Wife or Slave

Chapter I. Fortune Smiles On

LAD5 MONCK. Time passed rapidly. Constance Monck was very happy, happier than she ever remembered to have been. The constant coming and going of visitors broke in fatally upon the reign of routine at Holy wood Hall. With a dozen people staying in the house, each possessed of idiosyn cracies, and of the supreme indifference to everyone's comfort or wishes, save his own, which marks the special social orbit in which they revolved, it was simply impos sible but that the pendulum of regularity should get out of order, and spasmodic jerks be occasionally substituted for its regular even swing. Under ordinary circum- VOL. II. B stances, such domestic disarrangements had been attended by a proportional disturbance of Lady Monck's temper, so much to her daughters' cost, that they had sometimes speculated whether the weary, dull routine were not almost preferable to the perpetual storms of more enlivening circumstances.

Lady Monck could not revenge herself upon her guests, because they would not marshall round the luncheon-table at the precise moment when the booming of the gong, drowned the simultaneous chiming of a dozen clocks, so her daughters reaped the harvest of other peoples' crimes. Now, however, everything seemed changed. Ida, it was true, was clearly in disgrace, but she was merely ignored, and Constance had never known Lady Monck so amiable. How she trembled on the first day of the hunting season, when, consequently upon the fox having inaugurated the beginning of hostilities by an almost unparalleled run, the whole party from Hollywood rode up to the house fully an hour too late for dinner. She could hardly even attend to Lionel's assurances, as he rode beside her, Fortune smiles on Lady Monck. 3 that she had taken the wind out of Madame De Villar' s sails to some purpose that day, although, usually, Constance was not, like her sister, insensible to the commenda tions founded upon detraction.

Yet when, as she ran hastily up stairs to her room, she met her mother coming down and received a beaming smile, and an anxious inquiry whether she was not very much over fatigued, Constance dressed for dinner feeling as if she had received a great shock, yet one of an invigorating nature. Would it last ? Yes. Hunting breakfasts came, and unexpected advents of troops of hungry huntsmen to luncheon, with all the ordi nary disturbances, inevitable in country houses during the hunting season, yet Lady Monck's serenity continued unim paired. Constance marvelled over it some times, but her time and her thoughts were too much occupied to let her give her attention seriously to anything beyond the present moment. Lionel Dashwood was constantly near her. He was always at hand in the huut ing-field, to check her where there might B be danger, and to pay her all those little attentions which, to girls of her stamp, constitute half the pleasure of hunting, as do the whispered nothings, and tender little demonstrations, of dancing.

She would never have ridden fearlessly away from everyone, as Ida did, managing her own affairs, rejoicing simply in the rush through the cold, clear air, and the tremendous bound of her sinewy hunter, as he plunged at the reins, and accepting with ill-concealed impatience, the aid of some fledgling ensign, who would bungle for her for five invaluable minutes, over a gate she would have opened herself in as many seconds. Constance wanted les petits soins of life, and she had them plentifully. Then, Lionel would ride home very close beside her, through the deepening twilight, and then, too, not unfrequently, Bertram Harding was nearly as close beside Ida, whom he was wise enough to leave to her self in the field. And both the girls found these slow, homeward progresses, generally so tedious with tired horses, pass unusu ally quickly.

Fortune smiles on Lady Monde. 5 Then, when the hounds did not meet, and there was no shooting going on, Lionel would drive the girls into the neighbouring town, and indulge in schoolboy pranks which would have made Lady Monck's hair stand on end, while they made small purchases, or he would persuade Constance to play billiards with him, or go for a stroll in the woods, and all the while Lady Monck looked on and smiled. Very very happy Constance was as weeks slipped by. Not a word had passed between Lionel and herself, in the way of any distinct pledge, but she was quite satisfied she understood him, and that was enough, and the image of the good-hearted young fellow who was still wandering restlessly about Europe, and shunning picture galleries, because those " confounded Madonnas," with their pensive beauty, made him think of Con stance Monck, was rapidly fading from her memory.

It was such a pleasant state of things. She did not want to be engaged, she did not wish to be married yet. Lionel's relationship rendered a degree of intimacy possible which made her not care about an announced engagement. It would be so nice to go in that way for a year or two. The seasons in London would be so pleasant, with Lionel always at hand to take the best waltzes, and sit with in retired corners, to cool afterwards. And then there was something so deliriously romantic in this sort of secret under standing, this silent pledge, each to the other, without a word on either side. Truly nature was beginning to develop herself with alarming rapidity in Constance Monck that autumn, and some little tender shoots of good were beginning to struggle up through all the selfishness and indolence which were the prevailing characteristics of Lionel Dashwood.

