Harry listened with all the patience he could muster while Alice was
thus comfortably arranging her own decease and his second marriage,
then speaking gravely, though still in the most affectionate manner, he
replied--
“I cannot even _feel_ annoyed with you now you are so ill and weak, my
poor child, but the matter to which you allude is most repugnant and
distasteful to me; it is a subject, in fact, on which I would not
allow any human being but yourself to address me. I will not pretend to
misunderstand your allusion; but I do most solemnly assure you that you
are mistaken, and that were it, indeed, God’s will that you should be
taken from me, no new ties should come between my soul and the memory of
the only woman, except my poor mother, whom I have ever really loved. I
see that you do not believe me! it is unjust, almost unkind of you!”
Harry spoke with deep feeling; and Alice, with tears in her eyes, placed
her poor, thin hand within that of her husband as she replied--
“I do most fully believe that you love me as you say, and that at this
moment you do not imagine you could be happy with anybody else, but it
is a comfort to me to think that when I am parted from you there will
still be some one to care for you. I assure you I feel quite differently
towards Miss Crofton _now_; I was jealous of her, dreadfully jealous--I
confess it! but I now am grateful to her for loving you, and sorry I
ever entertained such uncharitable feelings towards her. I mean to leave
her all my jewels, except one or two little things I should like to give
poor Emily.”
Alice paused, partly through weakness, partly because she wanted her
husband to signify his approval of her sentiments, which she considered
was the least he could do, in return for what was, in fact, to her, an
act of almost superhuman charity and self-denial. But Coverdale was in
no humour to comply with her desire; on the contrary, so distasteful was
the whole matter, and poor Alice’s idea of the situation so far from
the truth, that he was driven to his wits’ end with perplexity and
annoyance, which nothing but a sense of his wife’s unfitness to sustain
so energetic a mode of address prevented from breaking forth in a burst
of his “quiet manner.” As he continued silent, Alice resumed:--
“You must not be angry with me for knowing about it, Harry dear, for the
knowledge was forced upon me, nor was I aware what Lord Alfred Courtland
was about to tell until I had heard so much that my womanly dignity
would not allow me to stop him; I did not choose to let him think I
could believe it possible you had done anything I should be afraid to
hear, and so he told me all.”
“And pray what might _all_ be?” inquired Harry, as calmly as he was
able.
“Oh! about her being in love with you, and your running away together,
and old Mr. Somebody (I can’t remember names) taking her away again, and
preventing you from marrying her; yes, he told me all about it.”
“He told you a pack of lies, so mixed up with a little truth, that
unless I were able to give you a detailed account of the affair I could
not separate them, and I am under a solemn promise not to say anything
about it; but I know what I will do. In the meantime believe this--I
love you with my whole heart and soul, and you only, and if you have any
regard for me you will strive to banish all these silly fancies, which
only delay your recovery, and get well as fast as you can for my sake.
And now you have talked more than is good for you, so I shall send Emily
to you to read you to sleep.”
As soon as he had put this resolution into practice he betook himself to
the library, and wrote as follows:--
“Dear Arabella,--The promise I made you at the inn, at Fiumalba, I have
up to this time kept faithfully; I now ask you to release me from it. My
wife’s happiness (in which my own is bound up), perhaps her life even,
depends upon your doing so; she has just passed the crisis of a brain
fever, her bodily weakness is lamentable to witness, and the mental
depression naturally arising from it leads her to take a morbid and
desponding view of her own chances of recovery: in such a position,
anything that will conduce to raise her spirits and tranquillise her
mind will effect more than twenty doctors. Some mischief-maker has
caused her to obtain a garbled account of a certain occurrence, to which
I will not farther refer; nothing but _the whole truth_ will suffice to
set her mind at rest. Arabella! I deeply regret this necessity, but it
cannot be avoided, and I trust to you to act towards me as I would act
by you if the situation were reversed.
“I remain always,
“Your true and sincere friend,
“Harry Coverdale.”
For two or three days after that on which the foregoing conversation
between Coverdale and his wife took place, Alice continued much in the
same condition, the idea that she should die, and that after her death
Harry would espouse Arabella Crofton, and be much happier than she had
been able to make him, appeared never absent from her mind; her appetite
decreased, her sleep became broken and fitful, and Mr. Gouger’s face
grew longer, and his head shook more and more like that of Lord Burleigh
in the _Critic_, every time he visited her.
