -<p>The gentlemen looked at each other again; their eyes said, ‘It cannot be -true.’ The Colonel cleared his voice; he was the eldest, and it was upon -him that the special burden lay.</p> - -<p>‘If it is true,’ he said—‘you know best, Joan, whether it is true or -not—if it is true, it is the most dreadful thing that has happened in -our family.’</p> - -<p>‘You frighten me more and more,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow. ‘Something about -John?’</p> - -<p>John was the black sheep of the D’Eyncourt family. Again the brothers -looked at each other.</p> - -<p>‘You must be aware of the rumour that is filling the county,’ said the -younger brother. ‘I hear there is nothing else talked of, Joan. It is -about you—you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> whom we have always been so proud of. Both Reginald and -I have got letters. They say that you have made a disgraceful marriage; -that it’s been going on for years; that you’ve no right to your present -name at all, nor to your position in this house. I cannot tell you the -half of what’s said. The first letter we paid no attention to, but when -we heard it from half a dozen different places—Joan—nothing about John -could be half so bad as a story like this about you.’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow had risen slowly to her feet, but still was in the -shade. She did not seem able to resist the impulse to stand up while she -was being accused.</p> - -<p>‘So this is the reason of your sudden visit,’ she said, speaking with -deliberation, which might have meant either inability<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> to speak, or the -utmost contempt of the cause.</p> - -<p>‘What could we have done else?’ they both cried together, apologetic for -the first moment. ‘We, your brothers, with such a circumstantial story,’ -said the Colonel.</p> - -<p>‘And your nearest friends, Joan; to nobody could it be of so much -importance as to us,’ said the other.</p> - -<p>‘Us!’ she said; ‘it is of more importance to the children.’</p> - -<p>‘My dear girl,’ said the Colonel, putting his hand on her shoulder, ‘I -am most thankful we did not trust to letters, but came. It’s enough to -look at you. You must give us your authority, and we will soon make an -end of these slanderers. By Jove! in the old days it would have been -pistols that would have done it.’</p> - -<p>‘You can’t use pistols to women,’ said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> Mr. d’Eyncourt, ‘if you were the -greatest fire-eater that ever was.’</p> - -<p>They both laughed a little at this, but the soul was taken out of the -laugh by the perception slowly dawning upon both that Mrs. Blencarrow -had said nothing, did not join either in their laugh or their -thankfulness for having come, and had, indeed, slightly shrunk from her -brother’s hand, and still stood without asking them to sit down.</p> - -<p>‘I’m afraid you are angry with us,’ said Roger d’Eyncourt, ‘for having -hurried here as if we believed it. But there never is any certainty in -such matters. We thought it better to settle it at once—at the -fountain-head.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ she said, but no more.</p> - -<p>The brothers looked at each other again, this time uneasily.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘My dear Joan,’ said the Colonel—but he did not know how to go on.</p> - -<p>‘The fact is,’ said Mr. d’Eyncourt, ‘that you must give us your -authority to contradict it, don’t you know—to say authoritatively that -there is not a shadow of truth——’</p> - -<p>‘Won’t you sit down?’ said Mrs. Blencarrow.</p> - -<p>‘Eh? Ah! Oh yes,’ said both men together. They thought for a moment that -she was giving them her ‘authority,’ as they said. The Colonel rolled an -easy chair near to her. Roger d’Eyncourt stood up against the glow of -the fire.</p> - -<p>‘Of course, that is all we want—your word,’ said the Colonel.</p> - -<p>She was still standing, and seemed to be towering above him where he sat -in that low chair; and there was a dumb<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> resistance in her attitude -which made a strange impression upon the two men. She said, after a -moment, moistening her lips painfully, ‘You seem to have taken the word -of other people against me easily enough.’</p> - -<p>‘Not easily; oh no! with great distress and pain. And we did not take -it,’ said the younger brother; ‘we came at once, to hear your own——’</p> - -<p>He stopped, and there was a dead silence. The Colonel sat bending -forward into the comparative gloom in which she stood, and Roger -d’Eyncourt turned to her in an attitude of anxious attention; but she -made no further reply.</p> - -<p>‘Joan, for God’s sake say something! Don’t you see that pride is out of -the question in such circumstances? We must have a distinct -contradiction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span> Heavens! here’s someone coming, after all.’</p> - -<p>There was a slight impatient tap at the door, and then it was opened -quickly, as by someone who had no mind to be put back. They all turned -towards the new-comer, the Colonel whirling his chair round with -annoyance. It was Brown—Mrs. Blencarrow’s agent or steward. He was a -tall young man with a well-developed, athletic figure, his head covered -with those close curling locks which give an impression of vigour and -superabundant life. He came quickly up to Mrs. Blencarrow with some -papers in his hand and said something to her, which, in their -astonishment and excitement, the brothers did not make out. He had the -slow and low enunciation of the North-country, to which their ear was -not accustomed. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> answered him with almost painful distinctness.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, the papers about Appleby’s lease. Put them on the table, please.’</p> - -<p>He went to the table and put them down, turned for a moment undecided, -and then joined the group, which watched him with a surprised and -hostile curiosity, so far as the brothers were concerned. She turned her -face towards him with a fixed, imperious look.</p> - -<p>‘I forgot,’ she said hurriedly; ‘I think you have both seen my agent, -Mr. Brown.’</p> - -<p>Roger d’Eyncourt gave an abrupt nod of recognition; the Colonel only -gazed from his chair.</p> - -<p>‘I thought Mr. Brown had been your steward, Joan.’</p> - -<p>‘He is my—everything that is serviceable and trustworthy,’ she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span></p> - -<p>The words seemed to vibrate in the air, so full of meaning were they, -and she herself to thrill with some strong sentiment which fixed her -look upon this man. He paused a little as if he intended to speak, but -after a minute’s uncertainty, with a rustic inclination of his head, -went slowly away. Mrs. Blencarrow dropped suddenly into her chair as the -door closed, as if some tremendous tension had relaxed. The brothers -looked wonderingly at each other again. ‘That is all very well; the -people you employ are in your own hands; but this is of far more -consequence.’</p> - -<p>‘Joan,’ said the Colonel, ‘I don’t know what to think. For God’s sake -answer one way or another! Why don’t you speak? For the sake of your -children, for the sake of your own honour, your credit, your family—Is -it true?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘Hush, Rex! Of course we know it isn’t true. But, Joan, be reasonable, -my dear; let’s have your word for it, that we may face the world. Of -course we know well enough that you’re the last woman to dishonour -Blencarrow’s memory—poor old fellow! who was so fond of you—and -deceive everybody.’</p> - -<p>‘You seem to have believed me capable of all that, or you would not have -come here!’</p> - -<p>‘No, Joan, no—not so. Do, for God’s sake, take the right view of it! -Tell us simply that you are not married, and have never thought of such -a thing, which I for one am sure of to begin with.’</p> - -<p>‘Perhaps,’ she said, with a curious hard note of a laugh, ‘they have -told you, having told you so much, whom I am supposed to have married, -as you say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>Again they looked at each other. ‘No one,’ said the Colonel, ‘has told -us that.’</p> - -<p>She laughed again. ‘Then if this is all you know, and all I am accused -of, to have married no one knows who, no one knows when, you must come -to what conclusion you please, and make what discoveries you can. I have -nothing to say.’</p> - -<p>‘Joan!’ they both cried.