As far as it went, his love for his cousin was sincere, and there is no man who is not in some measure the better for such a love. And all this under the very eyes of Lady Monck. Ah those eyes were watching, and she only waited the right moment to gather up the reins upon which her grasp was firm still, and to tighten a cruel curb with all the more deadly effect because it Fortune smiles on Lady Monde. 7 had been for a time, seemingly, entirely relaxed. All this while Madame De Villar too was calmly watching the game, conscious that, for the time, it was entirely beyond her power to influence it, and not a little puzzled herself. She was very often at Hollywood, but Lady Monck was impene trable, and she could not even read her own brother. He sometimes voluntarily addressed Constance, who was simply coolly contemptuous, but oftener, far, he laid himself under the fire of Ida's cutting raillery.

At length she began to think all danger was over ; that if Lady Monck had ever cherished any such designs she had cut her own throat ; and that was very much the opinion at which others were arriving as well. The quiet understanding between Lionel and Constance was only concealed behind a very transparent veil. Gordon Mansfield was still at the Grange, and about as wretched as he had ever been in his life, perhaps more so. If either a man's good or evil angel be entirely in the ascendant, standing triumphant on the lifeless body of its prostrate foe, he may be very comfortable ; but there is no comfort where there is strife, and a fierce war was going on at that moment within him, between the powers of good and evil. He had awakened, late in life, to the knowledge of women's power over men, and the later that awakening — within cer tain limits — the more potent the influence.

It was an awakening, for him too, under circumstances of no slight peril. The knowledge came with the beginning of a deadly conflict between the beauty of purity and truth, and the syren fascination of voluptuous loveliness and refined sen suousness. Had he never seen Ethel Harding, he could not have resisted the influence of Cora De Villar's exceeding but baleful beauty ; had he never seen Cora De Villar he would have braced himself nobly for a manly struggle to rise from the low moral level of which he was, for the first time, fully conscious, to the purer atmos phere which seemed to environ Ethel Harding. Which way would such a con flict turn ? That would, in some measure, Fortune smiles on Lady Monck. 9 depend upon the ground upon which it was fought, and chances were sorely against him.

The syren was terribly in earnest; the good angel, for him, as sadly indifferent to a conflict which she did not see, and would not have understood if she could have seen it. Be was a great deal at the Lodge, where sportsmen of St. Omer's own type came and went, and where scenes sometimes took place which might perhaps, only perhaps, have staggered Lady Monck. How much of what went on Cora De Villar saw, no one knew. One only thing was patent. No man, save her own brother, ever ventured to be coarse or disrespectful in her presence. Yet not his coarsest speech could bring the colour to her cheek. The ball which he had asserted she would be certain to have, she had flatly refused to think of for a moment. He seemed un accountably anxious for it. " Why won't you have it, Cora ?" " For many reasons."

" Well, but, hang it, give one then." " One ? Well, one is that I know you would get exceedingly drunk, and possibly succeed in making the county too hot to hold you." " I shouldn't do anything of the kind. You never saw me drunk at a ball yet, Cora." " I haven't seen you at many. Never at one in a country house, where you would have to superintend arrangements, and act host. I am not going to try the experiment." " Confound you ! I will have a ball." " As you like, only I shall leave the house the day before." He banged off with an oath; he knew he could not have one without a hostess, and that he could not well get any other than his own sister. " Why on earth does he want to have a ball ?" she said to Gordon Mansfield, the next time he came lounging in to luncheon from the billiard room, which none of the others seemed inclined to vacate.

He was almost the only one of her brother's ac quaintances for whose society she mani fested any partiality. Fortune smiles on Lady Monck. 11 " It's a strange whim for him, certainly. Perhaps it's to please Miss Monck." " Oh, no. I don't think there's a chance there. He must see how the land lies, unobservant as he is ; and he would surely never have the courage to propose to the younger one. I fancy, though, he has some thoughts of marrying. You see " "What?" " Nothing." (" He is not far from four and-twenty," she had been going to say, but she remembered her listener knew no thing about the subject in her thoughts.) " Where is Fred now ?" Mansfield asked. " I don't know ; out somewhere. Rat hunting, 1 daresay." She was never further from the truth. At that moment, Fred St. Omer, very red in the face, and very hesitating and un certain in his speech, though all the same perfectly sober, was sitting nervously on the extreme edge of a chair in Lady Monck's boudoir, awe-stricken alike at his position and circumstances, and doing his best to make himself intelligible to that stately dame, who was reclining in an easy chair, listening graciously, with uncon cealed triumph gleaming in her eyes.

