THE AMERICAN EXPEDITION.
About three years had passed away since Zillah had first come to
Chetwynde, and the life which she had lived there had gradually come
to be grateful and pleasant and happy. Mr. Hilaire was attentive to
his duty and devoted to his pupil, and Zillah applied herself
assiduously to her music and drawing. At the end of a year Mr.
Hilaire waited upon the Earl with a request to withdraw, as he wanted
to go to the Continent. He informed the Earl, however, that Mr.
Gualtier was coming back, and would like to get his old situation, if
possible. The Earl consented to take back the old teacher; and so, in
a few months more, after an absence of about a year and a half,
Gualtier resumed his duties at Chetwynde Castle, _vice_ Mr. Hilaire,
resigned.
On his first visit after his return Hilda's face expressed an
eagerness of curiosity which even her fine self-control could not
conceal. No one noticed it, however, but Gualtier, and he looked at
her with an earnest expression that might mean any thing or nothing.
It might tell of success or failure; and so Hilda was left to
conjecture. There was no chance of a quiet conversation, and she had
either to wait as before, perhaps for months, until she could see him
alone, or else throw away her scruples and arrange a meeting. Hilda
was not long in coming to a conclusion. On Gualtier's second visit
she slipped a piece of paper into his hand, on which he read, after
he had left, the following:
"_I will be in the West Avenue, near the Lake, this afternoon at
three o'clock._"
That afternoon she made some excuse and went out, as she said to
Zillah, for a walk through the Park. As this was a frequent thing
with her, it excited no comment. The West Avenue led from the door
through the Park, and finally, after a long detour, ended at the main
gate. At its farthest point there was a lake, surrounded by a dense
growth of Scotch larch-trees, which formed a very good place for such
a tryst--although, for that matter, in so quiet a place as Chetwynde
Park, they might have met on the main avenue without any fear of
being noticed. Here, then, at three o'clock, Hilda went, and on
reaching the spot found Gualtier waiting for her.
She walked under the shadow of the trees before she said a word.
"You are punctual," said she at last.
"I have been here ever since noon."
"You did not go out, then?"
"No, I staid here for you."
His tone expressed the deepest devotion, and his eyes, as they rested
on her for a moment, had the same expression.
Hilda looked at him benignantly and encouragingly.
"You have been gone long, and I dare say you have been gone far," she
said. "It is this which I want to hear about. Have you found out any
thing, and what have you found out?"
"Yes, I have been gone long," said Gualtier, "and have been far away;
but all the time I have done nothing else than seek after what you
wish to know. Whether I have discovered any thing of any value will
be for you to judge. I can only tell you of the result. At any rate
you will see that I have not spared myself for your sake."
"What have you done?" asked Hilda, who saw that Gualtier's devotion
was irrepressible, and would find vent in words if she did not
restrain him. "I am eager to hear."
Gualtier dropped his eyes, and began to speak in a cool business
tone.
"I will tell you every thing, then, Miss Krieff," said he, "from the
beginning. When I left here I went first to London, for the sake of
making inquiries about the elopement. I hunted up all whom I could
find whose memories embraced the last twenty years, so as to see if
they could throw any light on this mystery. One or two had some faint
recollection of the affair, but nothing of any consequence. At length
I found out an old sporting character who promised at first to be
what I wished. He remembered Lady Chetwynde, described her beauty,
and said that she was left to herself very much by her husband. He
remembered well the excitement that was caused by her flight. He
remembered the name of the man with whom she had fled. It was
_Redfield Lyttoun_."
"_Redfield Lyttoun_!" repeated Hilda, with a peculiar expression.
"Yes; but he said that, for his part, he had good reason for
believing that it was an assumed name. The man who bore the name had
figured for a time in sporting circles, but after this event it was
generally stated that it was not his true name. I asked whether any
one knew his true name. He said some people had stated it, but he
could not tell. I asked what was the name. He said Pomeroy."
As Gualtier said this he raised his eyes, and those small gray orbs
seemed to burn and flash with triumph as they encountered the gaze of
Hilda. She said not a word, but held out her hand. Gualtier
tremblingly took it, and pressed it to his thin lips.
"This was all that I could discover. It was vague; it was only
partially satisfactory; but it was all. I soon perceived that it was
only a waste of time to stay in London; and after thinking of many
plans, I finally determined to visit the family of Lady Chetwynde
herself. Of course such an undertaking had to be carried out very
cautiously. I found out where the family lived, and went there. On
arriving I went to the Hall, and offered myself as music-teacher. It
was in an out-of-the-way place, and Sir Henry Furlong, Lady
Chetwynde's brother, happened to have two or three daughters who were
studying under a governess. When I showed him a certificate which the
Earl here was kind enough to give me, he was very much impressed by
it. He asked me all about the Earl and Chetwynde, and appeared to be
delighted to hear about these things. My stars were certainly lucky.
He engaged me at once, and so I had constant access to the place.
