"TRUE UNTIL DEATH."
For some long months that case stood on the records. Every paper in
England had some mention of it; as a rule people laughed when they read
anything about it. They said it was a case of Corydon and Phyllis, a
dairy-maid's love, a farce, a piece of romantic nonsense on the part of
a young nobleman who ought to know better. It created no sensation; the
papers did not make much of it; they simply reported a petition on the
part of the Right Honorable the Earl of Lanswell and Lucia, his wife,
that the so-called marriage contracted by their son, Lancelot, Lord
Chandos, should be set aside as illegal, on account of his being a
minor, and having married without their consent.
There was a long hearing, a long consideration, a long lawsuit; and it
was, as every one had foreseen it would be, in favor of the earl against
his son. The marriage was declared null and void--the contract illegal;
there could be no legal marriage on Lord Chandos' side without the full
and perfect consent of his parents.
When that decision was given, Lady Lanswell smiled. Mr. Sewell
congratulated her on it. My lady smiled again.
"I may thank the law," she said, "which frees my son from the
consequences of his own folly."
"Remember," said the lawyer, "that he can marry her, my lady, when he
comes of age."
"I know perfectly well that he will not," replied the countess; but Mr.
Sewell did not feel so sure.
The earl, the countess, and the solicitor sat together at Dunmore House,
in solemn consultation; they were quite uncertain what should be the
next step taken. Due legal notice had been given Lord Chandos; he had
simply torn the paper into shreds and laughed at it--laughed at the idea
that any law, human or divine, could separate him from his young wife;
he took no notice of it; he never appeared in answer to any inquiry or
summons; he answered no questions; the lawyer into whose hands he had
half laughingly placed the whole matter had everything to do for him,
and wondered at the recklessness with which the young lord treated the
whole affair.
It was all over now; and the decree which had parted them, which severed
the tie between them, had gone forth--the marriage was void and worth
nothing.
The matrons of Belgravia who read it said it was perfectly right; there
was no doubt that he had been inveigled into it; and if such a thing
were allowed to go unpunished there would be no more safety for their
curled darlings; they would be at the mercy of any designing, underbred
girl who chose to angle for them.
Men of the world smiled as they read it, and thought Lord Chandos well
out of what might have been a very serious trouble. Young people thought
little about it; the Belgravian belles merely said one to another that
Lord Chandos had been in some kind of trouble, but that his parents had
extricated him. And then all comment ended; even the second day after
the judgment was given it had been forgotten.
When the Countess of Lanswell held in her hands the letter which told
her the desire of her heart was granted, and her son free, for a few
moments she was startled; her handsome face paled, her hands trembled;
it had been a desperate step, but she had won. She had the greatest
faith in her own resources; she felt a certain conviction that in the
end she would win; but for one moment she was half startled at her own
success.
"Let us send for Lance here to Cawdor," she said to the earl, "while Mr.
Sewell sees the girl and arranges with her. He must have _carte blanche_
over money matters; whatever he thinks fit to mention I shall agree to.
If a thousand a year contents her, I am willing."
"Yes, yes--it is no question of money," said the earl. "It will be a
great trouble to her naturally, and we are bound to make what
compensation we can. If you wish me to send for Lance I will do so at
once. I will send a telegram from the station at Dunmore; he will be
here soon after noon."
There had been little or no communication between the young heir and his
parents since the lawsuit began. Once or twice Lord Chandos and the earl
had met; but the earl always refused to discuss matters with him.
"You must talk to my lady, my dear boy," he would reply; "you know that
she manages everything;" and Lord Chandos, fearing no evil, laughed at
what he considered an amiable weakness on his father's part.
"I love my wife," he said to himself, "but no woman should ever be so
completely mistress of me. I shall always keep my independence, even
though I love my wife perhaps better than any man living; but I will
never give up my independence."
