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

Of Manly Powers

In The Service Of Their Country Among The World's Hopes And Fears And

Turmoils,  And To Be Suddenly Called Upon To "Leave All And Follow

Christ"--When The "All" For Them Had Most Righteously Got Every Force

Of Mind And Body Devoted To It--Must Be At Least One Hard Struggle.

And Death Away From Home Does Seem So Terrible!

 

Richard Will Feel It Very Much. That Nottingham Election Seems So

Short A Time Ago.

 

       

 

Back From Church! Great Haste. We Have Had That Grand Hymn With--

 

"Soon,  Soon To Faithful Warriors Comes Their Rest."

 

I Did Not Fo We Ha For The Morrow's Services.

 

"If You Please,  My Lady,  Captain Kirton Has Been Asking For You Once Or

Twice," Said Hedges,  Entering The Dowager's Private Sitting-Room.

 

"Then Captain Kirton Must Ask," Retorted The Dowager,  Who Was Sitting

Down To Her Letters,  Which She Had Left Unopened Since Their Arrival In

The Morning,  In Her Anxiety For Other Interests. "Hedges,  I Should Like

Some Supper: I Had Only A Scrambling Sort Of Dinner. You Can Bring It Up

Here. Something Nice; And A Bottle Of Champagne."

 

Hedges Withdrew With The Order,  And Lady Kirton Applied Herself To Her

Letters. The First She Opened Was From The Daughter Who Had Married The

French Count. It Told A Pitiful Tale Of Distress,  And Humbly Craved To Be

Permitted To Come Over On A Fortnight's Visit,  She And Her Two Sickly

Children,  "For A Little Change."

 

"I Dare Say!" Emphatically Cried The Dowager. "What Next? No,  Thank You,

My Lady; Now That I Have At Least A Firm Footing In This House--As That

Blessed Parson Said--I Am Not Going To Risk It By Filling It With Every

Bothering Child I Possess. Bob Departs As Soon As His Leg's Well. Why

What's This?"

 

She Had Come Upon A Concluding Line As She Was Returning The Letter To

The Envelope. "P.S. If I Don't Hear From You _Very_ Decisively To The

Contrary,  I Shall Come,  And Trust To Your Good Nature To Forgive It. I

Want To See Bob."

 

"Oh,  That's It,  Is It!" Said The Dowager. "She Means To Come,  Whether I

Will Or No. That Girl Always Had Enough Impudence For A Dozen."

 

Drawing A Sheet Of Paper Out Of Her Desk,  She Wrote A Few Rapid Lines.

 

  "Dear Jane,

 

  "For _Mercy's_ Sake Keep Those _Poor_ Children And Yourself _Away_! We

  Have Had An _Aweful Infectious Fever_ Rageing In The Place,  Which It

  Was Thought To Be _Cured_,  But It's On The Break _Out_ Again-Several

  _Deaths_,  Hartledon And Maude (_Married_ Of Course) Have Gone Out Of

  Its Reach And I'm Thinking Of It If _Bob's_ Leg Which Is _Better_

  Permits. You'd Not Like I Dare Say To See The Children In A _Coffin

  Apiece_ And Yourself In A _Third_,  As Might Be The End. _Small-Pox_ Is

  Raging At _Garchester_ A Neighbouring Town,  That _Will_ Be Awful If It

  Gets To _Us_ And I _Hear_ It's On The _Road_ And With Kind Love

  _Believe_ Me Your Affectionate_

 

  "Mother.

 

  "P.S. I Am Sorry For _What_ You Tell Me About _Ugo_ And The _State_

  Of Affairs Chey Vous. But You Know You _Would Marry_ Him So There's

  _Nobody_ To Blame. Ah! _Maude_ Has Gone By _My_ Advice And Done As _I_

  Said And The Consequence Is _She's_ A Peeress For Life And Got A

  Handsome Young Husband _Without_ A _Will_ Of His Own."

 

The Countess-Dowager Was Not Very Adroit At Spelling And Composition,

Whether French Or English,  As You Observe. She Made An End Of Her

Correspondence,  And Sat Down To A Delicious Little Supper Alone; As She

Best Liked To Enjoy These Treats. The Champagne Was Excellent,  And She

Poured Out A Full Tumbler Of It At Once,  By Way Of Wishing Good Luck To

Maude's Triumphant Wedding.

 

"And It _Is_ A Triumph!" She Said,  As She Put Down The Empty Glass. "I

Hope It Will Bring Jane And The Rest To A Sense Of _Their_ Folly."

 

A Triumph? If You Could Only Have Looked Into The Future,  Lady Kirton!

A Triumph!

