"She did not speak, or expostulate?" asked Tremenhere.
"No," answered his friend; "she was too much taken by surprise, but I
never saw a woman look more confounded in her guilt."
Miles did not speak for some time. Strange, how wrongs, supposed or
real, darken the heart to every gleam of pity! It was not his vanity
which was wounded--not any feeling of false pride, which urged him to so
much apparent heartlessness; it was a disgust pervading his noble
nature, at so much infamy in one so young and fair. Had he deemed her
reclaimable, he would have nobly, generously, endeavoured to do so; but,
believing what he did, he felt that any further contact with her would
irretrievably sully his own honour, and plunge her still deeper into
duplicity and sin. _If_ she ever could repent, their separation--his
utter contempt for her--might, through shame, open that channel to her.
There was uprightness and conscience in his every thought; he even felt
then, that, if he could be convinced she would be true and faithful to
his rival, he would seek by the law that release which should enable
him (Lord Randolph) to do her justice. With these thoughts in his mind,
after a calm survey of all remaining in the ruined temple of his heart,
he wrote to this latter, and despatched his friend with the missive,
which contained little of accusation, beyond a quiet, cool detail of
facts, as he believed them, and giving him a choice of two things,
either a solemn assurance to marry Minnie if he divorced her--he,
thereby, submitting to the reprehension of the world at large--wherein
many might blame him for the calmness of the act, so little in
consonance with his real feelings, in preference to the more manly one
of first demanding retribution at his hands in a struggle for life, or
to meet him muzzle to muzzle, where often the luckier aim carries it
above the more skilful. But we are wrong, for the luckier aim would
carry undying remorse with it, in any noble heart, however wronged.
"Live, and let live," and leave vengeance to Heaven.
It would be vain to attempt portraying Lord Randolph's amazement on
receipt of this note; he was preparing to leave his apartment to dine
with some friends when it reached him. He read, and re-read it; and
then, with an air of wonder which would have convinced any unprejudiced
person, asked whether really Mr. Tremenhere resided in that hotel?
"Apparently," was the laconic reply, sarcastically delivered.
"He must be mad, then, and deserving only _le Bicêtre_," answered Lord
Randolph; "where may he be found?"
"By letter or message through me," was the reply.
"You are abrupt, monsieur," said the other, sitting down to write;
"nevertheless, pray be seated."
"I prefer standing, _milord_," and he folded his arms doggedly.
It will be seen this was the last person who could successfully
conciliate persons in so painful a position.
Lord Randolph wrote:--"You must be mad. I most solemnly assure you,
until this moment, I knew not you were in this hotel. True, I met Mrs.
Tremenhere to-day by accident; but she never named her address, nor I
mine. You are at liberty to appeal to law, if it so please you to cast
fresh ridicule on yourself; but though I most highly esteem Mrs.
Tremenhere, enough to deem myself a most fortunate man could I call her
lawfully mine; still, I have too much self-respect and vanity, under any
circumstances, to seek a certain refusal, by proposing to her. For the
rest, your good sense, and I hope, heart, will guide you aright, and
make you see the folly of your conduct."
His lordship was ignorant of the manner in which Minnie had been
treated, or he would have written more forcibly in her favour. Thus he
dismissed his visiter, and departed to dinner. This letter almost shook
Tremenhere's calmness to an outburst of rage; he only saw in it cool
audacity, and that feeling of honour which makes a man oftentimes
perjure himself to redeem a wrong act, and save a woman's reputation.
"Let us seek him," he said, moving towards the door. "I will await you
in the street; you can enter and inquire for him." And, with a
resolution he did not think himself capable of, well as he knew his own
stern nature in wrong, he stood almost on the threshold of his once
happy home, whilst his friend entered to inquire where Lord Randolph
might be found. This was easily ascertained, and thither the two men
followed; he was dining with some friends at the _restaurant_ of great
renown, "_Les Trois Frères_," and was in the act of detailing his most
extraordinary and unpleasant affair, when a card was handed to him, and
on it was "Miles Tremenhere!"
