Nothing but Death Shall Break the Tie.
Sir William went directly back to New York, fired with something of hope
by Doctor Thornton's suggestions He determined to search the passenger
lists of the different steamer lines, hoping to find Virgie's name among
them.
He half believed that, armed with the strong proofs she had secured to
substantiate the legality of her marriage, she would go directly to
England to assert her position there as his wife.
He realized that underneath her habitual quiet and sweetness there lay a
dignity and strength of character that would stop at nothing legitimate to
remove the stigma she believed was resting on her fair name.
But while he gave her ample credit for resolution and energy, he did not
make allowance for the sensitive pride which had been crushed to the earth
by the cruel blow which had been dealt her. He did not stop to consider
that it would never allow her to force herself upon him as an unloved and
rejected wife when she believed a more fortunate rival stood in her way.
But he found nothing in any of the booking offices of the different
steamers to tell him that Virgie had sailed, or was intending to sail,
even though he haunted them daily for three or four weeks.
Almost discouraged at the end of that time, he cabled to his sister the
following message:
"I have missed my wife—perhaps crossed her path.
If she arrives at Heathdale, let me know at once."
Lady Linton was somewhat startled upon receiving this message, for it told
her that her brother had some reason for thinking that Virgie might be on
her way to Heathdale, and, remembering Mrs. Farnum's account of her
threats to claim her position, she began to fear that she had underrated
the girl's spirit, and that she might make her appearance at any moment
and demand to be received as the mistress of the house.
This, of course, would make matters rather complicated and awkward; but,
as long as her brother was not at home, she trusted to her own craft to
deal with her and make her only too glad to give Heathdale a wide berth
should she show herself there.
After cabling, Sir William went again to the Pacific coast, in the hope of
finding Chi Lu. He spent several weeks in San Francisco, thinking perhaps
those he sought might hope to lose themselves there among the multitude.
He thought right for once, had he but known it, and had he possessed a
little more patience, been a trifle less restless and feverish in his
search, he might have succeeded in his quest.
But he was so wretched; so worn and discouraged with his constant and
fruitless seeking, that he could not remain in one place long at a time,
and so wandered here and there, until, months having elapsed, he had been
in nearly every State in the Union, reaping only disappointment and
anguish of spirit.
Then there came again a summons for him to go home—his mother had been
stricken with another shock, and, with a heavy heart, a feeling as if all
the world were against him and his whole life ruined, he went back to his
desolate home and the sick one there.
Lady Heath only lived a few days after the second return of her son. He
reached Heathdale just in season to see the sands of her life run out and
to close her eyes in their last long sleep; then they laid her in the
family vault, and Sir William felt as if he had nothing now to bind him to
his home.
"I cannot stay here—I must go away again he said one day, in despair, to
his sister, and her heart sank at his words.
"Well, I hope you are not going to America again, whatever you do," she
remarked, with some unpatience.
"If going to America would result in finding my wife, I would go a
thousand times over," Sir William responded, sternly, and then added, with
a note of agony in his voice: "Oh, where can my darling have hidden
herself? Miriam," turning suddenly upon his sister, "can you suggest any
reason for this terrible misunderstanding?—who could have intercepted all
of our letters?—who could have conspired, for it seems like a conspiracy,
to separate us?"
For a moment Lady Linton turned faint and sick with the fear that he had
discovered something to arouse his suspicions against her; but second
thought told her that such could not be the case.
"What could I suggest?" she demanded, assuming an expression of surprise.
"You forget that I know nothing of this woman who lured your heart from
us, save what I have been told. She may have had a rustic lover who is
seeking his revenge by trying to separate you—a lover who has poisoned
her mind against you, and perhaps won her allegiance back to himself."
"What utter nonsense you are talking, Miriam!" the baronet interrupted,
indignantly. "How little you appreciate the refinement of the girl whom I
have married! True, you have never seen her; but one look at the face that
I have shown you ought to have told you that she could have been won by no
rustic."
