CUTTING THE LAST TIE.
Fearful that her courage might fail if she gave herself any more time
to reflect on what she was doing, Zillah announced to the household,
before the close of that day, that the shock of Lord Chetwynde's
death rendered a change necessary for her, and that she should leave
home as soon as she could conveniently do so. She also told them of
their master's expected return, and that every thing must be in
readiness for his reception, so that, on her return, she might have
no trouble before her. She gave some faint hints that she might
probably meet him at London, in order to disarm suspicion, and also
to make it easier for Chetwynde himself to conceal the fact of her
flight, if he wished to do so. She never ceased to be thoughtful
about protecting his honor, as far as possible. The few days before
Zillah's departure were among the most wretched she had ever known.
The home which she so dearly loved, and which she had thought was to
be hers forever, had to be left, because she felt that she was not
wanted there. She went about the grounds, visited every favorite
haunt and nook--the spots endeared to her by the remembrance of many
happy hours passed among them--and her tears flowed fast and bitterly
as she thought that she was now seeing them for the last time. The
whole of the last day at Chetwynde she passed in the little church,
under which every Molyneux had been buried for centuries back. It was
full of their marble effigies. Often had she watched the sunlight
flickering over their pale sculptured faces. One of these forms had
been her especial delight; for she could trace in his features a
strong family resemblance to Lord Chetwynde. This one's name was Guy.
Formerly she used to see a likeness between him and the Guy who was
now alive. He had died in the Holy Land; but his bones had been
brought home, that they might rest in the family vault. She had been
fond of weaving romances as to his probable history and fate; but no
thought of him was in her mind to-day, as she wept over the
resting-place of one who had filled a father's place to her, or as
she knelt and prayed in her desolation to Him who has promised to be
a father to the fatherless. Earnestly did she entreat that His
presence might be with her, His providence direct her lonely way.
Poor child! In the wild impulsiveness of her nature she thought that
the sacrifice which she was making of herself and her hopes must be
acceptable to Him, and pleasing in His sight. She did not know that
she was merely following her own will, and turning her back upon the
path of duty. That duty lay in simple acceptance of the fate which
seemed ordained for her, whether for good or evil. Happy marriages
were never promised by Him; and, in flying from one which seemed to
promise unhappiness, she forgot that "obedience is better than
sacrifice," even though the sacrifice be that of one's self.
Twilight was fast closing in before she reached the castle, exhausted
from the violence of her emotion, and faint and weak from her long
fasting. Hilda expressed alarm at her protracted absence, and said
that she was just about going in search of her. "My darling," said
she, "you will wear away your strength. You are too weak now to
leave. Let me urge you, for the last time, to stay; give up your mad
resolution."
"No," said Zillah. "You know you yourself said that I was right."
"I did not say that you were right, darling. I said what I would do
in your place; but I did not at all say, or even hint, that it would
be right."
"Never mind," said Zillah, wearily; "I have nerved myself to go
through with it, and I can do it. The worst bitterness is over now.
There is but one thing more for me to do, and then the ties between
me and Chetwynde are severed forever."
At Hilda's earnest entreaty she took some refreshment, and then lay
down to rest; but, feeling too excited to sleep, she got up to
accomplish the task she had before her. This was to write a letter to
her husband, telling him of her departure, and her reason for doing
so. She wished to do this in as few words as possible, to show no
signs of bitterness toward him, or of her own suffering. So she wrote
as follows:
"CHETWYNDE CASTLE, March 20, 1859."
My LORD,--Your last letter did not reach Chetwynde Castle until after
your dear father had been taken from us. It was therefore opened and
read by me. I need not describe what my feelings were on reading it;
but will only say, that if it were possible for me to free you from
the galling chains that bind you to me, I would gladly do so. But,
though it be impossible for me to render you free to marry her whom
you love, I can at least rid you of my hated presence. I can not die;
but I can be as good as dead to you. To-morrow I shall leave
Chetwynde forever, and you will never see my face again. Search for
me, were you inclined to make it, will lie useless. I shall probably
depart from England, and leave no trace of my whereabouts. I shall
live under an assumed name, so as not to let the noble name of
Chetwynde suffer any dishonor from _me_. If I _die_, I will take care
to have the news sent to you.
"Do not think that I blame you. A man's love is not under his own
control. Had I remained, I know that as your wife, I should have
experienced the utmost kindness and consideration. Such kindness,
however, to a nature like mine would have been only galling.
Something more than cold civility is necessary in order to render
endurable the daily intercourse of husband and wife. Therefore I do
not choose to subject myself to such a life.
"In this, the last communication between us, I must say to you what I
intended to reserve until I could say it in person. It needed but a
few weeks' intimate association with your dear father, whom I loved
as my father, and whom I called by that name, to prove how utterly I
had been mistaken as to the motives and circumstances that led to our
marriage. I had his full and free forgiveness for having doubted him;
and I now, as a woman, beg to apologize to you for all that I might
have said as a passionate girl.
"Let me also assure you, my lord, of my deep sympathy for you in the
trial which awaits you on your return, when you will find Chetwynde
Castle deprived of the presence of that father whom you love. I feel
for you and with you. My loss is only second to yours; for, in your
father, I lost the only friend whom I possessed.
"Yours, very respectfully,
"ZILLAH."
Hilda of course had to copy this, for the objection to Zillah's
writing was as strong as before, and an explanation was now more
difficult to make than ever. Zillah, however, read it in Hilda's
handwriting, and then Hilda took it, as she always did to inclose it
for the mail.
She took it to her own room, drew from her desk a letter which was
addressed to Guy, and this was the one which she posted. Zillah's
letter was carefully destroyed. Yet Zillah went with Hilda to the
post-office, so anxious was she about her last letter, and saw it
dropped in the box, as she supposed.
Then she felt that she had cut the last tie.