</p> - -<p>‘You must do exactly what seems good to you,’ she said, rising hastily. -‘Find out what you can, say what you like—you shall not have a word -from me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span>’</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /><br /> -<small>A NIGHT OF MISERY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">She</span> was gone before they could say another word, leaving them looking at -each other in consternation, not knowing what to think.</p> - -<p>For the rest of the night Mrs. Blencarrow shut herself up in her own -room; she would not come downstairs, not even to dinner. The boys -arrived and sought their mother in the drawing-room, wondering that she -did not come to meet them, but found only their uncles there, standing -before the fire like two baffled conspirators. Reginald and Bertie -rushed to their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> mother’s room, and plunged into it, notwithstanding her -maid’s exhortation to be quiet.</p> - -<p>‘Your mamma has got a bad headache, sir.’</p> - -<p>They were not accustomed to any régime of headaches. They burst in and -found her seated in her dressing-gown over the fire.</p> - -<p>‘Is your head so bad? Are you going to stay out?’ said Reginald, who had -just learnt the slang of Eton.</p> - -<p>‘And there’s Uncle Rex and Uncle Roger downstairs,’ said Bertie.</p> - -<p>‘You must tell them I am not well enough to come down. You must take the -head of the table and take care of them instead of me,’ said Mrs. -Blencarrow.</p> - -<p>‘But what is the matter, mamma?’ said Bertie. ‘You do not look very -bad,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> though you are red here.’ He touched his own cheeks under his -eyes, which were shining with the cold and excitement of arriving.</p> - -<p>‘Never mind, my dear. Emmy and you must do the honours of the house. I -am not well enough to come downstairs. Had you good sport?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, very good one day; but then, mamma, you know this horrid frost—— -’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, yes. I should not wonder if the ice on the pond would bear -to-morrow,’ she said with a smile. ‘Now run away, dear boys, and see -that your uncles have everything they want; for I can’t bear much -talking, you know, with my bad head.’</p> - -<p>‘Poor mamma!’ they cried. Reginald felt her forehead with his cold hand, -as he had seen her do, and Bertie hugged her in a somewhat rude embrace. -She kissed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> both the glowing faces, bright with cold and fun and -superabundant life. When they were gone, noisily, yet with sudden starts -of recollection that they ought to be quiet, Mrs. Blencarrow got up from -her chair and began to walk hurriedly about the room, now and then -wringing her hands.</p> - -<p>‘Even my little boys!’ she said to herself, with the acutest tone of -anguish. ‘Even my little boys!’</p> - -<p>For she had no headache, no weakness. Her brain was supernaturally -clear, seeing everything on every side of the question. She was before a -problem which it needed more than mortal power to solve. To do all her -duties was impossible; which was she to fulfil and which abandon? It was -not a small contradiction such as sometimes confuses a brain, but one -that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span> fundamental, striking at the very source of life. She was not -angry with her brothers, or with the others who had made this assault -upon her. What were they, after all? Had they never spoken a word, the -problem would still have been there, more and more difficult to solve -every day.</p> - -<p>No one disturbed her further that night; she sent word downstairs that -she was going to bed, and sent even her maid away, darkening the light. -But when all was still, she rose again, and, bringing out a box full of -papers, began to examine and read them, burning many—a piece of work -which occupied her till the household noises had all sunk into silence, -and the chill of midnight was within and around the great house full of -human creatures asleep. Mrs. Blencarrow had all the restlessness about -her of great mental<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> trouble. After she had sat long over her papers, -she thrust them from her hastily, throwing some into the fire and some -into the box, which she locked with a sort of fierce energy; then rose -and moved about the room, pausing to look at herself, with her feverish -cheeks, in the great mirror, then throwing herself on her knees by her -bedside as if to pray, then rising with a despairing movement as if that -was impossible. Sometimes she murmured to herself with a low, -unconscious outcry like some wounded animal—sometimes relieved herself -by broken words. Her restlessness, her wretchedness, all seemed to -breathe that question—the involuntary cry of humanity—‘What shall I -do? What shall I do?’ At length she opened her door softly and stole -downstairs. There was moonlight outside, and stray<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span> rays from a window -here and there made the long corridors and stairs faintly visible. One -broad sweep of whiteness from a great window on the staircase crossed -the dark like a vast ribbon, and across this ghostly light her figure -appeared and passed, more strangely and in a more awful revelation than -had all been dark. Had anyone seen her, it would have been impossible to -take her for anything but a ghost.</p> - -<p>She went down to the hall, then noiselessly along the further passage -and bare stone stairs to the little business room. All was dark and -silent there, the moonlight coming in through the chinks of the closed -shutters. Mrs. Blencarrow stood on the threshold a moment as if she had -expected to find someone there, then went in and sat down a few minutes -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span> the dark. Her movements and her sudden pauses were alike full of the -carelessness of distracted action. In the solitude and midnight darkness -and silence, what could her troubled thoughts be meditating? Suddenly -she moved again unseen, and came out to the door by which tenants and -other applicants came for business or charity. She turned the key -softly, and, opening it, stood upon the threshold. The opening from the -darkness into the white world unseen was like a chill and startling -transformation; the white light streamed in, opening a narrow pathway in -the darkness, in the midst of which she stood, a ghost indeed—enough to -have curdled the blood of any spectator. She stood for another moment -between the white world without and the blackness of night and sleep -within. To steal away<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> and be lost for ever in that white still -distance; to disappear and let the billows of light and space and -silence swallow her up, and be seen no more. Ah! but that was not -possible. The only thing possible to mortal power was a weary plodding -along a weary road, that led not to vague distances, but to some village -or town well known, where the fugitive would be discovered by the -daylight, by wondering wayfarers, by life which no one can escape. Even -should death overtake her, and the welcome chill extinguish existence, -yet still there would be found somewhere, like a fallen image, her empty -shell, her mortal garment lying in the way of the first passenger. No; -oh no; rather still the struggle, the contradictions, the despair——</p> - -<p>And how could she ask God to help<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> her?—that one appeal which is -instinctive: for there was nothing she could do that would not be full -of lies or of treachery, a shirking of one duty or another, the -abandonment of justice, truth, and love. She turned from the world -outside and closed the door; then returned again up the long stairs, and -crossed once more the broad belt of moonlight from the window in the -staircase. It was like resigning all hope of outside help, turning back -to the struggle that had to be fought out inch by inch on the well-known -and common ground. She was chilled to the heart with the icy air of the -night, and threw herself down on the hearthrug before the fire, with a -forlorn longing for warmth, which is the last physical craving of all -wounded and suffering things; and then she fell into a deep but broken -sleep,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> from which she fortunately picked herself up before daylight, so -as to prevent any revelation of her agitated state to the maid, who -naturally suspected much, but knew, thanks to Mrs. Blencarrow’s -miraculous self-command, scarcely anything at all.