" You see, Lady Monck, I the fact is 1 mean Hang it ! I don't under stand this sort of thing ; but the truth is, I admire your daughter very much, and I should like to marry her." " My dear Mr. St. Omer ! you astonish me. I had no idea you entertained any such wish." " Oh yes, I do. I don't care much about marrying, but you see, I must, and I'd rather marry her than anyone else." " Yes, indeed, you are right ; you ought to marry. I hold that the representatives of old families should have no choice on that point. But you have not yet told me which of my dear girls is the object of your preference." " Oh well, you know, for the matter of that, I think Miss Ida's the jolliest girl I ever saw. But she wouldn't do for me ; no, hang it," and he shook his head reflec tively, " that sort of thing wouldn't do in a wife.

I swear I believe I should be Fortune smiles on Lady Monck. 13 afraid of her. Besides, it's no use talking about that, she wouldn't have me, I know, at any price ; so you see, Lady Monck, it's about this. I can't have her, so I'd like to marry her sister." " Constance ?" Lady Monck said reflec tively, looking as grave as the occasion demanded. " Yes. You know I do admire her very much, and I've been thinking, per haps, as Cora's always telling me I want polishing up a bit, I'd better marry a wife who's very refined, and all that kind of thing; like Miss Monck, you know. But do you think she'll have me ?" " How can I tell ? My dear child would never, I hope, so far forget herself as to express any preference." " No, but I thought, you know, you might have some idea." " Not the least, aud, indeed, my dear Mr. St. Omer, you have taken me so by surprise, I hardly know what to say.

This much I can unhesitatingly affirm, you will have Sir Charles' and my own warmest approval of your suit. But still I think you must be prepared for a few little difficulties. You must forgive me for saying it, but you have been too reticent in this matter. You should have given the dear child some hint of your intentions. She is very young, and has, as yet, never had her attention turned in the direction of marriage. I daresay, at the first moment, she will hardly feel disposed to renounce her freedom so soon." " How could I give her any hint ? I don't understand that sort of thing, and I could not blunder out straight off ' Will you marry me?' " " No, indeed ! How droll you are. No. I know you are not what is generally termed a lady's man. But I know you have at heart all the qualities calculated to insure the happiness of your wife, and therefore I should see my dear child give you her hand with the deepest happiness."

" I've plenty of money, if that's what you mean." " No, no. I am not blind to worldly advantages. Your rank and fortune of Fortune smiles on Lady Monde. 15 course render you a splendid alliance for any girl ; but a mother does not think of those things, Mr. St. Omer, when she is considering her child's prospects in marriage. I fully admit, you know, your sister's declaration, that you want, as you term it, to be ' polished up ' a little, still I know you have all those gifts of head and heart calculated to ensure solid happiness in married life." " Yes, but then, you know, the question is, will she have me ?" He was beginning to grow a little impatient under Lady Monck's outpourings. " Again I say, I cannot tell. But this much I will say, you have no rival; and I think, mind, I only think, if you will be guided by me, this matter will not end in a way distasteful to you."

" Oh, I'll do just what you tell me. I ain't a hand at love-making. I don't understand women's ways. All I can say is, if she'll marry me she shall have as much money " " Oh, my dear Mr. St. Omer ! pray. You are really going too far. Time enough to talk about settlements when Constance has decided. Then, if she accepts you, you must discuss those things with Sir Charles." " Oh, yes, I know ! I only meant, you know, you could have it all your own way about them." " Yes, I know how generous you are. I have no fear about those things. Then, dear Mr. St. Omer, say not a word on this subject to a soul, and be guided by me entirely. Then I think, before very long, I shall hail you as my dear son." With that he went his way, very glad to shake off the irksome restraint of a lady's boudoir, and, now he had taken the fatal plunge, not a little frightened at his own temerity.

He had been meditating this step for some time, trying, in the confusion of his dull brain, to forecast risks and chances, and all the while keeping his thoughts a profound secret from everyone.' As he mounted his horse Constance came up, sauntering in from the gardens, with Lionel Dashwood, and she stopped and spoke to him. And then he looked at her Fortune smiles on Lady Monck. 17 with a sort of perception dawning upon him that to have a beautiful girl like that for a wife, so that he needn't treat her with more deference than he did his sister Cora, wouldn't be " half a bad notion." " By Jove, won't Cora be in a rage neither ! but then " He frowned, dug the spurs into his horse, and galloped home at a furious pace. o VOL.

