CHAPTER XXII.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 417, 6 November 1889, Page 3

CHAPTER XXII.

THE DAY AFTKR, Tub last red ray of the sunset bad faded, the silver 6 tare wore oufc, the jel'lowmoon shone serenely over land and sea, before Edith awoke— awoke with a s.mile on her lips from a drearii of Charley. • Do go away — don't tease,' she was murmuring half smilingly, half petulantly — the words sho had spoken to him »< hundred times. She was back in Sandypoint, he. beside her, living over the old days, gone for ever. She awoke to see the tawny.mqqnshine streaming in, to hear the soft whispers of the night wind, the soft, sleepy , lap of " the sea on the sands, and to lenlise, with a thrill and a shock, she wtCa _ Sir Victor Cabheron's wife. His wife ! This Mas her wedding-day. Even in dreams Charley mu3t come to her no more. She rose up, slightly chilled from sleeping in the evening air, and shivering, partly with that chill, partly with a feeling she did not care to define. The dream of her life's ambition wns realised in its fullest; she, Edith Dan ell, was •my lady— a baronot's brid'6 ; ' the v visfea of her life spread before her in glittering splendour ; and yet her heart' lay like lead in her bo?om. In this hour she was afraid of herself, afraid of him. . , But where was he ? / She , lopk round the room, half in shadow, half in brilliant moonlight. No, he was no,t there. Had"- he returned' from his stroll ? She took out her, watch. A quatter-pabt sever*-— "of course he, had. He waa awaiting her,i no doubt impatient" for his dinner, in the dining-room. She would make some change in her dress and join him there. She went up to her dress-ing-room and lit the candles herself. She smoothed her ruflled hair, added a ribbon and a jewel or two, and then wont back to the drawing-room. All unnoticed, in the shadows, the letter tor her lay on the table. She sat down and rang the bell. Jam's<mi the confidential servant appeared. • Has Sir Victor returned from his walk, Jamison ? Is he in the dining-room ?' Mr Jamison's 1 well-bred- eyes looked in astonishment at the speaker, then around the room. Mr Jamison's wooden countenance looked stolid surprise. 'Sir* Victor, my lady — I thought Sir Victor was litre, my lad^y. ' * - • Sir Victor has not been here since half an hour after our arrival. 'He went out for a walk, as you very well know. I ask you if he has returned.' ' Sir Victor returned more than an hour ago, my lady. I saw .hijn,,, myself., ; You were asleep, my lady, by the, window as he name up. He went into, -t^e diningfroom and wrote a letter, I saw.it m his hand. And then, any lady, he came in here,'' '• -• The .. man and] "agafti" peered oround-the room. .Edith' listened in grow-, ingsacprise^ , ~" i . _; , ' I thought lie was here- stiftj-njy lady, sa did Heniily, or we would notf have taken' the liberty of hentering"and< closing, the .window. We was suie he was hore. , ,He suttingly hentefecV with the-lett«£*4n his , 'apd. It's very hod d.' _.- ■ ,j - Again there was a pause. Again" IMt Jamison — «^ , , ,f, f l lf your ladyship will hallow, I will light the candles here, and then go and hascertain whether Sir .Victeiv is ,in hany of the bother rooms.' She made an affirmative gesture, and" returned to the window. The man lib the candles, a second after an exclamation startled her. • The note, my lady. Here it is. 1 " It lay upon the table: she walked over and took.it up. In Sir Victors lvmd, and addressed to herself! What*" did this mean ? ' She stood looking at it a moment — then she turned to Jamison. • That will do,' she said briefly ; *if I want you I will ring.' The man bowed and left the room. She stood still, holding the unopened., note, strangely reluctant -to. break the seal. What did Sir Victor niean by absenting himself and writing her' a note? With an effort she aroused herself and tore it open. It was strangely scrawled, the writing" half -illegible;; '"slowly and with diflioulty. made it?>ut. This was what she read : ' or Heaven's sake, pity me— for Heaven's c ake, pardon me/ We shall never meet more ! 