Part 46 (2/2)

All the pride of his nature rose in rebellion against this coa.r.s.e speech. He, an Arleigh of Beechgrove, to hear this reprobate sneering at his love! His first impulse was an angry one, but he controlled himself.

After all, it was Madaline's father--for Madaline's sake he would be patient.

”Am I right?” the prisoner repeated, with the same mocking smile.

”No,” replied Lord Arleigh, ”you are not right. There is no need for me to offer any explanation, and, as I have failed in my object, I will go.”

”You might just as well tell me if you are in love with my little Madaline. I might make it worth your while to let me know.”

It was with great difficulty that Lord Arleigh controlled his indignation; but he replied, calmly:

”I have nothing to tell you.”

A look of disappointment came over the dark, handsome face.

”You can keep your secrets,” he said--”so can I. If you will tell me nothing, neither shall I; but I might make it worth your while to trust me.”

”I have nothing to confide,” returned Lord Arleigh; ”all I can say to you on leaving is that I hope you will come to your senses and repent of your past wickedness.”

”I shall begin to think that you are a missionary in disguise,” said Henry Dornham. ”So you will not offer me anything for my secret?” he interrogated.

”No secret of yours could interest me,” rejoined Lord Arleigh abruptly, as he went away.

So, for the second time in his life, he was at the door of the mystery, yet it remained unopened. The first time was when he was listening to Lord Mountdean's story, when the mention of the name Dornham should lead to a denouement; the second was now, when, if he had listened to the convict, he would have heard that Madaline was not his child.

He left Chatham sick at heart. There was no help for him--his fate was sealed. Never, while he lived, could he make his beautiful wife his own truly--they were indeed parted for evermore. There remained to him to write that letter; should he consent to Madaline's mother living with her or should he not?

He reflected long and anxiously, and then having well weighed the matter he decided that he would not refuse his wife her request. He must run the risk, but he would not caution her.

He wrote to Madaline, and told her that he would be pleased if she were pleased, and that he hoped she would be happy with her mother, adding the caution that he trusted she would impress upon her mother the need of great reticence, and that she must not mention the unfortunate circ.u.mstances of the family to any creature living.

Madaline's answer touched him. She a.s.sured him that there was no fear--that her mother was to be implicitly trusted. She told him also how entirely she had kept the secret of his separation from her, lest it should add to her mother's trouble.

”She will know now that I do not live with you, that I never see you, that we are as strangers, but she will never know the reason.”

He was deeply moved. What a n.o.ble girl she was, bearing her troubles so patiently, and confiding them to no human soul!

Then he was compelled to go to Beechgrove--it was long since he had been there, and so much required attention, he was obliged to go, sorely against his will, for he dreaded the sight of the place, haunted as it was by the remembrance of the love and sorrow of his young wife. He avoided going as long as possible, but the place needed the attention of a master.

It was June when he went--bright, smiling, perfumed, sunny June--and Beechgrove was at its best; the trees were in full foliage, the green woods resounded with the song of birds, the gardens were filled with flowers, the whole estate was blooming and fair. He took up his abode there. It was soon noticed in the house that he avoided the picture-gallery--nothing ever induced him to enter it. More than once, as he was walking through the woods, his heartbeat and his face flushed; there, beyond the trees lived his wife, his darling, from whom a fate more cruel than death had parted him. His wife! The longing to see her grew on him from day to day. She was so near him, yet so far away--she was so fair, yet her beauty must all fade and die; it was not for him.

In time he began to think it strange that he had never heard anything of her. He went about in the neighborhood, yet no one spoke of having seen her. He never heard of her being at church, nor did he ever meet her on the high-road. It was strange how completely a vail of silence and mystery had fallen over her.

When he had been some time at Beechgrove he received one morning a letter from the Earl of Mountdean, saying that he was in the neighborhood, and would like to call. Lord Arleigh was pleased at the prospect. There was deep and real cordiality between the two men--they thoroughly understood and liked each other; it was true that the earl was older by many years than Lord Arleigh, but that did not affect their friends.h.i.+p.

They enjoyed a few days together very much. One morning they rode through the woods--the sweet, fragrant, June woods--when, from between the trees, they saw the square turrets of the Dower House. Lord Mountdean stopped to admire the view.

”We are a long distance from Beechgrove,” he said; ”what is that pretty place?”

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