20 до окончания

 Да, странный человек загипнотизировал Эдиту Далтон.

Он обладал той особой силой, или магнетическим влиянием, о
котором почти каждый либо видел, либо слышал, и которое следует
применять только самым благоразумным образом и руководствуясь
несомненными принципами.

Судя по всему, Эдита была полностью в его власти, но
достаточно ли она сильна, чтобы заставить ее подчиняться каждому его приказу, или еще нет, еще неизвестно.

Мы все узнали кое-что о силе воли молодой девушки,
ее решительной приверженности правильному и ее упорном противодействии
всему неправильному.

Было ли это все инстинктом, укоренившимся в ее природе и
укрепившимся в течение многих лет добросовестным воспитанием, которое в какой-то
мере защитило бы ее и предотвратило превращение в его жалкую рабыню,
еще нельзя было определить. Но тут же приступил к испытанию своей
силы. «Возьми и принеси мне эту бумагу», — скомандовал он, указывая на упавшую на пол

копию признания Джона Локера. Она послушно наклонилась и протянула ему. «Принеси мне свои часы и цепочку», — был следующий приказ. Она колебалась мгновение. Это был подарок Ричарда Форрестера, очень ценный, и она ценила его больше всех своих безделушек. — Принеси, — повторил он. Она пошла выполнять его волю и безропотно отдала ему. Но ему, казалось, было все равно, когда он положил ее на ее письменный стол и оставил там нетронутым. — А теперь дай мне кольцо со своего пальца, — сказал он, указывая на прекрасную жемчужину, которую Эрл надел ей на руку. Она невольно крепко сцепила руки и стояла, беспомощно глядя на него, не слушаясь его. -- Сними, -- повторил он уже строже. но она не двигалась. Он пробормотал проклятие, а затем велел ей принести содержимое шкатулки с драгоценностями. Мгновенно она повернулась, чтобы выполнить его приказ, тщательно собрала все предметы и принесла их ему. Затем он приказал ей вернуть их и привести в порядок . Она без колебаний повиновалась, быстро расставляя все по своим местам и не подавая виду драгоценного сокровища, спрятанного внизу. Затем она пошла и снова смиренно встала перед ним. «Теперь иди и возьми эту бумагу, подписанную Джоном Локером, и принеси ее мне», — сказал он, напрягая всю силу своей воли, чтобы повлиять на нее. Она сделала шаг вперед, веки ее задрожали, ноздри расширились, грудь вздымалась; затем она остановилась, беспомощно глядя на него, а ее руки снова сцепились в нервном сцеплении. "Странный!" — пробормотал он, нахмурившись. Затем он отдал еще несколько команд, которые она послушно выполнила, и, наконец, еще раз велел ей принести эту бумагу, но с тем же результатом, что и раньше. Она бы этого не сделала. Ее любовь к Эрлу и ее решимость не уступать ни в чем, связанном с ним, казались инстинктом, более сильным, чем его власть над ней. Снова и снова пытался он добиться своей цели, но безуспешно, и с недоумевающим и сердитым видом бормотал: «Не получится — моя сила еще недостаточно сильна — нужно время; но она говорит, что никто не знает, где бумага, кроме нее самой, так что я позабочусь о ней. Она спрятала то, что я хочу, и теперь я спрячу ее. Это будет рискованное дело, но другого выхода нет; если я уеду и оставлю ее, то завтра утром она будет у кого-то другого, и тогда весь мир узнает. Некоторое время он сидел, обдумывая этот вопрос, а Эдита терпеливо стояла рядом с ним, словно ожидая, когда он еще послужит ему. — Надень эти вещи, — сказал он наконец, указывая на шляпу и непромокаемую одежду, брошенную на пол. Она сразу их надела. «Теперь возьми покрывало и завяжи лицо». Со смирением служанки она повиновалась ему. Затем он подошел к двери и выглянул. Все было тихо. Газ в обоих залах был частично отключен и теперь горел тускло, и во всем этом огромном доме ничего не двигалось. Он вернулся в комнату, взял Эдиту за руку и грубо сказал: — Ты пойдешь со мной — смотри, не шуми. Затем он вывел ее вниз по широкой лестнице через нижний зал к входной двери. Через мгновение они уже были на улице, и он погнал ее с места так быстро, как она могла идти. Дойдя до угла за несколько кварталов, он остановился у кареты, которая, казалось, ждала его там. Он пригласил Эдиту войти, затем, следуя за ней, подобрал вожжи и быстро уехал. На следующее утро очень респектабельного вида дама и ее немощная дочь, сильно укутанная, чтобы защитить ее от непогоды, прибыли в тихую гостиницу, о которой говорилось выше. Они приехали из дальней части штата — мадам сказала, что ехали всю ночь, чтобы больная девушка могла воспользоватьсярятали
в самом сердце ее собственного города, где она оставалась в течение нескольких
недель, пока Эрл не нашел ее столь странным образом.

Поселившись там, регулярно платя за свое жилье и
не доставляя никаких хлопот, они считались очень тихими и респектабельными
постояльцами, редко выходившими из дома, за исключением тех случаев, когда юная леди могла ездить верхом,
плотно закутанная, вешая, и намагниченная, и всегда в закрытая
карета, и они всегда ели в своей комнате, так как инвалид
«не мог идти к общественному столу», а мадам «не желала
оставить свое бедное, милое дитя».

Время от времени какой-нибудь слуга или приказчик, проходя
поздней ночью через верхнюю залу, думали, что слышат тихие всхлипы и стоны в своих
комнатах, но им что-то сказали о немощи больного, и
поэтому они не беспокоились о предмет.

И вот прямо там, в самом центре большого города, с
детективами, работающими повсюду вокруг них, и волнением, которое
создавала глубокая тайна, совершалось это великое зло; и если
бы не странная прихоть Эрла Уэйна сменить гостиницу именно в ту
ночь, когда дом был так полон, а «сын» мадам отсутствовал,
история удивительного исчезновения и спасения Эдиты никогда бы не
была рассказана.

                * * * * *

Когда Эдита проснулась после двух часов безмятежного освежающего сна, она
обнаружила, что Эрл все еще сидит рядом с ней, а ее бывшая служанка,
закрыв лицо руками, сидит в угрюмом молчании в гостиной
напротив.

— Значит, мне это не снилось? — сказала она, глядя в лицо любовнику
с протяжным, дрожащим вздохом.

"Нет Мой дорогой; вы слишком крепко спали, чтобы о чем-то мечтать. Ты отдохнул
? — спросил он, наклоняясь, чтобы поцеловать сладкие дрожащие губы.

"Да; но, о! Эрл, не позволяй ему вернуться снова, — умоляла она,
содрогнувшись, протягивая свою тонкую руку и
нервно сжимая его.

Он наклонился губами к ее уху и прошептал:

— Нет, родной; он надежно заперт в соседней комнате и
больше никогда не сможет причинить вам вред. Принеси еще этого напитка, — прибавил он, обращаясь к
женщине напротив.

Она встала и повиновалась, и Эдита пила так же жадно, как прежде.

— Ты можешь что-нибудь съесть? — спросил он, с трепетом глядя на
тонкие руки, державшие миску.

«Нет, не сейчас, Эрл; Я подожду и позавтракаю с вами попозже, —
ответила она, с надеждой и светлым взглядом глядя на его встревоженное лицо.

— Тебе уже лучше? — спросил он с нетерпением.

— Да, — ответила она с волной счастливого смеха. «Вы знаете, что «веселое
сердце благотворно, как лекарство», и сейчас я чувствую себя очень счастливым и в безопасности
».

Действительно, она не была похожа на того человека, которого Эрл видел
через фрамугу.

Ее глаза теперь были яркими и полными надежды, а лицо сияло от
счастья и удовлетворения.

«Теперь ты позволишь мне говорить? Я больше не могу спать, — сказала она, откинувшись
на подушку, которую он для нее постелил.

— Если сможешь, немного. Я не хочу, чтобы вы слишком утомлялись.

-- Я хочу рассказать вам, как я оказался здесь, -- по крайней мере, все, что я
сам об этом знаю, -- и у меня для вас _такие_ хорошие новости.

«Тогда пусть будет как можно меньше слов, иначе волнение будет
для вас слишком сильным», — ответил он, чувствуя огромное облегчение, увидев, что она
стала намного лучше и снова услышала, как она говорит своим естественным тоном
.

Она начала с того, что рассказала о своем визите к семье Локера и
признании Джона Локера, своем приключении с хулиганом на
улице, своем побеге и его последующем входе в ее комнату той
же ночью.

Его лицо стало серьезным и обеспокоенным, когда она рассказала ему, как настойчиво
отказывалась открыть тайник с драгоценной бумагой.

«Милый мой, ты сильно рисковал; он мог лишить вас жизни, —
сказал он с содроганием.

«Но это было единственным доказательством _вашей чести_; только оно вернет вам
уважение и почтение мужчин, а я не дала бы этого ему, —
сказала она с искоркой прежнего неповиновения в глазах, а затем продолжила: — Я
не думала, что он осмелится сделать мне любое личное насилие, и я был
готов много страдать, лишь бы не потерять что-то столь ценное. Кажется, я
мало что помню из того, что произошло после того, как он схватил меня за руки
и посмотрел на меня таким ужасным взглядом; только казалось иногда, когда он
говорил со мной, как будто какая-то сила во мне пыталась разлучить душу и
тело, — пока я не очутился здесь с этой странной женщиной. Я спокойно оставался
с ней два или три дня, когда он снова пришел и пытался
запугать меня, чтобы я рассказал ему то, что он хотел знать. Я всегда отказывалась
до тех пор, пока он не терял терпения и самообладания, когда он бросался ко мне,
хватал мои руки, смотрел мне в глаза, и почти мгновенно все становилось
для меня пустым, и когда я снова приходил в себя, я был так
измотан . и больной я не мог подняться ».

— Злодей загипнотизировал тебя, — сказал Эрл с бледным суровым лицом.

«Да, это было единственное объяснение, которое я мог придумать, чтобы объяснить
его особую власть надо мной. Он говорил мне почти каждый раз, когда приходил
, что отпустит меня домой, если я расскажу ему свою тайну; но,
конечно, я бы не стал этого делать, когда был самим собой, и, судя по тому факту, что он
продолжает оказывать свое влияние, я полагаю, что я так же своенравен, когда нахожусь
под его магнетическим контролем в отношении этой единственной вещи. Эрл, — заключила она
, доверчиво беря его руку в свою, — вы дали мне
благословенное освобождение. Я не думаю, что смог бы вынести это намного
дольше, потому что в последнее время я очень ослабел; но я молился днем
;;и ночью о том, чтобы меня пощадили для тебя, и чтобы Бог не
позволил ему вырвать у меня мою драгоценную тайну». — Почему я обнаружил, что он сегодня

мучает вас такими странными вопросами о вашем имени и происхождении?
— спросил Эрл.

Эдита покачала головой с грустной улыбкой.

«Он почти всегда приходил ночью; Я полагаю, тогда было меньше опасности
быть обнаруженным; но что касается его вопросов и моих ответов, то я
знаю о них не больше, чем вы могли бы узнать за все эти недели.
Все стало пустым, как только он прикоснулся ко мне и посмотрел на меня определенным образом
, и я не знаю, что я сделал или сказал; Я только знаю
, что иногда ужасно страдал. и дрожь охватила ее при
воспоминании.

«Женщина, что вы можете сказать об этой странной истории?» — спросил Эрл
, обращаясь к служанке, которая сидела неподвижно во время
рассказа Эдиты.

— Мне нечего сказать, — ответила она, вызывающе подняв к нему лицо.

— Будет лучше, если вы проявите дружелюбие, —
тихо ответил Эрл. — Этот негодяй, о котором говорит мисс Долтон,
надежно заперт и готов к приему полицейских, как только наступит утро,
и я накажу вас по всей строгости закона, если только вы не проявите
намерения поступать правильно.

Затем он рассказал, как он оказался там в ту ночь, как он
так утомительно искал ее, пока не почувствовал, что должен отдохнуть, и,
придя туда и услышав ее рыдания, он почувствовал странное впечатление,
что что-то не так, и приступил к расследованию этого дела.
Он рассказал, как напал на Тома Дрейка в холле, затащил и запер
его в его собственной комнате, а затем решил войти в ее комнату.

Женщина выглядела очень взволнованной, когда слушала это; она,
очевидно, не предполагала, что с ее
напарником случилось что-то настолько серьезное, и Эрл посмотрел на очень бледное лицо, когда спросил:

«Разве не гипнотизировала эта негодяйка, пытаясь выведать
у мисс Далтон тайну?»

"Да; это не помешает рассказать так много, — пробормотала она.

- Что означали те очень странные вопросы, которые он задавал ей
сегодня вечером?

Она немного подумала, а потом сказала:

«Для здоровья мисс Долтон было необходимо, чтобы она время от
времени выходила из дома и подышала воздухом; но мы никогда не выводили ее на улицу, если только она не была
загипнотизирована, и Том думал, что если с нами когда-нибудь что-нибудь случится
и если ее спросят, если она ответит так, как он ее учил, никто не
заподозрит ее и не причинит ей вреда.

«Имеет ли он привычку проявлять свою власть над людьми таким образом, занимаясь
своим гнусным делом?» — спросил Эрл.

Женщина не ответила, и Эдита сказала:

«Сомнительно, чтобы он когда-нибудь заходил так далеко с кем-то еще;
но я слышал, как он сказал однажды, когда они оба думали, что я сплю, что,
если что-то не произойдет в ближайшее время, он будет вынужден снова пойти
читать лекции и хвастаться по-старому, что я понял в том смысле,
что он когда-то читал лекции на предмет месмеризма и испытал свои
эксперименты на публике».

«Негодяй! Думаю, вскоре у него будет возможность попрактиковаться в чем-то другом и
показать себя по-другому, —
сурово ответил Эрл.

Начало светать, и обитатели дома пробуждались
от дремоты.

«Дорогая моя, — сказал Эрл Эдите, — тебе
срочно нужна комната побольше и побольше этой». и он встал и позвонил в колокол.

— Эрл, ты не оставишь меня? — сказала она, и испуганное выражение вернулось
на ее лицо.

"Нет; Я только подойду к двери, чтобы поговорить с официантом; а вы, —
повернувшись к своей служанке, — будьте добры, помогите мисс Долтон одеться
тем временем, чтобы ее можно было тронуть.

Официант вскоре постучал в дверь, и Эрл вышел на улицу, чтобы
поговорить с ним.

Он рассказал ему кое-что о том, что произошло ночью, и тот
немало удивился услышанному, а также тому, что
в этом доме была спрятана давно потерянная мисс Долтон. Затем он спросил его, не
может ли он предоставить мисс Далтон комнату получше, и тот
ответил, что некоторые из гостей уже уехали ранним поездом, и через пятнадцать минут
в его распоряжении будет комната первого класса.
.

Через полчаса Эдиту отнесли в прекрасные апартаменты, где вскоре
после того, как они с Эрлом вместе позавтракали, тяжкое бремя снялось
с их сердец, в то время как первая, счастливая в присутствии своего
возлюбленного, казалось, становилась все ярче, сильнее. , и больше похожа на себя с каждым
мгновением.

В восемь часов Эрл вспомнил о своем пленнике, который запер
женщину в комнате, как только Эдита ушла.

-- Когда я займусь этим делом, -- сказал он, нежно притягивая ее к
себе и целуя ее теперь улыбающиеся губы, -- я немедленно телеграфирую
мистеру Долтону; и, дорогая, когда он придет, я должен сообщить
вам обоим радостную новость. Я не боюсь, что теперь он будет препятствовать нашему
браку. Я верю, что все наши проблемы позади».

Увы! они не могли знать, что стоят на краю еще
более страшной пропасти — вот-вот будут брошены в более глубокую бездну
горя и бед, чем они когда-либо знали. Эрл вышел за
офицером, чтобы арестовать своих заключенных, и, вскоре вернувшись, проследовал в
комнаты, где оставил их, как ему казалось, в такой безопасности.

Обе двери были открыты! Обе птицы прилетели!




                ГЛАВА XXXI.
                БУРНЫЙ ИНТЕРВЬЮ


Ошеломление, которое испытали Эрл и офицеры, когда они
обнаружили, что и Том Дрейк, и его сообщник сбежали, лучше
вообразить, чем описать. Но ничего не поделаешь; у первого,
несомненно, были инструменты для грабителей, и, пока
Эдиту уводили и осматривали, он взломал замок на двери,
в которой он был заключен, а затем освободил своего озорного компаньона
и сбежал.

Новость о том, что мисс Далтон наконец найдена, и многие
обстоятельства, связанные с ее открытием, распространились со скоростью лесного пожара и вскоре
собрали множество друзей и знакомых, чтобы увидеть ее и поздравить
со счастливым событием.

Мистер Фелтон был одним из первых, и старый джентльмен, казалось, обрадовался
, увидев ее, как если бы она была его собственным ребенком, и с
энтузиазмом восхвалял ее мужество и храбрость, когда она отказывалась отдать
драгоценный документ, который только и мог восстановить Эрл его честь.

Мистеру Дальтону немедленно телеграфировали, и через три дня он
тоже появился в ее номере в отеле.

Она очень быстро поправилась за эти три дня, и хотя она
все еще была чрезвычайно слабой и нервной, вздрагивая от малейшего шума,
дикий свет возвращался к ее глазам, тем не менее румянец начал возвращаться
к ее щекам и губам, музыка к ее голос, и старое выражение
яркости ее лица.

Мистер Далтон приветствовал Эдиту с некоторым проявлением нежности, но выглядел
совсем не довольным, когда услышал о возвращении Эрла и о том, что именно
благодаря его посредничеству она добилась своего освобождения, и почти
сразу же его манера вести себя с ней начала приобретать прежнюю прохладу. .
Но мисс Долтон не была дочерью, которую можно было бы пренебрегать ни в коем случае, когда у нее
было такое уютное собственное состояние; и теперь все стали шептаться
, что мистеру Долтону очень не повезло в некоторых
своих спекуляциях, и что очень хорошо, что
в этот черный день он может рассчитывать на ее доход.

Хотя он и не был невежливым или агрессивным в своем обращении с
Эрлом, тем не менее он выражал свое неудовольствие его присутствием угрюмыми взглядами,
сарказмом и насмешками, пока Эрл не раз терял терпение и
расправился бы с ним, если бы он не боялся что любая неприятность будет
серьезной травмой для Эдиты в ее слабом состоянии.

Но хотя он был очень снисходителен и всегда вежлив, все же он,
казалось, никогда не добивался успеха со своим врагом и, наконец, решил довести
дело до кризиса.

Однажды утром он зашел к мистеру Далтону в его комнату и официально
предложил Эдите руку и сердце. Конечно, он ожидал
отказа и, конечно же, получил его.

-- Я думаю, мистер Долтон, -- сказал он ничуть не смущенно, -- что если вы
будете слушать, пока я объясню вам кое-что об изменении, которое произошло
в моих перспективах за последние несколько месяцев, вы не только
захотите отказаться от всех ваших возражений, но благословить нас обоих
вместо столь резкого отказа.

Мистер Долтон заметно насмехался над этим; действительно, лицо его постепенно
приобретало привычную ухмылку, как будто что-то вообще нарушало его
спокойствие.

«Хм! Мистер Уэйн, позвольте мне сказать, что никакие изменения _какой-либо природы_
в ваших перспективах не повлияют на мое решение. Вы не можете жениться на мисс
Далтон.

— Но, сэр, помните, что теперь мое имя не запятнано. Я свободен от
всякой скверны».

"Действительно! Я рад, что вы так счастливы, что так думаете, —
сатирически ответил он.

Эрл покраснел, но, сдерживая негодование, ответил:

«Я не только так думаю, но и весь мир будет вынужден
очень скоро это признать, так как я уже принял меры к тому, чтобы признание Джона Локера было
предано гласности».

«Что может подумать мир, меня совершенно не касается; прошу
считать мой ответ окончательным и неизменным». и он махнул рукой, как
будто полностью уволить тему.

И снова горячая кровь бросилась Эрлу в самый лоб, и все, что он
мог сделать, это не дать выход своему гневу.

«Не могли бы вы объяснить мне причину того, что мне кажется
необоснованным отказом?» — тихо спросил он. затем, подумав мгновение
, добавил. «Я недавно стал наследником весьма солидного
имения и могу поставить мисс Долтон в положение, подобающее ее достоинству».

«Ради вас я сожалею, что не могу оказать запрошенную услугу
одному _столь благородному_ и наследнику таких _блестящих_ перспектив; но даже
если бы это было возможно, позвольте мне спросить, какое имя вы могли бы дать мисс
Долтон? и взгляд, сопровождавший этот вопрос, был так хитер и полон
злобы, что на мгновение Эрл вздрогнул.

— Женщине, на которой я женился, никогда не будет причин краснеть из-за имени, которое она носит,
сэр, — ответил он, покраснев от возмущения и задаваясь вопросом, возможно ли,
чтобы мистер Долтон знал что-нибудь о его прошлой
жизни.

— Ах, в самом деле! был саркастический ответ. — Я верю — я искренне надеюсь, что вы
найдете кого-нибудь, кто достоин это вынести. Мисс Далтон не может. Я отказываюсь от этой
чести ради нее.

— Мисс Далтон, кажется, достигла совершеннолетия, сэр, — сказал Эрл очень тихо, но
слова были довольно зловещими.

- Мисс Далтон около двадцати двух лет, мистер... ах... Уэйн.

Почему, недоумевал Эрл, мистер Долтон
теперь почти всегда обращался к нему таким странным образом, с паузой, вставкой и таким
странным акцентом на своей фамилии?

Но на свое последнее замечание он ответил с достоинством, которое ему шло:

«Тогда, сэр, мы оставляем вопрос на ее усмотрение и подчиняемся
ее приговору. Я хотел оказать вам всю необходимую любезность, но, конечно,
вы, как и я, прекрасно понимаете, что мое обращение к вам за одобрением было чисто
формальным. Доброе утро, сэр."

— Доброе утро, — ответил мистер Долтон с насмешливым поклоном и увидел, как он
удалился со зловещей улыбкой и почти дьявольским смешком. Эрл немедленно разыскал Эдиту и сообщил ей

о результатах интервью . — Я не стану просить тебя бежать со мной, моя дорогая, — сказал он с ласковой улыбкой, — потому что я должен жениться на своей жене честным образом. Я также не буду использовать какие-либо аргументы, чтобы попытаться убедить вас бросить вызов вашему отцу и открыто выйти за меня замуж. Я оставлю это полностью с вами. Все должно быть так, как велит ваше собственное сердце. Эдита, ты должна решить этот вопрос для себя и меня. — О, Эрл, это тяжело, — сказала она. «Мое сердце говорит мне, что я принадлежу тебе, а чувство жалости и привязанности побуждает меня учитывать, насколько это правильно, чувства и желания моего отца. я не могу понять его; он так изменился с тех пор, как умерли мама и дядя Ричард, я иногда опасаюсь, что его разум затронут». Эрл подумал, что его разум явно пострадал, будучи одержимым каким-то злым духом. -- Между нами, кажется, возникла непреодолимая преграда, -- грустно продолжала Эдита. - И он так необъяснимо невзлюбил вас , что мне это кажется очень странным. Дай мне все обдумать за одну ночь, Эрл. Приходи ко мне завтра в это время, и ты получишь мой ответ. Эрл выполнил ее просьбу и ушел от нее, чувствуя себя грустным и подавленным. Он знал, что должен немедленно вернуться в Уиклиф. Он уже давно отсутствовал и оскорблял добродушие мистера Трессалии больше, чем ему хотелось бы; но он не чувствовал, что может даже подумать о такой вещи, как вернуться и оставить Эдиту. Чем больше он обдумывал этот вопрос, тем более необъяснимой казалась свирепая злоба мистера Дальтона против него. Это казалось таким почти по-детски неразумным, что он даже не слушал, когда он рассказывал ему о своих перспективах. Казалось, он говорил так, как будто знал о чем-то очень постыдном и унизительном, связанном с ним, и все же он не мог понять, как мистер Далтон, здесь, в Америке, мог знать что-либо о его прошлой жизни или тень стыда, которая завис над его молодостью. Кроме того, его заявление о том, что «никакие изменения в его перспективах» не могут повлиять на его ответ, казалось, подразумевало какую-то глубокую и горькую личную ненависть, которую он не мог понять, не сознавая, что когда-либо причинил ему вред. «Конечно, этого не могло быть, — подумал он, — потому что Ричард Форрестер так тепло вспоминал о нем в момент его смерти, и это было мелкое чувство ревности». Он не притронулся к деньгам, которые Эдита так благородно настаивала на вложении для него. Он все еще накапливался в банке и оставался там до скончания века для любого использования, которое он мог бы из него извлечь. И вот, поразмыслив над этим вопросом, только для того, чтобы еще больше запутаться, он решил оставить это, надеясь, что в конце концов все выйдет как надо. Несмотря на саркастические и почти оскорбительные манеры мистера Далтона , Эрл не питал к нему ни малейшего чувства недоброжелательности . Тогда чувство негодования и нетерпения на его несправедливость на мгновение возбуждало его горячую кровь, но это скоро проходило, и он искренне жалел его за то, что он был рабом таких нечестивых страстей, какие он проявлял. На следующее утро, чувствуя себя очень неловко и опасаясь неизвестно чего, он позвонил, как и хотела Эдита. Он не мог отделаться от ощущения, что его вот-вот ждет какая-то ужасная надвигающаяся судьба; казалось, что безмолвное, бессловесное предостережение произвело на него впечатление, и он поймал себя на том, что невольно повторяет слова того, кто сказал:                «Часто духи               Великих событий шагают впереди событий,               И в сегодняшнем уже ходит к... завтра." Он нашел Эдиту спокойной, но выглядевшей утомленной и очень грустной, как будто борьба за принятие решения была слишком велика для ее сил. Она подошла и подошла к нему, выглядя такой бледной, что больше походила на какой-то прекрасный дух, который вот-вот исчезнет из его глаз, чем на женщину, которую он страстно желал назвать «женой». — Я решила, Эрл, — сказала она, и в ее глазах блестели слезы, когда она протянула ему обе руки в знак приветствия. Он взял их и привлек ее к себе, вглядываясь в ее прекрасное лицо своими встревоженными глазами. "Дорогой!" — сказал он низким, напряженным умоляющим тоном. "Я иду с _you_," прошептала она; и его руки мгновенно обвили ее, тихие слова благодарности и благословения сорвались с его губ, бремя скатилось с его сердца. -- Папа уже так отдалился от меня, -- продолжала она, -- что я знаю, что мне было бы жалко отпускать тебя одного; вы тоже были бы очень несчастны . Более тесное сжатие рук, обнявших ее, подтвердило истинность ее утверждений и сказало ей, как она ему дорога. Золотая голова поникла и доверчиво покоилась на его плече, и она продолжала: «Может быть, когда он увидит, как я настроена решительно, он смягчится и согласится пойти с нами. Во всяком случае, я чувствую, что не имею права портить нам обе жизни и подчиняться его неразумному приказу». Прежде чем Эрл успел ответить, в комнату вошел сам мистер Далтон. «Ах! довольно эффектная картина, — сказал он с неприятной усмешкой. — Кажется, это моя привилегия — пользоваться этими интересными сценами. Его глаза сверкнули гневом, когда они остановились на Эрле, но он продолжил, обращаясь к Эдите: «Я должен попросить прощения за вторжение; Я просто пришел сказать, что хочу, чтобы вы были готовы отправиться в Ньюпорт на следующей неделе. Эдита покраснела. Он никогда раньше не говорил с ней так категорично; он был более склонен заботиться о ее удобстве и удовольствии, тем более что он в какой-то мере зависел от ее доходов, чтобы удовлетворять свои собственные потребности. Она также видела взгляд злобной ненависти, который он бросил на Эрла, и ее дух восстал против него. Она тихо высвободилась из объятий возлюбленного, когда дверь открылась, но осталась стоять рядом с ним. — Папа, я… ;;я не поеду в Ньюпорт этим летом, — сказала она с наружным спокойствием. но Эрл почти чувствовал ее дрожь, и его сердце болело за нее в преддверии конфликта, который, как он знал, должен был произойти. «Не поедем в Ньюпорт!» — сказал мистер Далтон, подняв брови и изображая удивление. «Кто когда-нибудь слышал о такой вещи, как то, что мы не поедем в Ньюпорт летом? Конечно, ты едешь в Ньюпорт, Эдита; Я не мог и подумать о том, чтобы оставить вас дома одного, и... мне было бы так ужасно одиноко! и он бросил хитрый взгляд на молодую пару, та неприятная усмешка все еще на его губах. — Папа, мне очень жаль, если тебе будет одиноко… — начала Эдита с дрожью в голосе, когда Эрл тихо взял ее руку и остановил ее. "Мистер. Далтон, — сказал он холодным, деловым тоном, — мы можем перейти к делу и решить этот вопрос раз и навсегда. Эдита уже решила вернуться со мной в Европу в качестве моей жены». Вместо того чтобы вспыхнуть гневом, как он ожидал, мистер Долтон громко усмехнулся и радостно потер руки, как будто это действительно было для него приятной новостью. Но он обратил внимание на Эрла не больше, чем если бы его там не было. Вместо этого он снова обратился к Эдите: «Моя дорогая, правильно ли я понял последнее утверждение мистера… э-э… Уэйна ?» «Да, папа», — ответила она, но ей стоило большого труда произнести эти три коротких слова. — Вы решили провести свое будущее в Европе? "Да сэр." Она рискнула взглянуть на него. Она не могла понять ни его тона, ни его настроения. «Ты оставишь родную землю и поедешь с чужеземцем в чужую страну?» — Эрл не чужой, папа, — быстро сказала она. — Мы знаем его много лет, и, конечно же, вы должны быть готовы доверить мне такого хорошего и верного человека, как он. «Так хорошо и верно!» — повторил он насмешливо. — Вы очень любите мистера Уэйна? -- Да, сэр, я, -- смело сказала Эдита и устремила на него свои сверкающие глаза. Ее негодование нарастало, ее терпение истощалось под его язвительными сарказмами. "Мистер. Уэйн должен быть счастливым человеком — он, несомненно, счастлив, имея такого храброго и справедливого защитника. Так прекрасно видеть такое полное доверие и уверенность, такую ;;горячую привязанность. Моя дорогая, ты можешь идти



































































































































































































в Европу с мистером Уэйном, если вы решите, я полагаю, учитывая, что вы достигли
совершеннолетия, как он однажды намекнул мне, но... вы не можете, как
его жена!

Вся фраза была произнесена с явным спокойствием и
неторопливостью, но глаза его пылали, как горящее пламя, на влюбленных,
так гордо стоявших рядом.

-- Если мое совершеннолетие дает мне право выбора в одном вопросе, то,
я полагаю, и в другом, -- холодно возразила она.

-- О нет, моя дорогая, здесь вы совершенно ошибаетесь, -- возразил мистер Долтон
с раздражающей любезностью и кинул на Эрла огненный взгляд.

-- Папа, я совсем не понимаю тебя в таком настроении, -- сказала Эдита с
некоторым высокомерием. — Но я скажу раз и навсегда, что считаю вас
чрезвычайно недобрым и неразумным. Какие возможные возражения
вы можете иметь против Эрла с моральной точки зрения?

На его лице мелькнуло злобное веселье, когда он ответил:

- Вы должны извинить меня, Эдита, но, право же, я не осмеливаюсь ставить
себя судьей ни мистера... нравы
кого бы то ни было».

-- Тогда я не считаю, что вы имеете какое-либо право из одного предубеждения
губить и его, и мою жизнь -- от этого
союза зависит наше общее счастье; и, папа, я выйду замуж за мистера Уэйна — если не с вашего согласия,
то без него, — решительно заключила она.

«Моя дорогая, позвольте мне повторить: вы не можете выйти замуж за мистера Уэйна».

«И _я_ повторяю, что я _должен_ это сделать».

Мистер Далтон снова усмехнулся.

"Мистер. _Уэйн_, я полагаю, будет очень _горд_ даровать
вам свое _имя_, - многозначительно сказал он.

«Позвольте мне спросить, что вы подразумеваете под этим утверждением?» Тут вмешался Эрл
, густо покраснев.

«Уэйн — это имя, которым можно было бы гордиться, если бы у него было _право_
на него», — злобно ответил он.

— И ты хочешь, чтобы я понял, что, по-твоему, я не имею на это права?

- У меня есть сомнения по этому поводу.

— Вы думаете, что я самозванец, что я добивался
расположения мисс Долтон под ложным предлогом — под вымышленным именем?
— с достоинством спросил Эрл .

«У меня была такая идея; да, — ответил мистер Долтон со странной
улыбкой.

"Мистер. Далтон, _что_ ты имеешь в виду? Что ты на самом деле знаешь обо мне?»

Мистер Долтон ответил лишь тихим смехом, а Эрл продолжал с некоторым
волнением:

-- Меня зовут Эрл Уэйн -- это имя, которое моя мать дала мне при
моем рождении, и теперь я скажу

... !_ — перебил он, и раздался презрительный, горький смех,
заставивший обоих слушателей вздрогнуть, настолько это было чертовски неестественно.

«Папа, почему ты так говоришь? _Почему ты так предвзято относишься к
Эрлу? Эдита взорвалась, не в силах больше терпеть.

— «Предубеждение» — очень мягкий термин, Эдита, — ответил он с
блестящими глазами.

— Тогда какие у тебя причины его ненавидеть? — воскликнула она страстно.

— По моему мнению, у меня есть самая веская причина в мире ненавидеть
не только его, но и все, что когда-либо ему принадлежало, — ответил мистер Далтон
с нарочитой выразительностью.

«Сэр, — воскликнул Эрл с изумлением, — что вы знаете обо
мне или о тех, кто принадлежит мне? и почему вы все еще настаиваете на том
, что мисс Долтон не может быть моей женой, когда она ясно заявила, что
решила этот вопрос? Что еще может быть препятствием для нашего
союза, кроме мелкой злобы, которую ты так подло проявляешь ко мне?

Мистер Долтон снова засмеялся над этим — тихим, насмешливым смехом — и потер руки
в сардоническом удовольствии, в то время как Эрл смотрел на него с изумлением и недоумением,
а Эдита задавалась вопросом, не сходит ли ее отец с ума, если он поступил
так.

— Вас не удивляет, молодой человек, что я, кажется, кое-что
о вас знаю? и я должен сказать вам, Эдита Далтон, почему вы _никогда_ не можете стать
его женой? — спросил он, и Эдита вздрогнула и побелела от его зловещих
слов. -- Вы знаете, -- продолжал он, все еще обращаясь к ней, -- что я никогда не
терплю и не прощаю противления ни от кого, никогда не прощаю ни
мнимой, ни действительной обиды. Я знаю, что у меня своеобразный темперамент, но я
такой, какой я есть, и те, кто мешает мне или выступает против меня, должны нести последствия
. Я никогда не любила твоего преданного поклонника, а с тех пор, как
открыла его секрет... --

Секрет! выдохнули оба его слушателей, в удивлении.

«Да, _секрет_. Разве у вас не было секрета, когда вы пришли к Ричарду Форрестеру?
— спросил мистер Долтон у Эрла, свирепо закусив губу.

-- Да, признаюсь, -- ответил Эрл со вздохом. -- Но...

-- Но гладкий язык и лживые губы почти все замазывают, --
насмешливо перебил его враг.

«Папа, ты ужасно несправедлив. Эрл — душа правды, — возмущенно воскликнула Эдита и добавила: — Что , если бы у
него была тайна?
Во всяком случае, я не думаю,
что это что-то задевало его честь или благородство.

— Спасибо, Эдита, — изящно сказал Эрл. «У меня была тайна, но,
слава богу, она больше не должна быть тайной; и если вы оба будете слушать
спокойно, я объясню вам его природу; Я только и ждал
благоприятной возможности сделать это».

– Слышишь, Эдита? У него есть тайна, и такая тайна! Рассказать?
Я думаю, что могу делать это намного эффективнее, чем он. Он...

Мы не станем писать это ужасное слово, от которого кровь снова залила
Эдиту и лишило Эрла дара речи от изумления и
негодования.

Оно было произнесено с ядовитой ненавистью, которую немногие способны ни
почувствовать, ни показать; а затем, не дожидаясь, чтобы заметить эффект своих
слов, он продолжал диким и взволнованным тоном:

«Ну, мой прекрасный поборник высокой нравственности, не правда ли, это новость, которая
заставит ваши уши зазвенеть? Вы не раз смели противиться мне
, -- продолжал он, хмуро взглянув на нее; «Вы отказались от моих желаний
и власти в пользу него, пока я не решу, что вы пострадаете
за это; и твое наказание, как и его, будет нелегким
. Теперь, что вы можете сказать? Разве я не выдвинул вескую и
достаточную причину, по которой вы не выходите за него замуж, или я должен
добавить другую, более вескую?

Он смотрел на белокурую девушку, все его лицо выражало
бушующую в нем страсть.

Какое-то время она не могла говорить.

Она перевела взгляд с него на Эрла, который стоял очень бледный, но спокойный, с
легким изгибом красивых губ.

На мгновение у него возникло искушение бросить ложь в зубы своему
врагу, но затем он решил дождаться ответа Эдиты.

В ту ночь, когда он нашел ее во власти
Тома Дрейка, она была не бледнее, чем в этот момент, и
в ее голубых глазах светилось усталое, затравленное выражение.

-- Не верю, -- сказала она, выпрямляясь во весь рост.
«но даже если бы это было правдой, это _не_ достаточная причина, потому что грех
и позор не его - они принадлежат предыдущему поколению».

При этих словах с губ мистера Далтона сорвался дикий, насмешливый смех.

«Такой бескорыстной преданности мне еще никогда не доставляло удовольствия наблюдать
», — воскликнул он.

Глубокий вздох благодарности и благодарности Эрла за ответ Эдиты
не остался незамеченным и, казалось, довел его до
крайней степени возбуждения.

"Мистер. Далтон... -- начал молодой человек.

«_Тише!_ будешь? Я займусь вами, когда закончу с ней, —
сказал он властным жестом. «Эта девушка должна усвоить, что она
не может безнаказанно бросить мне вызов. Теперь, мисс, раз уж я забил гвоздь
, не лучше ли мне его забить? Рассказать тебе еще что-нибудь, чтобы убедить
тебя, что ты никогда не сможешь выйти замуж за этого безымянного бродягу? и он наклонился к
ней, пока его злое лицо почти не коснулось ее.

Она отпрянула от него с невольным выражением отвращения.

Затем она сказала со странным упадком сердца и дрожащим голосом:

«Если вам есть что еще сказать мне, пожалуйста, скажите это _побыстрее_!»

— «Хорошая и достаточная причина», как я вам сказал, у меня была, — ответил он очень
медленно и обдуманно, переводя взгляд с одного на другого, чтобы оценить эффект
своих слов. "Да, это; и я думаю, что вы оба должны будете
признать это, когда я скажу вам, что Эрл Уэйн, как он
себя называет, МОЙ СОБСТВЕННЫЙ СЫН!




                ГЛАВА XXXII.
                СТОЛЫ ПОВЕРНУЛИСЬ

                «Месть, сперва сладкая,
                Горькая вскоре отступает сама на себя».


Эрл вдруг пошатнулся от этих поразительных слов, как будто кто-то
сильно ударил его.

"Мистер. Далтон! Сэр!" — воскликнул он, ошеломленный, и глядя на него на мгновение в
беспомощном изумлении.

"Папа!" — воскликнула Эдита с выражением крайнего недоверия на
лице.

Она действительно думала, что ее отец был сумасшедшим. Она считала, что он
лелеял свою озлобленность по отношению к Эрлу до тех пор, пока не стал
маньяком по этому поводу, а теперь, под волнением момента
и их неповиновением ему, он полностью потерял рассудок.

— Вас все это удивляет, мои _дети_? — спросил мистер Далтон, злорадно ухмыляясь
Эрлу. -- Неудивительно, -- продолжал он. — Но
тем не менее это правда. Эрл Уэйн, как он себя называет, хоть и
имеет не больше прав на это имя, чем я, но кость от кости моей и плоть
от моей плоти.

Эрл был ужасно тронут его речью. Его дыхание было затрудненным и
тяжелым, его зубы были стиснуты вместе, а руки были сжаты
до такой степени, что они побагровели.

Он сделал один резкий шаг вперед, как будто мог свалить человека на
пол, затем вдруг остановился и спросил низким, сосредоточенным тоном:

«Докажи то, что ты сказал! Ваше настоящее имя Далтон? но даже когда он
задал этот вопрос, холодный пот выступил на его лбу и вокруг
рта.

"Да; Я всегда откликался на имя Джорджа Самнера Далтона, хотя
для краткости много лет назад не упоминал это имя».

— Джордж Самнер Далтон! — машинально повторил Эрл.

«Да, вы правильно выразились. Узнаете ли вы какую-либо его часть?» был
насмешливый ответ.

-- Понимаю, понимаю, -- пробормотал молодой человек, прижимая руки к вискам
и выглядя так, словно он был парализован внезапностью этого
известия.

Тогда все страдания его матери, все обиды и позоры его собственной
ранней жизни вдруг нахлынули на него с непреодолимой силой, и он
свирепо обрушился на человека, который осмелился стоять там и насмехаться над ним
этими жестокими фактами.

«Тогда ты тот человек, которого я искал семь долгих
лет», — воскликнул он. «Ты — негодяй, который замышлял предать мою мать,
и ты смеешь стоять там и признавать подлый поступок — ты осмеливаешься
признать поступок, который делает тебя человеком, которого избегают и презирают
все истинные, хорошие люди, клеймит тебя хуже, чем второй Каин, и заставляет меня
ненавидеть тебя до тех пор, пока моя душа не заболеет, несмотря на то, что
в наших жилах может течь одна и та же кровь?»

«Эрл! Эрл! _что вы говорите?" — дико закричала Эдита и
подскочила к нему, когда обжигающие слова сорвались
с его губ с почти губительной силой. — Пощади его, Эрл. Я не думаю, что он понимает, что
говорит; эта дикая, дикая история не может быть правдой; он, должно быть
, сошел с ума! И она вцепилась в него, дрожа всем телом, зубы ее
нервно стучали.

Сам Эрл содрогнулся, когда ее слова коснулись его ушей, и,
казалось, само сердце его замерло в нем, когда он бросил на ее лицо выражение глубочайшей боли
.

Самнер Далтон, его отец и ее отец! Могла ли быть излита на него

какая-либо пытка более ужасная, чем знание этого факта ? И все же он видел, что она не поверила этой истории — да, она казалась слишком дикой, чтобы кто-то мог поверить. Но он знал, что это правда. Он обнял ее и подвел к сиденью. — Милый мой, милый мой! — воскликнул он голосом отчаяния. — Сможем ли мы когда-нибудь вынести это? Я думал, что все наши печали подошли к концу; они только начались. Господи, дай нам обоим силы вынести это». -- Эрл, -- сказала она, жалко глядя в его дрожащее лицо, -- ты не веришь тому, что он сказал? Ой!" всплеснув руками с испуганным видом, «вы только подумайте, что это значит, если это _должно_ быть правдой. Ты _не_ веришь в это, Эрл? Он склонил голову, пока его лоб не коснулся ее золотых волос, и громко застонал. -- Дорогая моя, я верю, что это знание убьет меня, но -- я знаю, что это правда -- -- сказал он хриплым и неестественным голосом. Она отпрянула от его укрывающей руки с криком, который годами звенел в его ушах . Скрестив руки на груди, словно чтобы удержать руки от быстрой и ужасной мести, Эрл мгновенно повернулся и посмотрел на человека, который признал себя его отцом. «Ты _знаешь_ это, не так ли?» — сказал мистер Далтон, не успев заговорить. « Значит, отношения принадлежат тебе? Вы знаете всю историю вашей матери, и как она обманула меня и скрыла от меня информацию о том, кто она такая, какое положение она занимала и какое огромное богатство она когда-нибудь унаследует? Если бы она сказала мне, я был бы сегодня отцом маркиза Уиклифа и занимал одно из самых почетных мест в Англии. Я бы женился на ней с честью, если бы она сказала мне, но она выманила у меня огромное состояние, и я стою здесь сегодня разоренный человек, нищий. Ты удивляешься, что я возненавидел тебя из-за нее, когда узнал, кто ты такой? Вас удивляет, что я всегда ненавидел Марион Вэнс за то, что она меня так обманула? "Держать!" — воскликнул Эрл так строго, что невольно остановился. — Не смей произносить чистое имя моей матери в свои гнусные уста и изливать на нее свою мелочную злобу за то, в чем ты был _один_ виноват. — Чистое имя! — безрассудно выпалил разъяренный мужчина. — Несомненно, вы очень гордитесь этим — именем, которое вы должны носить вместо того, которое вы носите. Но я отомстил или, по крайней мере, отчасти; ибо, если из-за ее упрямства я потерял славу, которая должна была принадлежать мне, я страдал не один — она была изгнана, безымянная изгой, из своего родового дома, чтобы никогда больше не войти туда, в то время как ее гордое наследство перешло к другой ветви. семьи, хотя я не знаю, кто, и сделал ее отпрыска нищим. Если бы она только сказала мне той ночью в Лондоне, — продолжал он, обращаясь больше к себе, чем к кому-либо другому, — я бы с радостью женился на ней на месте. Но она этого не сделала; когда она увидела, что я не скомпрометирую себя, она позволила своей гордыне погубить и себя, и меня; и _how_ я ненавижу ее с тех пор. Но ее страдания были еще сильнее, и я знаю, что ее чувствительная душа чуть не умерла в ней при мысли о том, что она навлечет свой позор на потомство. Ах! если бы я мог найти ее после этого, я заставил бы ее заплатить за то, что она меня так обманула, -- заключил он с сильной горечью, вспоминая то, что он потерял. «Не забывай, что ты был предателем, — сказал Эрл. «Ты заманил ее к гибели нежными словами и улыбками; ты покорил ее чистое сердце и соблазнил ее на тайный брак, утверждая, что любишь ее, как простую Марион Вэнс, и за невинную любовь, которую она щедро дарила тебе. Вы сделали все это, чтобы _развлечь_ себя и _провести праздное лето_. Она поверила тебе и надеялась на твою честь, и она упивалась своей тайной, потому что она могла бы преподнести тебе радостное удивление, когда ты пойдешь с ней к ее отцу, чтобы признаться, что она твоя жена. Если бы вы были верны ей, если бы вы не пытались сыграть с ней эту подлую шутку, вы могли бы достичь того величия, которого жаждала ваша подлая и честолюбивая душа. Вы обманули себя, и теперь в вас обнаруживается самая подлая из всех черт, которым наследует слабая человеческая натура, — вы ненавидите того, кого хотели обидеть, только потому, что вы перестарались с собой, и зло в какой-то мере отшатнулось от вас. Самнер Далтон сердито посмотрел на него, потому что Эрл читал его деградировавшую натуру как открытую книгу, и было совсем не приятно быть вынужденным рассматривать нарисованную им картину. — Кажется, вы все знаете об истории своей матери, — сказал он наконец с некоторым любопытством. -- Да, -- ответил он с выражением боли. -- Я все это знаю -- как она страдала, когда вы к ней не приезжали, как она тревожилась, когда узнала, что ее честь должна быть защищена, а вы даже не написали ей в ответ на ее душераздирающие призывы -- как она решила, что она будет признана вашей законной женой, и однажды мрачной ночью искала вас в Лондоне и умоляла вас со всем красноречием, на которое она была способна, исправить несправедливость, которую вы причинили ей. Если бы вы согласились, она решила бы рассказать вам об блестящем будущем, ожидающем вас. Но вместо этого вы отвергли ее от себя — вы холодно отвернулись от нее и ее почти идолопоклоннической любви, насмехаясь над ее несчастьем и говоря ей, что женщина, на которой вы женитесь, должна быть наделена богатством и положением — если бы она могла заверить вас в этом, вы бы согласились. сделать ее достойной женой; но вы не женились на ней, чтобы спасти ее от позора, который вы навлекли на нее. Тогда-то она и узнала о твоем крайнем бессердечии, что ты ни о чем и ни о ком не заботишься, кроме себя и вещей, которые служат удовлетворению твоих эгоистичных амбиций. Она не будет нелюбимой женой, и она знала, что, когда вы обнаружите упущенное вами величие, вы будете справедливо наказаны; и поэтому, в своей гордыне, она молча отвернулась от вас относительно своих перспектив, поклявшись, что она не вышла бы за вас замуж тогда, если бы это спасло ваши жизни; она решила нести свой позор в одиночестве, зная, что недалек тот день, когда ты захочешь многим пожертвовать, чтобы исправить эту несправедливость, когда ты проклянешь себя за свою глупость. Судя по твоим сегодняшним словам, это время действительно пришло, что ты сильно страдал, когда обнаружил, что ловушка, которую ты расставил для своей жертвы, попала и в тебя самого. Как я уже говорил, вы тот человек , которого я искал последние семь лет — это было дело, по которому я отправился в ту ночь, когда этот дом был ограблен, и, вернувшись, запутался в этом деле. Я думал, что получил ключ к местонахождению Джорджа Самнера, и я хотел, если я найду вас, заклеймить вас предателем и трусом, что вы... , белый свет блестит в его глазах. — Я полагаю, ты имеешь в виду, что хотел бы избить меня чуть ли не до полусмерти; но это страна, которая не допускает таких вещей — за подобные опрометчивости предусмотрены наказания , и, поскольку вы уже отбыли один срок на благо государства , я не думаю, что вам понравится еще один». О, как сердце Эрла Уэйна восстало против этого оскорбления! Но он знал, что возмездие не всегда обрушивается на обидчика в виде побоев, и отвечал с тихим презрением: «Вы ошибаетесь, сэр. Я бы не унизился настолько, чтобы даже пальцем тронуть тебя. Этот выстрел сказал; Эрл понял это по подергиванию мышц вокруг рта и по внезапному сжатию рук, и ответил со злобной злобой: «Да; то, что вы говорите, правда: я тот самый Джордж Самнер, который соблазнил Мэрион Вэнс на тайный брак. Я попросил Остина Осгуда провести церемонию — умный малый, всегда готовый на всякие шалости; но с тех пор негодяй ни разу не показывался мне лица по какой-то необъяснимой причине. Должен признаться, я почувствовал некоторую брезгливость и жалость к девушке, когда она взялась за это; но когда я узнал, как она обманула меня, я не пожалел — я упивался ее позором и позором, который она навлечет на свое потомство. Я упивался страданиями, которые, как я знал, она должна была испытать, когда день за днем ;;она смотрела на своего ребенка и думала о благородном наследстве, которого лишила его по своей глупости. Через неделю после того, как она пришла ко мне, один из моих друзей рассказал мне историю о бесчестии Марион Вэнс — как тогда весь мир узнал, что ее с позором изгнали из отцовского дома. Именно тогда я узнал, кто она такая и что я потерял. Я бросил все и начал искать ее, решив заставить ее выйти за меня замуж, чтобы наш ребенок мог родиться в браке и унаследовать поместья Уиклифа. Но она спряталась так надежно, что ее нельзя было найти, и когда прошло время, которое должно было пройти до рождения ее ребенка, я отказался от поисков и вернулся в Америку. Но я научился ненавидеть ее всей силой своей натуры, и если бы я когда-нибудь столкнулся с ней, я бы раздавил ее так же безжалостно, как раздавил бы рептилию. Когда я узнал, что ты ее сын, я понял, что через тебя я, несомненно, могу заставить ее страдать, и я хотел раздавить и тебя. Теперь ты знаешь, почему я был твоим заклятым врагом все эти годы, — заключил он с таким злобным взглядом, что Эрл с отвращением отвернулся. «Моя мать навсегда вне вашей досягаемости — она умерла более семи лет назад», — торжественно сказал он. Легкая дрожь пронзила тело Самнера Далтона, но он ничего не ответил. — Как вы узнали, что я ребенок Мэрион Вэнс? — спросил Эрл после нескольких мгновений молчания. Мистер Долтон рассмеялся, но чувство стыда все же заставило его покраснеть. «Возможно, вы помните, что оставили пакет бумаг Ричарду Форрестеру на хранение, пока вас не было три года», — безрассудно сказал он. «Он оставил их Эдите, когда умер, и, поскольку мне было несколько любопытно узнать, что так тщательно охраняет такая большая печать , я взял на себя смелость осмотреть их, мало думая, что найду такого _близкого_ и _дорогого_ родственника через так делаю». Эдита тут же вскочила и, подняв белое лицо от дрожащих рук, вскричала: «Позор!» "Спасибо; очень уважительное обращение к родителю, — усмехнулся мистер Далтон, а Эрл пренебрежительно скривил губы, и его лоб снова залился горячим румянцем. — Однако должен сказать, — продолжал мистер Долтон, — что пакет не стоил тех усилий, которые мне стоило его открыть, и не содержал ничего интересного для меня, кроме картинок и надписей, которые доказывали мне, что вы принадлежите Мэрион Вэнс. ребенок, если только я, кроме нескольких иероглифов на куске картона, которые я не мог прочесть». Выражение лица Эрла было своеобразным, когда он спросил: «Вы критически изучили этот кусок картона?» "Нет; Я отбросил его в сторону, когда обнаружил, что не могу его прочитать». — Теперь он у меня с собой, я всегда ношу его с собой, потому что в нем содержится очень важный для меня вопрос, который, возможно, может вас очень заинтересовать. Говоря это, он вытащил его из кармана и поднес так, чтобы мистер Далтон мог видеть написанное шифром. Он сразу узнал его. «Эти иероглифы, как вы их называете, просто сообщают, что находится на картоне ». «Что в нем содержится!» повторил г-н Долтон, его любопытство теперь полностью возбуждено. Ему показалось, что это всего лишь кусок довольно плотного картона. "Да; если бы вы внимательно рассмотрели его, вы бы заметили, что он, по-видимому, состоит из трех слоев, но средний слой обрезан очень близко к краю, чтобы можно было вставить несколько тесно исписанных листов тонкой бумаги. Я удаляю один конец того, что кажется средним слоем, и вы видите, что бумаги легко выскальзывают из кармана ». Он перевернул его вверх дном, слегка встряхнул, и несколько очень тонких листов бумаги, на которых было что-то написано, вместе с другим длинным узким листком, не таким тонким, упали на стол. «Возможно, здесь есть что-то, что может вас заинтересовать», — сказал Эрл, взяв последний и показывая его мистеру Далтону. Это было свидетельство о браке, которое старый священник вручил Марион в день ее свадьбы. Он долго, громко и презрительно смеялся, когда увидел это. — Я всегда думал, что Остин Осгуд зашел слишком далеко, когда осмелился подписать настоящее свидетельство о браке именем старого ректора и отдать его Марион. Но я полагаю, что это сделало это более реальным для девушки, только я удивляюсь, что она сохранила бесполезную бумагу после того, как обнаружила мошенничество . Что касается Остина, я уже говорил вам раньше, что больше никогда его не видел. Возможно , он тоже думал, что зашел слишком далеко в этом вопросе, и боялся, что его могут обвинить в подлоге». Эрл ничего не ответил на эти замечания; он просто вернул удостоверение в картонный карман и взял другую бумагу. -- Вот некоторые сведения, на которые я наткнулся чисто случайно, -- нет, я бы этого не сказал, -- прибавил он благоговейным тоном; «Должен сказать, меня к этому привело Божественное Провидение. Мне прочитать ее вам или вы прочтете ее сами? Это очень тесно связано с той маленькой драмой в часовне Святого Иоанна в Уинчелси. Мистер Долтон беспокойно заерзал на стуле. Каким-то образом слова этого серьезного, спокойного молодого человека с его сдержанным поведением и подозрением в большой сдержанности заставили его почувствовать, что преимущество может оказаться в его руках. Он начал опасаться, что в этих бумагах может быть что-то очень неприятное и что-то специально для него припасенное. Что Эрл Уэйн мог искать его все эти годы? Наверняка не только для того, чтобы познакомить его с тем фактом, что он знает, что он незаконнорожденный сын его самого и Марион Вэнс. Но он протянул руку за бумагой, предпочитая читать ее самому . Эрл отдал его ему, сказав: «Это просто копия чего-то из дневника епископа Графтона. Я сделал это сам из оригинала». Самнер Далтон с чувством большого беспокойства развернул эту бумагу и начал читать, как пономарь признался священнику в своей беде, как старик сам пошел в часовню и, спрятавшись, увидел молодого человек входит в раздевалку, переодевается, а затем приступает к принятию священных облачений. Он прочитал, как вмешался ректор, выяснил имена молодых супругов, с позором прогнал с поля сообщника, наполнил























































































































































































































































































вышел и подписал свидетельство о браке, а затем сам проследовал в
часовню и обвенчал ничего не подозревающую пару.

Страшное проклятие сорвалось с губ Самнера Далтона, и бумага выпала
из его бесчувственной руки, когда он закончил читать это поразительное
откровение.

"Это ложь!" — воскликнул он с пепельным лицом и сильным страхом в глазах.

— Это не ложь, — строго ответил Эрл. «Я сам пошел посмотреть на то место
, где, как я полагал, моя нежная мать была так жестоко обманута. Я разыскал
пономаря, и он рассказал мне о своем участии в сделке, а
затем направил меня за дополнительной информацией к дочери епископа Графтона, так
как он был мертв. Она была только рада помочь мне — рассказала мне о
дневнике своего отца и о том, что она там читала об этом. Затем она принесла его мне
и любезно разрешила мне сделать эту копию. Подпись на
свидетельстве о браке в точности совпадает с его собственной подписью в журнале, и мисс
Графтон очень хочет, чтобы любой, кто интересуется
этим вопросом или касается его, ознакомился с оригиналом. Есть еще кое-что, —
добавил Эрл, беря другую бумагу, — что, я думаю, убедит вас вне всякого
сомнения в истинности того, что вы уже прочитали.

Затем он прочитал вслух, как сердце доброго человека смутилось из-
за молодой и нежной девушки, и, опасаясь, что
с ней может случиться какая-то большая беда, он решил сделать эту последнюю запись в
своем дневнике;

  «ЖЕНИЛСЯ — В часовне Св. Иоанна, Уинчелси, 11 августа 18 г. — на
  преподобном Джошуа Графтоне, епископе и настоятеле прихода Св. Иоанна,
  Джордже Самнере из Рая, на мисс Марион Вэнс, тоже из Рая. Я клянусь
  , что это верное утверждение.

  «10 сентября 18—. ДЖОШУА ГРАФТОН, ректор».

После прочтения этого Самнер Далтон, казалось, долго сидел,
как окаменевший, с лицом белым, как грудь рубашки, с дикими
и пристальными глазами, а руки сцеплены в болезненном сжатии.

Потом, вскочив с возгласом ужаса, воскликнул:

«Значит, меня дважды надули и одурачили. Неудивительно, что Остин Осгуд
больше никогда не осмелился приблизиться ко мне».

— И, — сказал Эрл тихо и внушительно, — честь Марион Вэнс
никогда не была омрачена тенью пятна, хотя она страдала так же, как
если бы это было, и — ее сын не родился незаконнорожденным!




                ГЛАВА XXXIII
                «Я ВАМ НИЧЕГО НЕ ДОЛЖЕН»


«О, почему я не знал об этом?» — простонал Самнер Далтон, хлопая себя
по лбу. «В конце концов, я был законным мужем наследницы
Уиклифа. Все эти годы я мог бы занимать это гордое положение
и иметь в своем распоряжении неограниченное богатство. Это слишком - слишком много, чтобы
вынести. Какой злой гений преследовал меня всю мою жизнь, что я должен был
все это пропустить?»

— Этот «злой гений», как вы его называете, был не чем иным, как вашим собственным злодейством — духом
, правящим в вашем злом сердце. Вы стремились погубить невинную
девушку, и вы перестарались. На этот раз правосудие и наказание свершились
там, где они должны быть, и вам некого винить в этом, кроме
самого себя, — сурово ответил Эрл.

«Это _false_! Она должна была сказать мне. Она не имела права скрывать это
от меня — своего мужа.

— Вы забываете, что презирали ее и говорили ей, что она не имеет к
вам никаких претензий, а также что вы отказали ей в праве называть вас
мужем.

— Но она не имела права соглашаться выйти за меня замуж под таким ложным
предлогом. Это она удержала меня от моих прав, когда я мог бы быть
хозяином Уиклифа все эти годы - двадцать пять лет славы и
чести потеряны. Это слишком много; и если бы я мог заставить ее почувствовать мою месть
сейчас, я бы это сделал, — простонал он.

Эрл отвернулся от него, едва не заболев отвращением.

Он был, как и многие другие люди, стремившиеся нанести очередному какой-нибудь
непоправимый вред. Он ненавидел свою непорочную жертву за то, что, перегнав
себя, обида, наконец, отскочила на него самого, и
он больше всех страдал от собственной глупости.

Нежная Мэрион Вэнс не причинила ему сознательного вреда. Она любила его и
доверяла ему; она бы посвятила свою жизнь ему и его интересам.
Но хотя ему и не удалось в действительности погубить ее и
навлечь на ее имя прочное бесчестие, тем не менее она до поры до времени страдала,
как будто он достиг своей цели.

Но правда, как всегда, восторжествовала. Он стоял обнаженным
во всей своей низости; его злые дела были раскрыты, и позор и
ущерб, нанесенный ему самому, были намного больше, чем он когда-либо мечтал
причинить ей. Мэрион, наконец, предстала перед миром как
чистая и невинная девушка, которой она и была, в то время как весь черный список
вины Самнера Далтона теперь обрушивался на него, как лавина,
угрожая погубить и полностью раздавить его.

Он мог бы прожить еще десять, двадцать, даже тридцать лет, но предательство
будет преследовать его вечно; его никогда не забудет тот, кто знал
о нем. Отныне он будет отмеченным человеком, которому больше никогда не
будут доверять или уважать.

"Оставаться!" — вдруг воскликнул мистер Долтон, как будто его осенила новая мысль
. «Законный муж Марион Вэнс и
сейчас имел бы там права. Я позабочусь об этом. Кто был мастером в Уиклифе все
эти годы?

— Уоррентон Фэйрфилд Вэнс, отец моей матери, правил там до самой
своей смерти, которая произошла всего несколько месяцев назад, —
тихо ответил Эрл, но сразу прочитал, что происходило в голове этого человека.

— А кто тогда вошел во владения? — спросил он с нетерпением.

— Кузен моей матери — Пол Трессалия по имени.

«Зунд! Девушка, вы слышите это?» — воскликнул мистер Долтон, очень
удивленный, и повернулся к Эдите. -- Но... -- начал он опять с
растерянным видом.

— Но теперь он там не хозяин, — спокойно перебил Эрл.

«Ах!» — произнес мистер Далтон, наклоняясь вперед с затаившим дыхание интересом, наполовину
ожидая того, что последует.

«Я теперь признанный маркиз Уиклиф и виконт Уэйн, —
сказал Эрл.

«Вы доказали свое утверждение? Разве это не оспаривалось? Как...

Мистер Долтон был так взволнован, что заметно задрожал
и откинулся на спинку стула, бледный и слабый.

