She trod the Thorny Path

Chapter I

consternation ! Gwen ran on half a mile or so without stopping to draw breath, for she knew that she had taken time to make up her mind to jump, and that it was already likely people might be about going to their work. She met no one, however, and reached her destination in safety. It was a small, poor looking house at which she stopped, and knocking cautiously, called softly : " Sophie, ctes-vous la, Sophie ?" " Mais out, je viens," came the reply from i; VOL. IU, a cheery voice within, and in another moment the door was unfastened from the inside. Seeing who it was, the owner of the voice started with the veriest amazement, and she exclaimed : "Mais, grand Dieu, c'cst madame !" "Hush! Sophie," entreated Gwen, making her a sign to be silent and entering the cottage rapidly, closing the door.

For a few moments she was so fairly out of breath that she sank into a chair to recover. After a pause to regain some power of speaking, she seized Sophie's band. " Take me upstairs to your bedroom ; anywhere where no one will find us. Hush ! I pray you ! I have something to tell you, but I implore you to be silent ! " The young French girl is charmed at once with the idea of an intrigue, and falls into the desired silence. " Follow me, madam," she whispers ; and the two mount cautiously the little wooden stair case, destitute of carpet but scrupulously clean. " This is the room ! " exclaims Gwen. " Have CONSTERNATION '. 3 you anyone sleeping in there?" indicating by a gesture the apartment opposite. " Only my brother Philippe," Sophie answers ; and seeing a shade of apprehension cross Gwen's face, she adds : " Be not afraid, madam, he will not wake before his hour, not if a troop of gendarmes passed his door."

"We cannot be too careful, however. Come in here, Sophie, where we shall not be heard;" and she draws the girl into the room. "Now I have a favour I want you to do for me." " It will be but a real pleasure to do anything for madam," interrupts the voluble Sophie. " You have but to mention what it is and then consider it un fait accompli." " Thank you for your heartiness, Sophie ; I thought you would help me. I am in great trouble and difficulty, and I can see no way out of it unless you wid keep me here with you for a day or two. It must be without letting anyone know I am with you, or even guessing such a thing. No one must be told, not even your brother. Will b it be possible to keep me hidden so, think you?" "But certainly, if madam will but be con tented to remain in our humble little nest," giving an apologetic look round the tiny room.

" My good girl, I shall be contented with any thing and everything, so that no one knows I have sought refuge here. Sophie, .it is a matter of the highest importance I should remain un discovered." This very seriously. " You need not fear that I shall occasion you any trouble or that I have done anything wrong to get you into difficulty by hiding me. If you cannot trust me I must go away somewhere else at once. If I remain you must promise me solemnly to keep my secret, and whatever is said to you, whatever questions are asked, have no knowledge of my whereabouts." "I am not afraid, dear madam, and you must not be either — I will do all you wish, and consider it a deep pleasure. I am not ungrateful, and forget not your divine goodness to our dear, dear mother;" CONSTERNATION ! 5 and the girl crosses herself, and murmurs a prayer at the remembrance of her aged parent.

" Then I will stay gladly, Sophie," exclaims Gwen, " since you can believe I will bring you no evil. But your brother — may he not want to enter here, and will he not wonder why he is not allowed ? " " Oh no — he is at work all day, and this room is for myself alone — in there is my bed;" un fastening a door as she speaks and disclosing a room scarcely bigger than a cupboard. " That is quite right; then I can be assured no one will enter ? " asks Gwen. " No one at all, I assure you. Now if madam really means she wants no one to even suspect, I will go downstairs again and get on with my work, or Philippe will think I am idle this morning if his breakfast is not ready. Madam will also need some — I must bring it up at once." " Go down, Sophie, and make no preparation for me until your brother has gone — he would wonder.

You are sure he will not come in here first to look for you ? " asks Gwen, stdl frightened. " You are quite, quite safe. It may be better for madam to wait," adds the girl, a little lugubriously ; " and yet really madam has the air of requiring food — your face is so white and pale." " You run down now, Sophie, for fear you should be missed. I am really in no hurry ; " and the girl goes. Gwen shudders involuntarily as she glances round the stuffy little apartment. The air feels close and confined, and around is an untidy litter that the cold gray morning light is making visible. Shreds of various dress fabrics lie scattered on the floor, which is devoid of any comfortable carpet. The table, chairs, and little stiff-backed faded sofa all support their burden of unfinished garments in various stages of construction.