0 beloved! believe that I love you. believe that 1 never loved you half so well as now, when 1 leave you for ever. If I loved you less I might daretostpy. But I dare not. I can tell you no more— a promise to the living and the dead binds me. A dreadful secret of sin and shame and guilt is in\ olved. Go to Lady Helena. My love— mv bride— my heart is breaking as I write the word— the cruel word that mu:t be written —farewell. I have bxit one prayer in my heart - — hut one wish in my soul—that my life may be • a short one. ' ' ' Viutoh.' No nioie. So, in short, incoher,ent4 disconnected sentences, this incomprehensible letter began and ended. She, stc*.^ stunned, bewildered, da/.ed, holding it, gazing at it blankly. Was she asleep? Was this a dream ? Was Sir Victor playing &ome ghastly kind of practical joke, or — had Sir Victor all of a sudden gone wholly and entirely mad ? She shrank from the last thought— but the dim possibility that it might bo true calmed her. She sab down, hardly knowing what she, was doing, and read the letter again. Yes, surely, surely she was right. Sir Victor had gone mad ! Madness was hereditary m^ his family-*-had it come, to .him oh his wedding-day of all day&? ,On his t wedding-day the last , remnant of reason Lad deserted hiuij and he had deserted her. She sat quite still — the light,,of the candles falling upon her, upon ■ the fqtal letter, — trying .to steady j herself,, vtryijig, to think; She read it again and "agaiu ; surely no sane man ever wrote such a letter as-this. -'.Atdreadful seci # et of sin, andsbamq, and guilt, is involved.' Did thaMlreadful secret mean the secret of his 1 inpthjer's death ? But why should that cause.-him to leave her ? She knew all about it already. What frightful revela- , tion had, been made to him on his father's dying bed ? He had never been the r same man since. An idea flashed acrosfa ' her brain — dreadful and unnatural enough in all conscience — but why should. even that, supposing her suspicions to be true, cause him to leave her ? 'If I loved you less, I might dare to stay with you.' What rhodomontado was this? Men prov.e their lbve'by living with' the women they marry, not by deserting them. Oh,- he 'was mad, mad, mad — riot a doubt' of that" could remain.' 4 ■ Her thoughts went back over the past •two weeks — to the change in him ever since his father's death. There had been times when he had visibly shrunk from her, when he had seemed absolutely 'afraid of her. She had doubted it then — she knew it now. Ib was (he dawning of his insanity — the family taint breaking forth. His father's delusion had been to shut himself up t to give out that he was dead— the son's

was to desert his bride on their bridal day for ever. Forever ! ' the letter said so. Again, and still again, the read it. Very strangely she looked, the waxlights flickering on' her pale, rigid young face, her compressed lips set in one tight line — on her soft peail grey silk, with its pointlace collar and diamond star. A bride,' alone, forsaken, on her wedding-day ! How strange it all was ' The thought came to her ; was it retributive justice pursuing her for having baitered herself for rank? And yet girls as good and bettor than she, did it every doy. She rose and began pacing up and down the iloor. What should she do ? eGo back to Lady Helena,' Said the letter. (Jo back ! cast off, deserted — she, who only at noon to-day had left them a radiant bride! As she thought it a feeling of absolute hatred for the man she had married came into her heart. Sane or' mad, she would hate him now all the rest of her life. , The hours were creeping on — two had passed sinco s-he had sent Jamison out of her room. What were they thinking of her, these keen-sighted,' gossiping servants? What would they' think and say when she told' them Sir Victor would return no more. ? tliab she was going buck to Cheshire alone fed-morrow morning? There was no help for it. There was resolute blood in the | girl's veins ; she walked over to the bell, rang it, her head erect, her eyes bright, only' her lips still set in that tight, unpleasant line. Mr Jamison, grave and respectful* his burning curiosity diplomatically hidden, answered. ' 'Jamison,' the young lady said, her tones clear and calm, looking the man straight in'the eyes. • your master has been obliged to- lea \e Wales suddenly, and will Hot return. You m.iy spend the, night in packing up. To-morrow, by the earliest .train, I return to Cheshire.' 