</p> - -<p>She did not get up next morning till the brothers, infinitely perplexed -and troubled, believing their sister to be mortally offended by the step -they had taken, and by their adoption or partial adoption of the rumours -of the neighbourhood, had gone away. They made an ineffectual attempt to -see her before they left, and finally departed, sending her a note, in -which Roger d’Eyncourt expressed the deep sorrow of both, and their hope -that she would come in time to forgive them, and to see that only -solici<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span>tude for herself and her family could have induced them to take -such a step.</p> - -<p>‘I hope,’ he added, ‘my dear sister, that you will not misunderstand our -motives when I say that we are bound in honour to contradict upon -authoritative grounds this abominable rumour, since our own character -may be called in question, for permitting you to retain the guardianship -of the children in such circumstances. As you refuse to discuss it with -us (and I understand the natural offence to your pride and modesty that -seems involved), we must secure ourselves by examining the books in -which the record of the marriage was said to have been found.’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow received this note while still in bed. She read it with -great apparent calm, but the great bed in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> which she lay quivered -suddenly, all its heavy satin draperies moving as if an earthquake had -moved the room. Both her maid and Emmy saw this strange movement with -alarmed surprise, thinking that one of the dogs had got in, or that -there had been some sinking of the foundation.</p> - -<p>‘The bed shook,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, clutching with her hand at the -quilt, as if for safety. ‘Yes, I felt something; but the flooring is not -very even, and worm-eaten at some places, you know.’</p> - -<p>She got up immediately after, making a pretence of this to account for -her recovery so soon after her brothers’ departure, and appeared soon -afterwards downstairs, looking very pale and exhausted, but saying she -felt a little better. And the day passed as usual—quite as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> usual to -the boys and the servants; a cheerful day enough, the children in the -foreground, and a good deal of holiday noise and commotion going on. -Emmy from time to time looked wistfully at her mother, but Mrs. -Blencarrow took no notice, save with a kiss or an especially tender -word.</p> - -<p>‘I think you have got my headache, Emmy.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, mamma, I don’t mind if I can take it from you.’</p> - -<p>The mother shook her head with a smile that went to Emmy’s heart.</p> - -<p>‘I am afraid,’ she said, ‘no one can do that.’</p> - -<p>In the afternoon she sent a man over to the Vicarage, with a note to the -clergyman of the parish. He was a middle-aged man, but unmarried; a -studious and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span> quiet parson, little in society, though regarded with -great respect in the neighbourhood; a man safe to confide in, with -neither wife nor other belongings to tempt him to the betrayal of a -secret entrusted to him. Perhaps this was why, in her uttermost need, -Mrs. Blencarrow bethought herself of Mr. Germaine. She passed the rest -of the day in the usual manner, not going out, establishing herself -behind the screen by the drawing-room fire with some work, ready to be -appealed to by the children. It was the time at which she expected -visits, but there had been no caller at Blencarrow for a day or two, -which was also a noticeable thing, for the neighbourhood was what is -called sociable, and there had been rarely a day in which some country -neighbour or other did not appear, until the last week, during<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> which -scarcely any stranger had crossed the threshold. Was it the weather -which had become so cold? Was it that there were Christmas parties in -most of the houses, which perhaps had not quite broken up yet? Was -it——? It was a small matter, and Mrs. Blencarrow was thankful beyond -expression to be rid of them, to be free of the necessity for company -looks and company talks—but yet——</p> - -<p>In the evening, after dinner, when the children were all settled to a -noisy round game, she went downstairs to her business room, bidding them -good-night before she left, and requesting that she should not be -disturbed, for her headaches lately had made her much behind with her -work, which, of course, was unusually heavy at the beginning of the -year. She went<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span> away with a curious stillness about her, pausing at the -door to give a last look at the happy little party, all flushed with -their game. It might have been the last look she should ever have of -them, from the expression in her face; and then she closed the door and -went resolutely away. The servants in their regions below sounded almost -as merry as the children, in the after-dinner ease; but they were far -from the business-room, which was perfectly quiet and empty—a shaded -lamp burning in it, the fire blazing. Mrs. Blencarrow sat down at her -writing-table, but, though she was so busy, did nothing. She looked at -her watch with a weary sigh, then leaning her head on her hands, -waited—for whom and for what, who could say?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /><br /> -<small>MRS. BLENCARROW’S CONFESSION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">She</span> had been there for some time when the sound of a footstep on the -gravel outside made her start. It was followed by a knock at the door, -which she herself opened almost before the summons. She came back to the -room, immediately followed by a tall man in clerical dress. The -suppressed excitement which had been in Mrs. Blencarrow’s aspect all the -day had risen now to an extraordinary height. She was very pale, with -one flaring spot on either cheek, and trembled so much that her teeth -were with difficulty<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> kept from chattering against each other. She was -quite breathless when she took her seat again, once more supporting her -head in her hands.</p> - -<p>The clergyman was embarrassed, too; he clasped and unclasped his hands -nervously, and remarked that the night was very cloudy and that it was -cold, as if, perhaps, it had been to give her information about the -weather that he came. Mr. Germaine giving her his views about the night, -and Mrs. Blencarrow listening with her face half hidden, made the most -curious picture, surrounded as it was by the bare framework of this -out-of-the-way room. She broke in abruptly at last upon the few broken -bits of information which he proceeded to give.</p> - -<p>‘Do you guess why I sent for you, Mr. Germaine?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>The Vicar hesitated, and said, ‘I am by no means sure.’</p> - -<p>‘Or why I receive you here in this strange place, and let you in myself, -and treat you as if you were a visitor whom I did not choose to have -seen?’</p> - -<p>‘I have never thought of that last case.’</p> - -<p>‘No—but it is true enough. It is not an ordinary visit I asked you to -pay me.’ She took her hands from her face and looked at him for a -moment. ‘You have heard what people are saying of me?’ she said.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, but I did not believe a word. I felt sure that Kitty only meant to -curry favour at home.’</p> - -<p>She gave him a strange, sudden look, then paused with a mechanical -laugh. ‘You think, then,’ she said, ‘that there<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> are people in my own -county to whom that news would be something to conciliate; -something—something to make them forgive?’</p> - -<p>‘There are people everywhere who would give much for such a story -against a neighbour, Mrs. Blencarrow.’</p> - -<p>‘It is sad that such a thing should be.’ She stopped again, and looked -at him once more. ‘I am going to surprise you very much, Mr. Germaine. -You are not like them, so I think I am going to give you a great shock,’ -she said.</p> - -<p>She had turned her face towards him as she spoke; the two red spots on -her cheeks were like fire, yet her paleness was extreme; they only -seemed to make this the more remarkable.</p> - -<p>In the momentary silence the door opened suddenly, and someone came in.