I AM HIS WIFE.
After consulting a while longer the two sisters went down to tell their
glad news to Miss McAllister and Ina.
To say that they were surprised would be but a tame statement of the
fact.
They had imagined every possible solution to the mystery as they
now thought, but all fell far short of the right one; and now Miss
McAllister seemed almost to feel as if Arley had been raised almost
entirely out of her atmosphere.
“To think of your being a countess in your own right!” she said,
wonderingly, and gazing at her as if to see if the title of “Lady” had
not caused a change in her appearance.
“Well, auntie, I feel a very humble personage in spite of it all,” was
the rather sad reply, “and, though I am unspeakably thankful to know
just where and to whom I belong in the world, yet the knowledge can
never change the love I bear to those who have been my kindest and best
friends.”
She bent and kissed the old lady on the forehead most tenderly as she
ceased speaking.
“I suppose you will want to take her away from me now,” Miss McAllister
said, with wistful sadness, to Lady Elaine.
“Yes, auntie,” Arley hastened to say, “we two sisters, the last of our
race, cannot be separated, but we shall be so near you, for we are
going to live at Mordaunt House, that we can come to see you every day.”
“Well, I suppose it is right and best so; but you have belonged to me
for so long that it is rather hard to relinquish my claim,” the old
lady answered, with a sigh.
Sweet Ina Wentworth heard the announcement with tears in her lovely
eyes.
“I had hoped that Arley was henceforth to be my sister,” she said to
Lady Elaine, “but, of course, the ties of blood are strongest, and
perhaps my loss in this way may prove my gain in another--in securing
your friendship thereby.”
“Indeed, I shall be very proud to be considered your friend,” Lady
Elaine answered, heartily.
And thus it was settled that Mordaunt House should be reopened and
occupied once more.
Lady Elaine persuaded Arley to drive back to the Langham with her and
be presented in her new character to the friends waiting so impatiently
there to learn the secret of her birth; and there during a tempting
dinner served in their own apartments they talked over their plans with
Sir Anthony and Lady Hamilton, who sympathized most heartily with them
in their new happiness.
“Assist you in reopening Mordaunt House? Of course I will, with the
greatest of pleasure,” Lady Hamilton said, in reply to Lady Elaine’s
request to do so, “and thank you most cordially for the invitation.
You know, dear, you are just the same to me as an own daughter, and
if Wil had lived you would probably have made this old home your town
residence, and, of course, in that case I should have spent my time
there when we came up to London, and why not now, if you both desire
it? It will be much pleasanter than the bustle and confusion of a grand
hotel like this. Then when you want a change you can come to us at
Hazelmere; I think you have arranged it very nicely for us all.”
Lady Hamilton was evidently much pleased at being so confidentially
consulted.
But when told that Arley wished to keep her identity a secret she
demurred.
“She ought to assume her title, and take her proper position in
society,” she said, gravely.
“But, dear Lady Hamilton, it would not matter for a while, would it?
The future will shape itself after we are settled, and you must know
that neither of us have much heart for society at present,” Lady Elaine
returned, sadly, and her friend did not press the matter any further.
So Mordaunt House was opened, and the two sisters seemed suddenly to
have acquired a new interest in life, in refurnishing and making a
pleasant, habitable house of it.
There was plenty to be done, for, having been shut up for so many
years, everything had become defaced, moth-eaten, and dilapidated, and
it took fully two months to put it in order.
Meantime Arley kept herself very close; she saw no one, went out very
little, and hardly any one outside of her immediate circle of friends
knew of her return. She left all shopping and ordering to Lady Elaine
and Lady Hamilton to do, but devoted all her energies to the disposing
and arranging of their purchases when they arrived at their house.
She had heard nothing, seen nothing, of Philip; he might have been dead
and forgotten by everybody for all the knowledge she had of him; but,
strange to say, he was in her thoughts almost constantly, and she often
found herself wondering if he was still plodding along at his business
during the day.
She had not gone again to the Art Exhibition. She dare not trust
herself with the boy again lest she betray herself, and, besides,
she was fearful of meeting people whom she knew, and thus subjecting
herself to painful inquiries.
Sir Charles Herbert and his mother had been informed of the happy
change in her circumstances, and were greatly pleased, while
they willingly consented to regard the communication as strictly
confidential.
The day arrived when everything was completed, and Mordaunt House was
formally taken possession of, and Arley--she still insisted upon being
called by her old name, and saying that she should never recognize
herself if addressed as Lady Alice--and Lady Elaine gave a dinner in
honor of the occasion to their intimate friends--Sir Anthony and Lady
Hamilton, Sir Charles Herbert and his mother, Miss McAllister and Ina,
and Fred Vane and his wife.
There were only ten in all, but they were all dear friends, and every
one was deeply interested in the re-establishment of this beautiful
home, and the lovely girls who were to occupy it.
Sir Charles Herbert had availed himself several times of the permission
which he had obtained at the first visit which he had made at Miss
McAllister’s, to call as often as he liked, and each call had served to
impress the charms of fair Ina Wentworth more deeply upon his heart,
and to-day, while at Mordaunt House, there was that in his manner and
bearing toward her which told more than one observant eye that Miss
McAllister would not be able to keep the gentle girl all to herself
much longer.
The dinner passed off very pleasantly and socially, notwithstanding
that the thoughts of most of the company would revert from time to time
to one whom they had so dearly loved and now missed so sadly.
Sir Charles and his mother both exerted themselves to make the evening
agreeable, by relating many charming and amusing incidents connected
with their recent travels.
