Esmeralda stood where he had left her as one stands after receiving
a mortal blow, in a dull stupor too profound for pain. She sunk
into a chair, and with her eyes fixed on the dark sky, gradually
realized what this was that had happened to her. Her husband
believed her to be guilty of betraying him. They had agreed to
part. She should never see him again.
Presently the details of his proposal came back to her; she was to
go on living at Belfayre, and before the world as his wife. How
little he knew her! A smile that was far more bitter than tears
crossed her face. She got up and paced the room, sometimes with her
hands hanging limply and wearily at her side, at others clasping
her burning brow. She was trying to think what she should do.
Suddenly, in a flash, it came to her. With a change of manner
that indicated a new-born resolution, she took off her dress, and
put on the quietest of her traveling costumes. Then she went to
the velvet-covered safe and took out her jewel-box. Slowly and
carefully she selected the various articles which she had purchased
before her marriage, and put these into a case by themselves. In
the drawer of the safe were some bank-notes and some gold; she
placed these with the jewel-case in her traveling-bag, and locked
it.
As she did so, the light fell upon the wedding-ring upon her hand.
She held up her hand and looked at it. Then, with tightly set lips,
she drew the ring from her finger, and going to the writing-table,
placed the ring in an envelope, and addressed it to “The Marquis
of Trafford.” This she placed in the center of her dressing-table.
Then she put on her hat and traveling-cloak and stood looking round
the room with a strange expression on her face, as of one who is
taking leave forever of all that she once held dear.
She opened the door and listened. The great house was very quiet;
there was no sound but the ticking of the tall clock that stood in
the hall and the heavy breathing of the great hound which lay on
the rug before the fire-place.
She went out on to the corridor, not stealthily, though her
footfall made no sound on the thick piled carpet. She wished to
leave Belfayre unseen and unheard; but, though every man and woman
had stood in her way and tried to bar her progress, she would have
walked through them; no one should stop her.
From that moment, from the moment she had taken the wedding-ring
from her finger, she had, in her mind, ceased to be Trafford’s
wife; she was no longer the Marchioness of Trafford, but Esmeralda
Howard.
As she passed along the corridor she paused at the door of the
duke’s room and for a moment the unnatural calmness of her face
wavered and broke up, as it were.
It was the duke’s habit to sleep with the door partly open; it was
so open to-night. An irresistible longing to look once more upon
the old man who loved her took possession of her. She could not
beat it down, and softly pushing the door open, she entered the
room.
The duke lay in a great bed with hangings of white velvet. The
furniture of the room was white--a fancy of the old man’s. She went
softly up to the bed, and looked down on him. He lay sleeping as
peacefully as a child, his face as placid as that of a marble mask.
She could scarcely hear him breathe as she bent lower and lower
until her lips touched the wrinkled forehead. As she kissed him, a
tear, the existence of which she was ignorant, fell upon his face.
He did not move or wake, but a smile passed over his face like
the sunlight falling upon a still mere. She was glad that he had
smiled, that her last look at his dear face should ever linger in
her mind with that deep and solemn presentiment of an old man’s
peace and happiness. She stretched out her hands to him, and
her lips moved, but no spoken words broke the almost death-like
stillness, and slowly, with her eyes lingering upon him, she passed
out.
As she went down the stairs into the hall, the hound woke and
sprung to his feet with a low growl; but when he saw that it was
she, he came forward slowly, wagging his tail and looking up at her
with loving eyes, and pushed his head against her hand, assured
of the caress which she never denied him. She took his head in
both her hands and kissed the great smooth forehead almost as
lovingly as she had kissed the duke; for both man and dog loved her
well--better than the husband who believed her to be a vile and
guilty woman. The dog would have followed her when she opened the
door, but she softly bid him go back, and he stood and watched her
with wistful and troubled eyes as the slim figure stood against
the darkness of the night for a moment before it disappeared.
She paused for a moment or two under the great fluted column to
decide which way she should take; then she went down the terrace
steps and straight along across the garden to the avenue. Had she
turned to the right, she would have entered the path which led to
the small wood or spinny where Trafford was pacing up and down in
his agony; had she turned to the left, she would have crossed the
path and met the gamekeeper on his rounds; but, as it happened, she
chose the direct road and was seen of none, and so passed through
the great gates like a spirit of the night.
