The arrangement made for my sister was one I knew not how to be grateful
enough for. Lady Thesiger insisted that she should go to Harden and
remain there until she was well.
"She need know nothing of your misfortune yet. We have but to say that
she must be kept quiet and admit no visitors except such as we can trust
to say nothing to her. Agatha and myself will take the greatest care of
her, and when she has recovered we will break the news to her."
I was deeply grateful. It was all arranged without exciting my sister's
suspicions. She told her that for many reasons it had been considered
better to put off the marriage for some time; that I was going abroad
for a year, and that she was to spend the year with Lady Thesiger.
She looked wistfully at me.
"It's all very sudden, Edgar. Are you sure it is for the best?"
I steadied my voice and told her laughingly it was all for the best.
She asked where Coralie would be, and I told her that when she returned
from the visit she was paying she would remain at Crown Anstey.
There was not a dry eye among the servants when my sister was carried
from the home where she had been so happy. Of course, they all knew the
story--it had spread like wild fire all over the neighborhood--yet every
one understood how vitally important it was that it should be kept from
her.
Can I ever tell in words how kindly Lady Thesiger received her? True
friends, they took no note of altered fortunes. My sister was
comfortably installed in the charming rooms they had prepared for her.
Her favorite maid was to stay with her.
Then came the agony I had long known must come. I must give up Agatha.
How could I, who had not one shilling in my pocket, marry the daughter
of Sir John Thesiger, a girl, delicate and refined, who had been brought
up in all imaginable luxury? Let me work hard as I might, I could hardly
hope to make two hundred a year. In all honor and in all conscience I
was bound to give her up.
I had no prospect before me save that of returning to my former position
as clerk. Agatha Thesiger must never be a clerk's wife, she who could
marry any peer in the land!
Talk of waiting and hoping! I had nothing to hope for. The savings of my
whole life would not keep her, as she had been kept, for even one year.
I must give her up. Ah, my God! It was hard--so bitterly hard! I told
Sir John, and he looked wretched as myself.
"I see, I see. It is the only thing to be done. If I could give her a
fortune you should not lose her; but I cannot, and she must not come to
poverty."
Lady Thesiger wept bitterly over me.
"I foresaw it from the first," she said. "I knew it was not the loss of
Crown Anstey, but the loss of Agatha, that would be your sorest trial."
Then I said "good-by" to her whom I had hoped so soon to call my wife. I
kissed her white face and trembling hands for the last time.
But the dear soul clung to me, weeping.
"You may say you must leave me a thousand times, Edgar, but I shall
never be left. I shall wait for you; and if it be never in your power
to claim me, I shall marry no other man. I will be yours in death as in
life."
And though I tried to shake her resolution, I knew that it would be so.
I knew that no other man would ever call her wife.
The day before I left, Mrs. Trevelyan, with her little Sir Rupert, took
possession of the Hall. She must have found many thorns in her path,
for, although she had attained her heart's desire, and was now mistress
of Crown Anstey, she was shunned and disliked by all the neighborhood.
"An adventuress," they called her, and as such refused to receive her
into their society. Perhaps she had foreseen this when she wished to
marry me.
By Sir John's influence, the post of secretary was found for me with an
English nobleman residing in Paris. I was to live in the house; my
duties were sufficiently onerous, and I was to receive a salary of one
hundred and fifty pounds per annum; so that, after all, I was better off
than I had once expected to be.
I bade farewell to Agatha, to Clare, to my kind friends Sir John and
Lady Thesiger. God knew the grief that filled my heart; I cannot
describe it.
On my road to the station I met the Crown Anstey carriage. Mrs Trevelyan
bowed to me from it. She was taking a drive with the little Sir Rupert.
"God bless the child!" I said, as his little face smiled from the
carriage window. "God bless him and send him a happy life!"
It took me some little time to settle down to my new life. My employer,
Lord Winter, lived in the Champs Elysees. He preferred Paris to England,
because it was brighter and gayer. I often wondered how that mattered to
him, for he lived only in his books.
I was required to assist him in making extracts, answering letters,
searching for all kinds of odd information, and I do believe I learned
more in that time than I should have done in a lifetime differently
spent.
I became reconciled to it after a hard struggle. From Harden Manor I
constantly received the kindest letters. Agatha wrote to me, and
although the word "love" seldom occurred in her letters, I knew her
heart was, and always would be mine. She would never forget me, nor
would that crown of all sorrows be mine--I should never have to give her
up to a wealthier rival. Although she said nothing of the kind in her
letters, I felt that it was true.
A year passed, and at last came good tidings of my sister; she was able
to sit up, even to walk across the room, and the doctor said that in
another month she would in all probability be able to take her place in
the world again.
How that gladdened my heart! Lady Thesiger said she had not the least
idea yet of the change in my fortunes, although she wondered incessantly
why I was absent.
"Have no fear for your sister's future," wrote kind Lady Thesiger.
"While Agatha lives at home she is a most charming companion for her.
Should she ever leave home, she would be the same to me. We shall only
be too happy if she will spend the rest of her life at Harden Manor."
I was grateful for that. Now, then, fate seemed kinder. I could fight
through for myself, providing that my fragile, delicate Clare was safely
taken care of.
Another six months passed. Clare knew all then and was resigned. God had
been very good to her. She could walk; distance did not fatigue her, and
the doctors thought it was very unlikely that the same disease would
attack her again.
She wrote and told me about it.
"I was out yesterday," she said, "with Agatha, and we met the Crown
Anstey carriage. Coralie was most gracious--overwhelmed me with
congratulations, invited me to the Hall. And I saw little Sir Rupert. He
is so bright and beautiful--the most princely boy I ever beheld. 'I am
going to have a white pony,' he said to me, and I kissed him, Edgar,
with all my heart. Coralie inquired very minutely after you, and asked
me if I owed her any ill-will for what she had done. I said no, not in
the least, and that I hoped little Sir Rupert would live to make her
very happy. I am not quite sure, but I think there were tears glistening
in her eyes when she drove away."
Some weeks afterward I received the following letter from Mrs.
Trevelyan:
"My Dear Edgar--Once again, I address you--once again, setting
pride and all things aside, I offer you Crown Anstey. You have been
away some time now, and know how different is your present hard
life from the happy, luxurious one you led here. Your engagement
with Miss Thesiger is, of course, broken off. I hear she has a
wealthy suitor--Lord Abberley. It will be a good match for her.
Edgar, you will find no one in the world so true to you as myself.
See, I forgot all the past. Once more I offer you my love, my hand,
and with it, until my son is of age, Crown Anstey. I never intended
you to give it up as you have done. I always wished to offer
yourself and your sister an income sufficient for your maintenance.
I have not done so before because I hoped that poverty would seem
so hateful to you you would gradually come to think better of my
offer. Is it so, Edgar? Will you recognize my love, my fidelity, my
devotion at last? One word and all your troubles cease, you are
back again in the beautiful old home, and I am happy. Only one
word. From your ever loving, devoted
CORALIE."
I need not repeat my answer. It was, No! I was no more free, no more
inclined to return to Crown Anstey than I had been to remain there.
After that there was a long silence. Agatha told me herself all about
Lord Abberley; that he had been very kind to her, was very fond of her,
but she had told him our story, and he had most generously forborne to
press his suit.
Time was doing much for me; every hour was golden in its acquisition of
blanks in my life were filled by books. God sent every one the same
comfort I had.
[Transcriber's note: One or more lines appear to be missing from the
previous paragraph.]