«Я доказал свое утверждение; это не оспаривалось, — начал молодой человек.
«Когда я впервые узнал, что брак моей матери действителен и что я
законный наследник Уиклифа, я подумал, что немедленно пойду и
заставлю дедушку признать меня таковым. Но он был так
суров и жесток с моей матерью, что я отшатнулась от него. Я был несовершеннолетним,
и я знал, что он был склонен обращаться со мной также строго и требовать
беспрекословного подчинения ему. Я знал, что если я пойду к нему, он, по всей
вероятности, откажется позволить мне следовать намеченному мной курсу
. Поэтому я решил, что никогда не переступлю порог, через который
так безжалостно гнали мою мать, пока я не найду
человека, который так обидел ее, и не смогу сказать маркизу, что нашел
его и не докажу, что он юридически обязал себя ее, или до его
смерти, когда, конечно, станет необходимо, чтобы я раскрыл свою
личность. Итак, я начал свои одинокие скитания с весьма неопределенной миссии.
По запросу я узнал, что некий Джордж Самнер учился в одном
немецком университете. Я немедленно направился туда и,
изучив книги, обнаружил, что это американец из определенного города в
штате Нью-Йорк. А теперь позвольте спросить, почему вы зарегистрировали только
часть своего имени, а не все?» — спросил Эрл, делая паузу.

— Это не имеет значения, — тревожно пробормотал мистер Долтон, краснея
.

С таким же успехом можно было бы упомянуть здесь то, что впоследствии обнаружил Эрл, а именно то, что
во время учебы в известном
колледже своей страны он оказался замешанным в очень постыдном деле и был исключен с глубоким позором, после чего
тотчас же уехал за границу, чтобы закончить курс в своей стране.
упоминается в немецком университете.

Опасаясь, что там могут быть другие американские студенты, которые знают о
позорном деле, в котором он был лидером, он решил не называть
своего полного имени и, таким образом, избежал того, чтобы стать отмеченным человеком.

Соответственно, он назвал только свои первые два имени, и хотя там были, как
он опасался, другие студенты, которые действительно знали об авантюре, связанной
с его предыдущей студенческой жизнью, тем не менее они никогда не подозревали, что Джордж
Самнер и Джордж Далтон, как он раньше был известно, были одним и тем же
лицом. Слегка скривив губы в ответ на ответ мужчины, Эрл
продолжил:

«Как только я узнал, что он американец, я решил приехать в Америку
и продолжить свои поиски. Но я был бедным мальчиком; Я отказался от помощи
, которую мой дед до сих пор оказывал моей матери, — я не мог пользоваться деньгами
человека, который так долго отрекся от меня, даже если они принадлежали
мне по праву, — и поэтому я был вынужден сделать что-то для своего поддерживать. Так
я оказался на службе у мистера Форрестера; и каждый выходной, каждый
свободный день, который он мне даровал, я посвящал своим поискам. Я раздобыл
каталоги нескольких городов и изучил всех Самнеров, которых они
содержали, но не смог найти ни одного, разыскав их, кто ответил бы
Джорджу Самнеру, которого описала мне моя умирающая мать.

«Я никогда не думал, что ты тот человек, которого я искал; если бы
я даже подозревал об этом, мне никогда не пришлось бы отсидеть эти три года
в этой жалкой тюрьме; ибо, как я уже говорил вам раньше, именно в
поисках вас я запутался в этом грабеже. Вы,
кажется, знали, в течение большей части моего заключения, мое отношение
к вам. Казалось бы, обычная человечность побудила бы
вас приложить некоторые усилия для моего освобождения или, по крайней мере, для
смягчения моего приговора; но вместо этого вы стремились лишить меня единственного
утешения, которое у меня было, потому что я убежден, что это вы перехватили
все цветы и добрые сообщения, которые я иначе должен был бы
получить.

Говоря это, Эрл устремил свой суровый взгляд на мистера Долтона и понял,
по тому, как виновато опустились его глаза, что он был прав в своем предположении.

— Меня это не удивляет, теперь, когда я кое-что знаю о твоей природе, но это
будет лишь дополнительной занозой, воткнутой в твою подушку раскаяния, равно как и
обиды, которые ты хотел причинить мне после моего освобождения и в
в конце вы будете худшим страдальцем. Но, несмотря на все ваши
усилия, я победил. Я начал делать себе имя и
репутацию, когда прочитал в газете о смерти маркиза
Уиклифа. Он уже давно умер, так как это известие было лишь выдержкой
из европейских новостей и сообщалось в связи с тем
, что мистер Трессалия, прославившийся в Ньюпорте, унаследовал его огромное имение.
Я понял тогда, что должен немедленно заняться своим требованием, и немедленно
уехал в Европу. Как я и ожидал, мистер Трессалия уже
утвердился в качестве маркиза Уиклифа; но, как благородный человек, которым он
является, когда он обнаружил, что я законный наследник, он отказался от
всего и любезно помог мне установить мою личность. Затем,
чувствуя, что перемены в моих перспективах будет достаточно, чтобы заставить вас
отказаться от всех возражений относительно меня, я передал свои дела в его руки и
вернулся за Эдитой...

Эрл вдруг остановился в ужасе - он не мог продолжать. Теперь всем его мечтам о
счастье пришел конец; тот час разрушил все его
надежды — Эдита Далтон была его сводной сестрой, и он никогда
больше не осмеливается думать о ней как о своей жене.

Но, Господи, прости его! он никогда не сможет полюбить ее как сестру.

Его огромное сердце наполнилось мукой при этой мысли; вены
на его лбу вздулись и налились кровью, а пот
собрался на лице и, скатившись, упал на пол.

Эдита Далтон его сводная сестра!

Он не мог этого осознать, и это был самый горький удар в его жизни
. Как мог он прожить все долгие годы, которые были впереди, с
цепляющимся за него грехом этой неумирающей любви?

Теперь он знал кое-что о том, что Поль Трессалия, должно быть, страдал от его
безответной привязанности.

Пол Трессалия!

Мысль о нем пробудила в нем еще более острую и яростную боль.

Возможно, со временем, теперь, когда Эдита для него потеряна, ему удастся
завоевать ее.

Это было слишком для него, чтобы вынести молча, и, склонив голову на стол,
возле которого он сел, он громко простонал.

Самнер Далтон улыбнулся при этом звуке, а в его глазах появилось хитрое зловещее выражение
. Ему было приятно узнать, что Эрл может страдать,
и его странная ненависть к нему из-за матери заставила его внутренне
ликовать при виде этого зрелища. Но пока Эрл говорил,

он крутил в уме важные вещи . Он был безмерно поражен и огорчен, узнав, как настоятель часовни Святого Иоанна в Уинчелси перехитрил его, и ужасно разозлился и разозлился, когда понял, как он скучал по всей роскоши и великолепию Уиклифа в течение стольких лет. Если бы он только знал, что брак был законным, когда он открыл этот пакет и обнаружил, что Эрл был его сыном и наследником всех великих владений маркиза Уиклифа, как иначе он вел бы себя. Если бы он только мог знать, что содержится в этом куске картона, если бы он мог тогда прочитать все эти свидетельства и убедиться в их истинности, а он приложил бы все усилия, с каким усердием он работал бы над освобождением Эрла, и отменил все признаки злой страсти в нем. Тогда он помирился бы с ним и получил бы все преимущества, которыми , естественно, мог бы пользоваться отец такой известной личности, как будущий маркиз Уиклиф. Но слабая надежда оживляла его, что, может быть, еще не поздно . Эрл был его сыном — этот факт был установлен вне всяких сомнений — и он сказал, что никогда не опустится ни до чего, похожего на месть; он однажды сказал , что не воспользуется ни малейшим преимуществом, чтобы причинить ему вред; он также сказал, что желает претворить в жизнь наказ: «Любите врагов ваших, делайте добро тем, кто злобно ранит вас». Если бы это было так, то он, несомненно, был бы готов простить ему все зло, которое он причинил ему в прошлом, и если бы он выразил свое сожаление должным образом, то, несомненно, принял бы его к себе, и он мог бы, в конце концов, быть в состоянии проникнуть в Уиклифа, чтобы его уважали и уважали как отца молодого маркиза. Странно, что его не удерживало ни чувство вины, ни стыда. Он ничуть не ненавидел ни Марион , ни Эрла, потому что отныне он мог бы наслаждаться тем, в чем ему так долго было отказано. Но он был полон решимости сделать так, чтобы факт их родства сослужил ему хорошую службу; он вытянет из него все, что сможет, удовлетворит каждое эгоистичное желание, примет все хорошее, что он сможет из него вытянуть, и оставит впустую все прежнее зло, которое он причинил ему. Он все еще ненавидел его, говорю я, как такие натуры всегда ненавидят тех, кто возвысился над ними победоносно, и он гордился бы этим, если бы мог сбросить его с его гордого положения и заставить весь мир так же презирать и ненавидеть его; но пока существовала хоть какая-то перспектива получить выгоду для себя, он должен был скрывать ее и изображать сожаление и будущую доброжелательность. — Вы говорите, что ваше утверждение бесспорно доказано в Уиклифе? — спросил он , хорошенько все обдумав. — Да, — ответил Эрл, подняв изможденное лицо с тяжелым вздохом. «Все было так ясно доказано, что никто не мог опровергнуть». «Это чрезвычайно удачно. Когда ты вернешься? — Немедленно, — сказал Эрл с побелевшими губами. — Откуда вы узнали о поместьях и ренте? — спросил мистер Далтон с еще одним хитрым блеском в глазах. — В очень цветущем состоянии, — кратко ответил Эрл. Он начинал не доверять тому, к чему клонились эти расследования. «Но что ты будешь делать? У вас никогда не было опыта управления такой большой собственностью. — Я могу научиться, сэр. "Я знаю; но это было бы так утомительно, и вы можете сделать много ошибок. Вам нужен кто-то старше и мудрее вас, чтобы дать вам совет. Мистер Долтон на мгновение колеблется и наклоняется ближе к Эрлу, жадно вглядываясь в его красивое лицо. Но Эрл сидит бледный и тихий, зная, тем не менее, что последует, и сознавая также, каким будет результат. -- Если бы... если бы, -- начал мистер Долтон с некоторым колебанием, -- вас можно было бы -- гм! -- убедить -- забыть о прошлом -- если бы мы могли заключить договор , чтобы зарыть топор войны и жить в мире. Вы знаете, я действительно сожалею обо всем, что было, и если бы мы могли прийти к какому-то соглашению, я бы согласился вернуться с вами в Уиклиф и дать вам возможность воспользоваться моим высшим суждением и советом. Такая удивительная бескорыстность, такая бесстыдная самоуверенность совершенно поражали. Быстрый, горячий румянец выступил на лбу Эрла, и на мгновение его губы задрожали, как если бы язвительные и ужасные слова непрошено устремились туда, чтобы произнести их. Затем он поднял свои темные глаза и устремил их спокойным, пристальным взглядом на человека напротив него. Самнер Далтон не мог равнодушно встретить этот взгляд. Несмотря на его дерзость, румянец смятения залил его лицо, и его виноватый вид говорил, что чувство стыда еще не совсем умерло в нем. — Когда я был просто Эрлом Уэйном, — начал он, не сводя глаз, — бедным мальчиком, работающим за хлеб насущный, меня считали недостойным вашего внимания. Когда меня постигло несчастье и я сделался преступником перед законом, то даже после того, как ты узнал, что это твой сын приговорен к каторжным работам на три года, ты не приложил усилий, чтобы помочь мне, ты не приблизился ко мне. предложить мне хотя бы одно доброе и сочувствующее слово. Когда ваша дочь была добра ко мне, а я смел питать к ней нежное уважение, вы решили раздавить меня. Когда добрый друг вспомнил обо мне на смертном одре, ты бы вырвал у меня сравнительно небольшую сумму, которую он завещал мне из своего изобилия. Вы презирали, оскорбляли и обижали меня всеми возможными способами. Вы даже признались в непримиримой вражде ко мне. За все это я мог бы простить тебя, если бы убедился, что ты действительно раскаиваешься, так как против меня одного обратилась вся твоя злоба и ненависть; но за пренебрежение, презрение и страдания, которые вы замышляли и во всех смыслах и целях учинили против моей нежной и невинной матери, я не могу. Я не имею права прощать тебя. Из-за своей собственной злобы и глупости вы лишились права быть признанным либо ее мужем, либо моим отцом. Мистер Далтон, вам никогда не переступить порог Уиклифа. Он слушал Эрла с замиранием сердца, а когда тот закончил, чуть не заскрежетал зубами от гнева и разочарования. Эрл говорил очень тихо. В его поведении не было видно ни малейшего волнения , но в каждом слове звучала неизменная цель. — Ты это имеешь в виду? — спросил мистер Далтон тихим, подавленным тоном. «Совершенно решительно, сэр; _Вы_ никогда не сможете войти в дом, из которого моя мать была изгнана с позором из-за вашей низости и вероломства. Мистер Долтон некоторое время сидел в угрюмых раздумьях. Как он ненавидел этого спокойного, гордого юношу, от которого, хотя он и был его собственным сыном, он знал, что не имеет права ожидать ни уважения, ни внимания. Но в данный момент мирские дела были для него безнадежны, и он сдерживал свою яростную страсть, чтобы сделать последний призыв. Правда, у Эдиты все еще было свое состояние, и пока она оставалась незамужней, он знал, что ему не нужно ни в чем нуждаться в разумных пределах; однако он никак не мог распоряжаться ее имуществом, и все, что он получал , должно было проходить через ее руки, что для человека столь гордого и энергичного, как он сам, было, мягко говоря, унизительно. Но если бы он хоть раз смог прикоснуться к переполненной казне Уиклифа, его будущее было бы одним длинным днем ;;роскоши и удовольствий, и, будучи лишенным своей доли в течение стольких лет, он не испытывал бы угрызений совести, рассыпая щедрой рукой сияющее сокровище дома Вэнсов. — Я буду с вами откровенен, — сказал он, стараясь говорить примирительным тоном. «Я разоренный человек. Я спекулировал, и каждый доллар моей прекрасной собственности пропал. Даже мой дом и мебель заложены и могут быть отняты у меня в любой день. Повторяю, я искренне сожалею о прошлом». и он так и сделал, в той мере, в какой это послужило тому, чтобы удержать его от Уиклифа, хотя и не было частью его греха. «Я хочу быть с вами в мире, но если вы теперь восстанете против меня, я должен опуститься до уровня простого стада». До уровня обычного стада! Как эти слова разозлили Эрла. Он опустится до уровня обычного стада, одной из которых, как он когда-то считал, была его мать, и поэтому не имело значения, погубил ли он ее. Горькие слова сорвались с его губ; сердце его было полно презрения и негодования, но он сдержался и ответил, так же спокойно, как и прежде, но с невозмутимым лицом: -- Сожалею, что вы были так несчастны, -- спекуляция -- очень ненадежное дело, но я никогда не могу согласиться на ты становишься обитателем Уиклифа или дома, где я живу. Было бы несправедливо, если бы я не обращал внимания на прошлое и обращался с вами так, как будто вы ни в чем не виноваты; вы не имеете права ожидать, что я буду питать к вам хоть какое-то уважение или привязанность, даже если в наших жилах течет одна и та же кровь — вы лишились всех прав и прав на любые подобные чувства. Я должен, с другой стороны, откровенно признаться в отвращении к вам, но я бы не питал зла, я не причинил бы вам никакого вреда, даже если бы я не мог терпеть ваше присутствие. — Это твое кредо? — выпалил мистер Далтон, не в силах больше себя контролировать. «Это твоё хвастливое прощение твоих врагов — твоё « доброжелательность к людям»? » Если бы какое-либо мое усилие могло послужить тому, чтобы вы действительно раскаялись перед Богом, я бы не пожалел его. Если бы ты был болен и нуждался, я бы служил тебе ради моего Учителя, как любому другому незнакомцу. Но ваши чувства ко мне неизменны — если бы не то, чем я _обладаю_, вы бы и теперь не делали ко мне этих заигрываний, и всякая мысль о нашем проживании под одной крышей или о том, что у нас есть что-то общее, совершенно не соответствует действительности. вопрос. Тем не менее, повторяю, я не питаю к вам злобы и не питаю духа мести по отношению к вам, и в доказательство этого, поскольку вы были так несчастны, я передам вам, если Эдита не возражает, десять тысяч долларов, которые Мистер Форрестер завещал мне, и который остался нетронутым с тех пор, как она вложила его для меня. Проценты от этого обеспечат вам комфортную жизнь в течение оставшейся части вашей жизни, если вы не коснетесь основного долга». В груди Самнера Далтона бушевал настоящий ураган гнева от этого спокойно произнесенного, но неизменного решения. -- Так соблаговолите дать мне, _вашему отцу_, жалкие десять тысяч из вашего неистощимого дохода! — усмехнулся он с чрезвычайной горечью. «Я вам ничего не должен в плане отношений, — холодно ответил Эрл. — А что касается «ничтожных десяти тысяч», позвольте мне напомнить вам, что вы не рассматривали их в этом свете, когда мистер Форрестер завещал их мне. Мистер Долтон снова покраснел. Как все его грехи один за другим обрушивались на него самого. С испуганным выражением ярости и ненависти, исказившим его черты, он наклонился к Эрлу и прошипел: «Я бы раздавил тебя в эту же секунду, если бы мог; нет ничего из всех бед мира слишком ужасных, чтобы я мог пожелать вам, и я все же отомщу вам за то, что я перенес сегодня. Я еще заставлю тебя почувствовать силу моей ненависти! и, говоря это, он мрачно взглянул на Эдиту . Глаза Эрла невольно проследили за его взглядом, и горечь смерти охватила его, когда он понял, что им двоим предстоит нести горе на всю жизнь. Внезапный страх поразил его, когда мистер Далтон заговорил, что он задумал причинить ей вред, чтобы отомстить ему . «Ты будешь очень осторожен в том, что делаешь», — сказал он с суровостью, которая испугала мужчину, несмотря на его браваду; - Вы не забудете, что даже сейчас вы занимаете очень деликатное положение и что в моих силах сделать ваше собственное будущее очень неудобным. "Что ты имеешь в виду?" — спросил мистер Долтон с блестящими глазами. — Я имею в виду, что если захочу, то могу привлечь вас к ответственности перед законом; ибо, пока была жива одна жена, вы женились на другой и в любое время можете быть привлечены к ответственности за двоеженство». Самнер Далтон дал страшную клятву, его белое лицо свидетельствовало об ужасном наказании, которое ему грозит за что-либо подобное, в то время как низкий, душераздирающий стон вырвался в тот же миг из Эдиты.                ГЛАВА XXXIV                «НЕТ ПУТИ БЕЖАТЬ?» Эрл вздрогнул от этого звука. Его мысли были так заняты общением со странным человеком, который утверждал, что он его отец, что он не подумал о том, как его слова могут ранить Эдиту, и теперь он сурово упрекал себя за то, что позволил сделать эти разоблачения в ее присутствии. Что должна была выстрадать бедная девушка, когда она слушала и осознавала свое собственное положение и все зло, в котором был виновен ее отец? Он доказал, что ее отец состоял в законном браке с его матерью, следовательно, он, которого до сих пор считали бесчестным ребенком, теперь был безупречен и имел право на одно из самых почетных положений в мире. Но в пылу и волнении объяснения всего этого он не переставал думать, что его собственная слава обязательно должна возникнуть из руин ее жизни. После того, как мистер Далтон потерпел неудачу в поисках Мэрион Вэнс, он вернулся












































































































































































































































































в Соединенные Штаты, где вскоре после этого он познакомился и женился на
сестре Ричарда Форрестера, слывшего довольно богатым.

Однако в этом его ждало разочарование, поскольку мисс Форрестер
располагала лишь небольшой суммой собственных средств.

Но ничего не поделаешь, и огорченный муж воспользовался
этим, осторожно вложил небольшое состояние жены и, серьезно
занимаясь бизнесом, стабильно зарабатывал деньги в течение нескольких лет.

В отчете также говорилось, что Ричард Форрестер подвез его, и
вскоре он прослыл обладателем большого
состояния.

Но, разумеется, его брак с мисс Форрестер был незаконным, хотя
он до сего дня твердо верил в это; и Эрл
осудил себя за многие вещи, которые он сказал, после того как
этот низкий стон напомнил ему, как много пришлось страдать Эдите.

Мистер Долтон увидел, как это ранило его, и злобно рассмеялся, после чего
Эрл почти свирепо набросился на него.

— Ты хочешь, чтобы я понял, что ты ранишь меня, вымещая
на ней свою злобу? Позвольте мне заверить вас, что если я узнаю о том, что вы умышленно
причинили ей хоть одно мгновение несчастья, я не пощажу вас, —
сказал он.

Мистер Далтон усмехнулся.

«Ты действительно любишь… э-э… свою сестру; действительно приятно видеть
такое единство в семье. Я верю, что ты всегда будешь так же любить
свою... сестру_.

Он, казалось, испытывал сатанинское наслаждение, повторяя это слово. Он знал, что
это обрушилось на их сердца, как удар молота.

"Моя сестра! Боже, прости меня, она _is_ моя сестра; но я не люблю ее
как таковую, — простонал Эрл, вытирая холодный пот со лба.

Это была музыка для ушей Самнера Далтона, но он знал, что не стоит
заходить слишком далеко; поэтому, поднявшись, он сказал с совершеннейшим
хладнокровием:

«Поскольку человеку в вашем положении было бы нехорошо допустить, чтобы его
отец страдал из-за жизненных потребностей, я согласен принять
ваше предложение этих десяти тысяч, и вы можете передать его мне с
минимальной задержкой. А теперь я пожелаю вам доброго утра, оставив
вас и вашу сестру обсуждать ваши будущие перспективы и утешать друг
друга, как вы можете.

С низким, гулким, насмешливым смехом он вышел из комнаты, и эти два
несчастных молодых человека остались одни.

В чрезвычайной горечи своей души Эрл снова опустил голову
на стол, и последовало долгое, долгое молчание.

Эдита неподвижно лежала на диване.

Наконец Эрл встал, подошел и опустился на колени рядом с ней.

«Эдита!» он сказал; и невозможно передать какое-либо представление о той боли,
которая втиснулась в одно слово.

Лишь низкий стон ответил ему.

— Эдита, — повторил он почти дико, — я бы спас тебя от
этого, если бы это было возможно.

Она повернулась к нему лицом в безмолвном страдании. Она не пролила
слез над тем, что услышала; ужас этого, казалось, палил
и сжигал их в самом их источнике. Глаза у нее были тяжелые, лицо
совершенно бесцветное, губы пересохшие и пересохшие, руки горячие и
горящие.

Один ее взгляд, такой жалостный и полный муки,
совершенно лишил Эрла мужественности, и он, опустив голову на подушку рядом с ней, всхлипнул
за всхлипом.

При виде его женских страданий она в какой-то
степени забыла о своих.

Она подняла свою горячую руку, ласково приложила ее к его щеке и
закричала:

— Эрл, Эрл, не надо! _I_ не вынесу, если _you_ так уступит. Бог
поможет нам; Он не пошлет на нас больше, чем Он готов дать нам
силы вынести. Но, о! — добавила она дико, — что мне придется
называть такого человека отцом.

«Дорогой мой, это горе, которое мы разделяем вместе», — ответил Эрл,
пытаясь совладать с собой.

«Я рад, что мама умерла. Я рад, что дядя Ричард мертв. Как
они могли это вынести?» Эдита застонала.

— Твой дядя Ричард посоветовал бы нам, что делать, дорогая; он бы
нам помог, — ответил Эрл, глубоко чувствуя потребность в таком
друге, каким был бы Ричард Форрестер.

— Я думаю, он убил бы папу, если бы дожил до всего
этого. Мне говорили, что когда он был возбужден, его характер был вспыльчивым, —
с содроганием сказала Эдита.

— Его здесь нет, и мы должны посоветоваться друг с другом. Дорогая, у нас
есть несколько суровых фактов, которым нужно смотреть в лицо. Все...

На мгновение мужество покинуло его, и казалось, что рассудок
покидает его.

Через некоторое время он продолжал:

«Все наши прежние надежды разбиты и разрушены. О, почему нам было
позволено любить друг друга так, как мы любили, только для того, чтобы так страдать? Но,
Эдита, я не могу... я не чувствую, что должен вернуться и оставить тебя
здесь с ним. Ты поедешь со мной в Уиклиф и разделишь мой
дом — дом твоего брата?

Она оттолкнула его от себя жестом отчаяния.

Крик горечи пронесся по комнате, и тогда, как будто все силы
самообладания покинули ее, она воскликнула:

«Нет, _нет_, НЕТ! Эрл, как ты можешь мучить меня таким предложением? Уходи
, спрячься от меня, поставь море между нами, пока... пока я не научусь любить
тебя меньше.

И бедное, усталое, почти разрывающееся сердце нашло облегчение в потоке
обжигающих слез.

Эрл был рад видеть, как она плачет, хотя каждое слово было
для него новой пыткой. Он не останавливал ее, а только преклонял перед ней колени, нежно поглаживая
ее блестящие волосы и жалея, что не мог один перенести все это великое горе
.

Как он мог оставить ее? Как он мог поместить океан между ними!
Как он мог позволить пройти долгим годам и не смотреть ей в лицо,
может быть, никогда больше не видеть ее? Он знал , что она не будет счастлива со своим отцом
после того, что она узнала сегодня. У нее не было других друзей, к
которым можно было бы пойти, и что с ней будет?

Она отвергала мысль сделать Уиклифа своим домом, где она была бы
вынуждена видеться с ним каждый день и стремиться завоевать любовь, которую
она теперь не имела права дать ему. И его собственное сердце подсказывало ему, что это будет
слишком тяжелым бременем для каждого из них.

Что-то подсказывало ему, что он никогда не сможет любить ее по-тихому,
как брат. Его сердце было обращено к ней в первой сильной, глубокой
страсти его мужественности, и он мог контролировать ее не больше, чем он мог
контролировать дующий ветер.

Все это он обдумывал, пока она лежала, отрешившись от
горя, и знал, что она рассудила правильно; они должны быть разделены,
иначе их горе скоро утомит их обоих. Он должен вернуться
в Уиклиф и приступить к своим обязанностям там, а она должна выбрать для
себя, что она будет делать здесь.

Через некоторое время ее рыдания стали менее сильными, и наконец он сказал, стараясь
говорить спокойно:

— Эдита, я сделаю все, что ты скажешь; но мне кажется, что весь
мир с этого часа померкнет в глубочайшем мраке — как будто ничто
уже никогда не сможет снова казаться светлым или прекрасным. Я вернулся к вам такой радостный, такой
гордый положением, которое я мог предложить вам; и теперь всякая надежда
разбита. О, что нам делать? Как нам это вынести?» он застонал.

— Вы должны уехать — обратно в Англию, — сказала она дрожащим, ослабленным
голосом. — Я не вынесу, если ты останешься здесь; и я не могу пойти в Уиклиф.
Разве вы не видите, что мы не могли вынести _that_? Мы должны жить врозь и стремиться
забыть, если можем. Может быть, когда пройдут долгие годы, если мы будем жить
и не видеть друг друга, мы сможем
меньше любить друг друга».

«Не дай Бог! И все же грех этого раздавит меня, — вскричал он
в отчаянии. «Я не могу забыть — я не хочу забывать — я _не_ забуду. О,
Эдита, почему нам позволено подвергаться таким пыткам?

«Может быть, чтобы научить нас тому, что земные идолы — всего лишь прах, а Бог
превыше всего. Он сказал, что мы не должны ставить никого другого на Его место, —
прошептала она с серьезностью, которая привела его в трепет.

«Неужели _вы_ любили _меня_ так?» он спросил.

«Тише!» — ответила она, вздрагивая и нежно касаясь пальцами
его губ. «Я не должен говорить вам _сколько_.
Мы не имеем права больше говорить об этом. Я хочу, чтобы ты попрощался со мной сейчас, Эрл, и пусть это будет долгое
, очень долгое прощание.

«Милый мой, я _не могу_; это слишком, слишком жестоко, — простонал он; и,
забыв обо всем, кроме своей глубокой и могучей любви к ней, он схватил
ее в свои объятия и с такой мятежной силой сжал ее, что она
была бессильна в его объятиях.

— Эрл, — сказала она со спокойствием, порожденным отчаянием, но
авторитетно, — ты должен отпустить меня.

Он тотчас же отпустил ее — он не мог ослушаться ее, когда она говорила таким
тоном, но выражение его лица заставило ее вскрикнуть от боли.

— Прости меня, — почти всхлипнула она. — Я бы не стал тебя ранить, но мы должны покончить с
этим ради обоих. Ты сделаешь, как я хочу?
Вы немедленно вернетесь в Уиклиф?

— Я сделаю все, что ты мне прикажешь, Эдита, — ответил он глухим голосом
, но с выражением, которое она надеялась никогда больше не увидеть ни на одном смертном
лице.

— Спасибо, Эрл, я прошу вас уйти — это правильно — так будет лучше,
и — и… —

Она встала и остановилась перед ним, выглядя почти такой же бледной и
жуткой, как в ту ночь. когда он нашел ее во
власти Тома Дрейка.

Она вдруг остановилась, отдышавшись, и зашаталась, как
пьяная от вина; но, прижимая руку к боку, как будто желая
унять свое сердцебиение, она старалась продолжать, хотя каждое слово
вырывалось с задыханием:

«И, Эрл, не горюй — не горюй больше, чем можешь помочь». ; это
было бы нехорошо — у вас впереди знатная карьера, и вы должны чтить
имя, которое носите…

— Что мне почести? Чего стоит для меня что-нибудь в этом мире
_сейчас_?» — хрипло перебил он.

— Ты должен победить этот безрассудный дух, Эрл, — постарайся не думать обо мне больше,
чем это возможно; Надеюсь, у меня все получится. Я
останусь с папой и постараюсь склонить его к лучшему».

Ее бледные губы дрогнули, когда она подумала, каким унылым будет мир, когда
он уйдет, и какой неблагодарной задачей она себя поставила
.

Через мгновение она тихо сняла красивое кольцо, которое он надел
ей на палец, и протянула ему.

— Я не должна больше носить это, — срывающимся голосом сказала она. - это слишком много значит
для меня, и я так нежно любила его за то, что оно значило, и
я не хочу даже видеть ничего, что могло бы напомнить мне о...
счастье, которое я потерял. Возьми и убери его, Эрл; но если... если...

У нее быстро перехватило дыхание, а он почувствовал, что превращается в
камень.

-- Если когда-нибудь, -- начала она снова с большим усилием, но с таким бледным
и мертвенным видом, что Эрл боялся, что она упадет замертво к его ногам, -- если когда-нибудь
в будущем вы встретите человека, который, по вашему мнению, сделает вас счастливым, скажите
расскажите ей о нашем горе, Эрл, и передайте ей это с моим благословением.

«О, небо! Эдита, ты хочешь свести меня с ума? он застонал.

"Дорогой Эрл, это тяжело - я не могу сказать тебе, как тяжело мне это говорить
, но я знаю, что то, что я тебе скажу, будет правильным для тебя, и - я
хочу, чтобы ты был счастлив".

"Счастливый! Разве ты не знаешь, что это слово будет дразнить меня до конца
моей жизни? — воскликнул он с чрезвычайной горечью.

-- Надеюсь, что нет, Эрл. и ее сладкие губы дрожали, как у опечаленного ребенка.

— Как ты думаешь, Эдита, ты когда-нибудь снова познаешь счастье? — почти яростно спросил Эрл
, и все же ее грустное лицо поразило его за этот вопрос.

«Если на то будет воля Божья», — ответила она с усталостью, пронзившей его
до глубины души; но в душе она знала, что без него
мир никогда больше не будет иметь для нее никакой прелести.

-- В жизни есть некоторые вещи, -- продолжала она с грустной сладостью
через мгновение, -- которых мы не можем понять, -- это наше испытание -- одно из
них. Помнится, я где-то читал, что

                «Никогда утро не носило
                До вечера, но сердце у кого-то разбилось»,

и если это так, то мы не одиноки в своей печали; быть может, в конце концов все будет
хорошо, и мы доживем до того, чтобы это осознать, — будем верить, что это
может быть так. Но, Эрл, у вас красивый дом, и, вероятно, впереди вас ждут
долгие годы полезной жизни, но в доме не может быть комфорта
без умелой руки, которая его украшает и направляет. Не забывай
того, что я говорю, — помни, что я даже желаю этого, если когда-нибудь придет время, когда
ты сможешь это осознать; а теперь, Эрл, - она ;;протянула руки с всхлипом
, который, казалось, вырвался из нее против воли, - прощайте, да
хранит вас Господь.

Его руки вдруг опустились, и кольцо покатилось к его ногам; он не
брал, казалось, что у него нет силы; и она, чувствуя, что больше не может
терпеть, повернулась, как бы собираясь уйти от него.

Пока она говорила, он стоял как оглушенный. Казалось, он не мог
понять, что она действительно имела в виду свое последнее, долгое прощание; но
когда она отвернулась от него, он вдруг вскрикнул агонизирующим голосом:

- Эдита! о, моя потерянная любовь, не оставляй меня так!»

Она остановилась, свесив голову на грудь и
безвольно свесив руки.

Он прыгнул к ней и, забыв обо всем, кроме мгновенной боли,
страстно прижал ее к своей груди.

«Эдита — мое счастье — моя любовь — все самое дорогое и лучшее на свете,
как ты можешь так уйти от меня? Я не могу это вынести. Я не поверю
этому ужасному делу, которое должно лишить нас всего нашего светлого будущего».

Теперь она бессильно лежала в его объятиях; это было в последний раз,
подумала она, даже если она не была слишком слаба, чтобы двигаться.

«Скажи мне, Эдита, есть ли способ спастись? _Должны ли_ мы проживать наше
мрачное будущее, эта отравленная стрела разъедает наши сердца? Ах! если бы эту
ужасную историю можно было опровергнуть».

«Но это невозможно, Эрл; нет другого выхода, кроме как терпеть это, —
выдохнула она.

«Нет, другого выхода нет, потому что я знаю, что этот человек — мой отец, и
этот факт разрушает все наши надежды. Это тяжело, мои возлюбленные; позвольте мне называть
вас так еще раз; позволь мне обнять тебя в последний раз; позволь мне поцеловать
эти милые губы и коснуться этих блестящих волос, и тогда я уйду, как
ты хочешь. Я не добавлю ни одной боли к тому, что, как я знаю, ты уже страдаешь.
Да благословит тебя небо, мой усталый, сокрушенный, моя потерянная любовь».

Одной сильной рукой он прижимал ее к своему почти разрывающемуся сердцу,
а другой рукой оттягивал сияющую голову, пока не смог
заглянуть в прекрасное лицо, которое, как он чувствовал, возможно, смотрело
на него в последний раз.

Его губы задержались на ее волосах, с трепетной нежностью коснулись ее лба
, а потом, с вырванным из глубины души рыданием, он
впился в ее губы одним долгим, страстным поцелуем, нежно отпустил ее,
наклонился, чтобы поднять кольцо, которое она пожелал ему иметь, а затем вышел
из комнаты.

Две недели спустя Эрл Уэйн вернулся в Уиклиф грустным, почти
с разбитым сердцем и в свои двадцать пять лет считал жизнь непосильным бременем
.




                ГЛАВА XXXV.
                НАЧАЛО КОНЦА Эдита Далтон и ее отец отправились в Ньюпорт — он, чтобы получить от жизни


все наслаждение, какое он мог получить, участвуя в спортивных играх веселого мира и тратя деньги своей дочери, она, чтобы смириться с тем, с какой покорностью она могла ли утомительная рутина, в которой у нее не было сердца, и который был только издевательством над нею. Эрл, верный своему слову, заработал мистеру Далтону десять тысяч долларов, о которых он давно спорил , и это вместе с солидным доходом Эдиты, который она молча уступала ему, позволяло ему жить как принц. Но люди удивлялись, как угасла радость жизни белокурой девушки. Ее не интересовали удовольствия и легкомыслие модного водоема. Она не посещала их вечеринок и общественных собраний, а бродила одна по морю или сидела в уединении в своей комнате, бледная, грустная и молчаливая, постоянно думая о том, кто был так дорог, кто по ее велению поместил океан между их. Ее мятежное сердце отказывалось изгнать его из места, которое так долго принадлежало ему, или отказаться от хоть одной десятины любви, которую она щедро излила на него. Одно имя брата, примененное к нему, вызывало в ней содрогание от отвращения, а мысль о том, что она его сестра, заставляла ее вскрикивать от отчаяния, болеть и падать в обморок от ужаса. Мистер Долтон, надо отдать ему должное, после того, как Эрл ушла далеко с дороги , изменил курс и обращался с ней с величайшей мягкостью и добротой. Быть может, он почувствовал угрызения совести, видя, как день за днем ;;она становилась такой хрупкой и хрупкой и с таким печальным терпением переносила горе, которое он на нее навлек. Возможно, поскольку мы не можем добросовестно приписать ему действительно бескорыстных побуждений, он только понял, что она была той курицей, которая принесла ему золотые яйца, и считал делом политики задобрить ее благосклонность. Как бы то ни было, он максимально увеличил свое преимущество. Деньги утекали сквозь пальцы, как вода; он никогда раньше не казался таким веселым, безрассудным и сосредоточенным на своем удовольствии, и не один старый товарищ заметил, что «мистер Далтон быстро рос, когда старел». Но Немезида была на его пути. Безжалостная судьба преследовала его, крича: «Нет пощады, пока не падет сильный». Дни его нечестивой жизни и мести, предательства и несправедливости были сочтены, хотя он и не знал этого, и никакой предостерегающий дух не шептал, что за каждое злое дело, которое он совершил, он должен вскоре дать отчет. Пола Трессалии несколько удивило, что Эрл вернулся в Англию один. Он полностью ожидал, что привезет Эдиту в качестве невесты в Уиклиф, и пытался научить свое сердце выносить это. Он сразу понял, что у него на уме какая-то глубокая тревога; ни у кого никогда не было таких тяжелых ввалившихся глаз, такого усталого, изможденного лица без веской причины. Но так как Эрл не дал никакого объяснения этому, он не мог его расспрашивать. И так шли дни, пока он начал строить свои планы на будущее. Эрл сразу же приступил к своим обязанностям хозяина Уиклифа и был очень радушно принят всеми сторонниками бывшего маркиза, и вскоре приобрел влияние и положение в стране, которые должны были удовлетворить самых требовательных. Его чествовали и льстили, цитировали, советовали и искали; но ни на минуту не забывал он ни этого грустного белого лица, которое несколько минут лежало у него на груди в последний раз, ни последнего надрывного прощания и тихого шепота: «Бог да благословит и сохранит тебя». Но пришло время, когда ему пришлось вести еще одну могучую битву с самим собой. Все его надежды на будущее были разрушены одним ударом; но Поль Трессалия все еще любил Эдиту, он знал, и для него мог быть луч надежды. У него возник вопрос: «Не должен ли он сказать ему об изменении отношений, существовавших между Эдитой и им самим, и если была тень возможности завоевать ее любовь, не должен ли он позволить ему сказать об этом на тест?» Однажды он искал его, с бледным, изможденным лицом. Он победил могущественного врага — самого себя. Он вспомнил, как Эдита однажды сказала ему, говоря о своем отказе от предложения руки и сердца мистера Трессалии, что «она никогда не страдала больше от мысли причинить боль, чем от отказа ему». Кто-то написал: «Жалость растворяет душу в любви», и, может быть, из ее симпатии к нему может возникнуть что-то нежное, и жизнь в тихом счастье обретется как для нее, так и для его двоюродного брата. — Поль, мне нужно сообщить вам кое-что важное, — сказал он, сразу переходя к делу. — Тогда говори; у тебя проблемы? Могу ли я что-нибудь для вас сделать?» — спросил мистер Трессалия, бросив тревожный взгляд на измученное лицо. -- Нет, ни вы, ни кто-либо другой не можете мне ничего сделать; я пришел к вам , чтобы дать вам шанс в гонке за счастьем, — ответил Эрл с некоторой горечью в тоне. — Я вас не понимаю, — ответил он, заливаясь румянцем. — Ты все еще любишь Эдиту Далтон? — спросил Эрл, стиснув зубы, чтобы сдержать мятежный стон. — Тебе нужно задать мне этот вопрос? Поль Трессалия, вернулся с упреком, его лицо внезапно побледнело. «Я всегда должен любить ее». «Тогда иди и завоюй ее, если сможешь; путь открыт; тебе ничто не мешает, — сказал Эрл, вытирая холодный пот с лица. Его кузен посмотрел на него в полном изумлении, задаваясь вопросом, сошел ли он с ума, если сделал такое заявление, или это была какая-то любовная ссора, которая привела Эрла домой в таком отчаянии. Эрл, не дожидаясь ответа, стал рассказывать ему историю отношения Эдиты к себе. — Это убивает меня, — сказал он, когда закончил. «Я каждый день восстаю против жестокой судьбы, разлучившей нас, ибо я люблю ее только так, как мужчина может любить женщину, которая должна быть его женой, и буду любить ее так до самой смерти. Ты тоже ее любишь; и, возможно, если вы сумеете завоевать ее, вы оба еще много узнаете о домашнем мире. Если я не смогу победить свое грешное сердце, я могу умереть, и тогда вы вернете себе то, что потеряли, а Эдита все-таки будет любовницей Уиклифа. — Эрл, не говори так, — сказал мистер Трессалия с глубоким волнением, потому что дикая горечь и горе его кузена огорчали его. — Я был рад передать вам Уиклифа, когда знал, что он принадлежит вам по праву. Я не жажду этого, и у меня не было бы других дел в этом отношении, кроме тех, которые они есть. Я также надеюсь, что ты доживешь до того, как вырастет похотливый наследник, который заберет его после тебя. Но вы рассказали мне странную историю — Эдита, ваша сводная сестра! Мистер Долтон, ваш отец! — Да, это так, хотя я бы с радостью отдал каждый акр своего наследства, чтобы доказать обратное. «Тогда вы должны быть похожи только на семью вашей матери, а она — на ее мать, потому что между вами нет ни единой точки сходства, которая свидетельствовала бы о таком родстве». «Я не знаю, что насчет этого. Я только знаю, что существуют факты, подтверждающие это, — уныло сказал Эрл. "Бедный ребенок! она так преданно любила вас, так гордилась вами и, должно быть, тоже страдала. Я бы хотел, чтобы я мог вернуть вам обоим потерянное счастье. Не странно ли, что только из крушения твоих или моих надежд может прийти счастье к каждому из нас?» — с сожалением сказал мистер Трессалия. «Выиграете вы или нет, она разорена, а я продолжаю грешить день за днем, любя ее так же безумно, как всегда», — воскликнул Эрл, сжимая руки от боли. -- Иди, иди, -- прибавил он. «Когда она когда-то станет твоей женой, я, может быть, смогу обрести покой или его подобие». Поль Трессалия не нуждался во вторых торгах, хотя, надо признаться, он не очень сильно надеялся на успех. Его сердце подсказывало ему, что если Эдита будет любить так же сильно, как Эрл, это будет длиться вечно, и он никогда не сможет надеяться завоевать ее как свою жену. И все же он не мог успокоиться, пока еще раз не испытал свою судьбу и, с нежной, хотя и грустной разлукой со своим благородным сердцем , еще раз пересек широкую Атлантику. Он прибыл в Ньюпорт в разгар его веселья, и старые знакомые встретили его с энтузиазмом. К его удивлению, мистер Долтон принял его с большим хладнокровием, сразу догадавшись, с какой целью он пришел. Он обнаружил, в отличие от других, что Поль Трессалия больше не был «наследником больших ожиданий», и теперь он совсем не беспокоился о том, чтобы Эдита вышла замуж. Она была больна, терпела неудачу ежедневно и ежечасно, как все могли видеть, и многие предсказывали ей быстрый упадок сил и скорую смерть, если в ближайшее время не произойдет каких-либо перемен к лучшему. Мистер Долтон грустно покачал головой и тяжело вздохнул, как и подобает любящему и беспокойному родителю, когда его расспрашивают на эту тему, но втайне он подсчитывал свои шансы стать наследником ее уютного состояния. «Она моя дочь», — говорил он себе, потирая руки своим особенным образом. -- Если она умрет незамужней и без завещания -- а я не думаю, чтобы она до такого додумалась, -- то, конечно , я, как ее ближайший кровный родственник, наследую; и он всегда заканчивал эти доверительные размышления смешком, сопровождаемым выражением бесконечного лукавства. Таким образом, легко увидеть, что у мистера Дальтона не было мысли поощрять мистера Трессалию как жениха, тем более что он больше не мог предложить ей никаких особых преимуществ. Но тот молодой человек был потрясен переменой в светлой девушке. Смеющиеся глаза были теперь грустными и тусклыми; округлые щеки отпали , оставив большие впадины там, где прежде был нежный налет морской ракушки ; алые губы, когда-либо окутанные самой солнечной улыбкой, скорбно поникли и были грустны, синевы и стянуты болью. Однако она приветствовала его с большей, чем обычно, сердечностью и жадно слушала, пока он рассказывал ей все об Эрле и о великолепном наследстве, которое досталось ему. Любой, кто мог рассказать ей что-нибудь о ее дорогом человеке, был вдвойне желан. Она никогда не уставала слушать об Уиклифе и всех благородных предках благородного дома Вэнсов. Она находила странное, печальное удовольствие в скорбной истории несчастной Марион, и Поль Трессалия, видя это, угождал ей, насколько мог, хотя и понимал, что не продвигается в ее чувствах. -- Боюсь, Ньюпорт не согласен с вами, мисс Долтон, -- заметил он однажды, когда наткнулся на нее, апатичную и подавленную, сидящую под деревом у морского берега, с мечтательным взглядом, устремленным на беспокойные волны . боль сжимала ее светлый лоб. — Мне не нравится Ньюпорт, — вздохнула она. «по крайней мере веселая спешка









































































































































































































































и суета, в которой мы постоянно находимся».

«Тогда почему бы не пойти в какое-нибудь более тихое место? Почему бы не отправиться на какую-нибудь ферму среди
гор, где воздух суше и чище? Мне не нравится видеть
тебя таким больным, — ответил он с видимой тревогой.

«Папа не будет доволен, если он не сможет быть там, где есть значительное
волнение,» устало ответила она; — И я не знаю, так как это имеет
большое значение, — добавила она, глядя вдаль.

-- Это имеет значение, -- с негодованием бросил Поль Трессалия. «Если этот воздух
слишком тяжел и бодрит для вас, вам нельзя позволять оставаться
здесь ни на один день. Разве ты не видишь, что твое здоровье слабеет? Ты
слабее и тоньше, чем когда я пришел неделю назад.

Она слабо улыбнулась и, подняв свою тонкую руку, провела ею между
глазами и солнцем.

Оно сияло почти прозрачно, а каждая косточка, жилка и тяж прослеживались
отчетливо.

С легким знаком она снова опустила его себе на колени и, повернувшись к
своей спутнице, сказала с серьезным, задумчивым выражением лица:

«Интересно, каким будет духовное тело?»

– Мисс Долтон… Эдита, что навело вас на эту мысль? — спросил он, пораженный
ее словами, но прекрасно понимая, что навело ее на эти мысли, — в этой
маленькой ручке было больше духовного, чем материального взгляда.

«Нельзя не думать об этом, когда физическое тело так хрупко и
так легко разрушается. Когда кто-то откладывает смертное, ему, естественно,
любопытно узнать, на что похоже бессмертное». и она говорила так спокойно,
как будто она просто говорила о переодевании.

– Эдита, ты не… ты не думаешь, что ты настолько больна? — воскликнул он
почти в страхе.

"Да я надеюсь, что так; на что мне теперь жить? — спросила она, обратив
на него свои грустные глаза, и сердце его замерло в нем от отчаяния. -- Вы знаете
обо всех моих бедах, -- добавила она минуту спустя.
«Вы знаете, как рухнули все мои надежды . Я, так сказать, совсем один в этом мире; У меня почти нет
друга, на которого можно положиться, некому утешить и подбодрить меня, и я
не имею права даже на имя, которое ношу. Вы думаете, что жизнь выдерживает
очень много того, что мне нравится? Я молод, чтобы умереть, и я не могу сказать,
что меня не пугает мысль о том, что меня покинут и забудут, и
тем не менее я знаю, что это излечит мою боль — за пределами боли нет, знаете ли. Если бы
мне было чем заняться, если бы я мог хоть кому-нибудь утешить или быть полезным,
если бы у меня был хотя бы один друг, который нуждался во мне, я чувствовал бы себя по-другому.

Печаль и безнадежность ее тона и слов почти заставили его заплакать,
несмотря на его мужественность.

Он бросился на траву рядом с ней, с тихим криком.

«Эдита, вот _есть_; _Ты мне нужен; мое сердце никогда не переставало взывать
к тебе; моя жизнь несчастна и бесцельна без тебя. Приди ко мне и
утешь меня, и позволь мне вернуть тебе свет твоих глаз, цвет
твоих щек и губ и вылечить тебя. Я не прошу, я
не _ожидаю_, что ты сможешь научиться любить меня сразу же, как ты _любил_
, но если ты только позволишь мне заботиться о тебе, дай мне_ право
любить _тебя_ все, что я хочу, я верю для вас может быть что-то спокойное
даже в этом мире. Но я _не могу_ видеть, как ты умираешь, пока ты
такой молодой и умный. Будь моей женой, Эдита, и позволь мне увести тебя подальше от
этого шума и суматохи, где ты сможешь восстановить свое здоровье, и тогда мир
не покажется тебе таким темным».

Пока он говорил, девушку охватила сильная дрожь
; она тряслась и дрожала от волнения и волнения, как будто
на нее обрушился ледяной порыв с заснеженной горы и
проморозил ее насквозь.

Яркий лихорадочный румянец залил обе щеки, а ее глаза, уже не
безразличные, светились почти ослепляющим блеском. Никогда,
будучи совершенно здоровым, Поль Трессалия не видел ее такой необыкновенно красивой, какой
она была в эту минуту, и тем не менее такой красоты, что его сердце
содрогнулось от ужасного страха. Почти с порывом ребенка она
протянула к нему обе руки, когда он замолчал.

Но он инстинктивно понял, что это не жест согласия, хотя
невольно сжал их и начал находить, какие
они горячие и лихорадочные.

"Мистер. Трессалия, — сказала она взволнованно, — я знаю, как ты честна и благородна
, и я также знаю, что ты любишь меня глубокой, чистой любовью. Я знаю
, что вы были бы очень нежны и снисходительны ко мне и никогда не позволили бы мне узнать
горе, от которого вы могли бы оградить меня. Но я не могу быть твоей женой — я
не могу быть чьей-либо женой — и я только прибавлю грех к греху, если удовлетворю
твою просьбу, потому что я ни на мгновение не могу перестать любить Эрла так,
как не должна. Это то, что съедает мою жизнь — позволь мне
признаться в этом тебе, и, может быть, это поможет мне лучше переносить это. Я знаю
, что я должен растоптать каждое щупальце любви, тянущееся
за ним, но я не могу; моя любовь сильнее меня, и эта
постоянная внутренняя борьба быстро утомляет меня. О, если бы вы были просто
моим другом и позволили бы мне так свободно говорить с вами и никогда
больше не говорить мне о любви, это было бы для меня таким утешением.

Она сделала паузу, чтобы перевести дух, а затем продолжила:

«Я могу вам доверять; Я доверяю тебе, как никому другому в этой
стране. Мистер Трессалия, будете ли вы моим другом, сильным и верным, и только
на то время, пока вы мне будете нужны?

В ее взгляде и тоне читалась сильная тоска. Ей нужен был именно такой
друг, сильный и оберегающий, каким он был бы, если бы у него хватило сил
вынести это.

Она не могла доверять своему отцу; ее сердце отшатнулось от него с
того самого дня, когда ей открылось так много его злой натуры,
и ей некому было довериться.

День и ночь ее занятый, возбужденный мозг прокручивал весь ужас
последней встречи с Эрлом, и день и ночь она непрестанно боролась с
упрямой любовью в своем сердце.

Это, как она сказала, утомляло ее жизнь, и если бы у нее
был хоть кто-нибудь, кому она могла бы довериться, это было бы для нее утешением.

Но мог ли он оставаться в ее присутствии, принимать ее откровения, слушать ее
ежедневные разговоры об Эрле и ее несбывшихся надеждах и не показывать своей
печали и горького разочарования?

«Будь ей другом, сильным и верным, и _только это_!»

Эти слова были для него похоронным звоном; но она нуждалась в нем. Если бы она
хоть что-то смогла избавить свое сердце от бремени, здоровье могло бы вернуться,
и ее жизнь была бы спасена. Разве его долг не ясен?

«И _никогда_ больше ничего?» — было его последнее обращение, когда он держал ее горячие,
дрожащие руки и смотрел в ее блестящие глаза.

— И больше ничего, — повторила она за ним. -- Этого не может
быть -- ты не поверишь? и он знал, что так оно и должно быть.

Вернувшись, снова в свое ноющее, почти разрывающееся сердце, он сокрушил свою великую
любовь, каждой мятежной мыслью и всеми
вновь начавшими расцветать надеждами.

Он сделает все, что угодно, лишь бы ей не пришлось умирать; он «растоптал бы
каждое щупальце привязанности, тянущееся к ней», как она сказала
о своей любви к Эрлу, и стал бы только верным и верным
другом, если бы таким образом он мог утешить и, возможно, спасти ее.

Что-то от борьбы, которой стоила ему эта решимость, читалось в
бледном, но решительном лице и в дрожащих губах.

— Эдита, — сказал он торжественно, как бы записывая клятву и все еще сжимая
эти маленькие ручки, — будет так, как ты пожелаешь; Я никогда больше не скажу
тебе слова любви; Я буду твоим верным другом».

"О, спасибо!" и, как усталый, огорченный ребенок, который сдерживал свои
рыдания, пока не смог добраться до надежного и нежного приюта материнских рук
, она уронила голову ему на плечо и разразилась нервным
плачем.

Он не шевельнулся, не сказал ни слова, чтобы остановить ее слезы, ибо знал,
что они подобны освежающему дождю на иссохшей и выжженной солнцем земле, и от их пролития
ей станет легче на сердце и освободится от боли . Но кто может описать чувства своего собственного испытанного сердца, когда он преклонил колени перед этой золотой головой, покоившейся так близко к нему, и ради нее он решил безжалостно сокрушить всякую надежду на будущее?                ГЛАВА XXXVI                НОВЫЙ ПЕРСОНАЖ С того дня Поль Трессалия отбросил в сторону всякую мысль о себе и посвятил себя тонким, неутомимым усилиям заинтересовать и развлечь хрупкую девушку, которая так доверяла ему и верила в него. Его собственное сердце побудило бы его скрыться от нее, но он пообещал, что будет ее «верным другом». В настоящее время у него не было особой необходимости возвращаться в Англию , и, если он мог сделать что-то хорошее для этой несчастной девушки, он решил остаться и утешать ее до тех пор, пока она не перестанет нуждаться в нем. Мало-помалу он отвлек ее от собственных грустных мыслей — по крайней мере днем; он, конечно, не мог знать, как она проводила ночи, то ли в освежающем сне, то ли в печальных и болезненных раздумьях. Он брал ее с собой в долгие восхитительные поездки в места, где с лакомым небольшим обедом и заманчивой книгой они могли провести несколько часов в тишине, а затем возвращались, достаточно утомленные, чтобы отдохнуть в уютном уголке широкой площади. самая приятная вещь на свете, а в сумерках он говорил о сотне забавных вещей. Мало-помалу он осмелился пригласить с собой двух или трех забавных людей , и какие очаровательные маленькие пикники и экскурсии они устроили! Это были тихие, но образованные люди, глубоко интересовавшиеся увядающей девушкой и старались ненавязчиво послужить ее развлечению. Почти бессознательно Эдита отвлеклась от своей меланхолии; мало- помалу выражение напряженной агонии сошло с ее лица; ее глаза потеряли свой тяжелый, отчаянный взгляд; что-то оживленное и заинтересованное сменилось в ее вялой, озабоченной манере, и случайная улыбка, хотя и скорбная , раздвигала ее милые губы, которые мало-помалу начинали приобретать что-то от прежнего цвета. Мистер Трессалия был очень мудр во всех своих маневрах; все, что он делал, делалось без видимого усилия, все шло гладко и естественно, и если кто присоединялся к партии, то это производилось так тихо, что казалось почти само собой разумеющимся. С ее угасающим аппетитом он справился так же ловко, как и с ее чудесным сердцем; каждый день какая-нибудь заманчивая мелочь попадала к ней в комнату, где она по состоянию здоровья принимала пищу, как раз в обеденное время. Его никогда не было много за один раз, ровно столько, и подача была настолько привлекательной, что вызывала у нее вкус, а после дегустации возникало желание съесть все целиком , и тогда она невольно пожалела, что он не прислал еще немного. Таким образом, она ничем не пресыщалась, но постепенно создавалась естественная тяга к еде, пока она не обнаружила, что может есть вполне приличную пищу. Однажды они пошли, как это часто бывает, в парк Труро. Мистер Трессалия нашел уютный, уединенный камень, где они могли сидеть, разговаривать и читать, не опасаясь, что их побеспокоят, и видеть, не будучи замеченными. День был восхитительный, и многие люди соблазнились за границей, и парк был заполнен веселыми посетителями. Эдита, полулежа на мягкой шали, расстеленной мистером Трессалией на поросшей мхом скале, представляла собой воплощение утешения, когда она слушала сочный голос своего спутника, читавшего из новой и интересной книги, а лицо ее невольно светилось, когда она уловил вдалеке веселый смех и детские счастливые голоса. Она поймала себя на мысли, что может быть тем же жалким созданием , каким была три недели назад. Чувство умиротворения подкрадывалось к ней, чувство заботы и защиты окружало ее, и она знала, что здоровье и силы постепенно возвращаются к ней. Сердце ее все еще было ранено и больно — иначе и быть не могло; но не было того невыносимого бремени, которое давило ее до приезда ее доброй подруги. Мистер Трессалия наконец закрыл свою книгу, и в его глазах мелькнуло удовлетворение, когда он заметил ее заинтересованный взгляд и слабый оттенок румянца , который он впервые увидел на ее щеках. Он вытащил из кармана серебряный нож для фруктов и, потянувшись за крошечной корзинкой, которую он принес с собой, но все время держал дразняще накрытой, выставил на обозрение два самых больших и сочных персика, какие только можно себе представить. «Теперь, когда вы съедите один из них в качестве закуски, мы вернемся к нашему обеду», — сказал он с улыбкой, когда он ловко извлек косточку из малинового и желтого фрукта и, положив две половинки на большой виноградный лист, положила ей на колени. «Он слишком красив, чтобы его есть», — сказала Эдита, глядя на него с восхищением ; но тем не менее она избавилась от него с явным удовольствием. Другой был приготовлен таким же образом и готов для нее, когда последний кусок исчез, но она возражала. — Ты не получил своей доли, — сказала она, улыбаясь. «Помни, ты мой пациент, и я буду прописывать тебе то, что считаю лучшим; но если вы очень чувствительны к этому, я поделюсь с вами на этот раз». и, съев одну половину, он с огромным удовлетворением наблюдал, как другая исчезла. Эдите не могло не стать лучше, если бы ее аппетит можно было вернуть таким образом. Они встали, чтобы вернуться в свою гостиницу, и, выходя из своего уютного убежища, увидели приближающуюся к ним даму, опирающуюся на руку какого-то джентльмена . Оба они выглядели эффектно и сразу же привлекли внимание Эдиты и ее сопровождающего. Когда они подошли ближе, мистер Трессалия вздрогнул и тихо воскликнул ; в следующее мгновение он улыбнулся, приподнял шляпу с низким поклоном, и, ответив на его приветствие, они прошли дальше. Мистер Трессалия остановился бы и поприветствовал их, но он знал, как застенчива Эдита перед незнакомцами в ее слабом состоянии, и он не считал это лучшим. Эдита, мельком взглянув на нее, сразу же была очарована высокой царственной женщиной, которой могло быть около сорока двух или трех лет от роду. Ее лицо было белокурым, и милым, и прекрасным, как картина, и было окружено мягкими волнистыми каштановыми волосами. Глаза у нее были большие и голубые, но с несколько скорбным выражением, а полные, красивые губы были огорчены. Ее спутником был джентльмен средних лет, хотя и несколько старше дамы, и по их сходству друг с другом Эдита сочла их братом и сестрой. -- Вон идет женщина с историей, и к тому же печальной, -- заметил мистер Трессалия, когда их уже не было слышно. Эдита вздохнула и подумала, сколько на свете женщин с печальной историей, но сказала только: «Значит, они твои знакомые?» "Да; даму зовут мадам Сильвестр, хотя мне сказали, что это не ее настоящее имя, а ее девичья фамилия, восстановленная после каких-то неприятностей, связанных с неудачным браком. Я познакомился с ней в Париже две зимы назад и, кажется, в жизни не видел более очаровательной женщины ее возраста. — На нее, конечно, очень приятно смотреть, хотя видно, что она познала какое-то горе, — задумчиво сказала Эдита. — Хочешь узнать ее историю — по крайней мере, то, что я могу тебе рассказать? Это довольно интересно». — Да, пожалуйста. «В отчете говорится, что в совсем юном возрасте она влюбилась в своего двоюродного брата и обручилась с ним. Это было тайной между ними, так как любовник не был в состоянии жениться. Как гласит легенда, он отправился в море искать счастья, и вскоре после этого пропал без вести. Мисс Сильвестр, чтобы скрыть свое горе, тут же предалась всяческим весельям и развратам и всего через несколько месяцев после смерти возлюбленного встретила молодого американца, которого мгновенно привлекла ее невероятная красота. Вскоре он сделал ей предложение руки и сердца, и после очень непродолжительного ухаживания они поженились. Через год неожиданно объявился бывший любовник — он не пропал, хотя чуть не утонул и потом долго пролежал в горячке. Молодая жена в радости, увидев его еще раз, легкомысленно предала свою любовь к нему, которая и тогда не умерла. Муж пришел в ярость и безосновательно ревновал, обвинил ее в умышленном обмане, после чего последовала горячая и гневная сцена. На следующий день жена пропала — «она сбежала, — говорили те, кто хоть что-нибудь знал об обстоятельствах, — со своим бывшим любовником». Однако она вернулась почти сразу, смиренная и раскаявшаяся; но ее муж донес на нее, хотя она клялась, что не сделала ничего плохого. Он вернулся в Америку; она некоторое время скрывалась с разбитым сердцем, но, наконец, разыскала своего брата, которого убедила в своей целомудренности, и с тех пор, не имея других друзей, они как будто живут друг для друга. После этого она ни за что не согласилась бы, чтобы ее называли именем мужа — хотя я никогда не слышала, что это такое, — а взяла девичью фамилию. Однако она замечательная женщина; ее жизнь была посвящена добру; она сама целомудрие и любима всеми, кто ее знает, а ее сочувствие к заблудшим безгранично. Это очерк ее истории, насколько я знаю о ней; но я думаю, что есть некоторые самодовольные люди , которые избегают ее из-за того, что они называют ее «ранним грехом», но большинство почитает ее, а я должен признаться в чувстве большого восхищения ею». — Что стало с молодым любовником, с которым, как предполагалось, она сбежала? — спросила Эдита, глубоко заинтересованная этой грустной историей. -- Не знаю, никогда не слышал. Мадам никогда не говорит о своем прошлом, а это загадка для любопытных. — Я хотела бы с ней познакомиться, — сказала Эдита, чувствуя странную тягу к женщине, которая, как и она сама, так много страдала. "Не могли бы вы? Это легко управляется. Я узнаю, где она останавливается, загляну к ней, и, поскольку ее сердце всегда тронуто за больных, я знаю, что она с радостью придет навестить вас, — сказал мистер Трессалия с жаром, чрезвычайно довольный тем, что Эдита проявила так много интерес к своему другу. "Спасибо. Мне бы понравилось, если бы она согласилась; ее история очень печальна, и ее лицо меня странно привлекает, — ответила она. Через три дня они были в библиотеке Редвуда, изучая несколько ценных рукописей, выставленных там, когда вошли мадам Сильвестр и ее брат. Мистер Трессалия попытался выяснить, где они останавливаются, но, к своему великому разочарованию, ему это не удалось. Теперь он сразу вышел вперед, чтобы поприветствовать их, и они, казалось, были очень рады возобновить с ним знакомство. Поболтав несколько минут, он привел Эдиту к мадам и представил ее. Мгновение она изучала милое личико, затем ее безупречная рука в перчатке сомкнулась на пальцах Эдиты в сильном, но нежном пожатии сочувствия и дружелюбия. Она прочла на бледном, изрытом печалью лице горе, родственное тому, что она тоже страдала в прошлом. — Тебе нехорошо, милый мой, — сказала она, задумчиво глядя в грустные голубые глаза, все еще крепко сжимая свою руку. «Мисс Далтон не очень хорошо себя чувствовала, но мы надеемся, что она немного поправилась . Вы видели новую скульптуру, которую привезли вчера? — спросил мистер Трессалия, чтобы отвлечь ее внимание от Эдиты. Она очень болезненно относилась к тому, что посторонние замечали ее болезнь, и румянец теперь заливал ее щеки болезненным жаром. Мадам сразу поняла намек, повернулась, чтобы посмотреть на новую статую, и какое-то время поддерживала оживленную беседу с мистером Трессалией о предметах, представляющих общий интерес в Ньюпорте. Но время от времени ее глаза искали прекрасное лицо, склонившееся с любопытным интересом над рукописями с выражением жалости и нежности, которое говорило о том, что она глубоко заинтересована в хрупком на вид незнакомце. "Кто она? Кто-то, кто вас _особенно_ интересует? — спросила она с привилегией старого друга, увлекая Поля еще дальше, якобы посмотреть какие-то картины. Он вздрогнул, и его благородное лицо омрачилось болью, когда он ответил: «Да, я особенно интересуюсь ею, но не так, как вы хотите сказать, ибо ее сердце принадлежит другому». «Ах! Я подумала по внешнему виду, что она принадлежит или когда-нибудь будет принадлежать вам, -- ответила госпожа, пристально вглядываясь в его красивое лицо. — Нет, — серьезно сказал он. «Я просто ее друг. Недавно она встретила большое горе». -- Я так и знала, -- ответила мадам, мягко взглянув на Эдиту и чуть шевеля губами. -- Есть ли у милого ребенка мать? "Нет; ее мать умерла несколько лет назад. У нее нет живых родственников, кроме отца, а он ей не симпатизирует». «Ах! как бы я хотел ее утешить. Приходи ко мне сегодня вечером и расскажи мне о ней побольше. Меня странно тянет к ней». Пол Трессалия пообещал, а потом они вернулись к Эдите. Госпожа монополизировала ее, пока он развлекал ее брата, и вскоре сердце прекрасной девушки было полностью завоевано красивой и нежной женщиной. Госпожа Сильвестр отличалась тактом и большой разносторонностью талантов, не последним из которых была ее очаровательная манера в разговоре. Она могла быть серьезной или веселой, остроумной или ученой и обворожительной в любой роли. Пол Трессалия с удивлением смотрел на нее, пока она разговаривала с Эдитой, переводя ее с одной темы на другую, пока она не заставила ее забыть, что есть на свете такой человек, как бедная, убитая горем Эдита Далтон. Она вернула улыбки на свои губы, согнала со лба морщины забот и забот , а однажды, рассказывая о каком-то забавном происшествии, случившемся на пароходе, на котором она приехала, заставила ее громко расхохотаться — старинный ясный, сладкий смех, от которого сердце Пола затрепетало от восторга. — Мисс Далтон, я иду к вам. Я очень люблю молодежь , — сказала она, когда они заговорили об отъезде. "Делать; Я буду в восторге, — сказала Эдита, и ее грустные глаза вдруг засветились. «Я чужая здесь, в Ньюпорте, никогда раньше не была в этой стране, — продолжала мадам. — Я бы хотел, чтобы вы и мистер Трессалия сжалились надо мной и предоставили мне возможность познакомиться с здешними объектами интереса. Эдита без колебаний пообещала, даже не подозревая, что эта просьба сделана больше для нее самой, чем для прекрасной незнакомки; а потом они все вместе вышли из библиотеки. Когда они собирались сесть в карету, мистер Далтон проехал мимо в своем спортивном угрюмом автомобиле. Он поклонился Эдите, а затем мельком взглянул на ее новых знакомых. Этот взгляд заставил его вздрогнуть и бросить более испытующий взгляд на госпожу Сильвестр; затем он внезапно побагровел, а на лице его отразилось сильное беспокойство. Он повернулся и снова оглянулся после того, как проехал мимо. «В мире может быть только одно такое лицо. Я должен разобраться в этом, — с тревогой пробормотал он. - Кто были те леди и джентльмен, с которыми я видел вас сегодня в библиотеке Редвуда? — спросил он у Эдиты в тот вечер. — Миссис Сильвестр и ее брат, — ответила она. "_Миссис. Сильвестр! — повторил мистер Дальтон, слегка подчеркнув заглавие . "Мистер. Трессалия представила ее как мадам Сильвестр. Ты что-нибудь знаешь о ней? — спросила она, удивленно подняв глаза. «Ах! Значит, мистер Трессалия ее знает? Откуда она?" он вернулся, задумчиво, и не обращая внимания на ее вопрос. «Из Парижа, Франция; они французы и очень приятны». Лицо мистера Долтона утратило обычное сияние при этой информации, и он казался не в своей тарелке. «Гм! незнакомцы, значит, здесь. Трессалия знает их близко? и он бросил испытующий, тревожный взгляд на свою дочь. "Да; день или два назад он рассказывал мне что-то из истории мадам. "Что! они были здесь какое-то время? прервал мистер Далтон, нахмурившись. – Думаю, меньше недели. «Да, да; продолжайте то, что вы собирались мне сказать, -- нетерпеливо перебил он опять. — Он сказал, мадам повидала много неприятностей — между ней и мужем, который, кстати, был американцем , возникло недопонимание, в результате чего они расстались, прожив всего год в браке. А мне она кажется очень милой женщиной, — с унылым видом ответила Эдита, вспомнив, как ее влекло к прекрасной незнакомке. Мистер Долтон пристально наблюдал за ней краем глаза; он был чем-то чрезвычайно взволнован и взволнован; уголки его рта судорожно дергались, а он все возбужденно сжимал и разжимал руки . Несколько мгновений он молча ходил по комнате, а затем резко вышел из комнаты. Через полчаса он вернулся и, делая вид, что просматривает газету , сказал: «Эдита, я почти решил, что хотел бы взглянуть на Саратогу; сейчас как раз разгар сезона; все будет прекрасно, и Ньюпорт становится немного ручным. «Приручи, папа! Я думал, для вас нет места лучше Ньюпорта! — воскликнула она с удивлением. "Я знаю; Ньюпорт для меня своего рода летний дом, и, конечно, нет места лучше дома; но, если вы не возражаете, я хотел бы ненадолго перемениться . — Ты не можешь пойти без меня? Мне здесь очень комфортно, — со вздохом спросила Эдита. У нее не было сердца для веселья, и она была действительно счастливее сейчас там, в Ньюпорте, несмотря на ее заявление мистеру Трессалии, что Ньюпорт ей не нравится, - чем она когда-либо надеялась снова быть счастливой. — Нет, конечно, — ответил он быстро и решительно. «Я не мог и подумать о том, чтобы оставить вас одного, пока вы так нежны; кроме того, я не могу пощадить тебя, Эдита, мы с тобой довольно одиноки в этом занятом мире.
Она удивленно посмотрела на него при этом необычном замечании. Для него было очень
редким случаем обращаться к ней с такой нежностью.

