Part 45 (1/2)
And it was for this that she had come back to him through ”the Valley of the Shadow of Death,” bringing her baby with her.
Some strange feverish power seemed to enter into her and give her a fitful strength. She sat down at her husband's desk and began writing rapidly, and as the thoughts came to her; and when she had finished, she inclosed her letter with the torn fragment, and, after addressing it, sealed it carefully. As she did so she heard footsteps approaching the library, and slipped it hurriedly into the open drawer, and the next moment Sir Hugh entered with a telegram in his hand.
”I have been looking all over the place for you, Fay,” he began, hurriedly; ”and not a soul seemed to know where you were. Look here; I have just had this telegram from Fitz. He wants me to come up to town at once. I believe we have to start earlier than we intended.”
And as Fay seemed to have no answer ready, he went on ”I am so vexed about it, my pet, for I meant to have driven you over to Pierrepoint after luncheon; you looked so pale this morning, and I had to arrange about so many things. Well, it can not be helped; Saville is packing my 'Gladstone,' and I have not a moment to lose.”
”Do you mean you are going off to Egypt now?” asked Fay, hardly able to articulate--her lips had grown quite white. What if she should be too late after all!
”Egypt indeed! What a child you are, Fay; one can never make you understand things. No, I am going up to London to get what I want, and meet Egerton and Powis, the other fellows who are to join us. I shall sleep at the club to-night, and you may expect me to be down to dinner to-morrow. The next day--” here he hesitated; ”well, there is time enough to talk of saying good-bye then.”
”Yes, yes, I understand now. Go and get ready; and, Hugh, don't forget to kiss baby.”
”All right,” he laughed good-humoredly; and then Fay stood quite still, holding the table, till he came back.
”My traps are in the hall; I must say good-bye quickly, darling.” How handsome, how well he looked, as he stooped over her with his plaid over his arm.
He need not be fearful of her detaining him; there was no clinging, no agony of weeping this time. She put her two hands round his neck and held him for a moment, as her cold lips touched his, and then stood quite still and waved to him--sadly, quietly--from the window as he drove past, and that was all.
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
”GOOD-BYE--GOOD-BYE.”
I never will look more into your face Till G.o.d says, ”Look!” I charge you, seek me not, Nor vex yourself with lamentable thoughts That peradventure I have come to grief.
Be sure I'm well, I'm merry, I'm at ease, But such a long way, long way, long way off, I think you'll find me sooner in my grave, And that's my choice--observe.
E. B. BROWNING.
Fay had made up her mind to be lost.
Could any one imagine anything so utterly ignorant and childish, and yet so pathetic? She was going to lay down her wifely rights and steal away, friendless and unprotected, into the great lonely world, so that Hugh might come back to his old home in peace.
With the rash impulse of despair--of a despair that hoped nothing and feared nothing--she was taking the most terrible step that a young creature could take. She was doing evil that good might come; she was giving up herself in complete renunciation and self-sacrifice in obedience to a miserable and mistaken idea. If she had been older; if her simplicity of character had been less childish, and her worldly knowledge greater, she must surely have hesitated before taking a step that must anger as well as grieve her husband. How would Sir Hugh's haughty spirit brook the disgrace of publicity and the nine-days'
wonder of the world when they knew that his wife, Lady Redmond--the successor of all the starched and spotless dames who hung in the old guest-chambers--should so forget herself and him as to tarnish his reputation by an act so improper and incredible.
He might forgive his spoiled trip, and all the trouble that awaited him in his empty home; but how will he ever bring himself to forgive that?
But Fay, poor mistaken child, thought of none of these things. She only felt that she must go and take her baby with her. There was no time to be lost, and she must make all her plans very quickly.
Fay's will was a strong one--there was no fear that she would falter in her purpose; but she never remembered afterward how she carried it out, or from whence came the strange feverish energy that supported her. She was working in a dream, in a nightmare, in a horrible impatience to be gone--to be gone--where? But even this question was answered before many hours were over, for she was to make her poor little plans with the utmost precision. In the quiet evening time, as she paced restlessly through the empty rooms, she thought of a place of refuge where she might rest safely for a little. The moment the carriage had turned the corner, and she could see it no longer, she had taken the letter from the drawer and laid it on the table.
Such an innocent, pitiful little letter it was.
”Darling Hugh,” it began, ”do not be angry with me when you come back to-morrow and find your Wee Wifie has gone. What could I do--how could I stay any longer after reading your own words? Indeed, I think I could have borne anything but this.
No, this one thing I could not bear--that you should leave your home and country to free yourself and me.
”'You must go,' you say; 'of course it must be you.' Darling, do you not know me better than that?
”I felt you could not love me, Hugh; but have I ever blamed you in my heart? I was too childish and young for such a man as you. Why did you marry me, dear?--that was a great mistake.