"Ursula, can you not understand the slow torture of these days and weeks, the first insidious doubts, the increasing fears, that seemed to be corroborated day by day? Yes, it was not my fancy; Etta was right; he was certainly changed; he no longer loved me.
"In desperation I acted upon her advice, and resigned my parish work. It seemed to me that I was parting with the last shred of my happiness when I did so. I made weak health my excuse, and indeed I was far from well; but I had the anguish of seeing the unspoken reproach in Mr. Cunliffe"s eyes: he thought me cowardly, vacillating; he was disappointed in me.
"It was the end of April by this time, and in a week or two the day would come when he would have to speak to me again. Would you believe it?--but no, you could not dream that I was so utterly mad and foolish,--but in spite of all this wretchedness I still hoped. The day came and pa.s.sed, and he never came near me, and the next day, and the next; and then I knew that Etta was right,--his love for me was gone."
"You believed this, Gladys?" but I dared not say more: my promise to Max fettered me.
"How could I doubt it?" she returned, looking at me with dry, miserable eyes; and I seemed to realise then all her pain and humiliation. "His not coming to me at the appointed time was to be a sign between us that he had changed his mind. Did I not tell him so with my own lips? did I not say to him that he was free as air, and that no possible blame could attach itself to him if he failed to come? Do you suppose that I did not mean those words?"
"Could you not have given him the benefit of a doubt?" I returned.
"Perhaps your manner too was changed and made him lose hope: the resignation of all your work in the parish must have discouraged him, surely."
"Still, he would have come to me and told me so," she replied quickly.
"He is not weak or wanting in moral courage: if he had not changed to me he would have come.
"I have never had hope since that day," she went on mournfully. "He is very kind to me,--very; but it is only the kindness of a friend. He tries to hide from me how much he is disappointed in me, how I have failed to come up to his standard; but of course I see it. But for Etta I should have resumed my work. You were present when he nearly persuaded me to do so; I was longing then to please him; I think it would be a consolation to me if I could do something, however humble, to help him; but Etta always prevents me from doing so. She has taken all my work, and I do not think she wants to give it up, and she makes me ready to sink through the floor with the things she says. I dare not open my lips to Mr. Cunliffe in her presence; she always says afterwards how anxious I looked, or how he must have noticed my agitation: if I ever came down to see you, Ursula, she used to declare angrily that I only went in the hope of meeting him. She thinks nothing of telling me that I am so weak that she must protect me in spite of myself, and sometimes she implies that he sees it all and pities me, and that he has hinted as much to her. Oh, Ursula, what is the matter?" for I had pushed away my chair and was walking up and down the room, unable to endure my irritated feelings.
She had suffered all this ignominy and prolonged torture under which her nerves had given way, and now Max"s ridiculous scruples hindered me from giving her a word of comfort. Why could I not say to her, "You are wrong: you have been deceived; Max has never swerved for one instant from his love to you?" And yet I must not say it.
"I cannot sit down! I cannot bear it!" I exclaimed recklessly, quite forgetting how necessary it was to keep her quiet; but she put out her hand to me with such a beautiful sad smile.
"Yes, you must sit down and listen to what I have to say: I will not have you so disturbed about this miserable affair, dear. The pain is better now; one cannot suffer in that way forever. I do not regret that I have learned to love Max, even though that love is to bring me unhappiness in this world. He is worthy of all I can give him, and one day in the better life what is wrong will be put right; I always tell myself this when I hear people"s lives are disappointed: my illness has taught me this."
I did not trust myself to reply, and then all at once a thought came to me: "Gladys, when I mentioned Captain Hamilton"s name just now--I mean at the commencement of our conversation--why did you seem so troubled? He is nothing to you, and yet the very mention of his name excited you. This perplexes me."
She hesitated for a moment, as though she feared to answer: "I know I can trust you, Ursula; but will it be right to do so? I mean, for other people"s sake. But, still, if Etta be talking about him--" She paused, and seemed absorbed in some puzzling problem.
"You write to him very often," I hazarded at last, for she did not seem willing to speak.
"Who told you that?" she returned quickly. "Claude is my cousin,--at least step-cousin,--but we are very intimate; there can be no harm in writing to him."
"No, of course not: but if people misconstrue your correspondence?"
"I cannot help that," rather despondently; "and I do not see that it matters now; but still I will tell you, Ursula. Claude is in love with Lady Betty."
"With Lady Betty?"
"Yes, and Giles does not know. Etta did not for a long time, but she found out about it, and since then poor Lady Betty has had no peace. You see the poor children consider themselves engaged, but Lady Betty will not let Claude speak to Giles until he has promotion. She has got an idea that he would not allow of the engagement; it sounds wrong, I feel that; but in our unhappy household things are wrong."
"And Miss Darrell knows?"
"Yes; but we never could tell how she found it out: Claude corresponds with me, and Lady Betty only puts in an occasional letter; she is so dreadfully frightened, poor little thing! For fear her secret should be discovered. We think that Etta must have opened one of my letters; anyhow, she knows all there is to know, and she holds her knowledge as a rod over the poor child. She has promised to keep her counsel and not tell Giles; but when she is in one of her tempers she threatens to speak to him. Then she is always hinting things before him just to tease or punish Lady Betty, but happily he takes no notice. When you said what you did I was afraid she had made up her mind to keep silence no longer."
