A Lost Wife, etc

Front matter

A LOST WIFE 3J, A LOST WIFE a 1RoY>el. !!V MRS. H. LOVETT CAMERON. Author of "IN A GRASS COUNTRY," A DEVOUT LOVER," " DECEIVERS EVER," "THIS WICKED WORLD," etc, etc " For 'tis a truth well-known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it come to light, In every cranny but the right." — Cow TEU IN TWO VOLUMES. VOLUME II. LONDO N: F. V. WHITE & CO., SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C, 1889. PRINTED BY KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, AND K1NGSTON-ON-THAMES. CONTENTS chap. page I. — " Wht are you not Glad ? " . . 1 II. — Mark's Story 13 III. — Telegrams ...... 27 IV. — An Attack from the Enemy . . 41 V. — Charley Flower to the Rescue . . 59 VI. — Caring for the Stranger . . 73 VII. — I Get a Situation .... 89 VIII. — Ellinor's Revelations . . . 105 IX. — Footprints in the Snow . . .119 X.— The Ghost • . 137 XI. — The Old Ball-dress .... 157 XII. — What Fllinor had Seen . . . 175 XIIL— A Song of the Past . . . .193 XIV. — Ellinor's Dream .... 215 XV.— "The End is Come" . . . .233 XVI. — Reavarding Evil avith Good . . 251 XVII. — At Seacliff Again ....

A LOST WIFE POPULAR NEW JMOVELS. Now Ready, in One Vol., the Seventh Edition of ARMY SOCIETY ; or. Life in a Garrison Town. By JOHN STRANGE Winter. Author of "Booties' Baby." Cloth gilt, 6j. ; also picture boards, 2s. Also, now Ready, in Cloth Gilt, 2s. 6d. each. GARRISON GOSSIP, Gathered in Blankhampton. By John Strange Winter. Also picture boards, Is. A SIEGE BABY. By the same Author. Also picture boards, 2s. BEAUTIFUL JIM. By the same AUTHOR. THE DUCHESS OF ROSEMARY LANE. By B. L. FARJEON. THE GIRL IN THE BROWN HABIT. A Sporting Novel. By Mrs. Edward Kennard. Also picture boards, 2s. BY WOMAN'S WIT. By Mrs. Alexander, Author of "The Wooing O't." Also picture boards, 2s. MONA'S CHOICE. By the same Author. a LIFE INTEREST. By the same author. KILLED IN THE OPEN. By Mrs. Edward Kennard. Also picture boards, 2s. IN A GRASS COUNTRY.

By Mrs. H. Lovett -Cameron. Also picture boards, 2s. THIS WICKED WORLD. By the same AUTHOR. A DEVOUT LOVER. By the same Author. THE COST OF A LIE. By the same Author. THE OUTSIDER. By HAWLEY SMART. Also picture boards, 2s. THE MASTER OF RATHKELLY. By the same AUTHOR. STRAIGHT AS A DIE. By Mrs. EDWARD KENNARD. Also picture boards, 2s. TWILIGHT TALES. By Mrs. Edward KENNARD. Illustrated. SHE CAME BETWEEN. By Mrs. ALEXANDER FRASER. THE CRUSADE OF THE " EXCELSIOR." By BRET HARTE. Also picture boards, 2s. CURB AND SNAFFLE. By SIR Rakdal H. ROBERTS, Bart A REAL GOOD THING. By Mrs. EDWARD KENNARD. Also picture boards, 2s. A CRACK COUNTY. By the same AUTHOR. DREAM FACES. By THE HONELE. MRS. FETHERSTONHAUGH. THE HONBLE. MRS. VEREKER. By the Author of " Molly Bawn," &c. F. V. WHITE <_ CO., 31. Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C. A LOST WI FE.

Chapter I

" WHY ARE YOU NOT GLAD ? " " Could it he so, my heart stood still, Yet he was by my side. I strove ; but my despair was vain, Vain, too, was love and pride." — A. A. Procter. VOL. II.

CHAPTER I.

" WHY ARE YOU NOT GLAD ? " I was roused by the sunshine coming in through the uncurtained window, and by the entrance of the same waiter who had shown me into the room, and who now came to ask me if I would take any breakfast. I ordered something to eat, and then mechanically opened my travelling-bag, and sought my purse. Imagine my horror when it was nowhere to be found ! I turned out all the contents of my bag upon the floor, and emptied my pockets. All in vain ! My purse was gone ! I had had a few shillings loose in a small inner pocket of my jacket, out of which I had paid the cabman ; of this there 21* remained to me four shillings and six pence — not a farthing more. How I had lost my purse I could not imagine ; although I remembered now having opened my bag whilst in the train, and possibly my travelling-companions, the dirty-looking man and the woman with the gin-bottle, had abstracted it whilst I slept.