One morning, on Coverdale’s return from the neighbouring town, whither
he had ridden to procure some delicacy wherewith to try and tempt
Alice’s capricious appetite; he was equally surprised and pleased on
entering her room to perceive a brightness in her eye and a colour in
her cheek, such as he had feared never to see there again.
“Why, Alice darling, this fine morning has inspired you--you are looking
more like yourself than I have seen you this many a long day!” he
exclaimed, as he seated himself by the easy-chair which Alice had gained
sufficient strength to use as a substitute for her couch.
Regarding him with a smile and blush, which tinged her late, cheeks with
the most delicate rose-colour, she replied--
“You have grown very clever in reading people’s faces of late, Harry
dear; but you are quite right in fancying something has inspired me--at
least, if feeling very happy is what you mean by inspiration. But oh!
how foolish I have been! how wrong, how unjust I was ever to doubt you!
Harry dearest, can you forgive me for not feeling certain that you had
always acted as nobly and generously before I knew you as you have done
since? If you could tell how I hate and despise myself for my silly,
illiberal suspicions! But you must wonder all this time what has set me
raving in this strange way. What do you think of my having had a
letter from--yes! actually from Miss Crofton, telling me--here, read it
yourself, I am certain every word of it is true; and oh! how I pity her
for being obliged to write it, and, indeed, for the whole affair, poor
thing!”
As Alice spoke she drew a letter from the pocket of her dress, and gave
it to her husband; it ran as follows:--
“I have received a note from Mr. Coverdale, urging me to release him
from a promise he most kindly made me, at a time when, bowed down by
shame and contrition, his doing so saved me, as I verily believe, from
madness or suicide. He tells me your health and his happiness depend
upon my complying with his request; it becomes then a duty in me to
do so; and, however painful it may be, I will not flinch from it. It
appears to me that the most effectual way to remove any misapprehension
from your mind, in regard to the nature and extent of my acquaintance
with Mr. Coverdale before his marriage, will be to give you a concise
account of the occurrences which took place during the summer I spent
in Italy, whither I had accompanied a family of the name of Muir, in the
capacity of governess. The Muirs were well-meaning, commonplace people,
not possessing the slightest tact or refinement of feeling. I was at
that time young, and morbidly sensitive; and the slights they put
upon me, without, as I can now perceive, intending any unkindness, or,
indeed, being aware of the effect their thoughtlessness was producing
upon me, were a daily martyrdom to my proud spirit. We spent three
months at Florence; and shortly after we had settled there, John Muir,
the eldest son, who had been making a tour among the Swiss mountains,
rejoined his family, accompanied by Mr. Coverdale, who had known him
at the university. Slightly attracted, I fancy, by the good looks of
my eldest pupil, who was an unusually pretty nonentity, Mr. Coverdale,
always talking of the necessity of continuing his journey to the East,
still lingered at Florence. The great kindness of heart and delicacy of
feeling which lie hid under a roughness of manner that can only mislead
a very superficial observer, soon led him to perceive and pity my
isolated position; and from the moment in which he became aware how
keenly the sense of dependence preyed upon me, he treated me with a
degree of deference and attention which could not but contrast most
favourably with the neglect I experienced from others. Under the cold
manner which circumstances have forced me to assume, I have concealed a
naturally ardent and impetuous disposition, and as deeply as I had been
affected by the ungenerous conduct of the Muirs did I now appreciate Mr.
Coverdale’s sympathy and kindness--in a word, for I have resolved to
conceal nothing from you, I loved him with all the force of my
passionate nature. But the very strength of my feelings led me
studiously to conceal them; nor, until the elopement of my eldest pupil
with a scheming Italian adventurer broke up the party, did I give Mr.
