THE AWAKENING BEGINS.
Although Margaret Nugent had strongly advocated as short a stay in
London as possible, she placed every obstacle in the way of the
Annesleys’ speedy departure.
“Theresa is so young, so inexperienced,” Sir Harold had told her, “that
I leave the engagement of her maid in your hands unreservedly.”
So Miss Nugent had sent advertisements to the newspapers, and entered
into correspondence with a dozen or more ladies desiring the post of
maid to Lady Annesley, but there appeared to be something wrong with
them all.
In the meantime, Sir Harold devoted himself assiduously to his
beautiful young wife. Her pale face, almost listless manner and heavy
eyes were a source of constant uneasiness to him.
“My darling,” he said one morning, “you must not dwell so much upon the
grief that has been caused by the loss of your poor father. I cannot
afford to have my little one fade before my eyes in this way.”
“I shall be better when we are out of London, Harold,” Theresa said. “I
have heard of the cruel things that go on daily in this great city, and
I am afraid.”
It was a strange speech, and he glanced at her keenly.
“Afraid of what, Theresa?” he asked.
“Oh, my darling, afraid of losing you!”
He laughed now. The idea was so utterly absurd.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “do you imagine that I shall be kidnaped? Poor,
imaginative Theresa! While this seemingly interminable business of
engaging a maid is in progress, you shall accompany me everywhere I
go. I quite expected that we should have been in France by this time.
Colonel Greyson has arranged with me to meet us in Paris.”
“I wish that we could start to-night, Harold,” Theresa said.
“And I echo that wish, darling. Do you know if Margaret has yet decided
upon a suitable person?”
“No, Harold; I think that we might have managed our affairs much better
alone. For some reason, Miss Nugent wishes to delay our departure. She
objects to haste of any kind.”
“It is only because she feels the responsibility of suiting you in
every way, Theresa,” Sir Harold hastened to assure her. “I think that
Margaret has been very kind to us.”
Theresa shuddered.
“I do not like her, Harold,” she said. “It may seem a silly prejudice,
but I cannot get rid of the feeling that your cousin is our enemy.”
For a moment Sir Harold was inclined to anger. An exclamation of
impatience escaped him, and the young wife never forgot his look of
annoyance.
“Theresa, I cannot listen to such folly. Margaret Nugent our enemy? Why
should she be our enemy? It is unjust--cruel!”
He turned and left her, and Theresa shed bitter tears. But in one
minute he was back again, and soothing her with tender words and
caresses.
“Forgive me, dear one,” he cried. “I spoke hastily, and I am sorry. I
will speak to Margaret, and we will not wait for the maid if it is so
difficult to find a suitable one. The bustle and whirl of the streets
makes me irritable, and lately I have suffered excruciating pains in my
head at times. It annoys me when I am accosted by people of whom I know
nothing, and this occurred twice yesterday. Fortunately, this is the
time of year when London is comparatively empty, or I should be afraid
to go out at all. I believe that my memory will soon assume its proper
functions,” he added, reflectively. “I distinctly remember many things
this morning which have been a blank.”
She clutched at his arm in sudden terror.
“It will be better if we leave London soon, Harold,” she said. “A maid
can be picked up anywhere, and as I have never been used to the luxury,
the loss will not cause me any inconvenience. I dread that you may be
discovered here by old friends, who will make you forget me!”
He kissed away her tears, and she added, plaintively:
“I should like to live in my mother’s country, Harold. You cannot think
how I long to see the blue skies of Italy.”
He shuddered a little, and replied, huskily:
“Yes--yes, Theresa! It is only natural. Now I will speak to Margaret,
and this very night we will shake the dust of London from our feet!”
She seemed greatly relieved, and smiled at him through her tears,
murmuring:
“How good you are to me, my husband, and how selfish I am!”
“The duty of my life, Theresa, is to love and care for you,” he said.
“I believe that Margaret is at the door--yes; and I will speak to her
now.”
They were in a private sitting-room, and Miss Nugent’s voice was asking
if she might enter.
For reply, Sir Harold opened the door, and Margaret saw at once that
something was wrong.
“I hope that I am not intruding,” she remarked, sweetly. “Dear Theresa
is not well?”
“No, Margaret. Lady Annesley is naturally upset by her recent
bereavement, and the bustle of busy London is too much for her. I
purpose going away to-night, maid or no maid, and you must not take
this sudden decision unkindly.”
“My dear cousin! how can you speak so? I am here for your pleasure
alone,” Miss Nugent said.
“I believe you, Margaret,” replied Sir Harold. “And now I will leave
you two together while I hunt up Stimson and give him imperative
orders. I shall probably go for a last stroll also.”
He kissed Theresa tenderly, and Margaret saw the action with jealous
anger.
“He is very fond of you, Theresa,” she observed, when her cousin was
gone; “but you must not be too exacting; he is already sacrificing so
much for you. I suppose that it is your wish to fly from London because
of Lady Elaine Seabright, and I am pleased that you think so well of my
advice.”
“I do not care to discuss the matter,” Lady Annesley said, coldly. “In
all things I wish to please my husband.”
“You do not like me, my lady,” was Margaret’s next shaft. “I know that
you do not like me. Why is it?”
“Because you are not my friend. A woman’s instincts rarely err!”
Theresa replied.