 

The Above Was Not The Only Letter Written That Evening. At The Hotel

Where Lord And Lady Hartledon Halted For The Night,  When She Had Retired

Under Convoy Of Her Maid,  Then Val's Restrained Remorse Broke Out. He

Paced The Room In A Sort Of Mad Restlessness; In The Midst Of Which He

Suddenly Sat Down To A Table On Which Lay Pens,  Ink,  And Paper,  And

Poured Forth Hasty Sentences In His Mind's Wretched Tumult.

 

  "My Dear Mrs. Ashton,

 

  "I Cannot Address You In Any More Formal Words,  Although You Will Have

  Reason To Fling Down The Letter At My Presuming To Use These Now--For

  Dear,  Most Dear,  You Will Ever Be To Me.

 

  "What Can I Say? Why Do I Write To You? Indeed To The Latter Question I

  Can Only Answer I Do Not Know,  Save That Some Instinct Of Good Feeling,

  Not Utterly Dead Within Me,  Is Urging Me To It.

 

  "Will You Let Me For A Moment Throw Conventionality Aside; Will You For

  That Brief Space Of Time Let Me Speak Truly And Freely To You,  As One

  Might Speak Who Has Passed The Confines Of This World?

 

  "When A Man Behaves To A Woman As I,  To My Eternal Shame,  Have This Day

  Behaved To Anne,  It Is,  I Think,  A Common Custom To Regard The False

  Man As Having Achieved A Sort Of Triumph; To Attribute Somewhat Of

  Humiliation To The Other.

 

  "Dear Mrs. Ashton,  I Cannot Sleep Until I Have Said To You That In My

  Case The Very Contrary Is The Fact. A More Abject,  Humiliated Man Than

  I Stand At This Hour In My Own Eyes Never Yet Took His Sins Upon His

  Soul. Even You Might Be Appeased If You Could Look Into Mine And See

  Its Sense Of Degradation.

 

  "That My Punishment Has Already Come Home To Me Is Only Just; That I

  Shall Have To Conceal It From All The World,  Including My Wife,  Will

  Not Lessen Its Sting.

 

  "I Have This Evening Married Maude Kirton. I Might Tell You Of Unfair

  Play Brought To Bear Upon Me,  Of A Positive Assurance,  Apparently Well

  Grounded,  That Anne Had Entered Into An Engagement To Wed Another,

  Could I Admit That These Facts Were Any Excuse For Me. They Are No

  Excuse; Not The Slightest Palliation. My Own Yielding Folly Alone Is

  To Blame,  And I Shall Take Shame To Myself For Ever.

 

  "I Write This To You As I Might Have Written It To My Own Mother,  Were

  She Living; Not As An Expiation; Only To Tell Of My Pain; That I Am Not

  Utterly Hardened; That I Would Sue On My Knees For Pardon,  Were It Not

  Shut Out From Me By My Own Act. There Is No Pardon For Such As I. When

  You Have Torn It In Pieces,  You Will,  I Trust,  Forget The Writer.

 

  "God Bless You,  Dear Mrs. Ashton! God Bless And Comfort Another Who Is

  Dear To You!--And Believe Me With True Undying Remorse Your Once

  Attached Friend,

 

  "Hartledon."

 

It Was A Curious Letter To Write; But Men Of Lord Hartledon's Sensitive

Temperament In Regard To Others' Feelings Often Do Strange Things; Things

The World At Large Would Stare At In Their Inability To Understand Them.

The Remorse Might Not Have Come Home To Him Quite So Soon As This,  His

Wedding-Day,  But For The Inopportune Appearance Of Dr. Ashton In The

Chapel,  Speaking Those Words That Told Home So Forcibly. Such Reproach

On These Vacillating Men Inflicts A Torture That Burns Into The Heart

Like Living Fire.

 

He Sealed The Letter,  Addressing It To Cannes; Called A Waiter,  Late As

It Was,  And Desired Him To Post It. And Then He Walked About The Room,

Reflecting On The Curse Of His Life--His Besetting Sin--Irresolution. It

Seemed Almost An Anomaly For _Him_ To Make Resolves; But He Did Make One

Then; That He Would,  With The Help Of Heaven,  Be A Man From Henceforth,

However It Might Crucify His Sensitive Feelings. And For The Future,  The

Obligation He Had That Day Taken Upon Himself He Determined To Fulfil To

His Uttermost In All Honour And Love; To Cherish His Wife As He Would

Have Cherished Anne Ashton. For The Past--But Lord Hartledon Rose Up Now

With A Start. There Was One Item Of That Past He Dared Not Glance At,

Which Did Not,  However,  Relate To Miss Ashton: And It Appeared Inclined

To Thrust Itself Prominently Forward To-Night.

