AFTER EIGHT YEARS.
Eight years have passed since Lady Linton, with her son and daughter,
her cousin William Heath, and his family, visited America; since she so
nearly fell a victim to that railway disaster, and was rescued by a
woman whom she had hated, whom she now hated a hundred-fold.
It is a beautiful winter morning, and in the sunny, elegantly appointed
dining-room at Heathdale an interesting group of five persons is
gathered around the bountifully spread breakfast table.
At one end sits Sir William Heath, a handsome, dignified gentleman a
little above forty, yet hardly looking that, for the fleeting years have
touched him but lightly, in spite of the great sorrow which has lain so
heavily upon his heart and robbed his life and his home of its chief
joys—the love and presence of a fond, true wife, the patter of little
feet, and the happy laughter and merry chatter of childish voices.
Opposite him, and engaged in serving coffee, is his sister, Lady Linton,
who has changed greatly during the last eight years. She has grown old
and wrinkled, and her face has hardened, if that could be possible.
There is a cynical expression about her thin mouth, and her eyes are
cold and critical in their expression, excepting when they rest upon her
children, who now sit beside her, one at her right, the other at her
left hand.
Percy Linton had done credit to the promise of his youth, and is a fine
young man of twenty-one, honest, noble, and thoughtful beyond his years.
He is lately home from Oxford, where he achieved great honors, and is
now planning to return to the neglected and impoverished estate which
has father’s prodigality nearly ruined, with the intention of reclaiming
it and restoring it to something of the thrift and prosperity for which
it was noted under the care of his grandfather, for whom he is named,
and whose mantle seems to have fallen upon him.
His mother is not at all in sympathy with these plans. She wishes her
son to adopt a public career. She still has strong hopes that he will
fall heir to her brother’s title and property, in which case there would
be no need of his spending the best years of his life in striving to
redeem a heavily-mortgaged estate.
Sir William, however, heartily approves of his noble resolve, and
promises to assist him in every possible way, and, with this
encouragement, he has decided to devote himself to Linton Grange.
Lillian Linton is a brilliant and beautiful girl of nineteen. She is a
clear brunette, with a lovely bloom on her cheeks, vividly red lips,
dark eyes and hair. Her features are delicate and regular; she is tall
and finely formed, attractive in manner, but in disposition and
temperament she is much like her mother.
The remaining individual of the group was Rupert Hamilton, Sir William
Heath’s ward, and the child of his dear friend, Major Hamilton, who died
several years ago. He is now a young man of twenty, tall and stalwart in
form, with a well-shaped head set proudly upon a pair of square, broad
shoulders. He has a handsome and intelligent face, with a pair of full,
wine-brown eyes, which always meet yours with a clear, steady gaze, that
proclaims a noble character and a clear conscience.
His nose is something after the Roman type, his mouth firm and strong,
yet when he smiles, as sweet and expressive as a woman’s. One would know
at a glance that he was true and generous, kind and genial.
One could perceive also that Sir William loved him like a son by the
affectionate glances which he bent upon him, by his answering smile
whenever their eyes met, and the confidential tone which he used when
addressing him.
The young heir to half a million pounds thought his guardian the noblest
man in the world, and he would have deemed no service too difficult or
disagreeable to perform for him.
He knew something of the trouble of his early life, that he had been
married and parted from his wife, although he had never heard her name
spoken, or asked a single question upon the subject, and he had always
felt a peculiar tenderness and sympathy for him on this account.
The fact of Sir William’s marriage was no longer a secret, although Lady
Linton had tried every way to conceal it. It was not very generally
known, however, even now; but in his own household and among his
intimate friends it was understood that he had married a beautiful woman
while on his first visit to America, and that some cruel
misunderstanding had resulted in a separation. He had insisted upon this
explanation, for hope was not yet quite dead in his heart that some time
he might find Virgie, effect a reconciliation, and bring her home to
Heathdale.
Those who knew that he was free to marry again, if he chose, sometimes
urged him to do so and not allow his name to become extinct.
But he always replied, with a heavy sigh:
“I have a wife already, and some time, please Heaven, I shall find her.
No other shall ever be mistress of Heathdale while I live.”
This reply never failed to arouse the fiercest anger in Lady Linton, who
grew more bitter with every year toward the woman whom she had wronged,
and who had repaid her injuries with such kindness and Christian charity
to her everlasting shame and humiliation.
“‘Wife,’ indeed!” she once retorted. “A woman who divorced herself from
you in the way she did, coolly severing the bonds, which you seem still
to hold in such reverence, is not worthy the name.”
“But I loved her, Miriam—I love her still; I shall be true to her till I
die,” her brother answered. “Our separation has been the strangest thing
in the world—it is wholly incomprehensible to me; but if I ever find we
have been the victims of treachery, let the enemy who has meddled
beware!”
Twice during these last eight years he had crossed the Atlantic and
renewed his search for Virgie, but without obtaining the least clew of
her whereabouts, and so he returned again to his home.
He never intruded his sorrow upon any one; indeed his life flowed along
so calmly and smoothly that a stranger might have supposed that he had
remained single from choice, although there was a wistful sadness in his
eyes that impressed every one.
Of late he had interested himself considerably in politics and been in
Parliament, having been returned for his borough several times.
But to return to the breakfast table, from which we have roved, and
where an animated discussion was in progress, together with the
disposition of the many tempting viands.
“I am sure I do not know what I am going to do without you during the
next six months, Rupert,” Sir William remarked. “Here I was anticipating
having you all to myself for awhile, after you got through school, and
now you want to go roving the first thing.”
“Yes, I do want to see a little of the world I live in, I confess,
before I choose my profession; and you have told me so many interesting
things about America, and American people, that I have a curiosity to
see the country and mingle with the people myself. Why can’t you come
with me, Uncle Will? then we need not be separated,” concluded the young
man, wishfully.
