The Shadow of Ashlydyat Part 111

The distance from her own house to that of Colonel Max was about two miles. Rather a long walk for Maria at the present time, for she was not in a condition of health to endure fatigue. It was a square, moderate-sized, red-brick house, standing considerably back from the high-road; and as Maria turned into its avenue of approach, what with the walk, and what with the dread apprehension of the coming interview, the faintness at her heart had begun to show itself upon her face. The insult offered her (could it be called anything less?) by Lady Sarah Grame, had somehow seemed an earnest of what she might expect from Lord Averil. Lady Sarah had not a tenth of the grievance against the Bank that the viscount had.

No one ever approached the colonel's house without having their ears saluted with the baying and snarling of his fox-hounds, whose kennels were close by. In happier days--days so recently past, that they might almost be counted as present--when Maria had gone to that house to dinner-parties, she had drawn closer to George in the carriage, and whispered how much she should dislike it if _he_ kept a pack of fox-hounds near their dwelling-place. Never, never should she drive to that house in state again, her husband by her side. Oh! the contrast it presented--that time and this! Now she was approaching it like the criminal that the world thought her, s.h.i.+elding her face with her veil, hiding herself, so far as she might, from observation.

She reached the door, and paused ere she rang: her pulses were throbbing wildly, her heart beat as if it would burst its bounds. The nearer the interview, the more formidable did it appear, the less able herself to face it. The temptation came over her to go back. It a.s.sailed her very strongly, and she might have yielded to it, but for the thought of Thomas G.o.dolphin.

She rang at the bell; a timid ring. One of those rings that seem to announce the humble applicant--and who was the wife of George G.o.dolphin now, that she should proclaim herself with pomp and clatter? A man settling himself into his green livery coat opened the door.

"Is Lord Averil within?"

"No."

The servant was a stranger, and did not know her. He may have thought it curious that a lady, who spoke in a low tone and scarcely raised her eyes through her veil, should come there alone to inquire after Lord Averil. He resumed, rather pertly:

"His lords.h.i.+p walked out an hour ago with the colonel. It's quite unbeknown what time they may come in."

In her shrinking dread of the interview, it almost seemed a relief.

Strange to say, so fully absorbed had she been in the antic.i.p.ated pain, that the contingency of his being out had not crossed her mind. The man stood with the door in his hand, half open, half closed; had he invited her to walk in and sit down, she might have done so, for the sake of the rest. But he did not.

Retracing her steps down the path, she branched off into a dark walk, overshadowed by trees, just within the entrance-gate, and sat down upon a bench. Now the reaction was coming; the disappointment: all that mental agony, all that weary way of fatigue, and not to see him! It must all be gone over again on the morrow.

She threw back her veil; she pressed her throbbing forehead against the trunk of the old oak tree: and in that same moment some one entered the gate on his way to the house, saw her, and turned round to approach her.

It was Lord Averil.

Had the moment really come? Every drop of blood in her body seemed to rush to her heart, and send it on with a tumultuous bound; every sense of the mind seemed to leave her; every fear that the imagination can conjure up seemed to rise in menace. She rose to her feet and gazed at him, her sight partially leaving her, her face changing to a ghastly whiteness.

But when he hastened forward and caught her hands in the deepest respect and sympathy; when he bent over her, saying some confused words--confused to _her_ ear--of surprise at seeing her, of pity for her apparent illness; when he addressed her with every token of the old kindness, the consideration of bygone days, then the revulsion of feeling overcame her, and Maria burst into a flood of distressing tears, and sobbed pa.s.sionately.

"I am fatigued with the walk," she said, with a lame attempt at apology, when her emotion was subsiding. "I came over to speak to you, Lord Averil. I--I have something to ask you."

"But you should not have walked," he answered in a kindly tone of remonstrance. "Why did you not drop me a note? I would have come to you."

She felt as one about to faint. She had taken off her gloves, and her small white hands were unconsciously writhing themselves together in her lap, showing how great was her inward pain; her trembling lips, pale with agitation, refused to bring out their words connectedly.

"I want to ask you to be merciful to my husband. Not to prosecute him."

The words were breathed in a whisper; the rus.h.i.+ng tide of shame changed her face to crimson. Lord Averil did not for the moment answer, and the delay, the fear of failure, imparted to her somewhat of courage.

"For Thomas's sake," she said. "I ask it for Thomas's sake."

