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notice nothing that was said to him by his

wife. He declared once that he regarded Stanbury as his keeper, and

endeavoured to be disagreeable and sullenly combative; but on the

second day, he was too weak for this, and accepted, without

remonstrance, the attentions that were paid to him. At Bologna they

rested a day, and from thence both Stanbury and Mrs Trevelyan wrote to

Nora. They did not know where she might be now staying, but the

letters, by agreement, were addressed to Gregg’s Hotel. It was

suggested that lodgings, or, if possible, a small furnished house,

should be taken in the neighbourhood of Mortlake, Richmond, or

Teddington, and that a telegram as well as letter should be sent to

them at the Paris hotel. As they could not travel quick, there might be

time enough for them in this way to know whither they should go on

their reaching London.

 

They stayed a day at Bologna, and then they went on again to Turin,

over the mountains to Chambery, thence to Dijon, and on to Paris. At

Chambery they remained a couple of days, fancying that the air there

was cool, and that the delay would be salutary to the sick man. At

Turin, finding that they wanted further assistance, they had hired a

courier, and at last Trevelyan allowed himself to be carried in and out

of the carriages and up and down the hotel stairs almost as though he

were a child. The delay was terribly grievous to Stanbury, and Mrs

Trevelyan, perceiving this more than once, begged him to leave them,

and to allow her to finish the journey with the aid of the courier. But

this he could not do. He wrote letters to his friends at the D. R.

office, explaining his position as well as he could, and suggesting

that this and that able assistant should enlighten the British people

on this and that subject, which would in the course of nature, as

arranged at the D. R. office, have fallen into his hands. He and Mrs

Trevelyan became as brother and sister to each other on their way home

as, indeed, it was natural that they should do. Were they doing right

or wrong in this journey that they were taking? They could not conceal

from themselves that the labour was almost more than the poor wretch

could endure; and that it might be, as he himself had suggested, that

they would be called on to bury him on the road. But that residence at

Casalunga had been so terrible, the circumstances of it, including the

solitude, sickness, madness, and habits of life of the wretched hermit,

had been so dangerous, the probability of interference on the part of

some native authority so great, and the chance of the house being left

in Trevelyan’s possession so small, that it had seemed to him that they

had no other alternative; and yet, how would it be if they were killing

him by the toil of travelling? From Chambery, they made the journey to

Paris in two days, and during that time Trevelyan hardly opened his

mouth. He slept much, and ate better than he had done in the hotter

climate on the other side of the Alps.

 

They found a telegram at Paris, which simply contained the promise of a

letter for the next day. It had been sent by Nora, before she had gone

out on her search. But it contained one morsel of strange information;

‘Lady Milborough is going with me.’ On the next day they got a letter,

saying that a cottage had been taken, furnished, between Richmond and

Twickenham. Lady Milborough had known of the cottage, and everything

would be ready then. Nora would herself meet them at the station in

London, if they would, as she proposed, stay a night at Dover. They

were to address to her at Lady Milborough’s house, in Eccleston Square.

In that case, she would have a carriage for them at the Victoria

Station, and would go down with them at once to the cottage.

 

There were to be two days more of weary travelling, and then they were

to be at home again. She and he would have a house together as husband

and wife, and the curse of their separation would, at any rate, be

over. Her mind towards him had changed altogether since the days in

which she had been so indignant, because he had set a policeman to

watch over her. All feeling of anger was over with her now. There is

nothing that a woman will not forgive a man, when he is weaker than she

is herself.

 

The journey was made first to Dover, and then to London. Once, as they

were making their way through the Kentish hop-fields, he put out his

hand feebly, and touched hers. They had the carriage to themselves, and

she was down on her knees before him instantly. ‘Oh, Louis! Oh, Louis!

say that you forgive me!’ What could a woman do more than that in her

mercy to a man?

 

‘Yes yes; yes,’ he said; ‘but do not talk now; I am so tired.’

CHAPTER XCIV

A REAL CHRISTIAN

 

In the meantime the Rowleys were gone. On the Monday after the

departure of Stanbury for Italy, Lady Rowley had begun to look the

difficulty about Nora in the face, and to feel that she must do

something towards providing the poor girl with a temporary home.

Everybody had now agreed that she was to marry Hugh Stanbury as soon as

Hugh Stanbury could be ready, and it was not to be thought of that she

should be left out in the world as one in disgrace or under a cloud.