 

Could Lord Hartledon Have Borrowed Somewhat Of The Easy Indifference Of

The Countess-Dowager,  He Had Been A Happier Man. That Lady Would Have

Made A Female Nero,  Enjoying Herself While Rome Was Burning. She Remained

On In Her Snug Quarters At Hartledon,  And Lived In Clover.

 

One Evening,  Rather More Than A Week After The Marriage,  Hedges Had Been

On An Errand To Calne,  And Was Hastening Home. In The Lonely Part Of The

Road Near Hartledon,  Upon Turning A Sharp Corner,  He Came Upon Mirrable,

Who Was Standing Talking To Pike,  Very Much To The Butler's Surprise.

Pike Walked Away At Once; And The Butler Spoke.

 

"He Is Not An Acquaintance Of Yours,  That Man,  Mrs. Mirrable?"

 

"Indeed No," She Answered,  Tossing Her Head. "It Was Like His Impudence

To Stop Me. Rather Flurried Me Too," She Continued: And Indeed Hedges

Noticed That She Seemed Flurried.

 

"What Did He Stop You For? To Beg?"

 

"Not That. I've Never Heard That He Does Beg. He Accosted Me With A Cool

Question As To When His Lordship Was Coming Back To Hartledon. I Answered

That It Could Not Be Any Business Of His. And Then You Came Up."

 

"He Is Uncommon Curious As To My Lord. I Can't Make It Out. I've Seen Him

Prowling About The Grounds: And The Night Of The Marriage He Was Mounted

Up At The Chapel Window. Lord Hartledon Saw Him,  Too. I Should Like To

Know What He Wants."

 

"By A Half-Word He Let Drop,  I Fancy He Has A Crotchet In His Head That

His Lordship Will Find Him Some Work When He Comes Home. But I Must Go On

My Way," Added Mirrable. "Mrs. Gum's Not Well,  And I Sent Word I'd Look

In For Half-An-Hour This Evening."

 

Hedges Had To Go On His Way Also,  For It Was Close Upon The

Countess-Dowager's Dinner-Hour,  At Which Ceremony He Must Attend. Putting

His Best Foot Forward,  He Walked At More Than An Ordinary Pace,  And

Overtook A Gentleman Almost At The Very Door Of Hartledon. The Stranger

Was Approaching The Front Entrance,  Hedges Was Wheeling Off To The Back;

But The Former Turned And Spoke. A Tall,  Broad-Shouldered,  Grey-Haired

Man,  With High Cheek-Bones. Hedges Took Him For A Clergyman From His

Attire; Black,  With A White Neckcloth.

 

"This Is Hartledon House,  I Believe," He Said,  Speaking With A Scotch

Accent.

 

"Yes,  Sir."

 

"Do You Belong To It?"

 

"I Am Lord Hartledon's Butler."

 

"Is Lord Hartledon At Home?"

 

"No,  Sir. He Is In France."

 

"I Read A Notice Of His Marriage In The Public Papers," Continued The

Stranger,  Whose Eyes Were Fixed On Hedges. "It Was,  I Suppose,  A Correct

One?"

 

"My Lord Was Married The Week Before Last: About Ten Or Eleven Days Ago."

 

"Ay; April The Fourteenth,  The Paper Said. She Is One Of The Kirton

Family. When Do You Expect Him Home?"

 

"I Don't Know At All,  Sir. I've Not Heard Anything About It."

 

"He Is In France,  You Say,  Paris,  I Suppose. Can You Furnish Me With His

Address?"

 

Up To This Point The Colloquy Had Proceeded Smoothly On Both Sides: But

It Suddenly Flashed Into The Mind Of Hedges That The Stranger's Manner

Was Somewhat Mysterious,  Though In What The Mystery Lay He Could Not Have

Defined. The Communicative Man,  True To The Interests Of His Master,

Became Cautious At Once: He Supposed Some Of Lord Hartledon's Worries,

Contracted When He Was Mr. Elster,  Were Returning Upon Him.

 

"I Cannot Give His Address,  Sir. And For The Matter Of That,  It Might Not

Be Of Use If I Could. Lord And Lady Hartledon Did Not Intend Remaining

Any Length Of Time In One Place."

 

The Stranger Had Dug The Point Of His Umbrella Into The Level Greensward

That Bounded The Gravel,  And Swayed The Handle About With His Hand,

Pausing In Thought.

 

"I Have Come A Long Way To See Lord Hartledon," He Observed. "It Might Be

Less Trouble And Cost For Me To Go On To Paris And See Him There,  Than To

Start Back For Home,  And Come Here Again When He Returns To England. Are

You Sure You Can't Give Me His Address?"

 

"I'm Very Sorry I Can't,  Sir. There Was A Talk Of Their Going On