“I should be glad to, my boy, but my time and attention will have to be
given to the interests of the borough for this year,” responded his
guardian. “The troubles in Ireland, too, bid fair to be pretty serious,
and every true-hearted Englishman ought to give careful thought to the
questions that are arising in connection with them.”
“I hope that I am a true-hearted Englishman, but since I cannot cast my
vote until next year, I presume you will not consider me disloyal for
running away for a little while,” Rupert said, earnestly.
“No, indeed, I want you to go, since you desire it so much, and,
considering all things, this is the best time for you to go. Let me see;
it is a Raymond excursion to California that you have decided to join
after reaching New York, I believe.”
“Yes, the circular which Raymond has issued is so attractive I could not
resist it. I feel sure that by joining this party I shall see more of
the country, in less time and to better advantage, than I could to
travel by myself and lay out my own route.”
“Will you be with a large party, Rupert?” Lillian asked, her color
deepening and a rather anxious expression in her eyes.
Lillian Linton had learned to love Rupert Hamilton with a strong and
passionate affection, and this attachment had been most unwisely
fostered by her mother, who was still determined that her idolized
daughter should marry her brother’s wealthy young ward, and the heir to
still greater prosperity and honor, if it was possible to accomplish it.
“I do not know how large the party will be, Lillian; probably there will
be quite a number in it,” he answered.
“All gentlemen?”
“Oh, no, I judge not from some hints that are given regarding the
equipments necessary for the journey; for articles which only ladies
require are mentioned in them.”
Lillian lost some of her brilliant color, and her eyes drooped at this
reply.
“But do you like the idea of mingling so freely with strange people?”
she asked, with a slight curl of her red lips. “Americans too,” she
added, slightingly.
“Why, Lillian, are you so prejudiced against our neighbors over the
sea?” exclaimed the young man, in surprise.
The girl shrugged her graceful shoulders and arched her pretty brows,
but deigned no reply. The act, however, expressed far better than words
could have done her contempt for the people of whom they had been
speaking.
Percy glanced up at her with a roguish twinkle in his eyes.
“Rupert will doubtless meet some fair damsel among his party whose
bright eyes and charming smiles will prove too much for his susceptible
nature, and, before we know it, our loyal Englishman will have forsworn
his colors and joined the great republic,” he said, to tantalize his
sister.
“Oh, Percy, how little faith you have in me,” laughed Rupert. “Of course
I expect there will be some fair damsels in my party, but doubtless they
will be so closely guarded by jealous parents and vigilant chaperons
that no young man of my age will have an opportunity to play the
agreeable to them.”
Neither of the young men observed the spasm of pain that contracted Sir
William’s brow at these remarks, nor the hardening of Lady Linton’s
face, as they thought of that episode in the life of the former, some
eighteen years previous, while he was traveling in America.
“I trust that Rupert will not be beguiled into any discretions, no
matter how attractive the ladies of his party may be; he owes it to his
self-respect to choose his wife from his own countrywomen,” remarked her
ladyship, with a swift glance at her daughter, whose eyes were fixed
upon her plate, as if she had no interest in anything but the morsel
that she was diligently reducing to mince-meat with her knife.
“Are the ladies of America more artful in that respect than those of any
other nationality, Lady Linton?” asked the young man, innocently, but
with a quizzical smile.
“I am happy to say that I know but very little about them, but what I do
know has not served to prepossess me in their favor,” was the sharp
retort of her ladyship.
“Miriam, I will trouble you for another cup of coffee,” said Sir
William, quietly, but in a tone which warned his sister that she had
better not pursue the conversation further on that line.
Then he turned to his nephew, with a genial smile, saying:
“I only wish Percy had not been in quite such a hurry to settle at the
Grange; I would really like to have you run over to the United States
with Rupert for a little holiday before you begin work.”
“Thank you, Uncle Will; but, truly, I feel that it would not be right to
take either the time or the money for such a journey. My duty plainly
points to the earliest possible restoration of my fallen house,” the
young man answered, gravely.
“I wish that every young man possessed as conscientious a regard for
duty as you do, Percy. I confess I honor you for your desire to clear
the Grange of all incumbrance, though I would gladly be your banker if
you would consent to accompany Rupert.”
“You have already been my banker to such an extent that I do not feel
willing to draw upon you any more. I am very grateful for all your
kindness, Uncle Will, but indeed my self-respect demands that I should
begin to depend upon my own exertions; so I shall wed myself to the home
of my ancestors until every debt is paid and the glory of the days of my
grandfather is restored,” Percy concluded, smilingly, but with a
firmness which plainly told that his mind was made up regarding the
course he was to pursue.
“I consider it a senseless, quixotic notion; I think you had much better
sell the place and realize what you can from it, rather than spend the
best of your life in trying to pay debts that other people have
contracted,” said his mother, resentfully.
“Sell Linton Grange,” exclaimed the young man, aghast. “Why, mother,
where is your loyalty to the home of more than a dozen generations?”
“I have suffered too much at Linton Grange to feel very much loyalty for
bundles of mortgages, promissory notes, etc.,” retorted Lady Linton, a
deep flush suffusing her face.
“Percy is right, Miriam, so do not try to discourage him. It would,
indeed, be a pity to sacrifice such a grand old place, while there was
the least hope of reclaiming it. It will, no doubt, be up-hill work for
the first few years, but, with the spirit which animates him, I am sure
he will succeed, and his reward will be sweet,” Sir William said,
heartily, as he arose from the table. Then turning to his nephew, he
continued: “I will ride over to the Grange with you in a couple of
hours, and we will consider further the measures you proposed to me
yesterday.”