Two or three scraps of bright-coloured ribbon adorn the glass shade that screens the gilt splendour of the clock. This same is the great pride of CONSTERNATION! 7 Sophie's existence, and had been won in a raffle at the yearly fair, when sous go in hundreds ou such chances of fortune. Pins and needles are thrown about; and all speaks of Sophie's occupation of dressmaker and 'general needlewoman. Gwen is impressionable to the keenest degree, and her present surroundings make her feel more gloomy than her own dark thoughts had done. She sits shivering, painfully listening to every sound, and keeping her eyes on the door for fear after all the dreaded Philippe should pop in his head. At last she hears him descend the stairs, creaking from his heavy footsteps. He is whistling away merrily, and calls out cheerily .to Sophie.

Then comes a lud — breakfast is evidently being discussed below, and at last Gwen feels she can breathe more freely, for she hears him start for his clay's work. A few minutes after Sophie makes her appearance, carrying a tray neatly prepared; and although the cup is not of the finest porcelain, the coffee is delicious, and Gwen, nothing loath, swallows it gratefully and forces herself to eat, for although she has a sick feeling of want, the food is almost distasteful when placed before her. The little dressmaker then set to work, and before long had reduced the litter to something approaching order, thus considerably bettering the appearance of the room. Then, at Gwen's request, the fresh morning air was admitted and a fire kindled ; the furniture was cleared of its decora tions, and the work neatly folded away.

Then down below Sophie trotted to finish her domestic duties — to wash and scrub, and sing the while. What a horrible thing it is to an active mind to have nothing to do. Gwen had nothing. She could only pace to and fro the tiny room, and think over and over again what she should do with herself. How desolate, oh God ! how desolate does the future look as she thus contemplates it; and yet she must live. It was a hard problem to solve why when no single ray of hope broke the darkness of her reflections. Her head aches with CONSTERNA TION ! 9 a dull pain ; her limbs even seem sore and bruised, and she suffers from constant thirst. "If now I am going to be fll," she says to herself, "to have a fever, as so many do for far less cause than I have, will Sophie keep my secret ? No, how could she ?

" Again this is a source of fresh torment. At last, tired out, she lies down on Sophie's bed, and, the house being perfectly quiet, falls into a sleep — calm, deep, and lasting. This Sophie Gamier, with whom Gwen has thus trusted herself, is a hard-working, deserving little dressmaker, whose mother had died but a short time ago. Gwen had been particularly kind and generous to the old woman in her last illness, and her daughter had always regarded her since with great reverence and gratitude. Now she felt not a little proud and pleased to be able to render the good young English lady some service. Dire, indeed, had been the painful confusion at Major Chatteris's when Gwen's flight was discovered. Claude, who was longing to see his wife, and hear his fate from her own lips, felt at once that something was wrong, as, on descending to breakfast, he saw the scared look on his mother's face.

Mrs. Chatteris had but just learned the truth, and it was so strange and unexpected, it took time to realise the fact. To Claude, however, Gwen's flight spoke volumes. Pure and blameless he had until this moment believed her, but now, for the first time, evil thoughts of her crept into his heart, chilling alike his love and his faith. Until now he had, God knows, been suppbant, meekly begging for his right. Had all his self-forgetfulness been but a delusion, leading him to dishonour ? Entire and absolute had been his trust in his wife. When he knew, by chance, of her correspondence with Geoffrey Norman, when he witnessed their parting, not the faintest suspicion of her integrity sullied his trust. He would have staked his life on her purity in thought as in deed. Otherwise would he have sacrificed all he held dear, and have left home, and broken every tie to isolate himself CONSTERNA TION .' 11 for a woman who was unworthy?

No. Gwen had been his ideal, his star — pure, absolutely, beautifully pure; and, hating to feel himself less than all to her, he had left her to be happier without his constant presence. Oh God ! was it possible that his star, his idol, had fallen — his Gwen proved weak and f rad ? And yet, oh agonising thought ! what will not woman do for love ? And he himself, poor fool, when most he had gloried in his strength — gloried in the singleness and nobleness of his purpose — then had he been most wrong. He had left her alone to struggle against the overpowering temp tation of her love — left her with no other refuge but his rival's arms. Oh fool, thrice fool, that he had been! His face grew stern and set as he thought this out. Should he not have been strong to endure, and, even if it wrung his heart daily to feel she had no love for him, stiff have stayed and shielded her by his protection ?