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> -In the subdued light afforded by the shaded lamp it was difficult to see -more than that a dark figure had entered the room, and, crossing over to -the further side, sat down against the heavy curtains that covered the -window. Mrs. Blencarrow made the slightest movement of consciousness, -not of surprise, at this interruption, which, indeed, scarcely was an -interruption at all, being so instantaneous and so little remarked. She -went on:</p> - -<p>‘You have known me a long time; you will form your own opinion of what I -am going to tell you; I will not excuse or explain.’</p> - -<p>‘Mrs. Blencarrow, I am not sure whether you have perceived that we are -not alone.’</p> - -<p>She cast a momentary glance at the new-comer, unnecessary, for she was -well<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> aware of him, and of his attitude, and every line of the dark -shadow behind her. He sat bending forward, almost double, his elbows -upon his knees, and his head in his hands.</p> - -<p>‘It makes no difference,’ she said, with a slight impatience—‘no -difference. Mr. Germaine, I sent for you to tell you—that it was true.’</p> - -<p>‘What!’ he cried. He had scarcely been listening, all his attention -being directed with consternation, almost with stupefaction, on the -appearance of the man who had come in—who sat there—who made no -difference. The words did not strike him at all for the first moment, -and then he started and cried in his astonishment, ‘What!’ as if she had -struck him a blow.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow looked at him fixedly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> and spoke slowly, being, indeed, -forced to do so by a difficulty in enunciating the words. ‘The story you -have heard is—true.’</p> - -<p>The Vicar rose from his chair in the sudden shock and horror; he looked -round him like a man stupefied, taking in slowly the whole scene—the -woman who was not looking at him, but was gazing straight before her, -with those spots of red excitement on her cheeks; the shadow of the man -in the background, with face hidden, unsurprised. Mr. Germaine slowly -received this astounding, inconceivable thought into his mind.</p> - -<p>‘Good God!’ he cried.</p> - -<p>‘I make no—explanations—no—excuses. The fact is enough,’ she said.</p> - -<p>The fact was enough; his mind refused to receive it, yet grasped it with -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> force of a catastrophe. He sat down helpless, without a word to -say, with a wave of his hands to express his impotence, his incapacity -even to think in face of a revelation so astounding and terrible; and -for a full minute there was complete silence; neither of the three moved -or spoke. The calm ticking of the clock took up the tale, as if the room -had been vacant—time going on indifferent to all the downfalls and -shame of humanity—with now and then a crackle from the glowing fire.</p> - -<p>She said at last, being the first, as a woman usually is, to be moved to -impatience by the deadly silence, ‘It was not only to tell you—but to -ask, what am I to do?’</p> - -<p>‘Mrs. Blencarrow—I have not a word—I—it is incredible.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ she said with a faint smile, ‘but very true.’ She repeated after -another pause, ‘What am I to do?’</p> - -<p>Mr. Germaine had never in his life been called upon to face such a -question. His knowledge of moral problems concerned the more primitive -classes of humanity alone, where action is more obvious and the -difficulties less great. Nothing like this could occur in a village. He -sat and gazed at the woman, who was not a mere victim of passion—a -foolish woman who had taken a false step and now had to own to it—but a -lady of blameless honour and reputation, proud, full of dignity, the -head of a well-known family, the mother of children old enough to -understand her downfall and shame, with, so far as he knew, further -penalties involved of leaving them, and every habit<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> of her life, and -following the man, whoever he was, into whatsoever wilderness he might -seek. The Vicar felt that all the ordinary advice which he would give in -such a case was stopped upon his lips. There was no parallel between -what was involved here and anything that could occur among the country -folk. He sat, feeling the problem beyond him, and without a word to say.</p> - -<p>‘I must tell you more,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow. At her high strain of -excitement she was scarcely aware that he hesitated to reply, and not at -all that he was so much bewildered as to be beyond speech. She went on -as if she had not paused at all. ‘A thing has happened—which must often -happen; how can I tell you? It has been—not happy—for either. <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span>We -miscalculated—ourselves and all things. If I am wrong, I -am—subject—to contradiction,’ she said, suddenly stopping with a gasp -as if for breath.</p> - -<p>The shades of the drama grew darker and darker. The spectator listened -with unspeakable excitement and curiosity; there was a silence which -seemed to throb with suspense and pain; but the figure in the background -neither moved nor spoke—a large motionless figure, doubled upon itself, -the shaggy head held between the hands, the face invisible, the elbows -on the knees.</p> - -<p>‘You see?’ she said, with a faint movement of her hands, as though -calling his attention to that silence. There was a painful flicker of a -smile about her lips; perhaps her pride, perhaps her heart, desired even -at this moment a protest. <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span>She went on again: ‘It is—as I say; you will -see how this—complicates—all that one thinks of—as duty. What am I to -do?’</p> - -<p>‘Mrs. Blencarrow,’ said the clergyman—then stopped with a painful sense -that even this name could be no longer hers, a perception which she -divined, and responded to with again a faint, miserable smile—‘what can -I say to you?’ he burst out. ‘I don’t know the circumstances; what you -tell me is so little. If you are married a second time——’</p> - -<p>She made a movement of assent with her hand.</p> - -<p>‘Then, of course—it is a commonplace; what else can I say?—your duty -to your husband must come first; it must come first. It is the most -primitive, the most fundamental law.’</p> - -<p>‘What is that duty?’ she said, almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> sharply, looking up; and again -there was a silence.</p> - -<p>The clergyman laboured to speak, but what was he to say? The presence of -that motionless figure in the background, had there been nothing else, -would have made him dumb.</p> - -<p>‘The first thing,’ he said, ‘in ordinary circumstances—Heaven knows I -speak in darkness—would be to own your position, at least, and set -everything in its right place. Nature itself teaches,’ he continued, -growing bolder, ‘that it is impossible to go on living in a false -position, acting, if not speaking, what can be nothing but a lie.’</p> - -<p>‘It is commonplace, indeed,’ she cried bitterly, ‘all that: who should -know it like me? But will you tell me,’ she said, rising up and sitting -down in her excite<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span>ment, ‘that it is my duty to leave my children who -want me, and all the work of my life which there is no one else to do, -for a useless existence, pleasing no one, needed by no one—a life -without an object, or with a hopeless object—a duty I can never fulfil? -To leave my trust,’ she went on, coming forward to the fire, leaning -upon the mantelpiece, and speaking with her face flushed and her voice -raised in unconscious eloquence, ‘the office I have held for so many -years—my children’s guardian, their steward, their caretaker—suppose -even that I had not been their mother, is a woman bidden to do all that, -to make herself useless, to sacrifice what she can do as well as what -she is?’</p> - -<p>She stopped, words failing her, and stood before him, a wonderful noble -figure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> eloquent in every movement and gesture, in the maturity and -dignity of her middle age; then suddenly broke down altogether, and, -hiding her face, cried out:</p> - -<p>‘Who am I, to speak so? Not young to be excused, not a fool to be -forgiven; a woman ashamed—and for no end.’</p> - -<p>‘If you are married,’ said the Vicar, ‘it is no shame to marry. It may -be inappropriate, unsuitable, it may be even regrettable; but it is not -wrong. Do not at least take a morbid view.’