But what was to be done? Sir Marmaduke was quite incapable of

suggesting anything. He would make her an allowance, and leave her a

small sum of ready money, but as to residence, he could only suggest

again and again that she should be sent to Mrs Outhouse. Now Lady

Rowley was herself not very fond of Mrs Outhouse, and she was aware

that Nora herself was almost as averse to St. Diddulph’s as she was to

the Mandarins. Nora already knew that she had the game in her own

hands. Once when in her presence her father suggested the near

relationship and prudent character and intense respectability of Mrs

Outhouse, Nora, who was sitting behind Sir Marmaduke, shook her head at

her mother, and Lady Rowley knew that Nora would not go to St.

Diddulph’s. This was the last occasion on which that proposition was

discussed.

 

Throughout all the Trevelyan troubles Lady Milborough had continued to

shew a friendly anxiety on behalf of Emily Trevelyan. She had called

once or twice on Lady Rowley, and Lady Rowley had of course returned

the visits. She had been forward in expressing her belief that in truth

the wife had been but little if at all to blame, and had won her way

with Lady Rowley, though she had never been a favourite with either of

Lady Rowley’s daughters. Now, in her difficulty, Lady Rowley went to

Lady Milborough, and returned with an invitation that Nora should come

to Eccleston Square, either till such time as she might think fit to go

to Monkhams, or till Mrs Trevelyan should have returned, and should be

desirous of having her sister with her. When Nora first heard of this

she almost screamed with surprise, and, if the truth must be told, with

disappointment also.

 

‘She never liked me, mamma.’

 

‘Then she is so much more good-natured.’

 

‘But I don’t want to go to her merely because she is good-natured

enough to receive a person she dislikes. I know she is very good. I

know she would sacrifice herself for anything she thought right. But,

mamma, she is such a bore!’

 

But Lady Rowley would not be talked down, even by Nora, in this

fashion. Nora was somewhat touched with an idea that it would be a fine

independent thing to live alone, if it were only for a week or two,

just because other young ladies never lived alone. Perhaps there was

some half-formed notion in her mind that permission to do so was part

of the reward due to her for having refused to marry a lord. Stanbury

was in some respects a Bohemian, and it would become her, she thought,

to have a little practice herself in the Bohemian line. She had,

indeed, declined a Bohemian marriage, feeling strongly averse to

encounter the loud displeasure of her father and mother; but as long as

everything was quite proper, as long as there should be no running

away, or subjection of her name to scandal, she considered that a

little independence would be useful and agreeable. She had looked

forward to sitting up at night alone by a single tallow candle, to

stretching a beefsteak so as to last her for two days’ dinners, and

perhaps to making her own bed. Now, there would not be the slightest

touch of romance in a visit to Lady Milborough’s house in Eccleston

Square, at the end of July. Lady Rowley, however, was of a different

opinion, and spoke her mind plainly. ‘Nora, my dear, don’t be a fool. A

young lady like you can’t go and live in lodgings by herself. All

manner of things would be said. And this is such a very kind offer! You

must accept it for Hugh’s sake. I have already said that you would

accept it.’

 

‘But she will be going out of town.’

 

‘She will stay till you can go to Monkhams if Emily is not back before

then. She knows all about Emily’s affairs; and if she does come back,

which I doubt, poor thing, Lady Milborough and you will be able to judge

whether you should go to her.’ So it was settled, and Nora’s Bohemian

Castle in the Air fell into shatters.

 

The few remaining days before the departure to Southampton passed

quickly, but yet sadly. Sir Marmaduke had come to England expecting

pleasure and with that undefined idea which men so employed always have

on their return home that something will turn up which will make their

going back to that same banishment unnecessary. What Governor of

Hong-Kong, what Minister to Bogota, what General of the Forces at the

Gold Coast, ever left the scene of his official or military labours

without a hope, which was almost an expectation, that a grateful

country would do something better for him before the period of his

return should have arrived? But a grateful country was doing nothing

better for Sir Marmaduke, and an ungrateful Secretary of State at the

Colonial Office would not extend the term during which he could regard

himself as absent on special service. How thankful he had been when

first the tidings reached him that he was to come home at the expense

of the Crown, and without diminution of his official income! He had now

been in England for five months, with a per diem allowance, with his

very cabs paid for him, and he was discontented, sullen, and with

nothing to comfort him but his official grievance, because he could not

be allowed to extend his period of special service more than two months

beyond the time at which those special services were in truth ended!

There had been a change of Ministry in the last month, and he had

thought that a Conservative Secretary of State would have been kinder

to him. ‘The Duke says I can stay three months with leave of absence

and have half my pay stopped. I wonder whether it ever enters into his

august mind that even a Colonial Governor must eat and drink.’ It was

thus he expressed his great grievance to his wife.

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