I do not judge or condemn him. I do not even say what I should say if he
were any other than my father. His sin was unpardonable; perhaps his
temptation was great; I cannot tell. The Great Judge knows best. I will
tell my miserable story just as it happened.
The day following--another bright, sunny, warm morning, all sunshine,
song and perfume, the birds singing so sweetly and the fair earth
laughing. It was so bright and beautiful that when I went out into the
grounds my troubles seemed to fade away. I hastened to gather some
flowers for my mother; the mignonette was in bloom, and that was her
favorite flower. I took them to her, and we talked for a few minutes
about the beauty of the day. She seemed somewhat better, and asked me to
get through my studies quickly, so that we might go through the grounds.
I hastened to the school-room. Miss Reinhart was not there. I took my
books and sat down by the window waiting for her. As I sat there, one
after another the servants looked in the room, as though in search of
something, then vanished. At last I grew tired of waiting, and rang to
ask if Miss Reinhart was coming to give me my lessons. Emma came in
reply.
Miss Reinhart would not be there yet, she said, and it would be better
for me to go out now with my lady and to attend to my books afterward.
It struck me that every one seemed in a hurry to get us out of the
house. Patience King was not to be seen, and Emma did not like to come
near us because of her tear-stained face. Just as we were leaving the
house my mother turned to the footman, who was at the back of her chair:
"John," she said, "go and ask Sir Roland if he will come with us."
I saw the man's face flush crimson, but he went away and returned in a
few minutes, saying that his master was not in.
My mother repeated the words in some wonder.
"Have you seen papa this morning, Laura?"
"No; Emma brought my breakfast to me."
"I have not seen him either," she said. "He has not been to say
good-morning to me yet. John, leave word that when Sir Roland comes in
we shall be on the grass plot near the sun-dial!"
Why did they all look at us with such scared faces, with such wondering
eyes? And I felt sure that I heard one say to the other:
"I have sent for the rector."
We went--as unconscious of the doom that hung over us as two
children--went my mother's rounds. She looked at all the flowers, but
turned to me once or twice and said, uneasily:
"I wonder where Sir Roland is? It seems strange not to have seen him."
We talked about him. There was nothing she liked more than speaking of
him to me. We were out, I should think, at least three hours, and then
my mother felt faint, and we went back.
The good rector met us and shook hands very kindly with us, but he was
pale and agitated, not like himself in the least. Patience was there,
and Emma; the other servants were huddled in groups, and I knew
something very terrible had happened--something--but what?
The rector said Lady Tayne was tired, and must have some wine. My mother
took it, and was placed upon her couch once more. She turned to the
footman and asked if my father had returned. The answer was--no. Then
the rector said he wished to speak to her alone. He held a letter in his
hands, and his face was as pale as death. She looked up at him and said,
quickly:
"Is it bad news?"
"Yes," he answered, gravely; "it is very bad news. Laura, go away and
leave your mother with me."
But my mother clung to me.
"No, if I have anything to suffer," she cried, "let Laura stay with
me--I can bear anything with her."
"Let me stay?" I asked.
He covered his face with his hands, and was silent for some minutes. I
wonder if he was praying Heaven to give him strength--he had to give my
mother her death blow. I can never remember how he told her--in what
language or fashion--but we gathered the sense of it at last; my father
had left home, and had taken Miss Reinhart with him!
The blow had fallen--the worst had come. Oh, Heaven! if, sleeping or
waking, I could ever forget my mother's face--if I could close my eyes
without seeing its white, stony horror! The very tone of her voice was
changed.
"Doctor Dalkeith!" she asked, "is this horrible thing true--true?"
"Unhappily, Lady Tayne," he replied.
"You say that my husband, Sir Roland has left me, and has gone
away--with--this person?"
"I am afraid it is but too true," he replied.
"Has he ceased to love me, that he has done this?"
"My dear Lady Tayne, I know nothing but the facts--nothing else. Your
servants sent for me to break it to you, for they could not bear to do
it themselves."
"My servants," she said, mechanically. She still held the flowers we had
gathered in her hand, the lovely sprays of mignonette! suddenly they
fell to the floor, and in a strange, hoarse voice, my mother cried: "I
must follow him!"
