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 clue to this change of feeling is to be found in a word she let
drop in talking to another servant. "Sly 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 Bolton, Sir George would have been their
near neighbour; 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 ere long 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 farther, 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.