"IT IS ALTOGETHER UNTRUE."
The month of September wore itself away at Exeter very sadly. An
attempt was made to bid Mrs. Western welcome back to her old home;
but from the nature of the circumstances there could hardly be much
heartiness in the attempt. Mrs. Thorne came over from Honiton to see
her, but even between Cecilia and Maude Hippesley, who was certainly
the most cherished of her Exeter friends, there could be no free
confidence, although there was much sympathy. Mrs. Western could
bring herself to speak evil to no one of her husband. She had, with
much passion, told the entire story to her mother, but when her
mother had begun to say hard words respecting him Cecilia had found
it impossible to bear them. Had her mother taken Mr. Western's
part, it may be doubted whether she could have endured that. There
was no speech concerning him which was possible for her ears. She
still looked forward to the chance of having him back again, and if
he would come back, if he would take her back, then he should be
entirely forgiven. He should be so forgiven that no mutual friend
should have heard a word of reproach from her lips. She herself would
know how hardly she had been used; but there should be no one to say
that she had ever been heard to complain of her husband. Not the less
was her heart full of wrath. Not the less did she during every hour
of the day turn over in her thoughts the terrible injustice of which
she had been the victim. But it can be understood that even to her
old friend Maude Hippesley, who was now happy in her new home as
Mrs. Thorne, she could not talk openly of the circumstances of her
separation. But there was, alas, no other subject of such interest to
her at the present moment as to give matter for free conversation.
The Dean's family, and especially Mrs. Hippesley, attempted to be
kind to her. The Dean himself came down and called with much decanal
grandeur, conspicuous as he walked up to the Hall door with shovel
hat and knee breeches. But even the Dean could not do much. He had
intended to take Mrs. Western's part as against his brother-in-law,
having been no doubt prompted by some old feeling of favour towards
Cecilia Holt; but now he was given to understand that this Mr.
Western had also gone astray, and in such a way as to make it hardly
possible that he should talk about it. He called therefore and took
her by the hand, and expressed a hope that all things should be made
to go straight, and then he left her, taking her by the hand again,
and endeavouring to prove his esteem by his manner of doing so.
That was the beginning and the end of the Dean's comforting. Mrs.
Hippesley could do but little more. She did make an attempt at
confidential conversation, but was soon stopped by Cecilia's cold
manner. Mrs. Western, indeed, could speak to none. She could not
utter a word either for or against her husband. Mrs. Green came, of
course, more than once; but it was the same thing. Mrs. Western could
endure to talk and to be talked to about nothing. And though there
was friendship in it, it was but a subdued feeling of friendship,--of
friendship which under the circumstances had to be made silent. Mrs.
Green when she had taken her leave determined not to come again
immediately, and Mrs. Western when Mrs. Green had gone felt that she
did not wish her to come. She could live with her mother more easily
than with her old friends, because her mother understood the tone of
her mind. Each kept their thoughts to themselves on that subject of
which each was thinking; but each sympathised with the other.
Lady Grant as soon as she understood the condition of things at once
began to correspond with her brother. To her it was a matter of
course that he should, sooner or later, take his wife back again. But
to her thinking it was most important that he should do so before
the fact of their quarrel had been flaunted before the world by an
enduring separation. She wrote in the first instance without throwing
blame upon either party, but calling upon her brother to show the
honesty and honour of his purpose by coming back at once to Durton
Lodge, and receiving Cecilia. "Of course it must be so sooner or
later," said Lady Grant, "and the quicker you do it so much easier
will be the doing." It should be told that Mrs. Holt had, without
telling her daughter in her passion, herself written to Mr. Western.
"You have sacrificed my daughter in your perversity, and that without
the slightest cause for blame." Such had been the nature of Mrs.
Holt's letter, which had reached him but a day before that of his
sister. Lady Grant's appeal had not been of the same nature. She had
said nothing of the sin of either of them; but had written as though
both had been in fault, misunderstanding each other, and neither
having been willing to yield a little. Then she had appealed to
her brother's love and affectionate disposition. It was not till
afterwards that she had been able to inform him of the baby that was
expected.
Mr. Western answered his sister's letter from Dresden. To Mrs. Holt
he sent no reply: but he used her letter as the ground for that which
he made to Lady Grant, writing as though Mrs. Holt's words had come
directly from his wife. "They say that I have sacrificed Cecilia
without the slightest fault on her part. I have not sacrificed her,
and there has been terrible fault on her part. Fault! A young woman
marries a man while she is yet engaged to another, and tells the
poor dupe whom she has got within her clutches nothing of her first
engagement! Is there no fault in that? And she afterwards entertains
the first man at her husband's house, and corresponds with him, and
prepares at last to receive him there as a friend, and that without a
word on the subject spoken to her husband! Is there no fault in that?
