Elster's Folly - Mrs. Henry Wood (top android ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Perceive What You Think: That The Fact Remains. Carr,  I Know It As

Well As You; I Know That _Nothing_ Can Alter It. Don't You See That

Remorse Is Ever Present With Me? Driving Me Mad? Killing Me By Inches

With Its Pain?"

 

"Do You Know What I Should Be Tempted To Do,  Were The Case Mine?"

 

"Well?"

 

"Tell My Wife."

 

"Carr!"

 

"I Almost Think I Should; I Am Not Quite Sure. Should The Truth Ever Come

To Her--"

 

"But I Trust It Never Will Come To Her," Interrupted Hartledon,  His Face

Growing Hot.

 

"It's A Delicate Point To Argue," Acknowledged Mr. Carr,  "And I Cannot

Hope To Bring You Into My Way Of Looking At It. Had You Married Miss

Ashton,  It Appears To Me That You Would Have No Resource But To Tell

Her: The Very Fact Of Being Bound To You Would Kill A Religious,

High-Principled Woman."

 

"Not If She Remained In Ignorance."

 

"There It Is. Ought She To Remain In Ignorance?"

 

Lord Hartledon Leaned His Head On His Hand As One Faint And Weary.

"Carr,  It Is Of No Use To Go Over All This Ground Again. If I Disclose

The Whole To Maude,  How Would It Make It Better For Her? Would It Not

Render It A Hundred Times Worse? She Could Not Inform Against Me; It

Would Be Contrary To Human Nature To Suppose It; And All The Result

Would Be,  That She Must Go Through Life With The Awful Secret Upon Her,

Rendering Her Days A Hell Upon Earth,  As It Is Rendering Mine. It's True

She Might Separate From Me; I Dare Say She Would; But What Satisfaction

Would That Bring Her? No; The Kinder Course Is To Allow Her To Remain In

Ignorance. Good Heavens! Tell My Wife! I Should Never Dare Do It!"

 

Mr. Carr Made No Reply,  And A Pause Ensued. In Truth,  The Matter Was

Encompassed With Difficulties On All Sides; And The Barrister Could But

Acknowledge That Val's Argument Had Some Sort Of Reason In It. Having

Bound Her To Himself By Marriage,  It Might Be Right That He Should Study

Her Happiness Above All Things.

 

"It Has Put New Life Into Me," Val Resumed,  Pointing To The Letter. "Now

That He Has Promised To Keep The Secret,  There's Little To Fear; And I

Know That He Will Keep His Word. I Must Bear The Burden As I Best Can,

And Keep A Smiling Face To The World."

 

"Did You Read The Postscript?" Asked Mr. Carr; A Feeling Coming Over Him

That Val Had Not Read It.

 

"The Postscript?"

 

"There's A Line Or Two Over The Leaf."

 

Lord Hartledon Glanced At It,  And Found It Ran Thus:

 

  "You Must Be Aware That Another Person Knows Of This Besides Myself. He

  Who Was A Witness At The Time,  And From Whom _I_ Heard The Particulars.

  Of Course For Him I Cannot Answer,  And I Think He Is In England. I

  Allude To G.G. Lord H. Will Know."

 

"Lord H." Apparently Did Know. He Gazed Down At The Words With A Knitted

Brow,  In Which Some Surprise Was Mingled.

 

"I Declare That I Understood Him That Night To Say The Fellow Had Died.

Did Not You?"

 

"I Did," Acquiesced Mr. Carr. "I Certainly Assumed It As A Fact,  Until

This Letter Came To-Day. Gordon Was The Name,  I Think?"

 

"George Gordon."

 

"Since Reading The Letter I Have Been Endeavouring To Recollect Exactly

What He Did Say; And The Impression On My Mind Is,  That He Spoke Of

Gordon As Being _Probably_ Dead; Not That He Knew It For A Certainty.

How I Could Overlook The Point So As Not To Have Inquired Into It More

Fully,  I Cannot Imagine. But,  You See,  We Were Not Discussing Details

That Night,  Or Questioning Facts: We Were Trying To Disarm Him--Get Him

Not To Proceed Against You; And For Myself,  I Confess I Was So Utterly

Stunned That Half My Wits Had Left Me."

 

"What Is To Be Done?"

 

"We Must Endeavour To Ascertain Where Gordon Is," Replied Mr. Carr,  As

He Re-Enclosed The Letter In His Pocket-Book. "I'll Write And Inquire

What _His_ Grounds Are For Thinking He Is In England; And Then Trace Him

Out--If He Is To Be Traced. You Give Me Carte-Blanche To Act?"