Ей почти казалось, учитывая недоверие, которое она испытывала к нему в последнее время,
что внезапная перемена была вызвана каким-то зловещим мотивом; но
она подавила это чувство и ответила:

«Хорошо, я поеду в Саратогу, если хотите. Когда вы хотите
начать?»
«Завтра, если вы сможете это устроить», — ответил мистер Далтон, и
с его лица сползла тень. - Да, я могу это устроить. но она вздохнула, говоря это, потому что
действительно начинала просыпаться к маленькой жизни и боялась любых перемен.

Она была так спокойно довольна с тех пор, как пришла к определенному
пониманию с мистером Трессалией, и с чувством подкрадывающейся к ней печали задавалась вопросом, что ей делать без своего неутомимого друга.
Она выросла, чтобы зависеть от него для развлечения; кроме того, он регулярно получал известия
от Эрла, и хотя она не осмеливалась признаться в этом даже
своему сердцу, тем не менее эти письма из-за моря были для неё главным событием недели.

Ей было жаль уезжать, не познакомившись ближе
с мадам Сильвестр, потому что она была странно привязана к ней,
почти постоянно думая о ней и ее очаровательных манерах с тех пор, как
познакомилась с ней. Весь вечер она надеялась, что мистер Трессалия заглянет, что она сможет рассказать ему об изменении их планов, отчасти желая, чтобы он присоединился к их компании и сопровождал их. Но он проводил вечер с мадам Сильвестр и собирался увидеть
Эдиту как можно раньше на следующее утро.
Но в этом он был разочарован, так как друг-джентльмен обратился к нему за
советом относительно достоинств лошади, которую он собирался
купить, и прежде чем сделка была завершена, Эдита ушла, даже не попрощавшись.


                ГЛАВА 37
                СМЕНА МЕСТА


Было два часа дня, когда наконец Поль Трессалия постучал в дверь гостиной Эдиты.
Ее открыла горничная, у которой он спросил о мисс Долтон.
«Она ушла, сэр», — последовал неожиданный ответ.
"Ушёл! Где?" — воскликнул он, бесконечно удивленный.
— Не знаю, сэр. они уплыли на полуденной лодке.
— Они не оставили мне ни слова — никакого сообщения?
"Да сэр; Мисс Далтон оставила записку, — ответила девушка, доставая ее
из глубины кармана. Пол жадно разорвал её и проглотил содержимое:

  «ДОРОГОЙ ДРУГ! Папа вдруг решил, что Ньюпорт «ручной», и
  тоскует по Саратоге. Мы должны отплыть на двенадцатичасовом пароходе и не
  знаем, когда вернемся. Я не скоро забуду ни те дни, которые вы
  сделали для меня такими приятными, ни ту большую пользу, которую
  принесло мне ваше веселое общество. Я лучше останусь, чем уйду, но думаю, что лучше уступить
  желанию папы. Я надеялся увидеть вас перед отъездом, но предположим, что вы
  помолвлены. Пожалуйста, передайте мои теплые воспоминания мадам Сильвестр. _Au
  revoir._
                ЭДИТА.

— Что, во имя Юпитера, могло заставить его так внезапно вздрогнуть?
— пробормотал Поль Трессалия, нахмурив брови, когда с ужасным чувством
одиночества искал свои комнаты. — Могло ли произойти что-нибудь такое, что могло
нарушить его равновесие? он продолжил. «Должно быть, это было очень внезапное
начало, потому что я не думаю, что он думал о чем-то подобном вчера утром».

Он долго сидел, обдумывая это дело и стремясь немедленно последовать за ними.

Он знал, что Эдите будет не хватать его заботы и внимания, а ему казалось, что солнце внезапно исчезло. Этим летом мистер Долтон не обращался с ним со своей обычной вежливостью,
и он не был уверен, что сделал это нарочно, чтобы удалить Эдиту из своего общества, а если это так, то он сомневался в уместности того, после них. Эти размышления были прерваны появлением слуги, принесшего ему визитную карточку. Это оказалась записка госпожи Сильвестр, и он немедленно спустился в приемную, взяв с собой записку, которую написала Эдита.

«К чему эта мрачная бровь, друг мой? У вас такой вид, как будто вы столкнулись с каким-то
внезапным и большим разочарованием, — игриво сказала госпожа после того, как они обменялись
приветствиями.
«Так и у меня есть. Я только что узнал, что мисс Долтон и ее отец уехали
в Саратогу; и внезапность этого движения чрезвычайно беспокоит и смущает меня».

"Ушел! Теперь я в смятении, потому что я пришел, чтобы позвонить и представиться
папе Далтону, и попросить его уделить мне его очаровательную дочь на несколько
дней. Мы собираемся присоединиться к группе в Белых горах, и я подумал, что
если мне удастся уговорить мисс Долтон сопровождать нас, перемена пойдет ей на
пользу, — с сожалением сказала мадам. - Ей было бы полезно, и вы очень предусмотрительно
вспомнили о ней, - ответил мистер Трессалия, очень довольный таким вниманием.
«Не придавайте мне никакого значения за то, что с моей стороны является чистой воды эгоизмом», — сказала мадам, смеясь. - Я по уши влюблен, как
здесь говорят, в вашу прелестную подругу и хотел, чтобы она под сенью
моего крыла на время познакомилась с ней поближе, лицо дамы было очень задумчивым, несмотря на ее игривую речь.
- Я не могу понять их внезапного бегства -- мне так кажется, -угрюмо ответил мистер Трессалия.
— Значит, вы ничего не знали об их намерениях?

- Ни единого вздоха, пока полчаса назад я не постучала в дверь мисс Долтон и горничная не дала мне эту записку и он передал его ей.

«Какой у нее красивый почерк», — сказала мадам, улыбаясь, когда заметила
изящную каллиграфию на надушенном конверте.

Она прочитала его, посерьезнев, когда отметила сожаление,
выраженное в записке, по поводу того, что ей пришлось уехать.

Глаза ее загорелись нежностью при упоминании о себе, но она
вздрогнула, как от внезапной боли, и ее белокурое лицо вспыхнуло ярким багрянцем, когда
она читала и невольно повторяла подписанное внизу имя.

«Эдита! Мистер Трессалия, вы так и не сказали мне, как зовут вашего друга, —
и ему показалось, что ее губы слегка дрогнули, словно при воспоминании о
каком-то печальном происшествии из прошлого.

"Нет; Я обычно называю ее мисс Далтон, когда говорю о ней с другими. Это
самое дорогое для меня имя на свете, — прибавил он с легкой
хрипотцой в голосе, — хотя я никогда не произношу его без боли.

— Et tu, — тихо сказала мадам, заметив боль на его лице, и
сразу все поняла. -- Я думала, вы сказали... -- начала она снова и вдруг
остановилась, как будто вторглась в запретную зону.

— Я знаю, о чем вы говорите, — ответил он. — Когда вы спросили меня,
«особенно ли я заинтересован» в ней, я подумал, что вы хотели сделать вывод о помолвке
между нами, но — я также могу признаться в этом — я безнадежно любил ее в течение двух лет.
Мадам тяжело вздохнула.

«Почему для некоторых людей мир всегда идет не так?» — спросил он
страстно, жаждая сочувствия теперь, когда он начал освобождать
свое сердце, и понимая также, что теперь, когда Эдиты нет, Ньюпорт был
для него пустым местом, и опасаясь, что его хваленая «дружба» не была такой
бескорыстной после всего.

«Ах, зачем, разве только для того, чтобы мы были приспособлены к чему-то лучшему, чем мимолетные земные удовольствия? В мире есть люди, которые никогда бы не признали
верность Великому Царю, если бы их не влекло к Нему горе.
Лучше потерпеть здесь несколько лет, чем упустить светлую
Навсегда, - сказала мадам задумчиво и как бы разговаривая с самой собой, а не
с ним. - Но, - добавила она, стряхнув с себя мечтательность, - расскажите мне еще
об этой прекрасной девушке и о вашем несчастном отношении к ней - вы знаете, я старый
и привилегированный друг, и имя "Эдита" имеет для меня какое-то очарование, которое прекратится только тогда, когда я перестану жить».

Поль Трессалия, радуясь такому милому наперснику, рассказал всю историю
своей любви к светловолосой девушке, свое разочарование, узнав о
ее привязанности к Эрлу Уэйну, свой поспешный вызов домой, чтобы вступить во владение
своим предполагаемым наследством, которое потеряло половину своей стоимости. очарование, когда он знал, что Эдита не может стать его любовницей и его женой.

Он рассказал ей, как ему пришлось отдать Уиклифа Эрлу, который тоже надеялся сделать там своей любовницей мисс Долтон и который вернулся, полный радости и надежды объявить ее своей.

Затем последовал рассказ о ее странном похищении, освобождении ее
любовником из-под власти похитителя, а затем, когда они поверили, что их испытания
подошли к концу, обрушился ужасный удар, который едва не разбил
их сердца и, казалось, должен был снести Эдиту в могилу.

«Какая это грустная, чудесная история. И вы, я полагаю, после открытия, которое погубило жизнь вашего кузена, приехали сюда, чтобы снова испытать свою судьбу? — сказала мадам, и ее глаза сияли нежнейшим сочувствием к отвергнутому любовнику.
"Да; но я мог бы знать лучше, — ответил он с горечью и со вздохом, который был почти всхлипом, вздымая его широкую грудь. «Я мог бы знать, что любовь, подобную ее, такую ;;чистую, такую ;;сильную и благородную, никогда не сможет завоевать другой».

«Поистине, иногда в этом мире что-то идет не так», —
грустно сказала мадам, думая о бедном милом ребенке, прошедшем через такую
;;глубокую воду. Потом, вдруг взглянув на свою спутницу острым
взглядом, она продолжала: — Ты страдал, мой друг, глубоко, — ты страдаешь
теперь, хотя и так благородно стремишься преодолеть его; но… не сочтете ли вы
меня очень неприятным, если я скажу вам, что, по моему мнению, для вас будет
лучше не жениться на Эдите Дальтон, даже
если она могла бы отдать свое израненное сердце на ваше попечение?

Поль Трессалия смотрел на нее с удивлением.

— Почему ты должен так говорить? он спросил.

— Она не совсем подходит вам — вы могли бы прожить
вместе тихую, мирную жизнь, но вы не смогли бы удовлетворить всех потребностей ее
натуры, а она — ваших. Вы более зрелые для своих лет, чем она для
своих, и какой бы красивой, талантливой и привлекательной она ни была,
в вашей жизни наступило бы время, когда вы оба обнаружили бы, что
что-то хочет заполнить меру вашего счастья. ».

— Ты говоришь как пророчица, — сказал Пол Трессалия с грустной
скептической улыбкой.

-- Я не зря прожила свою одинокую жизнь, -- ответила она со вздохом.
«Я изучил человеческую природу во всех ее аспектах, и, исходя из того, что я знаю о
вас, я чувствую, что женщина, на которой вы должны жениться, должна быть тихой и
замкнутой, как и вы, с небольшим оттенком печали в своей жизни,
чтобы жениться» . вашего собственного и более близкого к вашему возрасту.

-- Я никогда не женюсь, -- сказал он с бледным и страдальческим лицом, но все же
дивясь странным словам своей спутницы, между тем как-то невольно мысль его
унеслась быстро, и он увидел в тихой гостиной увитой виноградом
готической виллы нежная женщина с милым, хотя и грустным лицом,
которое, по сравнению с лицом Эдиты Далтон, как он однажды сказал себе, было самым
красивым, на котором когда-либо останавливался его взгляд, в то время как ее голос с его
жалобной музыкой вибрировал в его сердце, как Легкий летний ветерок
играет на струнах олийской арфы.

Тогда он назвал это симпатией. Не изгладит ли таинственное будущее, надвигаясь
быстро, эту горькую боль из его сердца, и он найдет
под ней новое имя, написанное там?

-- Теперь вы можете так думать, но поверьте мне, Поль, друг мой, вы ее еще найдете
-- эту нежную, красивую женщину, на которой вы должны жениться, -- сказала мадам
в ответ на его замечание о том, что он не женится.

— Моя дорогая мадам, — ответил он с улыбкой и покачав головой, — вы
всего лишь строите воздушные замки, которые развеет малейшее дуновение
. Мужчина может любить только один раз, как я любил Эдиту Далтон».

-- Это может быть правдой, -- с улыбкой согласилась мадам. «Но первая яростная,
дикая страсть не всегда может быть самой мудрой любовью. Подожди немного, _mon
ami_, и мы увидим. Знаешь: «Никто так не проклят судьбою,
                Никто так не опустошен,
                Но какое-то сердце, хотя и неизвестное,
                Ответит на своё».

Но тем временем у меня есть странное, неудержимое желание увидеть больше
этой девочки-сироты, чья жизнь была так печально испорчена с самого
начала. Мистер Трессалия, мне кажется, я хотел бы сам немного увидеть
Саратогу, и я уверен, что мисс Эдите не будет жаль снова увидеть свою подругу.

"Ты так думаешь?" — спросил он с нетерпением.

"Я уверен в этом. Эта маленькая записка дышит сильным сожалением о том, что она
вообще была вынуждена уехать. Я боюсь, что она снова увянет, если
не сможет находиться под благотворным влиянием.

Когда она говорила, лицо мадам выражало странную задумчивую нежность, и
Поль Трессалия недоумевал, почему ее так странно тянет к
Эдите. Это было удивительно для всех.

— Значит ли это, что, по-вашему, нам лучше последовать за мистером Долтоном и его
дочерью в Саратогу? он спросил.

"Да; но сначала я должен отправиться в Белые горы, так как я предложил поездку
, и другие были бы разочарованы, если бы от нее отказались. Я должна
отложить поездку в Саратогу до моего возвращения, — ответила госпожа с видом, который ясно говорил, что она жалела бы, что вообще
не планировала поездку в горы. -- Интересно... -- начал было Пол, но тут же остановился. "Хорошо? И я тоже, — засмеялся его спутник, выждав минуту и ;;не продолжая. - Я думал над тем, не лучше ли мне вообще поехать в Саратогу, - серьезно сказал он. "И почему бы нет?" -- Если Эдита действительно в выигрыше, мне, может быть, лучше немедленно вернуться в Англию и больше ее не видеть. — Тебе так больно, мой друг? спросила мадам, с сожалением. — Вы должны побороть это, если возможно, хотя я и сам знаю, как это трудно сделать, и давать советы кажется холодным. Но мне было бы приятно, если бы вы поехали с нами в Саратогу. Мы ничего не знаем о всех тонкостях этого места, и было бы очень удобно иметь пилота». — Тогда это решает вопрос. Я пойду с тобой, — сказал он. — Нет, если это не мешает какому-нибудь необходимому делу, — поспешно, но решительно сказала мадам. "Он не будет. Мне нечего делать, у меня теперь нет цели в жизни, — с горечью добавил он. — Пойдемте с нами в горы, — вдруг подумала мадам Сильвестр . «Вы нуждаетесь в разумном утешении так же, как и мисс Далтон, и я думаю, что я именно тот, кто возьмет вас в свои руки. Ты придешь?" "Да, спасибо; Я не могу устоять. Я верю, что ты очаровываешь каждого, с кем соприкасаешься, — ответил он, смеясь и радуясь приглашению. «Приятно слышать. Мы сделаем наше путешествие как можно короче, а затем полетим к знаменитым источникам Саратоги, чтобы испить их таинственных вод. Так все и было устроено, и Пола Трессалии непреодолимо тянуло выполнять приказания этой женщины, но он все же удивлялся тому, что сделал сам, и все больше и больше удивлялся тому, как Эдита очаровала ее. Но он не мог знать, как быстро невидимая рука переворачивает страницы жизни и что скоро ему предстоит прочесть странную историю в той таинственной книге судьбы, которую небо так редко соизволяет открывать смертным глазам.               

ГЛАВА 38.              В САРАТОГЕ

   Мадам Сильвестр отправилась со своим отрядом в Белые Горы, как и планировала , а мистер Дальтон, поздравляя себя с успехом своего маневра — причина, о которой, как он полагал, знал только он сам, — наслаждался блестящим обществом в Саратоге в полной мере. «Льщу себя, что очень хорошо сыграл свою маленькую игру», — много раз говорил он себе, думая об их поспешном бегстве из Ньюпорта; и эти мягкие белые руки его потерлись друг о друга самым одобрительным образом, сопровождаемым самым одобрительным смешком. Теперь он настаивал на том, что Эдита достаточно поправилась, чтобы присоединиться к местным весельям и сопровождать его в различные места развлечений и удовольствий. Она предпочла бы уединение в своей собственной комнате или возможность спокойно бродить в одиночестве по разным паркам по утрам, когда мало кто был за границей; но он настаивал, и, думая, что это не имеет большого значения, что она делает, она уступила ради мира, хотя она еще не чувствовала себя в силе вынести волнение. Результат очень порадовал мистера Далтона, ибо Эдита сразу же стала звездой немалой величины. Ее нежная, почти неземная красота мгновенно привлекла к себе толпу поклонников. Она была «новенькой» и совершенно отличалась от большинства модных красавиц, которые часто посещали это место, что, вместе с тем фактом, что она была наследницей , считалось достаточным основанием для того, чтобы воздавать ей любое количество восхищения и почтения. И вот она закружилась в водовороте светской жизни. Дни превратились в ночь, ночь в день, и вся тишина, которой она так наслаждалась в Ньюпорте, превратилась в бесконечный круг волнения. Однажды вечером должна была состояться вечеринка в саду — «самое блестящее событие сезона », согласно пламенному объявлению. Эдита не хотела идти. — Я устала, папа, к тому же у меня нет сердца ни к чему подобному , — устало сказала она, когда мистер Далтон начал рассказывать о деталях ее платья, в которых он был очень разборчив для мужчины. «Тьфу!» он вернулся, нетерпеливо; «Вы до смерти хандрили , и вам нужно проснуться. Мне сказали , что это будет лучший случай в этом сезоне, и я не получу удовольствия, если не приму тебя со мной. Ему была нужна не Эдита, ради удовольствия, которое он мог бы получить в ее обществе, а красиво одетая дама рядом с ним, чтобы ею восхищались и чтобы она помогала ему приятно проводить время. Конечно, Эдита предпочла уступить, чтобы не говорить об этом, и сосредоточилась со всем интересом, на который была способна, утомительному делу приготовления. Когда наступила ночь и она предстала перед отцом в тончайшей черной брюссельской сетке, расшитой роскошными ромашками с золотыми сердцевинами и изящно обернутой поверх розового шелка, из которого кое-где сверкали великолепные бриллиантовые украшения, а поверх него ее нежное лицо поднялось, как чистая, четкая камея, мистер Далтон на мгновение потерял дар речи от восхищения, и Эдита действительно почувствовала, что за приложенные ею усилия вознаградили . — Эдита, — воскликнул ее отец, когда наконец обрел голос, — сегодня в парке не будет никого красивее тебя. Я буду иметь честь сопровождать прекраснейшую женщину Саратоги. «Спасибо, папа. Я никогда раньше не слышала, чтобы ты кого-то так хвалил , — засмеялась Эдита, удивляясь его энтузиазму и так и не поняв, насколько она была чрезвычайно хороша. — У меня никогда не было случая, уверяю вас, — ответил он, гордо задержав взгляд на ее грациозной фигуре. Эдита не принадлежала к числу тех изменчивых барышень, которые перенимают каждую новую моду в прическе, идет она или нет. Ее волосы сегодня вечером, как всегда, были заплетены в гладкие атласные ленты и обвились вокруг ее стройной головы, единственным украшением которой была небольшая гроздь маргариток, скрепленных с одной стороны бриллиантовой эгреткой. Крошечные маргаритки, в центре золотого сердца которых блестел бриллиант, как капля росы, висели у нее в ушах, а на ее руках парийской белизны были такие же браслеты. В самом деле, было бы невозможно представить более прекрасное видение или более уникальный и привлекательный костюм среди сотен, которые соберутся в тот вечер. Погода была идеальной, а декорации парка очень изысканными и элегантными. Флаги изящно свисали над входом, как занавески, и гирляндами украшали причудливую раму. Легкие рамки из звезд, треугольников, сердец, щитов и многих других приспособлений были укреплены повсюду среди деревьев, чтобы поддерживать прозрачные фонари почти волшебной красоты. Электрический свет заливал всю сцену почти дневным светом, и казалось, что это место коснулось волшебной палочки. Эту вечеринку украшало лучшее сезонное платье, и, как кто-то сказал, «не требовалось большого напряжения воображения, чтобы превратить проходящую толпу в эльфов и фей, чьи одежды, казалось, были сотканы из тончайших нитей». из паутины и из крыльев бабочек, словно утренняя роса, туман луны, капли росы, собранные с чашечки лилии, все было собрано и с почтением положено к ногам эфирные существа, которые уводят в плен сынов человеческих». И то, что самой прекрасной из них была Эдита Далтон, казалось, признавали и старые, и молодые. Незнакомцы, увидев это прекрасное лицо, возвышающееся над златосердыми ромашками, указывали на нее и спрашивали, кто она такая. Друзья и знакомые толпились вокруг, чтобы поймать слово, улыбку, даже взгляд, и недоумевали, почему они никогда раньше не понимали, насколько она утонченно прекрасна. Что-то в красоте и возбуждении этого события, казалось, оживляло ее. Бремя печали на время, казалось, свалилось с ее сердца, и она, казалось, стала частью сияния, окружавшего ее, в то время как она танцевала, болтала и смеялась, совсем как беззаботная, веселая Эдита прежних времен. Многие заметили это впоследствии и заявили, что она, должно быть, была феей или эльфийкой, которая, поскольку они никогда больше ее не видели, должно быть, уплыла в какой-то волшебный час ночи по суровому указу какого-то сверхъестественного людоеда. Не ошиблись они и в своих предположениях. Приближались ранние часы, и веселье было в самом разгаре. Эдита танцевала с другом мистера Далтона и, казалось, наслаждалась этим не меньше других. Ей, видимо, нравился ее спутник, ибо она очень нравилась ему, а он не раз своим остроумием и остроумием вызывал знакомый серебристый смех с ее красивых уст. Когда танец закончился, он отвел ее в тихое место, чтобы отдохнуть. Он не оставил ее, а остался стоять рядом с ней, глядя на ее выразительное лицо, а она, в свою очередь, смотрела на проходящую толпу, забыв на время все, кроме жизни и радости случая. Внезапно он увидел, как она вздрогнула. Румянец вспыхнул на ее щеках, ярче загорелись ее глаза, когда она встала и протянула обе руки приближавшемуся джентльмену . "Мистер. Трессалия! Как я рад! Когда вы прибыли и как вы меня нашли? — спросила она на одном дыхании. "Спасибо. Я приехал поздним вечерним поездом и нашел вас силой интуиции, я думаю, — ответил он, смеясь, переводя взгляд с нее на ее спутницу и сердечно пожимая обе руки. Эдита представила обоих джентльменов, и после нескольких минут разговора ее бывший спутник извинился и удалился с хмурым лбом, бормоча что-то о неожиданном появлении старых любовников. Эдита была очень рада видеть свою подругу. Она очень скучала по нему и болтала с ним в самой светской манере, задавая всевозможные вопросы о Ньюпорте и ее друзьях, когда мистер Долтон внезапно появился на сцене. Он не выразил удивления, увидев мистера Трессалию, но нахмуренные брови свидетельствовали о его неудовольствии, хотя он вежливо осведомился о его прибытии. «Я пришел с несколькими старыми друзьями, которые очень хотели посетить это место — мадам Сильвестр и ее брат», — ответил он. Мистер Долтон резко вздрогнул и вспыхнул при этом известии и вдруг показался таким взволнованным и странно взволнованным, что мистер Трессалия посмотрел на него с удивлением. «Мадам Сильвестр!» — радостно воскликнула Эдита, не замечая волнения отца. "Я так рад. Она мне так нравилась в Ньюпорте. Буду рад продолжить наше знакомство. — Уверяю вас, ваше удовольствие взаимно, потому что мадам тоже была в восторге от вас, — ответил Поль, не сводя глаз с мистера Далтона. Он немного отодвинулся в тени дерева и стоял, склонив голову, глядя в землю, лицо его потемнело от гнева, и он нервно работал руками и кусал нижнюю губу. «Что, черт возьми, беспокоит человека, что заставляет его выглядеть и вести себя так странно?» — спросил молодой человек про себя. — Мадам и ее брат здесь, на вечеринке в саду? — спросила Эдита. "Да; молва об этом достигла нас еще до того, как мы приехали, и вы знаете, что электрический свет виден за несколько миль до того, как мы доберемся до Саратоги; так что, несмотря на нашу усталость, мы все думали, что должны прийти и посмотреть на заколдованное место. — Это прекрасно, не так ли? — спросила она, ее глаза блуждали во всех направлениях по яркой сцене. "Да, в самом деле; Я никогда не видел ничего подобного раньше. Мадам и ее брат пошли в танцевальный павильон, чтобы посмотреть, смогут ли они найти вас, но я думал, что найду вас в каком-нибудь тихом уголке, как и я. Эдита рассмеялась, и красивый румянец полувиновно залил ее щеки. — Вы бы так не подумали, если бы пришли на пятнадцать минут раньше. Я думаю, что музыка сбила меня с толку сегодня вечером, потому что я танцевала с самыми веселыми. Но как случилось, что ты гость в Саратоге? — спросила она, чтобы сменить тему. «О, после того, как я получил вашу записку, сообщавшую мне о вашем пункте назначения, Ньюпорт потерял свое очарование, и я почувствовал немедленную потребность в целебной родниковой воде», — сказал он в игривой манере, радуясь, что она так поправилась и оживилась. «Мадам Сильвестр испытала то же самое», — добавил он. — Я ожидаю, что у этой замечательной женщины возникнет искушение похитить вас и нести, ты уезжаешь в неведомые края, она так к тебе привязалась.
- Послушайте, папаша, - вообразите, что кто-нибудь так полюбит меня, что захочет
меня похитить. Почему, в чем дело? Ты болен?" — воскликнула Эдита, повернувшись к отцу, и была поражена одним взглядом в его лицо.
Оно было белым, как алебастр, а глаза его горели, как два горящих угля,
от какого-то сильного внутреннего волнения.
"Нет нет; не болен, но очень устал. Я думаю, что нам следует немедленно вернуться в
нашу гостиницу, Эдита, — ответил он, явно пытаясь прийти в себя.

«Извините, если вы устали, папа; Я думал, ты получаешь
огромное удовольствие. Сядьте и отдохните в каком-нибудь тихом месте, пожалуйста. Я действительно пока не хочу возвращаться».

«Но ты не силен; Я боюсь, что сырость причинит вам вред, —
сказал мистер Долтон, желая немедленно увести ее и никогда не задумываясь
о сырости до этого момента.

«Мне очень тепло и комфортно;
мне действительно показалось , что сегодня ночью воздух удивительно чистый и сухой, — сказала Эдита, не двигаясь.

— В самом деле, Эдита, я думаю, я должна настаивать… —

Пожалуйста, не настаивайте ни на чем, папа, — самовольно возразила девушка.
-- Если вы так устали, возвращайтесь в Гранд-Юнион, и мистер
Трессалия вскоре приведет меня.

Она была полна решимости, что ее не уведут так быстро, как
маленькую девочку в нижних юбках, и мистеру Долтону пришлось отступить.

«Тогда я думаю, я пойду покурю», — сказал он, повернулся и
резко пошел прочь.

Пол Трессалия задумался, что все это значит.

Мужчина выдал свое сильное волнение только при упоминании
имени мадам Сильвестр.

Знал ли он ее, и если да, была ли между ними вражда? Было ли это
причиной его внезапного бегства из Ньюпорта?

Его манеры были, конечно, очень странными, и он, очевидно, намеревался
увести Эдиту до того, как произойдет какая-либо встреча между ней и госпожой, но
он не мог продолжать настаивать на этом, не выдав
себя, и поэтому ушел в незавидном настроении. ума.

Эдита с любопытством наблюдала за ним, пока он не скрылся из виду, а затем, повернувшись к
своей спутнице, сказала:

«Я не думаю, что папа чувствует себя очень хорошо; может быть, мне следовало
уйти.

— Мне проводить тебя к нему? — внимательно спросил Пол.

— Еще нет. Я хотел бы на минутку увидеть мадам Сильвестр, если мы сможем
ее найти; но сначала скажи мне, — и красивое лицо тут же потеряло весь
свой прелестный цвет, — ты снова слышал от — от — Эрла?

"Да; Позавчера было письмо, и он не очень здоров, пишет
; доктор не думает, что климат ему точно подходит, —
ответил мистер Трессалия, и его лицо стало серьезным, когда он увидел, как яркость
угасла на ее лице.

Эдита вздохнула, и на ее губы вернулось прежнее скорбное выражение.

— Хочешь прочитать его письмо? Он у меня с собой, —
осторожно спросил он.

"Нет нет; Я бы не смогла так. Скажи мне, пожалуйста, что тебе в нем нравится;
но мне пока невыносимо читать его собственные слова, — сказала она с
невыразимой грустью.

— Мой бедный маленький друг, твоя участь тяжела, — мягко сказал он.

— Не жалейте меня, пожалуйста, жизнь и так достаточно тяжела для всех нас, я думаю, —
быстро и с горечью ответила она.

«Эрл считает, что ему придется переодеться, как только он сможет уйти, —
продолжал мистер Трессалия, — и спрашивает, не верну ли я
для него присмотр за Уиклифом. Рассказать вам все, что он говорит об этом?

«Да, да; продолжайте, — сказала бедная девушка с жаром, хотя каждое слово было
для нее новой пыткой.

— Он говорит, что не может больше жить без тебя, Эдита; это убивает его,
и он _должен_ время от времени приходить туда, где может видеть вас. Он пишет: «Спросите
ее, если можно. Я не скажу ничего, что могло бы ее ранить. я буду твердым
и сильным; но, о! Я так тоскую по дому, по взгляду в ее глаза, по
пожатию ее руки. Спроси ее, Пол, могу ли я прийти».

«Нет, _нет_, НЕТ!» сорвался низкий, испуганный тон с губ девушки.
«Он не должен приходить. Напиши ему немедленно и скажи ему об этом. Мистер
Трессалия, я не мог вынести этого всего на свете. Я не
увижу его. Он не должен прийти. Я буду прятаться от него. Ой! почему я должен
так страдать?»

Слова закончились низким, разбитым сердцем всхлипом. Она судорожно обхватила обеими руками
руку своего спутника от волнения и теперь
так дрожала и дрожала, что он сильно встревожился.

Яркость и невероятная красота, которыми она обладала, когда он впервые увидел
ее, в конце концов, были всего лишь результатом минутного возбуждения.

Он льстил себе, что она действительно лучше и сильнее и
телом, и духом, но теперь он видел, что ее бедное сердце так же больно
и изранено, как всегда, и что ее роковая любовь все еще разъедает ее
внутренности.

Эрл, как он знал из письма, которое он недавно получил, страдает
точно так же, и то, что эти несчастные испытанные люди должны были делать все свое
будущее, было для него большой проблемой.

— Успокойся, милое дитя, — сказал он тихим, тихим голосом. — Эрл сделает
так, как ты пожелаешь. Иди и погуляй со мной, пока твои нервы не успокоятся
.

Он разжал эти сцепленные пальцы на своей руке и, втянув
в нее одну руку, увел ее в уединенную тропинку и серьезно говорил о других
вещах, пока не увидел, как дикое выражение исчезло из ее глаз, рука на его
руке замерла, и знал, что ее сильное возбуждение постепенно
утихает.

Но ему было глубоко больно слышать каждые несколько минут глубокий, содрогающийся,
всхлипывающий вздох, вырывающийся из ее бледных губ, — что-то вроде дыхания ребенка,
изнуренного плачем и заснувшего.

Он бы с радостью вернул счастье и Эрлу, и ей, если
бы мог, даже ценой собственной жизни, но
не мог — каждый должен нести свое бремя. Казалось, что
в последние годы их со всех сторон окружали беды, исполняя
слова Шекспира:

            «Когда приходят печали, приходят не одиночные шпионы,
            А отрядами».

«У Эрла было приключение. Рассказать тебе об этом? — спросил он, когда,
наконец, она, по-видимому, совсем успокоилась и интуитивно почувствовала
, что хотела бы услышать больше.

— Пожалуйста.

«Была попытка ограбить Уиклифа, и если бы не его
спокойствие и храбрость, было бы наделано много бед».

«Ах! он всегда был храбр; но... но я надеюсь, что он не был ранен, -
вскричала Эдита, чувствуя, как ее охватывает слабость.

«Благослови вас, нет; иначе он не говорил бы сейчас об изменении. Он не
только предотвратил ограбление и защитил себя, но и поймал
грабителя».

«Я уверена, что это хорошие новости», — сказала она, теперь глубоко заинтересованная.

— И, Эдита, как ты думаешь, кем оказался грабитель?

«Я уверен, что не могу представить; и все же вы... вы не можете иметь в виду... -

Да, я действительно это имею в виду, - ответил он, прочитав ее мысли. — Это был не кто иной
, как тот негодяй, который несколько лет назад ограбил дом вашего отца и
за которого понес наказание Эрл. Это был Том Дрейк, тот человек, которого
вы встретили после визита к Джону Локеру и который впоследствии вошел в
ваш дом во второй раз и своей месмерической силой заставил вас уйти
с ним.

Эдита вздрогнула, но все же не могла поверить своим ушам. Она
всегда боялась снова встретиться с этим ужасным человеком, и теперь, узнав,
что он уехал в Англию в плену, она испытала большое облегчение.

«Это кажется невозможным», — сказала она.

«Справедливо судить, что его, наконец, возьмет тот самый
, кто несправедливо отбыл трижды приговор, который надлежало бы
ему вынести», — был строгий ответ.

— Расскажите мне, пожалуйста, как это случилось, то есть, если вы знаете?

"Да; Эрл много писал мне об этом. Похоже, этот парень
не считал Соединенные Штаты для себя безопасным местом после того, как
признание Джона Локера было обнародовано — его описание было слишком точным
для этого — поэтому он бежал в Англию и, несомненно, продолжал
там свои гнусные операции. с тех пор. Примерно через месяц после того, как я уехал
из Уиклифа, Эрла однажды ночью разбудил звук, как будто кто-то
осторожно ходил по его уборной. Его револьвер был в
пределах досягаемости, и он мгновенно выхватил его. В следующий момент в его комнату вошел мужчина
. Ночь была не очень темная, и когда грабитель проскользнул между
кроватью и окном, его фигура была четко очерчена, и Эрл,
прицелившись низко, выстрелил в него. Он упал со стоном. Не прошло и минуты,
как зажечь свет и подойти к поверженному человеку, который был слишком тяжело
ранен, чтобы оказать какое-либо сопротивление, и обнаружил, что его поверженный враг был
не кем иным, как его и вашим врагом Томом Дрейком.

«Какое странное приключение; и… Эрл был в большой опасности, —
прошептала Эдита, глубоко вздохнув.

"Да; но самое странное еще впереди, — продолжал мистер Трессалия.
«Вместо того, чтобы выдать несчастного властям, как
сделал бы всякий другой, несмотря на его страшные страдания, он приказал
слугам строжайше молчать, призвал старого семейного врача
и поклялся хранить его в тайне, и теперь ухаживает за больным. Несчастного выздоравливать
так нежно, как если бы он был его родным братом».

«Это то же самое, что и благородство Эрла — он «аристократ,
созданный самой природой!» — восхищенно сказала Эдита; и ее лицо сияло от гордости за
этот грандиозный поступок того, кого она так нежно любила.

— Мужчина был очень серьезно ранен? — спросила она после минутного
молчания.

«Да, в бедро; он, вероятно, останется калекой на всю жизнь, говорит Эрл.

"Как грустно! Что с ним будут делать, когда он выздоровеет?

«Эрл не написал, каковы были его намерения, но он, вероятно, будет
перевезен на всю жизнь, где с привязанным к нему шаром и цепью вам
больше никогда не нужно будет его бояться».

"Бедняга! Значит, английские законы строже наших, —
вздохнула она.

— Если бы законы Соединенных Штатов были более строгими, а наказания
за крайние случаи более суровыми, ваши тюрьмы не были бы так переполнены, и,
по моему мнению, было бы меньше вреда, —
задумчиво ответил мистер Трессалия.

В этот момент кто-то произнес его имя, и, обернувшись, они увидели
приближающихся мадам Сильвестр и ее брата.

Они обменялись приятными приветствиями, а затем все заняли места
недалеко от фонтана, чтобы немного побеседовать, прежде чем
вернуться в свой отель.




                ГЛАВА XXXIX
                ОБСТОЯТЕЛЬСТВА ИЗМЕНЯЮТ ДЕЛА


Когда мистер Долтон так резко повернулся и оставил мистера Трессалию и Эдиту, он
действительно был ужасно взволнован.

Он быстро прошел в глухую часть парка, где вдали от посторонних
глаз и слышимости ходил взад и вперед под деревьями,
бормоча в адрес кого-то яростные проклятия и жестикулируя дико
и гневно.

— Я должен немедленно уйти отсюда, — пробормотал он. «Что могло
заставить _них_ следовать за нами сюда? Конечно, _она_
ничего не может _знать_, да и какой у нее может быть особый интерес к моей дочери? Но
я ужасно боюсь, что какое-нибудь неудачное замечание или вопрос разоблачит
все — Эдита так _прелестно простодушна_, -- продолжал он с насмешливой
горечью;
— А я уже достаточно проиграл — в такой поздний день меня не остановят . Я всю жизнь боролся с судьбой, и теперь я победю или умру.
Мы немедленно выберемся из этого места; а так как они французы, то,
может быть, не будут возражать, если мы уйдем «по-французски».

Полчаса или больше мистер Дальтон провел в одиночестве, давая волю своему гневу
и досаде, а затем в несколько более спокойном настроении разума, он отправился
искать Эдиту, чтобы вернуться в их отель. Ему пришлось поискать какое-то
время, потому что толпа была огромной, и было нелегко обнаружить
человека, которого однажды потеряли из виду.

Но в конце концов он нашел их всех вместе, госпожу Сильвестр и ее
брата, мистера Трессалию и Эдиту, стоящими у одного из фонтанов, как
будто они только что встали со своих мест и собирались удалиться
.

Мадам стояла рядом с Эдитой, ее рука слегка обняла ее за талию, и
она говорила в своей нежной, очаровательной манере, в то время как глаза молодой девушки были
устремлены на ее лицо с выражением искреннего восхищения.

— Очень трогательная сцена, — усмехнулся мистер Долтон, увидев их
. «Явный случай взаимной близости, примечательный в данных
обстоятельствах. Моя дочь, кажется, обладает силой притяжения _в
определенных направлениях_, которая поистине прекрасна».

Несколько мгновений он стоял, глядя на группу, нахмурив
брови и как бы не решая, лучше ли идти вперед или отступать.

В конце концов он, казалось, решился на последний путь, потому что повернулся и
уже собирался ускользнуть, когда Эдита заметила его и крикнула:

«Вот он сейчас. Папа, подойди сюда, пожалуйста. и она подошла к нему,
увлекая за собой мадам Сильвестр. — Я хочу познакомить вас с моей подругой,
мадам Сильвестр, — сказала она с милой улыбкой и совершенно не подозревая о
буре, бушующей в груди мистера Далтона.

Дело было сделано, и теперь спасения не было; но это было очень бледное лицо
, которое Самнер Далтон склонил перед мадам, и стальной блеск его
глаз отталкивал ее и заставлял думать об Эдите, как о бедном ягненке в
лапах волка.

«Она не похожа на него; она должна быть похожа на свою мать; но у нее
волосы и глаза, как... -- было внутреннее замечание госпожи, но
тут же прервавшееся с сожалением вздохом.

Но в следующий момент она снова повернулась к нему со своей обычной
любезностью.

"Мистер. Далтон, — сказала она, — я говорила вашей дочери, как
я была разочарована, узнав, что она так внезапно уехала из Ньюпорта. Правда , я только
что познакомился с ней, но обещал себе
большое удовольствие от общения с ней.

Мистер Дальтон поклонился, улыбнулся и машинально повторил что-то
стереотипное о «взаимном удовольствии» и т. д., а затем повернулся, чтобы представиться
мистеру Гюставу Сильвестру, но не раньше, чем мадам
снова заметила этот стальной блеск в его глазах.

— Дорогая, — обратилась она к Эдите, — я еще не спросила тебя, где ты
остановилась?

«В Гранд Юнион».

- Это прекрасно, потому что у нас там тоже есть охраняемые комнаты, и я надеюсь, что
мы будем часто видеться.

— Я тоже на это надеюсь, — искренне сказала Эдита, думая о том, как всю свою жизнь
она мечтала именно о такой подруге, какой, по ее мнению, будет мадам.

— Как долго вы остаетесь? она спросила.

«Я уверен, что не могу сказать. Я полагаю, что до тех пор, пока этого желает папа, пока я привожу
свои планы в соответствие с его планами, насколько это возможно, — и Эдита бросила тревожный
взгляд на мистера Долтона, чье странное поведение она заметила; и был
несколько обеспокоен этим. Он поддерживал довольно вынужденную беседу
с мистером Гюставом Сильвестром, но держался нервно, а брови его были
мрачны и опущены.

-- Вы выглядите лучше, чем тогда, когда я видела вас в Ньюпорте, -- сказала мадам,
бросив восхищенный взгляд на свою прекрасную спутницу.

«Да, я думаю, что мое здоровье улучшается», — ответила Эдита; но она вздохнула
, когда она сказала это, и взгляд боли пересек ее лицо.

Разговоры о ее нездоровье всегда напоминали ей о его причине и отправляли
ее мысли над морем к Эрлу.

Вздох тронул госпожу, ибо она угадала его причину; и, притянув прекрасную
девушку чуть ближе в своей обнимающей руке, она приложила губы
к ее уху и нежно прошептала:

«Мы никогда не должны забывать, дорогая, как бы ни была темна наша участь, что Один сказал
: «Твоей силы достаточно». для тебя».

Эдита начала, и ее губы дрожали пустяк.

— Как вы думаете, возможно ли реализовать это при любых обстоятельствах?
— спросила она с легкой дрожью в тоне, несмотря на все
усилия по самоконтролю.

Госпожа осторожно отвела ее в сторону и стала медленно ходить вокруг фонтана
, чтобы быть вне слышимости других.

-- В первые минуты нашего слепого, беспричинного горя, может быть, и нет, --
ответила она с серьезной сладостью. «Я знаю, милое дитя, что это такое

           — Блуждать без луча надежды,
             Не находя передышки даже во сне,
           Жизни солнце погасло, Во мраке наощупь
             И безнадежно сквозь усталый мир ползти. '

Так мне представлялась жизнь когда-то, но со временем я понял,
что в этом мире утомительного труда и ожидания должны быть какие-то
бремя, и Бог предназначил мне быть одним из них».

— Но не все ноши одинаково тяжелы, — пробормотала Эдита.

"Нет, дорогой; но если «Отче наш» пошлет их, мы можем быть уверены, что
нам следует нести их; и Фрэнсис Энн Кембл говорит нам:

              «Священное бремя — это жизнь, которую вы несете,
              Взгляните на нее — поднимите ее, несите ее терпеливо,
              Встаньте и идите под ней стойко,
              Не унывайте из-за печали, не колеблйтесь из-за греха,
              Но вперед, вверх. , пока цель не победит ». «

Это смелые, ободряющие слова. Если бы у меня
всегда был такой добрый утешитель, как ты, я бы лучше переносила это, — сказала Эдита,
быстро качая слезами и осознавая больше, чем когда-либо прежде,
насколько она совершенно одинока в этом мире.

«Дорогой мой, ты забываешь великого Божественного Утешителя. Разве ты еще не научился
доверять Ему?» — спросила мадам с большой нежностью.

— Ты… о, да; по крайней мере, я так думал, пока на меня не обрушилась эта последняя беда
, из-за которой казалось, будто «пустое отчаяние, подобное тени
беззвездной ночи, нависло над миром, в котором я двигался
в одиночестве». Много-много раз мне казалось, что я должна лечь, как
усталый ребенок, и выплакать жизнь печали, которую я вынесла и
которую я все еще должна терпеть до конца, — сказала девушка с почти
страстной серьезностью . .

«Бедное дитя мое, как мое сердце тоскует по тебе. Мистер Трессалия рассказал мне кое-что о вашей беде, и я думаю, что никогда раньше
не знал ничего столь печального;
но, поверьте, из этого должно получиться что-то хорошее. Вы
молоды, и этот терпеливо усвоенный печальный урок придаст вам силы характера
на будущее, каким бы оно ни было. Вы знаете, нам говорят, что
из скорби мы выходим очищенными, если правильно переносим ее».

— Тогда я боюсь, что никогда не очистлюсь, — с горечью ответила Эдита.
«Я _не могу_ вынести этого по праву. Я нетерпелив. Мое сердце постоянно
восстает против несправедливости, как мне кажется, всего этого. Почему
какой-то инстинкт не подсказал мне, что Эрл мой брат, прежде чем я научилась
так сильно его любить? — дико заключила она.

— Тише, дорогая, — сказала мадам с мягким упреком, но ее прекрасное лицо было
очень серьезным и встревоженным. «Мы не можем понять _почему_ очень многих
вещей; мы знаем, что они _are_, и мы не имеем права подвергать сомнению
мудрость чего-либо, что находится за пределами нашего понимания; но меня очень
интересует эта ваша скорбь и юный маркиз Уиклиф. Я
знаю, что вам будет полезно разгрузить свое сердце, и если вы можете доверять мне,
почти незнакомому вам человеку, расскажите мне об этом побольше.

— Ты не кажешься мне чужим. Вы больше похожи на милого,
давнего друга, и я никогда не могу передать вам, как утешительно ваше доброе
сочувствие ко мне, — ответила Эдита с глазами, полными слез.

Единственным ответом мадам было сжатие вокруг тонкой талии, и
девушка продолжила:

«Когда мы встретились с вами в тот день в библиотеке Редвуд в Ньюпорте, и ваша рука
сомкнулась на моей с такой сильной, но нежной хваткой, и вы посмотрели в
мою такими искренними и нежными глазами, я мог бы обнять тебя
за шею и даже тогда выплакать свое горе на твоей груди.

Глаза мадам теперь были полны слез, но Эдита их не видела и
продолжала:

-- Я с удовольствием расскажу вам все о моем печальном горе, только мне не хотелось бы
утомлять вас.

— Это не утомит меня, дорогая.

И вот Эдита, все больше и больше покоряемая нежностью и нежностью этой прекрасной женщины
, излила на ее сочувствующее ухо всю свою историю, начиная
с того времени, когда Эрл пришел бедным мальчиком на службу к ее дяде, и
заканчивая их окончательным расставанием, когда им рассказали что они оба были
детьми одного отца.

-- Это очень странная и грустная история, -- сказала госпожа, когда закончила.
«Но факты дела настолько очевидны, что их невозможно
оспорить; а этот твой дядя, каким он был благородным человеком.

"Да; он был маменькиным братом и милым, милым дядей. Ой! если бы он
только мог выжить, — вздохнула Эдита.

— Дорогая, он не мог этого предотвратить.

"Нет; но он утешил бы меня, как никто другой».

— Значит, вы все его любили?

"Да; Мне кажется, я любила его больше, чем кого бы то ни было на свете. Это
не совсем правильно, может быть, сказать, когда папа с мамой были живы,
но он всегда был со мной так сочувствующий и нежный. Он всегда
терпеливо и с интересом выслушивал все мои маленькие испытания и
сочувствовал мне, когда все остальные смеялись над ними, как над пустяками».

— У него не было собственной семьи?

"Нет; он был тем, кого мы называем старым холостяком, — с легкой
улыбкой ответила Эдита; «и он был самым дорогим из старых холостяков, которые когда-либо жили. Мне
иногда казалось, что он, должно быть, давно любил кого-то, потому что бывали
времена, когда он был очень печален.
Но, похоже, он никогда особенно не любил дам ; он никогда не пошел бы в компанию, если бы мог, и,
когда я говорил ему что-нибудь об этом, он говорил мне, смеясь
, что он ждет, чтобы быть моим эскортом, чтобы отпугнуть
всех недостойных женихи».

— Вы говорите, ему не нравилось общество дам?

"Нет; он всегда был с ними холодно вежлив, но никогда не проявлял к ним никакого
внимания».

-- Ему, кажется, _одна_ понравилась настолько, что он оставил ей все свое состояние, --
сказала мадам, лукаво взглянув на красивое лицо рядом с ней.

"Да; он отдал мне все, что у него было, кроме десяти тысяч, которые должны были
быть у Эрла. Я всегда была его «любимицей», его «солнечным лучиком», его «счастьем»,
но я предпочла бы вернуть моего дорогого, доброго дядюшку всем состояниям
на свете, — сказала она грустно.

— Он был братом твоей матери, ты говоришь, дорогая, — как его звали? спросила
мадам, которая была очень глубоко заинтересована во всем, что она услышала.

- Это имя, которым он всегда очень гордился... Ри...

- Эдита! внезапно позвал мистера Далтона из-за них. — Я гонялся
за тобой последние полчаса. Вы не знаете который час?"

— Нет, папа.

«Это после часа и времени, когда деликатные люди отдыхали».

"Очень хорошо; Я готова идти прямо сейчас, если хотите, — тихо сказала она.

Теперь к ним присоединились мистер Трессалия и мистер Сильвестр, и первый сделал
мадам предложение относительно завтрашней экскурсии.

Пока они обсуждали этот вопрос, мистер Долтон пытался поторопить Эдиту
, невзирая на уместность этого дела.

— Я должна пожелать им спокойной ночи, папа, — сказала она холодно и самовольно
стоя на своем, удивляясь его крайней поспешности.

— Тогда поторопитесь, я чертовски устал, — нетерпеливо сказал он.

Затем она в общих чертах пожелала им спокойной ночи и повернулась, чтобы
сопровождать отца, не очень довольная тем, что с ней обращаются так, как с
ребенком.

-- Дорогая моя, -- сказала мадам с тревогой в глазах, видя, как
бледна и устала Эдита, -- приготовьте все остальное, что сможете, и
приходите ко мне завтра, как только позавтракаете, ибо у меня есть
что-то очень конкретное сказать вам. Моя комната № 105.

Эдита пообещала, в то время как Самнер Далтон скрипел зубами от внутреннего гнева
на эту знакомую просьбу.

«То, чем вы можете восхищаться в ней, — это больше, чем я могу себе представить», —
коротко заметил он, выходя из парка.

«Почему, папа, где твои глаза? Я думаю, что она самая очаровательная женщина,
которую я когда-либо встречала, — ответила Эдита с неразумным энтузиазмом.

— Я предпочитаю, чтобы ты не был таким развязным с совершенно незнакомым человеком — это
неприлично, — прорычал он.

Она вздернула подбородок, и глаза ее засверкали огнем, говорящим о
том, что она считает себя уже достаточно взрослой и способной сама судить
о таких вещах.

— Тебе понравился вечер? — спросила она, избегая ответа на его
замечание.

«Достаточно хорошо, пока не пришли _they_», - был краткий ответ.

— Мне очень жаль, если вам не нравятся мои новые друзья, папа, но я думала, что раньше вы восхищались мистером Трессалией, — ответила Эдита, и в последней половине ее реплики прозвучало
легкое озорство . «Он достаточно здоров, только, согласно моему взгляду на вещи, ему не кажется правильным постоянно слоняться вокруг вас и бегать за вами, как если бы вы принадлежали ему», — сказал мистер Далтон. , раздражительно. Очевидно, он был совершенно не в духе, и Эдита знала, что лучше оставить это дело без внимания, но она не могла устоять перед еще одним маленьким ударом. — Я думала, вам нравится, когда я получаю внимание мистера Трессалии, — невинно сказала она. — Я так и сделал однажды, но обстоятельства иногда меняют дело; и... пожалуйста, мы не будем больше обсуждать мистера Трессалию. Он, несомненно, был сердит, и она была рада уйти в свою комнату, как только они добрались до отеля, в то время как она внутренне радовалась перспективе хотя бы на некоторое время быть в обществе мадам Сильвестр. Мадам стояла и смотрела, как она покидает их и уходит с отцом. Лицо ее было очень грустным, и голос ее слегка дрожал, когда, повернувшись к брату, она спросила: «Кого она напоминает тебе, Гюстав?» -- Ни о ком конкретно, -- равнодушно ответил он. — Не из… — и она наклонилась вперед и прошептала остаток предложения ему на ухо. -- Нет, если мне не изменяет память, -- сказал он, качая головой. «И все же, — добавил он, — в глазах может быть знакомое выражение . Я не думал об этом раньше». — Гюстав, ее зовут Эдита, — сказала мадам тихим голосом с очень бледным лицом и нетерпеливым взглядом в лицо брата. «В мире, несомненно, есть тысяча Эдит; не позволяйте










































Постарайтесь проявить воображение в этот поздний день, Эстель, -- ответил он.
и, бросив дело на этом, мадам показала, что
тоже готова вернуться в гостиницу.




                ГЛАВА XL
                ПРОЩАНИЕ САРАТОГЕ


Эдита сказала своей служанке, что ей не нужно подсаживать ее, так как,
несомненно, будет очень поздно, когда она вернется из парка; но она почти
пожалела, что сделала это, потому что, добравшись до своей комнаты и потеряв
ложную силу, придаваемую волнением, она почувствовала себя очень слабой
и утомленной.

Она безразлично опустилась на стул и начала снимать свои украшения, и
пока она этим занималась, в ее дверь постучали.

Почти одновременно дверь открылась, потому что она не заперла ее, и мистер
Далтон сунул голову.

— Где Энни? он спросил.

— В постели, папа. Я сказал ей, что ей не нужно ждать меня. Вы хотите что-нибудь
особенное?

— Я хочу тебя видеть, — ответил он, входя и закрывая дверь. «Мне
жаль, что так поздно. Я бы хотел, чтобы мы пришли домой раньше. У меня плохие
новости. У меня важное дело, которое немедленно зовет меня домой, —
заключил он отрывисто и взволнованно.

"Дом?" — воскликнула Эдита, очень удивленная и глубоко
разочарованная, ибо, конечно, знала, что он ожидает, что она пойдет с
ним. Кроме того, она не могла вынести мысли о том, что уедет так скоро после
приезда мадам Сильвестр.

"Да; мы должны начать в шесть утра завтра. Вы можете быть готовы?

"Так рано?" — сказала она с усталым вздохом.

"Да; Я должен идти немедленно. Если бы через час был поезд, и мы
могли бы собраться, я бы сел, — взволнованно ответил он.

-- Что же, папаша, могло случиться, что ты так внезапно вспомнился?

— Вы не поймете, если я скажу вам, — с тревогой сказал он. — Это
мое личное дело. Вы будете готовы?

— Очень мало времени, — устало ответила Эдита. — Не стоит ли
подождать еще день или два?

— Нет, ни на час больше, чем потребуется, чтобы собрать чемоданы и сесть на
поезд, — нахмурившись, сказал мистер Далтон.

