Caroline Ryder went to the gate of the Grove, and stayed there two
hours; but, of course, no Griffith came.
She returned the next night, and the next; and then she gave it up, and
awaited an explanation. None came, and she was bitterly disappointed,
and indignant.
She began to hate Griffith, and to conceive a certain respect, and even
a tepid friendship, for the other woman he had insulted.
Another clew to this change of feeling is to be found in a word she let
drop in talking to another servant. "My mistress," said she, "bears it
_like a man_."
In fact, Mrs. Gaunt's conduct at this period was truly noble.
She suffered months of torture, months of grief; but the high-spirited
creature hid it from the world, and maintained a sad but high composure.
She wore her black, for she said, "How do I know he is alive?" She
retrenched her establishment, reduced her expenses two thirds, and
busied herself in works of charity and religion.
Her desolate condition attracted a gentleman who had once loved her, and
now esteemed and pitied her profoundly,--Sir George Neville.
He was still unmarried, and she was the cause; so far at least as this:
she had put him out of conceit with the other ladies at that period when
he had serious thoughts of marriage: and the inclination to marry at all
had not since returned.
If the Gaunts had settled at Boulton, Sir George would have been their
near neighbor; but Neville's Court was nine miles from Hernshaw Castle:
and when they met, which was not very often, Mrs. Gaunt was on her guard
to give Griffith no shadow of uneasiness. She was therefore rather more
dignified and distant with Sir George than her own inclination and his
merits would have prompted; for he was a superior and very agreeable
man.
When it became quite certain that her husband had left her, Sir George
rode up to Hernshaw Castle, and called upon her.
She begged to be excused from seeing him.
Now Sir George was universally courted, and this rather nettled him;
however, he soon learned that she received nobody except a few religious
friends of her own sex.
Sir George then wrote her a letter that did him credit: it was full of
worthy sentiment and good sense. For instance, he said he desired to
intrude his friendly offices and his sympathy upon her, but nothing
more. Time had cured him of those warmer feelings which had once ruffled
his peace; but Time could not efface his tender esteem for the lady he
had loved in his youth, nor his profound respect for her character.
Mrs. Gaunt wept over his gentle letter, and was on the verge of asking
herself why she had chosen Griffith instead of this chevalier. She sent
him a sweet, yet prudent reply; she did not encourage him to visit her;
but said, that, if ever she should bring herself to receive visits from
the gentlemen of the county during her husband's absence, he should be
the first to know it. She signed herself his unhappy, but deeply
grateful, servant and friend.
One day, as she came out of a poor woman's cottage, with a little basket
on her arm, which she had emptied in the cottage, she met Sir George
Neville full.
He took his hat off, and made her a profound bow. He was then about to
ride on, but altered his mind, and, dismounted to speak to her.
The interview was constrained at first; but erelong he ventured to tell
her she really ought to consult with some old friend and practical man
like himself. He would undertake to scour the country, and find her
husband, if he was above ground.
"Me go a-hunting the man," cried she, turning red; "not if he was my
king as well as my husband. He knows where to find _me_; and that is
enough."
"Well, but madam, would you not like to learn where he is, and what he
is doing?"
"Why, yes, my good, kind friend, I _should_ like to know that." And,
having pronounced these words with apparent calmness, she burst out
crying, and almost ran away from him.
Sir George looked sadly after her, and formed a worthy resolution. He
saw there was but one road to her regard. He resolved to hunt her
husband for her, without intruding on her, or giving her a voice in the
matter. Sir George was a magistrate, and accustomed to organize
inquiries; spite of the length of time that had elapsed, he traced
Griffith for a considerable distance. Pending further inquiries, he sent
Mrs. Gaunt word that the truant had not made for the sea, but had gone
due south.
Mrs. Gaunt returned him her warm thanks for this scrap of information.
So long as Griffith remained in the island there was always a hope he
might return to her. The money he had taken would soon be exhausted; and
poverty might drive him to her; and she was so far humbled by grief,
that she could welcome him even on those terms.
Affliction tempers the proud. Mrs. Gaunt was deeply injured as well as
insulted; but, for all that, in her many days and weeks of solitude and
sorrow, she took herself to task, and saw her fault. She became more
gentle, more considerate of her servants' feelings, more womanly.
For many months she could not enter "the Grove." The spirited woman's
very flesh revolted at the sight of the place where she had been
insulted and abandoned. But, as she went deeper in religion, she forced
herself to go to the gate and look in, and say out loud, "I gave the
first offence," and then she would go in-doors again, quivering with
the internal conflict.
Finally, being a Catholic, and therefore attaching more value to
self-torture than we do, the poor soul made this very grove her place of
penance. Once a week she had the fortitude to drag herself to the very
spot where Griffith had denounced her; and there she would kneel and
pray for him and for herself. And certainly, if humility and
self-abasement were qualities of the body, here was to be seen their
picture; for her way was to set her crucifix up at the foot of a tree;
then to bow herself all down, between kneeling and lying, and put her
lips meekly to the foot of the crucifix, and so pray long and earnestly.
Now, one day, while she was thus crouching in prayer, a gentleman,
booted and spurred and splashed, drew near, with hesitating steps. She
was so absorbed, she did not hear those steps at all till they were very
near; but then she trembled all over; for her delicate ear recognized a
manly tread she had not heard for many a day. She dared not move nor
look, for she thought it was a mere sound, sent to her by Heaven to
comfort her.
But the next moment a well-known mellow voice came like a thunder-clap,
it shook her so.
"Forgive me, my good dame, but I desire to know--"
The question went no further, for Kate Gaunt sprang to her feet, with a
loud scream, and stood glaring at Griffith Gaunt, and he at her.
And thus husband and wife met again,--met, by some strange caprice of
Destiny, on the very spot where they had parted so horribly.