XXVII
Morella Winmarleigh had been taking an evening stroll with LordWensleydown. They had come upon the two in the summer-house quite byaccident, but now they had caught them they would stick to them, andmake their walk as tiresome as possible, they both decided tothemselves.
After very great emotion such as Hector and Theodora had beenexperiencing, to have this uncongenial and hateful pair as companionswas impossible to bear.
Neither Hector or Theodora stirred or made room for them on the seat.
"Isn't this a sweet place, Lord Wensleydown?" Miss Winmarleigh said."Why have you never brought me here before? How did you find it,Hector?" turning to him in a determined fashion. "You will have to showus the way back, as we are quite lost!" and she giggled irritatingly.
"The first turn to the right at the end of the willows," said Hector,with what politeness he could summon up, "and I am sure you will beable to get to the house quite safely. As you are in such a hurry, don'tlet us keep you. Mrs. Brown and I are going the other way by the river,when we do start."
"Oh, we are not in a hurry at all," said Lord Wensleydown. "Do come withus, Mrs. Brown, we are feeling so lonely."
Theodora rose. She could bear no more of this.
"Let us go," she said to Hector, and they started, leading the way. Andfor a while they heard the others in mocking titters behind them, butpresently, when near the house, they quickened their pace, and wereagain alone and free from their tormentors.
They had not spoken at all in this hateful walk, and now he turned toher.
"My darling," he said, "life seems over for me."
"And for me, too, Hector," she said. "And when we come to this darkpiece of wood I want you to kiss me once more and say good-bye forever,and go out of my life." There was a passionate sob in her voice. "Andoh! _Bien-aime_, please promise me you will leave to-morrow. Do not makeit more impossible to bear than it already is."
But he was silent with pain. A mad, reckless revolt at fate flooded allhis being.
It was past eight o'clock now, and when they came to the soothing gloomof the dark firs he crushed her in his arms, and a great sob broke fromhim and rent her heart.
"My darling, my darling! Good-bye," he said, brokenly. "You have taughtme all that life means; all that it can hold of pleasure and pain.Henceforth, it is the gray path of shadows; and oh, God take care of youand grant us some peace."
But she was sobbing on his breast and could not speak.
"And remember," he went on, "I shall never forget you or cease toworship and adore you. Always know you have only to send me a message, aword, and I will come to you and do what you ask, to my last drop ofblood. I love you! Oh, God! I love you, and you were made for me, and wecould have been happy together and glorified the world."
Then he folded her again in his arms and held her so close it seemed thebreath must leave her body, and then they walked on silently, andsilently entered the house by the western garden door.
The evening was a blank to Theodora. She dressed in her satins andlaces, and let her maid fasten her wonderful emeralds on throat andbreast and hair. She descended to the drawing-room and walked in todinner with some strange man--all as one in a dream. She answered as anautomaton, and the man thought how beautiful she was, and what a pityfor so beautiful a woman to be so stupid and silent and dull.
"Almost wanting," was his last comment to himself as the ladies left thedining-room.
Then Theodora forced herself to speak--to chatter to a now complacentgroup of women who gathered round her. Those emeralds, and the way thediamonds were set round them, proved too strong an attraction for evenLady Harrowfield to keep far away.
She was going to have her rubies remounted, and this seemed just thepattern she would like.
So the time passed, and the men came into the room. But Hector was notwith them. He had found a telegram, it transpired, which had beenwaiting for him on his return, and it would oblige him to go toBracondale immediately, so he was motoring up to London that night. Hehad acted his part to the end, and no one guessed he was leaving thebest of his life behind him. When Theodora realized he was gone shesuddenly felt very faint; but she, too, was not of common clay, andbreeding will tell in crises of this sort, so she sat up and talkedgayly. The evening passed, and at last she was alone for the night.
There are moralists who will assure us the knowledge of having doneright brings its own consolation. And in good books, about good women,the heroine experiences a sense of peace and satisfaction after havingresigned the forbidden joy of her life. But Theodora was only a humanbeing, so she spent the night in wild, passionate regret.
She had done right with no stern sense of the word "Right" written up infront of her, but because she was so true and so sweet that she mustkeep her word and not betray Josiah. She did not analyze anything. Lifewas over for her, whatever came now could only find her numb. By anearly train Josiah left for London.
