CHAPTER XIV.—DEFEAT.

Waikato Times, Volume IV, Issue 223, 14 October 1873, Page 2

CHAPTER XIV. — DEFEAT.

Flobbkce heard Miriam's account of what bad happened with dismay. Mr St Quentin had left the room without another word ; /tad Miriam bad rushed to the door, slammed and locked it with unmistakable emphasis, and then related the story of this serious matrimonial misunderstanding to Florence, only suppressing Mr St Quentin's reference to Walter's suspected marriage. With all Miriam's fault* — and they were numerous and increasing, in the fostering falso atmosphere of her life —she was ' thorough.' Nothing could be more perfect than her fidelity to Walter's trust, her attachment to Walter's wife. These feelings made her selfsacrificing, acute, ready-witted, and reticent. All the passionate temper within her was roused by her husband's conduct, and yet she did not forget that Florence would b» rendered more unhappy if she told her all. Whatever was the ground of Mr Clint's suspicion, and whatever its extent, it had evidently fallen short of the truth in one respect, and outstripped it in another. So long as he continued to believe that the girl he suspected of being Walter's wife had gone with him to America, Florence's position with respect to him would remain secure. But he had imparted his suspicions to Mr St Quentin, equally to the surprise and consternation of Miriam ; and the ground on which she bad built the superstructure of delusive and fancied power, in which the had taken refuge as in a stronghold, had crumbled away under her feet. Where were her promises to her sister-in-law now ? Where was her power to fuliil them ? 'If papa should turn you out of his house,' she had said, in contemplation of what had then seemed to be the very worst that could happen, 'there will be mine for you to come to.' ' Was all this changed ?' she asked herself, because the old man she had married in order to have her own way had suddenly lifted the mask of smooth amiability and shewn his teeth in a enarl. There wai plenty of ' light'in Miriam, if fight should prove to be all that would be needed ; but she was too clear sighted, in spite of her inexperience, to believe that it would be aJi. Showing fight is a matter for two people only ; but in this case there were three, anil Miriam could not suffice for Florence, or, as she instantly felt, Florencefor herself. If Mr St Quentin chose to insult her, and make the position untenable, what could Miriam do to prevent it, short of leveahng the secret which every day's experience of her hv-haiwl's character convinced her it would be highly dan 'emus to reveal ? ' We must be careful . 1 have betn dreadfully incautious I con/tab,' b.iul Mruiq. ' [ ought to have told you the first time he compluii tA of my familiarity with you, but I did not like , I was afraid it might hurt your feelings.'

