The Tie Is Broken.
There was no lack of employment now for Virgie. She had plenty to occupy
heart, and brain, and hands, and of such a congenial nature that she
reaped great benefit from it both mentally and physically.
Of course nothing could ever blot out from her memory the terrible trouble
and suffering that she had had to endure, but her work brought its own
enjoyment so that she no longer spent such wretched days and nights as
formerly. Her baby was every day growing interesting and a source of great
comfort to her, while her life generally was tending to bring out the
latent qualities of her character, the energy and self-reliance, the skill
and talent which otherwise might never have developed into activity.
More than a year went by, while every month she was earning a handsome
sum, having been permanently engaged by Mr. Knight to keep him supplied
with those novelties which she was so skillful in originating.
Her "Gleanings from the Heights" proved a great success, selling faster
than the firm could issue them. Besides this she had been awarded the
first prize on the other souvenirs, so that, pecuniarily, she had nothing
to fear for the future.
And now she set about another undertaking which she had long contemplated;
that of obtaining a divorce from her husband.
She did not take this step because she had any desire to break the tie
that bound her to him, and she would never have moved in the matter at all
but for the fact that others had assailed her fair name and assumed that
her child was dishonored.
Her chief aim, in collecting the proofs of the legality of her marriage,
had been to secure to little Virgie the right to the name she bore, and an
indisputable title to her inheritance by and by when she should be of a
suitable age to claim and enjoy it.
She meant to give her every advantage as she grew older, and do everything
possible to fit her for a high position in life; and when, at length, she
should reach her majority, she would claim her rights and take care that
she secured them in spite of all opposition.
This was all the revenge that Virgie ever intended to take for the wrong
that she believed herself to have suffered at her husband's hands. She
would scorn to accept anything for herself, but the lawful position of her
daughter must and <i>should</i> be recognized.
Her residence of a year in San Francisco had given her the right to apply
to the court to have her marriage bonds annulled, and she put her case
into the hands of a competent lawyer, recommended by Mr. Knight, to whom
she had confided something of her history, and solicited his advice
regarding the matter.
He had advised her not to take any legal proceedings until she had tried
to confer with Sir William again.
"There is some mistake, I feel sure," he said, "some misunderstanding
which might be explained if proper measures were adopted."
"A mistake!" repeated Virgie, scornfully, her eyes blazing with
indignation. "I imagine that the only mistake about the whole matter is
that I allowed myself to become the dupe of an unprincipled man."
"It can at least do no harm to write him what your intentions are,"
suggested Mr. Knight, mildly.
"I wrote him letter after letter while I was in New York. Mrs. Farnum, of
whom I have told you, knew the whole family, and wrote of me to Lady
Linton, but they appeared to be in total ignorance of even my existence,
while Mrs. Farnum asserted that Sir William had been engaged for years to
Miss Stanhope, and I have already told you of his subsequent marriage with
her."
"Still I cannot comprehend how he should dare to commit such a wrong,"
persisted Mr. Knight. "He must have known that his marriage with you was
legal, according to the laws of the State in which it occurred, and the
mere fact of his leaving the country could not annul it. If he had assumed
a name while he was here, it would not seem so inexplicable, but all the
papers which you hold go to show that he married you under his own name
and title; while your description of the character of the man makes it
seem utterly impossible that he should be guilty of such conduct."
"True. When I think of that, I am heart-broken," said Virgie, breaking
down for a moment. "He seemed so true and noble in every respect, and he
was particular to have his title appear in the certificate, although he
did not adopt it while traveling because he found he was less conspicuous
as plain Mr. Heath."
"It almost seems to me as if some plot had been laid to separate you,"
said Mr. Knight, thoughtfully.
"Impossible! How could such a thing be?" queried Virgie, skeptically. "Who
would plot against us?"
"Your letters on both sides may have been intercepted by some enemy with
that end in view."
"He has no enemy that I am aware of; neither have I. I did not know a
single individual when I went to New York, so there was no one there who
would be likely to meddle with our correspondence. More than this, if he
did not hear from me, and was true to me, or had possessed an atom of
affection for his child, it is but natural to suppose that he would have
taken prompt measures to ascertain what the trouble was. No; the more I
dwell upon it, the more I am convinced that what he has done was a scheme
to secure my property, and then leave me to my fate. I can think of no
other object that he could have had."
Alas! Virgie realized long after how she had wronged a noble man with
these dreadful suspicions, and even while she was giving utterance to
them, her heart was heavy with a sense of injustice done the man whom,
even then, she loved most fondly.
Mr. Knight shook his head in a doubtful manner at her last words, and yet
he looked perplexed.
"You think I am too hard," Virgie continued, bitterly "but does not even
the provision which he made for me before leaving New York look as if he
did not intend to return to me?"
"You refer to the five thousand dollars which he deposited for you; it was
a very generous amount, truly."
