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

Lord Hartledon's House. It Had Waited There More Frequently

In These Later Weeks Than Of Old.

 

The Great World--_Her_ World--Wondered What Was The Matter With Her: Sir

Alexander Wondered Also. Perhaps Had He Been A Less Courtly Man He Might

Have Rapped Out "Obstinacy," If Questioned Upon The Point; As It Was,  He

Murmured Of "Weakness." Weak She Undoubtedly Was; And She Did Not Seem To

Try In The Least To Grow Strong Again. She Did Not Go Into Society Now;

She Dressed As Usual,  And Sat In Her Drawing-Room,  And Received Visitors

If The Whim Took Her; But She Was Usually Denied To All; And Said She Was

Not Well Enough To Go Out. From Her Husband She Remained Bitterly

Estranged. If He Attempted To Be Friendly With Her,  To Ask What Was

Ailing Her,  She Either Sharply Refused To Say,  Or Maintained A Persistent

Silence. Lord Hartledon Could Not Account For Her Behaviour,  And Was

Growing Tired Of It.

 

Poor Maude! That Some Grievous Blow Had Fallen Upon Her Was All Too

Evident. Resentment,  Anguish,  Bitter Despair Alternated Within Her

Breast,  And She Seemed Really Not To Care Whether She Lived Or Died. Was

It For _This_ That She Had Schemed,  And So Successfully,  To Wrest Lord

Hartledon From His Promised Bride Anne Ashton? She Would Lie Back In Her

Chair And Ask It. No Labour Of Hers Could By Any Possibility Have Brought

Forth A Result By Which Miss Ashton Could Be So Well Avenged. Heaven Is

True To Itself,  And Dr. Ashton Had Left Vengeance With It. Lady Hartledon

Looked Back On Her Fleeting Triumph; A Triumph At The Time Certainly,  But

A Short One. It Had Not Fulfilled Its Golden Promises: That Sort Of

Triumph Perhaps Never Does. It Had Been Followed By Ennui,  Repentance,

Dissatisfaction With Her Husband,  And It Had Resulted In A Very Moonlight

Sort Of Happiness,  Which Had At Length Centred Only In The Children. The

Children! Maude Gave A Cry Of Anguish As She Thought Of Them. No; Take It

Altogether,  The Play From The First Had Not Been Worth The Candle. And

Now? She Clasped Her Thin Hands In A Frenzy Of Impotent Rage--With Anne

Ashton Had Lain The Real Triumph,  With Herself The Sacrifice. Too Well

Maude Understood A Remark Her Husband Once Made In Answer To A Reproach

Of Hers In The First Year Of Their Marriage--That He Was Thankful Not To

Have Wedded Anne.

 

One Morning Sir Alexander Pepps,  On His Way From The Drawing-Room

To His Chariot--A Very Old-Fashioned Chariot That All The World Knew

Well--Paused Midway In The Hall,  With His Cane To His Nose,  And

Condescended To Address The Man With The Powdered Wig Who Was Escorting

Him.

 

"Is His Lordship At Home?"

 

"Yes,  Sir."

 

"I Wish To See Him."

 

So The Wig Changed Its Course,  And Sir Alexander Was Bowed Into

The Presence. His Lordship Rose With What The French Would Call

_Empressement_,  To Receive The Great Man.

 

"Thank You,  I Have Not Time To Sit," Said He,  Declining The Offered Chair

And Standing,  Cane In Hand. "I Have Three Consultations To-Day,  And Some

Urgent Cases. I Grieve To Have A Painful Duty To Fulfil; But I Must

Inform You That Lady Hartledon's Health Gives Me Uneasiness."

 

Lord Hartledon Did Not Immediately Reply; But It Was Not From Want Of

Genuine Concern.

 

"What Is Really The Matter With Her?"

 

"Debility; Nothing Else," Replied Sir Alexander. "But These Cases Of

Extreme Debility Cause So Much Perplexity. Where There Is No Particular

Disease To Treat,  And The Patient Does Not Rally,  Why--"

 

He Understood The Doctor's Pause To Mean Something Ominous. "What Can Be

Done?" He Asked. "I Have Remarked,  With Pain,  That She Does Not Gain

Strength. Change Of Air? The Seaside--"

 

"She Says She Won't Go," Interrupted The Physician. "In Fact,  Her

Ladyship Objects To Everything I Can Suggest Or Propose."

 

"It's Very Strange," Said Lord Hartledon.

 

"At Times It Has Occurred To Me That She Has Something On Her Mind,"

Continued Sir Alexander. "Upon My Delicately Hinting This Opinion To Lady

Hartledon,  She Denied It With A Vehemence Which Caused Me To Suspect That

I Was Correct. Does Your Lordship Know Of Anything Likely To--To Torment

Her?"

 

"Not Anything," Replied Lord Hartledon,  Confidently. "I Think I Can

Assure You That There Is Nothing Of The Sort."