[Illustration: "'You Are Punctual, Said She At Last.'"]
"I had to work cautiously, of course. My idea was to get hold of some
of the domestics. There was an old fellow there, a kind of butler,
whom I propitiated, and gradually drew into conversations about the
family. My footing in the house inspired confidence in him, and he
gradually became communicative. He was an old gossip, in his dotage,
and he knew all about the family, and remembered when Lady Chetwynde
was born. He at first avoided any allusion to her, but I told him
long stories about the Earl, and won upon his sympathies so that he
told me at last all that the family knew about Lady Chetwynde.
"His story was this: Lord Chetwynde was busy in politics, and left
his wife very much to herself. A coolness had sprung up between them,
which increased every day. Lady Chetwynde was vain, and giddy, and
weak. The Redfield Lyttoun of whom I had heard in London was much at
her house, though her husband knew nothing about it. People were
talking about them every where, and he only was in the dark. At last
they ran away. It was known that they had fled to America. That is
the last that was ever heard of her. She vanished out of sight, and
her paramour also. Not one word has ever been heard about either of
them since. From which I conjecture that Redfield Lyttoun, when he
had become tired of his victim, threw her off, and came back to
resume his proper name, to lead a life of honor, and to die in the
odor of sanctity. What do you think of my idea?"
"It seems just," said Hilda, thoughtfully.
"In the three months which I spent there I found out all that the
family could tell; but still I was far enough away from the object of
my search. I only had conjectures, I wanted certainty. I thought it
all over; and, at length, saw that the only thing left to do was to
go to America, and try to get upon their tracks. It was a desperate
undertaking; America changes so that traces of fugitives are very
quickly obliterated; and who could detect or discover any after a
lapse of nearly twenty years? Still, I determined to go. There seemed
to be a slight chance that I might find this Obed Chute, who figures
in the correspondence. There was also a chance of tracing Lady
Chetwynde among the records of the Sisters of Charity. Besides, there
was the chapter of accidents, in which unexpected things often turn
up. So I went to America. My first search was after Obed Chute. To my
amazement, I found him at once. He is one of the foremost bankers of
New York, and is well known all over the city. I waited on him
without delay. I had documents and certificates which I presented to
him. Among others, I had written out a very good letter from Sir
Henry Furlong, commissioning me to find out about his beloved sister,
and another from General Pomeroy, to the effect that I was his
friend--"
"That was forgery," interrupted Hilda, sharply.
Gualtier bowed with a deprecatory air, and hung his head in deep
abasement.
"Go on," said she.
"You are too harsh," said he, in a pleading voice. "It was all for
your sake--"
"Go on," she repeated.
"Well, with these I went to see Obed Chute. He was a tall,
broad-shouldered, square-headed man, with iron-gray hair, and a
face--well, it was one of those faces that make you feel that the
owner can do any thing he chooses. On entering his private office I
introduced myself, and began a long explanation. He interrupted me by
shaking hands with me vehemently, and pushing me into a chair. I sat
down, and went on with my explanation. I told him that I had come out
as representative of the Furlong family, and the friend of General
Pomeroy, now dead. I told him that there were several things which I
wished to find out. First, to trace Lady Chetwynde, and find out what
had become of her, and bring her back to her friends, if she were
alive; secondly, to clear up certain charges relative to a forgery;
and, finally, to find out about the fate of Redfield Lyttoun.
"Mr. Obed Chute at first was civil enough, after his rough way; but,
as I spoke, he looked at me earnestly, eying me from head to foot
with sharp scrutiny. He did not seem to believe my story.
"'Well,' said he, when I had ended, 'is that all?'
"'Yes,' said I.
"'So you want to find out about Lady Chetwynde, and the forgery, and
Redfield Lyttoun?'
"'Yes.'
"'And General Pomeroy told you to apply to me?'
"'Yes. On his dying bed,' said I, solemnly, 'his last words were: "Go
to Obed Chute, and tell him to explain all."'
"'To explain all!' repeated Obed Chute.
"'Yes,' said I. '"The confession," said the General, "can not be made
by me. He must make it."'
"'The confession!' he repeated.
"'Yes. And I suppose that you will not be unwilling to grant a dying
man's request.'
"Obed Chute said nothing for some time, but sat staring at me,
evidently engaged in profound thought. At any rate, he saw through
and through me.
"'Young man,' said he at last, 'where are you lodging?'
"'At the Astor House,' said I, in some surprise. "'Well, then, go
back to the Astor House, pack up your trunk, pay your bill, take your
fare in the first steamer, and go right straight back home. When you
get there, give my compliments' to Sir Henry Furlong, and tell him if
he wants his sister he had better hunt her up himself. As to that
affecting message which you have brought from General Pomeroy, I can
only say, that, as he evidently did not explain this business to you,
I certainly will not. I was only his agent. Finally, if you want to
find Redfield Lyttoun, you may march straight out of that door, and
look about you till you find him.'