Oh, wondrous power of love! My mother, who had been crippled and
helpless so long, whose feet had never taken one step; my mother
suddenly stood up, her face white, her eyes filled with wild fire. She
stretched out her hands--into those dead limbs of hers seemed to spring
sudden life.
"I must follow them," she said, and she took what seemed to us two or
three steps and then once again she fell with her face to the ground.
"I knew it would kill her," said the rector. "I told my wife so."
He rang the bell.
"Send Lady Tayne's maid here and the nurse. Send for Mrs. Dalkeith and
for the doctor!"
"It has killed her, sir," said Patience, with a white face.
"I am afraid so," he replied.
They raised her and carried her to her room; they laid her down, and the
rector drew me to her.
"If any voice can call her back, my dear," he said, "it will be yours;
if she can hear anything it will be that. Put your arm around her neck
and speak to her."
I did. But, oh, Heaven! the white face fell helplessly on mine. Oh, my
beautiful young mother--as I held her there a vision came to me of her,
as I had seen her, with shining eyes and flying feet.
"She is with the angels of heaven," said the rector, gently. "My poor
child, come away."
"Do you mean that she is dead?" I asked--"dead?"
"Yes, she is with the angels," he replied. "Thank Heaven for it! Dear
child, she could not have lived and borne this--she would have suffered
a torture of anguish. Now it is all over, and she is at rest. She must
have died even as she fell."
Was I dying? My face fell on hers; an exceeding bitter cry came from my
lips.
"Oh, mother--mother!"
And then Heaven was merciful to me, too--a dark shadow seemed to fall
over me, and I remember no more.
When I awoke I was in my own room and the sun was shining--the birds
singing. Emma sat by me. Two days and two nights had passed since my
mother died.
I saw her once again. She had grown more beautiful even in death; loving
hands had laid white flowers on her breast and on her hands--a sweet
smile was on her lips.
The rector stood there with me.
"She has been murdered," I said; "that is the right word--murdered."
"Yes," he replied, "murdered! But she is among the angels of heaven.
Laura, loving hands have placed these flowers on your mother's silent
heart; do you know, dear child, what I should like you to place in her
coffin? The sweetest flower that grows."
"No; I do not know."
"The flower of divine forgiveness. I know, although you have never told
me, what hot, bitter hate swells in your heart against the woman who
incited your father to this sin, and even against your father himself. I
do not know if we can add to the happiness of the dead; but if it be so,
lay your hand on your mother's heart and say so."
After a long time I did it. I forgave them. If I meet and can talk to my
mother in Heaven I will tell her why.
She was buried. No news came from my father. Tayne Hall was closed, and
I went to live with my mother's cousin.
That is the story of the sin; this is the punishment:
Some years afterward Sir Roland brought his wife back to England--he
married her when my mother died---but no one would receive them. They
were banished from all civilized society, and to compensate herself for
that, my mother's rival mixed with the fastest and worst set in England.
The end of it was that, after completely ruining him, she ran away from
him and left him as he had left my mother.
His death redeemed his life. He was found dead on my mother's grave, and
I loved him better in death than in life.
That is what one wicked woman can do. There is one prayer that should
never leave man's lips, and it is: "Lead us not into temptation."
THE END.
[Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors from the
original edition have been corrected.
<i>pictuesque</i> has been changed to <i>picturesque</i>.
<i>stood lookinging at her</i> has been changed to <i>stood looking at her</i>.
The quotation mark in <i>"Oh, baby brother</i> has been removed.
<i>recumbent postion</i> has been changed to <i>recumbent position</i>.
The quotation mark in <i>"My mother grasped my hand</i> has been removed.
A missing quotation mark has been added to <i>"My life is spoiled, I
cried</i>.
A missing quotation mark has been added to <i>"You will be compelled to
recognize mine, Mrs. Eastwood, if you remain here, she said.</i>
A missing quotation mark has been added to <i>Why do you never think or
speak of my mother?</i>]
End of Project Gutenberg's My Mother's Rival, by Charlotte M. Braeme