CONVICTION.
Lady Gwendolyn had come to England with a purpose, and she proceeded
to carry it out as soon as her physical strength would allow her. She
awoke about three o’clock, much comforted and strengthened by her long
sleep, and was glad to find herself alone. Of course, it was easy
enough to dispose of Phœbe, but she rather preferred not to have any
trouble in the matter.
She breathed freer when she got outside the hotel, but she took good
care to keep her veil down. On reaching the station, she found she had
half an hour to wait for her train, and so she forced herself to take
some refreshment. She knew that she had need to garner up her strength
if she was to perform the task she had set herself.
It was quite dark when she reached Borton, but, of course, there were
lights in the station; and as all the officials knew her well, she had
to double her precautions. She ordered a fly, and drove straight to the
best inn in the little town, as she happened to know the proprietor of
“The Chequers” was a newcomer, and had no knowledge of her personally.
However, he saw in a moment that she was a lady; and though her small
traveling-bag did not look promising, he received her with great
dignity, and showed her at once to the best rooms in the hotel.
A tidy little maid was sent to wait upon her, and while she helped to
remove her things, Lady Gwendolyn said carelessly:
“Have you any nice houses in the neighborhood, Mary?”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered Mary. “There is Colonel Dacre’s, ma’am--Borton
Hall, it is called.”
“Indeed! is it a fine place?”
“Yes, ma’am; but not so fine as Lord Teignmouth’s, which is four miles
out of the town.”
“Really! I suppose neither of them is here now?”
And my lady toyed with her ring, and looked languidly indifferent,
although a keen observer might have noticed that she stopped her very
breath to listen for Mary’s answer.
“My lord is away, ma’am; but I heard this morning that Colonel Dacre
was at the Hall.”
“And his wife, too, I presume?”
“No; she isn’t there.”
“Surely. They haven’t been very long married, you know.”
“Long enough to get tired of each other, ma’am, perhaps.”
“It is to be hoped not. But are you sure Colonel Dacre is here, Mary?”
“Quite sure, ma’am, for I saw him with my own eyes last night.”
“But I thought he had come into a title lately, Mary?”
“So he has, ma’am, begging his pardon. It’s Sir Lawrence he is called
now, for I heard master tell the waiter so. However, whatever he is
called, I saw him last night.”
“You know him, then?”
“I ought to, for I lived at Borton Hall when I was younger.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Lady Gwendolyn, beginning to feel rather
uncomfortable. “Then I dare say you know Lord Teignmouth by sight?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t. I never saw any of the family,” was the reply; and
Lady Gwendolyn breathed freer.
She was wiser now than she had been, and took care to nurse her
strength. Although she hoped and prayed to die, it must not be just
yet--until she was quite sure she had nothing to live for. She had come
to Borton to learn the truth, and she must be careful that physical
weakness did not stand in the way of her enlightenment.
So she ordered a chop, and, what is more, ate it, and then went to bed.
The next day she kept very quiet till about four o’clock, when the day
was beginning to draw in, and then she had a fly brought, paid her
bill, and drove to the entrance of Borton village, where she alighted
from the vehicle, and dismissed the driver, telling him the house she
was going to was close by, and she should prefer to walk the remaining
distance. He suggested she should have a boy to carry her bag; but this
she declined, saying it was quite light, and she could manage very well.
It was not quite dark enough for her purpose yet, and so she lingered
about the lanes for half an hour; and when the skeleton trees were
faint shadows only, and a few lights began to twinkle in the cottage
windows, she took her way slowly to Borton Hall.
She glided through the garden, listening to every sound, hiding herself
quickly if a bare branch creaked in the wind, or a bird flew across her
path. Keeping on the dark side of the house, she came presently to a
side door, which she tried softly.
Finding it did not yield, she brought a key out of her pocket, and,
inserting it cautiously in the lock, she soon found herself inside the
house.
She knew every corner of it by heart, for her husband had always been
pleased to answer her questions, only too glad to see that she took so
much interest in their home; so she made her way with little difficulty
to the north wing, passing the library on her way, and inhaling the
fragrance of her husband’s cigar.