"Take care of yourself, my love," he had said, as he looked in at herdoor, "and write to me this afternoon as to what train you decide toleave by on Thursday."
She promised she would, and he departed, thoroughly satisfied with hisvisit among the great world.
The day was spent as the other days, and after lunch Theodora escaped toher room. She must write her letter to Josiah for the afternoon's post.She had discovered the train left at eleven o'clock. It did not take herlong, this little note to her husband, and then she sat and stared intospace for a while.
The terrible reaction had begun. There was no more excitement, only theflatness, the blank of the days to look forward to, and that unspeakablesense of loss and void. And oh, she had let Hector go without one wordof her passionate love! She had been too unnerved to answer him when hehad said his last good-bye to her in the wood.
She seized the pen again which had dropped from her hand. She wouldwrite to him. She would tell him her thoughts--in a final farewell. Itmight comfort him, and herself, too.
So she wrote and wrote on, straight out from her heart, then she foundshe had only just time to take the letters to the hall.
She closed Hector's with a sigh, and picking up Josiah's, alreadyfastened, she ran with them quickly down the stairs.
There was an immense pile of correspondence--the accumulation ofWhitsuntide.
The box that usually received it was quite full, and several letters layabout on the table.
She placed her two with the rest, and turned to leave the hall. Shecould not face all the company on the lawn just yet, and went back toher room, meeting Morella Winmarleigh bringing some of her own to beposted as she passed through the saloon.
When Miss Winmarleigh reached the table curiosity seized her. Sheguessed what had been Theodora's errand. She would like to see herwriting and to whom the letters were addressed.
No one was about anywhere. All the correspondence was already there, asin five minutes or less the post would go.
She had no time to lose, so she picked up the last two envelopes whichlay on the top of the pile and read the first:
To Josiah Brown, Esq., Claridge's Hotel, Brook Street, London, W.
and the other:
The Lord Bracondale, Bracondale Chase, Bracondale.
"The husband and--the lover!" she said to herself. And a suddentemptation came over her, swift and strong and not to be resisted.
Here would be revenge--revenge she had always longed for! while hersullen rage had been gathering all these last days. She heard the groomof the chambers approaching to collect the letters; she must decide atonce. So she slipped Theodora's two missives into her blouse and walkedtowards the door.
"There is another post which goes at seven, isn't there, Edgarson?" sheasked, "and the letters are delivered in London to-morrow morning justthe same?"
"Yes, ma'am, they arrive by the second post in London," said the man,politely, and she passed on to her room.
Arrived there, excitement and triumph burned all over her. Here,
withouta chance of detection, she could crush her rival and see her thoroughlypunished, and--who knows?--Hector might yet be caught in the rebound.
She would not hesitate a second. She rang for her maid.
"Bring me my little kettle and the spirit-lamp. I want to sip someboiling water," she said. "I have indigestion. And then you need notwait--I shall read until tea."
She was innocently settled on her sofa with a book when the maidreturned. She was a well-bred servant, and silently placed the kettleand glass and left the room noiselessly. Morella sprang to her feet withunusual agility. Her heavy form was slow of movement as a rule.
The door once locked, she returned to the sofa and began operations.
The kettle soon boiled, and the steam puffed out and achieved itspurpose.
The thin, hand-made paper of the envelope curled up, and with nodifficulty she opened the flap.
Hector's letter first and then Josiah's. All her pent-up, concentratedrage was having its outlet, and almost joy was animating her being.
Hector's was a long letter; probably very loving, but that did notconcern her.
It would be most unladylike to read it, she decided--a sort of thingonly the housemaids would do. What she intended was to place them in thewrong envelopes--Hector's to Josiah, and Josiah's to Hector. It was amistake any one might make themselves when they were writing, andTheodora, when it should be discovered, could only blame her ownsupposed carelessness. Even if the letter was an innocent one, which wasnot at all likely. Oh, dear, no! She knew the world, however littlegirls were supposed to understand. She had kept her eyes open, thankgoodness; and it would certainly not be an epistle a husband would careto read--a great thing of pages and pages like that. But even if it wereinnocent, it was bound to cause some trouble and annoyance; and thethought of that was honey and balm to her.
She slipped them into the covers she had destined for them and presseddown the damp gum. So all was as it had been to outward appearance, andshe felt perfectly happy. Then when she descended to tea she placed themsecurely in the box under some more of her own for the seven-o'clockpost, and went her way rejoicing.