Might he not have guarded her, ay, even against herself, if he had been true to his post, and not gone off a coward, afraid to suffer and endure ? Was ever man so mad as to play to his own dishonour and undoing as he had been ? Comfort came at last, as, thinking on, he realised that this horror had not as yet come upon him. Had he not found Gwen in his father's house safe and protected by his own family ? But now she had gone ! To flee from him ! Now, at last, all he dreaded would be consummated. Merciful heavens ! could she have flown for pro tection from himself — her husband — to Geoffrey Norman, whom she loved ? And he was idle. Oh, horrible thought ! while there might yet be time to save her from such a ghastly fate. His inmost soul shuddered as he thought of Gwen other than she had been to him— pure and beautifully modest.

Would not the very sense of her shame kill her, after the first mad passionate step of wrong? or would it be possible that her whole nature could so change under Norman's influence that she would rejoice to be with him, and be happy clasped to his heart, unmindful of CONSTERNATION ! 13 the depths of shame in which she sought her joy. The picture maddened him ! he felt he dare not longer bnger, but seek the work that awaited him, and find her out, whether stid innocent or not ! " It will be better for me to go to Paris, mother, and see if I can find some clue to where she has gone," Claude says, when he has deter mined on tracing her. " Bertram, if you will come I shall be glad of your help. We shall find it difficult work, I fear." " But, my boy, where do you think she has gone ? How can you begin your inquiries with out some fact to start on ?

" asks Mrs. Chatteris anxiously. " I know nothing," Claude answers, in a hard, cold voice ; " but I must try to do my best. You, mother, are more likely to divine the place Gwen would go to— the friends she would seek." " She has no friends here. I can only think myself she has gone to England." " Well, mother, I must make inquiries. I think it likely too that she has gone across; if so, we shall doubtless get some clue. Come, Bertram, we will start without delay." The two brothers sallied out, leaving the women-folk inactive and terribly shaken, hoping sincerely some news might soon be brought to quiet their great anxiety. Claude and Bertram begin their inquiries in their own small town, and question each and everyone likely to have seen Gwen by chance. Here she is known as la jeune Madame An glaise, and is well known to almost all in the town by sight.

But none have seen her. At the railway-station, the ticket-giver — a woman, by the-way — knows her well, but now declares posi tively that she cannot have been by train into Paris that morning, as she could not fail to see her. To the capital the two brothers go on. Both think it most natural she should go to London, but after the most minute investigation, and strictest questioning of all the railway officials, none can be brought to remember a lady in violet CONSTERNATION ! 15 sdk and sealskin hat and mantle. Maud has ex amined her sister-in-law's wardrobe, and found these articles missing, and thus they were enabled to describe her dress. On and on through all that long day they pursued their inquiries, always with the same unsatisfactory result. No trace can they discover of the route she has taken, if indeed she has left Paris.

Like an inspiration it had flashed through young Bertram's brain that she might have been to the bank, and have there left a line or a message as to her destination. He had frequently called for her at the bank, and knew that now she could not have very much money in hand. With rekindled hope they started, but to again be disappointed. " Madam Chatteris had not been in that day." So said the clerk ; and he examined his books to satisfy his in quirers. It was to be hoped at least she would write here to obtain her allowance, even if she left them without a line as to her welfare. They waited to see the mail-train for England start, but there was no Gwen ; and, disspirited by their non-success, they reluctantly returned home to hold a family council. Major Chatteris had returned immediately after the receipt of his wife's letter, and now joined the conclave.

All that had appeared strange until now in his son's conduct was explained, only, however, to be followed by the fresh mystery of his daughter-in-law's disappearance. The cruel thoughts of Gwen Claude had har boured in his heart were, to some extent, sub dued, for he could not long believe her base. But much trouble filled his mind, where all would not be clear until something definite happened. But he was again tormented, for now, for the first time, he heard the full particulars of Gwen's visit to England in the previous autumn as far as Mrs. Chatteris herself knew them. One thing was, however, clear enough. She had there been on terms of the greatest intimacy with Mr. Norman. From Daisy's prattle all the household had heard of Uncle Norman and his carriages CONS TERN A TION I 17 and horses, and how sister Gwen and she had been driven out every afternoon; and she chat tered of his presents of bonbons and flowers, and his big house, and nice fruit and pretty gardens.

All this, now repeated to Claude, had a saddening influence. He determined on starting for England and that quiet Kentish village, where his wife had spent those months in Rose Cottage, with Geoffrey Norman as her friend. He would find this man and lay to rest these cruel agonising doubts, or have his uncertainty turned into horrible reality. Anything so that he learned the truth, and had not to sit listless and wait inert for his doom. c VOL.