* * * * *
Norman, like most strong and healthy young men, was a heavy
sleeper. Trafford used to declare that nothing short of an
earthquake, or the announcement of breakfast and the prospect
of something to eat would waken Norman. Usually Trafford’s man
knocked at Norman’s door, and never by any chance getting an
answer, entered after a respectful interval. On this morning he did
not wait after knocking, but went into the room and said rather
louder than usual: “Half past eight, my lord.” This being repeated
half a dozen times without any perceptible effect, the man gently
shook Norman by the shoulder, and at last the blue eyes opened
with an amazed expression, which invariably gave place to one of
disgust, and the yawning question: “Oh, is that you? Getting-up
time already?” This morning he looked more disgusted and yawned
more widely than ordinary, for he had sat up smoking until late,
or rather, early, thinking of Lilias, and Esmeralda’s wonderful
goodness to him, and he felt as if he could very willingly have
knocked the awakener’s head off.
“Half past eight?” he said. “Dash it, I don’t seem to have been
asleep more than half an hour.”
“Sorry to disturb you, my lord,” said the man. “I knew your
lordship was up late last night, and I should have let you sleep
for another half hour, but this telegram’s just come for you, my
lord.”
“Telegram this time in the morning?” said Norman, with a yawn,
holding out his hand for it.
“It is early, my lord; but the boy who brought it said it had come
as soon as the office was open.”
Norman sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, and extracted the
hideously colored and uncomfortably feeling paper, read it, then
sprung out of bed quite wide awake now.
“Get my things ready at once!” he said, hurriedly and anxiously.
“What’s the first train I can catch?”
The valet thought a moment.
“You might catch the twenty to ten, my lord, if you were very
quick. I hope your lordship hasn’t had bad news.”
“Yes, I have,” said Norman.
It was a telegram from The Manor saying that his mother was ill,
and asking him to come at once. With the deftness of a well-trained
servant, the man helped him to dress as quickly as possible.
“I will have some breakfast ready for you in the west room, my
lord, and I’ll order the dog-cart. While you’re having your
breakfast I’ll pack your lordship’s things.”
Norman thanked him.
“I don’t care anything about the breakfast,” he said. “I _must_
catch that train; and, look here,” he added, “don’t say anything
about the telegram. Just say that I’ve gone up to town, and that
I’ll write.”
He did not want the duke to hear of Lady Druce’s illness too
suddenly, for very little upset the old man now. Norman would break
the news in a letter directly he reached The Manor. But as he went
down-stairs he thought he would tell Trafford, and he knocked at
his door; but no answer came, and after waiting and knocking again,
he went down, thinking it strange that Trafford, who, he knew, was
generally so light a sleeper, should not have heard him. He got
some breakfast hastily. No one appeared to be up, and he longed,
lover-like, for a word with Lilias; even Esmeralda would have been
something.
As he was putting on his light overcoat in the hall, he heard a
footstep upstairs, and looking up, saw Lady Ada. Even in his hurry
and anxiety he noticed that she was very pale, and that there was a
singular, tense expression in her face. She started, too, at sight
of him.
“Oh, is that you?” she said. “You quite startled me. I’ve a stupid,
nervous headache this morning.”
“Yes, it’s me,” said Norman, with his delightful grammar. “I’m
off to catch the first train. I’ve had a wire; my mother’s
bad. I’m glad I saw you before I went. Will you please tell
Lil--Esmeralda”--he stammered and blushed slightly in his
confusion--“how it is that I’ve had to go so suddenly?”
She looked at him curiously, with her steel-blue eyes dwindling to
points.
Norman was rather surprised at her manner of taking his request;
but there was no time for further speech. He jumped into the
dog-cart, took the reins, and drove off full pelt.
Lady Ada stood at the door and watched him with a line drawn
vertically between her eyes. She had not slept all night. Part
of the time she had paced her room; she had heard Trafford go to
Esmeralda’s; she fancied that she had heard their voices now and
again, as if they were quarreling; then Trafford’s step had passed
her door, and all had been still for a time, when she heard, or
fancied she heard, lighter footsteps going along the corridor.
Lady Ada was not Lady Macbeth, and though she had dealt what she
hoped would prove a mortal blow to Esmeralda’s happiness, she was
inwardly quaking as to the result. The schemes of mice and men--and
even women--have sometimes an awkward knack of “ganging aglee.”
It was just possible that Esmeralda had succeeded in explaining
away what Lady Ada considered the irrefutable evidence of her
guilt--men are such fools where women are concerned! She desired,
yet dreaded, to see Trafford. If Esmeralda had “got over him” and
persuaded him of her innocence, he would be sure to turn upon her
(Lady Ada), and all would be over between them. She herself was
convinced of Esmeralda’s guilt. She didn’t believe for a moment
in the telegram or Lady Druce’s illness. Esmeralda had found an
opportunity of warning Norman; and he was off, as a man always is
on such occasions.
