Elster's Folly, Mrs. Henry Wood [ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt] 📗

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A Nobody,  And The Step Was Perhaps Excusable. Lord Hartledon Is Not Bound

By The Promises Of Val Elster. All The Young Women In The Kingdom,  Who

Have Parsons For Fathers,  Could Not Oblige Him To Be So."

 

"I Am Bound To Her In Honour; And"--In Love He Was Going To Say,  But Let

The Words Die Away Unspoken.

 

"Hartledon,  You Are Bound In Honour To My Daughter; You Have Sought Her

Affections,  And Gained Them. Ah,  Percival,  Don't You Know That It Is You

She Has Loved All Along? In The Days When I Was Worrying Her About Your

Brother,  She Cared Only For You. You Cannot Be So Infamous As To Desert

Her."

 

"I Wish To Heaven She Had Never Seen Me!" Cried The Unfortunate Man,

Beginning To Wonder Whether He Could Break Through These Trammels. "I'd

Sacrifice Myself Willingly,  If That Would Put Things Straight."

 

"You Cannot Sacrifice Maude. Look At Her!" And The Crafty Old Dowager

Flourished Her Hand Towards The Fireplace,  Where Maude Stood In All Her

Beauty. "A Daughter Of The House Of Kirton Cannot Be Taken Up And Cast

Aside At Will. What Would The World Say Of Her?"

 

"The World Need Never Know."

 

"Not Know!" Shrieked The Dowager; "Not Know! Why,  Her Trousseau Is

Ordered,  And Some Of The Things Have Arrived. Good Heavens,  Hartledon,

You Dare Not Trifle With Maude In This Way. You Could Never Show Your

Face Amongst Men Again."

 

"But Neither Dare I Trifle With Anne Ashton," Said Lord Hartledon,

Completely Broken Down By The Gratuitous Information. He Saw That The

Situation Was Worse Than Even He Had Bargained For,  And All His

Irresolution Began To Return Upon Him. "If I Knew What Was Right

To Be Done,  I'm Sure I'd Do It."

 

"Right,  Did You Say? Right? There Cannot Be A Question About That. Which

Is The More Fitting To Grace Your Coronet: Maude,  Or A Country Parson's

Daughter?"

 

"I'm Sure If This Goes On I Shall Shoot Myself," Cried Val. "Taken To

Task At The Rectory,  Taken To Task Here--Shooting Would Be Bliss To It."

 

"No Doubt," Returned The Dowager. "It Can't Be A Very Pleasant Position

For You. Any One But You Would Get Out Of It,  And Set The Matter At

Rest."

 

"I Should Like To Know How."

 

"So Long As You Are A Single Man They Naturally Remain On The High Ropes

At The Rectory,  With Their Fine Visions For Anne--"

 

"I Wish You Would Understand Once For All,  Lady Kirton,  That The Ashtons

Are Our Equals In Every Way," He Interrupted: "And," He Added,  "In Worth

And Goodness Infinitely Our Superiors."

 

The Dowager Gave A Sniff. "You Think So,  I Know,  Hart. Well,  The Only

Plan To Bring You Peace Is This: Make Maude Your Wife. At Once; Without

Delay."

 

The Proposition Took Away Val's Breath. "I Could Not Do It,  Lady Kirton.

To Begin With,  They'd Bring An Action Against Me For Breach Of Promise."

 

"Breach Of Nonsense!" Wrathfully Returned The Dowager. "Was Ever Such

A Thing Heard Of Yet,  As A Doctor Of Divinity Bringing An Action Of That

Nature? He'd Lose His Gown."

 

"I Wish I Was At The Bottom Of A Deep Well,  Never To Come Up Again!"

Mentally Aspirated The Unfortunate Man.

 

"Will--You--Marry--Maude?" Demanded The Dowager,  With A Fixed

Denunciation In Every Word,  Which Was As So Much Slow Torture To Her

Victim.

 

"I Wish I Could. You Must See For Yourself,  Lady Kirton,  That I Cannot.

Maude Must See It."

 

"I See Nothing Of The Sort. You Are Bound To Her In Honour."

 

"All I Can Do Is To Remain Single To The End Of My Days," Said Val,  After

A Pause. "I Have Been A Great Villain To Both,  And I Cannot Repair It To

Either. The One Stands In The Way Of The Other."

 

"But--"

 

"I Beg Your Pardon,  Ma'am," He Interrupted,  So Peremptorily That The Old

Woman Trembled For Her Power. "This Is My Final Decision,  And I Will Not

Hear Another Word. I Feel Ready To Hang Myself,  As It Is. You Tell Me I

Cannot Marry Any Other Than Maude Without Being A Scoundrel; The Same

Thing Precisely Applies To Anne. I Shall Remain Single."