Lady Elaine bravely tried to conceal the grief which this reunion could
not fail to excite, and her consciousness of that one vacant chair, and
was really very cheerful and entertaining, while Arley, too, strove to
perform the part of a hospitable hostess, though her heart was very
sore.
Sir Charles contrived to secure a few moments alone with Ina before the
company separated, and something in his look and in the tone in which
he addressed her made the tell-tale blushes leap into her cheeks, and
her lovely blue-gray eyes droop shyly before his.
“Will you ride with me in Rotten Row to-morrow, Miss Ina?” he asked, in
a low voice. “I have recently purchased a fine horse, which, I think,
is superior under the saddle, and I would like to ask you to do me the
favor to try her.”
There is an object beneath the request, Ina feels--an object which
thrills her heart with a deep joy and makes her pulse leap with a
strange excitement.
But she assents with a shy, tremulous smile, and Sir Charles takes his
leave, feeling much elated and quite sure that the question which he
intends to ask on the morrow will receive a favorable reply.
When their guests were all gone, Arley somehow felt strangely depressed.
It was very late, but she did not feel at all like sleeping, and,
taking the evening paper, she retired to her own room to read until
she could coax the “drowsy god” to bring her repose.
Suddenly her eyes lighted in a startled way upon this item:
Sad and Probably Fatal Accident.--As Philip Paxton, Esq., a promising
barrister of this city, was driving this afternoon, in company with
a young lad whom he has recently adopted, his horse suddenly took
fright at some object in the street, became unmanageable, and both
occupants of the carriage were thrown, the boy escaping unhurt, while
Mr. Paxton, being hurled violently against the curbing, was taken up
senseless. As the affair occurred near Hyde Park Corner, the injured
man was taken to St. George’s Hospital, where an examination showed
him to have been very seriously hurt, and this casualty, combined
with a former injury received in a railway accident, renders Mr.
Paxton’s condition an extremely critical one.
Every particle of color receded from Arley’s face as she read the
above; her eyes grew almost wild with terror, her breath seemed to
stop, and she felt as if she were suffocating.
“Oh, Arley, Arley!” She seemed almost to hear him calling out those
words, which only a short time before he had so impulsively written and
then crossed out, “let a little of divine compassion into your heart
and offer one single prayer--I should feel its influence though the
world divided us.”
How those words had burned themselves into her brain!
She had never realized until this moment how fearfully she had been
impressed by them, and yet she had never offered that one prayer for
him--she had hardened her heart against him, and now it might be too
late.
She had told herself that she could not ask God to pardon him, when she
could not forgive him herself, when she even had no wish to forgive
him; but now a sudden revulsion of feeling overpowered her--she threw
herself upon her knees, clutching the paper convulsively in her hands,
trembling in every limb, and cried out, wildly:
“Save him--oh, save him, and I will forgive! I do not wish him to die,
and now I know that in spite of everything I have never ceased to love
him, and--I love him still.”
With this full and free confession every barrier seemed swept away; she
wept a perfect rain of tears--tears that softened her proud heart, and
washed away every trace of anger and bitterness.
Half an hour later she stole to Lady Elaine’s door and tapped softly
for permission to enter.
“Come in, Arley dear,” the sweet voice from within answered, and she
entered, the evening paper still in her hand.
“Darling, what is it?” her sister cried, in a startled tone, as soon as
she caught sight of Arley’s colorless face and wild eyes.
She spread the paper before her, pointing to the paragraph which had so
unnerved her, then dropping upon her knees by her side she buried her
face in her lap with a gesture of despair.
Lady Elaine read the account of the accident, and a look of deep pity
swept over her lovely face.
“Poor Philip!” she murmured, in a low tone.
Arley moaned, and Lady Elaine, laying her hand softly upon the dark
head in her lap, added, tenderly:
“Poor Arley, too; can she forgive him now?”
“I have forgiven him; but, oh! I am afraid that it is too late for him
ever to know it!” she cried, with another paroxysm of grief.
Lady Elaine bent forward and kissed her with great tenderness.
“I knew that it would eventually come to this,” she said; “when I
learned how nobly he was striving to atone for the past, I knew that
the old love was not quite dead, Arley, dear, and I am glad that you
have found it out, even at this late hour, for you will be far happier
in the future to have all bitterness eradicated from your heart.”
“I have been very hard and relentless,” wailed poor Arley. “I had
no right to cherish such a cruel disposition, and in my heart I did
long to send him some comforting word when little Eddie Winthrope was
telling how good and kind he had been to him, only my pride would not
let me yield enough to do so; but I must go,” she concluded, starting
up from her kneeling posture.
“Go! Go where?” cried Lady Elaine, in surprise.
“To St. George’s Hospital--to him.”
“But they will not allow you there, and you could do him no good.”
“They must let me in,” Arley cried, excitedly. “I am his wife. I have
a right to be with him. I must--I will go, and if he should come to
himself, if only for a moment, I could tell him that I forgive him, and
he would be comforted; oh, I did not want him to die like this!”
Lady Elaine drew her close into her arms and tried to soothe her, for
she was greatly excited.
“Dear Arley,” she said, “you cannot go to-night--no one would be
admitted at such an hour; go to rest--gather all the strength that you
can before morning, then we will both go to St. George’s Hospital, and
if anything can avail to give you access to Philip you shall have it.”
Arley saw the wisdom of this advice and allowed herself to be persuaded
to retire, provided that she might remain with her sister, and so
locked in each other’s arms the remainder of the night was passed and
another day dawned.