1 Yes. nie lady.' , !Not a muscle of Jamison's face moved— jnob a vestige of surprise or any other earthly emotion was visible in his smooth- ■ shaven face. If she had said,* To-morrow ibythe earliest train I shall 'take atrip to •th& moon,' i\lr Jamison would have bowed 'and said, 'Yes, m© lady,' in precisely the same tone. J , ' ' 1 'Is dinner served?' his young mistress 'asked, looking- at her watch. 'If not, serve immediately. I shall be there in two iminutes ' She kept her word. With that light in her eyes, that; pale composure on her face, she swept into the dining-robm, and took her place at the glittering table. Jamison waited upon her — watching her, ofcouise a* a cat a mouse. ' Sho took hor soup and tisb, her slice of pheasant and her jelly, I do assure you, just the same as he\ er, Homily,' he related afterwards to the lady's maid; 'bub her faco ,>was whiter than the tablecloth, and her Jeyes had a look in them ' 1)<I rather master jwould face than me. She's one of ' the .'ighstepping soit,* depend upon it, and quiet a? s-he takes it now, there'll be the deuce and all to pay one of these days.' She rose at last and went back to the drawing-room. How brilliantly the moon ; shone on the sleeping sea ; how fantastic the. town and castle looked in the romantic light. „She stood by the window long, looking: out.* Ko thought of sympathy for him —'of tiding to find him out on the morrow — entered her mind. He had deswtted her; sane 6r mad, that was enough for the prcsemVtd'isnowi ' < ftlie took -out a puVse, that fairies and gold -dollars alone might have entered, and looked at<its,oonteutv"!-.jJ?.y ¥ slieei; good duck and chance, it contained tH'reo or fom "sovereigns — more than, sufficient for the re turn journey. -To morrow' ehe would go b.'ick to Powyes Place and tell Lady Helena ; after thafc — Her thoughts broke — to-night she could not look beyond. The misery, tho shame, the horiible scandal, the loneliness, the whole wreck of life that wa.s to come, she could not feel as yet. She knew what she wou'd do to-inorrow — after that all was a blank. What a lo\ely night it was ! What were fchey doing at home? What was Trixy about just now? What vas, — Charley ? She had made up her mind never to- think of Charley more. His face rr>se vividly before" her now in the moonray, pale, stern, contemptuous. 'Oh !' she passionately thought, ' how he must fcorn,. how he must despise me !' ' Whatever comes,' he had said;to her that rainy morning at Sandypoint ; ' whatever, the new life brings, you are never to' blame me !' How loner ago that rainy morning seemed now. What an eternity sinco that other night in the snow. If she had only died' beside him that night — the clear, white, nainless death — unspotted from the world ! If she had only died that night ! Her arms vere on the window-sill — her face fell upon them. One hour, two, three passed ; she never moved. She was not crying ; .she was suffering, but dully, with a numb, torpid, miserable sense of pain All her life since that rainy spring day, when Charley Stuatt had come to Sandypoint with his mother's letter, returned to her. She had striven and coquetted to bring about the result &Jie wanted — it had seemed such a dazzling thing to be, a baronet's wife, with an income that would flow in to her like a ceaseless golden river. She had,jilted the man she loved in cold blood, and accepted the man to whom her heart was as stone. In the hour when fortune was deserting her best f rijends, she had doserted them too. And the end was — ihU. It was close upon twelve when Emily, the maid, sleepy and cross, tapped at the door. She had to tap many times before ' her mistress heard her. When she did hear and open, and -the girl • came i,n, she recoiled from the ghastly pallor of her lady's face. '1 shall not want you to-night,' Edith, said briefly. ' You may go tombed.' , 'But you are ill, my lady., If you only saw yourself ! Can't I fetch you something ? A glas c of wine from the diningroom ?' ' . ' Nothing, Emily, thank you. -I have' sat ap too long in the night air, — thafc is all. \ Go to bed ■; I shall do. very well"..' • ' ' ' The girl went, full of pity- aild wonder, shaking -her head. 