</p> - -<p>She raised her drooping head, and turned round quickly upon him.</p> - -<p>‘What am I to do?’ she said. ‘What am I to do?’</p> - -<p>The Vicar’s eyes stole, in spite of himself, to the other side of the -room. The dark shadow there had not moved; the man still sat with his -head bent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span> between his hands. He gave no evidence that he had heard a -word of the discussion; he put forth no claim except by his presence -there.</p> - -<p>‘What can I say?’ said Mr. Germaine. ‘Nothing but commonplace, nothing -but what I have already said. Before everything it is your duty to put -things on a right foundation; you cannot go on like this. It must be -painful to do, but it is the only way.’</p> - -<p>‘It is seldom,’ she said, ‘very seldom that you are so precise.’</p> - -<p>‘Because,’ he said firmly, ‘there is no doubt on the subject. It is as -clear as noonday; there is but one thing to do.’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow said nothing; she stood with a still resistance in her -look—a woman whom nothing could overcome,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> broken down by -circumstances, by trouble, ready to grasp at any expedient; yet -unsubdued, and unconvinced that she could not struggle against Fate.</p> - -<p>‘I can say nothing else,’ the Vicar repeated, ‘for there is nothing else -to say; and perhaps you would prefer that I should go. I can be of no -comfort to you, for there is nothing that can be done till this is -done—not from my point of view. I can only urge this upon you; I can -say nothing different.’</p> - -<p>Again Mrs. Blencarrow made no reply. She stood so near him that he could -see the heaving of strong passion in all her frame, restrained by her -power of self-command, yet beyond that power to conceal. Perhaps she -could not speak more; at least, she did not. Mr. Germaine sat between -the two, both silent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span> absorbed in this all-engrossing question, till he -could bear it no longer. He rose abruptly to his feet.</p> - -<p>‘May God give you the power to do right!’ he said; ‘I can say no more.’</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow followed him to the door. She opened it for him, and -stood outside on the threshold in the moonlight to see him go.</p> - -<p>‘At least,’ she said, ‘you will keep my secret; I may trust you with -that.’</p> - -<p>‘I will say nothing,’ he replied, ‘except to yourself; but think of what -I have said.’</p> - -<p>‘Think! If thinking would do any good!’</p> - -<p>She gave him her hand, in all the veins of which the blood was coursing -like a strong stream, and then she closed the door behind him and locked -it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> During all this time the man within had never stirred. Would he -move? Would he speak? Or could he speak and move? When she went -back—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span>—</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /><br /> -<small>‘I AM HER HUSBAND.’</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">A night</span> and a day passed after this without any incident. What the chief -persons in this strange drama were doing or thinking was hid under an -impenetrable veil to all the world. Life at Blencarrow went on as usual. -The frost was now keen and the pond was bearing; the youngsters had -forgotten everything except the delight of the ice. Even Emmy had been -dragged out, and showed a little colour in her pale cheeks, and a flush -of pleasure in her eyes, as she made timid essays in the art of skating, -under the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span> auspices of her brothers. When she proved too timid for much -progress, they put her in a chair and drew her carriage from end to end -of the pond, growing more and more rosy and bright. Mrs. Blencarrow -herself came down in the afternoon to see them at their play, and since -the pond at Blencarrow was famed, there was a wonderful gathering of -people whom Reginald and Bertie had invited, or who were used to come as -soon as it was known that the pond ‘was bearing.’</p> - -<p>When the lady of the house came on to this cheerful scene, everybody -hurried to do her homage. The scandal had not taken root, or else they -meant to show her that her neighbours would not turn against her. -Perhaps the cessation of visits had been but an accident, such as -sometimes happens in those wintry days when nobody<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span> cares to leave home; -or perhaps public opinion, after the first shock of hearing the report -against her, had come suddenly round again, as it sometimes does, with -an impulse of indignant disbelief. However that might be, she received a -triumphant welcome from everybody. To be sure, it was upon her own -ground. People said to each other that Mrs. Blencarrow was not looking -very strong, but exceedingly handsome and interesting; her dark velvet -and furs suited her; her eyes were wonderfully clear, almost like the -eyes of a child, and exceptionally brilliant; her colour went and came. -She spoke little, but she was very gracious and made the most charming -picture, everybody said, with her children about her: Emmy, rosy with -unusual excitement and exercise, clinging to her arm, the boys making -circles round her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘Mamma, come on the chair—we will take you to the end of the pond.’</p> - -<p>‘Put mamma on the chair,’ they shouted, laying hold upon her.</p> - -<p>She allowed herself to be persuaded, and they flew along, pushing her -before them, their animated, glowing faces full of delight, showing over -her shoulders.</p> - -<p>‘Brown, come and give us a hand with mamma. Brown, just lay hold at this -side. Brown! Where’s Brown? Can’t he hear?’ the boys cried.</p> - -<p>‘Never mind Brown,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow; ‘I like my boys best.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah! but he is such a fellow,’ they exclaimed. ‘He could take you over -like lightning. He is far the best skater on the ice. Turn mamma round, -Rex, and let her see Brown.’</p> - -<p>‘No, my darlings, take me back to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> bank; I am getting a little -giddy,’ she said.</p> - -<p>But, as they obeyed her, they did not fail to point out the gyrations of -Brown, who was certainly, as they said, the best skater on the ice. Mrs. -Blencarrow saw him very well—she did not lose the sight—sweeping in -wonderful circles about the pond, admired by everybody. He was heavy in -repose, but he was a picture of agile strength and knowledge there.</p> - -<p>And so the afternoon passed, all calm, bright, tranquil, and, according -to every appearance, happy, as it had been for years. A more charming -scene could scarcely be, even summer not brighter—the glowing faces lit -up with health and that invigorating chill which suits the hardy North; -the red sunset making all the heavens glow in emulation; the grace<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span>ful, -flying movements of so many lively figures; the boyish shouts and -laughter in the clear air; the animation of everything. Weakness or -trouble do not come out into such places; there was nothing but -pleasure, health, innocent enjoyment, natural satisfaction there. Quite -a little crowd stood watching Brown, the steward, as he flew along, -making every kind of circle and figure, as if he had been on wings—far -the best skater of all, as the boys said. He was still there in the -ruddy twilight, when the visitors who had that privilege had streamed -into the warm hall for tea, and the nimble skaters had disappeared.</p> - -<p>The hall was almost as lively as the pond had been, the red firelight -throwing a sort of enchantment over all, rising and falling in fitful -flames. Blencarrow had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span> not been so brilliant since the night of the -ball. Several of the young Birchams were there, though not their mother; -and Mrs. Blencarrow had specially, and with a smile of meaning, inquired -for Kitty in the hearing of everybody. They all understood her smile, -and the inquiry added a thrill of excitement to the delights of the -afternoon.</p> - -<p>‘The horrid little thing! How could she invent such a story?’ people -said to each other; though there were some who whispered in corners that -Mrs. Blencarrow was wise, if she could keep it up, to ‘brazen it out.’