What was to be done ? I knew that four-and-six would probably not even pay for the wretched room I was in and for the simple breakfast I had ordered. I sank down upon the sofa in perfect despair, and then aU at once I thought of what I would do. I would send for Captain Thistleby. Even as 1 made the resolve I blushed hotly at my own boldness. But, after all, what else could I do ? Had he not said that he would help me and be my friend always, and to whom else could I turn in my need ? I started up, and rang the beU. " Can you send out a telegram for me ? " I asked of the man who answered my summons. " Yes, ma'am, I will take it at once for )5 you. " I am expecting a friend from Hounslow, can I stay here, in this room, until he comes ? " " Certainly, ma'am." The waiter got me a telegraph form and I sat down, and wrote : "I am in great trouble.

Will you come to me at once ? " Freda." " Freda." Having despatched the telegram, I felt that a weight was taken off my mind, and I sat down with some amount of appetite to eat my modest and not over tempting looking breakfast. It was twelve o'clock before any answer came to my summons ; but when at last, sick with anxiety and suspense, I watched a hansom dash suddenly up to the door, my spirits rose at once, for my lover was inside it. " Freda ! what is the matter ! Good heavens ! what brings you here in this wretched place ? " he cried, as Ue entered. He looked pale and agitated, as if my telegram had thoroughly frightened him, as, indeed, I believe it had. For all answer, I dropped my head down upon the table in front of me, and burst into tears. Mark Thistleby stood by, looking tbe picture of misery and distress.

He was very honourable was my handsome lover. He did not move a step nearer to me, or call me by any loving words, or attempt to comfort me in any way. I daresay he was longing, poor fellow, to take me in his strong arms, and to piUow my poor Httle sobbing frame against his breast. But he did not forget that, in less than a week, I was to be the wife of another man, and that it was too late for any demonstrative expressions of sympathy. He simply stood there, opposite me, with the whole width of the table between us, and looked in definitely distressed and miserable. " What can I do for you ? " he said, piteously ; " for God's sake ! tell me what is the matter ? " And then I looked up through my tears, and smiled at him. " I am very stupid, am I not, to cry like a baby ? It is only because I am tired and worn out, and because — oh !

I am so glad to see you ! Nothing very dreadful has happened. I am only like the naughty boys in story-books. I have run away from home, and I have lost my purse, and haven't got any money, and that is why I have sent for you. Rather prosaic, isn't it ? " " You have run away from home ! " he re peated, looking at me with a sort of dismay. " And — and your marriage ? — Mr. Curtis ? " " I am not going to be married. I will never marry Mr. Curtis!" I cry passion ately. " I am going to Paris to join BeUa." Oh ! why does be not look glad ? Why does be not cry " Thank God ! " and reach out bis arms to me — the dear arms in which I long to take shelter ? With a mute dis may I look at him and see no joy, no gladness in bis face ; only a pale, miserable face, and sad, aching eyes, that look at me with an ever-increasing despair.

" You have broken off your engagement, you mean ? " he says, with a sort of dull bewUderment in his voice. " How foolish of you. What has induced you to do so ? Why have you done it ? " " Why ! " I cried passionately and angrily, for I could not understand bis apathy and coldness — " ichy I How can you ask me ? How could I marry tbe man? You know I did not love him. Oh ! how cruel you are. You know. you must know, why I cannot marry him ! " I wrung my hands passionately together, and turned away from him to bide my crimson face. " Is it for me, Freda> that you have given him up ? " His voice was low, and sup pressed, and shook with emotion. " Yes, for you ! " I answered, wildly and bitterly ; " and you do not seem to care ! " " Not care ! Ob, my God ! " Tbe words were wrung from him with a groan.

I turned quickly towards him, and saw that be was deadly pale, and could hardly speak. I came close to him in wonder, and laid my band upon bis. " Tell me why you are not glad ? Am I not free now, and do you not love me?" " Ob, child— child ! " be cried, bitterly, " I did not know my selfishness bad done you so cruel a wrong ! I did not think that you loved me so much. I thought that I alone should have to suffer for my weakness and my wickedness. And now, how can I ever atone for tbe misery I have brought upon you ? " " Misery ? " I echoed, trembling and terrified I hardly knew wby. " What do you mean ? I have been miserable indeed, because I bad not tbe courage before to break off my engagement ; because I was base enough to tbink of the good tbings of this world, and mean enough to shrink from giving them up for my love's sake.

