Run to Earth - Mary Elizabeth Braddon (classic reads .TXT) 📗

moment, in compliance with the entreaties of the circle about her.

She approached the grand piano, where Victor Carrington was still sitting, turning over the leaves of some music, and at the same moment Sir Oswald rose also, and hurried towards her.

"Do not sing any more to-night, Honoria," he said; "you will fatigue yourself."

There was some lack of politeness in this speech, as Lady Eversleigh was about to sing in compliance with the entreaties of her guests. She turned to her husband with a smile--

"I am not in the least tired, my dear Oswald," she said; "and if our friends really wish for another song, I am quite ready to sing one. That is to say, if Mr. Carrington is not tired of accompanying me."

Victor Carrington declared that nothing gave him greater pleasure than to play Lady Eversleigh's accompaniments.

"Mr. Carrington is very good," answered the baronet, coldly, "but I do not wish you to tire yourself by singing all the evening; and I beg that you will not sing again to-night, Honoria."

Never before had the baronet addressed his wife with such cold decision of manner. There was something almost severe in his tone, and Honoria looked at him with wondering eyes.

"I have no greater pleasure than in obeying you," she said, gently, as she withdrew from the piano.

She seated herself by one of the tables, and opened a portfolio of sketches. Her head drooped over the book, and she seemed absorbed in the contemplation of the drawings. Glancing at her furtively, Sir Oswald could see that she was wounded; and yet he--the adoring husband, the devoted lover--did not approach her. His mind was disturbed--his thoughts confused. He passed through one of the open windows, and went out upon the terrace. There all was calm and tranquil; but the tranquil loveliness of the scene had no soothing influence on Sir Oswald. His brain was on fire. An intense affection can scarcely exist without a lurking tendency to jealousy. Until to-night every jealous feeling had been lulled to rest by the confiding trust of the happy husband; but to-night a few words--spoken in apparent carelessness--spoken by one who could have, as Sir Oswald thought, no motive for malice--had aroused the sleeping passion, and peace had fled from his heart.

As Sir Oswald passed the window by which he had left Lydia Graham, he heard that young lady talking to some one.

"It is positively disgraceful," she said; "her flirtation with that Mr. Carrington is really too obvious, though Sir Oswald is so blind as not to perceive it. I thought they were cousins until to-night. Imagine my surprise when I found that they were not even distantly related; that they have actually only known each other for a fortnight. The woman must be a shameless flirt, and the man is evidently an adventurer."

The poisoned arrow shot to its mark. Sir Oswald believed that these words had never been intended to reach his ears. He did not for a moment suspect that Lydia Graham had recognized his approaching figure on the moonlit terrace, and had uttered these words to her friend on purpose that they should reach his ears.

How should a true-hearted man suspect a woman's malice? How should he fathom the black depths of wickedness to which a really false and heartless woman can descend?

He did not know that Lydia Graham had ever hoped to be mistress of his home. He did not know that she was inspired by fury against himself--by passionate envy of his wife. To him her words seemed only the careless slander of society, and experience had shown him that in such slanders there lurked generally some leaven of truth.

"I will not doubt her," he thought, as he walked onward in the moonlight, too proud and too honourable to linger in order to hear anything more that Miss Graham might have to say. "I will not doubt the wife I love so fondly, because idle tongues are already busy with her fair fame. Already! We have not been married two months, and already evil tongues drop the poison of doubt into my ear. It seems too cruel! But I will watch her with this man. Her ignorance of the world may have caused her to be more familiar with him than the rigid usages of society would permit. And yet she is generally so dignified, so reserved--apt to err on the side of coldness rather than of warmth. I must watch!--I must watch!"

Never before had Sir Oswald known the anguish of distrust. But his was an impulsive nature, easily swayed by the force of any absorbing passion. Blindly, unquestionably, as he had abandoned himself to his love for Honoria Milford, so now he abandoned himself to the jealous doubts inspired by a malicious woman's lying tongue.

That night his slumbers were broken and feverish. The next day he set himself to watch his wife and Victor Carrington.

The mind, imbued with suspicion, contemplates everything in a distorted light. Victor Carrington was especially attentive to the mistress of the castle. It was not that he talked to her, or usurped more of her society than his position warranted; but he devoted himself to her service with a slavish watchfulness which was foreign to the manner of an ordinary guest.

Wherever Lady Eversleigh went, Carrington's eyes followed her; every wish of hers seemed to be divined by him. If she lingered for a few moments by an open window, Mr. Carrington was at hand with her shawl. If she was reading, and the leaves of her book required to be cut open, the surgeon had procured her a paper-knife before she could suffer inconvenience or delay. If she went to the piano, he was at the instrument before her, ready to adjust her chair, to arrange her music. In another man these attentions might have appeared very common-place, but so quiet of foot, so subdued of voice, was Victor Carrington, that there seemed something stealthy, something secret in his devotion; something which had no right to exist. One long day of patient watchfulness revealed all this to Sir Oswald Eversleigh; and with the revelation came a new and terrible agony.