 

"You Know I Do,  Carr."

 

"All Right."

 

"And When You Have Traced Him--What Then?"

 

"That's An After-Question,  And I Must Be Guided By Circumstances. And Now

I'll Wish You Good-Night," Continued The Barrister,  Rising. "It's A Shame

To Have Kept You Up; But The Letter Contains Some Consolation,  And I Knew

I Could Not Bring It You To-Morrow."

 

The Drawing-Room Was Lighted When Lord Hartledon Went Upstairs; And His

Wife Sat There With A Book,  As If She Meant To Remain Up All Night. She

Put It Down As He Entered.

 

"Are You Here Still,  Maude! I Thought You Were Tired When You Came Home."

 

"I Felt Tired Because I Met No One I Cared For," She Answered,  In Rather

Fractious Tones. "Every One We Know Is Leaving Town,  Or Has Left."

 

"Yes,  That's True."

 

"I Shall Leave Too. I Don't Mind If We Go To-Morrow."

 

"To-Morrow!" He Echoed. "Why,  We Have The House For Three Weeks Longer."

 

"And If We Have? We Are Not Obliged To Remain In It."

 

Lord Hartledon Put Back The Curtain,  And Stood Leaning Out At The Open

Window,  Seeking A Breath Of Air That Hot Summer's Night,  Though Indeed

There Was None To Be Found; And If There Had Been,  It Could Not Have

Cooled The Brow's Inward Fever. The Park Lay Before Him,  Dark And Misty;

The Lights Of The Few Vehicles Passing Gleamed Now And Again; The Hum Of

Life Was Dying Out In The Streets,  Men's Free Steps,  Careless Voices. He

Looked Down,  And Wondered Whether Any One Of Those Men Knew What Care

Meant As _He_ Knew It; Whether The Awful Skeleton,  That Never Quitted

Him Night Or Day,  Could Hold Such Place With Another. He Was Earl Of

Hartledon; Wealthy,  Young,  Handsome; He Had No Bad Habits To Hamper Him;

And Yet He Would Willingly Have Changed Lots At Hazard With Any One Of

Those Passers-By,  Could His Breast,  By So Doing,  Have Been Eased Of Its

Burden.

 

"What Are You Looking At,  Val?"

 

His Wife Had Come Up And Stolen Her Arm Within His,  As She Asked The

Question,  Looking Out Too.

 

"Not At Anything In Particular," He Replied,  Making A Prisoner Of Her

Hand. "The Night's Hot,  Maude."

 

"Oh,  I Am Getting Tired Of London!" She Exclaimed. "It Is Always Hot Now;

And I Believe I Ought To Be Away From It."

 

"Yes."

 

"That Letter I Had This Morning Was From Ireland,  From Mamma. I Told Her,

When I Wrote Last,  How I Felt; And You Never Read Such A Lecture As She

Gave Me In Return. She Asked Me Whether I Was Mad,  That I Should Be Going

Galvanizing About When I Ought Rather To Be Resting Three Parts Of My

Time."

 

"Galvanizing?" Said Lord Hartledon.

 

"So She Wrote: She Never Waits To Choose Her Words--You Know Mamma!

I Suppose She Meant To Imply That I Was Always On The Move."

 

"Do You Feel Ill,  Maude?"

 

"Not Exactly Ill; But--I Think I Ought To Be Careful. Percival," She

Breathed,  "Mamma Asked Me Whether I Was Trying To Destroy The Hope Of An

Heir To Hartledon."

 

An Ice-Bolt Shot Through Him At The Reminder. Better An Heir Should Never

Be Born,  If It Must Call Him Father!

 

"I Fainted To-Day,  Val," She Continued To Whisper.

 

He Passed His Arm Round His Wife's Waist,  And Drew Her Closer To Him.

Not Upon Her Ought He To Visit His Sin: She Might Have Enough To Bear,

Without Coldness From Him; Rather Should He Be Doubly Tender.

 

"You Did Not Tell Me About It,  Love. Why Have You Gone Out This Evening?"

He Asked Reproachfully.

 

"It Has Not Harmed Me. Indeed I Will Take Care,  For Your Sake. I Should

Never Forgive Myself."

 

"I Have Thought Since We Married,  Maude,  That You Did Not Much Care For

Me."