"My dear Mrs. G.o.dolphin," he was beginning, but she interrupted him, her tone changing to one of desperate energy.

"Oh, be merciful, be merciful! Be merciful to my husband, Lord Averil, for his brother's sake. Nay--for George's own sake; for my sake, for my poor child's sake, Meta's. He can never come back to Prior's Ash, unless you will be merciful to him: he cannot come now, and Thomas has to go through all the worry and the misery, and it is killing him. Mr. Snow came to me this morning and said it was killing him; he said that George must return if he would save his brother's life: and I spoke to Mr.

Hurde, and he said there was nothing to prevent his returning, except the danger from Lord Averil. And then I made my mind up to come to you."

"I shall not prosecute him, Mrs. George G.o.dolphin. My long friends.h.i.+p with his brother debars it. He may come back to-morrow, in perfect a.s.surance that he has nothing to fear from me."

"Is it true?--I may rely upon you?" she gasped.

"Indeed you may. I have never had a thought of prosecuting. I cannot describe to you the pain that it has been to me; I mean the affair altogether, not my particular loss: but that pain would be greatly increased were I to bring myself to prosecute one bearing the name of G.o.dolphin. I am sorry for George; deeply sorry for him. Report says that he has allowed himself to fall into bad hands, and could not extricate himself."

The worst was over; the best known: and Maria leaned against the friendly tree, untied her bonnet-strings, and wiped the moisture from her now pallid face. Exhaustion was supervening. Lord Averil rose and held out his arm to her.

"Let me take you to the house and give you a gla.s.s of sherry."

"I could not take it, thank you. I would rather not go to the house."

"Colonel Max will be very glad to see you. I have only just parted from him. He went round by the stables."

She shook her head. "I do not like to see any one now."

The subdued words, the saddened tone seemed to speak volumes. Lord Averil glanced down at her compa.s.sionately. "This has been a grievous trial to you, Mrs. G.o.dolphin."

"Yes," she answered very quietly. Had she spoken but a word of what it had really been to her, emotion might again have broken forth.

"But you must not let it affect you too greatly," he remonstrated. "As I fear it is doing."

"I can't help it," she whispered. "I knew nothing of it, and it came upon me as a thunderbolt. I never had so much as a suspicion that anything was going wrong: had people asked me what Bank was the most stable throughout the kingdom, I should have said ours. I never suspected evil: and yet blame is being cast upon me. Lord Averil, I--I--did not know about those bonds."

"No, no," he warmly answered. "You need not tell me that. I wish you could allow the trouble to pa.s.s over you more lightly."

The trouble! She clasped her hands to pain. "Don't speak of it," she wailed. "At times it seems more than I can bear. But for Meta, I should be glad to die."

What was Lord Averil to answer? He could only give her the earnest sympathy of his whole heart. "A man who can bring deliberately this misery upon the wife of his bosom deserves hanging," was his bitter thought.

"What are you going to do?" he asked. "Surely not to attempt to walk back again?"

"I shall take my time over it," she answered. "It is not much of a walk."

"Too much for you at present," he gravely said. "Let me send you home in one of Colonel Max's carriages."

"No, oh no!" she quickly answered. "Indeed I have not miscalculated my strength: I can walk perfectly well, and would prefer to do so."

"Then you will first come into the house and rest."

"I would rather not. Let me sit here a little longer; it is resting me."

"I will be back immediately," he said, walking from her very quickly, and plunging into a narrow path which was a short cut to the house. When he reappeared he bore a gla.s.s of wine and a biscuit on a plate.

She took the wine. The biscuit she put back with a s.h.i.+ver. "I never can eat anything now," she said, lifting her eyes to his to beseech his pardon.

When she at length rose, Lord Averil took her hand and laid it within his arm. She supposed he meant to escort her to the gate.

"I have not said a word of thanks to you," she murmured, when they reached it. "I am very, very grateful to you, very sensible of your kindness; but I cannot speak of it. My heart seems broken."

She had halted and held out her hand in farewell. Lord Averil did not release her, but walked on. "If you will walk home, Mrs. George G.o.dolphin, you must at least allow my arm to help you."

"I could not; indeed I could not," she said, stopping resolutely, though the tears were dropping from her eyes. "I must go back alone: I would rather."

Lord Averil partially yielded. The first part of the road was lonely, and he must see her so far. "I should have called on Thomas G.o.dolphin before this, but I have been away," he remarked, as they went on. "I will go and see him--perhaps this afternoon."