It was very hot in the house, and her head was really aching. She
went out in the garden, but there was no shade on the lawn, and
she turned into the little spinny. She had not walked half a dozen
yards under the trees when she was startled by seeing the figure of
a man lying, with his head upon his arm, among the dew-wet bracken.
It was Trafford lying asleep in his dress clothes! She stood
stock-still, terribly frightened, and, as if he felt her eyes upon
him, he woke, and, seeing her, rose to his feet and stood looking
round him for a moment with a dazed air.
“Trafford!” she said.
He turned his eyes upon her like a man slowly coming back to
life--and not gladly.
“Why are you lying here?” she asked. “What is it?” And she went up
to him half fearfully and touched his arm.
“I--I fell asleep,” he said in a hard, strained voice, “I was out
here--walking--and lay down. I must have fallen asleep without
knowing it.”
He passed his hand over his wet hair with a weary, listless gesture.
“What has happened?” she asked under her breath.
He looked at her for a moment before he answered, then he smiled--a
terrible smile.
“Esmeralda and I have parted!” he said. “No; don’t ask any
question! Let that suffice. We have parted! Go back to the house.”
“But-- Trafford!” she panted.
“Go!” he said, harshly. “Leave me alone. I can not bear to speak to
any one. I will go into the house by the back way. Tell no one that
you have seen me; say nothing. I can rely upon your silence?”
“You can always rely upon me, Trafford,” she said; “always!”
She would have clasped his arms with both her hands, but he pushed
her from him almost roughly.
“Whatever you may know, whatever you may guess--say nothing, now
nor in the future.”
“I will obey you in everything, Trafford,” she said.
Then she turned and left him.
He walked slowly through the spinny to the small door in the north
of the house. It opened on to a hall from which there was a passage
to his own rooms, and he gained them without being seen.
His man had gone down with some clothes to air, and Trafford
undressed and had a bath. His head felt heavy, his limbs stiff from
lying on the wet ground and in the cold morning air, but his brain
cleared after the bath, and he was able to realize the grim fact
that he had parted from Esmeralda forever.
He would go up to London by the midday train, give instructions
to the lawyers to transfer back to Esmeralda the money Belfayre
had received at his marriage, and then he would leave England as
quickly as possible, and--forever.
His valet noticed that he looked white and ill, and he decided
that he would not tell him about the telegram and Lord Norman’s
departure until after he had had his breakfast, for the man was
fond of his master, and considerate.
Trafford went down-stairs. As he descended, he thought of Norman:
he had to deal with him before he left. In the hall stood Lady Ada.
She looked at him, and her lips moved, but she said nothing; and he
stood a little away from her, his eyes fixed upon something above
her head, as if he scarcely saw her.
“I want Norman,” he said.
“Norman!” she repeated, dully.
“Yes,” he said, with a touch of impatience. “Is he down yet?”
She trembled; she was face to face with a terrible situation.
“Norman has--has gone!” she faltered.
He moved slightly and his teeth set.
“Gone? When?”
“An hour ago,” she said. “He caught the morning train.”
“Why?”
“I--I do not know,” she replied.
The lie was badly delivered, but he did not notice her momentary
hesitation and confusion. He took a step toward the stairs, a
hideous thought, suspicion, dread, flashing across his mind.
“Esmeralda!” he said under his breath.
She understood.
“I will go and see,” she said.
He put out his hand, as if to stop her, then went up the stairs
and knocked at Esmeralda’s door. It was opened, but by Barker. She
looked rather troubled and uneasy.
“The marchioness? I wish to see her.”
Barker’s uneasiness increased.
“My lady is not here, my lord,” she said.
Trafford put his hand up against the side of the door, as if to
grasp at something.
“Not!”
“No, my lord,” said Barker, looking at him questioningly and
beginning to tremble. “When I came in this morning her ladyship was
not here. She must have dressed by herself and gone out; she has
taken one of her traveling-dresses.”
As she spoke, she glanced toward the inner bedroom. His eyes
followed hers, and he saw that the bed had not been slept in. A
crimson light seemed to flash across his eyes, and then for a
moment he became blind. He stood looking with sightless eyes at the
bed; then, without a word, he turned and walked away with uncertain
steps like a drunken man.
As he reached the duke’s door it opened quickly, and the duke’s
valet rushed out with a cry of horror.
“Oh! my lord, my lord!” he gasped, and turned back into the room
wringing his hands.
Trafford followed him and stood beside the bed. One glance told him
what had happened. His father was dead.
The old man had passed away into the land of Peace and Rest; had
passed away with Esmeralda’s tear still glittering upon his face,
with the smile which her kiss had awakened still lingering on his
lips.
Esmeralda was the Duchess of Belfayre!