Coverdale the slightest opportunity of suspecting the warm interest he
had excited in me; but when about to bid him farewell as I imagined for
ever, my self-control gave way, and I burst into a passionate flood of
tears. Equally grieved and surprised, he soothed me with his accustomed
kind and considerate delicacy, begged me always to look upon him as a
friend, and apply to him in any emergency, as to a brother; and as soon
as I became somewhat more composed, left me. The next tidings I heard of
him were that he had quitted Florence. Scarcely had I retired to my
room, to endeavour to calm my excitement, and to struggle to subdue my
hopeless attachment in tears and solitude, when Mrs. Muir sent for me,
and reproached me with equal virulence and unkindness for her daughter’s
elopement, which she declared to have been the consequence of my
neglect. ‘Had you,’ she continued, ‘been less engrossed by seeking to
ensnare the affections of Mr. Coverdale, you would have been better able
to perform the duties of your situation, and this misfortune might never
have come upon us.’ Stung by the mixture of truth and falsehood in this
cruel reproach, I replied--I know not what--proudly, and I can now well
believe impertinently; and the next thing that I became aware of was,
that a sum of money sufficient to defray my expenses to England was
placed before me, and that I was dismissed. Thrown thus on my own
resources in a foreign land, without a single friend near to help or
advise me, what wonder that I instinctively turned to the only quarter
from which I had for years (for mine had been a desolate youth) met with
kindness, consideration, and sympathy; and that from the chaos of
conflicting emotions one idea alone stood out clear and defined--to seek
Harry Coverdale, throw myself on his generosity, tell my tale of sorrow
and of love, and leave the result to him and destiny. That such a course
was unwomanly, almost unpardonable in me, none can be more bitterly
aware than I am; but I pray God that those of my own sex who are
inclined to condemn me may never be tempted as I was tempted--may never
fall as, but for the superhuman goodness of heart, and the tender,
simple, yet chivalrous nature of your husband, I should have fallen.
With me, to resolve and to act were simultaneous. I lost not a moment in
ascertaining the route Mr. Coverdale had taken, and ere the Muir family
were aware of my departure I had followed him to Fiumalba, a small town
within a few hours’ journey of Florence. Without allowing myself an
instant’s time for reflection, I sought the hotel at which Mr. Coverdale
was stopping, and in my distraction flung myself at his feet, and told
him everything--how I loved him better than any other created
being--better even than my own womanly pride and good name--how I felt
convinced that such love as mine must in time win return--how that if he
would make me his wife, I would devote every thought; every action of my
future existence, to secure his happiness--how, if he refused me, I
would lie down at his feet and die, but never leave him. Then did he
indeed redeem his promise of acting by me as a brother--then did he save
me from my worst enemy--myself. Having soothed and quieted my agony of
spirit, by his calm good sense and judicious kindness, he appealed to my
reason--set before me how, by yielding to my request, and making me the
partner of his future life, while unable to feel for me that degree of
affection without which such a tie must become unbearable, he would be
doing me an injury rather than conferring a benefit; nor did he leave me
until he had obtained my consent to allow him to return to Florence,
explain the whole matter to Mr. Muir, expostulate with him as to the
cruelty and injustice of thus dismissing me with an undeserved slur on
my character as a governess, and endeavour to arrange that I should
remain with his wife and daughter, and accompany them on their return to
England. In this negotiation he was successful. Mr. Muir,--an easy,
self-indulgent character, yet one who could, on occasions such as that
to which I refer, act kindly and honourably,--accompanied Mr. Coverdale
back to Fiumalba, where he informed me that he had prevailed on Mrs.
Muir to agree to the above proposal, adding that he and Mr. Coverdale
were the only persons aware of the imprudent step I had taken, and that
they were both willing to make me a solemn promise never (unless by my
desire) to reveal the transaction to any one. Utterly broken-spirited
and miserable, I consented, and, taking leave of my preserver, returned
with Mr. Muir to Florence. From that day, until our accidental meeting
in Park Lane, I saw Mr. Coverdale no more. What it has cost me to write
this I will not attempt to describe, but that every word of it is the
simple truth, I call Heaven to witness; that the knowledge of it may for
ever reconcile all differences between you and your noble, generous
hearted husband, and that you may be restored to make him as happy as I
am certain it is in your power to do is the wish and prayer of one who,
if she has erred deeply, has suffered equally, as she hopes not without
some good result.
“Arabella Crofton.”
When Harry had finished reading the letter, he returned it to his wife,
observing, “That is, as she says, a faithful account of all that ever
occurred between us. You now see why I was unable to explain to you the
apparent mystery. I hold a promise to be so sacred a thing, that
nothing--not even the loss of your affection--could induce me to break
one. And now, my poor child, I hope you are satisfied that I indeed love
you with my whole heart, and that the affection of a thousand Arabella
Croftons would never compensate me for the loss of one bright smile or
fond look from my own darling wife.”
Alice attempted to reply, but her heart was too full for words: bursting
into a flood of tears of mingled joy and contrition, she flung her arms
around her husband’s neck, and in that prolonged embrace ended once and
for ever all Harry Coverdale’s matrimonial disputes and discomforts.