Lady Linton shrugged her shoulders expressively.
"As for your letters," she said, flashing a swift, keen glance at him, "if
you think they have been tampered with on this side of the Atlantic, I
advise you to question Robert, since he has the exclusive charge of your
mail-bag."
"Robert, indeed! I would as soon question my own honesty as his; besides,
no one has a key to it but myself," Sir William asserted, confidently.
Lady Linton breathed freely now, for it was evident that he had no
suspicion of her.
"True; and Robert has been faithful too many years to be lightly
suspected," she remarked, appreciatively.
"But this suspense is insupportable! It is killing me!" cried her brother,
rising, and excitedly pacing the floor.
"No doubt it is trying," his sister replied, coldly.
"Trying!" he repeated, bitterly; "you are very sympathetic, Miriam; you
are as cold as ice."
"Well, William, you know well enough that I never approved of your
marriage. It was a great blow to both mamma and me that you should marry
so out of your element; and therefore you cannot expect me to be so
heart-broken over the mysterious disappearance of your wife as I might
have been if you married—Sadie, for instance."
"I wish you wouldn't throw Sadie Farnum at me upon every occasion; I never
had any intention of marrying her," retorted Sir William, with an angry
flush.
"More is the pity; I could have loved her dearly as a sister," responded
Lady Linton, in an injured tone. "But," she added, after a thoughtful
pause, "it seems you were mistaken in thinking that your wife was
collecting proofs of her marriage with the intention of coming here to
claim her position. If that had been her plan, doubtless she would have
been here long ago."
"Yes—oh! I cannot understand it; but, if I ever discover <i>who</i> has been
at the bottom of this mischief, it will be a sad day for that individual!"
cried the' baronet, with stern emphasis.
Lady Linton suddenly stooped to brush a thread from her black dress, and
when she sat upright again there was considerable more color than usual in
her face.
"I am troubled to see you so unhappy, William," she said, more kindly than
she had yet spoken, "and perhaps, after all, a change will be the best
thing for you. What are your plans?"
"I have none. I simply wish to get away from myself, if that is possible;
to steep my troubled thoughts in some excitement. I believe I will go to
the Far East—Egypt, Palestine—anywhere to escape this feeling of utter
desolation," he answered, dejectedly.
"When will you go?"
"At once—before the week is out, if I can arrange to do so."
"Have you any special commands for me to attend to during your absence?"
"None, save that you are to remain here as usual, if you like, and in case
any word comes from my loved ones, send for me at once."
"Very well. Have you any idea how long you will be away?"
"No. I may not be gone a month; I may stay ten years; it will depend upon
how well I can kill time," returned Sir William, moodily.
"Oh, William, I wish you would try and rise above this trouble," said his
sister, out of all patience with him at heart, but speaking in a soothing
tone. "I do not like to pain you, but, truly, it looks to me as if your
wife had been guilty of willful desertion in thus hiding herself from you,
and I believe there would be a great deal of happiness yet for you if you
could be freed from her entirely, and then bring some good, gentle woman
here to make your home pleasant for you."
It was the first time that she had ever been able to gather courage
sufficient to make this proposition; but she was wholly unprepared for the
storm of wrath which the suggestion brought upon her head.
Sir William came and stood, tall and stern, before her, his face almost
convulsed with mingled pain and wrath, his eyes blazing dangerously:
"Miriam Linton," he began, in a suppressed tone, "never dare to open your
lips on such a subject to me again. I married my darling for better or
worse, until death should part us, and only my death or hers will ever
break the tie—at least with my consent—that binds us."
He turned abruptly and left the room as he ceased speaking, more angry
with her than he had ever been before.
Lady Linton was thoroughly startled by what he had said, and she knew she
would never dare suggest such a measure again to him; but she still had a
secret hope, from what Mrs. Farnum had written her, that the injured wife
would seek a legal separation from him.