"Show the gentleman into another room," said his lordship with perfect
composure, for not one spark of cowardice was in his composition. The
waiter obeyed, and in a few minutes he stood before Miles and his
companion.
"Your lordship will pardon this unusual method of proceeding," said
Tremenhere, with dignity; "but the unsatisfactory nature of your reply
to my letter obliges me to call in person, and demand another."
"_Demand!_" exclaimed the other. "What if I refuse?"
"Then it will but remain with me to attach to your lordship's name, one
I should regret being forced to call into requisition."
Lord Randolph bit his lip to restrain an angry retort. After a moment's
pause, to collect his coolness, he said, "Mr. Tremenhere, I do not deal
with you as I should with another, for I look upon you as a lunatic; but
for the sake of your most innocent, injured wife, I implore you consider
well what you are doing!"
"My lord," answered his opponent, "I have not come to listen to idle
words, still less to be again a dupe. I come to demand, unless your
heart fail you too much to meet me, to give me the name of _your_
friend, to whom _mine_ may apply; the rest will then regard them."
"Think well, sir," said Lord Randolph again, as calmly as he could be
under so much aggravation. "You may some day rue this. I would, for an
innocent woman's sake, save you from remorse, and her from ruin."
"By heavens!" exclaimed Miles, turning sarcastically towards his friend,
"this man would have me take his mistress to my arms again, and receive
him, perchance, as friend! My lord," and he turned wildly in rage upon
him, "if there be a coward here, 'tis not Miles Tremenhere, or his
friend."
"Oh!" ejaculated Lord Randolph, drawing a long breath, then keeping
silence a moment to subdue himself, he replied, holding out a hand to
Miles's friend, "Your card, monsieur, and I will immediately place it in
the hands of my friend. I think now, sir," and he bowed to Tremenhere,
"our interview may terminate; and may you never regret the day's work
which will follow this."
And, holding the card given by the other in his hand, he quietly quitted
the apartment. "After all," he said to himself as he moved to the room
where his friends were awaiting him, "this fellow requires a severe
lesson; it will cure his jealousy." And none was gayer that evening at
table than Lord Randolph Gray. Tremenhere was otherwise. There was a
monitor in his breast, not silent, for it was full of questionings. Yet
to all he replied, "It is justice and retribution,"--and then he sat
down with perfect composure, and drew a rough copy of his will, which he
purposed having legally executed on the morrow. "I will not leave her
unprovided for," he whispered to himself; "this shall be my revenge on
her."
The next day but one, Lord Randolph and his adversary met; and
Tremenhere was carried from the spot severely, though not dangerously,
wounded--a bullet having traversed his side, without, however, touching
any vital part, though he became insensible from loss of blood. His
opponent, with the manly self-possession which had characterised him
throughout, remained until well assured there existed no danger from the
actual wound, and then quitted the Bois de Bologne, where they met, and
next day Paris, for Italy. Tremenhere was transported to the nearest
house, and there he lay unconscious for many days.
Minnie recovered from her stupor, to find herself in the arms of her
attendant, who was too much terrified to quit her and summon assistance.