 

"You Will Give Me One Promise--For Maude's Sake. Not,  After This,  To

Marry Anne Ashton."

 

"Why,  How Can I Do It?" Asked He,  In Tones Of Exasperation. "Don't You

See That It Is Impossible? I Shall Not See The Ashtons Again,  Ma'am; I

Would Rather Go A Hundred Miles The Other Way Than Face Them."

 

The Countess-Dowager Probably Deemed She Had Said Sufficient For Safety;

For She Went Out And Shut The Door After Her. Lord Hartledon Dashed His

Hair From His Brow With A Hasty Hand,  And Was About To Leave The Room By

The Other Door,  When Maude Came Up To Him.

 

"Is This To Be The End Of It,  Percival?"

 

She Spoke In Tones Of Pain,  Of Tremulous Tenderness; All Her Pride Gone

Out Of Her. Lord Hartledon Laid His Hand Upon Her Shoulder,  Meeting The

Dark Eyes That Were Raised To His Through Tears.

 

"Do You Indeed Love Me Like This,  Maude? Somehow I Never Thought It."

 

"I Love You Better Than The Whole World. I Love You Enough To Give Up

Everything For You."

 

The Emphasis Conveyed A Reproach--That He Did Not "Give Up Everything"

For Her. But Lord Hartledon Kept His Head For Once.

 

"Heaven Knows My Bitter Repentance. If I Could Repair This Folly Of Mine

By Any Sacrifice On My Own Part,  I Would Gladly Do It. Let Me Go,  Maude!

I Have Been Here Long Enough,  Unless I Were More Worthy. I Would Ask You

To Forgive Me If I Knew How To Frame The Petition."

 

She Released The Hand Of Which She Had Made A Prisoner--Released It With

A Movement Of Petulance; And Lord Hartledon Quitted The Room,  The Words

She Had Just Spoken Beating Their Refrain On His Brain. It Did Not Occur

To Him In His Gratified Vanity To Remember That Anne Ashton,  About Whose

Love There Could Be No Doubt,  Never Avowed It In Those Pretty Speeches.

 

"Well?" Said Mr. Carr,  When He Got Back To The Dining-Room.

 

"It Is Not Well,  Carr; It Is Ill. There Can Be No Release. The Old

Dowager Won't Have It."

 

"But Surely You Will Not Resign Miss Ashton For Lady Maude!" Cried The

Barrister,  After A Pause Of Amazement.

 

"I Resign Both; I See That I Cannot Do Anything Else In Honour. Excuse

Me,  Carr,  But I'd Rather Not Say Any More About It Just Now; I Feel Half

Maddened."

 

"Elster's Folly," Mentally Spoke Thomas Carr.

 

Chapter 17 (An Agreeable Wedding)

 

That Circumstances,  Combined With The Countess-Dowager,  Worked Terribly

Against Lord Hartledon,  Events Proved. Had The Ashtons Remained At The

Rectory All Might Have Been Well; But They Went Away,  And He Was Left To

Any Influence That Might Be Brought To Bear Upon Him.

 

How The Climax Was Accomplished The World Never Knew. Lord Hartledon

Himself Did Not Know The Whole Of It For A Long While. As If Unwilling To

Trust Himself Longer In Dangerous Companionship,  He Went Up To Town With

Thomas Carr. Whilst There He Received A Letter From Cannes,  Written By

Dr. Ashton; A Letter That Angered Him.

 

It Was A Cool Letter,  A Vein Of Contemptuous Anger Running Through It;

Meant To Be Hidden,  But Nevertheless Perceptible To Lord Hartledon. Its

Purport Was To Forbid All Correspondence Between Him And Miss Ashton:

Things Had Better "Remain In Abeyance" Until They Met,  Ran The Words,

"If Indeed Any Relations Were Ever Renewed Between Them Again."

 

It Might Have Angered Lord Hartledon More Than It Did,  But For The

Hopelessness Which Had Taken Up Its Abode Within Him. Nevertheless He

Resented It. He Did Not Suppose It Possible That The Ashtons Could Have

Heard Of The Dilemma He Was In,  Or That He Should Be Unable To Fulfil His

Engagement With Anne,  Having With His Usual Vacillation Put Off Any

Explanation With Them; Which Of Course Must Come Sometime. He Had Taken

An Idea Into His Head Long Before,  That Dr. Ashton Wished To Part Them,

And He Looked Upon The Letter As Resulting From That. Hartledon Was

Feeling Weary Of The World.