see how hard a false position ia to maintain,' said Pflorence with a sigh ; ' I fear it will soon cease to be visible. My deai, dear sister, wo must think of some other resource for me ,in 'oed, this will nut do In aU our tal culations we ncu-i thovght 1: pissibk that I could he made a subject of dispute between you and Mi Sfc Qutntin.' ' I hope you may prme tie only (me ' aid Miriam impatiently ; ' but I bop 11 too sco there will b ; a good strong point of difference between Mr St Quentin nnd me. A-* to your entertaining any idea of leaving me, i* 1* sim >ly impossible. Our fiith is* pledged to Walter on that boa I We must both be more cautious, and you must keep out of hio wav as much as powble.' Florence assented, with a heavy heart. 'It never was right,' she thought, 'and it never can be ma.le right, and it never can come right. Oh, if it were but over ! If my Walter could but come back to me Tins first quarrel was made up, of course, but the reconciliation afforded mi illustration ol the influence of the disparity of age between Miriam and hor husband. There was an awkward slurring o\er of mutu d offence, there w39w 39 a cold set courtesy, but thcie was no heaihncss, no genuine '.unrestrained feel mi; of regret and reparation; and ever nflerw irds there was an undefinable difference in their mutual relation. Mr St Quentin admired Miriam as much as ever, was as proud ot her beauty and brilliancy, and ns tiresome]} anxious that both should be recognised to hn glorification ; but he distrusted her, and betrayed it. The torture of jealousy was making li.ivoc with him. He bad genuinely disbelieved Miriam's statement about the letter, and the circumstance had set his suspicious mind off on a tornuntmg tack of imaginary grievance. What was tho tie betwe >n her and this insolent servant, who so far outstepped her place ? Of course, Rose Di\on's knowledge of 1. previous lorc-.iff.ur of Miriam's. They were conspirators, these two, nzntnst his happiness and his honor. What did lie know of Miriam's girlhood ? Miis Monitor's testimony— the testimony of the most disinterested witness— being the person responsible for Miriam's good behaviour. Neglect at home, and eight yea-s in a London boarding-school, comprised the history of Ins wife, io far as he knew it. H.e felt the full import of this reservation, and his self-tormenting faculty set itself to work. He began to think of his first wife, so short a time dead, and yet, until now, so utterly forgotten. He had kr.own she did not lore him ; but he had never any fear, doubt, suspicion concerning her, during their marriage, or before it. She had been quite amenable and obedient, and, if not very happy, had not troubled him about it. He had ielt no jealousy in her case — of course ho did 'not call it 'jealousy' in his thoughts ; she had been entirely dependent upon him, and had never endeavored to elude or decrease that dependence. Mr St Quciitm was not very far from that fatal stage of affairs at which a man calls himself a fool for having married his wife! Miriam did not love him either, h.id never pretended to love him ; and he was at least not yeJieh a fool as to grumble about that; but she was not manageable, she was not dependent; she went her own waVi and had her own will, and cared nothing at all for his tastes or opinions. She enjoyed her life thoroughly, and his sluire of it was as little as she could contra e to reduce it to — not nearly so important as that of her obnoxious maul. What was this correspondence so unbecomingly shared between the mistress and the servant ? It never occurred to Mr St Quentin to believo his wife's statement that the letter he had seen was from her brother. Rose Dixon's part iv tin matter set that aside at once. How was he to tind it out ? If he could have secured the cover of the letter, he would have sent it to Mr Clint, and asked him whether he knew the handwriting ; but Miriam had destroyed the cover also. The incident remained rankling in his mind, long affcar the reconciliation between him and Miriam, and he so fed his distorted fancy upon it, that to her most careless words and looks were assigned motives and meanings of which she was both, innocent and unconscious. Even the ingenuity of jealousy and uneasy self-love could not discern in Miiiam's conduct any cause for her husband's distrust and suspicion.' Her frank and free enjoyment of a society in which she had no intimacies, with ■which her relations ■were merely superficial, might have been thoroughly reassuring to any reasonable mind. She was always amused and amusing, ready to enter into any scheme of enjoyment ; she appreciated to the full the luxury of her life, and waa usually in high spirits, and radiant with health and beauty. This order of things was hopelessly opposed to a theory of a} piior attachment, abandoned from mercenary motives, and renewed, in the form of a dishonourable intrigue, under the shelter of marriage, to the discomfiture and misery of a confiding husband. But the mind of Mr St Quentin waa no more or less reasonable than the mind of any individual abandoned to a mean passion, and this waa the absurd fiction he had fabricated, when his marriage with Miriam was not yet a year old, and had actually wrought himself up to believing, as a positive truth. The fact, which eveu he could not ignore, that it was impossible for him to fix upon any individual among the Englishmen whom they met in foreign cities, as the object of this attachment, the sharer of this intrigue, did not shake Mr St Quentin's belief in his bugbear. How could he tell .that Miriam had never seen any one of the men whom she met at Florence, Naples, Rome, and elsewhere, previously? Aided and abetted by Rose Dixon, and with all the facilities of tho perfect freedom he had allowed her, in his blind faith and credulity, from the first, there was no deception which ahe might not practice safely and successfully. This was a sheer delusion, and there was a strong probability of its growing into a mania ; but with the old craftiness which existed m him, though it bad been but little exercised, Mr St Qqentin concealed the real spring of his altered mood and changed action, and hoped thus to deceive Miriam, which, however, he did for only a very short time. One of the first results of the condition of mind into ■which MrSt Quentin worked himself waa the curtailment of Miriam' 6 morning leisure. He took to interfering with the disposition of her time, to capricious demands upon it, and to a tort of fidgetty espionage which disgusted her. In all material respects, Miriam had nothing to complain of. She had the full value of the bargain she had made ; his promises were all fulfilled, even beyond her expectation, because her girlish imagination had not fully compassed the solid and enviable realities of the position in which her marriage had placed her ; but Miriam was bored to death by his presence when he was with her, and by the certain anticipation of it when she was not.