Он начинал очень злиться из-за такого сопротивления.

— Я бы хотела, чтобы этого не случилось только что, и они прибыли только
сегодня ночью, — задумчиво пробормотала Эдита.

Мистер Долтон сердито нахмурился и пробормотал что-то об эгоизме
женщин вообще.

Эдита посидела, задумавшись, а потом спросила:

«Не мог бы ты пойти домой без меня, папа, если это дело так
срочно? Я действительно хотел бы остаться в источниках еще немного,
и я знаю, что мадам Сильвестр с радостью будет моей компаньонкой, пока
вы не вернетесь.

Это было все, что мог сделать мистер Далтон, чтобы подавить клятву в ответ на эту просьбу.

— Нет, нет, — быстро сказал он. — Меня почти тошнит от всех этих забот и
суеты, и я не могу пощадить тебя.

Он действительно выглядел чем-то встревоженным, и лицо его было бледно, глаза
очень блестящие и беспокойные; но Эдита не могла счесть нужным
, чтобы ее так неслыханно торопили, только по
делу.

— Если вам нужно ехать и вы думаете, что не сможете обойтись без меня, предположим, вы
поедете ранним поездом, а я поеду позже с Энни? она сказала. —
Несколько часов не имеют для вас большого значения, и я действительно думаю, что было
бы невежливо так торопиться, даже не попрощавшись
с нашими друзьями. Кроме того, я обещал утром увидеться с мадам Сильвестр
.

— Я думаю, вы были очарованы этой француженкой. у меня
его не будет. Вы должны вернуться со мной; и, если слухи говорят правду,
ваш замечательный друг не годится компаньон для моей дочери, -
воскликнул мистер Долтон с гневным высокомерием.

— Значит, вы знали ее до сегодняшнего вечера. Я так и подумал, судя по твоей манере.
_Что_ ты знаешь о ней? — спросила Эдита, очень удивленная.

— Не могу сказать, что мне выпала такая честь, —
саркастически ответил ее отец. - Я никогда не разговаривал с ней до сегодняшнего вечера и не могу сказать,
что хочу продолжить знакомство.

-- Она очень милая и к тому же добрая, чистая женщина, -- утверждала Эдита,
краснея и негодуя на него за то, что он так пренебрежительно отозвался
о ее новом друге. "Мистер. Трессалия, — добавила она, — знает о ней все, и
он говорит, что, за исключением одной или двух ошибок в начале
ее жизни, ее характер вне подозрений.

«Ошибка или две в ранней жизни, как вы выразились, часто губят
человека навсегда», — сухо заметил мистер Далтон.

Доказав до известной степени истинность этой аксиомы, он знал,
о чем говорил.

— Значит, вы ни при каких обстоятельствах не согласились бы, чтобы я остался с ней
? — спросила Эдита, испытующе глядя ему в лицо.

«Конечно, нет; и я желаю, чтобы вы больше не поддерживали с
ней никаких контактов.

— Вам придется привести мне вескую и достаточную причину для вашего желания,
прежде чем я почувствую себя обязанной подчиниться ему, —
твердо ответила она и спокойно встретилась с ним взглядом.

— Я думаю, что к этому времени вы уже поняли, как глупо бросать мне вызов, —
сказал он с поразительной яростью. «Но хватит об этом. Я
полагаю, вы согласны вернуться со мной?

-- Да, чтобы больше не говорить об этом; но я очень
разочарована, — ответила она со вздохом и начала думать, что
мистер Долтон завидует ее внезапной симпатии к мадам Сильвестр и
поэтому так торопит ее.

«И, пожалуйста, не беспокойтесь о том, чтобы сообщить мистеру Трессалии или кому-либо
еще о наших планах. Я не хочу, чтобы мои шаги снова шли по пятам,
как это было до сих пор, и за это, кажется, я должен тебя благодарить, —
раздражённо сказал её отец.

Эдита озадаченно взглянула на него; она не могла понять его
сегодня вечером.

Что он был странно взволнован чем-то, что она могла видеть, потому что он был
очень бледен, глаза его свирепо горели, и он был очень нервным и
раздражительным, и она не очень-то верила его рассказу о срочном
вызове его домой.

Как-то ею овладела мысль, что мадам как-то
связана с этим необъяснимым ходом, но как и почему она не могла
себе представить.

— Вам лучше позвонить Энни, и я помогу вам упаковать чемоданы, чтобы
утром было нечего делать, — сказал мистер Долтон,
вставая и начиная собирать какие-то вещи, лежавшие на столе.

Он был мастером упаковывать вещи, и Эдита, слишком уставшая, чтобы чувствовать себя
достойной каких-либо усилий, была рада воспользоваться этим предложением.

Она пошла звонить Энни, гадая, не придется ли ей всю жизнь
подчиняться его капризам таким образом, и чувствуя себя более грустной, чем могла
выразить.

Менее чем за час под проворными и опытными пальцами мистера
Далтона и Энни все предметы были упакованы, чемоданы перевязаны ремнями,
промаркированы и готовы к уносу носильщиком утром.

Затем усталая девушка забралась в постель, чувствуя себя еще более одинокой и одинокой,
чем когда-либо прежде, и заплакала, пока не уснула.

Ей было запрещено общаться с мистером Трессалией по поводу их
отъезда, и она не знала, встретится ли она когда-нибудь с ним снова,
и это казалось таким жалким и недобрым способом обращаться с другом, который
так многим пожертвовал ради нее. Ей было запрещено поддерживать какие-либо дальнейшие
сношения с госпожой Сильвестр, к которой она начала испытывать
сильную привязанность, и все это со стороны человека эгоистичного и властного,
решившего подчинить ее своей самой легкой воле.

Она знала, что может наотрез отказаться подчиняться ему, если захочет, — она
может идти своей дорогой, а он своей; но если бы она сделала это, то освободилась бы
от всякой хватки прежней жизни и от всех естественных
уз — у нее не осталось бы ни одного друга на свете, а мистер Далтон
тоже остался бы один.

С каждым днем ;;она сознавала, что ее привязанность к нему все более и
более ослабевала, но ради матери она не могла вполне вынести мысли оставить
его без каких-либо сдерживающих влияний; кроме того, если бы она
пошла по такому пути, она отняла бы у него все средства к существованию,
ибо его десять тысяч утекали у него сквозь пальцы, как вода.

Она никогда не останавливалась, чтобы рассудить, что это, возможно, лучшее, что она
могла сделать, что, если он будет испытывать небольшой благотворный страх потерять свою
нынешнюю долю ее солидного дохода, он вряд ли будет доминировать
над ней в такой степени. . Но будущее казалось
ей темнее, чем когда-либо, и на сердце у нее было очень грустно и тоскливо.

На следующее утро в пять часов мистер Долтон пришел разбудить ее и ее
служанку, и как только она оделась, он послал ей соблазнительный небольшой
завтрак, пообещав не торопиться и съесть все, что она сможет.

Этого он добился, обильно накормив накануне вечером одного из официантов
, и дымящаяся чашка густого шоколада, жареный цыпленок, приготовленный
наизнанку, яйца и нежные тосты действительно составляли аппетитную
трапезу.

При всем своем эгоизме и решимости подчинить Эдиту своей
воле мистер Далтон всегда любил, чтобы она хорошо питалась, а также
богато и прилично одевалась.

В шесть часов ранний поезд отошел от депо Саратоги, и
Эдита не могла удержаться от того, чтобы не пролить еще несколько слез за вуалью
в знак грустного прощания с друзьями, которых, как она боялась, она
больше никогда не увидит.

Мистер Долтон пристально посмотрел на нее, но был слишком доволен тем, что
так успешно увел ее, чтобы беспокоить ее еще какими-то словами по этому
поводу.

Когда они приехали в свой город где-то во второй половине дня, мистер
Долтон предложил им отправиться прямо в какой-нибудь отель, так как их собственный
дом был заперт, а слугам не было сообщено о подготовке
к их приезду.

Эдита согласилась, и он снял для них обоих несколько веселых, красивых комнат в
первоклассном доме.

Прошла неделя, и ей показалось странным, что он больше не говорит о
возвращении домой; и однажды она осмелилась предложить их возвращение.

«Полагаю, мне здесь больше нравится», — сказал он, оглядывая
красивую комнату.

«Лучше, чем наш собственный просторный дом?» Эдита воскликнула, пораженная.

Она знала, что их элегантный дом на -й улице всегда был гордостью
его сердца, и единственное, о чем он оплакивал в Ньюпорте или
где-либо еще, было отсутствие комфорта и удобств их
элегантно обставленного дома.

После того, как он признался Эрлу, что он разоренный человек, что его дом и
мебель заложены, а закладная может быть аннулирована в любой день,
она великодушно предложила погасить ее, и теперь она была свободна от
долгов.

— Да, — ответил он на ее удивленное замечание. «дом кажется таким большим и
одиноким, что в нем всего два человека, кроме слуг, и, право, мне
никогда еще не было так комфортно ни в одной гостинице».

"Я знаю; но в собственном доме гораздо больше свободы, —
разочарованно сказала Эдита.

Жизнь в отеле всегда была ей неприятна, и ее отец тоже это знал. Но
ее предпочтения были для него второстепенными.

— Да, — сказал он. - Но в обеспечении семьи много забот
, и я избавлюсь от всего этого, если мы сядем на борт. Я предлагаю
снять дом на время; это даст нам неплохую небольшую сумму, и
так будет экономнее жить».

Эдита широко раскрыла глаза при этом новом уходе. Она никогда раньше не слышала,
чтобы ее отец проповедовал экономию; но она тотчас же увидела, в чем
заключалась выгода, и в душе очень вознегодовала на
него.

Если бы он арендовал дом, это действительно принесло бы ему солидную сумму, которую
он положил бы себе в карман, а счет за гостиницу, несомненно, состоял бы из ее
доходов; но, хотя она правильно его поняла, в какой-то мере она не
отдала ему должного за глубокий замысел, который он имел в виду.

Он думал, что г-н Трессалия, узнав, что они снова распрощались
с французами, попытается найти их и последовать за ними, как он это делал
раньше; и если бы он с госпожой и ее братом вздумал поискать
их там, в городе, и нашел бы их дом закрытым
или сданным внаем, они бы пришли к выводу, что их все еще нет
на каком-нибудь летнем курорте, и уехали бы. снова далеко. Таким образом, он полностью избежит их
.

Но дело кончилось, как и все подобные дела, уступчивым
согласием Эдиты.

                * * * * *

Некоторые моменты в рассказе Эдиты глубоко тронули мадам Сильвестр, и она
провела бессонную ночь после возвращения в отель в ночь вечеринки в
саду.

Она лежала, обозревая все вокруг, вспоминая мелочи, которые в то
время не имели для нее никакого значения, но теперь произвели на нее
сильное впечатление; она думала о странном влечении, которое она испытывала к
молодой девушке, и крутилась во многих других вещах, о которых
знали только она и ее брат, пока ей не показалось, что она не может дождаться
утра.

Как только мистер Трессалия появился, она отыскала его и задала
несколько вопросов, которые собиралась задать Эдите накануне вечером
, но не имела возможности, и эффект, который его ответы
произвели на нее, немало поразил его.

Она совсем потеряла самообладание, задрожала и страшно побледнела
, а слезы изрядно потекли по ее прекрасному лицу, когда, схватив обе
его руки в свои, она воскликнула:

«Мой друг Поль, ты показал себя добрым _джинном_ больше, чем один раз;
а теперь я могу рассказать вам кое-что, что вы хотели бы знать?

Конечно, он был очень любопытен по этому поводу; но природа тайны
не может быть раскрыта только здесь, хотя он считал ее настолько
важной, что чувствовал себя вправе немедленно обратиться к мистеру Далтону, чтобы
потребовать объяснений относительно некоторых вещей, которые произошли в его
ранней жизни.

Он вернулся к мадам с ошеломляющим известием, что мистер Далтон
и его спутники уехали ранним поездом.

"Ушел?" чуть не взвизгнула мадам Сильвестр. — Он знал это — он знал то, что я
тебе сказал. Я помню, как он появился прошлой ночью, когда встретил меня, и теперь
он убежал от меня».

И Поль, и мистер Гюстав Сильвестр теперь были в напряжении и
приступили к выяснению, куда делся мистер Далтон.

Официант, который их обслуживал, и носильщик, который помогал
выносить их сундуки, были опрошены и накормлены, но ни один из них не
заметил этикеток на багаже ;;отбывающих посетителей, так что место их
назначения вызывало сомнения.

Но в тот же день компания мадам также попрощалась с Саратогой, их
цель состояла в том, чтобы разыскать тайник Самнера Далтона и заставить
его совершить давно отложенный акт правосудия.
               




                CHAPTER XXIX
                THE MISSING PAPER


“How dare you enter this room at such an hour?” demanded the woman in
attendance, who, after the first shock had passed, quickly recovered
herself and was now prepared to do battle.

“We will have no words upon the subject just now, if you please—it is
one that will keep, for awhile, at least; get restoratives and revive
this fainting girl without delay,” Earle commanded, in quiet though
stern tones, and then bent anxiously over his unconscious loved one.

The woman, cowed by his authoritative manner, proceeded to attend Editha
at once, although it was with a face nearly as white as the waxen one
upon the pillow. With a sinking heart Earle stood by jealously watching
her every movement.

Editha, his darling, his promised wife, lay there looking more like a
beautiful piece of sculpture than like a human being who would ever
breathe or speak again, and a great fear took possession of him that she
never would recover. But the woman was evidently a good nurse, and,
under the influence of the restoratives she was using, Editha soon gave
signs of returning life.

When she at last opened her eyes, Earle was sitting by her side, and
smiled upon her as she looked at him, as if it was the most natural
thing in the world for him to be there.

Yet he actually held his breath, fearing that the shock of his presence
might make her swoon again.

“Earle!” she breathed, a look of awe stealing over her countenance.

The look told him that for the moment she believed herself dead, and to
have met him in another world.

“Yes, my darling, Earle, and no one else,” he said, softly, bending down
and touching her forehead with his lips. That caress brought her more to
herself. A wave of gladness swept over her face, her eyes lighted with a
beautiful and almost holy look of love, then, with a sigh that seemed to
throw off all its burdens and fear, every feature settled into
restfulness and peace.

“I am _so_ glad!” was all she could say, and that in a voice too weak
for anything but a whisper.

He could have bowed his head and wept over her to find her thus, all her
bright beauty faded, her strength nearly spent, almost dying, he feared.

But he knew he must control himself and minister to her, if he would
save her.

“Have you anything that will give her strength?” he asked, turning to
her attendant.

“Yes; there are wines and liquors in the cabinet, and beef-tea warm upon
the gas-stove in the bath-room.”

Earle had convinced himself with a glance before this that there was
only one door to the bath-room, and he now commanded her to bring some
of the beef-tea.

She brought it almost immediately.

“Taste it yourself first,” he said, curtly.

“You need not fear for her—I have no desire to have the life of _any_
one to answer for,” she said scornfully, and flushing.

“Drink some of it,” he persisted.

He would not trust her, and she swallowed a mouthful unhesitatingly.

He then slipped his arm gently under Editha’s pillow, and lifted her
until she could lean comfortably against his shoulder.

“Drink this now, dear, for my sake,” he said, putting the bowl to her
lips.

Without a question she obeyed, drinking slowly until the last drop had
disappeared, and Earle’s heart began to grow lighter.

If she would do that often she would soon be better, he thought.

“That will give you strength,” he said; “now lie down and try to sleep.
I shall not leave you again to-night, and when you are refreshed I will
let you talk with me a little.”

He laid her gently back, stopping to kiss her almost hueless lips as he
did so.

She put one hand up over the back of his neck and held him a moment so,
his face almost touching hers.

“You have saved me, Earle,” she said, feebly.

“I trust so, my injured darling,” he answered, with unsteady voice, and
then watched her while the tired eyes closed; the wan face settled into
peace, and she slept like a weary child.

Then he turned his attention to the woman, who had watched him with
wondering eyes all the while.

Pointing to a lounge on the opposite side of the room, he said:

“Madam, if you are weary you can lie down there until morning. I shall
take charge of your patient henceforth.”

“By what right?” she demanded, bridling.

“The right of her promised husband,” he answered, sternly.

The woman started violently, searched his face a moment, her own growing
very pale again.

“Are you——” she began, but her lips refused to complete the sentence.

“My name is Earle Wayne. Doubtless you have heard it before, and now
surmised as much,” he said, not pitying her agitation in the least.

“I do not believe it,” she at last said, in a low, angry tone, while at
the same time she steathily moved in the direction of the bell-pull.

Earle marked the movement.

“You will please sit over there,” he said, quietly, and pointing to the
lounge. “I am not in need of any assistance at present, and can summon
it myself if I think it necessary. It will be wiser for you to comply
with my request,” he added, sternly, as she hesitated. “If you make any
disturbance, I will have you lodged in a station-house in less than half
an hour.”

The woman cowed at once at this, and retreated in sullen silence to the
lounge, where, settling herself comfortably, she did not move again,
while Earle for the next two hours kept his vigil by Editha’s bedside,
where she slept quietly, sweetly, and refreshingly.

While she is thus sleeping we will take a bird’s-eye view of the time
that had elapsed since her encounter with Tom Drake, after leaving John
Loker’s house, and from which she was rescued by the sturdy policeman,
only to fall into still deeper trouble.

It will be remembered that after she had taken tea with her father she
repaired to her own room, where she made a careful copy of John Loker’s
confession, and then hid the original, with his signature attached,
beneath the cushion of her jewel-box. She then inclosed the copy in an
envelope addressed to Earle, and proceeded to write a long letter to
him, recounting her adventures of the evening.

Her father had gone out immediately after supper, the servants were all
abed in their rooms, and she was entirely alone in the front portion of
the house.

It had taken her so long to make a copy of the confession that she was
not half through with her letter when the cathedral clock near by struck
the hour of eleven.

Almost simultaneously with its last stroke the door of her room swung
noiselessly open, and a fierce, ugly face, half shaded by a slouch hat,
appeared in the aperture. A moment after the figure of a man entered,
the door was softly closed, and he advanced with a stealthy, cat-like
tread to where the young girl, who was deeply engaged in writing to her
lover, sat bending over her writing-desk. She was not conscious of the
presence of the intruder until, reaching for a new pen, she chanced to
raise her eyes, and saw him standing close by her side.

A cry of fright parted her lips as she instantly recognized the
repulsive features and burly form of Tom Drake. Without giving her time
to repeat her cry, he clapped his hand over her mouth in the same way he
had done earlier in the evening.

“Ah, ha! my plucky jade, did you think I would tamely give up the
chase?” he asked, with a horrible leer. “Not so, my pretty,” he
continued; “there is altogether too much at stake for that. But I can’t
stand here to hold you—will you promise to keep still if I’ll take my
hand from your mouth? You’d better, or I——”

He stopped short, with a fierce look that frightened her excessively.

“The old man is out,” he went on, as she did not make any sign of
promise. “I’ve been watching around all the evening—came directly here
after I was obliged to leave you so abruptly—ha, ha! and I saw him make
for the theater; he probably won’t be home for an hour or two yet, as I
have invited one of my friends to give him a little outside
entertainment on the way. The servants all went to bed more than an hour
ago, and you are completely in my power. Now, once for all, will you be
reasonable, and promise not to make a fuss?”

Editha saw that there was no way but to yield, and a feeling of
thankfulness stole over her, despite her terror at finding herself again
in the wretch’s power, that she had concealed John Loker’s confession
early in the evening.

She signified her assent to the villain’s terms by a motion of her head.

“Honor bright?” he asked, adding, fiercely: “I’ll choke you instanter if
you attempt to make any disturbance.”

She nodded again, and he at once released his hold of her.

“Now, little Miss Pluck,” he resumed, “what have you done with that
paper I asked you for once before? I want it, and _I’m going to have
it_. Do you hear?”

Editha did hear, and the lines about her small mouth settled into an
expression of unyielding firmness.

“You don’t mean to give it to me, hey?” he demanded, reading aright her
look.

She was too weak and excited from fright to speak, but she shook her
head resolutely.

“But I tell you I’m _going_ to have it, my lady, or it’ll be the worse
for _you_.”

A bright thought darted into her mind, and she immediately acted upon
it.

“If I will give you the paper, will you go away at once as quietly as
you came, and leave me and everything in the house unmolested?” she
asked.

“That’s the talk—now you’re sensible,” the ruffian returned, in a
satisfied tone.

“Do you promise?” she persisted.

“Yes; I’ll go instanter. You see it’s very important for my future
career that the little document doesn’t get into circulation; so hand it
over, and I’ll be off as quiet and quick as a mouse.”

Editha drew from the envelope she had addressed to Earle the copy she
had made, and passed it to him.

He reached out and took the envelope from her, and read the name written
upon the back before looking at the paper.

“So, ho! you were going to send it right to headquarters, were you?—and
I was just in the nick of time.”

Chuckling to himself, he unfolded the paper she had given him and began
to read.

The contents seemed to amuse him immensely, for he continued to chuckle
and laugh to himself all the way through; but his face grew stern and
threatening as he reached the end, and Editha’s heart failed her when he
said, fiercely:

“This won’t do, miss; this is only a copy, and I want the original. Hand
it over quick. Did you think I would be so readily cheated?”

“How do you know it is a copy?” she asked.

She had written that also with a pencil, as she could write more
rapidly, and she had thought perhaps he would think it was the one she
had written in John Loker’s house.

“Because I saw John Loker sign the other,” he said, with a malignant
scowl, adding: “Now, will you hand the other over to me?”

“No, sir, I will not,” was the firm reply.

He seemed staggered for a moment at this.

“You won’t?” he repeated, at length, with an oath, and fixing his eyes
upon her in a way that made her catch her breath and feel as if her
strength was forsaking her.

“Do you know,” he added, “that you are in the power of a desperate man?”

“Yes, I suppose so; but that paper is of more importance to me than any
other possession in the world.”

“Ah, ha! is that the way the wind blows? _He’s_ a lover, eh?” laughed
the villain, coarsely, and with a leer that made the blood boil in the
young girl’s veins and glow hotly in her cheeks. “Allow me to ask,” he
continued, with a sinister gleam in his eye, “if it is more precious to
you than your—_life_?”

She shrank from him in sudden terror at the question, but, after a
moment’s thought, she said:

“N-o, I cannot say that it is; but I do not think you would quite dare
to _murder_ me to get it. At all events _I shall not give it to you_.”

He looked at her with something akin to admiration on his face; he
evidently had not expected to find her so resolute, but at the same time
her obstinacy angered him.

“You think I would not _dare_ to put you out of the way?” he repeated,
savagely.

“What good would it do you? You surely would not accomplish your object
then,” Editha strove to say, dauntlessly, but feeling inwardly very weak
and trembling.

He saw the force of her argument and swore again, and, turning to her
writing-desk, began turning over its contents.

Of course, he did not find what he sought there, and then commenced a
general search of the room.

Bureau drawers, boxes, and every other receptacle that she had were
overturned and thoroughly searched.

Her closets also were ransacked, and the pockets of every dress turned
wrong side out, but with the same result.

Her jewel-casket stood on her dressing-case open, with all her jewelry
nicely arranged on its velvet cushion.

Editha’s heart stood still as she saw him approach this, but she did not
move or give a sign of the great fear that oppressed her.

He stooped and looked at the pretty things there, took up one or two and
examined them more closely, then laid them back again in their place,
and turned his attention to something else.

A mighty burden rolled from the fair girl’s heart as this danger was
passed.

She had expected he would put every article in his pocket, and then
perhaps turn the box upside down to seek for more; but evidently he did
not care for plunder to-night. At last he came and stood before her.

“I have searched everywhere. It must be upon your person,” he said, with
a desperate gleam in his eye.

She started from him with a look of terror.

“I swear to you that it is not anywhere about me,” she said. “As soon as
I made a copy of it I went and hid it, though I could not then have told
what made me do it. Now I know,” she added, thoughtfully.

He saw that she was speaking only truth, and in great perplexity he sat
down to think.

“Is it in this room?” he asked, at length.

“I shall not tell you,” Editha answered, her courage beginning to rise
as he became discouraged.

“Is it in this house?”

“I shall not tell you,” she repeated.

“You’re a—plucky piece,” he muttered between his teeth, and fixing his
fierce eyes again upon her in the strange way she had noticed before.

They seemed to transfix her, and a shuddering sensation pervaded her
frame whenever she met them.

“Do you mean to brave me and risk the consequences?” he demanded.

“If you ever gain that paper it will be through your own efforts alone.
I shall never _tell_ you where it is,” she replied, slowly and firmly.

He acted for a moment as if undecided what to do next. Then he took up
the letter she had been writing Earle and read it through.

She could not help this, of course, but her cheeks burned and her eyes
flashed indignantly as she thought of the tender little passages that
she had thrown in now and then, and that had been intended for her
lover’s eye alone.

She had told him a good deal of her adventure, and how that, as soon as
she had copied it, she had hidden the precious original; but strangely
enough she never mentioned even to him _where_, but said that no one but
herself knew of its hiding-place, and to-morrow she intended taking it
to Mr. Felton to see what he advised about it.

“Aha!” said the wretch, as he read this; “no one knows anything about
the precious document but yourself?”

“No.”

“And to-morrow you were intending to tell some one else about it,” he
said, rattling the letter he held in his hand.

“Yes.”

“And you are sure _nothing_ will make you give it to _me_?”

“Never!”

“Then there is but one thing left for me to do,” he muttered, striding
angrily toward her.

He seized both her hands in his, and again fixed his cruel eye upon
hers.

For one moment she looked defiance at him, though she was so frightened
by his manner that she had no power to cry out, nor make any effort to
release herself from his hold; the next her expression changed, and her
eyes began to droop.

“_Look at me!_” he commanded, bending nearer to her.

She obeyed, and gazed into his face as if suddenly fascinated.

For a moment he held her glance, while she felt as if all her will-power
was forsaking her.

He made a few passes over her head and face, touched her upon the pit of
the stomach, and she instantly became like a reed in his hands.

He had mesmerized her.




                CHAPTER XXX
                FLOWN


Yes, the strange man had mesmerized Editha Dalton.

He possessed that peculiar power, or magnetic influence, something of
which almost every one has either seen or heard, and which should never
be exercised except in the most judicious manner, and governed by
unquestionable principles.

To all appearances Editha was completely in his power, but whether it
was strong enough to make her comply with his every command or not yet
remained to be seen.

We have all learned something of the young girl’s strength of will, in
her resolute adherence to the right and her persistent opposition to
everything wrong.

Whether this was all instinct rooted and grounded in her nature, and
strengthened for years by conscientious cultivation, which would in a
measure protect her and prevent her from becoming his abject slave,
could not yet be determined. But he immediately proceeded to test his
power.

“Pick up and bring me that paper,” he commanded, pointing to the copy of
John Loker’s confession, which had fallen upon the floor.

She stooped obediently and handed it to him.

“Bring me your watch and chain,” was the next mandate.

She hesitated a moment. It had been a gift from Richard Forrester, was
very valuable, and she prized it above all her other trinkets.

“Bring it,” he repeated.

She went to do his bidding, and gave it to him without a murmur.

But he did not care for it, it seemed, as he laid it down upon her
writing-desk and left it there untouched.

“Now give me that ring from your finger,” he said, pointing to the
beautiful pearl that Earle had placed upon her hand.

She involuntarily clasped her hands tightly together, and stood staring
helplessly at him without obeying him.

“Take it off,” he repeated, more sternly; but she did not move.

He muttered a curse, and then bade her go bring the contents of her
jewel-box.

Instantly she turned to do his bidding, carefully gathered up every
article and brought them to him.

Then he commanded her to take them back and arrange them as they
belonged.

She unhesitatingly obeyed, quickly arranging everything in its place,
and giving no sign of the precious treasure concealed beneath.

Then she went and stood humbly before him again.

“Now go and get that paper signed by John Loker and bring it to me,” he
said, bending all the power of his will to influence her.

She took one step forward, her eyelids quivered, her nostrils dilated,
her bosom heaved; then she stopped, staring helplessly at him, while her
hands were again locked in a nervous clasp.

“Strange!” he muttered, with a frown.

He then issued several other commands, which she obediently executed,
and at last he told her once more to bring that paper, but with the same
result as before.

She would not do it. Her love for Earle, and her determination not to
yield anything connected with him, seemed to be an instinct stronger
than his power over her.

Again and again he tried to gain his point, but without avail, and, with
a perplexed and angry look, he muttered:

“It won’t do—my power is not strong enough yet—it will take time; but
she says no one knows where the paper is but herself, so _I will take
care of her_. She has hid what I want, and now I’ll hide her. It will be
risky business, but there is no other way; if I go away and leave her,
some one else will have it to-morrow morning, and then the whole world
will know.”

He sat thinking the matter over for some little time, Editha standing
patiently by him, as if waiting to do his bidding still further.

“Put those things on,” he said, at last, and pointing to a hat and
waterproof that had been thrown upon the floor.

She immediately put them on.

“Now get a vail and tie over your face.”

With the humility of a servant she obeyed him.

He then went to the door and looked out.

All was still.

The gas in both halls had been partially turned off, and now burned
dimly, and nothing was moving in all that great house.

He stepped back into the room, took Editha by the arm, and said,
roughly:

“You are to go with me—see that you make no noise.”

He then led her out, down the broad stairway, through the lower hall, to
the outer door.

In a moment more they were in the street, and he hurried her from the
place as fast as she was able to walk.

Reaching a corner several blocks away, he stopped by a carriage which
seemed to be waiting there.

This he bade Editha enter, then following her, gathered up the reins and
drove rapidly away.

Very early the next morning a very respectable appearing lady and her
invalid daughter, the latter much wrapped to shield her from the
weather, arrived at the quiet hotel before mentioned.

They had come from a distant part of the State—had been traveling all
night, madam said, in order that the sick girl might avail herself of
the skill of a noted physician residing in the city.

They took rooms in the upper story of the hotel; it was not so full
usually, and more quiet; besides, madam hinted, her daughter was
sometimes not quite herself, and they preferred being where they could
not disturb others.

She took a whole suite, as her son would occasionally visit them, and be
obliged to remain over night.

And thus Editha Dalton was spirited away from her home and hidden away
in the very heart of her own city, and there she remained for several
weeks until found so strangely by Earle.

Once established there, paying regularly for their accommodations, and
giving no trouble, they were regarded as very quiet and respectable
boarders, seldom going out except when the young lady was able to ride,
closely wrapped, and vailed, and magnetized, and always in a closed
carriage, always taking their meals in their own room, as the invalid
was “unable to go to the public table,” and madam was “unwilling to
leave her poor, dear child.”

Once in awhile a servant or the clerk, in passing through the upper hall
late at night, thought they heard a low sobbing and moaning in their
rooms, but they had been told something of the invalid’s infirmity, and
so gave themselves no uneasiness upon the subject.

And so right there in the very midst of the great city, with the
detectives at work all about them, and the excitement that the deep
mystery was creating, this great wrong was being perpetrated; and had it
not been for Earle Wayne’s strange whim to change his hotel upon that
particular night, when the house was so full, and madam’s “son” absent,
the story of Editha’s remarkable disappearance and rescue would never
have been related.

                *       *       *       *       *

When Editha awoke, after two hours of undisturbed refreshing sleep, she
found Earle still sitting beside her, and her former attendant, with her
face buried in her hands, sitting in sullen silence upon the lounge
opposite.

“I _did_ not dream it, then?” she said, looking up into her lover’s face
with a long-drawn, trembling sigh.

“No, my darling; you have slept too soundly to dream of anything. Are
you rested?” he asked, bending down to kiss the sweet quivering lips.

“Yes; but, oh! Earle, don’t let _him_ come back again,” she pleaded,
with a shudder, as she reached out her thin hand and grasped his with
nervous strength.

He bent his lips to her ear, and whispered:

“No, my own; he is safely locked within the next room, and he can never
hurt you again. Bring some more of that drink,” he added, addressing the
woman opposite.

She arose and obeyed, and Editha drank as eagerly as before.

“Could you eat something?” he asked, regarding with a thrill of pain the
thin hands that held the bowl.

“No, not now, Earle; I will wait and take breakfast with you by and by,”
she answered, with a bright, hopeful look into his anxious face.

“You are feeling better already?” he asked, eagerly.

“Yes,” she returned, with a ripple of happy laughter. “You know ‘a merry
heart doeth good like a medicine,’ and I feel very happy and _safe_ just
now.”

Indeed, she did not look like the same person that Earle had seen
through the transom.

Her eyes were now bright and hopeful, and her face shining with
happiness and content.

“You will let me talk now? I cannot sleep any more,” she said, as she
settled back upon the pillow which he arranged for her.

“If you are able, a little. I do not wish you to get too weary.”

“I want to tell you how I happen to be here—at least, all that I know
about it myself—and I have _such_ good news for you.”

“Then let it be in just as few words as possible, or the excitement will
be too much for you,” he replied, feeling greatly relieved to see her
looking so much brighter, and to hear her speak in her natural tone once
more.

She began by relating her visit to the Loker’s family, and the
confession of John Loker, her adventure with the ruffian upon the
street, her escape, and his subsequent entrance to her room during the
same night.

His face grew grave and troubled as she told him how persistently she
had refused to reveal the hiding-place of the precious paper.

“My darling, you ran a terrible risk; he might have taken your life,” he
said, with a shudder.

“But it was the only proof of _your honor_; it alone would give you back
the respect and esteem of men, and I _would not_ give it to him,” she
said, with a sparkle of the old defiance in her eye, then continued: “I
did not think he would quite dare do me any personal violence, and I was
willing to suffer a great deal rather than lose anything so precious. I
do not seem to remember much of what happened after he seized my hands
and looked at me in that dreadful way; only it seemed at times, when he
spoke to me, as if some force within me was trying to part soul and
body—until I found myself here with this strange woman. I was left
quietly with her for two or three days, when he came again and tried to
frighten me into telling him what he wanted to know. I always refused
until he lost his patience and temper, when he would dart toward me,
seize my hands, look into my eyes, and almost instantly everything would
be a blank to me, and when I came to myself again I would be so
exhausted and ill I could not rise.”

“The villain mesmerized you,” Earle said, with a white, stern face.

“Yes, that was the only explanation that I could think of to account for
his peculiar power over me. He has told me almost every time he came
that he would allow me to go home if I would tell him my secret; but, of
course, I would not do that when I was myself, and, from the fact of his
continuing to exercise his influence, I suppose I am just as wilful when
under his magnetic control regarding that one thing. Earle,” she
concluded, slipping her hand confidingly into his, “you have given me a
blessed release. I do not believe I could have borne it very much
longer, for I have been growing very weak of late; but my prayer night
and day has been that I might be spared to you, and that God would not
allow him to wring my precious secret from me.”

“Why did I find him torturing you with such strange questions about your
name and parentage to-night?” Earle asked.

Editha shook her head with a sad smile.

“He almost always came in the night; I suppose there was less danger of
his being discovered then; but as for his questions and my answers, I
know no more about them than you could have done during all these weeks.
Everything became a blank as soon as he touched me and looked at me in a
certain way, and I do not know, what I have done or said; I only know
that I have suffered horribly sometimes;” and a trembling seized her at
the remembrance.

“Woman, what have you to say regarding this strange story?” Earle
demanded, turning to the attendant, who had sat motionless during
Editha’s narrative.

“I have nothing to say,” she returned, lifting a defiant face to him.

“It will be better for you to show a friendly disposition,” Earle
returned, quietly. “I have this villain of whom Miss Dalton speaks
securely locked up and ready for the officers as soon as morning breaks,
and I will punish you to the extent of the law, also, unless you show a
disposition to do what is right.”

He then related how he happened to be there that night—how he had
searched for her so wearily, until he felt that he must have rest, and
coming there, and hearing her sobbing, he had been strangely impressed
that something was wrong, and had proceeded to investigate the matter.
He told how he had attacked Tom Drake in the hall, dragged and locked
him within his own room, and then resolved to enter hers.

The woman appeared greatly disturbed as she listened to this; she
evidently had not supposed anything so serious had happened to her
partner, and it was a very pale face that Earle looked into as he asked:

“Was it not mesmeric power that the wretch used to try to force Miss
Dalton’s secret from her?”

“Yes; it can do no harm to tell that much,” she muttered.

“What was the meaning of those very strange questions he put to her
to-night?”

She thought a moment, and then said:

“It was necessary for Miss Dalton’s health that she should go out at
times and get the air; but we never took her out unless she was
mesmerized, and Tom thought that if anything happened to us at any time,
and she should be questioned, if she answered as he taught her, no one
would suspect or molest her.”

“Is he in the habit of exercising his power over people in this way in
carrying on his nefarious business?” Earle demanded.

The woman would not reply, and Editha said:

“Whether he has ever carried it so far with any one else is doubtful;
but I heard him say once, when they both thought I was asleep, that
unless something turned up pretty soon he would be obliged to go to
lecturing again, and showing off in the old way, which I took to mean
that he had once lectured upon the subject of mesmerism, and tried his
experiments upon the public.”

“The wretch! He will have an opportunity to practice something else, and
show off in a different way before long, I’m thinking,” Earle answered,
sternly.

Day was beginning to break, and the occupants of the house were arousing
from their slumbers.

“My darling,” Earle said to Editha, “you must have a larger and more
airy room than this immediately;” and he arose and rang the bell.

“Earle, you will not leave me?” she said, the frightened look returning
to her face.

“No; I shall only go to the door to speak with the waiter; and you,”
turning to her attendant, “will please assist Miss Dalton to dress
meanwhile, so that she can be moved.”

The waiter soon knocked at the door, and Earle stepped just outside to
converse with him.

He told him something of what had happened during the night, and the man
expressed no little surprise at what he heard, and that the long lost
Miss Dalton had been concealed in that house. He then asked him if it
would be possible for him to give Miss Dalton a better room, and he
replied that some of the guests had already departed on an early train,
and he should have a first-class room at his disposal in fifteen
minutes.

A half-hour later Editha was borne into a beautiful apartment, where not
long after she and Earle breakfasted together, a heavy burden lifted
from both their hearts, while the former, happy in the presence of her
lover, seemed to grow brighter, stronger, and more like herself every
moment.

At eight o’clock Earle bethought himself of his prisoner, he having
locked the woman into the room as soon as Editha had been removed.

“When I have attended to that matter,” he said, drawing her tenderly to
him and kissing her now smiling lips, “I will telegraph immediately to
Mr. Dalton; and, darling, when he comes I have some joyful news to tell
you both. I do not fear that he will oppose any obstacles to our
marriage now. I trust all our troubles are over.”

Alas! they could not know that they were standing upon the brink of even
a more fearful precipice—about to be plunged into a deeper abyss of
grief and trouble than either had yet known. Earle went out for an
officer to arrest his prisoners, and, soon returning, proceeded to the
rooms where he had left them, as he thought, so secure.

Both doors were open! Both birds had flown!




                CHAPTER XXXI
                A STORMY INTERVIEW


The consternation that Earle and the officers experienced when they
discovered that both Tom Drake and his accomplice had escaped, can be
better imagined than described. But there was no help for it; the former
had undoubtedly had burglars’ instruments in his possession, and while
Editha was being removed and attended to, had picked the lock upon the
door where he was confined, and then released his companion in mischief
and fled.

The news that Miss Dalton was at last found, with many of the
circumstances attending her discovery, spread like wild-fire, and soon
brought numerous friends and acquaintances to see and congratulate her
upon the happy event.

Mr. Felton was among the first, and the old gentleman appeared as
rejoiced to see her as if she had been his own child, and was
enthusiastic in his praises of her courage and bravery in refusing to
give up the precious document that could alone restore Earle his honor.

Mr. Dalton was immediately telegraphed to, and three days later he,
also, made his appearance in her room at the hotel.

She had improved very rapidly during those three days, and though she
was still exceedingly weak and nervous, starting at the lightest noise,
the wild light returning to her eyes, yet the color was beginning to
return to her cheeks and lips, the music to her voice, and the old look
of brightness to her face.

Mr. Dalton greeted Editha with some show of fondness, but he appeared
anything but pleased when he heard of Earle’s return, and that it was
through his instrumentality that she obtained her release, and almost
immediately his manner began to assume its former coolness toward her.
But Miss Dalton was not a daughter to be slighted by any means, when she
had such a snug fortune of her own; and it now began to be whispered
quite generally that Mr. Dalton had been exceedingly unfortunate in some
of his speculations, and that it was a very fine thing that he could
have her income to fall back upon during this rainy day.

While he was not exactly uncivil or aggressive in his treatment of
Earle, yet he testified his displeasure at his presence by sullen looks,
sarcasm and sneers, until Earle more than once lost patience, and would
have had it out with him had he not feared that any trouble would be
serious injury to Editha in her weak state.

But although he was very forbearing and always courteous, yet he never
seemed to gain any ground with his enemy, and at last resolved to bring
matters to a crisis.

He called upon Mr. Dalton one morning at his own room, and formally
proposed for Editha’s hand in marriage. Of course he had anticipated a
refusal, and of course he got it.

“I think, Mr. Dalton,” he said, not at all disconcerted, “that if you
will listen while I explain to you something of the change that has
occurred in my prospects during the last few months, you will not only
be willing to waive all your objections, but give us both your blessing,
instead of so curt a refusal.”

Mr. Dalton sneered visibly at this; indeed his face was gradually
acquiring a habitual sneer, as if things generally were disturbing his
tranquillity.

“Ahem! Mr. Wayne, permit me to say that no change, _of whatever nature_,
in your prospects would affect my decision. You cannot marry Miss
Dalton.”

“But, sir, remember that no stain rests upon my name now. I am free from
every taint.”

“Indeed! I am glad that _you_ are so happy as to think so,” he returned,
satirically.

Earle flushed, but, controlling his indignation, he returned:

“I not only think so, but all the world will be obliged to acknowledge
it very soon, as I have already taken measures to have John Loker’s
confession made public.”

“What the world may think does not concern me at all; you will please
consider my answer as final and unalterable;” and he waived his hand as
if to dismiss the subject entirely.

Again the hot blood rushed to Earle’s very forehead, and it was all he
could do not to let his temper fly.

“Will you please to give me some reason for what seems to me an
unreasonable refusal?” he asked, quietly; then, after an instant’s
thought, he added. “I have lately fallen heir to quite a handsome
property, and can place Miss Dalton in a position befitting her worth.”

“I regret, for your sake, that I am unable to confer the favor requested
upon one _so noble_ and heir to such _brilliant_ prospects; but even
were it possible, allow me to ask what _name_ you could bestow upon Miss
Dalton?” and the look accompanying this question was so cunning and full
of malice that for a moment Earle was startled.

“The woman I wed will never have cause to blush for the name she bears,
sir,” he replied, with an indignant flush, and wondering if it was
possible that Mr. Dalton could know aught concerning his previous
history.

“Ah, indeed!” was the sarcastic reply. “I trust—I hope truly that you
may find one _worthy to bear it_. Miss Dalton cannot. I decline that
honor for her.”

“Miss Dalton is of age, I believe, sir,” Earle said, very quietly, but
the words were rather ominous.

“Miss Dalton is about twenty-two, Mr.—ah—_Wayne_.”

Why was it, Earle wondered, that Mr. Dalton almost always addressed him
in this peculiar way now, with a pause, an interjection, and that
strange emphasis on his last name?

But he replied to his last remark with a dignity that became him well:

“Then, sir, we will leave the question for her to decide, and abide by
her verdict. I desired to render you all due courtesy, but, of course,
you are as well aware as I that my seeking your approval was a mere
matter of form. Good-morning, sir.”

“Good-morning,” Mr. Dalton returned, with a mocking bow, and saw him
depart with a sinister smile and an almost fiendish chuckle.

Earle immediately sought Editha, and communicated the result of the
interview to her.

“I shall not ask you to run away with me, my darling,” he said, with a
fond smile, “for I must marry my wife in an honorable way. Neither shall
I use any arguments to try to persuade you to defy your father and marry
me openly. I shall leave it entirely with you. It must be just as your
own heart dictates. Editha, you must decide this matter for yourself and
me.”

“Oh, Earle, it is hard,” she said; “my heart tells me that I belong to
you, while a feeling of pity and affection prompts me to consider, as
far as is right, the feelings and wishes of my father. I cannot
understand him; he is so changed since mamma and Uncle Richard died, I
sometimes fear that his mind is affected.”

Earle thought that his mind was affected decidedly, being possessed with
an evil spirit of some kind.

“An impassable barrier seems to have arisen between us,” Editha
continued, sadly; “and he has taken such an unaccountable dislike to you
that it seems very strange to me. Let me think it all over for one
night, Earle. Come to me to-morrow at this time and you shall have my
answer.”

Earle complied with her request and left her, feeling sad and depressed
himself.

He knew that he ought to return immediately to Wycliffe. He had been
gone a long time now, and was trespassing more than he liked upon Mr.
Tressalia’s good nature; but he did not feel as if he could even think
of such a thing as returning and leaving Editha behind.

The more he considered the matter the more inexplicable Mr. Dalton’s
fierce spite against him appeared. It seemed so almost childishly
unreasonable that he would not even listen while he told him of his
prospects. He seemed to talk as if he was aware of something very
shameful and degrading connected with him, and yet he could not
understand how Mr. Dalton, here in America, could possibly know aught of
his previous history, or the shadow of shame that had hung over his
early life.

Then, too, his declaring that “_no change of whatever nature_” in his
prospects could affect his answer seemed to imply some deep and bitter
personal hatred that, not being conscious of ever having done him an
injury, he could not fathom.

“It surely could not be,” he thought, “because Richard Forrester had so
kindly remembered him at the time of his death, and it was a petty
feeling of jealousy.”

He had not touched the money which Editha had so nobly insisted upon
investing for him. It still lay accumulating in the bank, and would
remain there until the end of time for any use that he would make of it.

And so, after perplexing his brain over the matter, only to become more
deeply puzzled, he resolved to let it drop, hoping that everything would
come out right in the end.

Notwithstanding Mr. Dalton’s sarcastic and almost insulting language and
manner to him, Earle did not cherish the least feeling of ill-will
toward him.

At the time a feeling of indignation and impatience at his injustice
would momentarily arouse his hot blood, but this soon passed, and he
sincerely pitied him for being the slave of such unholy passions as he
manifested.

The next morning, feeling very uneasy and apprehensive of he knew not
what, he called, as Editha had desired.

He could not shake off the feeling that he was about to meet some
dreadful impending fate; it seemed almost as if a voiceless, wordless
warning was impressing him, and he found himself involuntarily repeating
the words of one who said:

                “Often do the spirits
              Of great events stride on before the events,
              And in to-day already walks to-morrow.”

He found Editha calm, but looking weary and very sad, as if the struggle
of deciding had been too much for her strength.

She came and went toward him, looking so pale that she seemed more like
some beautiful spirit about to fade from his sight than a woman whom he
longed to call “wife.”

“I have decided, Earle,” she said, the tears shining in her eyes as she
held out both hands to him in greeting.

He took them and drew her toward him, searching her fair face with his
anxious eyes.

“My darling!” he said, in low, intense pleading tones.

“I am going with _you_,” she whispered; and his arms instantly encircled
her, a low-spoken thanksgiving and blessing falling from his lips, the
burden rolling from his heart.

“Papa is already so estranged from me,” she continued, “that I know I
should be miserable to let you go back alone; you would be very unhappy
also.”

The closer clasp of the arms infolding her confirmed the truth of her
statements, and told her how very dear she was to him.

The golden head drooped and rested trustfully against his shoulder, and
she went on:

“Perhaps, when he sees how determined I am, he may relent and consent to
go with us. At all events, I feel that I have no right to ruin both our
lives, and yield to an unreasonable command of his.”

Before Earle could reply, Mr. Dalton himself entered the room.

“Ah! quite an affecting tableau,” he said, with a disagreeable sneer;
“it seems to be my privilege to—to have the benefit of these interesting
scenes.”

His eyes glittered with anger as they rested upon Earle, but he
continued, speaking to Editha:

“I must beg pardon for the intrusion; I merely came to say that I want
you to be ready to go to Newport next week.”

Editha flushed.

He had never spoken quite so peremptorily to her before; he had been
more willing to consult her convenience and pleasure, more especially
since he had in a measure been dependent upon her income to supply his
own wants.

She had seen, too, the look of malignant hatred which he had cast upon
Earle, and her spirit arose in rebellion against it.

She had quietly withdrawn from her lover’s embrace when the door opened,
but remained standing by his side.

“Papa, I—I am not going to Newport this summer,” she said, with outward
calmness; but Earle could almost feel her tremble, and his heart ached
for her, in prospect of the conflict which he knew must come.

“Not going to Newport!” Mr. Dalton said, with raised eyebrows and
well-feigned surprise. “Who ever heard of such a thing as our not going
to Newport during the summer? Of course you are going to Newport,
Editha; I could not think of leaving you at home alone, and—I should be
so exceedingly lonesome;” and he shot a cunning glance at the young
couple, that disagreeable sneer still upon his lips.

“Papa, I am really sorry if you will be lonely——” began Editha, a
tremble in her voice, when Earle quietly laid his hand upon hers and
stopped her.

“Mr. Dalton,” he said, in a cold, business-like tone, “we may as well
come to the point and have this matter settled once for all. Editha has
already decided to return with me to Europe as my wife.”

Instead of a blaze of anger, as he had expected, Mr. Dalton chuckled
audibly, and gleefully rubbed his hands together, as if this were really
a delightful piece of news to him.

But he took no more notice of Earle than if he had not been there.
Instead, he again addressed himself to Editha:

“My dear, did I understand that last statement of Mr.—ah—_Wayne’s_
correctly?”

“You did, papa,” she answered, but it was a great effort for her to
utter the three short words.

“You have decided to spend your future in Europe?”

“Yes, sir.”

She ventured to glance at him. She could understand neither his tone nor
his mood.

“You will leave your native land and go with a stranger to a foreign
country?”

“Earle is no stranger, papa,” she said, quickly; “we have known him for
years, and surely you ought to be willing to trust me with one so good
and true as he is.”

“So good and true!” he repeated, mockingly. “You are exceedingly fond of
Mr. Wayne?”

“Yes, sir, I _am_,” Editha now said, boldly, and turning her flashing
eyes full upon him.

Her indignation was rising—her patience giving out under his scathing
sarcasms.

“Mr. Wayne ought to be a happy man—he doubtless _is_ a happy man in
having so brave and fair a champion. It is so beautiful to witness such
entire trust and confidence—such fervent affection. My dear, you can go
to Europe with Mr. Wayne if you choose, I suppose, seeing that you have
attained your majority, as he has once hinted to me, but—_you cannot as
his wife_!”

The whole sentence was spoken with great apparent calmness and
deliberation, but his eyes glowed like a burning flame upon the lovers
standing so proudly side by side.

“If my majority gives me the right to choose upon one point, it does
upon the other also, I suppose,” she returned, coldly.

“Oh, no, my dear, you are entirely mistaken there,” returned Mr. Dalton,
with aggravating affability, and darting a fiery glance at Earle.

“Papa, I do not understand you in this mood at all,” Editha said, with
some hauteur; “but I will say, once for all, that I think you are
exceedingly unkind, as well as unreasonable. What possible objection can
you have to Earle in a moral point of view?”

A gleam of malicious amusement flashed over his face as he answered:

“You must excuse me, Editha, but—really—I should not presume to set
myself up as a judge upon Mr.—ah—_Wayne’s_ morals—nor indeed upon the
morals of any one.”

“Then I do not consider that you have any right, for a mere prejudice,
to ruin both his life and mine—our united happiness depends upon this
union; and, papa, I shall marry Mr. Wayne—if not _with_ your consent,
then without it,” she concluded, firmly.

“My dear, allow me to repeat, you _cannot_ marry Mr. Wayne.”

“And _I_ repeat that I _shall_ do so.”

Mr. Dalton chuckled again.

“Mr. _Wayne_ will, I suppose, be very _proud_ to bestow his _name_ upon
you,” he said, significantly.

“Allow me to ask what you mean to insinuate by that assertion?” Earle
here interposed, flushing deeply.

“Wayne is a name that one might well be proud of, if one had a _right_
to it,” he answered, maliciously.

“And you mean me to understand that you think I have no right to it?”

“I have my doubts upon the matter.”

“You think I am an impostor—that I have been seeking Miss Dalton’s
affections under false pretentions—under an assumed name?” Earle
demanded, with dignity.

“I _have_ had some such idea; yes,” Mr. Dalton answered, with a strange
smile.

“Mr. Dalton, _what_ do you mean? What do you really know about me?”

Mr. Dalton replied only by a low laugh, and Earle continued, with some
excitement:

“My name _is_ Earle Wayne—it is the name that my mother gave to me upon
my birth, and I will now say——”

“_Your mother!_” he interrupted, and a scornful, bitter laugh rang out,
making both his listeners shudder, it was so fiendishly unnatural.

“Papa, why do you talk like this? _Why_ are you so prejudiced against
Earle?” Editha burst forth, unable to bear any more.

“‘_Prejudice_’ is a _very mild term_, Editha,” he replied with
glittering eyes.

“What reason have you for hating him, then?” she cried, passionately.

“I have the very best reason in the world, according to my judgment, for
_hating not only him, but all that ever belonged to him_,” Mr. Dalton
answered, with deliberate emphasis.

“Sir,” exclaimed Earle, in startled surprise, “_what_ do you know about
me, or those belonging to me? and why do you still persist in saying
that Miss Dalton cannot be my wife, when she has distinctly stated that
she has decided the matter? What possible barrier can there be to our
union save the petty spite you so ignobly manifest toward me?”

Mr. Dalton laughed again at this—a low, mocking laugh—and rubbed his
hands in sardonic glee, while Earle regarded him in amazed perplexity,
and Editha wondered if her father was not losing his mind that he should
act thus.

“Does it surprise you, young man, that I appear to have some knowledge
of you? and shall I tell you, Editha Dalton, why you can _never_ become
his wife?” he asked, and Editha shivered and grew white at his ominous
words. “You know,” he continued, still addressing her, “that I never
tolerate or forgive opposition from any one—never forgive either a
fancied or a real wrong. Mine is a peculiar temperament, I know, yet I
am what I am, and those who foil or oppose me must take the
consequences. I have never _loved_ your devoted admirer, and since I
have discovered _his secret_——”

“Secret!” breathed both his listeners, in surprise.

“Yes, _secret_. Had you no secret when you came to Richard Forrester?”
demanded Mr. Dalton of Earle, and gnawing his lip savagely.

“Yes, I own that I had,” Earle answered, with a sigh; “but——”

“But a smooth tongue and lying lips will gloss almost anything over,”
his enemy interrupted, sneeringly.

“Papa, you are fearfully unjust. Earle is the soul of truth,” Editha
cried, indignantly, adding: “What if he had a secret?—he had a right to
it, and no one should seek to pry into it. At any rate, I do not believe
it is anything that affected his honor or nobility.”

“Thank you, Editha,” Earle said, gracefully. “I _had_ a secret, but,
thank Heaven, it need be a secret no longer; and if you will both listen
calmly, I will explain its nature to you; I have only been waiting for a
favorable opportunity to do so.”

“You hear, Editha?—he has a secret, and such a secret! Shall I tell it?
I think I can do so much more effectively than he. He is a ——”

We will not write the horrible word that sent every bit of blood back
upon Editha’s heart and made Earle speechless from astonishment and
indignation.

It was uttered with a venomous hatred such as few are capable of either
feeling or showing; and then, without waiting to note the effect of his
words, he went on, in wild and excited tones:

“Now, my fair champion of high-toned morality, is not that a piece of
news to make your ears tingle? You have dared to oppose me time and
again,” he continued, with a scowl at her; “you have set aside my wishes
and authority to favor _him_, until I am determined that you shall
suffer for it; and your punishment, as well as his, will be no light
one. Now, what have you to say? Have I not advanced a good and
sufficient reason for your not marrying him, or shall I be obliged to
add another and stronger one?”

He glared upon the fair girl, his whole face working with the passion
that raged within him.

For a moment she could not speak.

She glanced from him to Earle, who stood very pale but calm, and with a
slight curl upon his handsome lips.

For an instant he had been tempted to cast the lie in the teeth of his
foe, then he decided to await Editha’s reply.

She had not been whiter on that night when he had found her in the power
of Tom Drake than she was at this moment, and a weary, hunted look shone
in her blue eyes.

“I do not believe it,” she said, drawing herself to her full height;
“but even if it were true, it is _not_ a sufficient reason, for the sin
and shame are not his—they belong to a previous generation.”

A wild, mocking laugh burst from Mr. Dalton’s lips at this.

“Such disinterested devotion it has never been my pleasure to witness
before,” he cried.

Earle’s deep-drawn sigh of gratitude and thankfulness at Editha’s reply
had not been lost upon him, and it had seemed to work him up to the
highest pitch of excitement.

“Mr. Dalton——” the young man began.

“_Hush!_ will you? I’ll attend to you when I get through with her,” he
said, with a gesture of authority; “this girl has got to learn that she
cannot defy _me_ with impunity. Now, miss, as I’ve driven that nail
home, hadn’t I better clinch it? Shall I tell you yet more to convince
you that you can never marry this nameless vagabond?” and he bent toward
her until his evil face almost touched hers.

She drew back from him with an involuntary expression of disgust.

Then she said, with a strangely sinking heart and shaking voice:

“If you have anything more to tell me, please tell it _quick_!”

“A ‘_good, and sufficient reason_’ I told you I had,” he returned, very
slowly and deliberately, and glancing from one to the other to mark the
effect of his words. “Yes, it is; and I think you will both be obliged
to acknowledge it when I tell you that _Earle Wayne_, as he calls
himself, IS MY OWN SON!”




                CHAPTER XXXII
                THE TABLES TURNED

                “Revenge, at first though sweet,
                Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.”


Earle suddenly reeled at these astounding words, as if some one had
struck him a heavy blow.

“Mr. Dalton! Sir!” he cried, aghast, and regarding him for the moment in
helpless amazement.

“Papa!” Editha exclaimed, an expression of utter incredulity upon her
face.

She really thought that her father was deranged. She believed that he
had cherished his bitterness toward Earle until he had become a
monomaniac upon that point, and now, under the excitement of the moment,
and their defiance of him, he had lost his reason entirely.

“Does all this surprise you, my _children_?” Mr. Dalton asked, with a
gloating grin at Earle. “It is not to be wondered at,” he went on; “but
it is true, nevertheless. Earle Wayne, as he calls himself, though he
has no more right to the name than I have, is bone of my bone and flesh
of my flesh.”

Earle was terribly moved by his speech. His breath came labored and
heavily, his teeth were locked together, and his hands were clenched
until they were fairly livid.

He took one fierce stride forward, as if he could have felled the man to
the floor, then suddenly stopped, and asked, in low, concentrated tones:

“Prove what you have said! Is your real name Dalton?” yet even as he
asked the question a cold sweat settled upon his forehead and about his
mouth.

“Yes; I have always answered to the name of George Sumner Dalton, though
for brevity’s sake I dropped the first name many years ago.”

“_George Sumner Dalton!_” repeated Earle, mechanically.

“Yes, you have it correct. Do you recognize any part of it?” was the
mocking reply.

“I see, I see,” murmured the young man, pressing his hands upon his
temples, and looking as if he was paralyzed with the suddenness of the
intelligence.

Then all his mother’s sufferings—all the wrongs and disgraces of his own
early life suddenly surged over him with overwhelming force, and he
turned fiercely upon the man who dared to stand there and taunt him with
those cruel facts.

“Then _you_ are the man whom I have been looking for for seven long
years,” he cried. “_You_ are the wretch who plotted to betray my mother,
and you dare stand there and _own_ the dastardly act—you dare
acknowledge the deed that makes you a man to be shunned and despised by
all true, good men, brands you worse than a second Cain, and makes me
loathe you until my very soul is sick, notwithstanding that the same
blood may flow in our veins?”

“Earle! Earle! _what_ are you saying?” cried Editha, wildly, and
springing to his side, as the burning words fell with almost blighting
force from his lips. “Spare him, Earle—I do not think he knows what he
has been saying; this wild, wild story cannot be true; he must be
_mad_!” And she clung to him, trembling in every limb, her teeth
chattering with nervousness.

Earle himself shuddered as her words fell upon his ear, and his very
heart seemed dying within him as he bent a look of keenest anguish upon
her face.

Sumner Dalton his father and hers!

Could any torture more horrible than the knowledge of that fact be
poured out upon him?

Yet he saw that she did not credit the story—ay, it seemed too wild for
any one to credit. But he knew it was true.

He put his arm around her and led her to a seat.

“My darling—my darling!” he cried, in a voice of despair, “can we ever
bear it? I thought our sorrows were all at an end; they have but just
begun. God give us both strength to bear it.”

“Earle,” she said, with a piteous look into his quivering face, “you
_do_ not believe what he has said? Oh!” clasping her hands with a
frightened look, “just think what it means, if it _should_ be true. You
_do_ not believe it, Earle?”

He bowed his head until his forehead touched her golden hair, and
groaned aloud.

“My darling, I believe the knowledge will kill me, but _I know that it
is true_,” he said, in a hoarse and unnatural voice.

She shrank from his sheltering arm with a cry that rang in his ears for
years.

Folding his arms tight across his breast, as if to keep his hands from
performing a swift and terrible vengeance, Earle instantly turned and
faced the man who owned himself his father.

“You _know_ it, do you?” Mr. Dalton said, before he could speak. “You
own the relationship, then? You know all your mother’s story, and how
she cheated me, and kept me from the knowledge of who she was, the
position she occupied, and the great wealth she was to inherit some day?
If she had told _me_, I should to-day have been the father of the
Marquis of Wycliffe, and occupying one of the proudest positions in
England. I would have married her honorably if she had told me, but she
cheated me out of a magnificent fortune, and I stand here to-day a
ruined man, a beggar. Do you wonder that I hated _you_, for her sake,
when I found out who you were? Do you wonder that I have always hated
Marion Vance for defrauding me thus?”

“Hold!” cried Earle, so sternly that he stopped involuntarily. “Do not
dare to take my mother’s pure name upon your vile lips, nor vent your
petty spite upon her for what you were _alone_ to blame.”

“_Pure name!_” burst forth the furious man, recklessly. “Doubtless you
are very proud of it—the name that you should bear instead of the one
you do. But I have had my revenge, or at least a part of it; for, if
through her obstinacy I lost the glory which should have been mine, I
did not suffer alone—she was driven out, a nameless outcast, from her
ancestral home, never to enter there again, while her proud inheritance
descended to another branch of the family, though I don’t know who, and
made her offspring a beggar. If she had only told me that night in
London,” he went on, talking more to himself than to any one else, “I
would gladly have married her on the spot. But she didn’t; when she
found I wouldn’t compromise myself, she let her pride ruin both her and
me; and _how_ I have hated her ever since. But her suffering was the
greater, and I know her sensitive soul must have nearly died within her
at the idea of entailing her disgrace upon her offspring. Ah! if I could
have found her after that, I’d have made her pay the penalty for
cheating me so,” he concluded, with intense bitterness, remembering what
he had lost.