And at last the truth becomes known to him because the base man is
discontented with the arrangements that have been made, and chooses
to punish her by exposing her at last to the wrath of her husband! I
say nothing of him. With his conduct in the world I have no concern.
But can all that have taken place with no fault on her part? What in
such a state of things should I have done? Should I have contented
myself simply with forbidding my wife to receive the man at my house?
Should I have asked her no question as to the past? Should I have
passed over that engagement which had been in full existence during
the last twelve months, and have said nothing of it? Or should I have
expressed my anger and then have forgiven her, and attempted to live
with her as though this man had never existed? Knowing me as you do,
can you say that that would have been possible to me? How could I
have lived with a wife of whom I knew so much as I had then learned
of mine,--but had known so little before. Had I been a man of the
world, living for the world, careless as to my own home except as to
the excellence of my dinner and the comfort of my bed, it might have
been possible. A man trusting for his happiness to such means might
perhaps have continued to exist and not have been broken-hearted. But
I think you will understand that such could not be the case with me.
I looked for my happiness to my wife's society, and I discovered when
I had married that I could not find it there. I could never respect
her!
"But she tells me that having married her I have no right to
sacrifice her. As I had been fool enough to allow myself to be so
quickly allured by her charms, and had made those charms my own, I
was bound to stand by my bargain! That I take it is the argument
which she uses. I grant the truth of it. It is I that should be
sacrificed and not she. I have so acted that I am bound to submit
myself to such a verdict. What the law would require from me I cannot
say. The law might perhaps demand a third of my income. She shall
have two-thirds if she wishes it. She shall have seven-eighths if she
will ask for it. At present I have given instructions by which during
her life she shall have one-half. I am aware that in the heat of her
passion she has declined to accept this. It shall nevertheless be
paid to her credit. And I must deny that one who has achieved her
marriage after such a fashion has any right, when so treated, to
regard herself as sacrificed. I am the victim. But as I am convinced
that she and I cannot live happily together, I reserve to myself the
right of living apart."
Lady Grant, when she received this letter, immediately sat down to
write to Cecilia, but she soon found it to be impossible to put
into a letter all that there was to be said. She was living in the
neighbourhood of Perth, whereas her sister-in-law was at Exeter.
And yet the matter was of such moment that she perceived it to be
essential that they should see each other. Perhaps it might be better
that Mrs. Western should come to her; and therefore she wrote to
her,--not explaining the cause of the proposed visit, to do which
would be as difficult as to write the full letter, but simply saying
that in the present condition of things she thought it would be well
that Cecilia should visit her. This however Mrs. Western refused to
do. She had come to her mother, she said, in her terrible difficulty,
and in her present circumstances would not at once leave her. She
considered herself bound to obey her husband, and would remain at
Exeter until she received instructions from him to leave it.
There was in her letter a subdued tone of displeasure, which Lady
Grant felt that she had not deserved. She at any rate was anxious to
do her best. But she would not on that account abandon the task which
she had undertaken. Her only doubt was whether she had better go
to her brother at Berlin or to his wife at Exeter. She understood
perfectly now the nature of those mistaken suspicions which filled
her brother's mind. And she was almost sure of the circumstances
which had produced them. But she was not quite sure; and were she to
make mistakes in discussing the matter with him, such mistakes might
be fatal. She thought that with Cecilia she could not do other than
good. She knew her brother's mind better than did his wife, and she
imagined that between them such a story might be told,--a story so
true and so convincing that the husband might be brought back.
The following very short letter therefore was written. "My dear
Cecilia, as you will not come to me at Perth, I must go to you at
Exeter. I shall start this day week and will be with you on the
following Wednesday. Do not mind as to a room for me, as I can stop
at the hotel; but it is I think imperative that we should see each
other. Yours affectionately, Bertha Grant."
"Mamma, Lady Grant is coming here next week," said Cecilia to her
mother.
"To this house next week?"
"She says that she will come to the hotel; but of course we must
receive her here."
"But why is she coming?"
"I suppose it is because she thinks that something should be done on
behalf of her brother. I can understand her feeling, and am sure that
she sympathises with me. But I do not think that any good will come
of it. Unless he can be made to see how wrong he is nothing will be
able to change him. And until his very nature is changed he will
not be made to understand his own fault." It was thus for the first
time for a fortnight that Mrs. Western spoke to her mother about her
husband.