 

Maude Made No Immediate Answer. She Was Looking Out Straight Before Her,

Her Head On His Shoulder,  And Lord Hartledon Saw That Tears Were

Glistening In Her Eyes.

 

"Yes,  I Do," She Said At Length; And As She Spoke She Felt Very Conscious

That She _Was_ Caring For Him. His Gentle Kindness,  His Many Attractions

Were Beginning To Tell Upon Her Heart; And A Vision Of The Possible

Future,  When She Should Love Him,  Crossed Her Then And There As She

Stood. Lord Hartledon Bent His Face,  And Let It Rest On Hers.

 

"We Shall Be Happy Yet,  Val; And I Will Be As Good As Gold. To Begin

With,  We Will Leave London At Once. I Ought Not To Remain,  And I Know You

Have Not Liked It All Along. It Would Have Been Better To Wait Until Next

Year,  When We Could Have Had Our Own House; Only I Was Impatient. I Felt

Proud Of Being Married; Of Being Your Wife--I Did Indeed,  Val--And I Was

In A Fever To Be Amidst My World Of Friends. And There's A Real

Confession!" She Concluded,  Laughing.

 

"Any More?" He Asked,  Laughing With Her.

 

"I Don't Remember Any More Just Now. Which Day Shall We Go? You Shall

Manage Things For Me Now: I Won't Be Wilful Again. Shall The Servants Go

On First To Hartledon,  Or With Us?"

 

"To Hartledon!" Exclaimed Val. "Is It To Hartledon You Think Of Going?"

 

"Of Course It Is," She Said,  Standing Up And Looking At Him In Surprise.

"Where Else Should I Go?"

 

"I Thought You Wished To Go To Germany!"

 

"And So I Did; But That Would Not Do Now."

 

"Then Let Us Go To The Seaside," He Rather Eagerly Said. "Somewhere In

England."

 

"No,  I Would Rather Go To Hartledon. In One's Own Home Rest And Comfort

Can Be Insured; And I Believe I Require Them. Don't You Wish To Go

There?" She Added,  Watching His Perplexed Face.

 

"No,  I Don't. The Truth Is,  I Cannot Go To Hartledon."

 

"Is It Because You Do Not Care To Face The Ashtons? I See! You Would Like

To Have This Business Settled First."

 

Lord Hartledon Hardly Heard The Words,  As He Stood Leaning Against The

Open Casement,  Gazing Into The Dark And Misty Past. No Man Ever Shrank

From A Prison As He Shrank From Hartledon.

 

"I Cannot Leave London At All Just Yet. Thomas Carr Is Remaining Here For

Me,  When He Ought To Be On Circuit,  And I Must Stay With Him. I Wish You

Would Go Anywhere Else,  Rather Than To Hartledon."

 

The Tone Was So Painfully Earnest,  That A Momentary Suspicion Crossed Her

Of His Having Some Other Motive. It Passed Away Almost As It Arose,  And

She Accused Him Of Being Unreasonable.

 

Unreasonable It Did Appear To Be. "If You Have Any Real Reason To Urge

Against Hartledon,  Tell It Me," She Said. But He Mentioned None--Save

That It Was His "Wish" Not To Go.

 

And Lady Hartledon,  Rather Piqued,  Gave The Necessary Orders On The

Following Day For The Removal. No Further Confidential Converse,  Or

Approach To It,  Took Place Between Her And Her Husband; But Up To The

Last Moment She Thought He Would Relent And Accompany Her. Nothing Of The

Sort. He Was Anxious For Her Every Comfort On The Journey,  And Saw Her

Off Himself: Nothing More.

 

"I Never Thought You Would Allow Me To Go Alone," She Resentfully

Whispered,  As He Held Her Hand After She Was Seated In The Train.

 

He Shook His Head. "It Is Your Fault,  Maude. I Told You I Could Not Go To

Hartledon."

 

And So She Went Down In Rather An Angry Frame Of Mind. Many A Time And

Oft Had She Pictured To Herself The Triumph Of Their First Visit To

Calne,  The Place Where She Had Taken So Much Pains To Win Him: But The

Arrival Was Certainly Shorn Of Its Glory.

Chapter 20 (Asking The Rector)

Perhaps Lady Hartledon Had Never In All Her Life Been So Much Astonished

As When She Reached Hartledon,  For The First Person She Saw There Was Her

Mother: Her Mother,  Whom She Had Believed To Be In Some Remote District

Of Ireland. For The Moment She Almost