"I do not remember you," Lord Arleigh returned; "nor do I know where I am."
"Then let me introduce myself as the Earl of Mountdean," said the gentleman. "You are at Rosorton, a shooting-lodge belonging to me, and I beg that you will make yourself at home."
Every attention was paid to him. He was placed in a warm bed, some warm, nourishing soup was brought to him, and he was left to rest.
"The Earl of Mountdean." Then this was the tall figure he had seen striding over the hills--this was the neighbor he had shunned and avoided, preferring solitude. How kind he was, and how his voice affected him! It was like long-forgotten melody. He asked himself whether he had seen the earl anywhere. He could not remember. He could not recall to his mind that they had ever met, yet he had most certainly heard his voice. He fell asleep thinking of this, and dreamed of Madaline all night long.
In the morning the earl came himself to his room to make inquiries; and then Lord Arleigh liked him better than ever. He would not allow his guest to rise.
"Remember," he said, "prevention is better than cure. After the terrible risk you have run, it will not do for you to be rash. You must rest."
So Lord Arleigh took the good advice given to him to lay still, but on the second day he rose, declaring that he could stand no further confinement. Even then Lord Mountdean would not hear of his going.
"I am compelled to be despotic with you," he said. "I know that at Glaburn you have no housekeeper, only men-servants--and they cannot make you comfortable, I am sure. Stay here for a few days until you are quite well."
So Lord Arleigh allowed himself to be persuaded, saying, with a smile, that he had come to Glaburn purposely for solitude.
"It was for the same thing that I came here," said the earl. "I have had a great sorrow in my life, and I like sometimes to be alone to think about it."
The two men looked at each other, but they liked each other all the better for such open confession.
When a few days had pa.s.sed, it was Lord Arleigh who felt unwilling to leave his companion. He had never felt more at home than he did with Lord Mountdean. He had met no one so simple, so manly, so intelligent, and at the same time such a good fellow. There were little peculiarities in the earl, too, that struck him very forcibly; they seemed to recall some faint, vague memory, a something that he could never grasp, that was always eluding him, yet that was perfectly clear; and he was completely puzzled.
"Have I ever met you before?" he asked the earl one day.
"I do not think so. I have no remembrance of ever having sees you."
"Your voice and face are familiar to me," the younger man continued.
"One or two of your gestures are as well known to me as though I had lived with you for years."
"Remembrances of that kind sometimes strike me," said the earl--"a mannerism, a something that one cannot explain. I should say that you have seen some one like me, perhaps."
It was probable enough, but Lord Arleigh was not quite satisfied. The earl and his guest parted in the most friendly manner.
"I shall never be quite so much in love with solitude again," said Lord Arleigh, as they were parting; "you have taught me that there is something better."
"I have learned the same lesson from you," responded the earl, with a sigh. "You talk about solitude. I had not been at Rosorton ten days before a party of four, all friends of mine, proposed to visit me. I could not refuse. They left the day after you came."
"I did not see them," said Lord Arleigh.
"No, I did not ask them to prolong their stay, fearing that after all those hours on the moors, you might have a serious illness; but now, Lord Arleigh, you will promise me that we shall be friends."
"Yes," he replied, "we will be friends."
So it was agreed that they should be strangers no longer--that they should visit and exchange neighborly courtesies and civilities.
Chapter x.x.xIII.
The Earl of Mountdean and Lord Arleigh were walking up a steep hill one day together, when the former feeling tired, they both sat down among the heather to rest. There was a warm sun shining, a pleasant wind blowing, and the purple heather seemed literally to dance around them.
They remained for some time in silence; it was the earl who broke it by saying:
"How beautiful the heather is! And here indeed on this hill-top is solitude! We might fancy ourselves quite alone in the world. By the way, you have never told me, Arleigh, what it is that makes you so fond of solitude."
"I have had a great trouble," he replied, briefly.
"A trouble! But one suffers a great deal before losing all interest in life. You are so young, you cannot have suffered much."
"I know no other life so utterly helpless as my own."
The earl looked at him thoughtfully.
"I should like to know what your trouble is?" he said gently.
"I can tell you only one half of it," was the reply. "I fell in love with one of the sweetest, fairest, purest of girls. How I loved her is only known to myself. I suppose every man thinks his own love the greatest and the best. My whole heart went out to this girl--with my whole soul I loved her! She was below me in the one matter of worldly wealth and position--above me in all other. When I first asked her to marry me, she refused. She told me that the difference in our rank was too great. She was most n.o.ble, most self-sacrificing; she loved me, I know, most dearly, but she refused me. I was for some time unable to overcome her opposition; at last I succeeded. I tell you no details either of her name or where she lived, nor any other circ.u.mstances connected with her--I tell you only this, that, once having won her consent to our marriage, I seemed to have exchanged earth for Elysium.
Then we were married, not publicly and with great pomp, but as my darling wished--privately and quietly. On the same day--my wedding-day--I took her home. I cannot tell how great was my happiness--no one could realize it. Believe me, Lord Mountdean, that she herself is as pure as a saint, that I know no other woman at once so meek and so lofty, so n.o.ble and so humble. Looking at her, one feels how true and sweet a woman"s soul can be. Yet--oh, that I should live to say it!--on my wedding-day I discovered something--it was no fault of hers, I swear--that parted us. Loving her blindly, madly, with my whole heart and soul, I was still compelled to leave her. She is my wife in name only, and can never be more to me, yet, you understand, without any fault of hers."
"What a strange story!" said the earl, thoughtfully. "But this barrier, this obstacle--can it never be removed?"
"No," answered Lord Arleigh, "never!"
"I a.s.sure you of my deepest sympathy," said the earl. "It is a strange history."
"Yes, and a sad fate," sighed Lord Arleigh. "You cannot understand my story entirely. Wanting a full explanation, you might fairly ask me why I married with this drawback. I did not know of it, but my wife believed I did. We were both most cruelly deceived, it does not matter now. She is condemned to a loveless, joyless life; so am I. With a wife beautiful loving, young, I must lead a most solitary existence--I must see my name die out for want of heirs--I must see my race almost extinct, my life pa.s.sed in repining and misery, my heart broken, my days without sunshine. I repeat that it is a sad fate."
"It is indeed," agreed the earl--"and such a strange one. Are you quite sure that nothing can be done to remedy it?"
"Quite sure," was the hopeless reply.
"I can hardly understand the need for separation, seeing that the wife herself is blameless."
"In this case it is unavoidable."
"May I, without seeming curious, ask you a question?" said the earl.
"Certainly--as many as you like."
"You can please yourself about answering it," observed the earl; and then he added: "Tell me, is it a case of insanity? Has your wife any hereditary tendency to anything of that kind?"
"No," replied Lord Arleigh; "it is nothing of that description. My wife is to me perfect in body and mind; I can add nothing to that."
"Then your story is a marvel; I do not--I cannot understand it. Still I must say that, unless there is something far deeper and more terrible than I can imagine, you have done wrong to part from your wife."
"I wish I could think so. But my doom is fixed, and no matter how long I live, or she lives, it can never be altered."