How little he guessed that she was so near. Perhaps even his thoughts
were with her, as he lay back in his favorite armchair, with his feet
on the fender, and pictured how pleasant the room would be later, when
Gwendolyn was scorching her face on a low stool at his side.
She had become so much a part of his life, so entirely necessary to his
happiness, that his cigar had not the right flavor unless she was there
to see him smoke it.
Somehow her image was more than ever obtrusive to-night, and he had
to rise and shake himself to get rid of the painful impression that
something was wrong with her.
“Humbug!” he said to himself angrily. “I should have heard, of course,
if there had been anything wrong. I told Phœbe she was to telegraph
directly if Gwen were ill. That’s the only disadvantage of being
married--a man doubles his anxieties. But, then, he trebles his
pleasures,” continued Colonel Dacre quickly, afraid lest he should be
disloyal, even unconsciously, to the woman he loved so much better than
himself; “and I wouldn’t be unmarried again even if they offered me in
return perfect immunity from care or pain for the rest of my life!”
With this, he lighted another cigar, and then sat down and wrote a
long letter to his wife, telling her that his uncle’s funeral would
take place the next day, at two o’clock, at Milworth Abbey--where Sir
Lawrence had died--and that he should leave for Paris that night, to
bring her home.
It was a very tender epistle, and the love that was in his heart
breathed out of every line. He told her how much he had missed her,
and how tame his life seemed without her, concluding with the playful
declaration that, whatever happened, they would never be parted again,
for those whom Heaven had joined business should not put asunder even
for a day.
Meanwhile, Lady Gwendolyn had made her way to a suite of rooms in the
next wing. From her husband’s embarrassed manner when she questioned
him about these she fancied she should find the key to the mystery of
his life there, and her heart trembled within her. A faint line of
light under one of the doors showed that the rooms were occupied; and,
stooping down, she tried to reconnoiter through the keyhole.
At first she could see nothing, but as her eyes became accustomed
to the narrow tube through which all investigations had to be made,
she perceived a female figure seated by the fire. The hands were
pendent over the arms of the chair--the whole attitude betokened
dejection--although from the hair and figure of this woman she was
evidently young.
Her face was turned from the door, and Lady Gwendolyn longed to obtain
a glimpse of it, for she felt almost sure that it belonged to the
person whom she had seen at Borton Hall shortly before her marriage,
and who had declared herself to be Lawrence Dacre’s wife.
She must have knelt there half an hour, and still the woman did not
turn her head. She was growing so sick and giddy at last that she was
obliged to withdraw from her post of observation and rest.
When she looked again the large, pale, lack-luster eyes were turned
toward the door, and Lady Gwendolyn recognized her at once.
She had almost decided to go in, confront her, and insist upon a full
explanation, when she heard a step she knew only too well mounting the
stairs, and from a sudden instinct stepped back, and concealed herself
behind the heavy curtains of a window behind. She had scarcely drawn
the folds about her, before her husband appeared, holding a lamp in
his hand, which he set down on a little table, so close to the curtain
behind which she was hidden that she trembled in her shoes.
He took a large key out of his pocket, and turned it twice in the
lock. But it was evident that even with this he did not feel that his
prisoner was safe, for he had to undraw two bolts before he could gain
admittance.
Then he took the lamp and walked in, closing the door after him. Lady
Gwendolyn’s knees shook under her, and she had a feeling at the moment
as if she would rather not know the truth.
But she conquered this weakness, and knelt down at the keyhole again,
just in time to see Sir Lawrence bend over the woman and kiss her
tenderly.
Then he drew a chair to her side, and Lady Gwendolyn heard him say, in
a coaxing voice:
“You will be glad to get away from here, Mary, dear, will you not? I
have taken a pretty cottage for you in the country, where you will be
able to have a garden, and grow plenty of flowers and fruit. You will
like that, I am sure?”
“I want to be with my husband,” she answered, in a voice of stern
resentment. “What right have you to send me out of the way?”
“But, Mary, I have thoroughly explained why what you want is
impossible. And, indeed, it would not be for your happiness, my poor
child.”
“I am not a child, and you treat me shamefully,” she snapped. “I won’t
have a cottage in the country!”