This woman had not entered the apartment where her mistress was for some
hours; and her absence at the moment of her master's friend's arrival,
prevented her knowing what had occurred. As Minnie returned to the
warmth of life, and something of its consciousness, she inquired whether
Mr. Tremenhere had returned. A reply in the negative being given, she
for a moment was lost in wonder; then thought after thought crowded
through her brain, and she found amidst them, one to lead her partially
to light. Tremenhere was gone--but where, or wherefore, she could not
remember for hours. She wandered hastily from room to room, touching
every thing there which had been his--her manner was flighty, half
idiotic; the suddenness of the blow found her unprepared. At last the
terrified servant beheld a cold, grey look steal over her face, the
hectic flush disappeared, memory had returned, and desolation sat
triumphant above all; and nothing could equal that desolation of
heart--she did not imagine, for an instant, that Miles believed her
guilty. It will be remembered that she was unconscious of Lord
Randolph's residence in their hotel; she had hurried home, trembling, it
is true, to inform Tremenhere of her meeting with him, and this was the
only clue she had to his cruel conduct and desertion. She read his
letter over and over; her first supernatural fears passed away, and she
felt convinced either that he was mad, or changed in heart, so changed
that the parting was pleasurably done by him. After viewing all his
recent conduct, she dismissed the idea of madness, his coldness, and
absence of manner for some time, since, in fact, her own mysterious
search after D'Estrées, which had given him fresh cause for suspicion,
arose before her, and her eyes seemed to open on the truth. She looked
back to many things; his meetings with Lady Dora, first in the holly
field at home, that had puzzled her, then at Uplands, so sedulously
concealed from her--all arose, and without jealousy of her cousin, she
felt, and more firmly in that it was an unworn, up-springing thought of
an instant, that Miles _had_ once loved Dora, and possibly marrying her
for pique, subsequent disgust had ensued. "Oh! if he really loved me, he
could not have sought to prove me false so often," she said, "neither
now have left me for so slight a cause, without even seeking an
explanation, as my accidental meeting with Lord Randolph. He never truly
loved me." And with this fixed thought, a cold desolation crept over her
soul. Minnie had yet to learn all the madness of jealousy, therefore she
was incompetent to judge him. She was not long left in any uncertainty
about her desertion; her servant informed her that Mr. Tremenhere's
friend had authorized the landlord to apply to him for all expenses,
when madame quitted the hotel, as some unfortunate differences had
occasioned a separation. This had been gratuitous pain inflicted in
total indifference to her feelings on this man's part. Tremenhere had
bid him say that he had quitted Paris.
Minnie, in all her keen suffering, had but one friend, Mary; our good
deeds seldom are lost in the waves of life's ocean--they return again,
to break at our feet. Minnie felt all this girl's kindness, but she had
grown so cold at heart in a few days, that all failed to warm her to
life. Of the duel they heard nothing; those kind of things are of more
ordinary occurrence in France than among ourselves, and from whom could
they hear it? Mary had written several letters to Miles's friend, their
only clue, to beseech Tremenhere to listen to reason. After some days
deep anxiety, they were returned, with a request in his name, that none
more might be sent; he was leaving France, search after him would be
useless. At length a letter arrived from himself; the characters were
trembling, for he was scarcely able to write them. In this he spoke
little of wrongs, merely by the tone of it, implying Mary to be as
guilty as his own wife. There was no regret, nothing to excite hope. He
spoke deliberately of never again seeing her; he was resolved; he had no
desire to do so; he had long been unhappy; now the tie was severed, he
felt content. Of her pecuniary wants he had taken care, _however she
might be circumstanced_. He named a banker in whose hands a sufficiency
for her support would be placed quarterly, and then all care for her
ended. With this letter Minnie's last hope died; it was indeed a
hopeless one. Had she seen him, pale, haggard, and suffering, as he sat
up in the bed to write it, she would have felt that he was less to blame
than she deemed him. He scarcely knew what he wrote, still he felt
anxious to settle all for her comfort, in case Lord Randolph should
forsake her; for the idea was a fixed one in his mind, that though they
might not meet publicly for a while, eventually, finding him no longer
to be duped, they would fly together.
Nothing could induce Minnie to touch a farthing of the money Miles had
allotted her; forsaken by him, he was as a stranger to her. Had she
known he still loved her--had she known all, she would have followed to
the farthest end of the earth, to find and plead to him. As it was, her
heart sickened; she had been deceiving herself--deceived by him. Her
pride arose, and, enwraping herself in it, she sat down, and forbore
even to name him. One thing she wrung from Mary in sacred promise: this
was--that neither Dorcas nor Skaife should be informed of the whole
truth.
"Let me bear my misery alone," she said. "Tell them, for I cannot write
now, that he and I have parted: that there was incompatibility of
temper--any thing you will; but do not--pray, do not, say he has
forsaken me! Let them think it has been mutual consent, but do not blame
him; they all hate him enough already," and the heart whispered even
still, "poor Miles!"