Part 38 (2/2)

”Ah, then his lords.h.i.+p and her ladys.h.i.+p will not remain at the Abbey!

How strange! But there--rich people have nothing to do but indulge in whims and caprices!” said the under house-maid, who was immediately frowned down by her superiors in office.

Not a word was spoken by husband and wife as Lady Arleigh took her seat in the carriage. Whatever she felt was buried in her own breast. Her face shone marble-white underneath her vail, and her eyes were bent downward. Never a word did she speak as the carriage drove slowly through the park, where the dews were falling and the stars were bright.

Once her husband turned to her and tried to take her hand in his, but she drew back.

”It will be better not to talk, Norman,” she said. ”I can bear it best in silence.”

So they drove on in unbroken quietude. The dew lay glistening on the gra.s.s and trees; all nature was hushed, tranquil, sweet, and still. It was surely the strangest drive that husband and wife had ever taken together. More than once, noting the silent, graceful figure, Lord Arleigh was tempted to ask Madaline to fly with him to some foreign land, where they could live and die unknown--more than once he was tempted to kiss the beautiful lips and say to her, ”Madaline, you shall not leave me;” but the dishonor attaching to his name caused him to remain silent.

They had a rapid drive, and reached Winiston House--as it was generally called--before eleven. Great was the surprise and consternation excited by so unexpected an arrival. The house was in the charge of a widow whose husband had been the late, lord's steward. She looked somewhat dubiously at Lord Arleigh and then at his companion, when they had entered. Madaline never opened her lips. Lord Arleigh was strangely pale and confused.

”Mrs. Burton,” he said, ”I can hardly imagine that you have heard of my marriage. This is my wife--Lady Arleigh.”

All the woman's doubt and hesitation vanished then--she became all attention; but Lord Arleigh inwardly loathed his fate when he found himself compelled to offer explanations that he would have given worlds to avoid.

”I am not going to remain here myself,” he said, in answer to the inquiries about rooms and refreshments. ”Lady Arleigh will live at Winiston House altogether; and, as you have always served the family faithfull and well, I should like you to remain in her service.”

The woman looked up at him in such utter bewilderment and surprise that he felt somewhat afraid of what she might say; he therefore hastened to add:

”Family matters that concern no one but ourselves compel me to make this arrangement. Lady Arleigh will be mistress now of Winiston House. She will have a staff of servants here. You can please yourself about remaining--either as housekeeper or not--just as you like.”

”Of course, my lord, I shall be only too thankful to remain, but it seems so very strange--”

Lord Arleigh held up his hand.

”Hus.h.!.+” he said. ”A well-trained servant finds nothing strange.”

The woman took the hint and retired. Lord Arleigh turned to say farewell to his wife. He found her standing, white and tearless, by the window.

”Oh, my darling,” he cried, ”we must now part! Yet how can I leave you--so sad, so silent, so despairing? Speak to me, my own love--one word--just one word.”

Her woman's heart, so quick to pity, was touched by his prayer. She stalled as sad, as sweet a smile as ever was seen on woman's lips.

”I shall be better in time, Norman,” she said, ”and shall not always be sad.”

”There are some business arrangements which must be made,” he continued, hurriedly--”but it will be better for us not to meet again just yet, Madaline--I could not bear it. I will see that all is arranged for your comfort. You must have every luxury and--”

”Luxury!” she repeated, mockingly. ”Why, I would rather be the sorriest beggar that ever breathed than be myself! Luxury! You mock me, Lord Arleigh.”

”You will be less bitter against me in time, my darling,” he said. ”I mean just what I say--that you will have everything this world can give you--”

”Except love and happiness,” she interposed.

”Love you have, sweet; you have mine--the fervent, true, honest, deep love of my heart and soul. Happiness comes in time to all who do their duty. Think of Carlyle's words--'Say unto all kinds of happiness, ”I can do without thee”--with self-renunciation life begins.'”

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