“Do not forget that _you_ were the traitor,” Earle said. “You lured her
on to destruction with soft words and smiles; you won her pure heart,
and tempted her into a secret marriage, professing to love her as simple
Marion Vance, and for the innocent love she lavished upon you. You did
all this to _amuse_ yourself and _pass away an idle summer_. She
believed you, and trusted in your honor, and she gloried in her secret,
because of the joyful surprise she would be able to give you when you
should go with her to her father to confess that she was your wife. If
you had been true to her, if you had not tried to play that dastardly
trick upon her, you might have attained to the greatness which your mean
and ambitious soul coveted. You _cheated yourself_, and now the meanest
of all traits that weak human nature is heir to is revealed in you—_you
hate the one you sought to injure, simply because you overreached
yourself, and the wrong recoiled in a measure upon you_.”

Sumner Dalton glared angrily at him, for Earle read his degraded nature
like an open book, and it was by no means pleasant to be compelled to
view the picture he had drawn.

“You appear to know all about your mother’s history,” he said at last,
with some curiosity.

“Yes,” he answered, with a look of pain; “I know it all—how she suffered
when you did not come to her—how anxious she grew when she discovered
that her honor must be vindicated, and you did not even write to her in
answer to her heart-rending appeals—how she determined that she would be
acknowledged as your lawful wife, and sought you in London one dismal
night, and begged you, with all the eloquence which she could command,
to right the wrong you had done her. Had you consented, she resolved to
tell you then and there of the brilliant future awaiting you. But you
spurned her from you instead—you turned coldly from her and her almost
idolatrous love, mocking her misery, and telling her that the woman you
married must be endowed with wealth and position—if she could assure you
of these, you would consent to make her an honorable wife; but you would
not marry her to save her from the shame that you had brought upon her.
Then it was that she learned your utter heartlessness—that you cared for
nothing or for no one but yourself and the things that would serve to
gratify your selfish ambition. She would not be an _unloved_ wife, and
she knew that when you should discover the greatness you had missed you
would be rightly punished; and so, in her pride, she turned from you in
silence regarding her prospects, vowing that she would not wed you then
if it would save both your lives; she resolved to bear her shame alone,
knowing that the day was not far distant when you would be willing to
sacrifice much to undo that wrong—when you would curse yourself for your
folly. I judge from your words to-day that that time did come—that you
suffered keenly when you discovered that the trap you had set for your
victim had also sprung on yourself. As I said before, you are the man
for whom I have been searching for the last seven years—that was the
business upon which I went that night when this house was robbed, and
returning became entangled in the affair. I thought I had gained a clew
to the whereabouts of a George Sumner, and I meant, if I found you, to
brand you the traitor and the coward that you are——”

“Softly—softly, young man,” interrupted Sumner Dalton, a white light
gleaming from his eyes. “I suppose you mean by that that you would like
to pommel me within an inch of my life; but this is a country which does
not permit such things—there are penalties for such indiscretions as
those, and as you have already served one term for the benefit of the
State, I hardly think you would enjoy another.”

Oh, how the heart of Earle Wayne rebelled against this insult! But he
knew that retribution did not always fall upon the offender in the form
of blows, and he answered, with quiet scorn:

“You mistake, sir. I would not degrade myself enough to lay even a
finger upon you.”

This shot told; Earle could see by the twitching of the muscles about
his mouth, and the sudden clenching of his hands, and he replied, with
malevolent spite:

“Yes; what you say is true—I am the George Sumner who enticed Marion
Vance into secret marriage. I got Austin Osgood to perform the
ceremony—a clever fellow, and always up to all sorts of mischief; but
the scamp has never shown his face to me since, for some unaccountable
reason. I must confess I did feel a little squeamish and sorry for the
girl when she took on so; but when I found how she had deceived me, I
had not a regret—I gloried in her shame, and the shame she must entail
upon her offspring. I gloried in the suffering I knew she would
experience, as day after day she looked upon her child and thought of
the noble inheritance she had deprived it of by her folly. A week after
she came to me one of my friends told me the story of Marion Vance’s
dishonor—how that all the world knew then that she had been driven from
her father’s house in disgrace. It was then that I learned _who_ she was
and _what_ I had lost. I left everything and began to search for her,
resolved I would make her marry me, so that our child might be born in
wedlock and inherit the estates of Wycliffe. But she had hidden herself
so securely that she could not be found, and, when the time had passed
that must elapse before her child was born, I gave up the search and
returned to America. But I had learned to hate her with all the strength
of my nature, and if by any means I had ever encountered her, I would
have crushed her as relentlessly as I would crush a reptile. When I
discovered that you were her son, I knew that through you I could
doubtless make her suffer, and I meant to crush you, too. Now you know
why I have been your bitter foe for all these years,” he concluded, with
a look so baleful that Earle turned away in disgust.

“My mother is forever beyond your reach—she died more than seven years
ago,” he said, solemnly. A slight shiver disturbed Sumner Dalton’s
frame, but he made no reply.

“How did you discover that I was Marion Vance’s child?” Earle asked,
after a few moments of silence.

Mr. Dalton laughed, but a feeling of shame made him color,
notwithstanding.

“Perhaps you remember leaving a package of papers with Richard Forrester
for safe keeping while you were absent for three years,” he said,
recklessly. “He left them with Editha when he died, and, I being
somewhat curious to know what was so carefully guarded by so large a
seal, I took the liberty to inspect them, little thinking that I should
discover so _near_ and _dear_ a relative by so doing.”

Editha here started up, and, lifting her white face from her trembling
hands, cried out:

“Shame!”

“Thank you; a very respectful way of addressing a parent,” Mr. Dalton
sneered, while Earle’s lip curled disdainfully, and a hot flush again
mounted to his brow. “I must say, however,” Mr. Dalton continued, “that
the package was not worthy of the effort it cost me to open it, and
contained nothing of interest to me beyond the pictures and writing that
proved to me you were Marion Vance’s child, unless, I except some
hieroglyphics on a piece of cardboard that I could not read.”

Earle’s expression was a peculiar one, as he asked:

“Did you examine that piece of cardboard critically?”

“No; I tossed it one side when I found I could not read it.”

“I have it with me now—I always carry it with me, for it contains matter
of the most vital importance to me, and might possibly interest you
considerably.”

He drew it from his pocket as he spoke, and held it so that Mr. Dalton
could see the writing in cipher.

He recognized it instantly.

“These hieroglyphics, as you call them, merely tell what the cardboard
contains.”

“What it contains!” repeated Mr. Dalton, his curiosity now fully
aroused.

To him it appeared only a single piece of rather heavy cardboard.

“Yes; if you had examined it carefully you would have noticed that it is
apparently composed of three layers, but the middle one is cut out very
near the edge, so as to allow of some closely written sheets of thin
paper to be inserted. I remove one end of what appears the middle
layer—thus, and you perceive that the papers easily slide out of their
pocket.”

He held it upside down, gave it a little shake, and some very thin
sheets of paper, upon which there was writing, with another long, narrow
slip which was not so thin, fell upon the table.

“This, perhaps, may contain something of interest to you,” Earle said,
taking the latter up and holding it before Mr. Dalton.

It was the marriage certificate which the old rector had given Marion on
the evening of her marriage.

He laughed long, loud, and scornfully as he saw it.

“I always thought Austin Osgood carried matters a little too far when he
dared to sign the old rector’s name to a real marriage certificate, and
give it to Marion. But I suppose it made it seem more real to the girl,
only I wonder at her keeping the useless paper after she discovered the
fraud. As for Austin, I told you before, I never saw him again. Perhaps
he, also, thought he had gone too far in the matter, and was afraid he
might be overhauled for forgery.”

Earle did not make any reply to these remarks; he merely returned the
certificate to the cardboard pocket and took up another paper.

“Here is some information that I stumbled upon purely by accident—no, I
should not say that,” he added, in a reverent tone; “I ought to say, a
Divine Providence led me to it. Shall I read it to you, or will you read
it for yourself? It is very closely connected with that little drama in
St. John’s Chapel at Winchelsea.”

Mr. Dalton moved uneasily in his chair. Somehow the words of this grave,
calm young man, with his self-contained bearing, and a suspicion of
great reserve force about him, made him feel as if he might have the
advantage in his hands.

He began to fear that those papers might contain something very
disagreeable, and something that had been reserved especially for him.

What could Earle Wayne have been searching for him for during all these
years?

Surely not merely to acquaint him with the fact that he knew he was the
illegitimate son of himself and Marion Vance.

But he held out his hand for the paper, preferring to read it for
himself.

Earle gave it to him, saying:

“This is simply a copy of something in Bishop Grafton’s diary. I made it
myself from the original.”

Sumner Dalton unfolded that paper with a feeling of great uneasiness,
and began to read how the sexton had confessed the trouble on his mind
to the rector—how the old man had himself gone to the chapel, and,
concealing himself, had seen a young man come into the robing-room,
disguise himself, and then proceed to assume the sacred vestures.

He read how the rector had interposed, ascertained the names of the
young couple, driven the accomplice ignominiously from the field, filled
out and signed the marriage certificate, and then himself proceeded to
the chapel and married the unsuspecting pair.

A terrible oath leaped from Sumner Dalton’s lips, and the paper dropped
from his nerveless hand, as he finished reading this startling
revelation.

“It is a lie!” he cried, his face ashen, and a great fear in his eyes.

“It is no lie,” Earle returned, sternly. “I went myself to see the place
where I supposed my gentle mother had been so cruelly deceived. I sought
the sexton, and he told me concerning his part in the transaction, and
then directed me to Bishop Grafton’s daughter for further information,
he being dead. She was only too glad to aid me—told me of her father’s
diary, and what she had read of this there. She then brought it to me,
and kindly allowed me to make this copy. The signature upon the marriage
certificate corresponds exactly with his own in the journal, and Miss
Grafton is perfectly willing that any one interested or concerned in
this matter should see the original. There is a little more,” Earle
added, taking up another paper, “which I think will convince you beyond
a doubt of the truth of what you have already read.”

He then read himself aloud how the good man’s heart had been troubled on
account of the young and tender maiden, and, fearing that some great
trouble might come to her, he had resolved to make that last entry in
his diary;

  “MARRIED—In St. John’s Chapel, Winchelsea, August 11th, 18—, by the
  Reverend Joshua Grafton, bishop, and rector of St. John’s parish,
  George Sumner, of Rye, to Miss Marion Vance, also of Rye. I take my
  oath that this is a true statement.

  “September 10th, 18—. JOSHUA GRAFTON, Rector.”

For what seemed a long time after the reading of this, Sumner Dalton sat
as if turned to stone, his face white as his shirt-bosom, his eyes wild
and staring, and his hands locked together in a painful clasp.

Then starting up with an exclamation of horror, he cried:

“Then I have been doubly cheated and duped. No wonder that Austin Osgood
never dared to come near me again.”

“And,” Earle said, quietly and impressively, “Marion Vance’s honor was
never marred by the shadow of a stain, though she suffered the same as
if it had been, and—_her son was not born illegitimate_!”




                CHAPTER XXXIII
                “I OWE YOU NOTHING”


“Oh, why did I not know of this?” groaned Sumner Dalton, beating his
brow with his hands. “I was, after all, the legal husband of the heiress
of Wycliffe. All these years I might have occupied that proud position,
and with unlimited wealth at my command. It is too much—too much to
bear. What evil genius has been pursuing me all my life, that I should
have missed it all?”

“That ‘evil genius,’ as you term it, was but your own villainy—the
spirit that rules in your own evil heart. You sought to ruin an innocent
girl, and you overreached yourself. For once justice and punishment has
been meted out where it belongs, and you have no one to blame for it but
yourself,” Earle answered, sternly.

“’Tis _false_! She should have told me. She had no right to hide the
knowledge from me—her husband.”

“You forget that you scorned her, and told her she had no claim upon
you, and also that you refused to give her any right to call you
husband.”

“But she had no business to consent to marry me under such false
pretenses. ’Twas _she_ who has kept me from my rights, when I might have
been master of Wycliffe all these years—twenty-five years of glory and
honor lost. It is _too_ much; and if I could make her feel my vengeance
now I would,” he groaned.

Earle turned from him, almost sick with disgust.

He was like many other people who have sought to do another some
irreparable injury. He hated his blameless victim because, having
overreached himself, the wrong had at last rebounded upon himself, and
he was the chief sufferer from his own folly.

Gentle Marion Vance had done him no conscious wrong. She had loved and
trusted him; she would have devoted her life to him and his interests.
But, although he had not really succeeded in destroying her, and
entailing lasting dishonor upon her name, yet she had suffered for the
time as if he had accomplished his purpose.

But the truth had triumphed at last, as it always does. He stood exposed
in all his baseness; his evil doings were revealed, and the shame and
injury done to himself were far greater than he had ever dreamed of
bringing upon her. Marion at last stood vindicated before the world as
the pure and innocent girl she was, while the whole black catalogue of
Sumner Dalton’s guilt was now sweeping down like an avalanche upon him,
threatening to ruin and crush him utterly.

He might live ten, twenty, even thirty years longer, but his treachery
would follow him forever; it would never be forgotten by any one who had
known of it. Henceforth he would be a marked man, and one never more to
be trusted or honored.

“Stay!” Mr. Dalton suddenly exclaimed, as if a new thought had struck
him. “The legal husband of Marion Vance would have rights there even
now. I will see to this matter. Who has been master at Wycliffe all
these years?”

“Warrenton Fairfield Vance, my mother’s father, has ruled there until
his death, which occurred only a few months ago,” Earle answered,
quietly, but reading at once what was passing in the man’s mind.

“And who came into the property then?” he demanded, eagerly.

“A cousin of my mother’s—Paul Tressalia by name.”

“Zounds! Girl, do you hear that?” exclaimed Mr. Dalton, very much
astonished, and turning to Editha. “But——” he began again, with a
perplexed look.

“But he is not master there now,” Earle interrupted, calmly.

“Ah!” Mr. Dalton uttered, leaning forward with breathless interest, half
expecting what was to follow.

“_I_ am now the acknowledged Marquis of Wycliffe and Viscount Wayne,”
Earle said.

“Have you proved your claim? Was it not contested? How——”

Mr. Dalton was very much excited, so much so that he trembled visibly,
and leaned back, white and weak, in his chair.

“I have proved my claim; it was not contested,” the young man began.
“When I first discovered that my mother’s marriage was valid, and that I
was the rightful heir to Wycliffe, I thought I would go at once and
compel my grandfather to acknowledge me as such. But he had been so
stern and cruel to my mother that I recoiled from him. I was under age,
and I knew he would be apt to deal sternly with me also, and demand
implicit obedience to him. I knew if I went to him he would in all
probability refuse to allow me to follow the course I had marked out for
myself. So I resolved I would never cross the threshold over which my
mother had been so relentlessly driven until I had either discovered the
man who had so wronged her, and could tell the marquis that I had found
him and proved that he had legally bound himself to her, or until his
death, when of course it would become necessary that I should reveal my
identity. So I began my lonely wanderings upon a very uncertain mission.
I discovered upon inquiry that a George Sumner had been studying at a
certain German university. I immediately repaired thither, and found,
upon examining the books, that he was an American from a certain town in
the State of New York. And now allow me to ask why you registered only a
part of your name instead of the whole?” Earle asked, pausing.

“It does not matter,” Mr. Dalton muttered, uneasily, and with a rising
flush.

It might as well be mentioned here what Earle afterward discovered, that
he became implicated in a very shameful affair while studying in a noted
college of his own country, and was expelled in deep disgrace, whereupon
he had immediately gone abroad to finish his course in the German
university referred to.

Fearing that there might be other American students there who knew of
the disgraceful affair in which he had been a leader, he resolved not to
give his whole name, and thus escaped being a marked man.

He accordingly gave only his first two names, and though there were, as
he feared, other students there who did know of the escapade connected
with his previous college life, yet they never suspected that George
Sumner and George Dalton, as he had before been known, were the same
person. With a slight curl of his lip at the man’s reply, Earle
continued:

“As soon as I found he was an American, I resolved to come to America
and prosecute my search. But I was a poor boy; I had refused the aid
which my grandfather had hitherto given my mother—I could not use the
money of a man who had so long disowned me, even though it might belong
to me by right—and so I was obliged to do something for my support. That
was how I came to be in Mr. Forrester’s employ; and every holiday, every
spare day that he would grant me, I devoted to my search. I procured the
directories of several cities, and studied up all the Sumners they
contained, but could find none, upon seeking them out, who answered to
the George Sumner that my dying mother had described to me.

“I never thought of such a thing as you being the man I was seeking; had
I even suspected it, I never should have had to serve those three years
in that miserable prison; for, as I told you before, it was while
searching for you that I became entangled in that robbery. You, it
seems, knew, during the greater part of my imprisonment, of the relation
I sustained toward you. It would seem as if common humanity would have
prompted you to make some effort for my release, or, at least, for a
mitigation of my sentence; but instead, you sought to deprive me of the
only comfort I had, for I am convinced that it was you who intercepted
all the flowers and kind messages which I should otherwise have
received.”

Earle fixed his stern glance upon Mr. Dalton as he said this, and knew
by the guilty way his eyes fell that he was correct in his surmise.

“I do not wonder at it, now that I know something of your nature, but it
will only be an added thorn planted in your pillow of remorse, as will
also be the injuries which you sought to do me after my release, and in
the end you will be the worst sufferer. But in spite of your every
effort I conquered. I was beginning to make for myself a name and
reputation, when I read in a paper of the death of the Marquis of
Wycliffe. He had been dead some time, for this notice was only an item
gleaned from European news, and reported in connection with the fact
that Mr. Tressalia, of Newport fame, had succeeded to his vast property.
I knew then that I must attend to my claim at once, and I immediately
left for Europe. I found Mr. Tressalia, as I expected, already
established as the Marquis of Wycliffe; but, like the noble man that he
is, when he found that I was the rightful heir he relinquished
everything and kindly assisted me in establishing my identity. Then,
feeling that the change in my prospects would be sufficient to make you
waive all objections regarding me, I left my affairs in his hands, and
returned for Editha——”

Earle suddenly stopped appalled—he could not go on. All his dreams of
happiness were at an end now; that hour had crushed his every
hope—Editha Dalton was his half-sister, and he must never dare to think
of her again as becoming his wife.

But, God forgive him! he could never love her as a sister.

His great heart swelled within him with agony at the thought; the veins
upon his forehead filled out hard and full, while the perspiration
gathered upon his face, and, rolling off, dropped upon the floor.

Editha Dalton his half-sister!

He could not realize it, and it was the bitterest blow his life had ever
known. How could he live all the long years that were before him, with
the sin of this undying love clinging to him?

Now he knew something of what Paul Tressalia must have suffered from his
unrequited affection.

Paul Tressalia!

The thought of him thrilled him with a sharper, fiercer pain.

Perhaps in time, now that Editha was lost to him, he might succeed in
winning her.

It was too much for him to bear silently, and, bowing his head upon the
table near which he had sat down, he groaned aloud.

Sumner Dalton smiled at the sound, while a cunning, sinister expression
crept into his eyes. It did him good to know that Earle could suffer,
and his strange hatred of him on his mother’s account made him inwardly
exult over the sight.

But he had been revolving matters of importance in his mind while Earle
was talking.

He had been immeasurably startled and mortified to learn how the rector
of St. John’s chapel at Winchelsea had outwitted him, and fearfully
angry and irritated when he realized how he had missed all the luxuries
and magnificence of Wycliffe for so many years.

If he had only known that the marriage had been legal when he had opened
that package and discovered that Earle was his son and heir of all the
Marquis of Wycliffe’s great possessions, how differently he would have
conducted himself.

If he could but have known what that piece of cardboard contained—if he
could have read all this evidence then, and assured himself of its
truth, as he would have taken pains to have done, how eagerly he would
have worked for Earle’s release, and canceled every evidence of the evil
passion within him. He would then have made peace with him, and have
reaped all the advantages which the father of so noted a person as the
future Marquis of Wycliffe would be would naturally enjoy.

But a faint hope animated him that perhaps it might not be too late,
after all.

Earle was his son—that fact was established beyond a doubt—and he had
said he would never stoop to anything like revenge; he had once said
that he would not avail himself of the slightest advantage to do him an
injury; he had also said that he desired to put in practice the mandate,
“Love your enemies, do good to those who despitefully injure you.” If
that was the case he would doubtless be ready to forgive him for all the
wrong he had done him in the past, and if he expressed sorrow in a
proper manner he would doubtless receive him into favor, and he could
after all be able to worm himself into Wycliffe and be looked up to and
honored as the father of the young marquis. It was strange that no
feelings of guilt or shame restrained him. He did not hate Marion one
whit the less, nor Earle either, because he henceforth might be able to
enjoy what had so long been denied him.

But he was resolved to make the fact of their relationship serve him a
good turn; he would get all he could out of him, gratify every selfish
desire, accept every good thing that he could possibly worm out of him,
and let all the former wrong he had done him go for naught.

He still hated him, I say, as such natures always hate those who have
risen triumphant above them, and he would have gloried in it if he could
have hurled him from his proud position and made the whole world despise
and hate him likewise; but, as long as there was any prospect of
advantage to be gained for himself, he must hide it and put on the
semblance of regret and future good-will.

“You say that your claim is indisputably established at Wycliffe?” he
asked, after he had thought these things well over.

“Yes,” Earle answered, lifting his haggard face, with a heavy sigh;
“everything was so clearly proved that no one could gainsay it.”

“That is exceedingly fortunate. When shall you return?”

“Immediately,” Earle said, with white lips.

“How did you find the estates and rent-roll?” Mr. Dalton asked, with
another cunning gleam in his eyes.

“In a very flourishing condition,” Earle answered briefly.

He was beginning to mistrust toward what these inquiries were tending.

“But what will you do? You have never had any experience in managing so
large a property.”

“I can learn, sir.”

“I know; but that would be so tedious, and you are liable to make many
mistakes. You need some one older and wiser than yourself to advise
you.”

Mr. Dalton hesitates a moment and leans nearer Earle, eagerly searching
his handsome face. But Earle sits pale and quiet, knowing, nevertheless,
what is to follow, and conscious also of what the result will be.

“If—if,” began Mr. Dalton, with some hesitation, “you could
be—ahem!—persuaded to—to overlook the past—if we could make a treaty to
bury the hatchet, and be at peace. I—I really regret, you know, all that
has gone by—and if we could come to some sort of terms, I—would consent
to return to Wycliffe with you, and give you the benefit of my superior
judgment and advice.”

Such amazing disinterestedness, such unblushing assurance was absolutely
startling.

A quick, hot flush mounted to Earle’s brow, and for a moment his lips
trembled as if scathing and terrible words rushed unbidden there for
utterance.

Then he lifted his dark eyes and fixed them in a quiet, steady gaze upon
the man opposite him.

Sumner Dalton could not meet that gaze unmoved. In spite of his
hardihood, a blush of confusion mantled his face, and his guilty look
told that all sense of shame was not yet quite dead within him.

“When I was simply Earle Wayne,” he began, without removing his glance,
“a poor boy working for his daily bread, I was considered unworthy of
your notice. When misfortune overtook me and I became a criminal in the
sight of the law, even after you knew that it was your son who had been
sentenced to hard labor for three years, you made no effort to help
me—you did not come near me to offer me one kind and sympathizing word
even. When your daughter was kind to me, and I dared to feel a tender
regard for her, you resolved to crush me. When a kind friend remembered
me on his death-bed, you would have wrested from me the comparatively
small sum that he had bequeathed to me out of his abundance. You have
scorned, insulted, and wronged me in every possible way. You have even
owned to an implacable enmity toward me. For all this I could forgive
you, if convinced that you were truly repentant, since it was against me
alone that all your malice and hatred were turned; but for the slight,
the scorn, and the misery which you plotted, and, to all intents and
purposes, executed against my gentle and innocent mother, I cannot. I
have no right to forgive you. By your own wickedness and folly you have
forfeited all right to be acknowledged as either her husband or my
father. Mr. Dalton, _you_ can never cross the threshold of Wycliffe.”

He had listened to Earle with a sinking heart, and when he concluded he
fairly gnashed his teeth from anger and disappointment.

Earle had spoken very quietly. There was not the slightest excitement
visible in his manner, but every word had in it the ring of an
unalterable purpose.

“Do you mean it?” Mr. Dalton asked, in low, repressed tones.

“Most emphatically, sir; _you_ can never enter the home from which my
mother was driven in disgrace on account of your baseness and
treachery.”

Mr. Dalton sat in sullen thought for awhile. How he hated this calm,
proud young man, from whom, even though he was his own son, he knew he
had no right to expect anything of respect or consideration.

But the things of the world were desperate with him just at present, and
he controlled his fierce passion to make one last appeal.

It was true that Editha still had her fortune, and while she still
remained single he knew he need not want for anything within reason;
still he could not in any way control her property, and all he received
had to come through her hands, which, to a man so proud and spirited as
himself, was, to say the least, humiliating.

But if he could but once lay hand upon the overflowing coffers of
Wycliffe his future would be one long day of luxury and pleasure, and,
having been wronged out of his share for so many years, he would feel no
compunctions about scattering with lavish hand the shining treasure of
the house of Vance.

“I will be frank with you,” he said, trying to speak in a conciliatory
tone. “I am a ruined man. I have been speculating, and every dollar of
my handsome property is gone. Even my house and furniture are mortgaged,
and liable to be taken from me any day. I say again I regret the past
sincerely;” and so he did, so much of it as had served to keep him out
of Wycliffe, though no part of his sin. “I wish to be at peace with you,
but if you turn against me now, I must come down to the level of the
common herd.”

To the level of the common herd! How the words galled Earle. He would
sink to the level of the common herd, of which he had once believed his
mother was one, and so it had not mattered if he had ruined her.

Bitter words arose to his lips; his heart was full of scorn and
indignation, but he controlled it, and answered, as calmly as before,
but with an unmoved face:

“I regret that you have been so unfortunate—speculating is very
precarious business, but I can never consent to your becoming an inmate
of Wycliffe, or of the home where I reside. It would not be right that I
should overlook the past and treat you as if you had been guilty of no
wrong; you have no right to expect me to entertain anything of either
respect or affection for you, even though the same blood may flow in our
veins—you have forfeited all right and title to any such feelings. I
must, on the other hand, frankly confess to an aversion for you, but I
would harbor no ill-will, I would do you no injury even though I cannot
tolerate your presence.”

“Is this your creed?” burst forth Mr. Dalton, unable to control himself
any longer. “Is this your boasted forgiveness of your enemies—your
‘good-will toward men?’”

“You do not _wish_ to be forgiven—you have no _real sorrow_ for your
sin. If any effort of mine could serve to make you truly repentant
before God, I would not spare it. If you were sick and needy, I would
minister to you, for my Master’s sake, as I would to any other stranger.
But your feelings toward me are unchanged—were it not for what I
_possess_, you would not even now make these overtures to me, and all
idea of our residing under the same roof, or of sharing anything in
common, is entirely out of the question. Still, I repeat, I bear you no
malice, or cherish no spirit of revenge toward you, and to prove it,
since you have been so unfortunate, I will make over to you, if Editha
does not object, the ten thousand dollars which Mr. Forrester bequeathed
to me, and which has remained untouched since she invested it for me.
The interest of that will give you a comfortable living during the
remainder of your life, if you do not touch the principal.”

A perfect tornado of wrath raged in Sumner Dalton’s breast at this
calmly spoken but unalterable decision.

“So you will deign to give me, _your father_, a paltry ten thousand out
of your exhaustless revenue!” he sneered, with exceeding bitterness.

“I owe you _nothing_ on the score of relationship,” Earle answered,
coldly; “and as for the ‘paltry ten thousand,’ allow me to remind you
that you did not consider it in that light when Mr. Forrester bequeathed
it to me.”

Again Mr. Dalton flushed.

How all his sins, one after another, were being visited upon himself.

With a fearful look of rage and hate convulsing his features, he leaned
toward Earle and hissed:

“I would crush you this instant if I could; there is nothing of all the
world’s ills too horrible for me to wish upon you, and I will yet be
revenged upon you for what I have suffered this day. I will yet make you
feel the power of my hate!” and he glanced darkly toward Editha as he
said this.

Earle’s eyes involuntarily followed his look, and the bitterness of
death seemed upon him as he realized that they two would have a
life-long sorrow to bear.

A sudden fear startled him, as Mr. Dalton spoke, that he contemplated
injury to her in order to carry out the revenge he meant to wreak upon
him.

“You will be very careful _what_ you do,” he said, with a sternness that
cowed the man in spite of his bravado; “you will not forget that you
occupy a very delicate position even now, and that I have it in my power
to make your own future very uncomfortable.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Mr. Dalton, with glittering eyes.

“I mean that if I choose I can make you answerable to the law; for,
while one wife was living, you married another, and are liable at any
time to be prosecuted for bigamy.”

Sumner Dalton swore a fearful oath, his white face testifying to the
dreadful punishment which anything of such a nature would be to him,
while a low, heart-rending moan burst at the same moment from Editha.




                CHAPTER XXXIV
                “IS THERE NO WAY OF ESCAPE?”


Earle started at that sound. His mind was so intent upon dealing with
the strange man who claimed to be his father that he had not considered
how his words might wound Editha, and he now blamed himself severely for
having allowed these disclosures to be made in her presence. What must
the poor girl have suffered as she listened and realized her own
position, and all the wrong of which her father was guilty?

He had proved that her father had been legally married to his mother,
consequently he, who had hitherto been regarded as a child of dishonor,
was now without taint, and entitled to one of the proudest positions in
the world. But in the heat and excitement of explaining all this, he had
not stopped to consider that his own glory must necessarily arise out of
the ruins of her life.

After Mr. Dalton had failed in his search for Marion Vance he returned
to the United States, where, shortly after, he had met and married the
sister of Richard Forrester, who was reputed to be quite wealthy.

Disappointment awaited him in this, however, for Miss Forrester
possessed but a small sum in her own right.

But matters could not be helped, and the chagrined husband made the most
of it, invested his wife’s small fortune carefully, and, by earnest
attention to business, made money steadily for several years.

Report said, also, that Richard Forrester gave him a handsome lift, and
it was not long before he was reputed to be the possessor of a large
fortune.

But, of course, his marriage with Miss Forrester was not legal, although
he had confidently believed it to be so until this very day; and Earle
condemned himself for many things that he had said, after being reminded
by that low moan of how much Editha had been made to suffer.

Mr. Dalton saw how it wounded him, and laughed maliciously, whereupon
Earle turned upon him almost savagely.

“Do you mean me to understand that you will wound me by venting your
malice upon her? Let me assure you that if I know of your willfully
causing her even one moment’s unhappiness, I will have no mercy on you,”
he said.

Mr. Dalton chuckled.

“You are really fond of—ah—your _sister_; it is really pleasant to see
such unity in a family. I trust you will always be as fond of
your—_sister_.”

He seemed to take a satanic delight in repeating the word. He knew that
it fell upon both their hearts like the blow from a hammer.

“My sister! God forgive me, she _is_ my sister; but I do not love her
_as such_,” Earle groaned, as he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

This was music to Sumner Dalton’s ears, but he knew it would not do to
trespass too far; so, rising, he said, with the most consummate
coolness:

“Since it would not sound well for a man in your position to allow his
father to suffer for the necessaries of life, I will consent to accept
your offer of that ten thousand, and you can make it over to me with as
little delay as possible. And now I will bid you good-morning, leaving
you and your _sister_ to talk over your future prospects and comfort one
another as best you can.”

With a low, echoing, mocking laugh, he left the room and those two
wretched young people were alone.

In the exceeding bitterness of his soul Earle again dropped his head
upon the table, and a long, long silence ensued.

Editha lay perfectly still upon the sofa.

At last Earle arose and went and knelt down beside her.

“Editha!” he said; and it is not possible to convey any idea of the pain
crowded into the one word.

Only a low moan answered him.

“Editha,” he said again, almost wildly, “I would have saved you from
this had it been possible.”

She turned her face up to him at this in speechless misery. She had shed
no tears over what she had heard; the horror of it had seemed to scorch
and burn them up at their very fountain. Her eyes were heavy, her face
perfectly hueless, her lips parched and drawn, her hands hot and
burning.

That one look of hers, so piteous and full of anguish, unmanned Earle
completely, and, dropping his head upon the pillow beside hers, sob
after sob broke from him.

At the sight of his suffering, woman-like, she forgot her own in a
measure.

She put up her hot hand and laid it caressingly against his cheek, and
cried:

“Earle—Earle—don’t! _I_ cannot bear it if _you_ give way so. God will
help us; He will send no more upon us than He is willing to give us
strength to bear. But, oh!” she added, wildly, “that I should have to
call _such_ a man _father_.”

“My darling, that is a sorrow that we share in common,” Earle answered,
with an effort at self-control.

“I am glad mamma is dead. I am glad Uncle Richard is dead. How could
they have borne this?” Editha moaned.

“Your Uncle Richard would have counseled us what to do, dear; he would
have been a help to us,” Earle replied, feeling deeply the need of such
a friend as Richard Forrester would have been.

“I believe he would have killed papa if he had lived to know of all
this. I have been told that his temper was fearful when once aroused,”
Editha said, with a shudder.

“He is not here, and we must take counsel of each other. My darling we
have some stern facts to look in the face. All——”

His courage failed him for the moment, and it seemed as if his reason
was forsaking him.

After a while he went on:

“All our former hopes are crushed and destroyed. Oh, why were we ever
permitted to love each other as we have done, only to suffer thus? But,
Editha, I cannot—I do not feel that I ought to go back and leave you
here with _him_. Will you come with me to Wycliffe and share my
home—your _brother’s_ home?”

She put him away from her with a gesture of despair.

A cry of bitterness rang through the room, and then, as if all power of
self-control had deserted her, she cried out:

“No, _no_, NO! Earle, how can you torture me with such a proposal? Go
away—hide from me—put the sea between us, until—_until I can learn to
love you less_.”

And the poor, tired, almost bursting heart found relief in a flood of
scalding tears.

Earle was glad to see her weep, though every word had been fresh torture
to him. He did not check her, but only knelt by her, gently smoothing
her shining hair, and wishing he could have borne all this great grief
alone.

How could he bear to leave her? How could he put the ocean between them!
How could he bear to let long years go by and not look upon her face,
perhaps _never_ see her again? She would not be happy with her father,
he knew, after what she had learned to-day. She had no other friends to
whom to go, and what would become of her?

She repelled the idea of making Wycliffe her home, where she would be
obliged to see him every day, and strive to conquer the love which now
she had no right to give him. And his own heart told him that it would
be a burden too heavy for either of them to bear.

Something told him that he could never love her after the quiet fashion
of a brother. His heart had gone out to her in the first strong, deep
passion of his manhood, and he could no more control it than he could
control the wind that blew.

All this he thought over as she lay there in the abandonment of her
grief, and he knew that she had judged rightly; they must be separated,
or their sorrow would wear them both out in a little while. He must go
back to Wycliffe and take up his duties there, and she must choose for
herself what she would do here.

Her sobs grew less violent after awhile, and at last he said, with an
effort to speak calmly:

“Editha, I will do whatever you say; but it seems to me as if all the
world from this hour will be palled in deepest gloom—as if nothing could
ever look bright or beautiful again. I came back to you so joyous—so
proud of the position that was mine to offer you; and now every hope is
crushed. Oh, what shall we do? How are we to bear it?” he groaned.

“You must go away—back to England,” she said, in a shaking, weakened
voice. “I cannot bear it if you stay here; neither can I go to Wycliffe.
Don’t you see we could not bear _that_? We must live apart, and strive
to forget if we can. Perhaps when long years have passed, if we live,
and we have not seen each other, we may be able to love each other
less.”

“God forbid! And yet the sin of it will crush me,” he cried,
despairingly. “I cannot forget—I do not want to forget—I will _not_. Oh,
Editha, why are we permitted to be tortured thus?”

“To teach us, perhaps, that earthly idols are but dust, and God is
supreme. He has said we must put no other in _His_ place,” she
whispered, with a solemnity that awed him.

“Have _you_ loved _me_ like that?” he asked.

“Hush!” she answered, with a shiver, and laying her fingers gently on
his lips. “I must not tell you _how much_. We have no right to talk of
that any more. I want you to bid me good-by now, Earle, and let it be a
long, long good-by, too.”

“My darling, I _cannot_; it is too, too cruel,” he moaned; and,
forgetting everything but his deep and mighty love for her, he gathered
her into his arms and clasped her with such rebellious strength that she
was powerless in his embrace.

“Earle,” she said, with a calmness born of despair, yet speaking
authoritatively, “you must let me go.”

He instantly released her—he could not disobey her when she spoke in
that tone, but the look on his face made her cry out with pain.

“Forgive me,” she almost sobbed. “I would not wound you, but we must end
this for the sake of both. Will you do as I wish? Will you go back to
Wycliffe at once?”

“I will do anything that you bid me, Editha,” he answered, in a hollow
tone, but with a look such as she hoped never to see again on any mortal
face.

“Thank you, Earle—I do bid you go—it is right—it will be best,
and—and——”

She had risen, and was standing before him, looking almost as wan and
ghastly as she had looked on that night when he had found her in the
power of Tom Drake.

She had stopped suddenly, catching her breath, and she reeled like a
person drunken with wine; but, pressing her hand to her side, as if to
still her fierce heart-throbs she strove to go on, though every word
came with a pant:

“And, Earle, do not mourn—do not grieve any more than you can help; it
would not be right—you have a noble career before you, and you must do
honor to the name you bear——”

“What are honors to me? What is anything in the world worth to me
_now_?” he interrupted, hoarsely.

“You must conquer that reckless spirit, Earle—try not to think of me any
more than it is possible to help; I shall do very well, I hope. I shall
stay with papa, and strive to win him to better things.”

Her pale lips quivered as she thought how dreary the world would be when
he was gone, and how thankless the task she had set herself to
accomplish.

After a moment she quietly drew off the beautiful ring he had placed
upon her finger and held it out to him.

“I must not wear this any more,” she said, brokenly; “it means too much
to me, and I have loved it so dearly for the sake of what it meant, and
I do not wish to even see anything that can remind me of the—the
happiness I have lost. Take it and put it away, Earle; but if—if——”

She caught her breath quickly, while he felt as if he were turning to
stone.

“If ever,” she began again, with a great effort, but looking so white
and deathly that Earle feared she would drop dead at his feet—“if ever
in the future you meet any one whom you think will make you happy, tell
her all about our sorrow, Earle, and give her this with—my blessing.”

“Oh, Heaven! Editha, do you wish to drive me mad?” he groaned.

“Dear Earle, it is hard—I cannot tell you _how_ hard it is for me to say
this, but I know that what I tell you will be right for you to do, and—I
do want you to be happy.”

“Happy! Do you not know that that word will mock me all the remainder of
my life?” he cried, with exceeding bitterness.

“I hope not, Earle;” and her sweet lips quivered like a grieved child’s.

“Do you think you will ever know happiness again, Editha?” Earle asked,
almost fiercely, and yet her sad face smote him for the question.

“If it is God’s will,” she answered, with a weariness that pierced him
to his heart’s core; but in her soul she knew that apart from him the
world would never hold any charm for her again.

“There are some things in life,” she went on, with mournful sweetness,
after a moment, “that we cannot understand—this trial of ours is one of
them. I remember reading somewhere that

                ‘Never morning wore
                To evening, but some heart did break,’

and if that is so, we are not alone in our sorrow; perhaps all will be
well in the end, and we shall live to realize it—let us trust that it
may be so. But, Earle, you have a beautiful home, and probably there are
long years of useful life before you, but there can be no comfort in a
household without a skilful hand to beautify and direct. Do not forget
what I say—remember that I even wish it, should the time ever come when
you can realize it; and now, Earle,” reaching out her hands with a sob
that seemed wrung from her against her will, “good-by—God ever bless and
keep you.”

His hands dropped suddenly, and the ring rolled to his feet; he had not
taken it—he had seemed to have no power; and she, feeling that she could
bear no more, turned as if to leave him.

He had stood like one stunned while she was speaking. He could not seem
to realize that she really meant this for her last, long farewell; but,
as she turned from him, he cried out suddenly, in a voice of agony:

“Editha! oh, my lost love, do not leave me thus!”

She stopped, her head drooping upon her bosom, her hands hanging
listlessly by her side.

He sprang to her, and, forgetting everything but the pain of the moment,
he drew her passionately to his breast.

“Editha—my happiness—my love—all that is dearest and best in the world,
how can you go away from me so? I cannot bear it. I will not believe
this fearful thing that is to rob us of all our bright future.”

She lay resistless in his embrace now; it was for the last time, she
thought, even if she had not been too weak to move.

“Tell me, Editha, is there no way of escape? _Must_ we live out our
dreary future, this poisoned arrow corroding in our hearts? Ah! if this
terrible tale could be refuted.”

“But it cannot, Earle; there is no way but to bear it patiently,” she
breathed.

“No, there is no other way, for I _know_ that that man is my father, and
that fact destroys our every hope. It is hard, my beloved; let me call
you so once more; let me hold you close for the last time; let me kiss
these dear lips, and touch this shining hair, and then I will go away as
you wish. I will not add one pang to what I know you already suffer.
Heaven bless you, my weary, stricken one—my lost love.”

With one strong arm he held her close against his almost bursting heart,
while with his other hand he drew back the shining head until he could
look down into the beautiful face that he felt might perhaps be looking
his very last upon.

His lips lingered upon her hair, touched her forehead with tremulous
tenderness, and then, with a sob wrung from the depths of his soul, he
pressed one long, passionate kiss upon her lips, gently released her,
stooped to pick up the ring she had wished him to have, and then strode
from the room.

A fortnight later Earle Wayne had returned to Wycliffe sad, almost
broken-hearted, and, at twenty-five, deeming life a burden too heavy to
be borne.




                CHAPTER XXXV
                THE BEGINNING OF THE END


Editha Dalton and her father went to Newport—he to get all the pleasure
out of life that he could by mingling in the sports of the gay world and
spending his daughter’s money, she to bear with what submission she
could the weary routine in which she had no heart, and which was but a
mockery to her.

Earle had, faithful to his word, made over the long disputed ten
thousand dollars to Mr. Dalton, and this, together with Editha’s
handsome income which she tacitly yielded up to him, enabled him to live
like a prince.

But people wondered to see how the brightness had faded from the fair
girl’s life.

She took no interest in the pleasure and frivolities of the fashionable
watering-place.

She would not attend their parties and social gatherings, but wandered
alone by the sea, or sat in seclusion of her own room, pale, sad, and
silent, thinking ever of the one so dear, who at her bidding had put the
ocean between them.

Her rebellious heart had refused to banish him from the place so long
his own, or yield up one tithe of the love which she had lavished upon
him.

The very name of brother, applied to him, made her shudder with
repulsion, and the thought of being his sister made her cry out with
despair, and grow sick and faint with horror.

Mr. Dalton, to his credit be it said, after Earle was well out of the
way, changed his course and treated her with great gentleness and
kindness.

Perhaps he felt a thrill of remorse as he saw her day by day growing so
frail and slight, and bearing with such sad patience the sorrow which he
had brought upon her.

Perhaps, since we cannot conscientiously attribute really unselfish
motives to him, he only realized that she was the goose who brought him
the golden eggs, and considered it a matter of policy to conciliate her
favor.

Be this as it may, he improved his advantage to the fullest extent.

Money slipped through his fingers like water; he had never seemed so
gay, reckless, and intent upon his pleasure before, and more than one
old associate remarked that “Mr. Dalton grew fast as he grew old.”

But a Nemesis was on his track.

A relentless fate was pursuing him, crying, “No quarter until the mighty
one is fallen.”

His days of unholy living and revenge, of treachery and wrong, were
numbered, though he knew it not, and no spirit of warning whispered that
for every evil deed he had done he must soon give an account.

It was a matter of some surprise to Paul Tressalia that Earle should
return to England alone.

He had fully expected that he would bring Editha as a bride to Wycliffe,
and he had tried to school his own heart to bear it. He saw at once that
there was some deep trouble on his mind; no one ever had such heavy
hollow eyes, such a worn, haggard face, without some adequate cause.
But, as Earle did not offer any explanation for it, he could not
question him. And so the days went by, while he began to mature his
plans for his own future.

Earle at once entered upon his duties as master of Wycliffe, and was
received most heartily by all the adherents of the former marquis, and
soon gained an influence and footing in the country which ought to have
satisfied the most exacting.

He was _feted_ and flattered, quoted, advised, and sought after; but
never for a moment did he forget that sad white face that for a few
minutes had lain on his breast for the last time, nor the last
heart-broken farewell and the low-murmured “God ever bless and keep
you.”

But the time came when he had to fight another mighty battle with
himself.

His hopes for the future had all been destroyed by a single blow; but
Paul Tressalia still loved Editha, he knew, and there might be a ray of
hope for him.

The question arose within him, “Ought he not to tell him of the change
in the relations which existed between Editha and himself, and if there
was the shadow of a possibility of his winning her love, ought he not to
allow him to put it to the test?”

One day he sought him, with a pale, worn face.

He had conquered a mighty foe—himself.

He remembered that Editha had once told him, when speaking of her
refusal of Mr. Tressalia’s offer of marriage, that “she had never
suffered more at the thought of giving pain than she did in refusing
him.”

Some one has written, “Pity melts the mind to love,” and perchance, out
of her sympathy for him, something of affection might arise, and a life
of quiet happiness be gained for her as well as for his cousin.

“Paul, I have something of importance to communicate to you,” he said,
coming to the point at once.

“Say on, then; are you in trouble? Can I do anything for you?” Mr.
Tressalia asked, with an anxious glance into the worn face.

“No, there is nothing that you or any one else can do for me; it is to
give you a chance in the race after happiness that I come to you,” Earle
answered, with something of bitterness in his tone.

“I do not understand you,” he returned, a flush rising to his cheek.

“Do you still love Editha Dalton?” Earle asked, setting his teeth to
keep back a rebellious groan.

“Do you need to ask me that question?” Paul Tressalia, returned,
reproachfully, his face suddenly paling now. “I must always love her.”

“Then go and win her if you can; the way is open; there is nothing to
hinder you,” Earle said, wiping the cold sweat from his face.

His cousin looked at him in blank astonishment, wondering if he was
losing his mind that he should make such a statement as that, or if it
was some lover’s quarrel that had driven Earle home in such despair.

Earle, without waiting for a reply, proceeded to relate to him the story
of Editha’s relationship to himself.

“It is killing me,” he said, when he had finished. “I rebel every day
against the cruel fate that has separated us, for I love her only as a
man can love the woman who should be his wife, and shall love her thus
until I die. You love her, also; and perhaps, if you can win her, you
both may yet know much of domestic peace. If I cannot conquer my sinful
heart I may die, and you will then regain what you have lost, while
Editha will, after all, be mistress of Wycliffe.”

“Earle, do not speak thus,” Mr. Tressalia said, with deep emotion, for
the wild bitterness and misery of his cousin grieved him. “I was glad to
relinquish Wycliffe to you when I knew that it rightly belonged to you.
I do not covet it, and I would not have matters in this respect other
than as they are. I hope, too, that you may live to see a lusty heir
growing up to take it after you. But this is a strange story you have
told me—Editha your half-sister! Mr. Dalton your father!”

“Yes, it is even so, though I would gladly give every acre of my
inheritance to have it proved otherwise.”

“You must resemble your mother’s family alone, then, and she her mother,
for there is not a single point of resemblance between you to testify to
any such relationship.”

“I do not know as to that. I only know that the _facts exist_ to prove
it,” Earle said, dejectedly.

“Poor child! she loved you so devotedly, she was so proud of you, and
she must have suffered also. I would that I could give you both back
your lost happiness. Is it not strange that only out of the ruin of
either your hopes or mine happiness can come to either of us?” Mr.
Tressalia said, regretfully.

“It is ruined whether you win or not, and yet I go on sinning day after
day, loving her as madly as ever,” Earle cried, clenching his hands in
his pain. “Go, go,” he added; “when she is once your wife, I may be able
to gain something of peace, or the semblance of it.”

Paul Tressalia needed no second bidding, though it must be confessed he
was not elated by any very strong hope of success.

His heart told him that if Editha loved with the same intensity as
Earle, it would be as enduring as eternity, and he could never hope to
win her as his wife.

Still he could not rest content until he had once more put his fate to
the test, and, with a tender though sad parting from his noble-hearted
kinsman, he once more crossed the broad Atlantic.

He reached Newport in the height of its gayety, and was enthusiastically
welcomed by his old acquaintances.

To his surprise Mr. Dalton received him with great coolness, surmising
at once the errand upon which he had come.

He had discovered, if others had not, that Paul Tressalia was no longer
“heir to great expectations,” and he was not at all anxious now either
that Editha should marry.

She was ill, failing daily and hourly, as every one could see, and many
predicted a rapid decline and an early death unless some change for the
better occurred soon.

Mr. Dalton shook his head sadly and sighed heavily, as a fond and
anxious parent should do, whenever interviewed upon the subject, but
secretly he was calculating his chances of falling heir to her snug
fortune.

“She is my daughter,” he would say to himself, rubbing his hands
together in that peculiar way he had. “If she dies unmarried and without
a will—and I don’t think she has thought of such a thing as that—of
course, being her nearest blood relation, I shall inherit;” and he
always ended these confidential cogitations with a chuckle, accompanied
by a look of infinite cunning.

So it will be readily seen that Mr. Dalton had no idea of encouraging
Mr. Tressalia as a suitor, especially as he could no longer offer her
any peculiar advantages.

But that young man was shocked at the change in the fair girl. The
laughing eyes were sad and lusterless now; the rounded cheeks had fallen
away, leaving great hollows where before had been a delicate sea-shell
bloom; the scarlet lips, which had ever been wreathed in sunniest
smiles, wore a mournful droop, and were sad, blue, and drawn with pain.

She greeted him, however, with more than her accustomed cordiality, and
listened eagerly while he told her all about Earle and the magnificent
inheritance that had fallen to him. Any one who could tell her aught
concerning her dear one was doubly welcome.

She was never weary of hearing about Wycliffe, and all the noble
ancestors of the noble house of Vance. She took a strange, sad pleasure
in the mournful history of the unfortunate Marion, and Paul Tressalia,
seeing it, gratified her as far as he was able, though he could but
realize that he was making no progress in her affections.

“I am afraid Newport does not agree with you, Miss Dalton,” he remarked
one day, as he came upon her sitting listless and dejected under a tree
near the sea-shore, her eyes fixed dreamily upon the restless waves, a
look of pain contracting her fair forehead.

“I do not enjoy Newport,” she said, with a sigh; “at least the gay hurry
and bustle that we are constantly in.”

“Then why not go to some more quiet place? Why not go to some farm among
the mountains, where the air is drier and purer? I do not like to see
you looking so ill,” he returned, with visible anxiety.

“Papa is not content unless he can be where there is considerable
excitement,” she answered, wearily; “and I don’t know as it matters
much,” she added, with a far-away look.

“It does matter,” Paul Tressalia burst forth, indignantly; “if this air
is too heavy and bracing for you, you should not be allowed to remain
here another day. Do you not see that your health is failing? You are
weaker and thinner even than when I came, a week ago.”

She smiled faintly, and, lifting her thin hand, held it up between her
eyes and the sun.

It shone almost transparent, while every bone, vein, and cord could be
distinctly traced.

With a little sign she let it drop again into her lap, and, turning to
her companion, said, with a grave, thoughtful look on her face:

“I wonder what the spiritual body will be like?”

“Miss Dalton—Editha, what made you think of that?” he asked, startled by
her words, yet knowing very well what had made her think of it—that
little hand had more of a spiritual than a material look about it.

“One cannot help thinking of it when the physical body is so frail and
so easily destroyed. When one is putting off the mortal, one naturally
is curious to know what the immortal is like;” and she spoke as calmly
as if she were merely talking of changing a dress.

“Editha, you are not—you do not think you are so ill as that?” he cried,
almost awe-stricken.

“Yes, I hope so; what have I to live for now?” she asked, turning her
sad eyes upon him, and his heart sank in despair within him. “You know
all my trouble,” she added, a moment after; “you know how all my hopes
were crushed. I am, as I might say, entirely alone in the world; I have
hardly a friend on whom to depend, no one to comfort and cheer me, and I
have no right even to the name I bear. Do you think that life holds out
very much that is pleasant to me? I am young to die, and I cannot say
that I do not dread the thought of being laid away and forgotten, and
yet I know it would cure my pain—there _is_ no pain beyond, you know. If
I had anything to do, if I might be of any comfort or use to _any_ one,
if I had even _one_ friend who needed me, I should feel differently.”

The sadness and hopelessness of her tone and words almost made him weep
in spite of his manhood.

He threw himself down upon the grass beside her, with a low cry.

“Editha, there _is_; _I_ need you; my heart has never ceased to cry out
for you; my life is miserable and aimless without you. Come to me and
comfort me, and let me try to win back the light in your eyes, the color
to your cheeks and lips, and nurse you back to health. I do not ask, I
do not _expect_, that you can learn to love me at once as you _have_
loved, but if you will only let me take care of you, give _me_ the right
to love _you_ all I wish, I do believe there may be something of peace
for you yet even in this world. But I _cannot_ see you die while you are
so young and bright. Be my wife, Editha, and let me take you away from
this noise and tumult where you can regain your health, and the world
will not seem so dark to you then.”

The young girl was seized with a violent trembling while he was
speaking; she shook and shivered with nervousness and excitement, as if
some icy blast from a snow-clad mountain had swept down upon her,
chilling her through.

A bright hectic flush tinged either cheek, and her eyes, no longer
listless, glowed with a brilliancy that was almost dazzling. Never while
in perfect health had Paul Tressalia seen her so strangely beautiful as
she was at this moment, and yet it was with a beauty that made his heart
tremble with a terrible fear. With almost the impulse of a child, she
reached out both her hands to him as he ceased speaking.

But he knew instinctively that it was not a gesture of assent, though he
clasped them involuntarily, and started, to find how hot and feverish
they were.

“Mr. Tressalia,” she said, excitedly, “I know how true and noble you
are, and I know, too, that you love me with a deep, pure love. I know
that you would be very tender and indulgent to me, and never allow me to
know a sorrow that you could shield me from. But I cannot be your wife—I
cannot be anybody’s wife—and I should only add sin to sin if I should
grant your request, for I can never for a moment cease to love Earle in
a way that I should not. It is that that is eating my life away—let me
confess it to you, and perhaps it will help me to bear it better. I know
that I ought to trample upon every tendril of affection that is reaching
out after him, but I cannot; my love is stronger than I, and this
constant inward warfare is fast wearing me out. Oh, if you would simply
be my friend, and let me talk to you freely like this, and never speak
to me of love again, it would be such a comfort to me.”

She paused a moment for breath, and then continued:

“I can trust you; I have confidence in you as I have in no other in this
land. Mr. Tressalia, _will_ you be my friend, strong and true, and _only
that_, for the time that I, may need you?”

There was intense yearning in her look and tone. She did need just such
a friend, strong and protecting, as he would be, if he could have the
strength to endure it.

She could not trust her father; her heart had recoiled from him ever
since that day when so much of his evil nature had been revealed to her,
and she had no one in whom to confide.

Day and night her busy, excited brain went over all the horror of that
last interview with Earle, and day and night she constantly fought the
obstinate love in her heart.

It was, as she had said, wearing her life away, and if she could but
have some one in whom she could confide, it would be a comfort to her.

But could he stay in her presence, receive her confidences, hear her
daily talk of Earle and her blighted hopes, and make no sign of his own
sorrow and bitter disappointment?

“Be her friend, strong and true, and _only that_!”

The words were like the knell of doom to him; but she needed him. If she
could relieve her heart of something of its burden, health might return
and her life be saved. Was not his duty clear?

“And _never_ anything more?” was his last appeal, as he held her hot,
trembling hands and looked into her glittering eyes.

“And never anything more,” she repeated, after him. “It _cannot_
be—_will_ you not believe it?” and he knew that so it _must_ be.

Back, back into his aching, almost bursting heart he crushed his great
love, with every rebellious thought, and all the hopes that had begun to
bud anew.

He would do _anything_ so that she need not die; he would “trample upon
every tendril of affection reaching out after her,” as she had said
regarding her love for Earle, and become only the true and faithful
friend, if by so doing he could comfort and perchance save her.

Something of the struggle that this resolve cost him could be traced in
the pale but resolute face, and in his quivering lips.

“Editha,” he said, solemnly, as if recording a vow, and still clasping
those small hands, “it shall be as you wish; I will never utter another
word of love to you; I will be your steadfast friend.”

“Oh, thank you!” and, like a weary, grieved child who has restrained its
sobs until it could reach the safe and tender shelter of its mother’s
arms, she dropped her head upon his shoulder and burst into nervous
weeping.

He did not move, he did not speak one word to stay her tears, for he
knew that they were like the refreshing rain upon the parched and
sun-baked earth, and she would be lighter of heart and freer from pain
for their flow.

But who shall describe the feelings of his own tried heart as he knelt
there with that golden head resting so near it, and from which, for her
sake, he had resolved to crush relentlessly every hope for the future?




                CHAPTER XXXVI
                A NEW CHARACTER


From that day Paul Tressalia put every thought of self aside, and
devoted himself in delicate, tireless efforts to interest and amuse the
frail girl who had such entire confidence and faith in him.

His own heart would have prompted him to go away from all sight and
sound of her, but he had promised that he would be her “steadfast
friend.” There was no particular necessity of his returning to England
at present, and, if he could do this unhappy girl any good, he resolved
to stay and comfort her until she should need him no longer.

Little by little he drew her away from her own sad thoughts—at least
during the day; he could not, of course, know how she spent her nights,
whether in refreshing sleep or in sad and morbid brooding.

He took her on long, delightful drives to places where, with a dainty
little lunch and a tempting book, they would spend a few quiet hours,
and then return, just weary enough to make a rest in a comfortable
corner of the broad piazza the most enjoyable thing in the world, while
he talked of a hundred entertaining things in the twilight.

By and by he ventured to invite two or three entertaining people to go
with them, and such charming little picnics and excursions as they made!
They were quiet but cultivated people, and deeply interested in the
fading girl, and they exerted themselves in an unobtrusive way to
minister to her amusement.

Almost unconsciously Editha was beguiled from her melancholy; little by
little the look of tense agony faded from her face; her eyes lost their
heavy, despairing look; something of animation and interest replaced her
listless, preoccupied manner, and an occasional smile—albeit it was a
mournful one—parted her sweet lips, which gradually began to regain
something of their original color.

Mr. Tressalia was very wise in all his maneuvers; everything he did was
done without any apparent effort, everything moved along smoothly and
naturally, and, if any one joined the party, it was brought about so
quietly as to seem almost a matter of course.

Her failing appetite he managed as adroitly as he did her wonderful
heart; every day some tempting little bit would find its way to her
room—where, owing to her health, she took her meals—just at dinner-time.
It was never much at a time, just enough, and served so attractively as
to make her taste, and tasting was followed by a desire to eat the
whole, and then she involuntarily found herself wishing he had sent a
little more.

In this way she was not surfeited with anything, but a natural craving
for food was gradually created, until she found herself able to eat
quite a respectable meal.

One day they went, as they often did, to Truro Park. Mr. Tressalia had
found a cozy, retired rock, where they could sit, and talk, and read
without fear of being disturbed, and see without being seen.

The day was delightful, and had tempted many people abroad, and the park
was filled with gay visitors.

Editha, reclining on a soft shawl which Mr. Tressalia had spread over a
moss-covered rock, was the picture of comfort as she listened to her
companion’s rich voice as he read from a new and interesting book, while
her face involuntarily lighted as she caught the sound of merry laughter
and children’s happy voices in the distance.

She found herself wondering if she could be the same miserable creature
that she had been three weeks before.

A feeling of peace was stealing over her, a sense of care and protection
surrounded her, and she knew that health and strength were gradually
returning to her.

Her heart was still wounded and sore—it could not be otherwise; but
there was not quite the intolerable burden crushing her that there had
been before the coming of her kind friend.

Mr. Tressalia closed his book at last, and a look of satisfaction stole
into his eye as he marked her look of interest, and the faint tinge of
color that for the first time he saw in her cheek.

He drew from his pocket a silver fruit-knife, and, reaching for a tiny
basket that he had brought with him, but had kept tantalizingly covered
all the time, he exposed to view two of the largest and most luscious
peaches imaginable.

“Now, when you have eaten one of these as an appetizer, we will return
for our dinner,” he said, with a smile, as he deftly extracted the stone
from the crimson and yellow fruit, and, placing the two halves on a
large grape-leaf, laid it in her lap.

“It is too beautiful to eat,” Editha said, viewing it with admiring
eyes; but she disposed of it with evident relish, nevertheless.

The other was prepared in the same way, and ready for her as the last
mouthful disappeared, but she demurred.

“You have not had your share,” she said, smiling.

“You are my patient, remember, and I shall prescribe for you as I judge
best; but if you feel very sensitive about it, I will share with you
this time;” and, while he ate one-half, he watched the other disappear
with intense satisfaction.

Editha could not fail to improve if her appetite could be coaxed back in
this way.

They arose to return to their hotel, and, as they left their cozy
retreat, they saw approaching them a lady leaning upon the arm of a
gentleman.

They were both distinguished looking, and instantly attracted the
attention of Editha and her attendant.

As they drew nearer, Mr. Tressalia started and uttered a low
exclamation; the next instant he smiled, lifted his hat with a low bow,
and, returning his salutation, they passed on.

Mr. Tressalia would have stopped and greeted them, but he knew how shy
Editha was of strangers in her weak state, and he did not deem it best.

Editha, in her one passing glance, had instantly been attracted by the
tall, queenly woman, who might perhaps have been about forty-two or
three years of age.

Her face was fair, and sweet, and beautiful as a picture, and was
surrounded by soft, waving chestnut hair.

Her eyes were large and blue, but rather mournful in expression, while
there was a grieved droop about the full, handsome mouth.

Her companion was a middle-aged gentleman, though somewhat older than
the lady, and, from their resemblance to each other, Editha judged them
to be brother and sister.

“There goes a woman with a history, and a sad one, too,” Mr. Tressalia
remarked, when they were beyond hearing.

Editha sighed and wondered how many women there were in the world who
had sad histories, but she only said:

“They are acquaintances of yours, then?”

“Yes; the lady is called Madam Sylvester, though I have been told that
it is not her real name, being her maiden name, resumed after some
unpleasantness connected with an unfortunate marriage. I met her in
Paris two winters ago, and I think I never saw a more charming woman of
her age in my life.”

“She is certainly very pleasant to look at, though she shows that she
has known sorrow of some kind,” Editha said, thoughtfully.

“Would you like to know her history—at least as much of it as I am able
to tell you? It is quite interesting.”

“Yes, if you please.”