How far was his wife to blame for all that was exceptional in the surgeon's manner? Was she aware of his devotion? Did she encourage this silent and stealthy worship? She did not, at any rate, discourage it, since she permitted it.

The baronet wondered whether Victor Carrington's manner impressed others as it impressed himself. One person had, he knew, been scandalized by the surgeon's devotion to Lady Eversleigh; and had spoken of it in the plainest terms. But did other eyes see as Lydia Graham and he himself had seen?

He determined on questioning his nephew as to the character of the gentlemanly and accomplished surgeon, whom an impulse of kindness had prompted him to welcome under his roof--an impulse which he now bitterly regretted.

"Your friend, Mr. Carrington, is very attentive to Lady Eversleigh," said Sir Oswald to Reginald, with a pitiable attempt at indifference of manner; "is he generally so devoted in his attention to ladies?"

"On the contrary, my dear uncle," answered Reginald, with an appearance of carelessness which was as well assumed as that of his kinsman was awkward and constrained; "Victor Carrington generally entertains the most profound contempt for the fair sex. He is devoted to the science of chemistry, you know, and in London passes the best part of his life in his laboratory. But then Lady Eversleigh is such a superior person-- it is no wonder he admires her."

"He admires her very much, then?"

"Amazingly--if I can judge by what he said when first he became acquainted with her. He has grown more reserved lately."

"Oh, indeed. He has grown more reserved lately, has he?" asked the baronet, whose suspicions were fed by every word his nephew uttered.

"Yes. I suppose he thinks I might take objection to his enthusiastic admiration of Lady Eversleigh. Very absurd of him, is it not? For, of course, my dear uncle, you cannot feel otherwise than proud when you see your beautiful young wife surrounded by worshippers; and one devotee more or less at the shrine can make little difference."

These words, carelessly spoken, galled Sir Oswald to the quick; but he tried to conceal his pain, and parted from his nephew with affected gaiety of spirit.

Alone in his own study, he pondered long and moodily over the events of the day. He shrank from the society of his wife. Her tender words irritated him; he began to think those soft and loving accents were false. More than once he answered Honoria's anxious questions as to the cause of his gloom with a harshness that terrified her. She saw that her husband was changed, and knew not whence the change arose. And this vagrant's nature was a proud one. Her own manner changed to the man who had elevated her from the very mire to a position of splendour and honour. She, too, became reserved, and a cruel breach yawned between the husband and wife who, a few short days before, had been so happily united.

Truly, Victor Carrington's schemes prospered. Reginald Eversleigh looked on in silent wonder--too base to oppose himself to the foul plot which was being concocted under his eyes. Whatever the schemer bade him do, he did without shame or scruple. Before him glittered the dazzling vision of future fortune.

A week elapsed--a weary week for Sir Oswald Eversleigh, for every day and every hour seemed to widen the gulf between himself and his wife. Conscious of her innocence of the smallest offence against the man she truly and honestly loved, Honoria was too proud to sue for an explanation of that mysterious change which had banished all happiness and peace from her breast. More than once she had asked the cause of her husband's gloom of manner; more than once she had been coldly, almost rudely, repulsed. She sought, therefore, to question him no further; but held herself aloof from him with proud reserve. The cruel estrangement cost her dear; but she waited for Sir Oswald to break the ice--she waited for him to explain the meaning of his altered conduct.

In the meantime, she performed all her duties as mistress of the mansion with the same calm grace which had distinguished her from the first hour of her elevation to her new position. But the struggle was a painful one, and left its traces on her beautiful face. Sir Oswald perceived the change in that lovely countenance, and his jealousy distorted this change into a damning evidence against her.

"This man's devotion has touched her heart," he thought. "It is of him she is thinking when she is silent and pensive. She loves me no longer. Fool that I am, she never loved me! She saw in me a dupe ready to lift her from obscurity into the place she longed to occupy; and now that place is hers, she need no longer care to blindfold the eyes of her dupe; she may please herself, and enjoy the attentions of more agreeable adorers."

Then, in the next moment, remorse took possession of the baronet's heart, and for awhile he fancied that he had wronged his wife.

"Is she to blame because this man loves her?" he asked himself. "She may not even be aware of his love, though my watchful eyes have penetrated the secret. Oh, if I could only take her away from Raynham without delay--this very moment--or if I could clear the castle of all this frivolous, selfish, heartless gang--what happiness it would be! But I can