Chapter II

honour versus THREE thousand pounds. Lady Monck sat reflecting in her boudoir, alone and victorious. Only victorious, however, so far as that she had now obtained a firm footing for the deadly fight which was yet to come; the fight which was to prove whether her iron will, leagued with the moulding of one-and twenty years, would avail to bend her daughter to her purpose, when that purpose was to induce her to marry Fred St. Omer. Did Lady Monck clearly and fully realize what she was doing ? Did she ever distinctly ask herself what was the character of the man whose wife she had determined her daughter should be ? What were the occupations of his leisure hours ? What the scenes in which he sought the amusements and companionship most conformable to his tastes ? Who can tell ? Seeing they may see and not per ceive, and hearing they may hear and not understand.

How far can that fatal power be carried ? She must have known theoretically. She was a woman well versed in the ways of the world, and no longer young. But have things only known, so much less power than things actually seen, that women, wives and mothers, on whose knowledge of the world, ay, and knowledge of evil too, so much depends, either for weal or for woe, the fate of their helpless daughters, cannot realize these things because they have never seen them. If so, then in Heaven's name let them lay aside their refinement, and their fatal ignorance; go boldly forth in the dead of night, and see for themselves what, in their hours of untrammelled freedom, the men are, into whose arms they are ready to thrust their pure fair innocent children, when the 0 foulness and iniquity is hidden under a mountain of gold.

One night of their London season passed learning, in humble disguise, such a lesson as that, were worth a dozen spent in jewels and costly array amidst scenes of splendour. Then, if they choose to stand to their purpose, let them do it boldly, and not reiterate to all the world that they cannot see and they cannot hear, and call Heaven to witness that facts are not facts, because they have shut their eyes, and stopped their ears. She had much before her ; much to plan and devise, many risks to run, before another victim could be safely bound and laid, unresistingly, on the altar of Mam mon. The curb must be taken up sharply, and, simultaneously, the lash freely plied, so that the goal might be reached in the first moment of confusion, deadly terror and sharp pain. All that afternoon she spent in deep consideration, making an occasional note upon her tablets, especially of the fact that it only wanted ten days to the county ball, which was to be celebrated that year with unusual splendour.

The following morning she summoned Ida to her presence, as soon as breakfast was over. The girl's heart beat faster at the mandate. Was it a signal that the sort of armed neutrality which had been preserved since Lady Monck's return from Friarscourt was at an end, and active hostilities about to recommence ? She did not now regard the couflict quite so gleefully as she would have done a few weeks since. Ida Monck had not been suddenly trans formed, by the revival process, into a model of meek and patient endurance, but she was beginning to learn very fast to regard the state of affairs at Hollywood Hall with more pain, and far less careless indifference than she had been wont to do ; and as she proceeded to Lady Monck's boudoir she was making tremendous reso lutions to keep her bitter words in check ; to answer her mother with more respect, and to suppress the blunt assertion of un pleasant truths, as far as she honestly could.

Such resolutions were a great deal for a girl of her character to have arrived at in so short a time ; but she was cer tainly softening down very rapidly. " I wish to speak to you about the Hardings, Ida " " Yes, mamma." "I suppose you have been glorying in the triumph you have had, in being al lowed to have your own way in this mat ter." " I am very glad you have not interfered with my going to the Grange." "I don't doubt it. I fear the society there is much more to your taste than that you are likely to meet in your own father's house. Your tastes are strange, for a daughter of mine." Ida bit her lip, gulped down the retort which rose, and only coloured a little at the taunt, as she replied — " I have met hardly anyone there, save Mr. Mansfield." The plainer the truth, the worse the satire.

She did not intend a retort, but Lady Monck was worsted ; she had momentarily forgotten that he was staying at the Grange. " Very well ; I have no wish to discuss the subject with you. I have allowed you, for my own reasons, to have your way on this matter, but I will not have this intimacy flaunted in public, and forced upon my very presence." 11 Ida looked at her with eyes wide open. " I haven't the least idea what you mean, mamma. My intimacy with the Hardings has not the least chance of being made more public than it is." " No ; for I intend to prevent it. What I refer to is the county ball next week. There will be an unusually brilliant gather ing there, this year, of people of our own set. In fact, we intend to make it quite our own affair. We shall go a large party from here. The Duchess means to bring an equally large one, and the Cleeford Castle and Priory people will all be there also, so we shall form quite a delightful set among ourselves.