But since I have known that you love me, sweetheart, since your own dear lips told me so, do you suppose that I have been happy day or night away from you ? And your love bas given me courage, Mark, for I am a sad coward. Had I not fled in tbe night Uke [this from home, I don't think I should ever have been brave enough to break it [all off; but now it is done. I have written to papa. I shall go to Bella and stay with her a few months, and when we meet again, Mark, you will know that I am a free woman." My lover took my bands — tbe hands I had laid upon his — and pressed them passionately to bis lips. " Husb ! " he said, in a hoarse, choked voice, " do not torture me. Oh ! my darling, how am I to teU you ? Did you not guess it when we parted with such agony under the apple-trees ? Did you not see that I meant to say to you, ' We must say farewell for ever; marry your rich man wbo'wiU be good to you ; make yourself bappy with him, and forget me ? ' Did you not see that it was an eternal parting between us ?

Do you suppose, love, that your engagement to a man you did not love was all that stood between us ? Did you think that so frail a barrier would have kept me from you, so slender a chain not have been easily snapped ? Ob, my love, what does your being free or bound matter, since that which stands irrevocably between us — stands there stiU like tbe angel with tbe flaming sword to keep us from our paradise ? Oh, Freda, my love, my darling, you may be free ; but I am bound, helplessly and hopelessly." Whilst he spoke, a terrible presentiment of untold evil came upon me. My knees trembled, my heart turned sick and cold within me. " Tell me, for Heaven's sake, what you mean ! " I faltered. " I am married." The dingy room, tbe windows, tbe horse hair chairs and sofa, the common-looking prints upon tbe walls, tbe dusty gas cban deUer overhead, all swam and danced for one minute in a wild confusion before my eyes, and then I sank down huddled up upon the floor with my bead prone upon tbe faded carpet and remembered nothing more.

Chapter II

mark's story. " Judge me, ye powers ; let Fortune tempt or frown, I stand prepared, my honour is my own." ■ — Lansdown.

CHAPTER II

mark's story. When I awoke to life, after that short swoon, I awoke to find my bead pillowed upon Mark Tbistleby's breast, whilst he alternately sprinkled cold water upon my face, and showered down kisses upon my unconscious lips. For a moment I remembered nothing — and could not tbink bow I came to be in so strange and yet so pleasant a position. Then all at once tbe memory of bis words came back with a sharp, stabbing pain into my mind — " I am married,'' be had said ! I shrank shudderingly away out of bis arms, and, rejecting bis help, raised myself with difficulty on to a chair. I think my face must have been as nearly as white as when I lay senseless and helpless upon tbe floor. "I am better, thanks," I murmured. " Tell me, now, everything." " You are not strong enough." "Yes, yes," I interrupted, impatiently; " teU me at once everything there is to know."

So Mark Thistleby, sitting down opposite me on tbe further side of tbe bare, desolate little sitting-room, told me then and there tbe story of bis life's mistake. I will let it stand in bis own words. " It was ten years ago, Freda, when I was quite a youngster, and bad only joined tbe army a few months, that I was sent to the depot of my regiment — to a little station on the west coast of Ireland. There is Uttle to do ever at a depot, and less than ever if it happens to be at sucb a desolate place as this was. There was not a decent sized town within an hour by rail, and not an educated inhabitant within twenty miles. There was no sport beyond a little sea fish ing, and no occupation of any sort or kind for us three fellows who were exiled there, besides smoking and idling away our time. Perhaps it was only natural that I should have got into some sort of mischief, especi ally as my two fellow officers in this lonely place were both older than myself, and were great friends, so that they were very much together, whilst I was consequently left a good deal to myself, and spent most of my time alone.

" I used to take long solitary walks along the shore. One day when I was walking on tbe sands at low tide, in a wild, lovely bay, about four miles from borne, I saw a young girl picking her way across the brown rocksleft bare by the tide. The rocks were covered with seaweed and very slippery, and tbe girl stumbled and nearly fell. I hurried forward to her assistance, vol. II. and helped her to gain tbe firmer footing of the flat, yellow sands. " She was quite young and very pretty, after the true Irish type, dark-haired and blue-eyed, and with a -pretty, sby, wUd fawn manner which completely captivated me. I found that she lived with her sister, who was many years older than herself, in a little cottage which she pointed out to me high up in a cleft of tbe wild biUs which came down abruptly to the edge of tbe sea.

"They were the daughters of a gentle man — a navy captain long retired from tbe service, and who bad died a few years previously. But although a lady by birth and in appearance, my Uttle Irish girlbad had few or no advantages of education ; she bad spent aU her life in that seaside cot tage, and her sister, of whom, apparently, she stood in considerable awe, bad been ber sole instructress. She was like a wild flower of ber native hills, utterly untaught and untrained, with no ideas beyond her narrow life, and with absolutely no know ledge whatever of tbe world and its ways. But an impressionable young fellow of one and-twenty is blind to these disadvantages in a young and lovely girl. When she looked at me with her deep blue eyes, I forgot that there was not much meaning in them beyond a certain puzzled wonder ; when ber pretty lips parted, I forgave them tbe sillinesses they generally uttered ; and when ber little head was pillowed on my shoulder, I did not remember that it was as ignorant and as empty as those of tbe yellow sea poppies wbicb covered the cliffs over our beads.

