John Halifax, Gentleman Part 65

John came forward, speaking gravely, but not unkindly.

"Lady Caroline, I am deeply grieved that this should have happened in my house, and through your visiting us against your husband's will."

"His will!"

"Pardon me; but I think a wife is bound to the very last to obey in all things, not absolutely wrong, her husband's will. I am glad you thought of writing to Mr. Brithwood."

She shook her head, in mocking denial.

"May I ask, then--since I am to have the honour of sending it--to whom is this letter?"

"To--" I think she would have told a falsehood, if John's eyes had not been so keenly fixed upon her. "To--a friend."

"Friends are at all times dangerous to a lady who--"

"Hates her husband--ha! ha! Especially male friends?"

"Especially male friends."

Here Guy, who had lingered out of his little bed most unlawfully--hovering about, ready to do any chivalrous duty to his idol of the day--came up to bid her good-night, and held up his rosy mouth, eagerly.

"I--kiss a little child! I!"--and from her violent laughter she burst into a pa.s.sion of tears.

The mother signed me to carry Guy away; she and John took Lady Caroline into the parlour, and shut the door.

Of course I did not then learn what pa.s.sed--but I did afterwards.

Lady Caroline's tears were evanescent, like all her emotions. Soon she became composed--asked again for writing materials--then countermanded the request.

"No, I will wait till to-morrow. Ursula, you will take me in for the night?"

Mrs. Halifax looked appealingly to her husband, but he gave no a.s.sent.

"Lady Caroline, you should willingly stay, were it not, as you must know, so fatal a step. In your position, you should be most careful to leave the world and your husband no single handle against you."

"Mr. Halifax, what right have you--"

"None, save that of an honest man, who sees a woman cruelly wronged, and desperate with her wrong; who would thankfully save her if he could."

"Save me? From what--or whom?"

"From Mr. Gerard Vermilye, who is now waiting down the road, and whom, if Lady Caroline Brithwood once flies to, or even sees, at this crisis, she loses her place among honourable English matrons for ever."

John said this, with no air of virtuous anger or contempt, but as the simple statement of a fact. The convicted woman dropped her face between her hands.

Ursula, greatly shocked, was some time before she spoke.

"Is it true, Caroline?"

"What is true?"

"That which my husband has heard of you?"

"Yes," she cried, springing up, and das.h.i.+ng back her beautiful hair--beautiful still, though she must have been five or six and thirty at least--"Yes, it is true--it shall be true. I will break my bonds and live the life I was made for. I would have done it long ago, but for--no matter. Why, Ursula, he adores me; young and handsome as he is, he adores me. He will give me my youth back again, ay, he will."

And she sang out a French chanson, something about "la liberte et ses plaisirs, la jeunesse, l'amour."

The mother grew sterner--any such wife and mother would. Then and there, compa.s.sion might have died out of even her good heart, had it not been for the sudden noise over-head of children's feet--children's chattering. Once more the pitiful thought came--"She has no children."

"Caroline," she said, catching her gown as she pa.s.sed, "when I was with you, you had a child which only breathed and died. It died spotless.

When you die, how dare you meet that little baby?"

The singing changed to sobbing. "I had forgotten. My little baby! Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu!"

Mrs. Halifax, taking in earnest those meaningless French e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, whispered something about Him who alone can comfort and help us all.

"Him! I never knew Him, if indeed He be. No, no, there is no after-life."

Ursula turned away in horror. "John, what shall we do with her? No home!--no husband!--no G.o.d!"

"He never leaves Himself without a witness. Look, love."

The wretched woman sat rocking to and fro--weeping and wringing her hands. "It was cruel--cruel! You should not have spoken about my baby. Now--"

"Tell me--just one word--I will not believe anybody's word except your own. Caroline, are you--still innocent?"

Lady Caroline shrank from her touch. "Don't hold me so. You may have one standard of virtue, I another."

"Still, tell me."

"And if I did, you, an 'honourable English matron'--was not that your husband's word?--would turn from me, most likely."

"She will not," John said. "She has been happy, and you most miserable."

"Oh, most miserable."

That bitter groan went to both their hearts, Ursula leaned over her--herself almost in tears. "Cousin Caroline, John says true--I will not turn from you. I know you have been sinned against--cruelly--cruelly. Only tell me that you yourself have not sinned."

"I HAVE 'sinned,' as you call it."

Ursula started--drew closer to her husband. Neither spoke.

"Mrs. Halifax, why don't you take away your hand?"

"I?--let me think. This is terrible. Oh, John!"

Again Lady Caroline said, in her sharp, bold tone, "Take away your hand."