'Only this morning I thought what a fine thing it was to be' the bride of so fine a gentleman, and look at her now.' Left alone, s>he closed and fastened the window herself. An unsupportable sense of pain and weariness oppressed her. • She did not undress. She loosened her clothes, wrapped a heavy, soft railway rug -about her, and lay down Upon the bed. In five' minutes the tired eyes closed. There is no surer narcotic than trouble .sometimes ;\ heis wag forgotten — deeply, dreamlessly, she slept until morning. The sun was high in the sky when she awoke. She raised herself upon her elbow and " looked around, > bewildered. In a second yetserday flashed upon her, and her journey.ofco-day. Shearose, made her morn - r ing toilet, and rang for her maid. Breakfast" f\vas waiting— it was past nine o'clock, 'and' she could leave Carnarvon in thrqe quarters of an hour. She mtfde ah effort to eat and drink ; but it .was little better- than' an effort. She gave Jamison his parting instructions — he was fco remain hercuntil tomorrow ; by that time orders would come from Povvysh ' Place. Then, in tho dress she had travelled, in yesterday, she entered

the railway carriage and sbartod upon her return, jqurnSy: > ' - . , . ,j How speedily her honeymoon hud ended ! A curious sort, of smile passed ,over her face as she thought it. Sho had not anticipated Elysium — ; quite — but she , certainly had anticipated something very different from this. . . • She kept back .thought resolutely — she would not think — she sot and looked at the genial October landsdape flitting by. Sooner or later the floodgates' would open, but not yet. ' / It was about three in the afternoon wl.en the fly from the railway drovo",up to the stately pqrbico entrance of Powyss Place. She paid and' dismissed the man; and knocked unthinkingly. Tho servant wh,o opened the door fell back, staring at hdr as though she had, been a ghoj»t. ' ',' 1 Is Lady Helena at home V 1 Lady Helena" was at horne — and still the man stared blankly as he made the reply. She swept past him, and madoher way, unannounced, td her.., ladyship's -privato rooms. She tapped at the door. ' ' 'Come in,' said the familiar voice, and she obeyed. Then a startled cry rang out. Lady Helena arose and stood spellbound, gazing in mute consternation at the paje girl before her. 1 Edith I' sho could' but just gasp. • What is this ? WLevc is Victor ?' Edith came in, elqsed the door, and quietly faced her ladyship. "»; 'I have not the faintest -idea where Sir Victor Catheron may be at this present womenf. Wherever he is, it is to be hoped ] he is able to tako care of himself. I know I have not seen him since four o'clock yesterday afterhoo'n.' ' i ■ The lips of Lady Helena moved, but no fround came from them. Somo great and nameless tenor seemed to have fallen upon her. 'Jt was rather an unusual thing to do/ the clear steady tones of the bride wont on, • but bein? very tired after the joyrne'y, I fell asleep in the cottage parlour at Carnarvon, half an hour after our arrival. Sir Victor had left me to ta.ko a walk arid a smoke, he said. It \ras nearly" seven when I awoke.,, I was «<{ill|alone. Your nephew had come an^ gone. , '.Gone- 1 ' , , ' ' • Gone— and left thi3 for- me. Head it, 'j-sdy Helena, and you will .<>co' that in retuiriirig here, I am only, obeying my lord and master's command.' . , She took the note from her pocket', and presented it. Her lad) s-hip took it, read it,, her face growing a dreadful ashen grey. ' So soon !' she said, in a sort of whispor ; ' that it should have fallen upon him so soon ! Oh ! I teared it ! ( I feared it ! I feared it !* • You feared it !' Enith repeated, watching her intently.' ' Does that mean your ladyship understands this lettor ?' 1 Heaven help me ! I am afraid I do.' 'It means, then, what I have thought it meant : that when I married Sir Victor yesterday I married a madman !' There was a sort of moan from ' Lady Helena — no other reply. 'Insanity is in tho Catheron blood — J knew that from the first.' Hi's father lived and died a maniac. The father's fate is the eon^s. It has lain dormant for tfiree-and-twenty year 1 ?, to break out on his wedding day. Lady Helena, am I right'?' s But Lady Helena was sobbinc convulsively now. Her sbbs were her only reply 1 . : 'It is hard on you;' Edith said, with ableary sort of pity. ' You loved him.'' • - . 