At the day appointed Lady Grant came and Mrs. Western met her at the
station. "Of course you will not go to the hotel," she said; "there
is plenty of room at the house. I am greatly obliged to you for
coming. It seems a dreadful thing to have to come on such a business
all the way from Perth. I know that I ought to apologise to you for
the trouble."
"Apologise! There can be no apologising between you and me. If I can
make each of you understand the truth there is not I think any doubt
but that you will be brought together."
"If he can be made to see the truth, it may be so. I do not know that
there is any seeing of the truth necessary on the other side. I have
complained of nothing. He has taken upon himself to leave me for some
cause as to which I am perfectly in the dark. However we will not
talk about it now." Then she put Lady Grant into the fly and took her
home.
There was nothing more said about it on that day. Mrs. Western, in
whose bosom something of her feeling of anger against her husband was
most unjustly extended towards Lady Grant, took care that they two
should not be at once left together again. Mrs. Holt was studiously
civil, but always with a feeling that Mr. Western and Lady Grant were
brother and sister. It was probable that the sister would take her
brother's part and consequently be at any moment converted into an
enemy. The first evening at Exeter was passed very uncomfortably
by the three ladies. But on the following morning a conference was
demanded. "My dear," said Lady Grant, "we have got to discuss all
this and we may as well do it at once. What does your husband mean
when he says that you were still engaged to Sir Francis when you
became engaged to him?"
"Has he said so?"
"Yes; indeed."
"Then he has said what is altogether untrue. Nor is there the
slightest ground for such an untruth. Everything between me and Sir
Francis Geraldine was over before we had gone to the Continent. Why;
I left England in consequence of the shock it gave me to have to
abandon him. Does he know,--does your brother know what I told you?"
"He did not know it when he wrote to me."
"I suppose not. I should think he would send some message. As a
rule he is soft-hearted, although to me he has become suddenly so
inexpressibly cruel."
"But you understand now the cause of his displeasure?"
"Not in the least," said the angry wife. "I know of no cause for his
displeasure. Displeasure! I know of no cause to justify a step so
terrible as this."
"Though the statement may be untrue as you say--"
"It is untrue. It is altogether untrue."
"But he has believed it!"
"Why has he believed it? Why; why?"
"Ah indeed; why?" said Lady Grant. "I suppose that no lie becomes
prevalent in the world for evil without some fault on the part of
somebody. Even though it may not have been expressed in exact terms,
some false person has intentionally spread it abroad. And then a man
in his wrath, when he hears the lie will distort it, and twist it,
and aggravate it,--to his own wrong and to that of others."
"But my own husband! Him whom I so passionately loved!"
"And who so passionately loved you! It was because of that that the
lie has so rankled! And, Cecilia, dear, let us be altogether open to
each other."
"I have concealed nothing from you," said Mrs. Western proudly.
"Nor wilfully from him. But you had kept from him a detail of your
past life,--of your life not long since past, which, as you yourself
felt, ought to have been made known to him."
"It would have been made known to him."
"Just so. But unfortunately he was first allowed to hear it from
another quarter. How it was told from thence you and I do not know."
"I saw the letter to him from Sir Francis Geraldine. There was no
such statement in it as that you have now made. The tone of the
letter was ungentlemanlike and abominable; but the facts as declared
were true."
"Do you believe then that he has invented this falsehood against you,
to excuse himself?"
"No," said the deserted wife; "I do not think he invented it."
"Nor I. How was it then that the idea has made its way into his
brain?"
"He is suspicious," said Mrs. Western, speaking very slowly.
"Yes; he is suspicious. It is the fault of his character. But he is
true and honest, and affectionate, and is by no means exacting or
self-seeking. You have no right to expect that your husband should be
perfect;--nor has he a right to expect it of you. He had no idea of
this engagement till it was told by him who of all men was bound not
to tell him."
The conversation was carried on after this for a considerable time,
but was left chiefly in the hands of Lady Grant. Two or three times
Mrs. Western put in a word, but it was always to ask what might be
the effect upon him when he should have learned the tidings which she
had sent him. Lady Grant seemed to think that he would of course come
back and again take his wife to his bosom, as soon as he should be
made to understand all the exact facts as to her intercourse with Sir
Francis Geraldine and as to her quarrel with him. But poor Cecilia
seemed to believe more in the coming of the little stranger. "He can
reject me," she once said, with mingled bitterness and hope, "but I
cannot believe that such as he should reject his own child."
But neither then nor on the following day, which was the last that
Lady Grant allowed herself at Exeter, could she be induced to send to
her husband a single word asking his pardon. "No," she said, holding
her head aloft as she spoke; "it is for me to pardon him. If he wants
my pardon he shall have it. He need not ask for it, but if he comes
he shall have it."