“Then what will you have?” he asked, with admirable patience, although
Lady Gwendolyn knew, by the inflection of his voice, how harassed and
weary he was.
“I will have my proper position. A married woman ought to live with her
husband.”
“If she can, Mary.”
“And I can, and will,” she said, after the manner of a fractious child
crying for the moon. “You want to hide me up, because you are jealous
of my beauty, and know that I never move without a train of admirers;
but I’ve often played you tricks before, and I will play you tricks
again. Wherever you put me, I will run away.”
“Oh, Mary!” was his reproachful exclamation.
“Don’t call me Mary; I hate the name,” she said, her pale eyes dilating
fiercely. “But you always do everything I don’t want you to do.”
“I am sure I shall try to please you,” he answered, with gentle
gravity. “I wish you would try to understand that, my dear.”
He laid his hand on hers impressively; but she shook it off as if it
had been a viper. Then suddenly her mood changed, and she began to
whimper.
Nobody cared for her. What did it signify whether she was living or
dead? She would make an end of it all one of those days, that she
would! She hated a cottage in the country--she hated everything! She
would stamp down the flowers as soon as they put their heads above
ground. It was no use talking to her! And so on, until Lady Gwendolyn
could scarcely wonder that Sir Lawrence had tried to escape from such
an impracticable, violent person, and began to pity him a little in her
heart.
He waited until the torrent of words had subsided, and then he said,
with as much firmness as gentleness:
“You know it is very wrong to excite yourself in this way, Mary. I
never deny you anything it is right you should have, and you must try
and be a little more reasonable.”
“Pray, are you reasonable?” she said, with a harsh, mocking laugh. “You
cried for the moon when you were a child.”
“Possibly; but, you see, I don’t cry for it now. As people get older
they understand that what they want is not always attainable or good
for them.”
“What a bore you are!” she said rudely; and turned her back upon him
forthwith.
Certainly, with all his faults, Sir Lawrence had his temper splendidly
under control; for he did not even look annoyed. Perhaps he felt that
he had no right to resent anything she might say, since she could never
insult him half as much as he was injuring her. However this may be, he
was very patient, and tried industriously to soothe and satisfy her.
But Lady Gwendolyn had heard enough by this time.
She rose from her knees, cold and benumbed, and stole out of the house
where she had thought to reign queen, in stealth, like a thief. How she
got to Borton Station she could never remember, but she did get there,
and, eventually, to the hotel, where she found Phœbe waiting for her,
and evidently anxious.
“Get me to bed as quickly as you can,” said her mistress hoarsely; and
not another word did she speak.
Phœbe, who did not like her looks, sat beside her for an hour; and
then, as she seemed to be sleeping quietly, she went to bed. In the
morning Lady Gwendolyn was very pale, but perfectly composed. Motioning
Phœbe to her bedside, she said, with a little tremor in her voice:
“Phœbe, circumstances over which I have no control force me to leave
Sir Lawrence for good. You have behaved exceedingly well ever since you
have been in my service, and I should like to keep you with me; at the
same time, I should not like to injure your prospects in any way. I
shall live very quietly; I shall not even call myself by my real name.
People will look suspiciously on me, perhaps; and you will hear their
remarks, and feel annoyed and humiliated at being supposed to live with
a lady whose character will not bear investigation. This is as certain
as sorrow and pain. Are you sufficiently attached to me to brave it
all?”
“Yes, my lady,” replied Phœbe, without a moment’s hesitation.
“Then you elect to follow my fortunes?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You understand, I hope, that I shall not allow you to presume upon my
position, Phœbe?”
“I don’t think you will find that I shall ever try to do so, my lady,”
answered the girl, with simple dignity. “If I am no worse treated than
I have been thus far, I shall have nothing to complain of; and at any
time that anything in my manner or conduct displeases your ladyship,
you have only to speak, and I will endeavor to alter it.”
Lady Gwendolyn held out her hand to the faithful creature. She was
desolate enough to feel thankful even for a humble friend like this;
and the best service is that which is dictated by affection as well as
by duty.
That afternoon Lady Gwendolyn had a confidential interview with her
solicitor, Mr. Large; gave him a power-of-attorney to receive her
dividends, and then, accompanied by Phœbe, she left town.