“I like your candor,” Margaret laughed, a little bitterly, “but it is
a poor return for my efforts to warn you against the shipwreck of this
love of yours. You profess to love my cousin, but it is a selfish love.
It is this which makes me doubt you.”
“You speak in riddles, Miss Nugent,” Theresa said, angrily. “I would
willingly lay down my life for my husband. My love is richer than
pearls or rubies. For his sake I would willingly walk barefooted
through life. I would even renounce my hopes of heaven!”
“It sounds very nice, truly,” was the sneering rejoinder; “and yet
because of you he carries his life in his hand. Do you wonder that I
do not fall into raptures over such a sacrifice? Blood is thicker than
water, Lady Annesley. You affect not to understand me, when you must
well know that you and yours for all time are the victims of a secret
vendetta. Your countrymen know how to hate and to stab in the dark.
Your father stole another man’s bride, and the shadow of the knife for
this act killed your mother. In fear Mr. Hamilton buried himself in the
country to escape the fate that was sure to follow sooner or later. The
executive of the vendetta visited him the night he died!”
“No--no!” gasped Theresa, terrified beyond mere words.
“Why will you seek to deceive yourself?” continued Miss Nugent,
vindictively. “You know that it is true--you also know that Sir Harold,
as your husband, is a marked man. He may be stabbed to death at any
moment. Do you think that I, his cousin, can love you, knowing the
ban that his alliance with you has placed upon him? We English do not
understand these things. It is revolting.”
Lady Annesley was lying back, deathly white. It seemed that all the
beauty of the early September morning had suddenly been enveloped by a
black ball.
“Is this true?” she whispered, hoarsely. “Yes, my heart tells me that
it is true!”
“Do you mean to say that it is news to you?” demanded Margaret, with
well-assumed astonishment. “Oh, Theresa, if it is so, you must not tell
Sir Harold, or he will never forgive me. Promise that you will not tell
him!”
“Swear that you have not lied to me, and I promise,” Theresa said.
“Before Heaven, every word is truth, and I could cut out my tongue for
having spoken it. Sir Harold himself destroyed the written warning
from the executive which threatened his own life. Oh, Lady Annesley, I
shall never forgive myself for what I have done!”
“Leave me, Margaret Nugent. I never wish to look upon your face again.
I hate you!”
Theresa rose, with heaving bosom and flashing eyes.
“Go,” she continued, pointing to the door. “Upon that condition only
will I keep silence. You have this day dealt me a blow that will be my
death!”
Half-frightened, Miss Nugent left the room, and an hour later she
quitted the hotel, leaving as an excuse the following, addressed to Sir
Harold:
DEAR HAROLD--An urgent telegram from mamma, who is an invalid, obliges
me to run down to Ashbourne at once. Let me know of your movements,
and always count upon my help if you need it. I have said good-by to
Theresa.
Your affectionate cousin, MARGARET NUGENT.
In the meanwhile, Annesley had given his orders to Stimson, and gone to
Coutts’ Bank to transact some financial business on behalf of Colonel
Greyson, from whom he had received various drafts and letters of credit.
While standing at the counter, a gentleman had placed his hand
familiarly upon his shoulder and ejaculated:
“Great heavens! Is that you, Sir Harold?”
“You really have the advantage of me, sir,” replied the baronet, with a
cold stare.
“Come, come; this will not do,” the stranger continued. “You may wish
to hide your identity from most people, but when you try that on with
your lawyer and man of business, I think that it is time to draw the
line! To refresh your memory, Sir Harold,” a little sarcastically,
“my name is Babbet, of the firm of Babbet & Co., and as you have not
removed the management of your affairs from our hands, I naturally
suppose that you continue to have confidence in us. Of course, we are
in communication with Colonel Greyson.”
Sir Harold suddenly put his hands to his head, and reeled like a
drunken man. His face turned deathly white.
“Ah, I recognize you, Babbet!” he gasped, “but the effort was awful. I
have been ill, you know. Let me have fresh air.”
The lawyer led him to the door, much concerned, and walked with him
toward Charing Cross.
“You will see me again before leaving London?” he said.
“Yes, I will endeavor to do so,” was the reply.
“Are you sure that you are able to proceed alone?”
“Quite,” said Sir Harold. “My hotel is near.”
They parted, but Annesley did not go to his hotel. He felt utterly
bewildered, and walked in the direction of Hyde Park, where he seated
himself, and bared his hot brow to the cool September breeze.
“It is all so strange, and yet so familiar,” he kept murmuring. “I
cannot make it out at all. I must not delay; Theresa will be waiting
for me. Poor little Theresa! I am married to Theresa--or is it a dream?
I am on my wedding tour, of course, but I hope that I am not going to
be ill. Oh, that cruel knife is ever present! My poor little Theresa!”
He saw that two persons were approaching, and he replaced his hat. The
figures were those of ladies, but they appeared to be misty and far
away. He wished that they would go on, so that he could be alone. Then
he was conscious that one of them gave utterance to a half-stifled
scream, and cried:
“Oh, my lady! my lady! it is Sir Harold himself!”
Again that awful throbbing made him dizzy, and he saw before him the
face of an angel.
“Oh, Heaven!” he whispered, hoarsely, “am I dreaming, or is it the face
of my false love, Lady Elaine?”