 

And He Spoke According To His Belief; For He Knew Of Nothing. He Would

Have Supposed It Simply Impossible That Lady Hartledon Had Been Made

Privy To The Dreadful Secret Which Had Weighed On Him; And He Never Gave

That A Thought.

 

Sir Alexander Nodded,  Reassured On The Point.

 

"I Should Wish For A Consultation,  If Your Lordship Has No Objection."

 

"Then Pray Call It Without Delay. Have Anything,  Do Anything,  That May

Conduce To Lady Hartledon's Recovery. You Do Not Suspect Heart-Disease?"

 

"The Symptoms Are Not Those Of Any Heart-Disease Known To Me. Lady Kirton

Spoke To Me Of This; But I See Nothing To Apprehend At Present On That

Score. If There's Any Latent Affection,  It Has Not Yet Shown Itself. Then

We'll Arrange The Consultation For To-Morrow."

 

Sir Alexander Pepps Was Bowed Out; And The Consultation Took Place; Which

Left The Matter Just Where It Was Before. The Wise Doctors Thought There

Was Nothing Radically Wrong; But Strongly Recommended Change Of Air. Sir

Alexander Confidently Mentioned Torbay; He Had Great Faith In Torbay;

Perhaps His Lordship Could Induce Lady Hartledon To Try It? She Had

Flatly Told The Consultation That She Would _Not_ Try It.

 

Lady Hartledon Was Seated In The Drawing-Room When He Went In,  Willing To

Do What He Could; Any Urging Of His Had Not Gone Far With Her Of Late. A

White Silk Shawl Covered Her Dress Of Green Check Silk; She Wore A Shawl

Constantly Now,  Having A Perpetual Tendency To Shiver; Her Handsome

Features Were White And Attenuated,  But Her Eyes Were Brilliant Still,

And Her Dark Hair Was Dressed In Elaborate Braids.

 

"So You Have Had The Doctors Here,  Maude," He Remarked,  Cheerfully.

 

She Nodded A Reply,  And Began To Fidget With The Body Of Her Gown. It

Seemed That She Had To Do Something Or Other Always To Her Attire

Whenever He Spoke To Her--Which Partially Took Away Her Attention.

 

"Sir Alexander Tells Me They Have Been Recommending You Torbay."

 

"I Am Not Going To Torbay."

 

"Oh Yes,  You Are,  Maude," He Soothingly Said. "It Will Be A Change For Us

All. The Children Will Benefit By It As Much As You,  And So Shall I."

 

"I Tell You I Shall Not Go To Torbay."

 

"Would You Prefer Any Other Place?"

 

"I Will Not Go Anywhere; I Have Told Them So."

 

"Then I Declare That I'll Carry You Off By Force!" He Cried,  Rather

Sharply. "Why Do You Vex Me Like This? You Know You Must Go?"

 

She Made No Reply. He Drew A Chair Close To Her And Sat Down.

 

"Maude," He Said,  Speaking All The More Gently For His Recent Outbreak,

"You Must Be Aware That You Do Not Recover As Quickly As We Could Wish--"

 

"I Do Not Recover At All," She Interrupted. "I Don't Want To Recover."

 

"My Dear,  How Can You Talk So? There Is Nothing The Matter With You But

Weakness,  And That Will Soon Be Overcome If You Exert Yourself."

 

"No,  It Won't. I Shall Not Leave Home."

 

"Somewhere You Must Go,  For The Workmen Are Coming Into The House; And

For The Next Two Months It Will Not Be Habitable."

 

"Who Is Bringing Them In?" She Asked,  With Flashing Eyes.

 

"You Know It Was Decided Long Ago That The House Should Be Done Up This

Summer. It Wants It Badly Enough. Torbay--"

 

"I Will Not Go To Torbay,  Lord Hartledon. If I Am To Be Turned Out Of

This House,  I'll Go To The Other."

 

"What Other?"

 

"Hartledon."

 

"Not To Hartledon," Said He,  Quickly,  For His Dislike To The Place Had

Grown With Time,  And The Word Grated On His Ear.

 

"Then I Remain Where I Am."

 

"Maude," He Resumed In Quiet Tones,  "I Will Not Urge You To Try Sea-Air

For My Sake,  Because You Do What You Can To Show Me I Am Of Little Moment

To You; But I Will Say Try It For The Sake Of The Children. Surely,  They

Are Dear To You!"

 

A Subdued Sound Of Pain Broke From Her Lips,  As If She Could Not Bear To

Hear Them Named.

 

"It's Of No Use Prolonging This Discussion," She Said. "An Invalid's

Fancies May Generally Be Trusted,  And Mine Point To Hartledon--If I Am To

Be Disturbed At All. I Should Not So Much Mind Going There."

 

A Pause Ensued. Lord Hartledon Had Taken Her Hand,  And Was Mechanically

Turning Round Her Wedding-Ring,  His Thoughts Far Away; It Hung

Sufficiently Loosely Now On The Wasted Finger. She Lay Back In Her

Chair,  Looking On With Apathy,  Too Indifferent To Withdraw Her Hand.

