Part 39 (1/2)
But here Estelle herself began to sob, and could not get on with her story at all; she rose from her chair and began to pace up and down.
”I cannot tell you--it was terrible--”
And terrible it was for him, too, to have this revelation made to him.
Now he knew it was no little quarrel that had sent Nina away; it was something far more tragic than that; it was the sudden blighting of a life's hopes.
”Estelle,” said he, quite forgetting, ”you spoke of a letter she had left for you; will you show it to me?”
She took it from her pocket and handed it to him. There was no sign of haste or agitation in these pages; Nina's small and accurate handwriting was as neat and precise as ever; she even seemed to have been careful of her English, as she was leaving this her last message, in the dead watches of the night:
”DEAR ESTELLE” [Nina wrote],--”Forgive me for the trouble I cause you; but I know you will do what I ask, for the sake of our friends.h.i.+p of past days. I leave a letter for Mr. Lehmann, and one for Miss Constance, and a packet for Mr. Moore; will you please have them all sent as soon as possible? I hope Mr. Lehmann will forgive me for any embarra.s.sment, but Miss Constance is quite perfect in the part, and if she gets the letter to-day it will be the longer notice. I enclose a ring for you, Estelle; if you wear it, you will sometimes think of Nina. For it is true what I said to you when you came into my room to-night--I go away in the morning.
I have made a terrible mistake, an illusion, a folly, and, now that my eyes are opened, I will try to bear the consequences as I can; but I could not go on the stage as well; it would be too bad a punishment; I could not, Estelle. I must go, and forget--it is so easy to say forget! I go away without feeling injured towards any one; it was my own fault, no one was in fault but me. And if I have done wrong to any one, or appear ungrateful, I am sorry; I did not wish it. Again I ask you to say to Mr. Lehmann, who has been so kind to me in the theatre, that I hope he will forgive me the trouble I cause; but I _could not_ go on with my part just now.
”Shall I ever see you again, Estelle? It is sad, but I think not; it is not so easy to forget as to write it. Perhaps some day I send you a line--no, perhaps some day I send you a message; but you will not know where I am; and if you are my friend you will not seek to know. Adieu, Estelle! I hope you will always be happy, as you are good; but even in your happiest days you will sometimes give a thought to poor Nina.”
He sat there looking at the letter, long after he had finished reading it; there was nothing of the petulance of a spoiled child in this simple, this heartbroken farewell. And Nina herself was in every phrase of it--in her anxiety not to be a trouble to any one--her grat.i.tude for very small kindnesses--her wish to live in the gentle remembrance of her friends.
”But why did no one stop her?--why did no one remonstrate?” he asked, in a sort of stupefaction.
”Who could, then?” said Mlle. Girond, returning to her seat and clasping her hands in front of her. ”As soon as the housemaid appears in the morning, Nina asks her to come into the room; the money is put into an envelope for Mrs. Grey; the not great luggage is taken quiet down the stair, so that no one is disturbed. Everything is arranged; you know Nina was always so--so business-like--”
”Yes, but the fool of a housemaid should have called Mrs. Grey!” he exclaimed.
”But why, Mr. Moore?” Estelle continued. ”She only thought that Nina was so considerate--no one to be awakened--and then a cab is called, and Nina goes away--”
”And of course the housemaid didn't hear what direction was given to the cabman!”
”No; it is a misfortune,” said Estelle, with a sigh. ”It is a misfortune, but she is not so much in fault. She did not conjecture--she thought Nina was going to catch an early train--that she did not wish to disturb any one. All was in order; all natural, simple; no one can blame her. And so poor Nina disappears--”
”Yes, disappears into the world of London, or into the larger world, without friends, without money--had she any money, Miss Girond?”
”Oh, yes, yes!” Estelle exclaimed. ”You did not know? Ah, she was so particular; always exact in her economies, and sometimes I laughed at her; but always she said perhaps some day she would have to play the part of the--the--benevolent fairy to some poor one, and she must save up--”
”Had she a bank account?”
Estelle nodded her head.
”Then she could not have got the money yesterday, if she wished to withdraw it; she must have been in London this morning!”
”Perhaps,” said Estelle. ”But then! Look at the letter. She says if I am her friend, I will not seek to know where she is.”
”But that does not apply to me,” he retorted--while his brain was filled with all kinds of wild guesses as to whither Nina had fled.
”You are not her friend?” Estelle said, quietly.
”If I could only see her for three minutes!” he said, in his despair, as he rose and went to the window. ”Why should she go away from her friends if she is in trouble? Besides ourselves and the people in the theatre, she knows no one in this country. If she goes away back to her acquaintances in Italy, she will not say a word; she will have no sympathy, no distraction of any kind; and all the success she has gained here will be as good as lost. It is like Nina to say she blames no one; but her sending me back those bits of jewelry tells me who is to blame--”
Estelle hesitated.
”Can I say?” she said, in rather low tones, and her eyes were cast down.