</p> - -<p>Brazen it out! A woman so dignified, so proud, so self-possessed; a -princess in her way, a queen-mother. As the afternoon went on, her -strength failed a little; she began to breathe more quickly, to change -colour instantaneously from red<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> to pale. Anxiety crept into the clear, -too clear eyes. She looked about her by turns with a searching look, as -if expecting someone to appear and change everything. When the visitors’ -carriages came to take them away, the sound of the wheels startled her.</p> - -<p>‘I thought it might be your uncles coming back,’ she said to Emmy, who -always watched her with wistful eyes.</p> - -<p>Mr. Germaine had gone back to his parsonage through the moonlight with a -more troubled mind than he had perhaps ever brought before from any -house in his parish. A clergyman has to hear many strange stories, but -this, which was in the course of being enacted, and at a crisis so full -of excitement, occupied him as no tale of erring husband or wife, or son -or daughter going to the bad—such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span> as are also so common -everywhere—had ever done. But the thing which excited him most was the -recollection of the silent figure behind, sitting bowed down while the -penitent made her confession, listening to everything, but making no -sign. The clergyman’s interest was all with Mrs. Blencarrow; he was on -her side. To think that she—such a woman—could have got herself into a -position like that, seemed incredible, and he felt with an aching -sympathy that there was nothing he would not do to get her free—nothing -that was not contrary to truth and honour. But, granted that -inconceivable first step, her position was one which could be -understood; whereas all his efforts could not make him understand the -position of the other—the man who sat there and made no sign. How -could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span> any man sit and hear all that and make no sign?—silent when she -made the tragical suggestion that she might be contradicted—motionless -when she herself did the servant’s part and opened the door to the -visitor—giving neither support, nor protest, nor service—taking no -share in the whole matter except the silent assertion of his presence -there? Mr. Germaine could not forget it; it preoccupied him more than -the image, so much more beautiful and commanding, of the woman in her -anguish. What the man could be thinking, what could be his motives, how -he could reconcile himself to, or how he could have been brought into, -such a strange position, was the subject of all his thoughts. It kept -coming uppermost all day; it became a kind of fascination upon him; -wherever<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> he turned his eyes he seemed to see the strange image of that -dark figure, with hidden face and shaggy hair pushed about, between his -supporting hands.</p> - -<p>Just twenty-four hours after that extraordinary interview these thoughts -were interrupted by a visitor.</p> - -<p>‘A gentleman, sir, wishing to see you.’</p> - -<p>It was late for any such visit, but a clergyman is used to being -appealed to at all seasons. The visitor came in—a tall man wrapped in a -large coat, with the collar up to his ears. It was a cold night, which -accounted sufficiently for any amount of covering. Mr. Germaine looked -at him in surprise, with a curious sort of recognition of the heavy -outline of the man; but he suddenly brightened as he recognised the -stranger and welcomed him cheerfully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘Oh! it is you, Brown; come to the fire, and take a chair. Did you ever -feel such cold?’</p> - -<p>Brown sat down, throwing back his coat and revealing his dark -countenance, which was cloudy, but handsome, in a rustic, heavy way. The -frost was wet and melting on his crisp, curly brown beard; he had the -freshness of the cold on his face, but yet was darkly pale, as was his -nature. He made but little response to the Vicar’s cheerful greeting, -and drew his chair a little distance away from the blaze of the fire. -Mr. Germaine tried to draw him into conversation on ordinary topics, but -finding this fail, said, after a pause:</p> - -<p>‘You have brought me, perhaps, a message from Mrs. Blencarrow?’</p> - -<p>He was disturbed by a sort of presenti<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span>ment, an uneasy feeling of -something coming, for which he could find no cause.</p> - -<p>‘No, I have brought no message. I come to you,’ said Brown, leaning -forward with his elbows on his knees, and his head supported by his -hands, ‘on my own account.’</p> - -<p>Mr. Germaine uttered a strange cry.</p> - -<p>‘Good heavens!’ he said, ‘it was you!’</p> - -<p>‘Last night?’ said Brown, looking up at him with his deep-set eyes. -‘Didn’t you know?’</p> - -<p>Mr. Germaine could not contain himself. He got up and pushed back his -chair. He looked for a moment, being a tall man also and strong, though -not so strong as the Hercules before him, as if he would have seized -upon him and shaken him, as one dog does another.</p> - -<p>‘You!’ he cried. ‘The creature of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span> bounty! For whom she has done -everything! Obliged to her for all you are and all you have!’</p> - -<p>Brown laughed a low, satirical laugh. ‘I am her husband,’ he said.</p> - -<p>The Vicar stood with rage in his face, gazing at this man, feeling that -he could have torn him limb from limb.</p> - -<p>‘How dared you?’ he said, through his clenched teeth; ‘how dared you? I -should like to kill you. You to sit there and let her appeal to you, and -let her open to me and close the door, and do a servant’s office, while -you were there!’</p> - -<p>‘What do you mean?’ said Brown. ‘I am her husband. She told you so. It’s -the woman’s place in my class to do all that; why shouldn’t she?’</p> - -<p>‘I thought,’ said the Vicar, ‘that however much a man stood by his -class, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> thought best to behave like a gentleman whatever you -were.’</p> - -<p>‘There you were mistaken,’ said Brown. He got up and stood beside Mr. -Germaine on the hearth, a tall and powerful figure. ‘I am not a -gentleman,’ he said, ‘but I’ve married a lady. What have I made by it? -At first I was a fool. I was pleased whatever she did. But that sort of -thing don’t last. I’ve never been anything but Brown the steward, while -she was the lady and mistress. How is a man to stand that? I’ve been -hidden out of sight. She’s never acknowledged me, never given me my -proper place. Brought up to supper at the ball by those two brats of -boys, spoken to in a gracious sort of way, “My good Brown.” And I her -husband—her husband, whom it was her business to obey!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘It is a difficult position,’ said Mr. Germaine, averting his eyes.</p> - -<p>‘Difficult! I should think it was difficult, and a false position, as -you said. You spoke to her like a man last night; I’m glad she got it -hot for once. By——! I am sick and tired of it all.’</p> - -<p>‘I hope,’ said the Vicar, not looking at him, ‘that you will not make -any sudden exposure, that you will get her consent, that you will -respect her feelings. I don’t say that you have not a hard part to play; -but you must think what this exposure will be for her.’</p> - -<p>‘Exposure!’ he said. ‘I can’t see what shame there is in being my wife; -naturally I can’t see it. But you need not trouble your head about that. -I don’t mean to expose her. I am sick and tired of <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span>it all; I’m going -off to begin life anew——’</p> - -<p>‘You are going off?’ Mr. Germaine’s heart bounded with sudden relief; he -could scarcely believe the man meant what he said.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I’m going off—to Australia. You can go and tell her. Part of the -rents have been paid in this week; I have taken them for my expenses.’</p> - -<p>He took out a pocket-book, and held it out to the Vicar, who started and -laid a sudden hand on his arm.</p> - -<p>‘You will not do that—not take money?’ he cried. ‘No, no, that cannot -be!’