 

"Why Did You Put It On?" She Asked,  Abruptly.

 

"Why Indeed?" Returned His Lordship,  Deep In His Abstraction. "What Did

You Say,  Maude?" He Added,  Awaking In A Flurry. "Put What On?"

 

"My Wedding-Ring."

 

"My Dear! But About Hartledon--If You Fancy That,  And Nowhere Else,

I Suppose We Must Go There."

 

"You Also?"

 

"Of Course."

 

"Ah! When Your Wife's Chord Of Life Is Loosening What Model Husbands You

Men Become!" She Uttered. "You Have Never Gone To Hartledon With Me; You

Have Suffered Me To Be There Alone,  Through A Ridiculous Reminiscence;

But Now That You Are About To Lose Me You Will Go!"

 

"Why Do You Encourage These Gloomy Thoughts About Yourself,  Maude?" He

Asked,  Passing Over The Hartledon Question. "One Would Think You Wished

To Die."

 

"I Do Not Know," She Replied In Tones Of Deliberation. "Of Course,  No

One,  At My Age,  Can Be Tired Of The World,  And For Some Things I Wish To

Live; But For Others,  I Shall Be Glad To Die."

 

"Maude! Maude! It Is Wrong To Say This. You Are Not Likely To Die."

 

"I Can't Tell. All I Say Is,  I Shall Be Glad For Some Things,  If I Do."

 

"What Is All This?" He Exclaimed,  After A Bewildered Pause. "Is There

Anything On Your Mind,  Maude? Are You Grieving After That Little Infant?"

 

"No," She Answered,  "Not For Him. I Grieve For The Two Who Remain."

 

Lord Hartledon Looked At Her. A Dread,  Which He Strove To Throw From Him,

Struggling To His Conscience.

 

"I Think You Are Deceived In My State Of Health. And If I Object To Going

To The Seaside,  It Is Chiefly Because I Would Not Die In A Strange Place.

If I Am To Die,  I Should Like To Die At Hartledon."

 

His Hair Seemed To Rise Up In Horror At The Words. "Maude! Have You Any

Disease You Are Concealing From Me?"

 

"Not Any. But The Belief Has Been Upon Me For Some Time That I Should Not

Get Over This. You Must Have Seen How I Appear To Be Sinking."

 

"And With No Disease Upon You! I Don't Understand It."

 

"No Particular Physical Disease."

 

"You Are Weak,  Dispirited--I Cannot Pursue These Questions," He Broke

Off. "Tell Me In A Word: Is There Any Cause For This?"

 

"Yes."

 

Percival Gathered Up His Breath. "What Is It?"

 

"What Is It!" Her Eyes Ablaze With Sudden Light. "What Has Weighed _You_

Down,  Not To The Grave,  For Men Are Strong,  But To Terror,  And Shame,  And

Sin? What Secret Is It,  Lord Hartledon?"

 

His Lips Were Whitening. "But It--Even Allowing That I Have A

Secret--Need Not Weigh You Down."

 

"Not Weigh Me Down!--To Terror Deeper Than Yours; To Shame More Abject?

Suppose I Know The Secret?"

 

"You Cannot Know It," He Gasped. "It Would Have Killed You."

 

"And What _Has_ It Done? Look At Me."

 

"Oh,  Maude!" He Wailed,  "What Is It That You Do,  Or Do Not Know? How Did

You Learn Anything About It?"

 

"I Learnt It Through My Own Folly. I Am Sorry For It Now. My Knowing It

Can Make The Fact Neither Better Nor Worse; And Perhaps I Might Have Been

Spared The Knowledge To The End."

 

"But What Is It That You Know?" He Asked,  Rather Wishing At The Moment He

Was Dead Himself.

 

"_All._"

 

"It Is Impossible."

 

"It Is True."

 

And He Felt That It Was True; Here Was The Solution To The Conduct Which

Had Puzzled Him,  Puzzled The Doctors,  Puzzled The Household And The

Countess-Dowager.

 

"And How--And How?" He Gasped.

 

"When That Stranger Was Here Last,  I Heard What He Said To You," She

Replied,  Avowing The Fact Without Shame In The Moment's Terrible Anguish.

"I Made The Third At The Interview."

 

He Looked At Her In Utter Disbelief.

 

"You Refused To Let Me Go Down. I Followed You,  And Stood At The Little

Door Of The Library. It Was Open,  And I--Heard--Every Word."

 

The Last Words Were Spoken With An Hysterical Sobbing. "Oh,  Maude!" Broke

From The Lips Of Lord Hartledon.

 

"You Will Reproach Me For Disobedience,  Of Course; For Meanness,  Perhaps;

But I _Knew_ There Was Some Awful Secret,  And You Would Not Tell Me. I

Earned My Punishment,  If That Will Be Any Satisfaction To You; I Have

Never Since Enjoyed