Now I have no intention you should annoy me by parading, under such circumstances, your intimacy with the Hardings, so unless you promise me you will treat them, on that evening, as I should do myself, I shall take steps to avoid the annoyance." Ida's clear cut nostril quivered, but she answered quietly — " I am quite ready to promise to treat them exactly as the Duchess does." Lady Monck smiled coldly. " That is a very clever subterfuge, but it will not do. The Duchess is the leading person in the county, and must make proportionate sacrifices. Besides, the Hardings do not live within a mile of her, nor do I look at things entirely in the same light as she does. She has imbibed some of the Duke's radical ideas. I must have your promise to treat the Hardings as I should treat them myself."

" Mamma, I have not two ways of treat ing people." " You refuse then ?" "I do." "Very well. You will go to Friarscourt this week, and remain there until after the ball is over. I am sorry you should be deprived of the amusement this year, when the ball will be so unusually attractive ; but if you choose to make friendships, in dependent of your family, you must pay the penalty. Now you may go." Ida left the room abruptly, afraid to answer;, afraid to risk one unnecessary second in her mother's presence. It was a great victory, her first great victory over herself, but it had been hardly won ; and she knew she could not have fought much longer. She went away to her own room, and stood leaning against the window-frame, looking out, and struggling against a fit of of half-indignant, half-disappointed tears.

She saw through it, or rather she thought she did, and one motive she did read, clearly enough. It was such a gratuitous piece of spite. A crowded ball-room, in which she would have been surrounded on all sides by people she knew, was the very last place where her intimacy with the Hardings was likely to attract any atten tion. It was simply that Lady Monck was determined to revenge what she had not thought fit to oppose. And Ida was bitterly disappointed ; she had looked forward with great delight to the coming ball, the first waltz of which was already pro mised to Bertram Harding ; and though she was too much excited and confused at the moment to notice it, the greater part of her disappointment centred round that invalidated promise. She did not think she was in the least in love with him ; she only knew that she looked up to him, ad mired him, aud trusted him as she trusted no one else — not even Ethel.

Gordon Mansfield's presence at the Grange made a nice quartette, and very gradually Ber tram Harding had stepped into the place of her confidant and adviser. That he loved her passionately he knew quite well, and she felt, if she did not admit it, that they stood, each to the other, in a different position to the rest of the world. But she had never examined what that position exactly was. Probably the conventional " Captain Harding" and " Miss Monck" tended to veil the truth from her eyes, more than anything else. Ida choked back her tears, tried to get calm, and then went and told Constance what had happened. Constance was dis tressed, but not as she would have been a few months since. Not that for a moment their affection for each other had decreased, but the phantoms of new interests were springing up and quietly sundering their respective paths.

"Oh, Ida! I'm so sorry. I do wish you had never gone near the Grange." " I don't, and never shall, whatever may come of it." " It's too provoking. The ball will be splendid this year. Lady Honoria told me the other day the Duchess is deter mined it shall be a great success. The Duke wants to keep all the small fry in good humour against the coming general election." "Well it's no use thinking about it. My lady is bent upon her revenge. I haven't paid dear for my bargain either. Con, you'll be the belle of the ball. I should like to see you." Constance smiled. " I shan't enjoy it half as much as if you were there," she said, but her thoughts had flown to Lionel ; and for his sake she rejoiced in the knowledge that she would hold the envied post for which, save Madame de Villar, there was not a soul to compete with her, and she was hardly in the position to be her rival.

So just a week before the ball Ida went off to Friarscourt, to spend the last few days of his sojourn in England that winter with her uncle. " Good bye, Captain Harding," she said, as they parted at the gate of the Grange the day before she started. " I hope you will enjoy the ball. I am very sorry I can't keep my promise." " I am not going," he quietly replied. " Not going ?" " No. Balls are not, save under exceptional circumstances, much in my line." Their eyes met, and then, for the first time, Ida's lids drooped, and her colour deepened a little. She went away upon Thursday. The following Wednesday was the day fixed for the ball, and Lady Monck calmly rested on her oars, and allowed Sunday to pass over ; only sending a short note to the Lodge, to request Mr. St. Omer would see her, if convenient, on Sunday after noon.

He came of course, spent an hour in her boudoir, and remained to dinner, looking, as Lionel remarked to Constance, wonderfully subdued, by Ida's absence he supposed ; and Constance, raising her glass, and looking at him with a glance of languid scorn, sound, for the first time in her life, that he was looking at her. That very evening, when the party broke up, Lady Monck laid her hand on Con stance's shoulder, " Come to my room, dear child, I want to speak to you." Once, such a summons would have made Constance tremble. Of late she bad grown more courageous. " Sit down, my love, I want to have a little talk with you. Do you remember, Constance, in London last spring, our little chat in my dressing room, after Lady Conway's rout, about Mr. Anuesley?" " Quite well, mamma," and a flush came over her face.