“Report says that when quite young she fell in love with her own cousin
and became engaged to him. This was a secret between them, since the
lover was not in a position to marry. He went to sea to seek his
fortune, as the story goes, and not long after was reported lost. Miss
Sylvester, to hide her grief, immediately plunged into all sorts of
gayety and dissipation, and only a few months after her lover’s death
met a young American, who was instantly attracted by her great beauty.
He soon made her an offer of marriage, and, after a very short
courtship, they were married. A year later the former lover suddenly
turned up—he was not lost, though had been nearly drowned, and afterward
lay a long time in a fever. The young wife, in her joy at seeing him
once more, thoughtlessly betrayed her love for him, which even then was
not dead. The husband grew furious and unreasonably jealous, charged her
with wilfully deceiving him, and a hot and angry scene followed. The
next day the wife was missing—‘she had fled,’ those who knew anything of
the circumstances said, ‘with her early lover.’ She returned almost
immediately, however, humbled and repentant; but her husband denounced
her, although she swore that she had committed no wrong. He returned to
America; she hid herself broken-hearted for awhile, but finally sought
her brother, whom she convinced of her chastity, since which time,
having no other friends, they have seemed to live for each other. She
would never consent to be called by her husband’s name after that—though
I never heard what that was—but took her maiden name. She is a wonderful
woman, however; her life has been devoted to doing good; she is chastity
itself, and is beloved by everybody who knows her, while her sympathy
for the erring is boundless. That is an outline of her history, or as
much as I know of it; but I believe there are some self-righteous people
who shun her on account of what they term her ‘early sin,’ but the
majority revere her, while I must confess to a feeling of great
admiration for her.”

“What became of the young lover with whom it was supposed she fled?”
Editha asked, deeply interested in the sad tale.

“I do not know—I never heard. Madam never speaks of her past, and that
is a mystery to the curious.”

“I should like to know her,” Editha said, feeling strangely drawn toward
one who, like herself, had suffered so much.

“Would you? That is easily managed. I will ascertain where she is
stopping, call upon her, and, as her heart is always touched for the
sick, I know she will gladly come and see you,” Mr. Tressalia said,
eagerly, exceedingly pleased to have Editha manifest so much interest in
his friend.

“Thank you. I should like it if she would; her history is very sad, and
her face attracts me strangely,” she replied.

Three days afterwards they were in the Redwood Library, examining some
of the valuable manuscripts on exhibition there, when Madam Sylvester
and her brother entered.

Mr. Tressalia had tried to ascertain where they were stopping, but, to
his great disappointment, he had failed to do so.

He now went forward at once to greet them, and they seemed very much
pleased to renew their acquaintance with him.

After chatting a few moments, he brought Editha to madam and introduced
her.

She studied the sweet face for a moment, then her faultlessly gloved
hand closed over Editha’s fingers in a strong yet tender clasp of
sympathy and friendliness.

She had read in the pale, sorrow-lined face a grief kindred to what she,
too, had suffered in the past.

“You are not well, my dear,” she said, with a wistful look into the sad
blue eyes, still keeping her hand closely clasped in hers.

“Miss Dalton has not been well, but we hope she is on the gain a little
now. Have you seen the new piece of statuary that was brought in
yesterday?” Mr. Tressalia asked, to draw her attention from Editha.

She was quite sensitive about having her illness remarked by strangers,
and the color was now creeping with painful heat into her cheeks.

Madam took the hint at once, and turned to look at the new statue, and
for a while kept up a spirited conversation with Mr. Tressalia about the
objects of general interest in Newport.

But ever and anon her eyes sought the fair face bending with curious
interest over the manuscripts with a look of pity and tenderness that
told she was deeply interested in the frail-looking stranger.

“Who is she? Some one in whom you are _particularly_ interested?” she
asked, with the privilege of an old friend, as she drew Paul still
farther away, ostensibly to look at some pictures.

He started, and his noble face was clouded with pain as he answered:

“Yes, I am particularly interested in her, but not in the way you mean,
for her heart belongs to another.”

“Ah! I thought from appearances that she belonged, or would some day,
belong to you,” returned madam, with a keen look into his handsome face.

“No,” he said, gravely; “I am simply her friend. She has recently met
with a great sorrow.”

“I knew it,” madam replied, with a soft glance at Editha, and a slight
trembling of her lips. “Has the dear child a mother?”

“No; her mother died some years ago. She has no relatives living
excepting her father, and he is not in sympathy with her.”

“Ah! how I would like to comfort her. Come and see me this evening, and
tell me more about her. I am strangely attracted toward her.”

Paul Tressalia promised, and then they went back to Editha. Madam
monopolized her, while he entertained her brother, and it was not long
before the fair girl’s heart was completely won by the beautiful and
tender-hearted woman.

Madam Sylvester was remarkable for her tact and great versatility of
talents, not the least of which was her charming manner in conversation.

She could be grave or gay, witty or learned, and fascinating in any
role.

Paul Tressalia regarded her in surprise while she talked with Editha,
drawing her from one subject to another, until she made her forget that
there was such a person in the world as poor, heart-broken Editha
Dalton.

She won the smiles back to her lips, drove the lines of care and trouble
from her brow, and once, as she related some droll incident that had
occurred on the steamer in which she came over, made her laugh aloud—the
old-timed, clear, sweet laugh, that made Paul’s heart thrill with
delight.

“Miss Dalton, I am coming to see you. I am a dear lover of young
people,” she said, as they began to talk of going.

“Do; I shall be delighted,” Editha said, with a sudden lighting of her
sad eyes.

“I am a stranger here in Newport, never having been in this country
before,” madam continued. “I wish you and Mr. Tressalia would take pity
upon me, and give me the benefit of your familiarity with the objects of
interest here.”

Editha unhesitatingly promised, not even suspecting that this request
was made more for her own sake than for the beautiful stranger’s; and
then they all left the library together.

As they were about entering their carriage, Mr. Dalton drove by in his
sporting sulky.

He bowed to Editha, and then bestowed a passing glance upon her new
acquaintances.

That glance made him start and bestow a more searching look upon Madam
Sylvester; then he grew a sudden and deep crimson, while a look of great
anxiety settled on his face.

He turned and looked back again after he had driven by.

“There can be but one face like that in the world. I must look into
this,” he muttered, uneasily.

“Who was that lady and gentleman with whom I saw you to-day at the
Redwood Library?” he asked of Editha that evening.

“A Mrs. Sylvester and her brother,” she replied.

“_Mrs. Sylvester!_” repeated Mr. Dalton, with a slight emphasis on the
title.

“Mr. Tressalia introduced her as Madam Sylvester. Do you know anything
about her?” she asked, looking up in surprise.

“Ah! Mr. Tressalia knows her, then? Where is she from?” he returned,
thoughtfully, and not heeding her question.

“From Paris, France; they are French people, and extremely agreeable.”

Mr. Dalton’s face lost something of its habitual glow at this
information, and he appeared ill at ease.

“Um! strangers, then, here. Does Tressalia know them intimately?” and he
shot a searching, anxious glance at his daughter.

“Yes; he was telling me something of madam’s history a day or two ago.”

“What! have they been here any length of time?” interrupted Mr. Dalton,
with a frown.

“Less than a week, I believe.”

“Yes, yes; go on with what you were going to tell me,” he again
interrupted, impatiently.

“He said madam had seen a great deal of trouble—there was some
misunderstanding between herself and husband, who, by the way, was an
American, which resulted in their separation after they had been married
only a year. But she appears like a very lovely woman to me,” Editha
replied, with a dreary look, as she remembered how she had been drawn
toward the beautiful stranger.

Mr. Dalton watched her keenly out of the corners of his eyes; he was
exceedingly moved and nervous about something; the corners of his mouth
twitched convulsively, while he kept clasping and unclasping his hands
in an excited way.

He paced the floor in silence for a few moments, then abruptly left the
room.

Half an hour after he returned, and, while pretending to look over the
newspaper, said:

“Editha, I’ve about concluded that I’d like a look at Saratoga; it is
just the height of the season now; everything will be lovely, and
Newport is getting a little tame.”

“Tame, papa! Why, I thought there was no place like Newport to you!” she
exclaimed, in surprise.

“I know; Newport is a sort of summer home to me, and, of course, there
is no place like home; but, if you do not mind, I’d like a change for a
little while.”

“Cannot you go without me? I am very comfortable here,” Editha asked,
with a sigh.

She had no heart for gayety, and she was really happier just now there
at Newport—notwithstanding her assertion to Mr. Tressalia that she did
not enjoy Newport—than she had ever hoped to be again.

“No, indeed,” he returned, quickly and decidedly. “I could not think of
leaving you alone while you are so delicate; and besides, I cannot spare
you, Editha—you and I are rather alone in this busy world.”

She looked up in surprise at him at this unusual remark. It was a very
rare occurrence for him to address her in such an affectionate manner.

It almost seemed to her, with the distrust she had lately had of him,
that there was some sinister motive prompting this sudden change; but
she stifled the feeling, and answered:

“Very well, I will go to Saratoga if you like. When do you wish to
start?”

“To-morrow, if you can arrange it,” Mr. Dalton replied, the cloud
lifting from his face.

“Yes, I can arrange it;” but she sighed as she said it, for she was
really beginning to wake up to a little life, and she dreaded any
change.

She had been so calmly content since she had come to a definite
understanding with Mr. Tressalia, and she wondered, with a feeling of
sadness stealing over her, what she should do without her tireless
friend.

She had grown to depend upon him for amusement; besides, he heard
regularly from Earle, and though she did not dare acknowledge it even to
her own heart, yet those letters from over the sea were the great events
of the week to her.

She was sorry to go away without becoming more intimately acquainted
with Madam Sylvester, for she had been strangely drawn toward her,
thinking almost constantly of her and her charming ways ever since her
introduction to her. All during the evening she kept hoping that Mr.
Tressalia would drop in, that she might tell him of the change in their
plans, half wishing that he would join himself to their party and
accompany them.

But he was spending the evening with Madam Sylvester, and meant to see
Editha as early as possible the next morning.

But in this he was disappointed, for a gentleman friend sought him to
give his advice upon the merits of a horse that he was contemplating
buying, and before the bargain was completed Editha was gone, without
even a word of good-by.




                CHAPTER XXXVII
                A CHANGE OF SCENE


It was two o’clock in the afternoon when at length Paul Tressalia
knocked upon Editha’s parlor door.

It was opened by the chambermaid, of whom he inquired for Miss Dalton.

“She is gone, sir,” was the unexpected reply.

“Gone! Where?” he exclaimed, infinitely surprised.

“I don’t know, sir; they left on the noon boat.”

“Did they leave no word—no message for me?”

“Yes, sir; Miss Dalton left a note,” the girl answered, producing it
from the depths of her pocket.

Paul eagerly tore it open and devoured its contents:

  “DEAR FRIEND:—Papa has suddenly decided that Newport is ‘tame,’ and
  longs for Saratoga. We are to leave on the twelve-o’clock boat, and do
  not know when we shall return. I shall not soon forget the days you
  have made so pleasant for me, nor the great good your cheerful society
  has done me. I would rather stay than go, but think it best to yield
  to papa’s wishes. I hoped to see you before we left, but suppose you
  were engaged. Please give my kind remembrances to Madam Sylvester. _Au
  revoir._

                EDITHA.”

“What in the name of Jupiter can have made him take this sudden start?”
Paul Tressalia muttered, with a clouded brow, as with a terrible feeling
of loneliness he sought his own rooms. “Can anything have transpired to
upset his equilibrium?” he continued. “It must have been a _very_ sudden
start, for I do not believe he contemplated any such thing yesterday
morning.”

He sat a long time thinking the matter over, and longing to follow them
immediately.

He knew Editha would miss his care and attention, while as for him, it
seemed as if the sun had suddenly been put out of existence.

Mr. Dalton had not treated him with his usual politeness this summer,
and he was not sure but that he had done this purposely, in order to
remove Editha from his society, and, if that was the case, he doubted
the propriety of going after them.

These reflections were interrupted by the entrance of a servant, who
brought him a card.

It proved to be that of Madam Sylvester, and he immediately went down to
the reception-room, taking with him the note Editha had written.

“Why that brow of gloom, my friend? You look as if you had met with some
sudden and great disappointment,” madam said, playfully, after they had
exchanged greetings.

“And so I have. I have just learned that Miss Dalton and her father have
gone to Saratoga; and the suddenness of the movement disturbs and
perplexes me exceedingly.”

“Gone! Now _I_ am dismayed, for I had come to call and be introduced to
Papa Dalton, and ask him to spare his charming daughter to me for a few
days. We are going to join a party to the White Mountains, and I thought
if I could tempt Miss Dalton to accompany us, the change would do her
good,” madam said, with regret.

“It would have been beneficial to her, and it was very thoughtful in you
to remember her,” replied Mr. Tressalia, much pleased at this attention.

“Do not give me any credit for what is pure selfishness on my part,”
madam said, laughing. “I am over head and ears in love, as they say
here, with your lovely little friend, and I wanted her under the shadow
of my own wing for awhile to get better acquainted with her;” and the
lady’s face was very wistful, notwithstanding her playful speech.

“I cannot understand their sudden flight—for such it seems to me,”
returned Mr. Tressalia, moodily.

“Then you did not know anything of their intention?”

“Not a breath, until about half an hour ago, when I knocked at Miss
Dalton’s door, and the chambermaid gave me this note;” and he handed it
to her.

“What a pretty hand she writes,” said madam, smiling, as she noted the
delicate chirography upon the perfumed envelope.

She read it through, growing grave as she marked the regret the note
expressed at being obliged to go away.

Her eyes lighted with tenderness at the mention of herself, but she
started as if in sudden pain, her fair face flushing a vivid crimson, as
she read and involuntarily repeated the name signed at the bottom.

“Editha! Mr. Tressalia, you never told me what your friend’s name is,”
and he thought her lips quivered slightly, as if at the remembrance of
some sad incident of the past.

“No; I usually call her Miss Dalton when speaking of her to others. It
is the dearest name in the world to me,” he added, with a slight
huskiness in his voice, “though I never utter it without pain.”

“_Et tu_,” madam said, softly, noting the pain in his face, and knew all
about it at once. “I thought you said——” she began again, and then
suddenly stopped, as if she were trespassing upon forbidden ground.

“I know to what you refer,” he replied. “I thought when you asked me if
I was ‘particularly interested’ in her that you meant to infer an
engagement between us, but—I may as well confess it—I have loved her
hopelessly for two years.”

Madam sighed heavily.

“Why is it that the world always goes wrong for some people?” he asked,
passionately, and longing for sympathy now that he had begun to unburden
his heart, and realizing, also that now Editha was gone, Newport was a
blank to him, and fearing that his boasted “friendship” had not been so
disinterested after all.

“Ah, why, unless to fit us for something better than earth’s fleeting
pleasures? There are some people in the world who would never own
allegiance to the Great King, if they were not driven to Him by sorrow.
It were better to suffer a few years here than to miss the bright
Forever,” madam, said, musingly, and as if talking with herself rather
than to him. “But,” she added, shaking off her dreaminess, “tell me more
of this beautiful girl and your unfortunate regard for her—I am an old
and privileged friend, you know, and the name ‘Editha’ has a charm for
me which will only cease when I cease to live.”

Paul Tressalia, glad to have so sweet a confidante, related all the
story of his love for the fair girl, his disappointment on learning of
her affection for Earle Wayne, his hasty summons home to take possession
of his supposed inheritance, which lost half its charm when he knew that
Editha could not become its mistress and his wife.

He told her how he had been obliged to resign Wycliffe to Earle, who
also hoped to make Miss Dalton mistress there, and who had returned so
full of joy and hope to claim her as his own.

Then came the story of her strange abduction, her release from her
captor’s power by her lover, and then, when they believed their trials
were all at an end, the dreadful blow came which had nearly broken both
their hearts, and had seemed likely to wear Editha into her grave.

“What a sad, wonderful story it is. And you, I suppose, after the
discovery which had ruined the life of your cousin, came thither to test
your fate again?” madam said, her eyes beaming gentlest of sympathy upon
the rejected lover.

“Yes; but I might have known better,” he answered, bitterly, and with a
sigh that was almost a sob heaving his broad chest. “I might have known
that a love like hers, so pure, so strong, and noble, could never be won
by another.”

“Truly things do seem to go wrong sometimes in this world,” madam said,
sadly, and thinking of the poor sweet child who had passed through such
deep water. Then, suddenly looking up at her companion with a keen
glance, she continued: “You have suffered, my friend, deeply—you suffer
now, even though you strive so nobly to overcome it; but—would you deem
me very unsympathetic if I should tell you that I believe it will be
better for you, after all, not to have married Editha Dalton, even
though she could have given her wounded heart into your keeping?”

Paul Tressalia regarded her with astonishment.

“Why should you say that?” he asked.

“She is not exactly fitted for you—you might have passed a quiet,
peaceful life together, but you could not have met all the wants of her
nature, nor she of yours. You are maturer for your years than she is for
hers, and beautiful, talented, lovable though she may be, there would
have come a time in your lives when you both would have discovered there
was something wanting to fill out the measure of your happiness.”

“You speak like a prophetess,” Paul Tressalia said, with a sad,
skeptical smile.

“I have not lived my lonely life for naught,” she answered, with a sigh.
“I have studied human nature in all its phases, and, from what I know of
you, I feel that the woman whom you should marry should be quiet and
self-contained like yourself, with a little touch of sorrow in her life
to mate your own, and nearer your age.”

“I shall never marry,” he said, with a pale and suffering face, and yet
wondering at his companion’s strange words, while somehow his thoughts
involuntarily took a swift flight, and he saw in the quiet parlor of a
vine-clad gothic villa a gentle woman, with a sweet though sad face,
which, next to Editha Dalton’s, he had once told himself was the most
beautiful his eyes had ever rested upon, while her voice, with its
plaintive music, had vibrated upon his heart as the gentle summer breeze
vibrates upon the strings of an ;olian harp.

He had called it sympathy then. Would the mystic future, as it drew on
apace, gradually efface this bitter pain from his heart, and he find
beneath it a new name written there?

“You may think so now, but believe me, Paul, my friend, you will find
her yet—this gentle, beautiful woman whom you should marry,” madam said,
in reply to his remark about not marrying.

“My dear madam,” he returned, with a smile and a shake of his head, “you
are but building castles in the air, which the lightest breath will
dissipate. A man can never love but once as I have loved Editha Dalton.”

“That may be true,” madam smilingly assented; “but the first fierce,
wild passion may not always be the wisest love. Wait a little, _mon
ami_, and we shall see. You know—

                ‘No one is so accursed by fate,
                No one so utterly desolate,
                But some heart, though unknown,
                Responds unto his own.’

But, meantime, I have a strange, irrepressible longing to see more of
this motherless girl, whose life has been so sadly blighted at the
outset. Mr. Tressalia, I think _I_ would like to see a little of
Saratoga myself, and I feel confident that Miss Editha would not feel
sorry to see her friend again.”

“Do you think so?” he asked, eagerly.

“I am sure of it. This little note breathes of a strong regret that she
was obliged to go away at all. I am afraid she will wilt again if she
cannot be under genial influences.”

Madam’s face was full of a strange, wistful tenderness as she spoke, and
Paul Tressalia wondered why she should feel so strangely drawn toward
Editha. It was a matter of wonder to all.

“Does that mean that you think we had better follow Mr. Dalton and his
daughter to Saratoga?” he asked.

“Yes; but first I must go to the White Mountains, since I proposed the
trip, and others would be disappointed if it was given up. I must
postpone my trip to Saratoga until my return,” returned madam, with a
look which plainly said she wished she had not planned the trip to the
mountains at all.

“I wonder——” Paul began, and then stopped.

“Well? And so do I,” laughed his companion, after waiting a moment and
he did not go on.

“I was pondering the question whether it is best for me to go to
Saratoga at all,” he said, gravely.

“And why not?”

“If Editha is really on the gain, it would perhaps be better for me to
return at once to England and not see her again.”

“Does it hurt you so, my friend?” asked madam, pityingly. “You must
conquer that, if possible, though I myself know how hard a thing that is
to do, and it seems cold advice to give. But it would give me pleasure
if you would accompany us to Saratoga. We know nothing about the ins and
outs of the place, and it would really be a comfort to have a pilot.”

“Then that settles the matter. I will go with you,” he said.

“Not if it is to interfere with any necessary business,” madam said,
hastily, yet decidedly.

“It will not. I have no business—I have no aim in life now,” he added,
bitterly.

“Come with us to the mountains,” Madam Sylvester said, with a sudden
thought. “You need a little judicious comforting as well as Miss Dalton,
and I believe I am just the one to take you in hand. Will you come?”

“Yes, thanks; I cannot resist. I believe you charm every one with whom
you come in contact,” he answered, laughing, and glad to be invited.

“That is pleasant to hear. We will make our trip as short as possible,
and then fly to the far-famed springs of Saratoga, to drink of their
mystic waters.”

And so it was arranged, and Paul Tressalia was drawn irresistibly to do
this woman’s bidding, yet wondering at himself for doing it, and more
and more surprised to see how Editha had fascinated her.

But he could not know how rapidly an invisible hand was turning the
pages of life, and that he was soon to read a strange story in that
mystic book of fate, which Heaven so seldom deigns to open to mortal
eyes.




                CHAPTER XXXVIII
                AT SARATOGA


Madam Sylvester went to the White Mountains with her party, as she had
planned to do, while Mr. Dalton, congratulating himself upon the success
of his maneuver—the reason for which he supposed no one but himself knew
anything about—was enjoying the brilliant society at Saratoga to the
full.

“I flatter myself that I have played my little game very nicely,” he
said many times to himself, when thinking of their hasty flitting from
Newport; and those soft white hands of his were rubbed together in the
most approving manner, accompanied by a most approving chuckle.

He insisted now that Editha was well enough to join in the gayeties of
the place and accompany him to the different places of amusement and
pleasure.

She would have preferred the solitude of her own room or to be allowed
to roam quietly by herself in the different parks during the morning,
when there were few abroad; but he persisted, and, thinking it could not
matter much what she did, she yielded for the sake of peace, although
she did not really feel able to bear the excitement as yet.

The result was highly gratifying to Mr. Dalton, for Editha at once
became a star of no small magnitude. Her delicate, almost ethereal
beauty instantly attracted a crowd of admirers. She was “new,” and after
an entirely different pattern from most of the fashionable belles who
frequented the place, which, together with the fact of her being an
heiress, was considered sufficient cause for any amount of admiration
and homage being paid her. And so she was whirled into the vortex of
fashionable life. The days were turned into night, night into day, and
all the quiet which she had so enjoyed at Newport into an endless round
of excitement.

One evening there was to be a garden-party—“the most brilliant affair of
the season,” according to the flaming announcement.

Editha did not want to go.

“I am tired out now, papa, besides having no heart for anything of the
kind,” she said, wearily, when Mr. Dalton began to talk of the details
of her dress, about which he was very particular for a man.

“Pshaw!” he returned, impatiently; “you have been moping yourself to
death, and need waking up. This is to be the finest occasion of the
season, I am told, and I shall take no pleasure in it unless I can have
you with me.”

It was not Editha that he particularly wanted for the sake of the
pleasure he would take in her society, but a handsomely dressed lady by
his side, to be admired, and to help him pass the time agreeably.

Of course Editha yielded rather than to have any words about it, and
gave her attention, with what interest she could command, to the
wearisome business of preparation.

When the night arrived, and she appeared before her father in the finest
of black Brussels net, embroidered in rich golden-hearted daisies, and
gracefully looped over rose-colored silk, from which here and there
flashed superb ornaments of diamonds, and above which her delicate face
rose like some pure, clear-cut cameo, Mr. Dalton was for a moment
speechless with admiration, and Editha really felt paid for the effort
she had made.

“Editha,” exclaimed her father, when he at last found his voice, “there
will be no one so beautiful as yourself in the park to-night. I shall
have the honor of escorting the fairest woman in Saratoga.”

“Thank you, papa. I never heard you compliment any one like that
before,” laughed Editha, surprised at his enthusiasm, and never
realizing how exceedingly lovely she was.

“I never had occasion, I can assure you,” he answered, as his eyes
lingered proudly upon her graceful form.

Editha was not one of those variable young ladies who adopt every new
fashion for dressing the hair, whether it is becoming or not.

Her hair to-night, as always, was worn in plaited bands of satin
smoothness, and coiled around her shapely head, its only ornament a
small cluster of daisies fastened on one side with a diamond aigrette.

Tiny daisies, in the center of whose golden heart there glittered a
diamond like a drop of dew, hung in her ears, while on her arms of
Parian whiteness were bracelets to match.

It would indeed be impossible to imagine a fairer vision or a more
unique and attractive costume among the hundreds that would assemble
that evening.

The weather was perfect, and the decorations of the park were very
elaborate and elegant. Flags hung gracefully canopied over the entrance
like curtains, and festooned along the fanciful frame-work.

Light frames of stars, triangles, hearts, shields, and many other
devices, were fastened everywhere among the trees to support the
transparent lanterns of almost magical beauty. The electric light
flooded the whole scene with almost the brightness of day, and made the
place seem as if touched by the wand of an enchanter.

The finest dressing of the season graced this party, and, as some one
has said, “it did not require a great stretch of the imagination to
convert the passing throng into elves and fairies, their raiment
appearing to have been woven with the gossamer threads of the cobwebs,
and out of the butterflies’ wings, as if the dew of the morning, the
mist of the moon, the dew-drops gathered from the calyx of the lily, had
all been collected and laid with homage at the feet of the ethereal
creatures who lead captive the sons of men.”

And that the fairest of them all was Editha Dalton seemed to be
generally admitted by both old and young.

Strangers, catching sight of that fair face rising above the
golden-hearted daisies, pointed her out, and asked who she was. Friends
and acquaintances crowded around to catch a word, a smile, a look even,
and wondering why they had never before realized how exquisitely lovely
she was.

Something of the beauty and excitement of the occasion seemed to animate
her. Her burden of sorrow for the time seemed to drop from her heart,
and she appeared to become a part of the brightness which surrounded
her, while she danced, chatted, and laughed much like the free-hearted,
blithesome Editha of old.

Many remarked it afterward, and declared that she must have been a
fairy, or elf, who, since they never saw her again, must have floated
away at some magic hour of the night at the stern decree of some uncanny
ogre. Nor were they far out of the way in their surmises.

The small hours were approaching, and the merriment was at its height.
Editha had been dancing with a friend of Mr. Dalton’s, and seemed to
enjoy it, as much as any one. She evidently liked her companion, for she
made herself very agreeable to him, while he more than once, by his wit
and sparkling repartee, had called the familiar silvery laughter from
her beautiful lips.

When the dance was through he led her to a quiet place to rest. He did
not leave her, but remained standing by her side, watching her
expressive face, as she in turn watched the passing throng, forgetful
for the time of all save the life and joy of the occasion.

Suddenly he saw her start. A flush leaped into her cheeks, a brighter
light to her eyes, as she arose and extended both hands to a gentleman
who was approaching.

“Mr. Tressalia! How glad I am! When did you arrive, and how did you find
me?” she asked, all in a breath.

“Thank you. I arrived on the late evening train, and I found you by the
power of intuition, I think,” he answered, laughing, as he glanced from
her to her companion, and heartily shook both hands.

Editha introduced the two gentlemen, and, after a few moments’
conversation, her former companion excused himself and went away with a
clouded brow, muttering something about the unexpected appearance of old
lovers.

Editha was really delighted to see her friend. She had missed him sadly,
and she was chatting away with him in the most social manner, asking all
sorts of questions about Newport and her friends, when Mr. Dalton all at
once came upon the scene.

He expressed no surprise at seeing Mr. Tressalia, but the frown upon his
brow testified to his displeasure, although he politely inquired
regarding his arrival.

“I came on with some old friends who were anxious to visit the
place—Madam Sylvester and her brother,” he answered.

Mr. Dalton started violently, and flushed hotly at this information, and
appeared all at once so nervous and strangely excited that Mr. Tressalia
regarded him with surprise.

“Madam Sylvester!” exclaimed Editha, joyously, and not noticing her
father’s agitation. “I am so glad. I liked her so much at Newport. I
shall be glad to extend our acquaintance.”

“Your pleasure is reciprocated, I can assure you, for madam was equally
delighted with you,” Paul returned, with his eyes still on Mr. Dalton.

He had withdrawn a trifle within the shadow of a tree, and stood with
his head bent, looking down upon the ground, his face dark with anger,
while he worked his hands in a nervous way and gnawed his under lip.

“What in thunder ails the man, to make him look and act so strangely?”
the young man asked, within himself.

“Are madam and her brother here at the garden-party?” Editha asked.

“Yes; the fame of it reached us before we arrived, and you know the
electric light is visible for several miles before we reach Saratoga;
so, notwithstanding our weariness, we all thought we must come and take
a look at the enchanted place.”

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” she asked, her eyes roving in every direction
over the bright scene.

“Yes, indeed; I never saw anything like it before. Madam and her brother
went to the dancing pavilion to see if they could find you, but I
thought I should discover you in some quiet nook, as I have.”

Editha laughed, and the beautiful color rushed half guiltily to her
cheeks.

“You would not have thought so if you had come fifteen minutes earlier.
I think the music has bewildered me to-night for I have been dancing
with the merriest. But how does it happen that you are a visitor at
Saratoga?” she asked, to change the subject.

“Oh, after receiving your note telling me of your destination, Newport
lost its charms, and I felt in immediate need of medicinal spring
water,” he said, in a playful strain, delighted to find her so improved
and animated. “Madam Sylvester was affected in the same way,” he added.
“I expect that remarkable woman will be tempted to kidnap you and bear
you away to regions unknown before long, she has taken such a fancy to
you.”

“Just hear that, papa—fancy any one taking such a liking to me that they
would want to kidnap me. Why, what is the matter? Are you ill?” Editha
cried, as she turned toward her father, and was transfixed by one glance
into his face.

It was white as alabaster, and his eyes glowed like two coals of fire
with some violent inward emotion.

“No, no; not ill, but very tired. I think we ought to return at once to
our hotel, Editha,” he answered, with an evident effort to regain his
composure.

“I am sorry if you are tired, papa; I thought you were enjoying yourself
immensely. Sit down and rest in some quiet place, please. I really do
not like to return just yet.”

“But you are not strong; I fear the dampness will do you injury,” Mr.
Dalton said, anxious to get her away at once, and never having given a
thought to the dampness until that moment.

“I am very warm and comfortable; indeed I thought the air remarkably
clear and dry to-night,” Editha said, without moving.

“Really, Editha, I think I must insist——”

“Please don’t insist upon anything, papa,” returned the girl, wilfully;
“if you are so weary, go _you_ back to the Grand Union, and Mr.
Tressalia will bring me by and by.”

She was determined that she would not be walked off thus summarily like
a little girl in petticoats, and Mr. Dalton had to beat a retreat.

“I think I will go for a smoke, then,” he said, as he turned and walked
abruptly away.

Paul Tressalia wondered what it all meant.

The man had betrayed his great agitation only upon the mention of Madam
Sylvester’s name.

Did he know her, and if so was there enmity between them? Was that the
reason of his sudden flight from Newport?

His manner was certainly very strange, and he had evidently intended to
get Editha away before any meeting occurred between her and madam, but
he could not very well urge the matter any further without betraying
himself, and so he had walked away in no enviable frame of mind.

Editha watched him curiously until he passed from sight, then turning to
her companion, she said:

“I do not believe papa is feeling very well; perhaps I ought to have
gone.”

“Shall I take you to him?” Paul asked, considerately.

“Not just yet. I would like to see Madam Sylvester a moment, if we can
find her; but first tell me”—and the beautiful face instantly lost all
its lovely color—“have you heard again from—from—Earle?”

“Yes; I had a letter day before yesterday, and he is not very well, he
writes; the doctor does not think the climate exactly agrees with him,”
Mr. Tressalia answered, his own face growing grave as he saw the
brightness die out of hers.

Editha sighed, and the old grieved look returned to her lips.

“Would you like to read his letter? I have it with me,” he asked,
considerately.

“No, no; I could not do that. Tell me, please, what you like about him;
but I cannot quite bear to read his own words just yet,” she said, with
unutterable sadness.

“My poor little friend, your lot is a hard one,” he said, softly.

“Don’t pity me, please—life is hard enough for us all, I think,” she
returned, quickly and bitterly.

“Earle thinks he will have to have a change as soon as he can get away,”
Mr. Tressalia continued, “and asks if I will resume the charge of
Wycliffe for him. Shall I tell you all that he says about it?”

“Yes, yes; go on,” the poor girl said, eagerly, though every word was
fresh torture to her.

“He says he cannot live longer away from you, Editha; it is killing him,
and he _must_ come where he can see you once in awhile. He writes, ‘Ask
her if I may. I will say nothing that shall wound her. I will be firm
and strong; but, oh! I am so homesick for a look into her eyes, for a
clasp of her hand. Ask her, Paul, if I may come.’”

“No, _no_, NO!” burst in a low, frightened tone from the girl’s lips.
“He must not come. Write to him instantly and tell him so. Mr.
Tressalia, I could not bear that of all things in the world. I will not
see him. He must not come. I will hide from him. Oh! why must I suffer
so?”

The words ended in a low, heart-broken sob. She had clasped both hands
convulsively around her companion’s arm in her excitement, and was now
shivering and trembling so that he was greatly alarmed.

The brightness and exceeding beauty that had been hers when he first saw
her had only been the result of a momentary excitement after all.

He had flattered himself that she was really better and stronger, both
in body and spirit, but now he saw that her poor heart was just as sore
and wounded as ever, and that her fatal love was still eating at her
vitals.

Earle, he knew from the letter he had so lately received, was suffering
in the same way, and what these poor tried ones were to do all their
future was a sore trouble to him.

“Be calm, dear child,” he said, in low, quiet tones. “Earle shall do
just as you wish. Come and walk with me until your nerves are a little
more steady.”

He unclasped those locked fingers from his arm, and drawing one hand
within it, led her away into a retired path, and talked gravely of other
things, until he saw the wild look fade from her eyes, the hand on his
arm grow quiet, and knew that her intense excitement was gradually
subsiding.

But it hurt him deeply to hear every few minutes a deep, shuddering,
sobbing sigh come from her pale lips—something as a child breathes after
it has exhausted itself with weeping and fallen asleep.

He would gladly have restored happiness both to Earle and her if he
could have done so, even to the sacrificing of his own life, but he
could not—each must bear his own burden. It seemed as if they had been
beset on every hand with troubles during the past few years, fulfilling
those words of Shakespeare’s:

            “When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
            But in battalions.”

“Earle has had an adventure. Shall I tell you about it?” he asked, when
at length she had apparently grown quite calm, and intuitively knowing
that she would like to hear more.

“If you please.”

“There has been an attempt made to rob Wycliffe, and but for his
calmness and bravery great mischief would have been done.”

“Ah! he was always brave; but—but I hope he was not injured,” Editha
cried, a feeling of faintness stealing over her.

“Bless you, no; else he would not now be talking of a change. He not
only prevented a robbery and protected himself, but he has captured the
robber.”

“I am sure that is good news,” she said, now deeply interested.

“And, Editha, who do you suppose the robber proved to be?”

“I am sure I cannot imagine; and yet you—you cannot mean——”

“Yes, I do mean it,” he answered, reading her thought. “It was no other
than that wretch who robbed your father’s house several years ago, and
for whom Earle suffered the penalty. It was _Tom Drake_, that man whom
you met after your visit to John Loker’s, and who afterwards entered
your house the second time and compelled you by his mesmeric power to go
away with him.”

Editha shuddered, and yet she could hardly believe her ears. She had
always been afraid of meeting that dreadful man again, and now to know
that he was away in England and a captive, was a great relief to her.

“It does not seem possible,” she said.

“It is righteous judgment that he should at last be taken by the very
one who unjustly served out the sentence that ought to have been
pronounced upon him threefold,” was the stern reply.

“Tell me how it happened, please—that is, if you know?”

“Yes; Earle wrote me a good deal about it. It seems that the fellow did
not deem the United States a safe place for him after John Loker’s
confession was made public—the description of himself was too accurate
for that—so he fled to England, and has undoubtedly been carrying on his
nefarious operations there ever since. About a month after I left
Wycliffe, Earle was awakened one night by the sound as of some one
stepping cautiously around in his dressing-room. His revolver was in
reach, and he instantly secured it. The next moment a man passed into
his room. It was not a very dark night, and as the robber glided between
the bed and the window his figure was clearly outlined, and Earle,
aiming low, fired at him. He fell with a groan. It was but the work of a
minute to strike a light and go to the prostrate man, who was too badly
wounded to make any resistance, and he found that his fallen foe was
none other than his and your enemy Tom Drake.

“What a strange adventure; and—Earle was in great danger,” Editha
whispered, with a deep-drawn breath.

“Yes; but the strangest of all is yet to come,” pursued Mr. Tressalia.
“Instead of giving the wretch up to the authorities, as any one else
would have done in spite of his fearful sufferings, he enjoined
strictest silence upon the servants, called in the old family physician
and swore him to secrecy, and is now nursing the wretch back to health
as tenderly as if he was his own brother.”

“This is just like Earle’s nobility—he is ‘a noble of nature’s own
creating!’” said Editha, admiringly; and her face glowed with pride for
this grand act of one whom she so fondly loved.

“Was the man very severely injured?” she asked, after a moment of
silence.

“Yes, in the thigh; he will probably be a cripple for life, Earle says.”

“How sad! What will be done with him when he recovers?”

“Earle did not write what his intentions were, but he will probably be
transported for life, where, with a ball and chain attached to him, you
will never need fear him any more.”

“Poor fellow! The English laws are more severe than our own, then,” she
said, with a sigh.

“If the laws of the United States were more stringent, and the penalties
for extreme cases more severe, your prisons would not be so full, and,
in my opinion, there would be less mischief done,” Mr. Tressalia
replied, thoughtfully.

At this moment some one spoke his name, and, turning, they saw Madam
Sylvester and her brother approaching.

Pleasant greetings were exchanged, and then they all sought seats at a
little distance near a fountain for a few moments’ conversation before
returning to their hotel.




                CHAPTER XXXIX
                CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES


When Mr. Dalton turned so abruptly and left Mr. Tressalia and Editha he
was indeed terribly excited.

He walked rapidly to a remote portion of the park, where, out of the
sight and sound of every one, he paced back and forth under the trees,
muttering fierce imprecations upon some one, and gesticulating in a wild
and angry manner.

“I must get away from here at once,” he muttered. “Whatever could have
possessed _them_ to follow us here? Of course _she_ cannot _know_
anything, and what especial interest can she have in my daughter? But
I’m terribly afraid some unlucky remark or question will expose
all—Editha is so _charmingly ingenuous_,” he went on, with sarcastic
bitterness; “and I have lost enough already—I will not be balked at this
late day. I have fought fate all my life, and now I’ll conquer or die.
We will get out of this place instantly; and since they are French, they
will not mind, perhaps, if we take ‘French leave.’”

A half-hour or more Mr. Dalton spent by himself giving vent to his anger
and vexation, and then, in a somewhat calmer frame of mind, he went to
seek Editha to return to their hotel. He was obliged to search some
time, for the throng was immense, and it was no easy matter to discover
a person once lost sight of.

But he found them at length all together, Madam Sylvester and her
brother, Mr. Tressalia and Editha, standing by one of the fountains, as
if they had just arisen from their seats and were contemplating retiring
from the place.

Madam was standing by Editha, her arm lightly clasping her waist, and
talking in her gentle, charming way, while the young girl’s eyes were
fixed upon her face in a look of earnest admiration.

“A very touching scene,” sneered Mr. Dalton, as he came in sight of
them. “A clear case of mutual affinity that is remarkable under the
circumstances. My daughter seems to possess a power of attraction _in
certain directions_ that is truly wonderful.”

He stood looking at the group for a few moments with a dark frown upon
his brow, and as if undecided whether it was best to advance or retreat.

He seemed at length to decide upon the latter course, for he turned, and
was about slipping away, when Editha espied him, and called out:

“There he is now. Papa, come here, please;” and she went toward him,
drawing Madam Sylvester with her. “I want to introduce you to my friend,
Madam Sylvester,” she said, with a sweet smile, and all unsuspicious of
the tempest raging within Mr. Dalton’s bosom.

It was done, and there was no escape now; but it was a very pale face
that Sumner Dalton bent before madam and the steel-like glitter of his
eyes repelled her, and made her think of Editha as a poor lamb in the
clutches of a wolf.

“She does not look like him; she must resemble her mother; but she has
hair and eyes like——” was madam’s inward comment, but which was broken
short off at this point with a regretful sigh.

But the next moment she had turned to him again with her usual
graciousness.

“Mr. Dalton,” she said, “I have been telling your daughter how
disappointed I was to find her gone so suddenly from Newport. I had only
just become acquainted with her, to be sure, but I had promised myself
much pleasure in my intercourse with her.”

Mr. Dalton bowed and smiled, and mechanically repeated something
stereotyped about “mutual pleasure,” &c., and then turned to be
presented to Mr. Gustave Sylvester, but not before madam had noticed
again that steel-like glitter in his eyes.

“My dear,” she said to Editha, “I have not yet asked you where you are
stopping?”

“At the Grand Union.”

“That is capital, for we have all secured rooms there also, and I hope
we shall see much of each other.”

“I hope so, too,” Editha said, heartily, and thinking how all her life
she had longed for just such a friend as she thought madam would be.

“How long do you remain?” she asked.

“I am sure I cannot tell. As long as papa desires, I suppose, as I make
my plans conform to his as much as possible,” and Editha cast an anxious
glance at Mr. Dalton, whose strange manner she had remarked; and was
somewhat troubled by it. He was sustaining rather a forced conversation
with Mr. Gustave Sylvester, but his manner was nervous and his brow
gloomy and lowering.

“You are looking better than when I saw you at Newport,” madam said,
with an admiring glance at her beautiful companion.

“Yes, I think my health is improving,” Editha answered; but she sighed
as she said it, and a look of pain crossed her face.

Speaking of her ill-health always reminded her of its cause, and sent
her thoughts flying over the sea to Earle.

The sigh touched madam, for she divined its cause; and, drawing the fair
girl a little closer within her encircling arm, she laid her lips
against her ear and tenderly whispered:

“We must never forget, dear, no matter how dark our lot, that One has
said, ‘Thy strength is sufficient for thee.’”

Editha started, and her lip quivered a trifle.

“Do you think it is possible to realize that under all circumstances?”
she asked, a slight tremulousness in her tone, notwithstanding her
effort at self-control.

Madam drew her gently one side, and began walking slowly around the
fountain, in order to be beyond the hearing of the others.

“In the first moments of our blind, unreasoning grief, perhaps not,” she
answered, with grave sweetness. “I have known, dear child, what it is—

           ‘To wander on without a ray of hope,
             To find no respite even in our sleep,
           Life’s sun extinguished, in the dark to grope,
             And hopeless through the weary world to creep.’

That is the way life seemed to me once, but in time I came to realize
that in this world of weary toil and waiting there must be some
burden-bearers, and God meant me to be one of them.”

“But all burdens are not heavy alike,” murmured Editha.

“No, dear; but if ‘Our Father’ sends them, we may be very sure that it
is right for us to bear them; and Frances Anne Kemble tells us:

              ‘A sacred burden is this life ye bear,
              Look on it—lift it, bear it patiently,
              Stand up and walk beneath it steadfastly,
              Fail not for sorrow, falter not for sin,
              But onward, upward, till the goal ye win.’”

“Those are brave, cheering words. If I could but have some kind
comforter like you all the time, I could bear it better,” Editha said,
with fast-dropping tears, and realizing more than she had ever done
before how utterly alone she was in the world.

“My dear, you forget the great Divine Comforter. Haven’t you yet learned
to trust Him?” madam asked, with great tenderness.

“You—oh, yes; at least I _thought_ I had until this last trouble came
upon me, which has made it seem almost as if ‘a blank despair like the
shadow of a starless night was thrown over the world in which I moved
alone.’ Many and many a time I have felt as if I must lie down like a
weary child and weep out the life of sorrow which I have borne, and
which I still must bear until the end,” the young girl said, with almost
passionate earnestness.

“My poor child, how my heart grieves for you. Mr. Tressalia has told me
something of your trouble, and I think I never knew of anything quite so
sad before; but, believe me, some good must come out of it. You are
young, and this sad lesson patiently learned will give you strength of
character for the future, whatever it may be. You know we are told that
out of sorrow we come forth purified if we bear it rightly.”

“Then I fear I shall never become purified,” Editha answered, bitterly.
“I _cannot_ bear it rightly. I am not patient. My heart is constantly
rebelling against the unjustness, as it seems to me, of it all. Why did
not some instinct warn me that Earle was my brother before I had learned
to love him so well?” she concluded, wildly.

“Hush, dear,” madam said, with gentle reproof, but her fine face was
very grave and troubled. “We cannot understand the _why_ of a great many
things; we know that they _are_, and we have no right to question the
wisdom of anything that is beyond our comprehension; but I am greatly
interested in this sorrow of yours and the young Marquis of Wycliffe. I
know it will do you good to unburden your heart, and if you can trust me
who am almost a stranger to you, tell me more about it.”

“You do not seem like a stranger to me. You are more like a dear,
long-tried friend, and I can never tell you how comforting your kind
sympathy is to me,” Editha returned, with eyes full of tears.

Madam’s only reply was a closer clasp around the slender waist, and the
young girl continued:

“When we met you that day in Redwood Library at Newport, and your hand
closed over mine with such a strong yet fond clasp, and you looked into
my eyes in that earnest, tender way you have, I could have wound my arms
about your neck and wept out my grief upon your bosom even then.”

Madam’s eyes were full of tears now, but Editha did not see them, and
went on:

“I will gladly tell you all about my sad trouble, only I would not like
to weary you.”

“It will not weary me, dear.”

And so Editha, won more and more by this beautiful woman’s sweetness and
gentleness, poured into her sympathizing ear all her story, beginning
with the time Earle had come a poor boy into her uncle’s employ, and
ending with their final separation when they were told that they were
both children of one father.

“It is a very strange, sad history,” madam said, when she had finished;
“but the facts of the case are so very evident that there can be no way
of disputing them; and this uncle of yours, what a noble man he was.”

“Yes; he was mamma’s brother, and a dear, dear uncle. Oh! if he could
but have lived,” Editha sighed.

“My dear, he could not have prevented this.”

“No; but he would have comforted me as no other could have done.”

“You were every fond of him, then?”

“Yes; I believe I loved him better than any one in the world. That does
not seem just right to say, perhaps, when papa and mamma were living,
but he was always so sympathizing and tender with me. He would always
listen patiently and with interest to all my little trials, and
sympathize with me when everybody else laughed at them as trifles.”

“Had he no family of his own?”

“No; he was what we call an old bachelor,” Editha replied, with a little
smile; “and he was the dearest old bachelor that ever lived. I used to
think sometimes that he must have loved some one long ago, for there
were times when he was very sad. But he never seemed to like the ladies
very well; he would never go into company if he could help it, and,
whenever I said anything to him about it, he used to tell me, in a
laughing way, that he was waiting to be my escort, so as to frighten
away all unworthy suitors.”

“He did not like the society of ladies, you say?”

“No; he was always coldly polite to them, but would never show them any
attention.”

“He liked _one_ well enough, it seems, to leave her all his fortune,”
madam said, with an arch look into the beautiful face at her side.

“Yes; he gave me all he had, excepting the ten thousand that Earle was
to have. I was always his ‘pet,’ his ‘ray of sunshine,’ his ‘happiness,’
but I would rather have my dear, kind uncle back than all the fortunes
in the world,” she said sadly.

“He was your mother’s brother, you say, dear—what was his name?” asked
madam, who had been very deeply interested in all she had heard.

“It is a name that he was always very proud of—Ri——”

“Editha!” suddenly called Mr. Dalton from behind them. “I have been
chasing you around for the last half-hour. Do you know what time it is?”

“No, papa.”

“It is after one, and time that delicate people were at rest.”

“Very well; I am ready to go now, if you wish,” she said, quietly.

Mr. Tressalia and Mr. Sylvester now joined them, and the former made
some proposal to madam regarding an excursion for the morrow.

While they were discussing the question Mr. Dalton tried to hurry Editha
away, regardless of the propriety of the thing.

“I must bid them good-night, papa,” she said, coldly, and wilfully
standing her ground, while she wondered at his extreme haste.

“Be quick about it, then, for I am dused tired,” he said, impatiently.

She then said good-night to them in a general way, and turned to
accompany her father, not very well pleased to be treated so like a
child.

“My dear,” called madam, with an anxious look in her eye, as she saw how
pale and weary Editha was looking, “get all the rest you can, and then
come to me as soon as you have breakfasted to-morrow, for I have
something very particular to say to you. My room is No. 105.”

Editha promised, while Sumner Dalton ground his teeth with inward rage
at this familiar request.

“What you can see in _her_ to admire is more than I can imagine,” he
remarked, curtly, on their way out of the park.

“Why, papa, where are your eyes? I think she is the most charming woman
I ever met,” Editha replied, with unwise enthusiasm.

“I prefer you should not be quite so free with an entire stranger—it is
not proper,” he growled.

She set her little chin, and her eyes flashed with a light which told
that she considered herself old enough and capable of judging for
herself upon such matters.

“Have you enjoyed the evening?” she asked, avoiding any reply to his
remark.

“Well enough until _they_ came,” was the curt retort.

“I am sorry if you do not like my new friends, papa, but I thought you
used to admire Mr. Tressalia,” Editha returned, a little spirit of
mischief prompting the last half of her remark.

“He is well enough, only, according to my way of looking at things, it
does not seem just the thing for him to be hanging around you all the
time and running after you as if you belonged to him,” Mr. Dalton said,
crossly.

He was evidently entirely out of sorts, and Editha knew it would be
better to let the matter drop, but she could not resist one more little
shaft.

“I thought you liked me to receive Mr. Tressalia’s attentions,” she
said, innocently.

“So I did once, but circumstances alter cases sometimes; and—we will not
discuss Mr. Tressalia further, if you please.”

He was undeniably cross, and she was glad to escape to her room as soon
as they reached the hotel, while she was inwardly rejoicing at the
prospect of having Madam Sylvester’s companionship for awhile at least.

Madam stood and watched her as she left them and moved away with her
father.

Her face was very sad and her voice trembled slightly as, turning to her
brother, she asked:

“Of whom does she remind you, Gustave?”

“Of no one in particular,” he returned, indifferently.

“Not of——” and she bent forward and whispered the rest of the sentence
in his ear.

“No, not if my memory serves me right,” he said, shaking his head; “and
yet,” he added, “there _may_ be an expression about the eyes that is
familiar. I had not thought of it before.”

“Gustave, her name is Editha,” madam said, in a low voice, her face very
pale, and with an eager look into her brother’s face.

“There are doubtless a thousand Edithas in the world; do not allow
yourself to become imaginative at this late day, Estelle,” he returned;
and, dropping the matter there, madam signified her readiness to return
to the hotel also.




                CHAPTER XL
                ADIEU TO SARATOGA


Editha had told her maid that she need not sit up for her, as it would
doubtless be very late when she returned from the park; but she almost
regretted that she had done so, for, on reaching her room, and with the
false strength which excitement gives gone, she found herself very weak
and weary.

She sank listlessly into a chair and began removing her ornaments, and
while thus engaged there came a knock upon her door.

Almost simultaneously it was opened, for she had not locked it, and Mr.
Dalton thrust in his head.

“Where is Annie?” he asked.

“In bed, papa. I told her she need not wait for me. Do you want anything
very particularly?”

“I want to see you,” he replied, coming in and shutting the door. “I am
sorry it is so late. I wish we had come home earlier. I have had bad
news. I have important business, that calls me home immediately,” he
concluded, speaking disconnectedly and excitedly.

“Home?” exclaimed Editha, greatly surprised, and feeling deeply
disappointed, for, of course, she knew he would expect her to go with
him. Besides, she could not bear the thought of leaving so soon after
Madam Sylvester’s arrival.

“Yes; we must start by six to-morrow morning. Can you be ready?”

“So soon?” she said, with a weary sigh.

“Yes; I must go immediately. If there was a train in an hour, and we
could get ready, I would take it,” he answered, excitedly.

“Why, papa, what can possibly have happened to recall you so suddenly?”

“You would not understand if I should tell you,” he said, uneasily; “it
is private business of my own. Will you be ready?”

“It is very little time,” Editha replied, wearily. “Would it not do to
wait a day or two longer?”

“No, not an hour longer than it will take to pack our trunks and catch a
train,” Mr. Dalton said, with a frown.

He was beginning to be very angry to be thus opposed.

“I _wish_ this had not happened just now, and _they_ have only arrived
to-night,” Editha murmured, reflectively.

Mr. Dalton scowled angrily, and muttered something about the selfishness
of women generally.

Editha sat thinking for a few moments, and then asked:

“Could you not go home without me, papa, if this business is so very
urgent? I would really like to remain at the Springs a little longer,
and I know that Madam Sylvester would gladly act as my chaperon until
you can return.”

It was all that Mr. Dalton could do to suppress an oath at this request.

“No, no,” he said, quickly. “I am nearly sick with all this worry and
fuss, and I cannot spare you.”

He did indeed look worried over something, and his face was pale, his
eyes very bright and restless; but Editha could not think it necessary
that she should be hurried off in such an unheard-of manner, just for a
matter of business.

“If you must go, and think you cannot get along without me, suppose you
go on an early train, and I will follow with Annie later?” she said. “A
few hours cannot make much difference to you, and I really think it
would be uncivil to hurry away so, and without even a word of farewell
to our friends. Besides, I promised I would see Madam Sylvester in the
morning.”

“I should think you were fairly bewitched with this French madam. I will
not have it. You must return with me; and, if report speaks the truth,
your wonderful friend is no fit companion for _my_ daughter,” Mr. Dalton
cried, with angry hauteur.

“Then you knew her before to-night. I thought so from your manner.
_What_ do you know about her?” Editha asked, greatly surprised.

“I cannot say that I had that honor,” her father returned,
sarcastically. “I never spoke with her until to-night, and I cannot say
that I wish to extend the acquaintance.”

“She is a very lovely, as well as a good, pure woman,” Editha asserted,
with flushing cheeks, and indignant with him for speaking so slightingly
of her new friend. “Mr. Tressalia,” she added, “knows all about her, and
he says that, excepting for a mistake or two during the early part of
her life, her character is above suspicion.”

“A mistake or two in one’s early life, as you express it, often ruins
one for all time,” remarked Mr. Dalton, dryly.

Having proved the truth of that axiom to a certain extent, he knew
whereof he spoke.

“Then you would not be willing for me to remain with her under any
circumstances?” Editha asked, with a searching look into his face.

“Certainly not; and I desire you to hold no further communication with
her.”

“You will have to give me some good and sufficient reason for your wish
before I shall feel called upon to comply with it,” she returned,
firmly, and calmly meeting his eye.

“I should think that by this time you had seen the folly of defying me,”
he said, with a fierceness that was startling. “But enough of this. I
suppose you consent to return with me?”

“Yes, rather than have any more words about it; but I am very much
disappointed,” she returned, with a sigh, and beginning to think that
Mr. Dalton was jealous of her sudden liking for Madam Sylvester, and
that was why he was hurrying her away so.

“And please do not trouble yourself to inform Mr. Tressalia _or any one
else_ concerning our plans. I do not care to have my steps dogged again
as they have been hither, and for which it seems I have you to thank,”
her father said, fretfully.

Editha glanced at him in a puzzled way; she could not understand him
to-night.

That he was strangely excited over something she could see, for he was
very pale, his eyes glowed fiercely, and he was very nervous and
irritable, and she did not really believe his story regarding urgent
business calling him home.

Somehow she became possessed with the idea that madam was in some way
connected with this inexplicable move, but how or why she could not
imagine.

“You had better call Annie, and I will help you pack your trunks, so
that there will be nothing to do in the morning,” Mr. Dalton said,
rising and beginning to gather up some articles that lay on the table.

He was an expert at packing, and Editha, too utterly wearied out to feel
equal to any effort, was glad to avail herself of this offer.

She went to call Annie, wondering if all her life-long she would have to
be subject to his caprices in this way, and feeling more sad than she
could express.

In less than an hour, under the nimble and experienced fingers of Mr.
Dalton and Annie, every article was packed, the trunks strapped, and
labeled, and ready for the porter to take down in the morning.

Then the weary girl crept into bed, feeling more friendless and alone
than ever before, and wept herself to sleep.

She had been forbidden to communicate with Mr. Tressalia regarding their
departure, and she did not know whether she should ever meet him again,
and it seemed such a shabby and unkind way to treat a friend who had
sacrificed so much for her. She had been forbidden to hold any further
communication with Madam Sylvester, for whom she was beginning to feel a
strong affection, and all this by a man selfish and domineering, and
determined to bend her to his lightest will.

She knew that she could refuse point-blank to obey him if she chose—she
could go her own way and he his; but if she did this she would cut
herself loose from every hold upon the old life, and from every natural
tie—she would not have a friend left in the world, while Mr. Dalton
would also be left alone.

Every day she was conscious that her affection for him waned more and
more, but for her mother’s sake she could not quite bear the thought of
leaving him without any restraining influences; besides, if she should
pursue any such course, she would take away all his means of support,
for his ten thousand was slipping through his fingers like water.

She never stopped to reason that this might be the very best thing she
could do—that if he stood in a little wholesome fear of losing his
present share of her handsome income, he would not be likely to domineer
over her quite to such an extent. But the future looked darker than ever
to her, and her heart was very sad and depressed.

At five o’clock the next morning Mr. Dalton came to arouse her and her
maid, and as soon as she was dressed he sent her up a tempting little
breakfast, with a word to take plenty of time and eat all she could.

This he had accomplished by heavily feeing one of the waiters the night
before, and the steaming cup of rich chocolate, the broiled chicken done
to a turn, the eggs and delicate toast, really formed an appetizing
meal.

With all his selfishness and the determination to bend Editha to his own
will, Mr. Dalton always liked to have her fare well, as well as dress
richly and becomingly.

At six o’clock the early train steamed out of the Saratoga depot, and
Editha could not refrain from dropping a few more tears behind her vail
as a sad farewell to the friends whom she feared she should never meet
again.

Mr. Dalton eyed her closely, but was too well pleased to have got her
away so successfully to trouble her with any more words about the
matter.

When they arrived in their own city, some time during the afternoon, Mr.
Dalton proposed that they go directly to some hotel, since their own
house was shut up, and no word had been sent to the servants to prepare
for their coming.

Editha assented, and he engaged some cheerful, handsome rooms in a
first-class house for them both.

A week went by, and she thought it strange he should say no more about
going home; and one day she ventured to suggest their return.

“I believe I like it here better,” he said, glancing around the
beautiful room.

“Better than our own spacious home?” Editha cried, astonished.

She knew that their elegant house on —th street had always been the
pride of his heart, and the one thing he mourned about at Newport or
anywhere else was the want of the comforts and conveniences of their
elegantly appointed residence.

After his confession to Earle that he was a ruined man, his house and
furniture mortgaged, and the mortgage liable to be foreclosed any day,
she had generously proposed clearing it off, and it was now free from
debt.

“Yes,” he replied to her surprised remark; “the house seems so large and
lonely with only two people in it besides the servants, and really I
have never been so comfortable at any hotel before.”

“I know; but one has so much more freedom in one’s own home,” Editha
said, disappointed.

Hotel life was always obnoxious to her, and her father knew it, too. But
her preferences were of minor importance to him.

“Yes,” he said; “but there is a great deal of care in providing for a
family, and I shall get rid of all that if we board. I propose that we
rent the house for awhile; it will give us a snug little sum, and it
will be more economical to live this way.”

Editha opened her eyes wide at this new departure. She had never heard
her father preach economy before; but she saw at once where the
advantage was coming, and in her heart she grew very indignant toward
him.

If he rented the house it would indeed bring _him_ a handsome sum, which
he would pocket, while the hotel bill would doubtless come out of her
income; but though she read him correctly, in a measure, she did not
give him credit for the deep scheme he had in mind.

He thought that Mr. Tressalia, on finding that they had again taken
French leave, would try to find them, and follow them as he had done
before; and if he, with madam and her brother, should take a notion to
seek them there in the city, and should find their house either closed
or rented, they would come to the conclusion that they were still absent
at some summer resort, and go away again. Thus he would escape them
entirely.

But the matter ended, as all such matters ended, in Editha’s yielding
assent.

                *       *       *       *       *

Some things in Editha’s story had moved Madam Sylvester deeply, and she
passed a sleepless night after her return to the hotel on the night of
the garden-party.

She lay reviewing all the ground, recalling little items which at the
time possessed no significance to her, but which now impressed her
powerfully; she thought of the strange attraction she felt toward the
young girl, and revolved many other things of which only she and her
brother knew anything about, until it seemed as if she could not wait
for morning to come.

As soon as Mr. Tressalia made his appearance she sought him and asked
him a few questions that she had intended asking Editha the night
before, but had not had an opportunity, and the effect which his answers
produced upon her startled him not a little.

She lost her self-possession entirely, trembled, and grew frightfully
pale, while the tears fairly rained over her fine face as, grasping both
his hands in hers, she exclaimed:

“My friend Paul, you have proved yourself a good _genie_ more than once;
and now shall I tell you something you will like to know?”

Of course he was very curious about the matter; but the nature of the
secret cannot be disclosed just here, although he deemed it of so much
importance that he felt justified in seeking Mr. Dalton at once, to
demand an explanation regarding some things that had occurred during his
early life.

He came back to madam with the startling intelligence that Mr. Dalton
and his party had left on the early train.

“Gone?” almost shrieked Madam Sylvester. “He knew it—he knew what I have
told you. I remember how he appeared last night when he met me, and now
he has fled to escape me.”

Both Paul and Mr. Gustave Sylvester were on their mettle now, and
proceeded to ascertain whither Mr. Dalton had gone.

The waiter who had served them, and the porter who had assisted in
removing their trunks, were interviewed and feed, but neither had
noticed the labels on the departing visitors’ baggage, and so their
destination was a matter of doubt.

But that afternoon madam’s party also bade adieu to Saratoga, their
object being to ferret out the hiding-place of Sumner Dalton, and compel
him to do an act of justice long delayed.




                CHAPTER XLI
                TOM DRAKE’S BEWILDERMENT


We have left Earle for a long time in his magnificent loneliness at
Wycliffe.

But magnificent loneliness it indeed was, for in his great house there
was not a soul to whom he could go for either sympathy or cheer.

He was surrounded on every hand by everything that almost unlimited
wealth could buy; he possessed one of the finest estates in England, and
farms and forests in France, which, as yet, he had never seen; he
occupied a position second to none save royalty; he had the finest
horses and carriages in the county; cattle and hounds of choicest breed;
he had all this, and yet he was heart-sick with a bitterness that seemed
unbearable.

He could interest himself in nothing—he took pleasure in nothing—all his
fair domains and riches were like a mockery to him; he never stood in
the oriel window that looked out from the center of the main building at
Wycliffe, and viewed the broad expanse spread out before him, and
beautiful as Eden’s fair gardens, without feeling that he was cursed
worse even than Adam and Eve were cursed when driven from Paradise.

His beautiful gardens, shining streams stocked with finest trout, broad
fields of waving golden grain, the noble park with its grand old trees,
God’s most glorious handiwork, all mocked him with their loveliness.

It was as if they said to him, “You can have all this—you can revel in
everything that serves to make the world bright and beautiful; you can
buy and sell, and get gain, add to your stores, and get fame and honor,
but after all is told, you must ever carry a desolate heart in your
bosom; you can never possess the one jewel worth sevenfold more than all
you possess; you can never behold the fair face, dearer than all the
world, beaming upon you in your home as you go and come on the round of
daily duties.”

What did it amount to?—of what value was it all to him if he could not
share it with the only woman whom he could ever love?