She imagined that this might be the reason of Virgie keeping so quiet just
at present, and she was all the more willing and glad to have her brother
go away from home, as he proposed doing, because she knew that he would
have to be notified whenever any such proceedings should be instituted,
and she feared if he were there to receive them he would at once post off
to America again, and upset all her plans by bringing about a
reconcilation at the last moment.
So in less than a week Sir William left England for, Egypt and the Holy
Land, and Lady Linton experienced a feeling of intense relief at his
departure. Time, she reasoned, was a great healer, and she hoped much from
this season of travel and change.
It was rather lonely for her at Heathdale during the winter, but she was
grateful to be released from the anxiety she had suffered on his account
for the last year.
Spring came, summer passed; a year had come and gone since the
disappearance of her brother's young wife, when one day there came an
official-looking document addressed to the baronet, and bearing the
California postmark.
Lady Linton quivered in every nerve as she saw it, for her heart told her
instantly what it contained.
Still, she could not be satisfied until she knew beyond a doubt, and she
skillfully opened it for examination before forwarding it to her brother.
It was even as she had hoped.
Virgie had kept her word; she was about to repudiate her husband for his
supposed faithlessness to her, and Lady Linton's lips curled in a smile of
exultation as she read the paper notifying her brother that proceedings
for a divorce were about to be instituted in the courts of San Francisco
by Lady Virginia Heath against Sir William Heath, of Heathsdale, England.
"Everything is working beautifully," she murmured, triumphantly; "his pride
will never let him seek her after this takes effect; it will be conclusive
evidence to him that she, at least, desires to have the tie that binds
them broken. Let me see! he is notified to appear on the ninth of next
month—in a little more than four weeks. Ha, ha! he was in Alexandria when
he last wrote, and this could not possibly reach him in season to admit of
his obeying the summons in time. Matters will have reached a crisis before
he gets it—the <i>injured and beautiful little savage</i> will have secured
her divorce, and my brother will be free, long before he will know what
has been done. However, I will do my duty, and forward it to him
instantly."
With a lighter heart than she had known for months, the crafty woman
carefully resealed the document in a way to defy suspicion that it had
been tampered with, inclosed it in another envelope, directed and marked
it "important," and dispatched it by the very next mail to her brother.
Three months passed and she had heard nothing from him. She began to feel
anxious as to how he had received the news of what Virgie was doing, when
there came another similar-looking document, bearing the same postmark as
before.
"The deed is done!" she cried, joyfully, the moment her eyes rested upon
it. "I do not even need to open this to be assured of the nature of its
contents."
She was filled with triumph over the success of all her plans thus far,
and yet she could not forget Virgie's threat that a day of retribution
would surely overtake their proud family.
But she determined not to worry, for the child might not live long enough
for her to carry her threat into execution. Virgie, herself, might die,
and a hundred other things might happen to prevent.
Her brother might never consent to marry again—she feared he would
not—and poor Sadie Farnum's reviving hopes would again be crushed; but,
if he did, she felt very sure that her son, Percy—and a noble young
fellow he was, too—would be very likely to inherit Heathdale, while
Lillian would doubtless receive a handsome dowry when she came to marry.
"I do not believe I will send this to William," she muttered, as she
turned that precious document over and over in her hands, and feasted her
eyes upon it. "I will at least wait until I hear something from him
regarding the other; these priceless papers might be lost on the way, and
then——"
Her musings were suddenly cut short by a violent ring at the hall bell.
She started, and sat erect to listen, her face growing pale and anxious,
for there seemed to be something ominous in that vigorous jangle which
went echoing through the house with such an imperious sound.
The night was raw and stormy; darkness had settled down over the country
earlier than usual; there had been a disagreeable chill in the air all
day, and a dismal sense of loneliness pervaded the mansion.
She heard the butler go to the door; then there was a sudden exclamation
of surprise, followed by a few indistinct sentences, a step, strangely
familiar, outside the library door, and the next moment Sir William,
gaunt, haggard, and wretched, staggered into the room where his sister was
sitting.