"Why do you think your brother would object to Captain Hamilton?" I asked, trying to conceal my relief at her words.
"He would object to the long concealment," she returned gravely. "But from the first I wanted Lady Betty to be open about it; but nothing would induce her to let Claude write to him. Our only plan now is to wait for Claude to speak to him when he arrives in November. Nothing need be said about the past: Claude has been wounded, and will get promotion, and Giles thinks well of him."
She seemed a little weary by this time, and our talk had lasted long enough; but there was still one thing I must ask her.
"Gladys, you said you trusted me just now. I am going to put that trust to the proof. All that has pa.s.sed between us is sacred, and shall never cross my lips. On my womanly honour I can promise you that; but I make one reservation,--what you have just told me about Captain Hamilton."
She looked at me with an expression of incredulous alarm.
"What can you mean, Ursula? Surely not to repeat a single word about Claude?"
"I only mean to mention to one person, with whom the knowledge will be as safe as it will be with me, that Lady Betty is engaged to your cousin Claude."
"You will tell Mr. Cunliffe," she replied, becoming very pale again. "I forbid it, Ursula!" But I hindered all further remonstrance on her part, by throwing my arms round her and begging her with tears in my eyes, and with all the earnestness of which I was capable, to trust me as I would trust her in such a case.
"Listen to me," I continued imploringly. "Have I ever failed or disappointed you? have I ever been untrue to you in word or deed? Do you think I am a woman who would betray the sacred confidence of another woman?"
"No, of course not; but--" Here my hand resolutely closed her lips.
"Then say to me, "I trust you, Ursula, as I would trust my own soul. I know no word would pa.s.s your lips that if I were standing by you I should wish unuttered." Say this to me, Gladys, and I shall know you love me."
She trembled, and turned still paler.
"Why need he know it? What can he have to do with Lady Betty?" she said irresolutely.
"Leave that to me," was my firm answer: "I am waiting for you to say those words, Gladys." Then she put down her head on my shoulder, weeping bitterly.
"Yes, yes, I will trust you. In the whole world I have only you, Ursula, and you have been good to me." And, as I soothed and comforted her, she clung to me like a tired child.
CHAPTER XLI
"AT FIVE O"CLOCK IN THE MORNING"
I pa.s.sed a wakeful and anxious night, pondering over this strange recital that seemed to me to corroborate Max"s account. I had no doubt in my own mind as to the treachery that had alienated these two hearts. I knew too well the subtle power of the smooth false tongue that had done this mischief; but the motive for all this evil-doing baffled me. "What is her reason for trying to separate them?" I asked myself, but always fruitlessly. "Why does she dislike this poor girl, who has never harmed her? Why does she render her life miserable? It is she who has sown discord between Mr. Hamilton and myself. Ah, I know that well, but I am powerless to free either him or myself at present. Still, one can detect a motive for that. She has always disliked me, and she is jealous of her position. If Mr. Hamilton married she could not remain in his house; no wife could brook such interference. She knows this, and it is her interest to prevent him from marrying. All this is clear enough; but in the case of poor Gladys?" But here again was the old tangle and perplexity.
I was not surprised that Gladys slept little that night: no doubt agitating thoughts kept her restless. Towards morning she grew quieter, and sank into a heavy sleep that I knew would last for two or three hours. I had counted on this, and had laid my plan accordingly.
I must see Uncle Max at once, and she must not know that I had seen him.
In her weak state any suspense must be avoided. The few words that I might permit myself to say to him must be spoken without her knowledge.
I knew that in the summer Max was a very early riser. He would often be at work in his garden by six, and now and then he would start for a long country walk,--"just to see Dame Earth put the finishing-touches to her toilet," he would say. But five had not struck when I slipped into Chatty"s room half dressed. The girl looked at me with round sleepy eyes as I called her in a low voice.
"Chatty, it is very early, not quite five, but I want you to get up and dress yourself as quietly as you can and come into the turret-room. I am going out, and I do not want to wake anybody, and you understand the fastenings of the front door. I am afraid I should only bungle at them."
"You are going out, ma"am!" in an astonished voice. Chatty was thoroughly awake now.
"Yes, I am sorry to disturb you, but I do not want Miss Gladys to miss me. I shall not be long, but it is some business that I must do." And then I crept back to the turret-room.
Leah slept in a little room at the end of the pa.s.sage, and I was very unwilling that any unusual sound should reach her ears. Chatty seemed to share this feeling, for when she joined me presently she was carrying her shoes in her hands. "I can"t help making a noise," she said apologetically; "and so I crept down the pa.s.sage in my stockings. If you are ready, ma"am, I will come and let you out."
I stood by, rather nervously, as Chatty manipulated the intricate fastenings. I asked her to replace them as soon as I had gone, and to come down in about half an hour and open the door leading to the garden.
"I will return that way, and they will only think I have taken an early stroll," I observed. I was rather sorry to resort to this small subterfuge before Chatty, but the girl had implicit trust in me, and evidently thought no harm; she only smiled and nodded; and as I lingered for a moment on the gravel path I heard the bolt shoot into its place.