He was somewhat startled that morning in September to find a telegram
waiting him at River View, from Cawdor, stating that Lord Lanswell
wished him to take the first train, as he had news of the utmost
importance to him. Lady Lanswell, who was a most complete woman of the
world, had warily contrived that a piece of real good fortune should at
the same time fall to his lot. She had great influence at court, and she
had used it to some purpose. There was a royal wedding on the Continent,
and he was one of the two English noblemen chosen as the representatives
of English royalty. There could be no refusal of such an honor, Lady
Lanswell knew that; and she, knowing that Lord Chandos would be
delighted over it, had used all her influence, hoping that it would
distract his attention from the decision given and from his wife. She
had arranged a little programme in her mind--how it should all be
managed; she would send a telegram summoning him to Cawdor; she would
first show him the letter of appointment, induce him to answer by
accepting it, then when the letter accepting the appointment had gone,
and he was committed beyond recall, she would tell him the judicial
decision over his marriage.
The telegram reached River View one morning when Lord Chandos and Leone
sat at a late breakfast-table, Leone looking like a radiant spring
morning, her beautiful face, with its exquisite coloring, and her dainty
dress of amber and white.
"A telegram," she said. "Oh, Lance, how I dread the sight of those
yellow envelopes; they always fill me with horror; they always seem to
be the harbinger of bad news."
He kissed the beautiful face before he opened the telegram.
"There is no very bad news here," he said. "I must go to Cawdor at once;
my father has some very important news for me."
Some instinct seemed to warn her of coming danger; she rose from her
seat and went over to him; she laid her tender arms round his neck; she
laid her beautiful face on his.
"It means harm to us, Lance," she said; "I am sure of it."
"Nonsense, my darling," he cried; "how can it be about us? Most likely
there is a general election, or some business of that kind coming on,
and he wants to see me about it."
Still the beautiful face grew paler, and the shadows deepened in the
dark eyes.
"Shall you go at once?" she asked.
Lord Chandos looked at his watch.
"The train starts at twelve," he said. "I must go in half an hour's
time, Leone."
"Half an hour," she said, and the tender hands clasped him more tightly,
"only half an hour, Lance?"
Some prophetic instinct seemed to come over her; the passionate love on
her beautiful face deepened into tragedy; yet he had never breathed one
word to her of what had taken place. She knew nothing of the lawsuit;
and Lord Chandos never intended her to know anything about it; but with
the chill of that autumn morning came a chill of doubt and fear such as
she had never known before.
"How long shall you be away?" she asked.
"Not one moment longer than I am compelled to stay," he replied. "If my
father really wants to see me on election affairs I may be absent two
days; trust me, Leone; the first moment I am free I shall return;" and
drawing her beautiful face down to his own the young husband kissed it
with passionate devotion, little dreaming of what lay before him.
"Only half an hour," said Leone. "Oh, Lance, let me spend it with you. I
will order your portmanteau to be packed; my dear, do not let me leave
you for one moment."
She drew a little stool and sat down at his feet.
Lord Chandos laughed.
"One would think we were lovers still."
She looked at him with that wonderful expression of face, so earnest, so
intent, so lofty.
"So we are," she said; "we will be lovers until we die; shall we not,
Lance?"
"I hope so; but we shall be unlike most married people, Leone, if we do
that," he replied.
"I will not believe you," she answered. "You laugh, sometimes, Lance, at
love; but I am sure if I were your wife for fifty years you would never
tire of me or love me less."
"I never wish to do so," he replied.
"You never will," said Leone, "my faith is as strong as my love, and you
have it all. I could rather believe now that the heavens would fall over
my head than you could ever for one moment forget me."
"I shall never forget you, sweet," he said; "this is the first time we
have ever been parted since we have been married; you must not be sad
and lonely, Leone."
"I shall spend all my time in thinking of your return," she said.
"Lance, it will comfort me all the time you are away; you will say some
of those beautiful words I love to hear."
He took both her white hands in his.
"My darling," he said, "I love you with all my heart, and I will be true
to you until death."
The sweetness of the words seemed to content her for a time; she laid
her face on his hands for some minutes in wistful silence.
"Leone," said the rich, cheerful voice of the young earl, "I have an
idea that I will bring you good news from home. My father would not have
sent for me unless he wanted me, and I shall make a bargain with him. If
he wants me to do anything, I shall consent only on condition that I
take you to Cawdor."
They talked of it for some minutes; then Leone rose and busied herself
for some time in helping him--her face was pale and her hands trembled.
When the moment came for him to say good-bye he held her in his arms.
"Once again," she whispered.
And he answered:
"My darling wife, I love you, and will be true to you until death."
And those were the last words that for some time she heard him speak.