'And you did not.' the elder woman, retorted, looking up. 'You loved' : your cousin, and you mariied my poor, unhappy boy for his title arid his wealth.' ""Ib 1 would have been better for him he had died tlran ever set eyes on your face.' ' " ' ,' M.dc'h'better,' Edith answered steadily. 'Better for him — better for me.- You are light, Lady Helena Powyss, I loved niV'l c >u. c m, and mariied j'our 'nej hew for hitf" title and his wealth. 1 deserve all you cun say 'of me. The worst m ill not bo half bad enough.' Her ladyship' 3 face d looped again; her suppressed sobbing was the only sound to be heard. * I have come to yon,' Editli went' on, to tell you the truth. I don't ask what his' secret i.« he speaks of ; 1 don't wish t:> know. I think ho should be looked after. If he is insane ho should not bo allowed - to go at large.' 'If he is insane!' L^dy Helena cried," looking up agam atfgiily. * You do well to say //. Ho is no 'more insane than you are.' ' " ' . ' -'1 ~ ', Edith still looking at her. The fast trace of colour faded- from her face. . ' <■• ' Not insane,' she whispered, as if to hei'Belf : ' not insane,' and— he deserts me !' - 'Oh, what ha\e I said!' Lady Helena cried ; ' forgive mo, Edith — I don't know vi hat Tarn saying — I don't know -what to think. Leave me alone, and •'let me try to understani it, if I can. Your old roomp are ready foryou. You lmvo come to remain with me, of course. -\ 1 For. the present — yos. Of the future I have not yet thought. I will leave you alone, Lady Helena, as you desiie. 1 will not trouble you again until to morrow. 1 ' - Sho was quitting tho loom. Lady Helena arose and took her in her arms, her face all blotted wjtli a rain'bf tears. ' Aly child, my child, 'she said, ' it'is hard on you — so young, so p>retty r , and only married yesterday. Edith, you frighten me. What are you made of ? Y r ou look like a stone.' < The gill sighed — a long, weary* heartsick sigh. ' 1 feel like a stone. I can't cry. I think I have no heatt, nosoul,,no feeling, ijo conscience — that 1 am scaicply a huma'u,,being. lam a hardened, callous wretch*- fan- whom any fate is, too good. Don't pity-me, dear Lady Helena : don't waste one tear on me. lam not worth it; 1 - . . • , She touched her lips to.fche-.yv?|ti cheek, atfd went slowly orri her'»way» - No heart — iio soul ! if she had, -both felt benumbed, dead. She seemed to herself a jcpnbury old, as she toiled oiwtQ her familiar • rooms. They met no more that day — each kept to her»own apartments , , - The afternoon set in wet and wild; the rain fejl ceaselessly and dismally : an evening to depress the happiest closed down. It was long after dark when there came a ring (it the, bell, and the' footman, .opening the.door, caw the figure of ai^an muflied and disguised in slouch hat and great-coat. He, held an umbrella over his head, and a scarf was twisted about the lower part of his face. In a husky voice, ; stiflod -in his scarf, ho asked for. Lady Helena. .' 'Her ladyship's at home," 'the footman answered, rather^ superciliously, ' but she don't see strangers at, this hour.' , 1 Give her thife,' fclie stranger"' sdid ; ' she ;\yill see ?ne.' r fJ " v '•' i _ <,< In spito of hat/scarf and umbrella, thero wlis\sonietl}ine} x "familiar iiv'fchet^ir'.of the visitor, something familiarda his tone. The jpan took 'the note auspiciously d,nd passed, it to another, who passed it -to Iterlady ship's hiaid. •- The maid' passed it to Jier ladyship, and her ladyship read ifc with a feqppressed'cry. / , : ; .'Show him into the library at once. X will'godown." T ' I , ' Tho muffled man \yas Bbo\yhin, stilt wearing hat atid .scarf. The library was but' dimly lit: Ha^stood- like a' dark shadow amid.the obhor shadows-.- ~ An' instant later the door opened and Lady Helena, palo and wild, appeared on tho threshold. <■ *It is,' she faltered, 'it ia— you !' '

[ She approached slowly, her; terrified eyes nvite'd on fcho hidden fae'o.i "A **• >*j,'l< >• ''Jtisl. Lock the .door.' '/' "'" She obeyed, she caiue ne£t'<£r'. v ' He drew alway tha scarf, liftjßd'th^.lja'U'and shoAved hei the face of Sir Victor Catnerori. ■