He forced himself day after day to go over the estate to see that
everything was in order, and that his commands were properly obeyed; but
there was no heart in anything that he did, while the servants and
workmen all wondered to see him so sad and dispirited.

The interior of Wycliffe was in keeping with the surroundings.

Entering the wide and lofty hall, with its carpetings of velvet, its
panelings of polished oak, its rich furnishings, its statuary and
pictures, one gained something of an idea of the luxury awaiting beyond.

Upon one side of this hall was a suite of parlors—three in number.

The first and third were large lofty rooms and furnished alike. The
ceilings were paneled and painted in the most exquisite designs. The
walls were delicately tinted, with rosewood dados, in which were set
panels of variegated marble beautifully carved. The carpets were of a
bright and graceful pattern, and of richest texture, the hangings of
crimson plush, and the furniture, no two pieces of which were alike, was
upholstered to match.

The middle room was larger than the other two, and even more dazzling in
its furnishings, and was separated from the others by arches, supported
by graceful marble columns richly carved. The walls were delicately
tinted, the same as in the other rooms, but the dados were of white
Italian marble. The ceiling was painted with daisies and buttercups,
arranged in most tasteful design; the carpet was a marvel of richness
and delicate beauty—a white ground dotted with golden heads of wheat;
the curtains were of golden satin festooned with lace; the furniture, of
different kinds of precious wood, inlaid with gold and pearl, was
cushioned with white satin brocaded with golden coreopsis; the
lambrequins, which were of velvet embroidered with daisies, gave a
superb effect to the whole.

Every accessory in the way of mirrors, etageres, pictures, statuary,
etc., was perfect, and the elegance of the whole suite it would be
difficult to exceed.

On the opposite side of the hall were the library, sitting-rooms, and
dining-room, while leading from the latter was a very fine conservatory.

Above, there were suites of rooms for the family and guests, and all in
keeping with the elegance of those below; and if wealth and the good
things it brings could possibly gladden the heart of man, Earle Wayne,
Marquis of Wycliffe, ought to be a very happy one.

There is an old saying, “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” and
we might add, heavy is the heart whose all lies in a weighty purse, for
in all England it would not have been possible to find a more wretched
being than Earle Wayne.

And so the time went by until there came a strange break in the monotony
of his life—the adventure of which Mr. Tressalia had told Editha.

He had been told by one of the servants, during the day before, that a
suspicious-looking character was prowling about the place; but he did
not pay much attention to the matter, and when night came he retired as
usual, and went to sleep without a thought of danger.

About two in the morning he had been awakened by the sound of muffled
footsteps in his dressing-room. The next moment he saw the flash of a
dark lantern, and knew there was mischief brewing.

As before related, it was but the work of a second for him to reach out
and grasp his revolver, which, remembering the robbery at Mr. Dalton’s,
he always kept by him ready for use.

When the man passed between his bed and the window, he knew that was his
best chance, and fired.

The intruder dropped instantly, with a groan, and his lantern went out
as it fell to the floor.

Earle was out of bed and had struck a light in less time that it takes
to tell it.

“Who are you?” he demanded, stooping over his fallen foe.

Then he started back with an exclamation of surprise, as he immediately
recognized the wretch in whose power he had found Editha, and who had so
cleverly escaped from him that morning in the hotel.

It was indeed Tom Drake, and his career as a midnight robber was ended
for all time.

He appeared to be suffering terribly, and, upon examination, Earle found
that the ball had entered the leg just below the thigh, and, as he could
not move it, had probably shattered the bone. Now that his enemy was
fallen, Earle’s sympathies were at once aroused. Suffering in any form
always touched his heart.

“Well, my man,” he said, kindly, as he bent over him, “what am I going
to do for you, I wonder?”

“I guess you’ve done for me already,” was the rough response,
accompanied by a fearful oath and a groan as he recognized his captor.

“I’m very sorry to cause you suffering, but ‘self-preservation is the
first law of nature,’ you know,” Earle answered, as he stepped quickly
to the bell-cord and gave it a violent pull.

In less than five minutes a servant appeared in answer to the summons.

“Here, Robert,” Earle said, as composedly as if nothing had happened; “I
have invited a stranger to stop with me for a little while. Lend a hand,
and we will take him across the hall to the south suite; then I want you
to go for Dr. Sargeant as quickly as possible.”

The burglar was borne to the rooms mentioned, but carefully as he was
handled, he fainted during the removal, and was a long time regaining
consciousness afterward.

The doctor arrived in about three-quarters of an hour, and, after much
difficulty and probing, succeeded in extracting the ball. The ugly wound
was then dressed, and the patient made as comfortable as possible.

As the physician was about departing, Earle sought him privately.

“If you please,” he said, “I would like nothing said about this affair.
I do not wish to create any sensation, and the country will be alive
with excitement if the events of to-night become known.”

“But, my lord, the man ought to be given up to justice,” said the
physician, with a frown.

“No one knows better than yourself that he is no fit subject for justice
now, nor will he be for a good while to come.”

“That is so. He’ll have a hard time of it before he gets through. The
bone is shattered. There will be fever, and a great deal of pain; while
if mortification sets in, he’ll get justice in another world.”

“Then please oblige me by keeping the matter quiet, and do the best you
can for him at my expense.”

“Surely you don’t mean to keep the fellow here?” exclaimed the doctor,
in amazement.

“Certainly. What did you suppose I would do with him?” Earle asked
quietly.

“Send him to the alms-house or hospital. It belongs to the authorities
to take care of such scamps.”

“If a friend of yours had been injured in this way, would you advocate
sending him to the hospital? Would the excitement and fatigue of the
removal be beneficial?” Earle asked pointedly.

“No; inflammation would probably follow, and the patient would doubtless
die,” the physician coolly admitted.

“That is the way I reasoned the question; therefore I hold myself, in a
measure, responsible for this man’s life,” was the grave reply.

“The earth would be well rid of a villain,” answered the doctor,
gruffly. “It was only the luck of the thing that prevented your being
where he is now, or perhaps a corpse.”

“Not ‘luck,’ my friend, but the hand of Providence,” Earle interposed,
with his rare smile. “Your judgment and my conscience tell me that the
man will die unless he has the very best of care. He must be kept quiet,
and free from anxiety; so I have decided that he shall remain here until
he recovers.”

“But who will take care of him?” asked the physician, his gruffness all
gone, and a look that was not disapprobation in his eye.

“I will see that he lacks for no care or attention; as a wounded and
suffering man, he will be the same to me as a friend or guest until he
gets well; and as such I shall expect you will also exercise your utmost
skill, and do the very best you can for him,” Earle said, quietly.

“Well, well, well!” muttered the astonished disciple of Esculapius; and
then he stood regarding his companion for a moment, with raised
eyebrows, and his mouth puckered into the smallest possible compass.

“Unless you object to treating such a patient,” Earle added, with a
little hauteur.

“No, no, no; bless you, no!” Dr. Sargeant returned quickly. “I will do
my very best for the poor wretch; you are right—it would be sacrificing
his life to have him removed, and you may rely upon my discretion.”

And the noted doctor went away somewhat mystified as to what manner of
man the young marquis might be, that he was willing to turn his
magnificent home into a hospital for thieves and robbers.

Earle went back to his charge, whom he found restless, feverish and
burning with intolerable thirst.

He swore savagely as Earle made his appearance, and defiantly demanded
what he was going to do with him.

“Take care of you until you get on your legs again,” was the calm reply,
as he held some pleasant, cooling drink to the man’s parched lips.

He drank eagerly, and then fell back among the soft pillows with a
groan.

“Bosh! that’s a likely story!” he returned, after a minute, with an
angry flash of his eyes; “out with it, and don’t keep me in suspense;
I’ve enough to bear with this pain.”

“So you have, poor fellow!” Earle answered, kindly; “and it is just as I
have told you—you are to stay here and be nursed until you get well.”

“What! stay here?” and the man’s eyes wandered around the luxurious
apartment in a look of amazement.

“Yes, in this very room. Don’t you know that you cannot bear to be
removed?”

“I don’t feel much like it, that’s a fact,” he said, suppressing another
groan; “but”—with a keen look into the kind face above him—“what right
have _you_ to say it?”

“The right of ownership—I am master here.”

“_You!_”

“Yes; you recognize me, then?”

“Of course I do; and you knew me instanter, which isn’t strange,
considering one isn’t likely to forget a phiz like mine; but—but——”

“But you had no idea that you were breaking into _my_ house when you
came here last night,” interrupted Earle.

“No; I’ll be —— if I did!” was the irreverent but energetic reply.

“There has been a change in my circumstances of late.”

“I should think so! Then _you_ are the Marquis of Wycliffe?”

“Yes. What did you expect to find here in the way of plunder?”

“I may as well own up, I suppose, since I’m where I can’t help myself,”
the man replied, recklessly. “I was after the family jewels, which I was
told were kept here.”

“They are not here. I had them deposited in the treasure vault more than
a month ago. There was only a little money in my safe, for I had paid
off my help only yesterday; so you see, my friend, you have had your sin
and risked your life for nothing,” Earle said, gravely.

Tom Drake swore savagely again at this information.

“Do not be profane—indeed I must request you to drop that sort of talk
while you are here,” Earle said, with decision.

“And you really don’t mean to send me to the hospital?”

“No, indeed. I do not need to tell you that you have a long, hard job
before you from the wound my ball gave you, and that it will be a good
while before you will get about again.”

Earle thought he might as well talk of things just as they were. Tom
Drake nodded assent, a look of grim endurance on his ugly face.

“And,” continued Earle, “unless you have good care—the very best care—it
is doubtful whether you ever have the use of your leg again.”

“And what should that matter to _you_?” was the gruff query, accompanied
by a suspicious glance.

“It matters this to me: One whom I profess to serve has bidden me to
care for the sick and needy,” Earle said, gently.

“Humph! that’s all cant. You’ll watch me as a cat does a mouse, and just
as soon as I begin to spruce up a little, you’ll hand me over to her
majesty’s minions, and I shall have a nice little ornament attached to
my leg, eh?”

He tried to put a bold front on, but it was evident that he experienced
considerable anxiety regarding his future.

“There will be time enough to talk of that matter by and by,” Earle
answered; indeed, he had not given a thought to the subject, and had no
idea what course he should pursue.

“Now I have to give you this quieting powder,” he added, taking up one
from the table, “and the doctor wishes you to get all the rest and sleep
you can before the inflammation increases.”

He mixed the powder in some kind of tempting jelly, the man watching him
curiously all the time.

“Who is going to take care of me?” he asked, after he had swallowed it
and taken a cooling draught.

“I shall take care of you for the present.”

“You!” with another curious look. “I suppose you’ve plenty of servants?”

“Yes.”

“They would do to look after a chap like me; and”—speaking more humbly
than he had yet done—“this is too fine a room to upset on my account.”

This was encouraging; it showed that the wretch had a little feeling and
regret for the trouble he was giving.

Earle bent nearer and said, in a friendly tone:

“I shall not trust you to the care of servants until the doctor
pronounces your wound to be mending. If you should be neglected ever so
little, there is no telling what the result might be. As for the room,
you need give yourself no uneasiness about it; you are to have just as
much attention as if you were my friend or my brother. Now try to forget
that you have been my enemy, as I shall; for as you are situated now, I
feel only sympathy for you. You must not talk any more, but try to get
some rest.”

Earle smoothed the tumbled bed-clothes, changed the wet cloth upon the
sufferer’s burning head, drew down the curtains to shade the light from
his eyes, and was about to seat himself at a distance and leave him to
sleep, when his voice again arrested him.

“Say!”

“Well?” he asked, again coming to his side to see if he wished anything.

The man hesitated a minute while he searched his face keenly, and then
burst forth:

“I am _cussed_ if I can make out what kind of a chap you are, anyhow!”

Earle smiled slightly at his evident perplexity, and the invalid
continued:

“First, you hit a fellow a swinger on the back of the head that knocks
the life out of him, and makes one think that the fury of seven Jupiters
is concentrated in you; next, you shoot him with a revolver, and then
turn around and nurse him as tender as a woman—I can’t make it out.”

“I did give you a heavy blow that night in the hotel, I admit; the case
was desperate, and I knew I must not fail to lay you out the first time.
If you had not escaped, I should have given you up to the authorities,
and you would doubtless have been serving out your sentence now, instead
of lying here. But you are wounded and suffering, you will probably, be
sick a long time, and however much I may think you deserve punishment
for your past crimes, your condition appeals to my humanity. As a
sufferer, you are, instead of an enemy and a robber, my neighbor, my
friend, and as such I shall treat you while you lie here,” Earle
explained, and there was no mistaking the friendliness of his tones.

“Your neighbor! your friend!” Tom Drake repeated, in low, suppressed
tones, and feeling almost as if he had got into a new world.

“Yes, just that; and now, to ease your mind and make you trust me, I
will tell you that no one save the doctor, myself, and my servants, know
what transpired last night, and no one else will know of the affair
while you are sick here. Now go to sleep, if you can.”

Earle moved away without giving him a chance to reply, the man watching
his retreating figure in stupid amazement.




                CHAPTER XLII
                TOM DRAKE’S TRUST


Tom Drake did have a hard time, as the physician predicted and Earle
feared.

He paid dearly for his one night’s adventure within the walls of
Wycliffe; and yet, perchance, the end will prove it to have been a
“blessing in disguise.”

For three weeks he raved in the wildest delirium of fever, unconscious
alike of his own condition, the care he was receiving, or the trouble
and weariness he caused, and it was three weeks longer before the
skilful physician pronounced him out of danger, or would give any hope
that the wounded limb could be saved.

“Save it if you can, doctor; the poor fellow has had a rough time of it,
and I should dislike to send him away from here a cripple,” Earle had
pleaded, when the doctor spoke of amputation.

“He will be a cripple any way; so much of the bone is diseased and will
have to come out, that the leg will always be weak, and he will be lame,
even if we save it. But for your sake I will do my best, though it is
more than the wretch deserves,” grumbled the physician.

He had not much faith or patience in nursing the “miserable wretch,” as
he called him.

“Like enough he will turn round and cut your throat, some fine day, when
he gets well. Such people have no feeling, no gratitude; they are like
the brutes and have no souls, and should be treated accordingly.”

“‘Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these,’” Earle
gravely repeated once, after one of the doctor’s outbursts.

“Humph! such high-toned philanthropy will doubtless be rewarded in a way
you don’t expect.”

But with all his apparent gruffness and contempt for the kindness Earle
was bestowing upon the unfortunate criminal, the young marquis could see
that he was always very gentle with him, and was satisfied that he was
bestowing the very best treatment that his knowledge and skill could
suggest.

When at last the fever left him he lay weak as a baby, and only able to
be lifted gently in the arms of strong men when he wished to change his
position.

He did not look nearly so repulsive to Earle as he lay there so pale,
and thin, and helpless, and a great pity crept into his heart for this
brother-man whose life had been so steeped in sin and infamy.

He had scarcely left him during those six long weeks when he lay in such
danger, catching what rest he could while his patient slept, and lying
upon a couch near his bed; and Earle himself looked almost as if he had
had a fit of sickness, he was so worn and weary with his watching.

It was six weeks longer before Tom Drake could be dressed and move about
his room, supported by a servant on one side and a crutch on the other.

He had grown more quiet and gentle in his manner during these weeks of
convalescence. After regaining consciousness when his fever turned, his
speech became more chaste, no oath left his lips to offend Earle’s ears,
while now and then some expression of gratitude, rough though it was,
would escape him for the attention and kindness he was receiving.

He became very thoughtful, even sad at times, and then Earle would bring
some interesting book and read to him; but though he listened
attentively, and appeared grateful for the attention, yet he could see
that he did not really enjoy it, and often grew nervous at the
monotonous sound of his voice.

One day he brought in a beautiful chess-table, and, after arranging the
curiously carved men upon it, asked him if he would like to learn the
game.

He was astonished to see his face light up with delight, as he
exclaimed:

“Aha! them are real beauties, and now I can stand it.”

He already knew the game—was even a skilful player and from that time
until he was able to ride out, Earle was never at a loss to know how to
amuse him.

But as he grew stronger, Earle could see that some heavy burden
oppressed him, and when not riding or playing chess, he would sit in
moody silence, his hands folded, his head bent, and a look of deep
trouble on his face, and frequent sighs escaped him.

One day Earle had been reading the newspaper to him—the only thing of
the literary kind in which he manifested any interest. A heavy sigh
interrupted him, and looking up, he found his companion’s eyes fixed
sadly on his face, while apparently he had not heard a word that he had
been reading.

“Well, Tom, are you feeling badly to-day?” Earle asked, laying down his
paper.

“N-o,” he returned, hesitatingly, and with some embarrassment.

Then, with an air of recklessness that Earle had not noticed before
during all his sickness, he asked:

“I say, what kind of a place is Botany Bay?”

Earle started, the question was so entirely unexpected; but he
understood at once now why he had been so sad and absent-minded of late.
He had been thinking of his probable future.

“It is supposed to be rather a desolate kind of place,” he said.

“Folks who are sent there at the expense of the Crown, don’t get rich
very fast, and it is somewhat inconvenient about getting away from there
if one should happen to wish to visit his native land, eh?” Tom Drake
said, with a ghastly attempt to be facetious.

“No,” Earle replied, very gravely, and with a searching glance at his
companion.

“There’s some comfort in knowing a fellow hain’t got to leave many
behind him to grieve over him,” he said, absently, and as if speaking
more to himself than to Earle.

“Where do your friends reside?” he asked.

“All the friend I’ve got in the world, sir, is my old mother, and her I
haven’t seen for many a long year.”

Earle thought there was a suspicious huskiness in his voice as he said
this, and that a tear dropped on his hand as he turned quickly to look
out of the window; but he might have been mistaken, and the man was
still very weak after his long illness, and tears come unbidden at such
a time.

“Your mother! Have you a mother living?”

“Yes, sir, as good a woman as ever drew breath,” Tom said, heartily.

“Who was that woman you had at the hotel in New York?” Earle asked.

“That was one of—the profession. She was nothing to me, and I paid her
well for that job. I—I——”

“Well?” Earle said, encouragingly, as he saw Tom evidently had something
on his mind, and did not know just how to get rid of it.

“I ain’t usually very white-livered nor tender-hearted, sir. I never
thought I was thin-skinned; but—I—I want to tell you that that rascally
business about the young lady has laid heavily on my mind this many a
day. She was a—particular friend o’ yours, weren’t she?”

“Yes,” Earle said, with a heavy sigh.

Tom Drake started at the sound, and shot an anxious glance at him, while
he grew, if possible, paler than he was before.

“I—I hope, sir, no harm came to her from the mesmerizing,” he said, in a
sort of hushed tone.

“No; she is quite well now.”

Tom looked intensely relieved, and went on, speaking with a rough kind
of earnestness and gratitude:

“You’ve been wonderful good to me after it all; you’ve given me the best
you have, and treated me as if I were a gentleman instead of a
gallows-bird. That was a pesky job—that business with the girl. She was
a pretty little thing, but plucky as the—I beg pardon, sir; but she was
the most spirited little woman I ever set eyes on; and many a time it
has given me the shivers, on waking up in the night, to think of her
lying there, growing so pale and weak, dying by inches.”

“It was a cruel thing to do,” Earle said, with a far-away look and a
very pale face.

He, too, often remembered that waxen face, with its great mournful eyes,
in the still hours of the night; but that now was not the saddest of his
troubles.

“You are right, sir,” Tom went on, with a strange mixture of humility
and defiance; “but I had three or four fat jobs on hand just at that
time, and I knew that if John Loker’s confession got abroad, there’d be
no more work for me in the United States. I was going to crack a safe
that very night, and had all my tools about me; so, as soon as you took
the young lady off, I set to work, picked the locks, and we took to our
heels with all the speed we had. You hadn’t made much noise about the
affair, so when madam and I walked out of the private entrance together,
no one suspected us, and we got off scot-free. I knew it wouldn’t be
safe for me to be seen around there after that, so I made for a steamer
that was just ready to start out, and came over here to try my luck,
never dreaming I’d fall into _your_ clutches a second time.”

“Have you been at this kind of thing long?” Earle asked.

“Nigh on to twenty years. I got in with a gang when I was a youngster,
learned all the tricks of the trade, and have lived by my wits and a
burglar’s kit ever since.”

“Have you, as a rule, found it a very _satisfactory_ kind of business?”
his listener asked, pointedly.

Tom Drake flushed a vivid crimson, and for an instant a fierce gleam of
anger shot from his eye; then he burst out vehemently:

“_No, sir; I haven’t._ I’ve always had to hide and sneak about like a
whipped cur. It’s all up with me now, though, and I might as well own to
it first as last, and there’s no comfort in it from beginning to end;
but when a fellow once gets started in it, there don’t seem to be any
place to stop, however bad you may want to. I’d got kind of hardened to
it, though, until—until that job at Dalton’s that _you_ got hauled up
for. I’ve cursed myself times without number for that affair, but I
hadn’t the grit to own up and take my chances; though, if I did put on a
bold front, every hair on my head stood on end when I saw you stand up
so proud and calm, and take the sentence and never squeal.”

Tom was getting excited over the remembrance, and his whole frame shook,
while Earle could see the perspiration that had gathered on his upper
lip.

His eyes were bent upon his hands, which were trembling with
nervousness, or some other emotion, and his voice was not quite steady.

“You’re a gentleman, sir, every inch of you,” he went on, after a few
minutes of awkward silence. “I’ve heard charity preached about no end of
times, and never knew what it meant before. I suppose you won’t believe
it, or think I am capable of feeling it, but I do—I feel mean clear
through, though I never would have owned to it before. Here I’ve been
for three months and more, making a deal of trouble, being waited upon
by your servants as if I was a prince, drinking your wine, and eating
all sorts of nice things that I never thought to taste, while you’ve
tended me until you’re nigh about worn out yourself. I tell you I
feel—mean! There, it’s out—I couldn’t hold it any longer; and if I have
to wear a ball and chain all the rest of my life, I shall feel better to
think I’ve said it; and I shall never forget to my dying day that there
was one man in the world who was willing to do a kindness to his worst
enemy.”

He had assumed a roughness of tone that had been unusual for the last
few weeks, but Earle knew it was done to cover his emotion.

It was evident that he felt every word he uttered, and that the
confession had cost him a great effort, as his nervousness and pallor
testified.

It was apparent also that he expected no mercy, as his reference to
Botany Bay and the ball and chain plainly showed. Earle pitied him
during his long siege of suffering.

He was a man of no small amount of intelligence, and had evidently
received a moderately good education before he began his career of
crime, and if he had started right in life he would, no doubt, have made
a smart man.

Earle had as yet come to no definite decision as to what course he
should pursue regarding him when he should fully recover, and he could
not bear to think of it even now.

He knew that his sentence, if tried and found guilty, would be a very
severe one, and his own sad experience naturally made him incline to the
side of mercy.

“But, Tom, whatever you may have been in the past, I do not consider
that you are my enemy now,” he said, kindly, when he had concluded his
excited speech.

“But I _am_, sir. I have done you the worst wrong a man can do
another—I’ve wronged you in _every_ way—I’m a wretch, and whatever they
do with me, it’ll serve me right, and I’ll never open my lips,” he said,
excitedly.

“Yes, you have wronged me, and I have suffered in your stead the worst
disgrace that a man can suffer. But that is all past now; my innocence
has been established, and no shadow of sin rests on my name—John Loker’s
confession accomplished that.”

“But, sir, it could not give you back those three years of your life
that—that you lost; you——”

“No,” Earle interrupted; “but those three years, long and weary as they
were, were not ‘lost’ by any means, Tom. They taught me a lesson of
patience and trust which, perhaps, I never should have learned in any
other way. It was a hard trial—a _bitter_ trial!” Earle exclaimed, with
a shudder, as something of the horror came back to him; “but”—in a
reverent tone—“I know that nothing which God sends upon us, if it is
rightly borne, can end in harm; nothing but our own sins can do that.”

“Did you feel that way _then_?” Tom asked, regarding the young marquis
with wonder.

“Not at first, perhaps, but it came to me after a little; for, Tom, I
had a good Christian mother.”

“Ay, and so had I,” he replied, with a sigh that ended in what sounded
very like a sob. But Tom was not strong, you know, and consequently more
easily moved.

“She used to teach me that suffering was often blessing in disguise.”

“I never heard that doctrine before, sir,” Tom returned, looking down
upon his emaciated hands, and thinking of his bandaged limb, which was
still very sore.

“I suppose you would not think that the wound I gave you, and the
terrible sickness which has followed, were blessings, would you, Tom?”
Earle asked, with a smile, as he noticed the look and divined his
thought.

“Hardly that, sir, when my reason tells me how it is all to end; but,
sir, I’ll say this much, my own mother couldn’t have been kinder, nor
given me better care; and, for the first time in my life, _I’ve learned
what it is to trust a man_!” he said, earnestly.

“Thank you, Tom,” Earle returned, heartily.

“You’ve no cause, sir. I should have killed you that night if I had
known you were there and awake, and then the world would have lost a
good man and gained another murderer. Perhaps, looking at it in that
way, sir, the wound and the sickness were blessings in disguise, as you
call them,” he concluded, reflectively, and he shivered slightly as he
spoke, as if the thought of crime had acquired a strange horror to him.

“We will not talk of this any more now,” Earle said, fearing the
excitement would be injurious to him. “I am only too glad that your life
was spared and I did not slay you, even in self-defense. I am glad to
know also that I have gained your confidence; and I firmly believe that
if you should ever be free to go forth into the world again, you would
never lift your hand to harm me or mine.”

“Thank you, sir; it is kind of you to say that,” was the humble reply.

“Now I want you to tell me something about your mother. She must be
quite old,” Earle continued, to change the subject.

“Sixty last March, sir, and I haven’t seen her for twenty years, though
I’ve sent her enough to give her a good living all that time. I used
to—to—love my mother,” he concluded, as if rather ashamed to make
confession of a sentiment so tender.

“Used to, Tom?”

“I ain’t fit to own to love for anybody now, sir! and it would break her
heart to know what I’ve been up to all these years.”

“Where does she live?”

“At Farnham, in this county, sir.”

“Here in England! Why, that is only twenty-five or thirty miles from
here!” exclaimed Earle, in surprise.

“Yes, sir; and if I had made a good haul here, I was going down to see
her, and settle something handsome on her,” he frankly confessed, but
his face flushed, nevertheless, at the acknowledgment.

“Wouldn’t you like to see her now?” asked Earle.

“That I would, sir; and I suppose the poor old lady has been worrying
and wondering what’s happened to me, that I did not send my usual letter
and money.”

“Did you send her money regularly?”

Earle began to think there was a little green spot in the man’s heart
after all, and there might be some hope of reclaiming him even yet.

“Once in three months—sometimes more, sometimes less, as my luck was,
but always _something_ as often as that, though it’s six months now
since she’s heard a word from me, poor old lady,” he said, with a sigh.

“Why did you not tell me of this before? Your mother should not be
allowed to want,” Earle said, feeling a deep interest in the lonely
mother.

“What right had I to burden you with my cares? You’ve had more than
enough of me as it is,” Tom replied, flushing more deeply than he had
yet done.

It was evident that he felt his obligation to Earle was no light one.

Earle did not reply, and at that moment the door opened, and a man
entered bearing a large tray, covered with a tempting array of viands
that would have done the heart of an epicure good.

“You must be hungry, Tom, after this long walk, so while you are eating
I will go away, as I have some letters to write,” Earle said, rising.

Tom looked up at him with a troubled air, opened his lips as if to
speak, shut them again resolutely, and then finally said, in a
half-reckless, half-humble way:

“You can take my softness for what it’s worth, sir; I couldn’t help it;
but—I’d have been broken on the wheel before I’d have said as much to
any one else. Tom Drake’s known nothing but hard knocks for the last
twenty years, until a bullet laid him here.”

Earle went out of the room with a very grave face.

“If I was only sure,” he murmured, with a deep-drawn sigh, as he passed
into the library and shut the door.




                CHAPTER XLIII
                TRUE NOBILITY


At the end of two hours Earle went back to his charge, with a letter in
his hand.

Tom had been much refreshed by his nice dinner, and had been asleep for
an hour.

But he now lay with a troubled, anxious expression on his face, which
Earle could not fail to notice, even though his lips relaxed into a
faint smile of welcome at his entrance.

He went up to the couch where he was reclining, and said, as he handed
him the letter:

“I would like, if you feel able, to have you direct this letter to your
mother, and after that you can read it, if you like. I have thought best
to write her something of your illness, knowing that she must be very
anxious at not hearing from you for so long. I would gladly have done so
before had you spoken of it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tom said, in a low voice, as, taking the envelope and
the pen filled with ink that Earle had brought him, he directed the
letter, in rather a trembling hand. Then he unfolded it and read the few
simple words that were written within.

  “DEAR MADAM,” it said, “your son has been quite sick during the past
  three months, and I write this that you may feel no further anxiety
  regarding him. He is improving daily, and will, we hope, soon be well.
  Should you feel able to come to him, you will come directly to
  Wycliffe, where you will be cordially received. Inclosed you will find
  a sum which your son would have sent you before now had he been able
  to write. Very truly,

                EARLE WAYNE.”

A five-pound note had been inclosed within the letter, at the sight of
which Tom Drake’s lips suddenly tightened into a firm line.

He read the letter through, and, when he had finished, it dropped from
his fingers upon the counterpane, and lay there while he turned his face
to the wall, and for some minutes did not speak.

“What did you do that for?” he at last demanded, almost fiercely, but
with lips that trembled in spite of himself.

“To comfort an aged, anxious mother, and give a sick fellow a chance to
see a familiar face. You would surely like to see your mother, Tom?”

“Yes; but it will be a little hard on the old lady when she finds we’ll
have to part again so soon,” he said, with a stony look in his eyes.

“Don’t think of that now,” Earle said, kindly. “Is there anything more
you would like me to add to the letter?”

Tom shook his head, and, picking up the letter and the note, tried to
replace them in the envelope, but his hand shook so that he could not do
it.

Earle gently took them from him, folded and sealed the letter, and went
out, leaving him alone.

A groan burst from the huge chest of the once hardened wretch as the
door closed after him, and burying his head in his pillow, he lay a long
time without moving.

The next morning he seemed very silent and much depressed. It was a fine
day, and Earle took him for a drive in the beautiful park around
Wycliffe.

He did not talk much, but appeared lost in thought, until the horses’
heads were turned toward home; then he astonished Earle by seizing his
hand and bursting out:

“Sir, can you believe a wretch like me has any heart left? I didn’t
think it myself, but you’ve got down to it at last. I’ll plead
guilty—though once I thought that ten thousand devils couldn’t drive me
to it; but you’ve broke me down completely; I can never hold up my head
again, and I deserve the very worst they can give me I’d like it over
with and settled as soon as possible after _she_ has been here. She’ll
not stay long, probably. I’m well enough not to be a burden here any
longer, and I’d feel easier in my mind to know just what is before me.”

The poor fellow was frightfully pale, and so excited that his sentences
were disjointed and broken, and spoken through teeth so tightly shut
that Earle could hear them grate.

The young marquis was deeply affected; he had uttered no fawning or
servile protestations of sorrow or shame, asked for no mercy, expected
none; but he could see that he was, as he said “completely broken down;”
his heart had been melted by kindness, and little shoots of the original
good that was in him had begun to spring up in the unusual atmosphere by
which he had recently been surrounded.

Earle believed that a great and radical change was begun in the man,
and, if rightly dealt with now, he might be saved.

Kindness had melted him; then why had he not a right to feel that
kindness would hold him and mold him anew? His was undoubtedly one of
those natures which grow reckless and harden itself against everything
like stern justice and punishment, and only grow more desperate at the
thought of penalty.

If tried and sentenced now for the attempt at robbery, even though he
might protest himself deserving of it, yet he would go to his doom in
dogged, sullen silence; nothing would ever reach his better nature
again, and he would die as miserable as he had lived.

“Tom,” Earle said, gravely, after a thoughtful silence, during which
these things had passed through his mind, “from what you say, I judge
that you regret your past life, and, if you were to live it over again,
you would spend it very differently.”

“Regrets won’t do me any good, and I don’t like to cry for quarter when
I’m only getting my just deserts,” he said, with a kind of reckless
bravery; then he added, with a heavy sigh that spoke volumes: “But I
think it would be sort of comforting to a chap if he could look back and
feel that he’d _tried_ to live like a—_man_.”

“Then why not try to live like a ‘man’ in the future?” Earle said,
earnestly, his fine face glowing with a noble purpose.

“Transportation for life isn’t likely to give a body much courage for
anything,” the man answered, moodily, his face hardening at the thought.

“No; and I hope no such evil will ever overtake you to discourage you,
if you really have a desire to mend your course. Tom, you expect that I
am going to arraign you before a tribunal, and have you punished for the
wrong you have done me; but—I am going to do no such thing.”

A gasp interrupted him at this, and Tom Drake sank back in the carriage
as if the intelligence had taken all his strength; but Earle went on:

“If you had appeared to have no regret for the past—if, as you gained in
strength, you had exhibited no sorrow, nor expressed any appreciation of
what had been done for you, or any desire to retrieve your errors, I
might have felt that it would be better for others that you should be
put where you could do no further mischief. But if you really want to
try to become a good man, I am willing to help you. I will be your
friend; I will give you employment as soon as you are able for it, and
as long as you show a disposition to live aright, I will keep the secret
of your past, and no harm shall ever come to you on account of it. Now
tell me, Tom, if you are willing to make the trial? Shall we start fair
and square from this moment, and see how much better we can make the
world for having lived in it?” and Earle turned to the astonished man
with a frank, kindly smile on his earnest, handsome face. The man was
speechless—dumb.

Such a proposal as this had never occurred to him. He had fully expected
that as soon as he should be able to bear it he would be transferred
from his present luxurious quarters to some vile prison, there to await
his trial, and then he had no expectation of anything better than to be
sentenced to banishment as a convict for a long term of years, or
perhaps for life.

Instead, here was hope, happiness, and the prospects of earning an
honest living held out to him, and by the hand of him whom he had so
terribly wronged.

No words came to his lips to express his astonishment, nor the strange
tumult of feelings that raged within his heart. His whole soul bowed
down before the grand nature that could rise above his own injuries and
do this noble thing.

Tamora, Queen of the Goth, when suing for the life of her first-born
son, prayed thus before Titus Andronicus:

              “Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
              Draw near them, then, in being merciful;
              Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge.”

And thus Earle Wayne partook of the nature of the gods; his mercy, his
grand self-abnegation and forgiveness, with the helping hand held out so
kindly to one of earth’s lost and degraded ones, was indeed the surest
badge of his nobility. And Marion Vance, in her meekness, had prophesied
truly when she had told him, on her dying bed, that “good would come out
of her sorrow.” She had said:

“You may, perhaps, be a nobler man for having been reared in obscurity;
you will, at all events, realize that a noble character is more to be
desired than a mere noble-sounding name.”

He was now living out the pure precepts that she had so untiringly
taught him during those long, sorrowful years when she was so sadly and
uncomplainingly bearing her banishment and disgrace.

Tom Drake dropped his face upon his hands to hide the humility and
reverence he could not speak, and the tears he could not stay and was
ashamed to show.

Earle Wayne’s enemy was utterly routed at last; he had stormed a citadel
by a method of warfare hitherto untried, and it lay in ruins at his
feet.

“I—I’m afraid I do not quite understand. You will not have me arrested
or tried—I am to be a free man?” Tom Drake breathed, in low, suppressed
tones.

“No; if you are sentenced to drag out a weary term of years as a
convict, you would become discouraged, and be ready for almost any
desperate deed if you should live to return; and, Tom, I have come to
believe that you would really like to lead a different life from what
your past has been.”

“I would, sir, I would; but I never should have thought of it but for
you—but for that bullet. It was indeed, as you said, a ‘blessing in
disguise,’” he said, weakly but earnestly.

Earle smiled his rare, luminous smile, then said, gravely:

“Then I will help you all I can; but you must do your share also; it
cannot be done in a moment, and you must not get disheartened. It will
be something like this wound of yours; sin, like the bullet, has entered
deep—the disease lies deep, and only the most rigid and skilful
handling, with patient endurance, will work the cure.”

He did not preach him a long sermon on human depravity, original sin,
and the wrath of God.

This little warning was all he then gave, hoping by practical
illustration to draw him by and by nearer to the Divine Master whose
commands he was endeavoring to obey.

“And you—you make no account of anything? You forgive all those three
years—the harm to the girl? _How can you?_” and the man lifted his
earnest, wondering eyes to the grand face at his side.

“Yes, Tom, I can forgive it all,” Earle said; but his face grew pale and
a trifle pained at the remembrance of all that those words called up;
“and I shall feel that the experience was not in vain if _you_ do not
disappoint my expectations. If you will faithfully and honestly strive
to overcome whatever there is of evil within you, or whatever may tempt
you in the future, I shall feel that your character reclaimed is the
‘good’ that has come out of my ‘sorrow.’ Tom, will you strive to make an
honest man, God’s noblest work, of yourself? I want your promise.”

“Sir, from the bottom of my heart I’d _like_ to be an honest man,
but—I’m afraid I can’t stand it,” he said, huskily.

“Can’t stand what, Tom?” Earle asked, with a look of perplexity and
anxiety.

Were the temptations and habits of the old life so strong that he could
not relinquish or overcome them?

“I feel as if a millstone had crushed me; I’m afraid I can’t stand it to
face you day after day, with the memory of all I’ve done staring me in
the face.”

Earle’s face lighted—this was the best proof he had had of the man’s
sincerity.

“Tom, I want to tell you a little story; you will recognize it, perhaps,
as you say your mother is a Christian woman. There was once a Man who
was crushed beneath the sins of a world. He wore a crown of thorns, and
the purple robe of scorn and derision. His tender flesh was pierced,
bruised, and mangled by His enemies, and His only cry was, ‘Father,
forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ There came a time when I
realized that _my_ sins helped to do all this, and I felt something, as
you say, as if a ‘millstone had crushed me,’ and as if I could never
live in His presence with the memory of it ever in my mind. But I read
in His word, ‘Thy sins are remembered no more against thee _forever_;
they are _blotted out_.’ The same word tells me to ‘forgive as I am
forgiven.’ Of course we cannot actually forget all that we have
suffered, nor who was the immediate cause of it, but we can cherish no
evil—we can regard and treat as kindly those who have injured us as if
it had never been. That is the way I want to ‘blot out’ all the past
between you and me. Do you understand me, Tom?”

“Yes, sir,” Tom Drake said, in scarcely audible tones, but his face was
full of feeling and of an earnest purpose.

“May I feel then, that I can trust you _fully_ from this hour?”

“You may, sir,” very decidedly the reply came; and, after a moment’s
hesitation, he continued, in a resolute tone: “I’ll not waste my breath
nor weary you with promises; but, sir, I’ll begin to _live_ from this
moment.”

“That is right; and here is my hand to seal our compact;” and the young
Marquis of Wycliffe grasped the hand of poor degraded Tom Drake as
heartily as if he had been another peer of the realm.

He had won an enemy—he had conquered a reckless, defiant human heart,
with neither sword nor spear, but by the power of love and kindness.

Thrice blessed Marion Vance! Out of her sorrow had grown her
Christianity, out of her Christianity had grown the education of this
noble man, and out of his nobility the salvation of another.

Who can estimate the mighty influence of a pure example and faithful
precepts?

Did she, now looking down upon this scene, realize toward what all the
dark and winding path of her desolate life had tended?

She had learned to _trust_ while here, where the way was so dark that
she could not see; and may we not hope that faith had now ended in
sight, and that the joy she had missed on earth was increased a hundred
fold in the better world?

Neither Earle nor his companion spoke again during the remainder of
their drive.

Tom Drake went immediately to his rooms when they reached the house, and
no one but himself and his Maker knew how he passed that solitary hour
that followed his return.

Earle gave the reins to a groom, and went to the library to see if there
were any letters, but a servant met him on the way and handed him a
telegram that had just arrived. It was a cable dispatch from the United
States.




                CHAPTER XLV
                SUMNER DALTON’S CONFESSION


The telegram was from Paul Tressalia, and extremely startling and
imperative in its nature.

“Mr. Dalton can live but a short time,” it said, “and begs continually
for you. Come at once. Editha also desires it.”

Earle was deeply excited by what he read.

George Sumner Dalton dying!—face to face at last with the terrible
messenger who, sooner or later, comes to summon all!

He was asking for _him_—longing for the son whom he had wronged and
hated all his life-long.

For the moment Earle’s heart rebelled at the thought of going to him;
for if he went, he felt he must be prepared to give him comfort in his
last hours; he must be ready to forgive everything—his own and his
mother’s wrongs, and be at peace with the man who was soon to stand
before the Supreme Judge to answer for his earthly career.

Could he do this in all sincerity?

He stood there in the grand hall of his ancestors, with bent head and
stern, corrugated brow, asking himself these questions over and over
again.

Then the words that he had spoken only a little while before to Tom
Drake came to his mind:

“Forgive, _as_ we are forgiven.”

It was as if Marion’s gentle spirit, hovering over him, had whispered
the words in his ear—as if from the realms of peace, where she dwelt,
she had brought him an olive branch to bear across the waters to the
erring, dying one.

“I will go,” he said, at last, a pitiful expression replacing the stern
look, a grave though kindly light beaming from his eyes. “I will go, and
God help me to go in the right spirit. Editha, too, desires it,” he
repeated, reading from the telegram, “and that of itself should make me
willing.”

And yet, much as he longed to see the beloved one once more, he felt as
if he could never endure a second parting from her. Then graver thoughts
presented themselves.

If Mr. Dalton should die, what would become of Editha?

She had not a friend in the world on whom to depend; would she feel that
she could now return with him and share his home?

The matter troubled him deeply, and yet he clearly felt that it would be
his duty henceforth to protect and care for her.

He went into the library and consulted the papers.

A steamer would sail the next day from London, and he decided that he
would go at once.

He might not be in time to see Mr. Dalton alive, but he would not delay;
he would do his best to grant his request, let the result be what it
might.

He disliked very much leaving Tom just at this time. He knew that he
depended upon him for encouragement, and would doubtless be very much
depressed, if not discouraged, if he went away for any length of time.

But it could not be helped, and the test might be beneficial. It would
at all events teach him self-reliance, and perhaps prove the man’s
sincerity better than in any other way.

He went at once to him, and said:

“Tom, I am very unexpectedly called away. I am sorry that it happened
just at this time, but it cannot be helped. Can you manage with only the
servants for company until your mother arrives?”

“Yes, sir; but will you be gone long?”

“I do not know how long; I cannot fix any definite time for my return,
as it depends upon others rather than on myself. You will be quite
lonely, and I am sorry on your account.”

“Never mind me, sir; but—I hope it’s no trouble on _my_ account,” and he
glanced anxiously at the telegram, which Earle still had in his hand.

“No—oh, no. I may tell you, I suppose—it is more trouble for Miss
Dalton; her father is dying, and they have sent for me,” Earle
explained.

“To the United States, sir!” Tom exclaimed, in dismay, and feeling as if
some strong support was slipping from under him.

“Yes, and I may have to be absent a month or two, perhaps longer but you
must try to make the best of it. Your mother will probably arrive by
to-morrow, and I would be glad if she could remain with you until I
return,” Earle said, thinking his mother’s influence, and love, and care
would be the best guardians he could possibly leave in his absence.

“Thank you, sir,” Tom answered, heartily then, after thinking a moment,
he added, wistfully: “I am getting strong and well so fast that I would
like to begin to do something, sir. If you could leave me some work I
should be glad, and the time would not seem so long.”

Earle thought a moment, and then asked:

“Are you good at accounts?”

“I used to be fair at them. I learned Comer’s method after I went to
America, thinking to make a business man of myself.”

“Then if you would take the trouble to straighten out some accounts that
got badly mixed during the last year of the old marquis’ life, it would
help me wonderfully.”

Tom’s face brightened at once.

“I should like it,” he said, eagerly; and Earle felt better at once
about leaving him, knowing that if he felt he was making himself useful,
he would be more contented.

The next day found him on board the Ethiopia, bound for New York, and
scarcely able to control his impatience, even though the noble steamer,
with favorable wind and weather, was plowing the pathless water with
unusual speed.

At the end of eight days he stood once more upon American soil, and an
hour or two later found him again ascending the steps of Mr. Dalton’s
residence.

His hand trembled as he pulled the bell, and his heart beat with heavy,
painful strokes, so many memories, both sweet and bitter, agitated him.

A servant let him quietly in, and an ominous stillness at once struck a
chill to his heart.

“Is Mr. Dalton living?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, but very low,” was the reply.

He led him to the same little reception-room where he had seen Editha on
that day before Christmas, and where she had given him that little bunch
of holly, and wished him, not the stereotyped “Merry Christmas,” but
“peace, good-will to men,” instead.

It came to him now, that sweet message, with strange vividness, and he
grew suddenly calm and solemn as he realized that he had indeed come
with “peace” in his heart, and “good-will” toward one who had been his
life-long enemy.

He gave his card to the servant, and then sat down to wait. Would Editha
come to greet him? he asked himself, and would he be able to meet her as
a brother should meet a sister?

Fifteen minutes elapsed, and then a door softly opened again. Earle
turned, his heart leaping to his throat, but it was not Editha.

He saw a strange but noble-looking woman coming toward him, and wondered
to see her there.

He bowed courteously, but she cordially extended her hand, as her eyes
sought his card, which the servant had given her, and upon which was
simply engraven the two names he had always borne. He made no display of
his title, nor of his new position.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said, “we hardly expected you to-day; but I am very
glad you have arrived. My name is Sylvester, and I am the only one at
liberty to come to you just now.”

Earle returned her greeting, wondering who Mrs. Sylvester could
be—certainly not the housekeeper, for her manner and bearing forbade him
to believe that she occupied that position; and he had heard Editha say
they had no near relatives living.

She might be some friend or neighbor come in to relieve her and share
her lonely vigils, he thought.

He inquired if Miss Dalton was well, and noticed that a queer little
smile wreathed the lady’s lips, as she replied:

“Editha is quite well, and is sleeping just now. Mr. Dalton had an
extremely distressing night, and she would persist in sitting up with
him until nearly morning. The poor darling has been unremitting in her
care, and is nearly worn out,” Mrs. Sylvester concluded, speaking with
great tenderness.

Earle then inquired concerning Mr. Dalton’s illness and its cause.

“That is a long, long story, and I will leave it for Editha to tell you
when she wakes, and you are rested. I will only say that it was brought
on by excessive excitement, during which he ruptured a blood vessel.”

Earle expressed great surprise at this, and madam continued:

“He recovered somewhat from the first attack of bleeding, and we were
hoping his recovery would be permanent, when he had another, since which
he has been rapidly failing. As soon as he became conscious that he
could not live, he seemed to be exceedingly troubled regarding some
injury which he had done you, and wished you sent for immediately. He
will be much relieved to know of your arrival, for he has been very
restless and anxious ever since Mr. Tressalia sent the telegram.”

“Is there no possible hope of his recovery?”

“No; there is not the slightest hope of that. The physician does not
think he can live many days. Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and
see if he feels able to see you, as he wished to be told the moment you
arrived,” madam concluded, rising, and with a graceful bow, left him
once more alone.

She had not been gone many minutes when a servant entered, bearing a
tray, on which was arranged a most tempting lunch.

“Madam directed this to be served,” explained the servant; and again
Earle wondered who this cultivated woman could be, who was evidently a
power in the house.

He partook of the lunch, however, with evident relish, for he was
hungry, having been too eager and excited to do justice to his breakfast
that morning.

Half an hour later madam returned, saying that Mr. Dalton was ready and
anxious to see him.

He arose and followed her to the sick man’s chamber, and almost
wondering if it could be true that he was about to stand at his own
father’s death-bed, and if ever before a son stood in such strange
relations toward a parent.

He was shocked at the change in Mr. Dalton.

Ghastly, wan, and panting with every breath, he lay bolstered up with
pillows, and Earle knew at a glance that he could not live many days.

An expression of pain convulsed his features as the door opened and his
anxious eyes rested upon the young man’s handsome face and noble form;
and then, with a slight motion of his head, he signified his wish for
him to come and sit beside him.

It was a strange, sad meeting of a father and son.

The one so strong and manly, and in full vigor of life; the other pale,
emaciated, and dying, and neither experiencing nor expressing any
natural regard for the other.

Earle’s humanity was touched as soon as he saw the sufferer. He forgot
all his past bitterness, he forgot that this was one who claimed to be
an implacable foe, who had said he “hated him and all that ever belonged
to him.” He only thought of him now as a sick and dying man who needed
sympathy and care.

“You did not expect when you went away that when next we met you would
find your enemy laid so low, did you?” Mr. Dalton asked, in a hollow
voice, when Earle was seated, and searching his face with a keen glance.

“I have never wished you any ill, sir,” he replied, respectfully.

“I cannot say the same regarding you, for there was nothing I would not
have done, for the sake of the hatred I bore your mother, to have hurled
you from the proud position you occupy.”

“Shall we not drop all this now and forever?” Earle interrupted, gently,
fearing he would become excited if this topic was renewed.

“No; I must have my say out now. I’ve been saving my strength for this,
and I have much to tell you, and the sooner it is over with, the better
for me. One’s sentiments change when a body feels life slipping from his
grasp, and I felt that I would like you to know before I die that I
realize at last, instead of injuring others only, I have been my own
worst enemy. I don’t know _why_ I should always have hated others for
what has really been my own fault; for all through my life my folly has
been the cause of all my disappointments.

“I have seen a child get angry with his toys—his top or his ball, when
it would not spin or bound as he wished it—and vent his anger by
destroying them, when it was only his own lack of judgment and skill
that prevented his enjoying them. I suppose it was that same trait in
me, only in tenfold degree, that has made me wish to destroy every one
who opposed or disappointed me in my schemes or ambition.”

He paused a moment, and Earle watched him curiously. He had never heard
anything so strange before.

“Had I lived for ten, twenty, or even forty years more, I suppose I
should have gone on in the same way,” Mr. Dalton resumed. “I suppose as
long as I knew you were enjoying the position and possessions I had so
coveted, I should have continued to hate you, and striven to do you
injury. But my hatred can do you no further harm now, nor me any good
where I am going; neither money nor position, the two things that I have
most coveted all my life, can benefit me further. I have never believed
in a God, have tried to believe that man was like the brutes, and
consequently must get all the enjoyments possible out of this life; but
now that I have come to this”—lifting his wasted hand and regarding it
with a strange expression of wonder, and perplexity, and regret—“I do
not feel quite so confident that God and eternity are not solemn truths.
That the mind is something greater than the body, and will probably
exist in another state, I am at last convinced; but I have no time to
discuss metaphysics now. My life has been a failure, for I have missed
_everything_ for which I sought most eagerly. I have never known what it
is to be really happy. I have done a great deal of evil, and I do not
know a single human being that is better for my having lived in the
world. The only good thing that I can think of connected with myself is,
that no one will sorrow or be made unhappy by my death;” and the smile
that accompanied these words was intensely bitter.

“I have told you how I disliked you from the first, simply because
Richard Forrester was interested in you, and I was jealous of any one
who was likely to win anything from him. You know how I scorned you
because Editha took a girlish fancy to you, and you dared to treat her
as if you considered yourself her equal. I was so angry that day in
court that I could have blotted you out of existence had I possessed the
power, and throttled her when she stood up so fearlessly in that crowded
room and asserted your innocence. I was afraid she would learn to love
you, and persist in marrying you. I knew that Richard Forrester was
rich, and that she would have all his money; but I meant she should get
more, by making a wealthy marriage. The more _she_ had, the more I
thought _I_ should have, and stand the higher in the world for it.”

Again he paused to rest, and Earle would have been glad if he would
cease entirely. He knew all this, and he could not see the good of its
all being rehearsed, neither could he understand toward what it was
drifting; but he was soon to know, and a great surprise awaited him.

“When Richard Forrester died,” he began again, “and left you that ten
thousand dollars, I vowed you should not have it, for I felt sure it
would give you a start in life, and you would want to marry Editha. I
was bound she should wed a rich man, and I would not be thwarted. Then I
made the discovery of who you were; and if your sentence had been for
life, I would not have lifted my finger to have had it mitigated in the
slightest degree. I seemed to gloat over the fact that Marion’s son, the
son of the woman whose high spirit had prevented me from reaching the
goal I sought, was thus disgraced, and, not knowing that she was dead, I
thought I could imagine some of her sufferings on account of it.

“I do not wonder that you shudder,” he said, seeing a quiver of pain run
over Earle’s body at this heartless speech; “and I can see now just how
such fiendish malice appears to others. If I had known, however, that
_my_ marriage with Marion had been legal, you may be sure I should have
adopted a very different course. If, when from motives of curiosity I
opened that package belonging to you, I had discovered those papers in
the cardboard pocket, my ambition and selfishness would have prompted me
to court the favor of the heir of Wycliffe. But I did _not_ know, and
when you told me, and refused to let me share your honors, my ire
increased tenfold, and I vowed I would make you suffer for it in some
way.”

Earle’s face was very grave and pale as he listened, and it seemed as if
he was almost living over again the troubles he had been through, to be
reminded of them in this way.

“There was only _one_ way that I could do this,” Mr. Dalton said, with a
troubled glance at the white, set face by his side, “and that was
through Editha. You loved her, and she loved you, and I gloated over the
fact that through her I could make you miserable, though you stood on
the very pinnacle of where I had longed to climb, _and even though I
sacrificed her in so doing_.”

Earle’s lips twitched nervously at this, and, had not the man before him
been helpless and dying, his indignation must have burst forth at this
startling and inhuman statement.

Mr. Dalton noticed his emotion, and his lips curled in a bitter smile.

“One is not often allowed the privilege of reading such a page of
heart-history as I am turning for you to-day; one does not often meet a
_father_ who could cherish such bitterness and antagonism toward his
only son, and so utterly devoid of natural affection also for the child
whom he has reared from infancy; but I will make no half-confession—I
want you to know just how black my record has been, and then I will make
what restitution there is in my power.

“With all my other sins, I had a secret that I had kept for more than
twenty years, and expected it would die with me. I did not believe there
was a soul living who knew aught of it, or who could ever discover it.

“But there was; justice was on my track, and, like an avenging Nemesis,
pursued me with a relentless determination. I fled, I hid, I vowed I
would not be thwarted out of _every_ scheme I had formed, but all to no
purpose, and one day I was brought face to face with a foe, of whose
existence I had not dreamed until only a short time before.

“Foiled at every point, my last weapon wrested from me, I lost all
control of myself, and in my anger and mortification ruptured a blood
vessel in the lungs, and knew that my days were numbered.

“It was not a pleasant thing to know that death had set his mark upon
me, and for awhile I tried to fight the conviction; but it was of no
use, and then I began to think; and one has very different ideas
regarding the end and aim of man, when ‘Death sits grinning his
horrible, ghastly smile upon him,’ than when in the full vigor of life.

“Like two vivid pictures, your life and mine arose up before me—my own,
full of pride, ambition, and selfishness, with no principle of truth or
goodness in it, and ending in utter wreck; yours, in the face of
mountain-like difficulties, filled with the beauty of high resolves,
noble purposes, and unwavering rectitude and nobility, not the least of
which was the fact that even while smarting beneath the fiercest strokes
of your enemy, you did not cease to be generous—that ten thousand
dollars, with all my arrogance and bravado, has lain heavy on my
conscience ever since you made it over to me.

“I am nearly done. I could not rest—I could not die until I had told you
all this. I do not ask you to forgive me; the words would seem but
mockery to you. The purity of your life, standing out in such bold
relief against the blackness of mine, enraged me. If I could have seen
you angry—if I could really have found a flaw in you—perhaps I should
not have always been so bitter. I say it always angered me, until I was
obliged to lie here and think. Now it shames me, and I would be glad if
I could annihilate from _your_ memory the shame of having had such a
father. I cannot make any atonement for the past to either you or
Editha. I can only wish that your future may be as full of happiness as
you both deserve, and perhaps I may be able to contribute a trifle to it
by being the first to tell you that _Editha is not my child at all_!”




                CHAPTER XLV
                MADAM SYLVESTER’S STORY


Earle nearly bounded from his seat at this startling intelligence, and
then, controlling himself for the sake of the sick man, sank back into
his chair with a low, suppressed cry, his face almost as colorless as
that of the dying man’s upon the pillow.

“Editha not your child!” he said at last, in a strained, unnatural
voice, his heart beating with great heavy throbs.

“No; not a drop of my blood flows in her veins,” Mr. Dalton panted.

His strength was all gone, now that his story was told, and it was with
difficulty that he spoke at all.

“Who’s child is she, then?” Earle asked, trembling with eagerness, a
glad gleam leaping into his eyes in spite of his sad surroundings and
his sympathy for the panting form upon the bed.

Madam Sylvester now came to the bedside.

She had entered so quietly a few moments before that neither Earle nor
Mr. Dalton was aware of her presence until this moment.

“Mr. Dalton must rest now; he is nearly exhausted,” she said, adding: “I
will summon the nurse, and as Editha is still sleeping, and you are
doubtless anxious to have the mystery explained, I will finish the story
of Editha’s parentage.”

Earle instantly arose, and a sudden thought made him glance at her more
keenly than he had yet done; then, with a look of sympathy at the
panting sufferer, he turned to follow her. Mr. Dalton had seen that
look, however, and it stirred his soul to its very depths.

He reached out his wasted hand as if to stay him, and said, weakly,
while his features writhed in pain:

“A good father might have been proud to own you as his son. As it is, I
cannot even ask you to take my hand.”

Earle turned quickly and bent over him, his manly face softened to
almost womanly tenderness and beauty—not from the dawn of any filial
affection! that could not be, after all the bitter past—but from pity
and compassion for a soul standing alone upon the brink of eternity,
with nothing to lean upon as he entered the dark valley of the shadow of
death, and no hope in the mysterious future toward which he was
hastening.

As his humanity would have prompted him to reach out his strong right
hand to save either friend or foe in case of danger, so his grand nature
yearned to lead this darkened mind into the light of hope.

“We will not talk of the past any more,” he said, gently; “It is gone,
and it is vain to dwell upon it. The future is what we must think of
now.”

“The future—my future! What will it be like, I wonder?” Sumner Dalton
asked, helplessly, and searching that noble face with painful
earnestness, as if he could tell him.

“The future means ‘heaven’ to those who are ready for it,” was the
grave, dignified reply.

“Yes, yes; but to those who are _not_ ready for it?” came breathlessly
from the blue lips of the sufferer.

“_All may_ be ready for it if they will,” Earle answered, in low, sweet
tones. Then seeing how excited Mr. Dalton was becoming, he added: “You
must rest now—you have talked long, and are very weary. I will come to
you again when you have slept, and we will talk more of this.”

“You will stay—you will not go away until—after——” the dying man began,
wildly, but finished with a groan.

The thought of death was anguish.

“I shall stay for the present—as long as you need me,” Earle replied,
understanding him, and pitying him deeply.

A sigh of relief followed this assurance.

In the hour of his weakness and need he turned, with a strange feeling
of confidence, to the strong, true nature which he had once so scorned
and despised.

His eyes followed the manly form wistfully as it quietly passed from the
room, then, with a weary sigh, he turned upon his pillow and slept.

Madam Sylvester led Earle back to the room where she had first met him,
and motioning him to a chair, took one herself near him.

“I know you are anxious to see Editha,” she said; “but she is not yet
awake. I peeped into her room on my way to Mr. Dalton’s, and the dear
child has not moved since I looked in before. She was nearly worn out
this morning when she went to rest. Now I will do as you say—leave this
interesting story for her to finish, or relieve your suspense and tell
you myself while she sleeps,” she added, with her charming manner.

“Tell me by all means,” Earle said, earnestly. “I cannot endure the
suspense, and I am utterly amazed by Mr. Dalton’s last statement to me.”

“It is not to be wondered at, and your amazement probably will not end
there. Your query, when he told you Editha was not his child, very
naturally was, ‘Whose is she, then?’ My lord, _I am Editha’s mother_!”

Earle looked the astonishment that he could not express, and yet the
shadow of suspicion of this had crossed his mind just before leaving Mr.
Dalton’s room.

“I never believed anything would ever again give me such joy as this
knowledge does,” Earle said, with a deep-drawn sigh of thankfulness, and
beginning to realize something of the joy that might be in store for
him.

Editha, no longer regarded as a sister, might now be claimed as a wife.

Madam smiled. She greatly admired the handsome young marquis, and her
heart was very light to know of the brilliant future that lay before her
beautiful daughter.

“It gives me pleasure to hear you say that,” she said. “And now, if you
have patience, I will tell you my sad story and all regarding Editha’s
parentage, as I have already related it to her.”

“I have patience,” Earle said, smiling; and madam began:

“Nearly twenty-three years ago I met with the saddest loss that ever
falls to the lot of woman—the loss of a love that would have brightened
all my future life. From my early girlhood I had an affection for my own
cousin, and was beloved in return by him. As we grew older that
affection increased, until at the age of eighteen I was betrothed to
him. Soon after, he went to sea, hoping on his return to be able to make
me his wife. He had a share in a trading-vessel, and, if they made a
successful voyage, he hoped to realize a handsome sum, which, with what
he already had, would enable him to support a wife. Three months later
came the news of the loss of the vessel, and his name was among the list
of those who perished. Our engagement had been a secret, and so it was
only in secret that I could mourn. In the presence of others, of course,
I must appear the same as usual, and so, to hide the grief that was
burning my heart to ashes, I assumed a reckless gayety that deceived
every one. About this time a stranger appeared in our circle. He was
wealthy, fascinating, and very handsome. He appeared attracted by my
beauty, as my friends were pleased to term my good looks, and paid me
much attention. My family were pleased with him, I liked him, and when
he offered me marriage I accepted him, thinking that perhaps, under new
excitement and change of scene and country, I might find some balm for
my wounded heart. We were married, and spent several months in
traveling, and then contrary to my expectations my husband preferred to
remain indefinitely in Paris, and we set up a home of our own in the
suburbs of the city. Before the end of a year a little child was given
to us—a blue-eyed, golden-haired daughter, whom we both loved with
almost idolatrous affection, and it seemed as if Heaven had at last sent
healing to my sore spirit, for I became calmly and quietly happy; my
acute grief had passed, and, though my deepest affection was in the
ocean grave of my sailor lover, yet I looked forward to a future of
quiet happiness with the new ties that bound me to life.

“My baby—Editha we had named her—was only three months of age, when one
day, as my husband and I were watching her as she lay crowing and
laughing in her cradle, the door behind us opened and some one entered
the room. We both turned, and saw a form gaunt and trembling, a face
pale and wasted, but dearer than life to me. It was Louis Villemain, my
lost lover, whom I believed lying cold in death at the bottom of the
sea.

“I was young, impulsive, and not yet strong after the birth of my child,
and the shock was more than I could bear. With one wild cry of joy, I
sprang forward and threw myself upon his bosom, forgetting that I was
already a wife and a mother, forgetful of my husband’s presence—of
everything save that Louis was alive and had returned. I murmured fond,
wild words of love and delight, words which a wife has no right to speak
save in the ear of her husband, and mine, sitting there, listened
horror-struck, and learned the whole. It was only when, exhausted with
my joy, I lay weeping on Louis’s bosom that I was at last aroused to a
consciousness of what I had done, by my husband’s stern sarcasm.

