Swiftly passed the happy days in the beautiful villa home to which
Arthur Barrington had taken his bride. But at length remorseful thoughts
of his father's loneliness would intrude themselves upon Arthur's
happiest hours, until he could bear it no longer; so he told Louisa the
unkind way in which he had left his father, and how unhappy he was on
that account, proposing that they should proceed to Barrington Park
without delay. To this she readily agreed, but unfortunately their route
lay through a district where a malignant fever was very prevalent, and
while traversing a lone and dreary portion of this district, Arthur was
attacked with this terrible disease. He strove bravely against it, and
endeavored to push on to the nearest town, but that was yet forty miles
distant, when Arthur became so alarmingly ill that they were forced to
stop at a little hamlet and put up with the best accommodation its
miserable inn afforded, which was poor indeed. There was no doctor to be
had nearer than Z----, but the driver promised to procure one from there
if possible. With this they were obliged to be content; but day after
day passed and none came, while Arthur hourly became worse, and Louisa
grew half wild with grief and fear.
"If we could only get a doctor, I believe he would soon be well; but,
ah! it is so dreadful to see him die for want of proper advice,"
murmured Louisa, glancing toward the bed where Arthur lay tossing in the
terrible malaria fever, so fatal to temperaments such as his; "but he
will not die, O no I cannot believe that my happiness will be of such
short duration that I shall again be left in such icy desolation. Oh!
Arthur, Arthur, do not leave me she sobbed, covering her face with her
hands, but Arthur does not heed her, racked with burning fever he cannot
even recognize her, as with patient gentleness she endeavors to
alleviate his sufferings with cooling drinks, or bathes his burning
brow. In vain were all the remedies that the simple people of the inn
could suggest, or that Louisa's love could devise. Day by day his life
ebbed away consumed by the disease, the prostration and langour
following the fever being too much for his strength, thus Louisa saw
that he who alone in the wide world loved or cared for her, was fast
passing away; still though she could not but see it was so, she would
not believe the terrible truth, but clung to the hope that a doctor
might yet arrive before it was too late, and so her great bereavement
came upon her with overwhelming force, when after a day of more than
usual langour, during her midnight vigil, he ceased to breathe. Louisa
had not known why he had clasped her hand so tightly all that night as
she sat beside his couch, he was dead, and with a cry of anguish Louisa
fell insensible beside the lifeless body of her husband.
The moonbeams fell alike upon the inanimate forms of the living and the
dead, and the morning sun rose brightly and she still lay there, none
heard the midnight cry of anguish, or if heard it was unheeded, and the
noisy lamentations of the girl who brought in the morning meal, greeted
her as consciousness returned. The master of the inn said the funeral
must take place at sunset, and Louisa shed bitter tears in the little
room which was given her, while the corpse was being prepared for
interment, for these precipitate funeral arrangements added greatly to
Louisa's grief. Composed but deadly pale she followed Arthur's remains
to the grave--his only mourner; there was no minister to be had, but
Louisa could not see him buried thus, so read herself a portion of the
beautiful burial service of the Episcopal Church, then amid tears and
sobs she watched them pile and smooth the earth above him, and when they
had finished, with a wail of agony she threw herself in a burst of
passionate grief upon the damp earth, and there she lay until darkness
enveloped all around, heedless of danger, of time, of everything but her
deep deep grief, her misery, and her irreparable loss. And there she
would have remained but for Francesca, the girl who had waited on them;
Francesca had some pity for the poor lady, and with a great effort
stifled her superstitious fears, and went down to the grave and led her
away, whispering you will get the fever here. So Louisa returned
desolate indeed to the miserable inn, not for a moment because of the
fear of fever, only dreamily, scarcely knowing where she was going.
Those long hours with the dead had but too surely done their work,
Louisa was attacked with the same fever of which her husband died, but
carelessly tended and neglected as she was, she did not die.