</p> - -<p>‘Why not? You may be sure she won’t betray me. I am going for her good -and my own; I don’t make any pretence; it’s been a failure all round. I -want a wife of my own age and my own kind, not a grand lady who is -disgusted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span> with all my natural ways. A man can’t stand that,’ he cried, -growing darkly red. ‘She kept it under at first. But I am not a brute, -whatever you think. I have done all I can for her, to save her from what -you call the exposure, and I take this money fairly and above-board; you -can tell her of it. I wouldn’t have chosen even you for a confidant if -she hadn’t begun. You can go and tell her I sail for Australia from -Liverpool to-morrow, and shall never see her more.’</p> - -<p>‘Brown,’ said the Vicar, still with his hand on the other’s arm, ‘I -don’t know that I can let you go.’</p> - -<p>‘You’ll be a great fool, then,’ Brown said.</p> - -<p>The two men stood looking at each other, the one with a smile, half of -contempt, half of resolution, the other troubled and uncertain. ‘They -will say<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span> you have gone off with the money—absconded.’</p> - -<p>‘She’ll take care of that.’</p> - -<p>‘Brown, are you sure she wishes you to go? The exposure will come, all -the same; everything is found out that is true; and she will be left to -bear it alone without any support.’</p> - -<p>‘There will be no exposure,’ he said with a short laugh; ‘I’ve seen to -that, though you think me no gentleman. There’s no need for another -word, Mr. Germaine; I’ve a great respect for you, but I’m not a man that -is to be turned from his purpose. You can come and see me off if you -please, and make quite sure. I’m due at the station in an hour to catch -the up-train. Will you come?—and then you can set her mind quite at -ease and say you have seen me go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>Mr. Germaine looked at his comfortable fire, his cosy room, his book, -though he had not been reading, and then at the cold road, the dreary -changes of the train, the sleepless night. After a time he said, ‘I’ll -take your offer, Brown. I’ll go with you and see you off.’</p> - -<p>‘If you like, you can give me into custody on the way for going off with -Mrs. Blencarrow’s money. Mrs. Blencarrow’s money? not even that!’ he -cried, with a laugh of bitterness. ‘She is Mrs. Brown; and the money’s -the boy’s, not hers, or else it would be lawfully mine.’</p> - -<p>‘Brown,’ said the Vicar tremulously, ‘you are doing a sort of generous -act—God help us!—which I can’t help consenting to, though it’s utterly -wrong; but you speak as if you had not a scrap of feeling for her or -anyone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘I haven’t!’ he cried fiercely, ‘after three years of it. Half the time -and more she’s been ashamed of me, disgusted with me. Do you think a man -can stand that? By——! I neither can nor will. I’m going,’ he -continued, buttoning his coat hastily; ‘you can come or not, as you -please.’</p> - -<p>‘You had better have some supper first,’ said the Vicar.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! that’s the most sensible word you have said,’ cried Brown.</p> - -<p>Was it bravado, was it bitterness, was it relief in escaping, or the -lightness of despair? Mr. Germaine could never tell. It was something of -all of these feelings, mingled with the fierce pride of a peasant -slighted, and a certain indignant contemptuous generosity to let her go -free—the woman who was ashamed of him. All these were in Brown’s -thoughts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /><br /> -<small>‘HE HAS GONE—FOR EVER!’</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Blencarrow</span> spent that evening with her children; she made no -attempt to leave them after dinner. A lull had come into her heart after -the storm. She was aware that it was only temporary, nothing real in it; -but in the midst of a tempest even a few minutes of stillness and -tranquillity are dear. She had found on the mantelpiece of the -business-room the intimation, ‘Away on business till Monday,’ and though -it perplexed, it also soothed her. And the brothers returning with the -proof of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> Kitty’s statement, the extract which no doubt they would bring -from those books to confound her, could now scarcely arrive to-night. A -whole evening undisturbed among the children, who might so soon be torn -from her, in her own familiar place, which might so soon be hers no -longer; an evening like the past, perhaps the last before the coming of -that awful future when she must go forth to frame her life anew, -loveless and hopeless and ashamed. It was nothing but ‘the torrent’s -smoothness ere it dash below,’ the moment of calm before the storm; and -yet it was calm, and she was thankful for that one soft moment before -the last blow fell.</p> - -<p>The children were again lively and happy over their round game; the -sober, kind governess—about whom Mrs. Blen<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span>carrow had already concluded -in her own mind that she could secure at least the happiness of the -little ones if their mother were forced to leave them—was seated with -them, even enjoying the fun, as it is a blessed dispensation of -Providence that such good souls often do. Emmy was the only one who was -out of it; she was in her favourite corner with a book, and always a -watchful glance at her mother. Emmy, with that instinct of the heart -which stood her in place of knowledge, had a perception, she could not -have told how, of the pause in her mother’s soul. She would do nothing -to disturb that pause. She sat praying mutely that it might last, that -it might be peace coming back. Naturally Emmy, even with all her -instinct, did not know the terrible barrier that stood between her -mother and peace.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span></p> - -<p>And thus they all sat, apparently in full enjoyment of the sweet -household quiet, which by moments was so noisy and full of commotion, -the mother seated with the screen between her and the great blazing -fire, the children round the table, Emmy with her book.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow’s eyes dwelt upon them with the tenderest, the most -pathetic of smiles.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘She looked on sea, and hill, and shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">As she might never see them more,’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">with a throb of tragic wonder rising in her heart how she could ever -have thought that this was not enough for her—her children, and her -home, and this perfect peace.</p> - -<p>It was already late and near their bedtime when the fly from the station -drove<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> up to the door. Mrs. Blencarrow did not hear until some minutes -after Emmy had raised her head to listen, and then for a moment longer -she would not hear it, persuading herself that it was the wind rising -among the trees. When at last it was unmistakable, and the great hall -door was heard to open, and even—or so she thought in the sudden shiver -of agitation that seized her—a breath of icy wind came in, sweeping -through the house, she was for the moment paralyzed with dismay and -fear. She said something to hurry the children to bed, to bid them -go—go! But she was inaudible even to herself, and did not attempt, nor -could indeed form any further thought on any subject, except horror of -the catastrophe which she felt to be approaching in this moment of -peace. If it had but waited till to-morrow!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span> Till an hour later, when -she should have been alone!</p> - -<p>Motionless, holding by her chair, not even hearing the wondering -question, ‘Who can be coming so late?’ Mrs. Blencarrow, with wide-open -eyes fixed on the door, and her under-lip dropping in mortal anguish, -awaited her fate.</p> - -<p>It was the avengers returning from their search; her brothers hurrying -in one after the other. The Colonel said, ‘How delightfully warm!’ -rubbing his hands. Roger (Roger was always the kindest) came up to her -and took her hand. She had risen up to meet them, and grasped with her -other hand the only thing she could find to support her—the top of the -screen which stood between her and the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span></p> - -<p>‘Joan!’ her brothers began, both speaking together.</p> - -<p>She was hoarse, her lips were baked, it was all she could do to -articulate.</p> - -<p>‘Nothing before the children!’ she said, with a harsh and breathless -voice.</p> - -<p>‘Joan, this does not matter. We have come to beg your pardon, most -humbly, most penitently.’</p> - -<p>‘Fact is, it must all have been a mistake——’</p> - -<p>‘Say an invention, Reginald.’</p> - -<p>‘An invention—a cursed lie of that confounded girl! Hallo!’