“‘What may be the meaning of this exceedingly affecting scene, allow me
to ask?’ he said, hissing the words between his teeth; and then with a
shriek I realized our relative positions, and fell fainting to the
floor.

“I need not dwell upon what followed,” madam said, with a sigh, “when I
came to myself, Louis was gone, and my husband, angry and wretched at
discovering how he had been deceived, was very unreasonable, and poured
forth such a storm of jealous wrath upon me that I was nearly crushed. I
confessed everything to him then, I pleaded my sorrow and weakness, and
implored his forgiveness and mercy, but he denounced me as an unfaithful
wife, at least at heart, and vowed that from that day we should live as
strangers, and yet, for our child’s sake, every outward propriety must
be observed. I was more wretched than I can express, and very unwisely
poured forth my troubles into Louis’s ear, when he came the next day and
sought me alone. I could not deny that the old love was stronger than
the new, and the future looked like darkest gloom to me—my husband’s
respect and confidence gone—my lover returned to look reproach upon me
from sad and hollow eyes, and my conscience constantly upbraiding me for
having married a good and noble man when I had no heart to give him. I
felt like a forsaken thing, and, always morbidly sensitive, I was
tenfold more so then in my weakened, nervous state. I do not pretend to
excuse my sin—I can only tell it just as it happened. Louis, as wretched
as myself, comforted me with the old, tender words that he used to
speak, and, bemoaning my sad fate in being linked to such a cruel
husband, urged me to fly with him on a new vessel that he was to
command, and be happy in our own way. The vessel was to sail in a few
days, and with passionate eloquence he pictured the delight of the free,
beautiful, roving life we would lead. I consented, and one day, when my
husband was absent for a few hours, I took my baby and fled. Louis had
gone on before me, and was to meet me at the seaport town from which the
vessel was to sail. Not being able to leave home until afternoon, I was
obliged to stop over night at a small town about half way from the port.
I was more lonely than I can tell you, as alone and unprotected I
retired and lay with my baby in my arms, thinking of what I had done. I
thought of my dead mother and her early teachings—of the words she used
to love and repeat from the sacred book, and the earnestness with which
she used to impress their meaning upon me, and the horror and guilt of
the step I was contemplating overwhelmed me. My baby awoke at midnight,
and would not be coaxed to sleep again; so, lighting the candle, I lay
there and watched her play, and talk, and coo in her charming little
way. Every now and then she would stop, look around the room as if she
knew she was in a strange place, and then glance up at me with great
serious eyes that seemed to question my conduct and reproach my
rashness. I thought of my husband, who, though he had been hasty and
somewhat cruel in his reproaches, was yet a good, true man. I pictured
the despair he would feel when he should return and find his wife and
child gone, his home desolate, his name dishonored, and all the horror
of my rash act rushed with overwhelming force upon me. I threw myself
upon my knees beside my bed and wept out my repentance there, resolving
that early morning should find me returning like the prodigal to my
home. I acted upon that resolve, first dispatching a note to Louis
telling him of my resolution, and entreating him not to come to me
again, nor seek to hold any communication with me.

“I reached home at noon the next day, but my husband had already
discovered my flight. I suppose I might have told him some story—that I
had only been to visit a friend in my loneliness, or something of that
kind, and he might have accepted it; but I did not; I went to him and
confessed the whole, imploring his pardon, and swearing fidelity for the
future. I think if he could have had time to think it over and consider
the matter, he would have acted differently; but his heart was already
too sore to bear more, and his naturally fierce temper swept all reason
before it. He took my baby from my arms and bade me ‘go,’ refusing to
believe I had not flown _with_ Louis instead of to him. I prayed him to
leave my child, my beautiful, blue-eyed, fair-haired Editha, but he told
me I was not a fit mother to rear a child, and he refused me even the
comfort of a parting caress. He said hard, cruel things to me in that
fit of passion—words that broke my heart, seared my brain, and drove me
nearly crazed from the sight of every familiar face. I never saw him
again—I never heard aught of him for long, long years. After I had
recovered somewhat from the first shock of my wild grief I began to
reason with myself. I knew I had sinned deeply—I had committed a great
wrong in marrying one man when my heart was another’s, even though I
believed that other dead, and I had enhanced that wrong a hundred fold
in yielding to Louis’ persuasions and consenting to fly with him. True,
I had repented before it was too late to turn back, but it was a bitter
blow to my husband; it was an act of treachery, and I could not blame
him for his first wild outbreak. But I felt that it was cruel in him to
be so relentless when I had confessed all; if he had but been
merciful—if he could but have consented to give me a place at his
hearth-stone until he had tested my sincerity, I feel that a
comparatively happy life might have eventually been ours. I wrote to him
times without number, begging him to let me come and be the faithful
wife and mother I knew I was capable of being; but he never returned me
one word in reply—never told me aught of my child, over whom my heart
has yearned as only a mother’s heart can yearn for her only darling.

“A short time after our separation I received a letter from Louis
telling me of his marriage with an Italian lady, and begging me to
forgive him for the wrong he had done me in tempting me from my duty as
a wife. A year later news of his death reached me, and then I sought my
brother, the only living relative I then had. He received me kindly, and
has devoted himself to my comfort and happiness ever since, and we have
lived for each other and for the good we could do to others who have
suffered and sinned. I have had much of peace—I have even known
something of happiness, since no one can relieve the wants of others and
witness their comfort and gratitude without being blessed for the good
wrought. But I am wearying you with my long story,” madam said,
stopping, with a sad smile.

“No; it is thrillingly interesting, but so sad,” Earle said, longing to
hear the remainder.

“I shall soon finish now. I told you, I believe, that my husband was an
American, did I not?”

“No; is it possible?” Earle exclaimed, greatly surprised.

“Yes; and for years I have longed to come to the United States to visit
his native land, hoping that by some chance I might glean some news of
him and my child. My brother and I visited the place that used to be his
home, but he had been gone from there for many years. After the death of
his parents he had removed to some city, but no one could tell us where,
and no one knew anything of his having a child, and were even surprised
to learn that he had ever been married. We could trace him no farther,
and I gave up all hope, believing that my child must have died before it
reached this country, and so he had never owned the fact of his
marriage.

“We thought we might as well visit some of the points of interest here
before returning home, and it was while at Newport that I found Editha.”

“Surely you could not have recognized her after so many years?” Earle
said, thinking she meant to imply that.

“Oh, no, although we were both strongly attracted to each other at once.
She was ill; she had seen sorrow something akin to mine—that I knew as
soon as I looked into her sad eyes—and just as I had discovered its
nature, and was seeking a better acquaintance with her, she and her
father suddenly disappeared from Newport. I learned through Mr.
Tressalia that they had gone to Saratoga, and, being determined to know
something more of her, and wishing also to visit Saratoga, we followed
them thither. Immediately upon our appearance Mr. Dalton became
strangely excited, and behaved in the most unaccountable manner.

“We arrived at night, while they were at a garden-party. We went to seek
them, and, after a short interview, Editha and Mr. Dalton withdrew.
Early the next morning, before any of us had arisen, they had departed,
leaving no trace behind them as to their destination.”

“Aha! Mr. Dalton must have had some suspicion of who you were, and, for
reasons of his own, desired to keep the knowledge from Editha,”
exclaimed Earle, getting really excited over this strange history.




                CHAPTER XLVI
                “WHAT A STRANGE STORY!”


“Did you ever meet Mr. Dalton before?” Earle asked, excusing himself for
his involuntary interruption.

“No, never; but I will soon explain how he recognized me, though I
should never have known anything of him—should never have found my child
even then, had it not been for your cousin, Paul Tressalia,” replied
madam.

“Poor Paul!” Earle sighed, thinking how his hopes were doomed to be
blighted at every turn.

“Mr. Tressalia has suffered deeply,” madam returned, “but he is rising
above it nobly. I really believe if it had not been for his kind and
judicious care of Editha after he returned to Newport, she would have
sunk into a decline. He bravely renounced all his hopes of winning her,
when she told him that she could never love another, and devoted himself
to cheering her, and no one has expressed himself more truly glad over
these recent discoveries than your noble cousin.”

“He is a truly brave man, and deserves a better fate than has overtaken
him just in the prime of his life,” Earle said, regretfully.

“A ‘better fate’ will yet come to him, I feel sure, and his life will
yet be rounded and completed by the hand of One who knows best how to
fashion the lives He has given us,” madam answered, with grave
thoughtfulness.

“As I told you,” she continued, after a moment, “on our arrival at
Saratoga, we repaired immediately to the garden-party, and while there I
managed to draw Editha one side for a little quiet chat, during which
she opened her heart to me. I had heard something of her sad story from
Mr. Tressalia before, but she related it to me more fully. She spoke of
her uncle several times, telling of his deep interest in you, of his
fondness for her, and that he had, in dying, bequeathed all his fortune
to her, save the sum he had wished you to have. I casually inquired his
name, but before she could reply, Mr. Dalton interrupted us and took
Editha away. The next morning I arose quite early, considering the
lateness of the hour that I had retired the night previous, feeling very
restless, and apprehensive of I know not what.

“I met Mr. Tressalia in a small sitting-room as I went below, and
immediately began talking of the conversation I had had with Editha the
night before.

“‘What was Miss Dalton’s uncle’s name—the one who left her his fortune?’
I asked, during the interview.

“‘Richard Forrester,’ he returned; and I sank into a chair, feeling as
if a heavy hand had suddenly been laid upon my heart and stopped its
beating.

“You will not wonder,” madam continued, her face paling with emotion
even then at the remembrance, “when I tell you that _Richard Forrester
was my husband_!”

“Your husband!” repeated Earle, fairly dazed with astonishment.

“Yes, my husband, and Editha’s father. I saw through it all in an
instant. Mr. Dalton’s wife was his sister, and to her he had committed
his child. It was no wonder that I had been attracted toward her from
the very first; it was no wonder that, when I met her for the first time
in Redwood Library at Newport, my heart thrilled with something stronger
than sympathy for her sorrow and pity for her suffering. She was my own,
own child, and it was the instinct of the mother claiming her offspring,
even before she recognized her. She was my baby, my pet, my little bud
of promise, which had been so cruelly wrested from my arms more than
twenty years before.”

And madam’s tears flowed freely even now. Her joy was so new that she
could not speak of it without weeping.

“What a strange, strange story!” Earle exclaimed. “Richard Forrester
Editha’s father! That accounts, then, for the intense love which he
always seemed to bear her.”

“He did love her, then—he did not visit her mother’s sin upon the life
of her child?” madam asked, eagerly.

“No, indeed; he seemed to love her most devotedly. She never came into
his presence but that his eyes followed her every movement with a
strange, intense gaze, at which I often wondered. But I cannot
understand why he should have resigned his claim upon her—why he denied
himself all the comfort of her love, and had her reared as Sumner
Dalton’s child,” Earle said, thoughtfully.

“You will understand it as I go on,” madam returned, wiping her tears.
“Of course, after that discovery, I was nearly wild to claim my child,
and Mr. Tressalia went at once to arouse Mr. Dalton and demand a full
explanation of all the past in my behalf. You can imagine something of
our consternation when he discovered that he had departed on an early
train, taking Editha with him, and no one could tell us whither they had
gone. We returned to Newport, thinking they might have gone back there,
but they were not there. Mr. Tressalia said that Mr. Dalton had visited
Long Branch the previous summer, and possibly we might find them there;
so to Long Branch we repaired, but with the same success. We visited one
or two other watering-places with a like result, and then returned to
New York, thinking we might find them at home; but their house was
closed, and we knew not which way to turn then. But I was desperate. The
fact of Sumner Dalton’s flying from me would have alone convinced me
that Editha was my child if nothing else had, and I was determined I
would never give up the chase until I found her.

“At last we discovered that they were boarding quietly at a hotel, and
one morning while seated in their private parlor, Mr. Dalton reading,
Editha sewing, we walked in upon them unannounced, beyond a light knock
upon their door.

“The look upon Mr. Dalton’s face upon beholding us was a strange one—it
was amazement, rage, and despair combined, while Editha immediately
sprang forward with a cry of joy to welcome us.

“‘I am unable to account for this intrusion,’ Mr. Dalton said, loftily,
and instantly recovering his self-possession.

“‘I can explain it in a very few words,’ I returned, calmly. ‘I have
come to claim my child!’

“‘I do not understand you,’ he answered, with well-feigned surprise, but
growing white as a piece of chalk at my words.

“‘You do understand me, Mr. Dalton,’ I said, sternly, ‘and you know that
I speak the truth when I claim this dear girl as my child and Richard
Forrester’s.’

“I turned to clasp her in my arms, but she had sunk, white and
trembling, into a chair.

“‘I should like to see your proofs of that statement,’ Mr. Dalton
sneered.

“I did not reply, but bending down, I took both of Editha’s hands in
mine, and said:

“‘My dear child, tell me the date of your birth.’

“‘Editha, I command you to hold no communication with that woman,’ Mr.
Dalton cried, shaking from head to foot with passion.

“Editha looked from one to the other in helpless amazement for a moment;
then she said:

“‘Surely, papa, it can do no harm for me to give the date of my birth,’
then fixing her eyes wistfully on my face, and with lips that quivered
painfully, she added, ‘I was born October 24th, 1843.’

“My child and Richard Forrester’s—my little blue-eyed, fair-haired girl,
that her father named Editha for the happiness she brought him—was born
October 24th, 1843.

“‘My love, did no one ever tell you that you resembled Richard
Forrester?’ I asked, gathering her close in my arms, for I knew she was
mine, and I would never relinquish her again, unless, after hearing my
story, she should refuse to acknowledge me as her mother.

“‘Yes, it was often remarked,’ she returned; ‘but mamma always said it
was not strange since Uncle Richard was her brother.’

“‘Not “Uncle Richard” any longer, my darling,’ I said, ‘but your own
father.’

“‘My father! and you were his wife—you are my mother?’ she said,
studying my face, and trembling in every nerve.

“‘It is a falsehood! Editha, leave the room instantly, and I will deal
with these people myself. Go, I say; that woman is no fit companion for
my daughter!’ Mr. Dalton shouted, and strode toward me, his hands
clenched and his face blazing with fury.

“Whatever his intentions were, he never reached me, for the blood all at
once gushed from his mouth, and he fell fainting to the floor.

“Of course everything was at once forgotten in the confusion that
followed and the alarm occasioned by his condition. He had a very
violent hemorrhage, and the doctor gave very little hope of his
rallying; but his constitution was strong, and after a couple of weeks
he began to gain strength and flesh, and the physicians then said, with
the exercise of great care he might live for a good while. Meantime,
Editha and I clung to each other with all the fondness and delight it is
possible for a long-parted mother and child to experience. There was no
doubt in our own minds that we belonged to each other, although Mr.
Dalton was still very sullen and morose on the subject, and would
confess nothing. But one day he was attacked with another bleeding turn,
so severe that we all knew he could not live long, and he seemed
conscious himself that he could not rally from it. Then he seemed
willing to talk upon the subject so fraught with interest to us all.
Editha sought him one day, and begged him to tell her all the truth.
Then he confessed that it was all as I had supposed, and that the moment
he saw me at Newport he knew me from a picture that he had once seen in
Mr. Forrester’s possession. He said that when my husband returned from
Europe with his little child he took her directly to his sister, who had
no children, and begged her to adopt it as her own. He told all the
story of his marriage and the sad events which followed it, and said he
never wished his child to know that any sorrow was connected with her
early life; he wished her to grow up happy and free from all care, and
he would gladly forego the comfort of calling her his own, that no
shadow need ever come upon her. In return for the consent of Mr. and
Mrs. Dalton to adopt her, he settled upon them fifty thousand dollars,
and promised them that Editha should have all his fortune if she
outlived him.

“His reason told him that Richard Forrester would gladly have absolved
him from all promise of secrecy regarding her birth, rather than that
her life should be ruined, as it was likely to be upon discovering that
you were his son; but his enmity toward you made him prefer to sacrifice
her happiness rather than forego his revenge.”

“What a disposition for a person to cherish! It is beyond my
comprehensions,” Earle said, gravely, and thinking sorrowfully of the
dying man upstairs, whose whole life had been ruined by giving the rein
to his evil passions.

“It would seem, too, as if there ought to have been some natural
instinct in his heart that would at least have prevented him from doing
you such despite, even if he bore you no love,” madam returned. “But, as
he says,” she added, “he has been his own worst enemy—out of his own
folly alone have sprung all his misfortunes and disappointments.”

“That is true, and is it not often proved that those who seek to wrong
others only injure themselves the most in the end?” Earle asked.

“It is, indeed,” madam returned, sadly; then she said, rising: “I
believe I have told you all now. I think Editha must be awake by this
time. I will go and tell her of your arrival. You will find her a little
worn and pale perhaps, but not a whit less lovely than she was a year
ago.”

Madam’s smile was full of beauty and tenderness whenever she spoke of
her newly-found daughter, and Earle thought she was a very handsome
woman.

She left the room, and he sat thinking over all the strange incidents of
the past six years—yea, all the strange incidents of his whole life.

The story he had just listened to seemed wonderful to him. He could
scarcely credit the good news that was to blot out all the dark past and
make his future so bright and full of joy.

Notwithstanding he had come to a house upon which death had set its
seal, and he could not help a feeling of sorrow for the man so near the
bounds of eternity, yet his heart was bounding with a new and blessed
hope.

He no longer needed to school himself to calmly endure the ordeal of
meeting Editha; there was no need now to force back with an iron will
all the natural impulses of his heart.

She was not his sister, and he knew well now why his whole soul had
revolted against the fiendish lie with which Sumner Dalton had sought to
crush him.

Editha would be his wife now; she would go back with him to Wycliffe
when they should be needed here no longer; she would go there to reign
as his honored and beautiful mistress, and he would have the right to
love her; there was no sin now in loving her as fondly as his great,
true heart prompted him to do.

His face grew luminous as he sat there and waited for her; his eyes lost
their heavy look of forced endurance, and softened into rare, sweet
tenderness.

                “After the shower, the tranquil sun—
                Silver stars when the day is done.
                After the knell, wedding bells,
                Joyful greetings from sad farewells.”

Earle hummed this little verse, with a fond smile wreathing his handsome
lips, his glad heart beating time to its hopeful rhythm, as he listened
to catch the first sound of the footfalls he so loved.

Editha Dalton—so called since the first year of her babyhood—was indeed
the child of Richard Forrester and Madam Sylvester, or Mrs. Forrester,
as she must henceforth be called, and only a few words will be needed to
give an outline of his early life.

While he was quite young a maiden aunt had died, leaving him heir to a
handsome fortune. As soon as he had completed his college course he made
the acquaintance of Estelle Sylvester.

He loved her from the very first, and though he thought her a trifle
giddy and wild, he laid it to the fact that French people are naturally
vivacious and freer in their manners than the staid, Puritanic
Americans, and he reasoned that when she should marry and assume the
responsibilities of domestic life, she would sober down into the quiet,
self-possessed matron.

For a year after their marriage, as we have said, all went well—indeed,
the wild and giddy Estelle became too quiet and sedate to suit him; but
that he attributed to the state of her health somewhat. But when, on the
fatal morning of Louis Villemain’s return, he learned the truth that his
wife had never loved him, but that her heart had been wholly another’s
even when she had vowed to love him only until death, he was crushed for
the moment; then his fiery temper gained the ascendency, and, for the
time, made almost a madman of him, and he uttered words which in his
calmer moments he would never have spoken.

Upon his return one evening, after a day of solitude and of brooding
over his injury, finding his wife and child gone, he was for the instant
tempted to put an end to his life, but a wise hand stayed the rash act.

All night long he mourned for the lost ones—for he had loved his wife
tenderly, and his baby had been his idol—with a bitterness which only
strong natures like his can experience; but when morning broke, and he
began to consider the dishonor that would fall upon him, his passion
flamed anew, and when poor, penitent Estelle returned at noon, his heart
was like a wall of brass to her entreaties and prayers for forgiveness.

He was sorry afterward, bitterly sorry, when he came to reflect on his
rashness, and that all her life-long his child must be motherless; but
the deed was done—he had driven his wife away in disgrace, and he would
not relent enough to recall her.

He took his baby and her nurse, and sailed immediately for the United
States. His sister was about changing her home to a distant city, and to
her care he committed his little Editha, to be brought up as her own,
deeming it wiser to renounce all claim to her than that she should grow
up to know of her mother’s folly and sin.

That was what those strange words meant that he uttered upon the night
before he died, when his eyes fondly followed Editha from the room, and
he had said: “God grant that _that_ sin may never shadow _her_ life.”

After the death of his parents he had left his native town and repaired
to the city where his sister, Mrs. Dalton, resided, that he might be
near and watch over his child, whom he loved almost to idolatry.

He never sought to obtain a divorce from Estelle, nor cared to marry
again; his trust in woman was destroyed, and he lived only to make
Editha happy, and amass a fortune to leave her at his death.

How well he succeeded in this we all know; her life up to his death was
like a cloudless summer’s day: she had never known a care or a sorrow
that he had not lightened; she had never shed a tear in his presence
that he had not wiped with the utmost tenderness away.

Aside from what might be considered his unreasonableness and harshness
toward his young and erring wife, he was a noble, tender-hearted,
upright man, beloved and respected to an unusual degree by all who knew
him.

His was a singularly sad and isolated life, brightened only by the
occasional presence of the child he dare not own, lest he bring a blight
on her otherwise sunny life.

While he lived, Sumner Dalton had not dared to treat her in any but the
most gentle and tender manner. She might oppose him in any way that her
imperious little will dictated, but he could only hide his anger and
irritability by laughing at her wilfulness. But once Richard Forrester’s
surveillance removed, his natural tyranny and cruelty came to the
surface, causing her much of sadness and suffering, while he even dared
to risk her life and happiness to gratify his ignoble passion for
revenge upon another.




                CHAPTER XLVII
                EDITHA’S GREETING


Fifteen minutes after Madam Forrester left Earle a light step sounded
outside the door, a trembling hand turned the silver handle, and Editha
Forrester stood once more in the presence of her lover.

She was somewhat pale and worn, as madam had said; but a lovely flush of
expectation and delight had crept into her cheeks, and a joyous light
gleamed from her beautiful eyes, as Earle leaped to his feet and went
forward to meet her.

No word was spoken for the first few moments—their feelings were too
deep, too sacred, for any outward expression; but Earle drew her to his
breast and held her there with a strong, tender clasp that claimed her
his own forever—that told her they would nevermore be parted while both
should live.

Editha was the first to break the significant silence.

“Earle, I am _glad_ you have come,” she said, as she raised her eyes
shining with happy tears to read the face she loved so well.

It was the same simple yet hearty greeting that she had given him so
long ago on that day before Christmas, when he had come to her. Earle
remembered it, and drew her still closer as he thought of her constancy
to him through all the various changes of the last four years.

“The wings of the wind were not rapid enough to bear me to you, my own,
when I knew that you wanted me; and yet I did not dream of the joy that
was awaiting me,” he said, with tremulous gladness.

“Joy and sorrow too, Earle, for papa cannot remain with us long,” she
answered, with a sigh.

She still called Mr. Dalton by the old familiar name, for not only would
it have been awkward to change, but it would have seemed cruel to the
invalid, who in all the world had alone this fair girl to cling to.

But in her heart she thanked God every day that Richard Forrester had
been her father instead of Sumner Dalton, while no words could express
her joy for the loving mother she had found.

“Yes, it pains me to find him as he is,” Earle returned, in answer to
her remark; but he was thinking more of his spiritual condition than of
his physical suffering.

“He is very sorry for the past,” Editha said, with a wistful look; “he
talks of it almost constantly in his sleep in a wild, sad way, although
he speaks bitterly when he is awake. He begs Marion—that was your
mother, Earle—to forgive him, and tells her that he did not see things
then as he does now. I think she would forgive him now if she could see
him; and, Earle, I wish you could forgive him, too. Oh, if you could
part at peace with each other!”

“We can, my darling. I have never wished him any ill, and freely forgive
him every wrong; though, of course, it cannot be expected that I could
feel any affection for him,” Earle replied, gravely.

“No—oh, no.”

“And my mother’s wrongs were very grievous.”

“I know,” Editha said, with a deep sigh of regret, as she thought of
that delicate, lovely girl, and what torture she must have endured when
she believed herself betrayed and scorned.

“Editha, can _you_ forgive Mr. Dalton for all he has wilfully made you
suffer—for trying to part us when there was no need, and for seeking to
hide you from your mother?” Earle asked, regarding her curiously.

The tears sprang to her eyes as she answered:

“Oh, yes; he is dying, you know, and I could not let him leave me
feeling that I cherished any bitterness toward him. His path to the
grave is very dark, and I would not add to its gloom. It has been very
hard to bear all those things,” she added, sighing; “but I think papa
has been the worst sufferer, after all. He never was unkind to me until
after my dear father died. Oh, Earle,” she cried, her lovely face
lighting up with tenderness, “you don’t know how I love to think that he
was my father—I loved him so dearly. I used to think sometimes that I
was really ungrateful to love him so very much when he was only my
uncle; but now I know why it was—it was the natural impulse of my heart
going out to him, where it belonged.”

“How like a romance the story of your life is, my darling,” Earle said,
thoughtfully.

“Not more so than your own, I am quite sure, Earle. But do you not think
mother is very lovely?” she asked.

“She is, truly. How very happy you are in the knowledge of your
parentage.”

“Yes; and for more reasons than one,” she answered, with a shy smile at
him, accompanied with a rosy blush; then she added, more gravely: “But I
wish my mother need not have suffered quite so deeply. If my father
could but have known how sorry and repentant she was, and how truly good
she was at heart, they might have grown to be very happy after awhile;
he need not have lived such a lonely, sorrowful life, and all this sin
and trouble need never have been. But”—with a sigh of regret—“we have no
right to question the dealings of One who is wiser than we. There is
some good reason for all the suffering there is in the world, and some
one has somewhere said that ‘human lives are like some sweet plants,
which must be crushed ere they give forth their sweetest fragrance.’”

“And we are told somewhere else that gold seven times tried is pure. How
very free from dross, then, you must be, my darling,” Earle said, with
playful tenderness.

“No, indeed, Earle; my trials and sorrows have been nothing compared to
yours,” Editha said, earnestly.

“The bitterness of the past disappears in the brightness of the present,
and what the future promises to be; and I do not forget, my darling,
that but for your fortitude a dark shadow would still rest upon my
life—you endured a great deal for my sake, Editha,” and his lips touched
her forehead almost reverently.

“And I would have resisted until I died rather than have given up my
treasure into the hands of that wicked man,” she cried, with something
of the old wilful gleam in her eyes. “Do you know,” she added, eagerly,
in the same breath, “that I have found the Lokers, and they are now just
as comfortable as they can be.”

“And all owing to your own kindness of heart and liberal hand, no
doubt,” Earle responded, with a smile.

“How could I help expressing my gratitude in some way for having that
dark mystery solved and every stigma removed from your character? I did
help them to begin with, but they are going to help themselves now. I
stocked a cunning little store with fancy and useful articles, furnished
two rooms in the rear for their private use, and they are really very
successful in their little business.”

“With you for their chief patron, I presume,” was Earle’s laughing
reply, as he gazed admiringly into her animated face.

“Well, of course, I go there,” she admitted, flushing, “to get all my
needles, pins, thread, etc., and so do a great many of my friends. But
Mrs. Loker is really a very worthy woman, and her daughter is bright and
keen as a brier at a trade; it is a real pleasure to encourage such
people. But I have talked enough about myself—tell me something about
your adventure with that wicked creature who has brought so much trouble
upon us.”

Earle complied, relating all that had occurred from the night of the
attempted robbery until the time of his departure, while Editha listened
intensely interested.

“Do you know I stand almost in awe of you to know that you have
accomplished such a change in that vile nature? It seems almost like a
miracle,” she said, when he had finished.

“Do not think of it, then, for I have no wish, I assure you, to inspire
you with any such sentiment toward me. But I do not think this looks as
if you were _very_ much afraid of me,” he laughed, as he gathered her
closer in his arms and kissed the fair face upon his breast again and
again.

“I shall be obliged to impose a duty upon all such operations in the
future if you carry them to such an extent,” she said, trying to hide
her blushing face with a very insufficient hand.

“Then never tell me again that you stand in awe of me, or I shall feel
it _my_ duty to take even more effective measures to eradicate the
feeling,” Earle said, with mock gravity.

“But about this man”—Editha thought it best to change the subject—“don’t
you think you’re carrying your kindness a little too far? He may betray
your trust; besides, he has violated the laws of the land, and have you
any right to shield him?”

“I suppose I am not obliged to give any evidence against him, since he
was not arrested by a commissioned officer; the offense was against
myself alone, and if I see fit to take no action in the matter, I do not
see how I am violating any right, either civil or moral—particularly as
I am conscientiously convinced that the man’s salvation depends upon
kindness rather than upon punishment.”

Earle had argued this matter many times with himself, and he felt that
he was doing perfectly right.

“If suffering is any penalty for sin,” he continued, “he has paid it,
for he was fearfully wounded. I fully believe, if he had escaped
unharmed from the bullet, and been arrested, convicted and sentenced, he
would have grown more hardened and desperate, and been prepared for
almost any evil upon the expiration of his term. But laid upon a bed of
sickness, with some one to care for him and treat him as if he was a
human being, he has had opportunity to think as he has never thought
before. As Mr. Dalton said to-day, ‘things look very different to a man
when he fears that life is slipping from his grasp than they do when he
is in the full vigor of life,’ and I think Tom Drake realized that, if
ever a man did. He was not easily won—he was suspicious of me and my
motives for a long time, but when he found that I would take no measures
against him he was completely staggered; and the shock which his
hitherto benumbed conscience thus received restored it to something like
its normal condition. I believe he will do well, and, as long as he
does, I shall give him my support and confidence.”

“But didn’t you feel the least bit triumphant when he lay there
powerless before you?” Editha asked.

“I cannot say that I did not experience a sense of satisfaction in
knowing that at last one so deserving of justice and so steeped in crime
had been arrested in his career. But my first thought was, ‘Are my hands
stained with the life-blood of a fellow-being?’ It was a great relief
when I discovered that he was not mortally wounded, but my anxiety
returned when he was so sick and we thought he would die.”

“It was a great care for you, Earle, and a noble thing for you to do
after suffering all you have on his account,” Editha said, her heart
swelling with pride of her noble lover.

“You know the more care any one occasions us the more interest we
naturally feel in that one,” he answered, smiling at her praise; “and so
it was in this case. I saw the man was capable of better things; he is
naturally smart, and I longed to save him despite the injury he had done
me and others. If there was one thing harder than all the rest for me to
forgive, it was his treatment of you. Will it be agreeable to you,
dearest, to see him about the place when we go home?” he asked, seeing
the shiver which crept involuntarily over her at the mention of the
past.

Editha flushed involuntarily at the mention of going “home,” but she
said, with gentle gravity:

“No, Earle; if we can save him, I can conquer the repugnance that I have
hitherto felt for him; but, as I remember him, he seems perfectly
hideous to me.”

“He does not look nearly so repulsive since his sickness; he is, of
course, much thinner and more refined in appearance, while his
expression is wholly changed.”

“Whether he is changed or not, I will join you heart and hand in any
good thing you may wish to do for him,” she said, heartily.

“What a gentle mistress Wycliffe will have,” Earle said, fondly; “and
you will not refuse to go back with me this time?”

“No, Earle; only it must not be at present, you know,” she returned,
with some sadness.

“I do know, dear, and of course shall remain as long as Mr. Dalton may
need either you or me; but, oh! my darling, you cannot tell how thankful
I am that I am not doomed to spend my life in gloom and alone;
everything has looked so dreary and desolate to me until to-day.”

Editha did not reply, but she laid her cheek against his in mute
sympathy, and with a sigh that told him she had also experienced
something of the desolateness of which he spoke.

“You have not seen Mr. Tressalia yet, I suppose?” she said, after a few
minutes of silence.

“No, dear, I have not seen him since the day I had such a struggle with
my selfishness, and sent him hither to win you and be happy if he
could.”

His arm tightened around the slight form at his side as he said this,
and Editha knew how he must have suffered in that struggle to renounce
her so utterly.

“Did _you_ send him to me, Earle?” she asked, with a startled look.

“Yes, dear; Paul Tressalia is one of earth’s noblest men. I believed you
lost to me forever. You once told me if there had been no Earle Wayne in
the world, you might have loved him. I wanted you to be happy—I wanted
him to know something of the comfort of life, and I knew of no one whom
I would rather have win a sister of mine than him. It was a miserable
kind of an arrangement all round, but I knew of nothing better.”

Earle spoke with a tinge of the bitterness he had experienced at the
time, as if even the memory of it was exceedingly painful.

“Dear Earle, you might have known it could not be,” she whispered,
sliding one hand into his and dropping her flushed face upon his
shoulder.

“Never—not even if our relations had remained as we have believed them
to be?”

“Never,” she replied, decidedly. “I _could_ not change, even though I
believed I was sinning every day of my life, and I would not wrong him
by accepting his love when I had none to give him in return.”

“Editha, my beloved, I should crown you with passionflowers and
snow-drops for your devotion and faithfulness,” Earle breathed, in low,
intense tones, and deeply moved by her confession.

“Hush!” she said, releasing herself from his encircling arms, her face
like a carnation; “there is the bell—that is Mr. Tressalia; he has heard
of the arrival of a steamer, and has come to see if you are here;” and
she arose to go, feeling that she could not be present while they met.

Earle arose, too, surmising her thought, but gently detained her a
moment longer.

“My love—my Editha—my ‘_happiness_,’ you have not yet told me that you
are glad to be my wife, and go home with me to Wycliffe; let me hear you
say it once,” he pleaded, with grave earnestness, as he studied the
beautiful face intently.

“You know that I am glad, Earle;” and the clear, truthful eyes were
raised to his with a look that satisfied him, though the conscious
crimson dyed all her fair face.

“And there will be no regret at leaving your native land?” he persisted,
his whole being thrilling with the consciousness of her pure love.

“Not one, save the lonely graves I shall leave behind and would like to
visit occasionally,” she murmured, with a starting tear, as she thought
of Richard Forrester and his sister sleeping so quietly side by side in
Greenwood, and of that other grave that must soon be made beside them.

Earle lifted the sweet face and kissed the tremulous lips with infinite
tenderness, then releasing her, she slipped from the room by one door as
Paul Tressalia entered by another.

The greeting of the two young men was cordial and friendly, although
each felt a thrill of pain as they clasped hands and realized all that
that meeting meant to them.

Each knew that as soon as Mr. Dalton should be laid away Earle would
claim Editha as his wife, and take her back to reign in the home of his
ancestors, where, doubtless, a life of joy, such as falls to the lot of
few, would be spent.

But Paul Tressalia was not a man to sit weakly down and pine for what he
could not have.

Since that day when he had pleaded his suit for the last time with
Editha, and she had in her despair cried out for a friend, strong and
true, he had bravely set himself to work to conquer the hopeless passion
in his heart, and he had already learned to look upon his future with a
calmness at which he himself at times was surprised.

He came to-day as both Earle’s and Editha’s tried and trusted friend,
and the congratulations which he tendered the former had a ring of
heartiness in them not to be questioned for a moment.




                CHAPTER XLVIII
                EARLE’S BEAUTIFUL THEORY


Sumner Dalton lingered only a little more than a week after Earle’s
arrival.

But with his mind relieved of the burden of revenge so long cherished,
and of the secret which had threatened to ruin Editha’s life—with his
hate confessed, and his evil passions burned out—he grew quieter and
more at ease, even though he knew that he must enter the dark valley
very soon.

He had talked with Earle once again regarding the past, seeming anxious
to know something of Marion’s last days, and appeared much agitated
when, with as little reflection upon him as possible, he gave a short
account of her sorrowful, secluded life, and her calm resignation in the
hour of death.

Earle knew that he longed to be assured of his forgiveness for the
bitter wrongs of which he had been guilty, and yet deemed it a mockery
to crave it; but he knew that it would comfort him inexpressibly, and he
told him one day that he accorded it fully and freely, and begged him to
seek pardon also from a higher source.

Whether he did or not they never knew, for he avoided referring to
anything that bore upon the past from that time; but he grew
comparatively peaceful, and they hoped that he had obtained mercy from
the divine Healer of souls.

He seemed more content when Earle was in his room, and lay and watched
him by the hour, a wistful look in his sunken eyes, as if all too late
he realized what a crown to his life such a son would have been.

Together Earle and Editha watched beside him, until the flame of life
burned down to its socket and then went out, and with it every spark of
feeling (save that of regret for a life that seemed to have been so
spent in vain) expired from their hearts also.

They laid him beside his wife, and placed above him a costly marble
shaft, simply inscribed with his name, age, and the date of his death.
What more could they do?

Unloving and unloved he had lived, unlamented he had died, without one
grand or noble act to crown his life or to be remembered when he was
gone.

What a record! and sad enough for tears “such as angels weep.”

Editha and her mother went together to Richard Forrester’s grave—Editha
with a strange, sad yearning for the father she had never known as such
while he lived, and madam with a heart filled with deep regret for the
past, and for the noble life she had so saddened by one rash act.

But each felt, as they turned away from the sacred spot, that could he
have spoken, he would have blessed them both, and rejoiced with them in
their new-found joy and reunion.

                *       *       *       *       *

Three weeks later there was a quiet wedding one morning in the fine old
church where Editha had been wont to attend since her earliest
remembrance.

Notwithstanding that Editha had desired everything done with as little
ostentation as possible, on account of their recent bereavement, yet the
church had been elegantly decorated by her numerous friends, many of
whom were present, with no small degree of curiosity, to witness the
ceremony that made her the Marchioness of Wycliffe.

The wedding breakfast was a very informal affair, to which only her most
intimate friends had been bidden.

Of course Mr. Felton, the trusty lawyer, was among these, and with him a
quiet, matronly woman, whom he had found thus late in life to share the
remainder of his journey; and into his hands Editha’s beautiful home was
to pass upon her departure for England.

John Loker’s wife and daughter, both neatly and tastefully clad, were
also among the favored guests; and, looking into their cheerful
countenances, one would scarce have recognized the wretched beings whom
Editha had visited on that memorable night two years previous.

The fair bride’s wedding robes were of heavy white crape, with satin
facings, while the mist-like vail which floated from her golden hair was
fastened with fragrant lilies of the valley and delicate, feathery
cypress vine.

“So appropriate under the circumstances,” murmured the admiring friends
who had gathered to do honor to the occasion; and indeed the
fair-haired, blue-eyed girl had never looked more lovely than when she
stood at the altar in her pure white raiment, and plighted her vows to
the one to whom she had been so true through the dark hours of adversity
as well as in prosperity.

She had loved him while yet a poor boy serving in her father’s office;
she had loved and bravely defended him when he stood before the judge
and was unjustly condemned, and during the three weary years that
followed; and the depth of that love she testified when she almost
sacrificed her life to preserve his character from dishonor. Not less
did she love him now, as he stood by her side, grand noble, and honored
by all, as the Marquis of Wycliffe and Viscount Wayne, and possessor of
a proud inheritance—an old and honored name.

But she would have loved him just as fondly, she would have wedded him
just as proudly, had he been simple Earle Wayne, without a dollar in his
pocket or a foot of land, save what his own strong right arm had won for
himself.

It was the noble spirit, the stainless character, the firm, unwavering
rectitude and honor that had won her heart’s devotion; and yet his
position and wealth were not valueless in her sight; they were
accessories by which they would be enabled to make more perfect and
useful the life which God had given them.

“If I live I mean to make my life foursquare,” he had said, with quiet
determination, when he had come to her from his weary prison life; and
she had never forgotten the resolute words—they had rung in her ears
ever since like a watch-word. And to-day, as she stood at his side and
spoke those solemn vows, she thought of them again, and she prayed that
together they might live a life so perfect and complete that it should
be like that “golden city whose length, and breath, and height were
equal.”

“So exceedingly romantic. Who would have thought it?” was the comment of
not a few who had been rehearsing the incidents of the past six or seven
years, but were interrupted as the distinguished bridal party passed up
the broad aisle to the altar.

Gustave Sylvester was to give away the bride, while Madam Forrester,
very handsome, in mauve-colored moire, Spanish lace, and diamonds, came
in on the arm of Paul Tressalia, who was by no means the least
distinguished-looking one of the party, though his face might have been
thought much too pale and stern for a wedding.

Earle met them at the altar, very quiet and self-possessed, but with a
luminous light in his eyes that told of the depth of the joy in his
heart.

After the wedding breakfast this party of five bade a long farewell to
their guests and friends, and departed for the steamer that was to bear
them to their beautiful home on England’s shores.

                *       *       *       *       *

Three years have passed, and we will take just one peep at the domestic
life at Wycliffe before we, too, part with them for all time.

The great mansion, the pride of all the country around, with its wide
wings on either side, stands on a slight eminence, and is grand and
imposing in appearance.

It was built in the Tudor style of architecture, with massive carvings
and ornamentations, and was a home of which any man, however great,
might have been proud.

An extensive lawn spread out in front, and was decorated here and there
with patches and borders of landscape gardening, beautiful shrubbery,
fountains, and statuary, while beyond and to the right of this was the
park, with its noble trees, its deer and game.

Magnificent beeches, elms, and maples spread their lofty, protecting
arms above and around the mansion, lending a delightful shade, and
making a pleasing contrast with the brown-stone of the dwelling.

Beneath one of these trees there might have been seen, on a certain
summer’s day, an exceedingly attractive group, and, to all appearances,
a very happy one also.

Upon a graceful rustic seat there are sitting two beautiful women.

Editha, fair and lovely as of old, no cloud to dim the blue of her sunny
eyes, no care or trouble having left a line on her white brow. She is a
trifle more matronly in her appearance, has a bit more of dignity,
perhaps, but is otherwise unchanged. Her companion is a lady of perhaps
thirty-two or three years, whose face impresses one at once with its
expression of sweetness and gentleness. It is a face that we have seen
before, and that once seen could never be forgotten.

The lady is none other than the one we have known as Miss Isabelle
Grafton, the daughter of Bishop Grafton, that good old man who married
Earle’s mother.

Standing behind her, his eyes resting with peculiar fondness upon her
face, is a noble-appearing man. It is Paul Tressalia, her husband of a
few months.

Madam’s prophecy had come true, and he had at last found the “woman whom
he should marry,” and they are as quietly, calmly happy as they could
ever hope to be in this world, neither feeling, perhaps, the fervor of a
first passion, but loving earnestly and with an enduring affection that
would grow riper with every year.

It was this gentle woman’s face that had come, unbidden, to Paul
Tressalia’s mind on that day when madam had told him that he would yet
find one good and true who would fill the wants of his nature better
than Editha could ever do.

A year after his return to England they had met again; each had
attracted the other, and out of it had grown the union, which bade fair
to be a most happy one.

At Editha’s feet there is playing a dark-eyed, noble-looking boy of two
years—little Paul, the future Marquis of Wycliffe; while an old lady, of
perhaps sixty, sits at a respectful distance and watches with her heart
in her eyes his every movement, lest he should annoy “my lady” with his
play and his constant prattle. This latter is Tom Drake’s mother. A
short distance away there paces back and forth under the trees a
white-aproned, white-capped nurse, with a fair-haired, blue-eyed little
girl in her arms—the “small Lady Isabelle” she is called, being as yet
only three months old, and of very tiny though perfect proportions.

The only remaining one of this group—Madam Forrester—reclines in a chair
a little in the background. She is as handsome and attractive as ever,
with a tranquil joy in her face that bespeaks very little to wish for
even in this world. Her white shapely hands are busied with some dainty
piece of work destined to grace the “small ladyship,” who is her
particular pride and comfort, while every now and then she joins in the
conversation carried on chiefly by Editha and Paul Tressalia and his
wife.

Down the broad drive-way at some distance, and approaching slowly, are
two men.

One glance is sufficient to tell us which is Earle—there is no mistaking
his grand proportions, his upright form, with its noble head setting
square and firm and with manly dignity upon his broad shoulders.

He is evidently giving some directions to his companion, for they stop
every now and then while Earle points here and there, and then resumes
his way.

As they draw nearer the group under the beech, it is noticeable that his
companion is slightly lame, and as they reach the spot he lifts his hat
respectfully to Editha, smiles fondly into the eyes of the old lady who
is watching Earle’s boy, and then passes on.

It is none other than Tom Drake, once the midnight robber and abductor.

Before Earle’s return he was able to be about once more, and had made
himself acquainted with much pertaining to the estate.

He had worked diligently and with great interest over the accounts Earle
had left him, and unheeding the admonitions of his mother, who had
arrived a few days after his departure, he refused to leave them until
every figure was straightened.

He had taken it upon himself to superintend the decorations of the
mansion and grounds, when Earle had telegraphed on what day he should
arrive at Wycliffe with his bride, and a scene of almost bewildering
beauty greeted their home-coming.

It was made a day of general rejoicing, the tenantry, servants, and
laborers all turning out in gala attire to give them a glorious
reception and welcome to Wycliffe.

But Tom Drake had remained in the background while all others went
forward to tender their good wishes and congratulations, and it was not
until Earle asked particularly for him that he ventured to present
himself before those two, whose lives he had done so much to render
miserable. Then he came modestly forward, bearing a magnificent bouquet
and wreath in his hand.

The former composed entirely of box, white bell-flowers, and blue
violets, and embodying the sentiments, constancy, gratitude, and
faithfulness, he placed in Earle’s hand, wishing him “long life and
happiness.” The wreath, a marvel of delicate beauty, was made of the
finest leaves of yew tree and graceful clusters of pure white wisteria,
the leaves signifying sorrow for the past, the flowers “Welcome, fair
stranger.”

This Tom Drake laid at the feet of Editha, with a few murmured words of
greeting, made a low obeisance, and then went away.

Both Earle and his wife were surprised at this manifestation of feeling,
and the delicate manner in which it was expressed; and they prized these
simple offerings as highly as any of the rich gifts that they had
received from their numerous wealthy friends, on account of the emotions
which had prompted them and which they had been quick to read and
appreciate.

Earle was so pleased with his work upon the tangled accounts, and the
interest he manifested in things generally, that he allowed him in the
future to assist the steward, who was quite old, and, upon the death of
that individual, which occurred about two years after their return, Tom
was so well versed in all his duties, and had proved himself so faithful
and trustworthy, that he elected him as his successor. He had lost very
much of the ruffian-like appearance that had made him so repulsive to
Editha, and was now very quiet and unostentatious in his manner.

The unsightly scar, of course, still remained upon his face, but his
expression told of a firm resolve to conquer himself and become the man
that Earle desired.

He was lame in the limb that had been wounded, and probably always would
be, but Earle never looks at him without a thrill of thankfulness that
he was impressed to pursue the course that he has with him, and believes
him to be a lasting monument to the power of kindness.

Tom and his mother live in a pretty cottage, covered with climbing
woodbine and clematis, and situated only a short distance from the
mansion.

Both mother and son idolize my lady, who is kind and gracious to them,
and old Mrs. Drake is often seen, as to-day, caring for Earle’s noble
boy, “the like of which,” she fondly declares, “was never born before.”

Editha arose as Earle approached, the smile upon her lips and the tender
light in her eyes bespeaking the glad welcome in her heart.

“You are late, dear,” she said, slipping her white hand within his arm.

“A little; but you have plenty of pleasant company,” Earle replied, with
a smile, as his eyes wandered over the group.

The look that the fair wife flashed up at him from her lovely eyes
plainly told him that no company, however pleasant, was quite like
his—no group complete to her without him.

Earle stooped and picked up his boy, which had toddled to his side, and
gave him a toss on high that made the little fellow clap his hands with
delight, and the air rang with his happy, childish laughter.

“Earle, I have been trying to explain to Isabelle your theory of the
golden city,” said Editha, when Master Paul had become quiet once more;
“but I’ve only made a bungle of it, and you will have to interpret
yourself.”

“I presume Mrs. Tressalia would not agree with me in my ideas regarding
the revelation,” Earle said, with a smile, as he turned to that lady.
“There is so much that seems visionary and mystical in it, that none of
us can fully understand or explain it, but _whatever_ lessons we may
draw from it can do us no harm. As for the ‘city which lieth foursquare,
whose length, breadth, and height are equal,’ it seems to _me_ more like
the symbol of a perfected life than like the description of a literal
city.”

“I had never thought of it in that light before,” Mrs. Tressalia said,
thoughtfully.

“If we make the height and breath of our life equal with its length, it
cannot fail to be perfect and of faultless symmetry, can it?” asked the
young marquis.

“What constitutes the height and breadth of a life as you express it?”
Mrs. Tressalia queried.

“The height,” Earle replied, his eyes resting earnestly on the far-off
purple and crimson clouds of the western sky, as if beyond them he could
almost distinguish that golden symbol of which he was speaking—“the
height is attained only by a continued reaching upward of the finite for
the infinite; the breadth, by the constant practice of that divine
charity or love and self-denial as taught by the Man of Sorrows while He
dwelt on earth—at least, this is my idea of it. This aspiration after
holiness, this daily practice of the divine commands, if followed as
long as one lives, cannot fail to make his being one of faultless
symmetry in the end, and fit to be measured by the ‘golden reed of the
angel.’”

“Yours is a beautiful theory,” Mrs. Tressalia said, a mist gathering in
her soft eyes; “and yet, after all, I do not feel that I can quite agree
with you. I have always believed that chapter of revelation describes
the heavenly city in which we are to dwell when we leave this earth. It
is a more tangible idea to me, and I think I like it better than your
theory on that account.”

“You believe in the literal city, pure and holy; I in a state or
existence of a like nature. Whichever is the correct belief, it cannot
fail of attaining one and the same result—eternal happiness,” Earle
said, with his rare smile.

“That is true; but if you do not believe in the literal city, what do
you make the foundations, ‘garnished with precious stones,’ to mean?”

Mrs. Tressalia was deeply interested in his ideas, even if she did not
fully agree with them.

“I fear if I should try to explain all my theory regarding it, it would
involve us in an endless discussion,” Earle said. “The garnishing of
precious stones _may_ mean the cultivation of those many virtues spoken
of by the apostle Paul—such as love, peace, long suffering, gentleness,
etc. Surely those are precious jewels that every one would like to
possess.”

“Sonny boy, if _you_ square _your_ life by your father’s rule, you’ll
not lack for symmetry in the sight of God when you come into the ‘golden
city,’” muttered Tom Drake’s mother, with fast-dropping tears, as she
bent fondly over little Paul, whom she had taken from his father’s arms.
Earle smiled good-naturedly as he caught the low-spoken words, for he
knew that in the grateful old creature’s eyes he lacked no good thing in
all the catalogue of virtues.

“That is so,” said Paul Tressalia, who had also heard her; “and whether
Earle’s theory is the correct one or not, it can never harm one to put
it in practice, particularly if it attains to that nobility which has
become so rooted and grounded in his character,” and the look of
affectionate admiration which he bestowed upon his kinsman testified to
the heartiness of his words.

We cannot follow them further, but we have learned enough to tell us
something of the principles of goodness and purity which dwelt in that
charming household, and which could not fail to ennoble and elevate all
by whom they were surrounded.

Who, like Earle Wayne, would not like to make his life foursquare? Who,
although he may never attain to the worldly greatness which fell to his
life, would not seek to attain that better nobility of character, which,
when measured by the “golden reed of the angel,” will be found of
faultless symmetry, like the city whose “length, and breadth, and height
are equal?”

              What wouldst thou of life?
              Love, purity, freedom from strife;
              Bless’d virtues, in which heaven is rife;
              “The victor’s crown, the conqueror’s meed,”
              The perfect measure of the Golden Reed.


                THE END.





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  Book of Golden Deeds. BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.

  Boone, Daniel, Life of. BY CECIL B. HARTLEY.

  Bride of Lammermoor. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Bride of the Nile. BY GEORGE EBERS.

  Browning’s Poems. BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

  Browning’s Poems. (SELECTIONS.) BY ROBERT BROWNING.

  Bryant’s Poems. (EARLY.) BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

  Burgomaster’s Wife. BY GEORGE EBERS.

  Burn’s Poems. BY ROBERT BURNS.

  By Order of the King. BY VICTOR HUGO.

  Byron’s Poems. BY LORD BYRON.

  Caesar, Julius, Life of. BY JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE.

  Carson, Kit, Life of. BY CHARLES BURDETT.

  Cary’s Poems. BY ALICE AND PHOEBE CARY.

  Cast Up by the Sea. BY SIR SAMUEL BAKER.

  Charlemagne (Charles the Great), Life of. BY THOMAS HODGKIN, D. C. L.

  Charles Auchester. BY E. BERGER.

  Character. BY SAMUEL SMILES.

  Charles O’Malley. BY CHARLES LEVER.

  Chesterfield’s Letters. BY LORD CHESTERFIELD.

  Chevalier de Maison Rouge. BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

  Chicot the Jester. BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

  Children of the Abbey. BY REGINA MARIA ROCHE.

  Child’s History of England. BY CHARLES DICKENS.

  Christmas Stories. BY CHARLES DICKENS.

  Cloister and the Hearth. BY CHARLES READE.

  Coleridge’s Poems. BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

  Columbus, Christopher, Life of. BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

  Companions of Jehu. BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

  Complete Angler. BY WALTON AND COTTON.

  Conduct of Life. BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

  Confessions of an Opium Eater. BY THOMAS DE QUINCEY.

  Conquest of Granada. BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

  Conscript. BY ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN.

  Conspiracy of Pontiac. BY FRANCIS PARKMAN, JR.

  Conspirators. BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

  Consuelo. BY GEORGE SAND.

  Cook’s Voyages. BY CAPTAIN JAMES COOK.

  Corinne. BY MADAME DE STAEL.

  Countess de Charney. BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

  Countess Gisela. BY E. MARLITT.

  Countess of Rudolstadt. BY GEORGE SAND.

  Count Robert of Paris. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Country Doctor. BY HONORE DE BALZAC.

  Courtship of Miles Standish. BY H. W. LONGFELLOW.

  Cousin Maude. BY MARY J. HOLMES.

  Cranford. BY MRS. GASKELL.

  Crockett, David, Life of. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

  Cromwell, Oliver, Life of. BY EDWIN PAXTON HOOD.

  Crown of Wild Olive. BY JOHN RUSKIN’.

  Crusades. BY GEO. W. COX, M. A.

  Daniel Deronda. BY GEORGE ELIOT.

  Darkness and Daylight. BY MARY J. HOLMES.

  Data of Ethics. BY HERBERT SPENCER.

  Daughter of an Empress, The. BY LOUISA MUHLBACH.

  David Copperfield. BY CHARLES DICKENS.

  Days of Bruce. BY GRACE AGUILAR.

  Deemster, The. BY HALL CAINE.

  Deerslayer, The. BY JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.

  Descent of Man. BY CHARLES DARWIN.

  Discourses of Epictetus. TRANSLATED BY GEORGE LONG.

  Divine Comedy. (DANTE.) TRANSLATED BY REV. H. F. CAREY.

  Dombey & Son. BY CHARLES DICKENS.

  Donal Grant. BY GEORGE MACDONALD.

  Donovan. BY EDNA LYALL.

  Dora Deane. BY MARY J. HOLMES.

  Dove in the Eagle’s Nest. BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.

  Dream Life. BY IK MARVEL.

  Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. BY R. L. STEVENSON.

  Duty. BY SAMUEL SMILES.

  Early Days of Christianity. BY F. W. FARRAR.

  East Lynne. BY MRS. HENRY WOOD.

  Edith Lyle’s Secret. BY MARY J. HOLMES.

  Education. BY HERBERT SPENCER.

  Egoist. BY GEORGE MEREDITH.

  Egyptian Princess. BY GEORGE EBERS.

  Eight Hundred Leagues on the Amazon. BY JULES VERNE.

  Eliot’s Poems. BY GEORGE ELIOT.

  Elizabeth and her German Garden.

  Elizabeth (Queen of England), Life of. BY EDWARD SPENCER BEESLY, M.A.

  Elsie Venner. BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

  Emerson’s Essays. (COMPLETE.) BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

  Emerson’s Poems. BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

  English Orphans. BY MARY J. HOLMES.

  English Traits. BY R. W. EMERSON.

  Essays in Criticism. (FIRST AND SECOND SERIES.) BY MATTHEW ARNOLD.

  Essays of Elia. BY CHARLES LAMB.

  Esther. BY ROSA N. CAREY.

  Ethelyn’s Mistake. BY MARY J. HOLMES.

  Evangeline. (WITH NOTES.) BY H. W. LONGFELLOW.

  Evelina. BY FRANCES BURNEY.

  Fair Maid of Perth. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Fairy Land of Science. BY ARABELLA B. BUCKLEY.

  Faust. (GOETHE.) TRANSLATED BY ANNA SWANWICK.

  Felix Holt. BY GEORGE ELIOT.

  Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World. BY E. S. CREASY.

  File No. 113. BY EMILE GABORIAU.

  Firm of Girdlestone. BY A. CONAN DOYLE.

  First Principles. BY HERBERT SPENCER.

  First Violin. BY JESSIE FOTHERGILL.

  For Lilias. BY ROSA N. CAREY.

  Fortunes of Nigel. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Forty-Five Guardsmen. BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

  Foul Play. BY CHARLES READE.

  Fragments of Science. BY JOHN TYNDALL.

  Frederick, the Great, Life of. BY FRANCIS KUGLER.

  Frederick the Great and His Court. BY LOUISA MUHLBACH.

  French Revolution. BY THOMAS CARLYLE.

  From the Earth to the Moon. BY JULES VERNE.

  Garibaldi, General, Life of. BY THEODORE DWIGHT.

  Gil Blas, Adventures of. BY A. R. LE SAGE.

  Gold Bug and Other Tales. BY EDGAR A. POE.

  Gold Elsie. BY E. MARLITT.

  Golden Treasury. BY FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE.

  Goldsmith’s Poems. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

  Grandfather’s Chair. BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

  Grant, Ulysses S., Life of. BY J. T. HEADLEY.

  Gray’s Poems. BY THOMAS GRAY.

  Great Expectations. BY CHARLES DICKENS.

  Greek Heroes. Fairy Tales for My Children. BY CHARLES KINGSLEY.

  Green Mountain Boys, The. BY D. P. THOMPSON.

  Grimm’s Household Tales. BY THE BROTHERS GRIMM.

  Grimm’s Popular Tales. BY THE BROTHERS GRIMM.

  Gulliver’s Travels. BY DEAN SWIFT.

  Guy Mannering. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Hale, Nathan, the Martyr Spy. BY CHARLOTTE MOLYNEUX HOLLOWAY.

  Handy Andy. BY SAMUEL LOVER.

  Hans of Iceland. BY VICTOR HUGO.

  Hannibal, the Carthaginian, Life of. BY THOMAS ARNOLD, M. A.

  Hardy Norseman, A. BY EDNA LYALL.

  Harold. BY BULWER-LYTTON.

  Harry Lorrequer. BY CHARLES LEVER.

  Heart of Midlothian. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Heir of Redclyffe. BY CHARLETTE M. YONGE.

  Hemans’ Poems. BY MRS. FELICIA HEMANS.

  Henry Esmond. BY WM. M. THACKERAY.

  Henry, Patrick, Life of. BY WILLIAM WIRT.

  Her Dearest Foe. BY MRS. ALEXANDER.

  Hereward. BY CHARLES KINGSLEY.

  Heriot’s Choice. BY ROSA N. CAREY.

  Heroes and Hero-Worship. BY THOMAS CARLYLE.

  Hiawatha. (WITH NOTES.) BY H. W. LONGFELLOW.

  Hidden Hand, The. (COMPLETE.) BY MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH.

  History of a Crime. BY VICTOR HUGO.

  History of Civilization in Europe. BY M. GUIZOT.

  Holmes’ Poems. (EARLY) BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

  Holy Roman Empire. BY JAMES BRYCE.

  Homestead on the Hillside. BY MARY J. HOLMES.

  Hood’s Poems. BY THOMAS HOOD.

  House of the Seven Gables. BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

  Hunchback of Notre Dame. BY VICTOR HUGO.

  Hypatia. BY CHARLES KINGSLEY.

  Hyperion. BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

  Iceland Fisherman. BY PIERRE LOTI.

  Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow. BY JEROME K. JEROME.

  Iliad. POPE’S TRANSLATION.

  Inez. BY AUGUSTA J. EVANS.

  Ingelow’s Poems. BY JEAN INGELOW.

  Initials. BY THE BARONESS TAUTPHOEUS.

  Intellectual Life. BY PHILIP G. HAMERTON.

  In the Counsellor’s House. BY E. MARLITT.

  In the Golden Days. BY EDNA LYALL.

  In the Heart of the Storm. BY MAXWELL GRAY.

  In the Schillingscourt. BY E. MARLITT.

  Ishmael. (COMPLETE.) BY MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH.

  It Is Never Too Late to Mend. BY CHARLES READE.

  Ivanhoe. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Jane Eyre. BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE.

  Jefferson, Thomas, Life of. BY SAMUEL M. SCHMUCKER, LL.D.

  Joan of Arc, Life of. BY JULES MICHELET.

  John Halifax, Gentleman. BY MISS MULOCK.

  Jones, John Paul, Life of. BY JAMES OTIS.

  Joseph Balsamo. BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

  Josephine, Empress of France, Life of. BY FREDERICK A. OBER.

  Keats’ Poems. BY JOHN KEATS.

  Kenilworth. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Kidnapped. BY R. L. STEVENSON.

  King Arthur and His Noble Knights. BY MARY MACLEOD.

  Knickerbocker’s History of New York. BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

  Knight Errant. BY EDNA LYALL.

  Koran. TRANSLATED BY GEORGE SALE.

  Lady of the Lake. (WITH NOTES.) BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Lady with the Rubies. BY E. MARLITT.

  Lafayette, Marquis de, Life of. BY P. C. HEADLEY.

  Lalla Rookh. (WITH NOTES.) BY THOMAS MOORE.

  Lamplighter. BY MARIA S. CUMMINS.

  Last Days of Pompeii. BY BULWER-LYTTON.

  Last of the Barons. BY BULWER-LYTTON.

  Last of the Mohicans. BY JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.

  Lay of the Last Minstrel. (WITH NOTES.) BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

  Lee, General Robert E., Life of. BY G. MERCER ADAM.

  Lena Rivers. BY MARY J. HOLMES.

  Life of Christ. BY FREDERICK W. FARRAR.

  Life of Jesus. BY ERNEST RENAN.

  Light of Asia. BY SIR EDWIN ARNOLD.

  Light That Failed. BY RUDYARD KIPLING.

  Lincoln, Abraham, Life of. BY HENRY KETCHAM.

  Lincoln’s Speeches. SELECTED AND EDITED BY G. MERCER ADAM.

  Literature and Dogma. BY MATTHEW ARNOLD.

  Little Dorrit. BY CHARLES DICKENS.

  Little Minister. BY JAMES M. BARRIE.

  Livingstone, David, Life of. BY THOMAS HUGHES.

  Longfellow’s Poems. (EARLY.) BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

  Lorna Doone. BY R. D. BLACKMORE.

  Louise de la Valliere. BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

  Love Me Little, Love Me Long. BY CHARLES READE.