When she was able to go out again, she would sit pensively for hours by
Arthur's grave, or in passionate grief throw herself upon it and wish
that she too might die. It was after one of these paroxysms of despair
that Louisa remembered her promise to Arthur, that she would take his
letter to his father at Barrington Park. Faithful to her word she
reluctantly prepared to depart, when to her dismay she found that a
cheque for a large amount had been abstracted from Arthur's desk, and
further search discovered that nearly every article of value had been
perloined during her illness. Their charges were so exorbitant, that it
took nearly all the money she had to satisfy their demands, and when she
mentioned the cheque, &c., they held up their hands in horror at the
idea, that after all their kindness she should suspect them of such
villiany.
Weary and broken-hearted, Louisa set out on her lonely journey, and at
length arrived sad and dejected at Barrington Park, having had to part
with nearly all she possessed in order to prosecute her journey. After
some difficulty she succeeded in gaining Lord Barrington's presence.
"Well, what is it you want?" asked his lordship impatiently, but Louisa
could not speak, she could only hold out Arthur's letter with a mute
gesture of entreaty.
"I don't want to read any of that nonsense; just tell me what you want,
and be quick, as I am busy."
Tell him what she wanted!--tell him that she wanted him to love and
receive her as a daughter--tell him that the love he bore his son was
henceforth to be transferred to the unhappy being before him--how could
she tell him this? how could she tell him what she wanted?
"Speak, girl, I say!" he cried, angrily.
"Read this," she faltered, "it will tell you all."
"I will not," he answered; "tell me, or begone!"
Falling on her knees before him, she held out the letter, crying: "I am
Arthur's wife. He is dead, and this is his letter, and I am here
according to his wish--to his dying injuction. Take it--read it--it will
tell you all."
"Good gracious, the girl is mad!" he exclaimed, "mad as a March hare.
Come, come! get up and go about your business, or I shall have you put
in the asylum."
Louisa felt choking, she could not speak; she could only stretch out her
arms imploringly, still holding the letter.
"There is some great mistake; my son is not dead, nor is he married, so
do not think to impose upon me."
"There is no mistake; Arthur is dead, and you see his widow before you,"
she managed to articulate.
"No, no, Arthur is not dead, poor crazy girl; get up and go away," and
he threw her half a sovereign, saying, as he did so, "now go away
quickly, or I shall have you turned out; and mind, don't go about with
your tale about being my son's wife, or I shall send the police after
you. Now go."
Crushed and humbled as she was by sorrow and suffering, this was more
than Louisa's fiery nature could endure passively. Springing to her
feet, her lips quivering with anger, while her large eyes flashed with
passion, she cried, as she threw the proffered alms upon the table, in
proud defiance, "Keep your alms for the first beggar you see, but do not
insult me. I ask but what is right--that, as your son's wife, I should
receive a home and the necessaries of life from you, his father, as he
promised me. This you refuse me; but, were I to starve, I would not take
your alms, thrown to me as a crazy beggar--never, never!"
"Go, go!" he cried, she by her burst of passionate indignation still
more confirming the idea that she was mad.
"I will go," she answered, "and will never again trouble you; but know
that I am no impostor--no insane person."
John, who answered his master's summons, stood wonderingly at the door,
and, as Louisa passed out, he opened the hall door, looking terribly
mystified. "Take this," she said to him, "and if you loved your young
master, give this to his father when he will receive it." Then with a
full heart Louisa hastened from the park.
A short distance from the gate was a small copse wood, which Louisa
entered, and, throwing herself down on the grassy bank beside a stream,
gave way to a storm of passionate grief. "Oh, Arthur, Arthur!" she
sobbed, "how desolate is Louisa in this cold, cruel world." The storm of
grief would have its way, nor did she strive to check it, but continued
sobbing convulsively, and shivered with cold, though it was a balmy
autumn day; the icy chill at her heart seemed to affect her body also.
When at length she became more calm, she began to consider what course
she should next pursue. She turned out her scanty store of
money--fifteen and sixpence was the whole amount. She determined to
return to the inn, where she had left the small bag (the sole remnant of
the numerous trunks, etc., with which they had left ----), and remain
there that night, and start next day for Brierley, the present abode of
her grandfather, and try her luck in that quarter, but with small hope
of success. Not for herself would she have done this, for she trembled
at the thought of meeting him, but circumstances made it imperative.