Chapter II. Hideous Doubts

The morning following the family conclave Claude started for England, and even, as Gwen had done, went down direct to Birchen. He hired a fly from the station, which took him to the best inn the village boasted. It was a clean, comfortable, old-fashioned place, and he found he could have a bed; and then, ordering dinner to soften the landlady's heart, he took the first opportunity of gaining the information he needed. The landlady herself came bustbng in and out of the little sitting-room, preparing the table for his repast, and he questioned her. " Can you tell me where Mr. Norman — Mr. Geoffrey Norman — lives ? " Claude asks. " To be sure, sir," the woman answers promptly. "His house ain't but a trifle from here, leastways we calls it so. His is the large white house with steps a-leading up to the front door.

It stands back from the road, so to say, but is easy enough to see." " Thank you ; I shall find it without difficulty. Do you know if Mr. Norman is at home ? " " I doubts it, sir. He has been away for a long stretch, and I have heard no word of his return, and it's most like I should ha'e done if he had a-come back. I am afraid this is a disappointment, so to say, sir, for you," the land lady adds, seeing Claude's face cloud over. " Was it anything very pertickler you wanted to see him about ?" "Yes, it is, and I am vexed to have missed him," replies Claude, shortly. "Yes, indeed, sir, it is worriting; and Mr. Norman is such a nice gentleman, so free-spoken. He passes here almost every day when at the house, and has always a pleasant good-day to c give a body. He will be disappointed like, too, to hear a friend has been down a-purpose to see him and him not at home."

Claude interrupts her garrulity — he hates to be thought a friend of Mr. Norman's, even by this woman. " I have come on business only ; but it is important. Do you think I could see anyone, at his house, who could give me his address ?" " To be sure, sir : Mrs. Jackson, the house keeper, wdl tell you all you want. She is a nice pleasant sort of person, and has an easy place, to be sure, with every comfort, as though a born lady; but she ain't above coming and taking a friendly cup of tea and having a chat." " I will go and see her, if you will be good enough to let me have my dinner at once," Claude interrupts again, fearful of having to listen to gossip of no possible interest, if he does not put a stop to the woman's chatter. He takes up his newspaper now, and defends himself behind its wordy columns, until his food is put on the table.

His simple meal is soon despatched, and, lighting a cigar, he takes the road to his rival's house — Mr. Norman's — the only man he alike hates and fears in all the world. For a moment Claude hesitates, as he glances up at the windows through which no lights are to be seen. The place has a dreary aspect as of an absent master, as though afraid to look too cheerful in its owner's absence. He, however, passes on, and rings. Mrs. Jackson answers the summons in person. "I have called to see Mr. Norman, but have heard at the ' White Hart ' that he is away from home — is it so ? " " True enough, sir, I'm sorry to say — as it seems you wished to see him," replies the house keeper. "You are Mrs. Jackson, I presume," Claude remarks, and being answered by a nod in the affirmative, continues : " I should be very glad to speak to you for a few minutes.

You need not be afraid to admit me, I am no burglar in disguise," he adds, laughing, seeing how doubtful his companion is of letting a stranger enter. His voice and manner reassure her, and as she peers at him she soon finds he is a gentle man, and so is amiable immediately. "Will you step this way, sir; if I can do anything for you I shall be most happy." Claude follows her through the spacious hall, which is in total darkness save for the candle Mrs. Jackson carries, to a cosy little room at the back, which is evidently her own sanctum, and speaks well for her ideas of comfort. " Now, sir, if you will be seated, and excuse being brought in here promiscns like, I shall be pleased to attend to you." " It is necessary I should see Mr. Norman, personally, and without unnecessary delay, on business of the greatest importance.

Is it pro bable he will return here, or can you give me his address in town?" begins Claude. " He won't be back here, and he is not so near as London, sir. I fear he is away in foreign parts — travelling on the Continent, as he calls it. He has been away a long time — left all of a hurry, as one may say." " Left suddenly, did he ? " inquires Claude, immediately; but Mrs. Jackson interrupts him quickly. " You must not think, sir, as how his going off was occasioned by any money trouble. Far from it — Mr. Norman's rich enough and to spare; and although he is extravagant like, he is well able to spend — as why shouldn't he, having neither chick nor child to leave it to ? — and being unmarried still he leads a gay sort of life. It is my firm belief, sir, between ourselves, that he left this time because of a lady as turned his head completely."