"Saying this, he rose, opened the door, and, with a savage frown,
which forbade remonstrance, motioned me out.
"I went out. There was evidently no hope of doing any thing with Obed
Chute."
"Then you failed," said Hilda, in deep disappointment.
"Failed? No. Do you not see how the reticence of this Obed Chute
confirms all our suspicions? But wait till you hear all, and I will
tell you my conclusions. You will then see whether I have discovered
any thing definite or not.
"I confess I was much discouraged at first at my reception by Obed
Chute. I expected every thing from this interview, and his brutality
baffled me. I did not venture back there again, of course. I thought
of trying other things, and went diligently around among the convents
and religious orders, to see if I could find out any thing about the
fate of Lady Chetwynde. My letters of introduction from Sir H.
Furlong and from Lord Chetwynde led these simple-minded people to
receive me with confidence. They readily seconded my efforts, and
opened their records to me. For some time my search was in vain; but,
at last, I found what I wanted. One of the societies of the Sisters
of Charity had the name of Sister Ursula, who joined them in the year
1840. She was Lady Chetwynde. She lived with them eight years, and
then disappeared. Why she had left, or where she had gone, was
equally unknown. She had disappeared, and that was the end of her.
After this I came home."
[Illustration: "With A Savage Frown He Motioned Me Out."]
"And you have found out nothing more?" said Hilda, in deep
disappointment.
"Nothing," said Gualtier, dejectedly; "but are you not hasty in
despising what I have found out? Is not this something?"
"I do not know that you have discovered anything but what I knew
before," said Hilda, coldly. "You have made some conjectures--that is
all."
"Conjectures!--no, conclusions from additional facts," said Gualtier,
eagerly. "What we suspected is now, at least, more certain. The very
brutality of that beast, Obed Chute, proves this. Let me tell you the
conclusions that I draw from this:
"First, General Pomeroy, under an assumed name, that of Redfield
Lyttoun, gained Lady Chetwynde's love, and ran away with her to
America.
"Secondly, he forged a hundred thousand dollars, which forgery he
hushed up through this Obed Chute, paying him, no doubt, a large sum
for hush-money.
"Thirdly, he deserted Lady Chetwynde when he was tired of her, and
left her in the hands of Obed Chute. She was ill, and finally, on her
recovery, joined the Sisters of Charity.
"Fourthly, after eight years she ran away--perhaps to fall into evil
courses and die in infamy.
"And lastly, all this must be true, or else Obed Chute would not have
been so close, and would not have fired up so at the very suggestion
of an explanation. If it were not true, why should he not explain?
But if it be true, then there is every reason why he should not
explain."
A long silence followed. Hilda was evidently deeply disappointed.
From what Gualtier had said at the beginning of the interview, she
had expected to hear something more definite. It seemed to her as
though all his trouble had resulted in nothing. Still, she was not
one to give way to disappointment, and she had too much good sense to
show herself either ungrateful or ungracious.
"Your conclusions are, no doubt, correct," said she at last, in a
pleasanter tone than she had yet assumed; "but they are only
inferences, and can not be made use of--in the practical way in which
I hoped they would be. We are still in the attitude of inquirers, you
see. The secret which we hold is of such a character that we have to
keep it to ourselves until it be confirmed."
Gualtier's face lighted up with pleasure as Hilda thus identified him
with herself, and classed him with her as the sharer of the secret.
"Any thing," said he, eagerly--"any thing that I can do, I will do. I
hope you know that you have only to say the word--"
Hilda waved her hand.
"I trust you," said she. "The time will come when you will have
something to do. But just now I must wait, and attend upon
circumstances. There are many things in my mind which I will not tell
you--that is to say, not yet. But when the time comes, I promise to
tell you. You may be interested in my plans--or you may not. I will
suppose that you are."
"Can you doubt it, Miss Krieff?"
"No, I do not doubt it, and I promise you my confidence when any
thing further arises."
"Can I be of no assistance now--in advising, or in counseling?" asked
Gualtier, in a hesitating voice.
"No--whatever half-formed plans I may have relate to people and to
things which are altogether outside of your sphere, and so you could
do nothing in the way of counseling or advising."
"At least, tell me this much--must I look upon all my labor as wasted
utterly? Will you at least accept it, even if it is useless, as an
offering to you?"
Gualtier's pale sallow face grew paler and more sallow as he asked
this; his small gray eyes twinkled with a feverish light as he turned
them anxiously upon Hilda. Hilda, for her part, regarded him with her
usual calmness.
"Accept it?" said she. "Certainly, right gladly and gratefully. My
friend, if I was disappointed at the result, do not suppose that I
fail to appreciate the labor. You have shown rare perseverance and
great acuteness. The next time you will succeed."
This approval of his labors, slight as it was, and spoken as it was,
with the air of a queen, was eagerly and thankfully accepted by
Gualtier. He hungered after her approval, and in his hunger he was
delighted even with crumbs.