The Earl of Mountdean and Lord Arleigh were walking up a steep hill one
day together, when the former feeling tired, they both sat down among
the heather to rest. There was a warm sun shining, a pleasant wind
blowing, and the purple heather seemed literally to dance around them.
They remained for some time in silence; it was the earl who broke it by
saying:
"How beautiful the heather is! And here indeed on this hill-top is
solitude! We might fancy ourselves quite alone in the world. By the way,
you have never told me, Arleigh, what it is that makes you so fond of
solitude."
"I have had a great trouble," he replied, briefly.
"A trouble! But one suffers a great deal before losing all interest in
life. You are so young, you cannot have suffered much."
"I know no other life so utterly helpless as my own."
The earl looked at him thoughtfully.
"I should like to know what your trouble is?" he said gently.
"I can tell you only one half of it," was the reply. "I fell in love
with one of the sweetest, fairest, purest of girls. How I loved her is
only known to myself. I suppose every man thinks his own love the
greatest and the best. My whole heart went out to this girl--with my
whole soul I loved her! She was below me in the one matter of worldly
wealth and position--above me in all other. When I first asked her to
marry me, she refused. She told me that the difference in our rank was
too great. She was most noble, most self-sacrificing; she loved me, I
know, most dearly, but she refused me. I was for some time unable to
overcome her opposition; at last I succeeded. I tell you no details
either of her name or where she lived, nor any other circumstances
connected with her--I tell you only this, that, once having won her
consent to our marriage, I seemed to have exchanged earth for Elysium.
Then we were married, not publicly and with great pomp, but as my
darling wished--privately and quietly. On the same day--my
wedding-day--I took her home. I cannot tell how great was my
happiness--no one could realize it. Believe me, Lord Mountdean, that she
herself is as pure as a saint, that I know no other woman at once so
meek and so lofty, so noble and so humble. Looking at her, one feels how
true and sweet a woman's soul can be. Yet--oh, that I should live to say
it!--on my wedding-day I discovered something--it was no fault of hers,
I swear--that parted us. Loving her blindly, madly, with my whole heart
and soul, I was still compelled to leave her. She is my wife in name
only, and can never be more to me, yet, you understand, without any
fault of hers."
"What a strange story!" said the earl, thoughtfully. "But this barrier,
this obstacle--can it never be removed?"
"No," answered Lord Arleigh, "never!"
"I assure you of my deepest sympathy," said the earl. "It is a strange
history."
"Yes, and a sad fate," sighed Lord Arleigh. "You cannot understand my
story entirely. Wanting a full explanation, you might fairly ask me why
I married with this drawback. I did not know of it, but my wife believed
I did. We were both most cruelly deceived, it does not matter now. She
is condemned to a loveless, joyless life; so am I. With a wife beautiful
loving, young, I must lead a most solitary existence--I must see my name
die out for want of heirs--I must see my race almost extinct, my life
passed in repining and misery, my heart broken, my days without
sunshine. I repeat that it is a sad fate."
"It is indeed," agreed the earl--"and such a strange one. Are you quite
sure that nothing can be done to remedy it?"
"Quite sure," was the hopeless reply.
"I can hardly understand the need for separation, seeing that the wife
herself is blameless."
"In this case it is unavoidable."
"May I, without seeming curious, ask you a question?" said the earl.
"Certainly--as many as you like."
"You can please yourself about answering it," observed the earl; and
then he added: "Tell me, is it a case of insanity? Has your wife any
hereditary tendency to anything of that kind?"
"No," replied Lord Arleigh; "it is nothing of that description. My wife
is to me perfect in body and mind; I can add nothing to that."
"Then your story is a marvel; I do not--I cannot understand it. Still I
must say that, unless there is something far deeper and more terrible
than I can imagine, you have done wrong to part from your wife."
"I wish I could think so. But my doom is fixed, and no matter how long I
live, or she lives, it can never be altered."
"My story is a sad one," observed Lord Mountdean, "but it is not so sad
as yours. I married when I was quite young--married against my father's
wish, and without his consent. The lady I loved was like your own; she
was below me in position, but in nothing else. She was the daughter of a
clergyman, a lady of striking beauty, good education and manners. I need
not trouble you by telling you how it came about. I married her against
my father's wish; he was in Italy at the time for his health--he had
been there indeed for some years. I married her privately; our secret
was well kept. Some time after our marriage I received a telegram
stating that my father was dying and wished to see me. At that very time
we were expecting the birth of what we hoped would be a son and heir.
But I was anxious that my father should see and bless my wife before he
died. She assured me that the journey would not hurt her, that no evil
consequences would ensue; and, as I longed intensely for my father to
see her, it was arranged that we should go together. A few hours of the
journey passed happily enough, and then my poor wife was taken ill.
Heaven pardon me because of my youth, my ignorance, my inexperience! I
think sometimes that I might have saved her--but it is impossible to
tell. We stopped at a little town called Castledene, and I drove to the
hotel. There were races, or something of the kind, going on in the
neighborhood, and the proprietors could not accommodate us. I drove to
the doctor, who was a good Samaritan; he took us into his house--my
child was born, and my wife died there. It was not a son and heir, as we
had hoped it might be, but a little daughter, as fair as her mother. Ah,
Lord Arleigh, you have had your troubles, I have had mine. My wife was
buried at Castledene--my beautiful young wife, whom I loved so dearly. I
left my child, under the doctor's care, with a nurse, having arranged to
pay so much per annum for her, and intending when I returned to England
to take her home to Wood Lynton as my heiress. My father, contrary to
the verdict of the physicians, lingered about three years. Then he died,
and I became Earl of Mountdean. The first thing I did was to hurry to
Castledene. Can you imagine my horror when I found that all trace of my
child was lost? The poor doctor had met with some terrible death, and
the woman who had charge of my little one had left the neighborhood. Can
you imagine what this blow was to me? Since then my life has been spent
in one unceasing effort to find my daughter."
"How strange!" said Lord Arleigh. "Did you not know the name of the
nurse?"
"Yes, she lived at a little place called Ashwood. I advertised for her,
I offered large rewards, but I have never gleaned the least news of her;
no one could ever find her. Her husband, it appeared, had been guilty of
crime. My opinion is that the poor woman fled in shame from the
neighborhood where she was known, and that both she and my dear child
are dead."
"It seems most probable," observed Lord Arleigh.
"If I could arrive at any certainty as to her fate," said the earl, "I
should be a happier man. I have been engaged to my cousin Lady Lily
Gordon for four years, but I cannot make up my mind to marry until I
hear something certain about my daughter."