"A lady! do you really think so?" puts in Claude, anxious to hear more, and hoping to lead her on without putting any direct questions. Mrs. Jackson, 'nothing loath, waxes loquacious and confidential. "A lady, sir, but one not of much account, it's my belief ; and gave him the slip, or something very like it. One fine morn ing he went to see her as usual — for there wasn't a day that passed without them meeting — and comes back looking thunder black, for she had gone off, no one knew where." Claude is getting somewhat restless, and is on the point of putting a question, as all this does not lead to Gwen, he thinks, when his attention is forcibly aroused as Mrs, Jackson continues : " When I saw him come in so it gave me quite a turn, and although Mr. Norman ain't a gentle man as likes to be interfered with, I could not help exclaiming, 'Why, sir,' I says to him, 'I am sure you have been down to Rose Cottage and something is wrong ! ' He only muttered a short reply and strides into his own room and sits alone."

"To Rose Cottage, did you say ?" asks Claude indifferently, to make sure his ears had not deceived him, and fervently hoping Mrs. Jackson is not watching him very closely. " Well, sir, I was right, as I found out after wards, for my master had been down there and found the birds flown, as one may say. People had always thought Mrs. Chatteris a strange lady, and none of our gentry would visit her." Claude screens his face with his hand as his wife's name is thus at last pronounced, to hide the emotion he cannot disguise. " Not but what she was young and pretty enough, too, I must say that, and seemed quite the lady, and was pleasant enough when she came here. But you see folks would talk ; for it wasn't the right thing to have him a-visiting her at all hours of the day, and driving out with him every day in the mail-phaeton as if she was already Mrs. Norman.

Well, one day she comes here to lunch and takes a look at everything; and that was bad to my mind, coming to see what she would get by marrying the man she was trying so hard for. I did my best, as in duty bound; but whether the place wasn't so grand as my lady expected I can't tell ; but off she went the very next morning without a word to never a soul, and leaving the house in such confusion as one never saw, and the poor servant-girl at her wits' end; not but whtit it was a punishment to her, for a more stuck-up piece I've rarely met ; always scolding if a body mentioned her mistress. She always stood up for Mrs. Chatteris, and a nice way she got treated in the end — although Susan told me she had received a five-pound note to the good, which I don't believe. The truth was she was ashamed to own she had been taken in, and just stuck up for her mistress out of sheer bravado."

" Chatteris is an uncommon name," remarks Claude, anxious to be assured of Gwen's identity. "Uncommon enough, sir, but it ain't so sure it was her own. She came from foreign parts, and there's no knowing who's who ; and Mr. Norman must have become acquainted with her by chance; and then I suppose she follows him over, not to lose the opportunity of catching a husband. She had a little girl as talked the most outlandish gibberish. I'm sure, the day they were here, to hear that child talk was enough to make a body stare. The ma' passed as a widow, but her own child called her 'Gwen!' that shows the sort of bringing she had had. A queer name, too, if ever I heard one." " And Mr. Norman, did he follow them ? " inquires her listener. " Well, as I told you, sir, Mr. Norman was quite taken aback.

Then all of a sudden he calls out to me to pack his portmanteau, and orders round the dog-cart and starts for London, as Tom the groom saw, for he never told me ; only said he w7ould be back soon. WeU, sir, I waited for days, and at last Mr. Norman really came and stayed perhaps a week ; but all the time he was restless and, so to say, disagreeable — something had upset him. Then all of a sudden he declared he could not stand being cooped up any longer, that he was going away, and gave me orders to prepare his things. He told me to dismiss some of the servants, as he should not be back for a long time, and left me to take charge of the place. He has written only twice since, but it is weeks now since I heard," ends up Mrs. Jackson, with a sigh. " Wrhere was Mr. Norman last ? You can at least tell me that," says Claude, anxiously.

"Certainly, sir; I keeps master's letters, for the names are hard to remember. Some of the places seem quite out of the common like." Mrs. Jackson rises and unlocks a substantial looking, brass-bound desk, and selects two letters bearing foreign postmarks. " This is the last," she says, handing one to Claude. He glances quickly at it, and finds the heading bears the name of the town of Dresden, but that its date is more than two months old. "This is, I fear, of little use," he exclaims, disappointed. "Mr. Norman may be half over the world by this time. Has he left his address with no one — not even his solicitor ? " " Oh, that's a happy thought, sir, because Mr. Norman told me himself to go to his lawyers if so be as I should require anything out of the common while he was away.*" " What is his name ?