 

How Little Did He Divine That The Letter Of The Doctor Was Called Forth

By A Communication From The Countess-Dowager. An Artful Communication,

With A Charming Candour Lying On Its Surface. She Asked--She Actually

Asked That Dr. Ashton Would Allow "Fair Play;" She Said The "Deepest

Affection" Had Grown Up Between Lord Hartledon And Lady Maude; And She

Only Craved That The Young Man Might Not Be Coerced Either Way,  But Might

Be Allowed To Choose Between Them. The Field After Miss Ashton's Return

Would Be Open To The Two,  And Ought To Be Left So.

 

You May Imagine The Effect This Missive Produced Upon The Proud,

High-Minded Doctor Of Divinity. He Took A Sheet Of Paper And Wrote A

Stinging Letter To Lord Hartledon,  Forbidding Him To Think Again Of Anne.

But When He Was In The Aup Plots Of The Exquisite Shepherd's Thyme,

Which Carpets The Place With Blue!

 

Yesterday We Drove By Stonehenge To Winterbourne Stoke. It Was

Glaring,  And I Could Not Do Much Sketching,  But The Drive Over The

Downs Was Like Drinking In Life At Some Primeval Spring. (And This

Though The Wind Did Give Me Acute Neuralgia In My Right Eye,  But Yet

The Air Was So Exquisitely Refreshing That I Could Cover My Eye With A

Handkerchief And Still Enjoy!) The Charm Of These Unhedged,  Unbounded,

Un-"Cabined,  Cribbed,  Confined" _Prairies_ Is All Their Own,  And Very

Perfect! And _Such_ Flowers _Enamel_ (It _Is_ A Good Simile In Spite

Of Alphonse Karr!) The Close Fine Grass! The Pale-Yellow Rock Cistus

In Clumps,  The Blue "Shepherd's Thyme" In Tracts Of Colour,  Sweet

Little Purple-Capped Orchids,  Spireas And Burnets,  And Everywhere "The

Golden Buttercup" In Sheets Of Gleaming Yellow,  And The Soft Wind

Blows And Blows,  And The Black-Nosed Sheep Come Up The Leas,  And I

Drink In The Breeze! Oh,  Those Flocks Of Black-Faced Lambs And Sheep

Are Too-Too! And I Must Tell You That The Old Wiltshire

"Ship-Dog" Is Nearly Extinct. I Regret To Say That He Is Not Found

Equal To "The Scotch" In Business Habits,  And One See Collies

Everywhere Now....

 

 

 

 

_London._ June 29,  1882.

 

 

 

 

       

 

I Had A Great Treat Last Sunday. One You And I Will Share When You

Come Home. D.,  U.,  And I Took Jack To Church At The Chelsea Hospital,

And We Went Round The Pensioners' Rooms,  Kitchen,  Sick-Wards,  Etc.

Afterwards,  With Old Sir Patrick Grant And Col. Wadeson,  V.C. (Govr.

And Lieut.-Govr.),  And A Lot Of Other People.

 

It Is An Odd,  Perhaps A Savage,  Mixture Of Emotions,  To Kneel At One's

Prayers With Some _Pride_ Under Fourteen French Flags--_Captured_

(Including One Of Napoleon's While He Was Still Consul,  With A Red Cap

Of Liberty As Big As Your Hat!),  And Hard By The Five Bare

Staves From Which The Five Standards Taken At Blenheim Have

Rotted To Dust!--And Then To Pass Under The Great Russian Standard

(Twenty Feet Square,  I Should Say!) That Is Festooned Above The Door

Of The Big Hall. If Rule Britannia Is Humbug--And We Are Mere

Philistine Braggarts--Why Doesn't Cook Organize A Tour To Some German

Or Other City,  Where We Can Sit Under Fourteen Captured British

Colours,  And Be Disillusioned Once For All!!! Where Is The Hospital

Whose Walls Are Simply Decorated Like Some Lord Mayor's Show With

Trophies Taken From Us And From Every Corner Of The World? (You Know

Lady Grant Was In The Action At Chillianwallah And Has The Medal?) We

Saw Two Waterloo Men,  And Jack Was Handed About From One Old Veteran

To Another Like A Toy. "Grow Up A Brave Man," They Said,  Over And Over

Again. But "The Officer," As He Called Colonel Wadeson,  Was His Chief

Pride,  He Being In Full Uniform And Cocked Hat!!

 

And I Must Tell You--In The Sick Ward I Saw A Young Man,  Fair-Curled,

Broad-Chested,  Whose Face Seemed Familiar. He Was With Captain

Cleather At The Aldershot Gym.,  Fell,  And Is "Going Home"--Slowly,  And

With Every Comfort And Kindness About Him,  But Of Spinal Paralysis.

It _Did_ Seem Hard Lines! He Was At