Of course I could not begin to use such a sum in the few weeks that he
pretended he should be away; while the additional five hundred dollars
which he sent me through his sister goes to prove that he had no intention
of ever coming back to me, yet did not wish me to suffer for lack of
means."
"I do not like the aspect of that transaction at all," responded Mr.
Knight, emphatically. "It looks to me as if his sister had had more to do
with the matter than rightly belonged to her. Who knows but what she may
have been opposed to her brother's marriage and has been at the bottom of
all the trouble?" he concluded, reasoning with a shrewdness which he did
not realize.
But Virgie could not be convinced.
"I do not believe that," she said, with a sigh; "it looks to me as if he
was ashamed—conscience-smitten—and did not have the moral courage to
communicate with me himself."
Yet, even as she said it, she knew that such a course was utterly at
variance with his character, as she had known it.
"Well, Mrs. Alexander—or Mrs. Heath, I suppose I ought to call you—I
will not say more to dissuade you from your purpose; but let me advise
you, as a sincere friend, to go to England and ascertain for yourself just
how matters are, before you proceed any further."
Virgie started to her feet, with crimson cheeks and flashing eyes.
"Go to England!—to Heathdale! to find another woman queening it there in
<i>my</i> place!—to be brow-beaten and insulted by that proud family!—to be
disowned by the man who has already wronged me beyond all forgiveness!
Never, sir!"
"You could at least demand your own—the money that your father left you."
"And do you suppose I should get it? I have no proof that my father ever
left me a dollar. Sir William has every paper in his own possession. I
have not a scrap even that would enable me to wrest so much as a pound
from him as my right."
Mr. Knight looked grave. Certainly matters were not very promising for the
injured wife.
"Well, it is the most incomprehensible affair that I ever heard of," he
said. "I still think, though, that a personal interview would be the wiser
course before proceeding further. However, a proper notice will have to be
served upon the man, and if there has been any misunderstanding, or he has
any desire to contest your appeal for a divorce, he will probably make it
apparent when the right time comes. And now, regarding the best counsel
for you, I think my friend, Templeton would work well for you, and secure
a bill with as little notoriety as any one."
Virgie shivered at this business-like talk of "a bill." It was almost like
severing soul from body to break the sacred tie that bound her to the man
she so fondly loved, and nothing save the belief that another was
occupying the place that rightly belonged to her could have induced her to
take such a step.
She applied to Mr. Templeton, as Mr. Knight advised He, too, counseled
further intercourse with the baronet, for, to his keen mind, also, the
whole affair appeared more like a conspiracy on the part of enemies than a
willful wrong perpetrated by the husband.
But Virgie utterly refused to hold any communication with Sir William.
"He will have to be notified regarding the proceedings about to be
instituted against him," she said, "and if he is guiltless of wrong he
will surely hasten to make it apparent."
In spite of her obstinate refusal to make further overtures, something of
hope had been revived in her heart by the united opinions of Mr. Knight
and her lawyer that some enemy had plotted to separate her from her
husband. She remembered what Mrs. Farnum had told her about the pride of
his family, and it might be there was some foundation for the belief of
the two gentlemen. She could understand how that might possibly be the
case as far as intercepting their letters was concerned, but those other
facts of the long engagement and the marriage with Miss Stanhope were
things which she could not explain by any reasoning.
Still she kept hoping for some word during the time that intervened
between the notification and the day set for the hearing of the case. Day
after day she waited and watched for some tidings from her husband
starting at every unusual sound, growing almost faint at the opening and
shutting of a door, and even imagining she saw a familiar form as she sat
at her window and eagerly scanned every passer-by.
She grew thin and pale with this dreadful suspense; she seemed to be
consuming with fever, and was so restless and nervous that her friend, Mr.
Knight, feared that her mind might suffer from such tension.
She hoped until the last moment, although she tried to conceal it, but
when the dreaded day arrived, when her case was presented and there was
no one to contest it; when the judge rendered his decision, declaring that
her marriage was null and void, that henceforth in the eyes of the law and
the world she was free from the man to whom she had solemnly promised to
cling until death should part them, her courage and strength forsook her,
and she was carried lifeless from the court-room, while for three weeks
afterward she lay weak and ill, and almost indifferent to life.
The only grain of comfort in this time of woe was derived from the fact
that the child had been given to her, and she had no fear of ever having
it taken from her, even if Sir William should ever be moved to a desire to
have her.
For a time she seemed wholly unlike herself; but the kind-hearted
publisher knew that the best antidote for all kinds of trouble is work,
and he kept her crowded with orders, until she felt obliged to rally her
failing energies and to take up the burdens of life once more.
Thus the winter passed; but, when summer came again, little Virgie began
to droop in the noisome atmosphere of the city, and the physician said she
must be taken where she could have purer air and country living; so Virgie
went to a quiet little place a few miles out of the city, where she
remained the entire season, not returning to San Francisco until late in
October, and thus a cruel fate again seemed to mock her, for during her
absence Sir William Heath had come to seek her again, and not finding her,
he, too, had grown heart-sick with despair and hope deferred.