Isabel and the children remained the greater part of the summer at
D----, but Emily returned home to join her mamma and sister, who had
consented to join an expedition that had been got up among a few select
friends. Upon the last afternoon of their stay at D---- they went for a
ramble into a pretty little copse wood, the children were looking for
berries, and Isabel sat upon a mossy bank reading.
"Come Isabel, let us at least be friends," said a voice close beside
her.
Surprised and startled, Isabel beheld Louis Taschereau.
"Let us be friends," he repeated taking a seat on the bank.
"Impossible, Dr. Taschereau," said Isabel rising, "had you broken off
your engagement in a straightforward manner, it might have been
different, as your feelings had undergone a change, I should have been
quite content to release you, but to have corresponded with me up to the
very day of your marriage, and allow me by a chance meeting at an
evening party to become aware of the fact for the first time, together
with the effrontery with which you behaved on that occasion, are insults
which I should be wanting in self respect not to resent."
"My feelings have undergone no change, they cannot change, it is you
alone that I have ever loved or shall love, my wife I never did, never
can. Oh pity me Isabel for I am most miserably unhappy."
"From my heart I pity her who is so unfortunate as to have Dr.
Taschereau for a husband," she replied, "I cannot pity you, for if
anything could make your conduct more contemptible, it is the fact that
you have just acknowledged, that you do not love the girl that you have
made your wife, though having seen the way in which you treat those you
profess to love it is no great loss, and your happiness must ever be a
matter of indifference to me."
"Oh cruel girl, I am not so heartless, what grieves me more than even my
own misery is the thought of your suffering."
"Then pray do not distress yourself on my account Dr. Taschereau,
whatever I may have felt it is past, for when Isabel Leicester could no
longer esteem, she must cease to love."
"I will not believe that you find it so easy to forget me, for that you
did love me you dare not deny, it was no passing fancy, you must feel
more than you are willing to own," he said angrily.
"I do not wish to deny it," returned Isabel firmly, "but you out to have
known me better than to think that I should continue to do so. After you
were married it became my duty to forget that I had ever loved you, and
to banish every thought of you. You have made your choice and now
regrets are useless, even wrong, whatever she may be, she is your wife,
and it is your duty and should be your pleasure to make her happy, and
as you value happiness, never give her cause to doubt your love."
"As you say, regrets are useless, but that thought only adds to my
torture, I can only compare my present wretchedness with the happy lot
which might have been mine, but for my own folly," he said sadly, "but
you must help me."
"How can I help you," exclaimed Isabel.
"It is you alone who can, for you are the only person who ever had any
influence over me, you must help to keep me right. Will you not forgive
me Isabel, and let me be a friend--a brother."
"Thank heaven I have no such brother," exclaimed Isabel fervently, "for
I should feel very much inclined to disown him if I had. Friends we can
never be Dr. Taschereau, as I told you before, whenever and wherever we
meet, it must be as strangers."
"As you will," he said bitterly, "but since you will not have me for
your friend, you shall have me for a foe."
"Think not to intimidate me with idle threats," she answered haughtily,
"you have no power to harm me, and I feel assured that as your love is
worthless, so in the end your hatred will prove harmless."
"That is as it may be, but still I had much rather that we were
friends."
"If an enemy, I defy you, my friend you can never be."
"As you will," he returned fiercely, "but remember if I go to the bad,
with you will rest the blame," and then he disappeared through the wood.
"And what is his wife about during this conversation, writing to her
cousin. Let us take a peep at the letter.
DEAREST MARIE.--I am happy--very happy, how could I be otherwise
with my noble Louis, he is so kind, so thoughtful and considerate,
he would not let me accompany him to-day, because I was so tired
with the journey yesterday, so I take the opportunity thus
afforded me to write to you. Oh Marie, how could you ever suppose
that he married me for my money, how could you form so mean an
opinion of my generous, noble, high minded Louis, you wrong him
Marie, indeed you do. True, he is more reserved than is pleasant,
but I presume that is because I am so childish as papa used to
say. Would you believe I had a jealous fit about a packet that he
received from a lady, which he refused to open when I asked him.
Well he sat up very very late that night, and I took it into my
stupid little head that his sitting up had something to do with
the packet, and the thought so possessed me, that I got up and
went softly into the library, and there he was in a brown study
over some medical work. Oh Marie I felt so ashamed of my foolish
fancies.