</p> - -<p>There was a sudden crash and fall. The children all rushed to see, and -Mrs. Blencarrow stood with the light streaming upon her, and the gilt -bar of the screen in her hand. She had crushed it in her agitated grasp; -the pretty frame<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span>work of gilded wood and embroidery lay in a heap at her -feet. The sound and shock had brought the blood rushing to her ghastly -tragical countenance. She stood looking vaguely at the bar in her hand; -but none of the children had any eyes for her—they were all on their -knees in a group round the gilded ruin. Save Mr. d’Eyncourt and Emmy, no -one noticed the terrible look in her face.</p> - -<p>‘Come and sit down here while they pick up the pieces,’ said Roger. -‘Joan, I am afraid you are very angry, and you have reason; that we -should have believed such a slander—of all the women in the world—of -you! But, my dear, we are heartily ashamed of ourselves, if that is -anything.’</p> - -<p>‘Most penitent,’ said the Colonel, ‘thoroughly ashamed. I said to -Roger,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span> “If ever there were men who had reason to be proud of their -sister——”<span class="lftspc">’</span></p> - -<p>‘And yet we gave a moment’s credence to such a barefaced lie!’</p> - -<p>She heard them dimly as from a far distance, and saw them as through a -fog; but the voices thus echoing and supplementing each other like a -dull chorus gave her time to recover. She said sedately, not with any -enthusiasm:</p> - -<p>‘I am glad that you have found out—your mistake.’</p> - -<p>Oh, heaven! Oh, miserable fate! But it was no mistake.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow found herself after a time taking Kitty’s defence.</p> - -<p>‘She got her own pardon for it. Her mother is a great gossip, and loves -a tale against her neighbour. Don’t blame the girl too much.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘If you excuse her, Joan, who should say a word? But why in all the -world, thinking of an unlikely person to fasten such a slander upon, did -she choose you?’</p> - -<p>‘Am I so unlikely, when my brothers believed it?’ she said, with a -strange smile.</p> - -<p>An hour full of commotion followed. The boys never tired in showing each -other and everybody else the flaw in the wood where the framework of the -screen had broken.</p> - -<p>‘But you must have leant on it very heavily, mamma.’</p> - -<p>‘She wanted to break our heads with it,’ said the Colonel, who was in -high spirits.</p> - -<p>‘Fancy mamma breaking Uncle Rex’s head with the screen!’ the children -cried with shrieks of laughter; and thus, in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> tumult of amusement and -gaiety, the evening closed.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Blencarrow went to her room with something cold and hard at her -heart like a stone. They had begged her pardon. They had not found that -record. By some chance, by some miracle—how could she tell what?—she -had escaped detection. But it was true; nothing could alter the fact. -Nothing could spirit away <i>him</i>—the husband—the man to whom she had -bound herself; the owner of her allegiance, of herself, if he chose to -exercise his rights. It occurred to her, in the silence of her room, -when she was alone there and dared to think, that her present escape was -but an additional despair. Had they found it, as they ought to have -found it, the worst would have been over. But now, to have the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span> -catastrophe indefinitely postponed—to have it before her every day—the -sword hanging over her head, her mind rehearsing day and night what it -would be! Would it not be better to go and tell them yet, to have it -over? Her hand was on her door to obey this impulse, but her heart -failed her. Who could tell? God might be so merciful as to let her die -before it was known.</p> - -<p>The two gentlemen spent a very merry morning on the ice with the -children, and in the afternoon left Blencarrow the best of friends with -their sister, grateful to her for her forgiveness. Mrs. Blencarrow did -not think it necessary to go out to the pond that afternoon—she was -tired, she said—and the skating, which often lasts so short a time that -everybody feels it a duty to take advantage of it, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> cleared the -house. She spent the afternoon alone, sitting over the fire, cold with -misery and anxiety and trouble. Everything seemed right again, and yet -nothing was right—nothing. False impressions, false blame, can be -resisted; but who can hold up their head against a scandal that is true?</p> - -<p>It was one of the women servants, in the absence of everybody else, who -showed Mr. Germaine into the drawing-room. He was himself very cold and -fatigued, having travelled all the previous night, and half the day, -returning home. He came to the fire and stood beside her, holding out -his hands to the warmth.</p> - -<p>‘You are alone, Mrs. Blencarrow?’</p> - -<p>‘Quite alone. You look as if you had something to tell me. For God’s -sake what is it? No news can come to me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span> but bad news,’ she said, -rising, standing by him, holding out her hands in piteous appeal.</p> - -<p>‘I don’t know whether you will think it bad news or good. I have come -straight from Liverpool, from the deck of a ship which sailed for -Australia to-day.’</p> - -<p>‘What do you mean? What do you mean? A ship—which sailed for -Australia?’</p> - -<p>‘I have come from—Everard Brown. He has thought it best to go away. I -have brought you a statement of all the affairs, showing how he has -carried with him a certain sum of money. Mrs. Blencarrow, it is too -great a shock; let me call someone.’</p> - -<p>‘No!’ She caught at his arm, evidently not knowing what it was upon -which she leant. ‘No, tell me all—all!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>‘He has taken means—I know not what—to destroy all evidence. He has -gone away, never meaning to return. It is all wrong—wrong from -beginning to end, the money and everything; but he had a generous -meaning. He wanted to set you free. He has gone—for ever, Mrs. -Blencarrow!’</p> - -<p>She had fallen at his feet without a word.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>People said afterwards that they had thought for some time that Mrs. -Blencarrow was not looking well, that she was in a state to take any -illness. And there was a flaw in the drains which nobody had discovered -till then. She had a long illness, and at one time was despaired of. -Things were complicated very much by the fact that Brown, her trusted -and confidential agent, had just emigrated to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span> Australia, a thing he had -long set his heart upon, before she fell ill. But her brother, Mr. Roger -d’Eyncourt, was happily able to come to Blencarrow and look after -everything, and she recovered finally, being a woman with a fine -constitution and in the prime of life. The family went abroad as soon as -she was well enough to travel, and have remained so, with intervals of -London, ever since. When Reginald comes of age, Blencarrow will no doubt -be opened once more; but the care of the estate had evidently become too -much for his mother, and it is not thought that she will venture upon -such a charge again. It is now in the hands of a regular man of -business, which is perhaps better on the whole.</p> - -<p>Kitty fell into great and well-deserved disgrace when it was found out -that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span> had seen what nobody else could see. Walter even, with a man’s -faculty for abandoning his partner in guilt, declared that he never saw -it, that Kitty must have dreamt it, that she tried to make him believe -it was Joan Blencarrow when it was only Jane Robinson, and many other -people were of opinion that it was all Kitty’s cleverness to get herself -forgiven and her own runaway match condoned.</p> - -<p>That match turned out, like most others, neither perfect happiness nor -misery. Perhaps neither husband nor wife could have explained ten years -after how it was that they were so idiotic as to think that they could -not live without each other; but they get on together very comfortably, -all the same.</p> - -<p class="fint">THE END.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mystery of Mrs. Blencarrow, by -Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF MRS. 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