For it came to that at last ; we used to meet daily upon tbe sands, and sit there for hours love-making, like tbe couple of young fools that we were, without a thought of what it was all to lead to. 22* " From first to last I was intensely foolish about tbe whole business. To begin with, I refused to make tbe acquaintance of tbe sister. I saw ber once at a distance ; she looked stern and bard-featured, and I had an uneasy consciousness that sbe would not regard these pleasant tete-a-tetes upon the sands with a friendly eye. Sbe would want to know my intentions, and I bad no intentions. How could a younger son, Uv ing with difficulty upon bis pay and upon the small sum allowed him by bis father, be supposed to have any intentions? I did not want to marry my little love. Fancy my father's face had I announced sucb a thing ! neither did I wish to be awakened out of my fool's paradise.

So I per suaded ber to go on meeting me on the sly, and I would not let her introduce me to ber sister. "Tbings went on drifting like this for some months, and then at last even I felt tbat something must be done. The girl was now absolutely devoted to me ; she was ready to follow me to tbe world's end. It became clear to me tbat I must either marry her or turn my back resolutely upon ber for ever ; for I must do myself the jus tice to say tbat, foolish and blameable as I was, no thought of any other less honour able course of action towards ber ever entered into my brain. Tbe man would have been a brute indeed, who could have harboured any thought of wrong towards one so young and so guilelessly confiding. No, it was either marriage or flight, wbicb presented a conflicting alternative to my conscience.

I had not tbe heart to leave ber, and I bad not tbe courage to marry ber openly. I took a middle course, and married her secretly. One other folly I bad committed, tbat of concealing my real name from ber. I was so afraid of my father bearing of my love-making, tbat I took this perfectly siUy and needless precaution. I obtained three days' leave without much difficulty, and I gave myself a fictitious name, and under tbat name I married ber ; meeting ber at a little solitary church far up among tbe hUls, where, by a strong bribe, I induced a very poor old priest to marry us according to tbe rites of the Roman Catholic Cburcb, and to ask no inconvenient questions. For tbe next two days I lived at tbe little vdlage inn close to her cottage, and wandered with ber all day upon tbe deserted sands.

Then I bad to go back to my work. We parted with tears upon tbe lonely shore, and, Freda — I have never seen ber again ! "When I got back to tbe barracks, I found a telegram from my mother, telling me to come home at once as my father bad had a paralytic seizure. I sent a note to my bride by a small village boy whom I have good reason to suspect never delivered it, and I started for England tbat night. " My father was desperately ill for six weeks before be died, and a day or two after his funeral, as soon as ever I could be spared, I went back in hot baste to Ireland. All tbe time I bad been away I bad not dared to write to my little wife, but now I was determined to own ber boldly, and to bring ber borne to my mother, and throw myself and her upon her mercy and com passion. I did not believe my mother would refuse us ber forgiveness.

But when I got back to the sheltered bay on tbe wUd Irish coast where I bad so often met ber, I waited in vain at our trysting place, where I bad told her to come every day at a certain bour until I returned to ber. " Lonely and sick at heart, I cUmbed tbe steep path to tbe cottage, and you may imagine my dismay when I found it empty and dismantled. Tbe windows were bare and curtainless, and all the furniture bad been taken away. The very garden looked un cared for and desolate. Tbe sisters had ceased to live there. I never could gain any information about them. Why or wherefore they left, and where they bad gone to, has for ever remained a mystery to me. At first I was in despair. I made every possible enquiry in tbe neighbour hood, and advertised in aU the local papers. " I came to the conclusion, at last, tbat sbe had become impatient and unhappy at my long absence, and bad confided her story to ber sister, and that both together bad gone to England, and were trying to trace me out there ; but the fact of ber being in ignorance of my real name placed an insuperable difficulty in tbe way of her finding me.

" Time went on, and I heard nothing of her ; and by degrees my first grief abated, and insensibly I relaxed the energy of my efforts at finding ber. Then suddenly I was ordered to join my regiment in India. Fresh scenes and interests served to drive the past more and more out of my memory, tiU at last those short six months upon the Irish coast became only like a dim dream to me ; and it seemed to me as though my lovemaking and marriage bad never existed. " Until I met you, Freda, until I learnt to love you as I have loved no other woman, I give you my word that I bad almost forgotten that I was a married man. I never meant you to know it. I meant you to think, if you could, that it was your engagement to Mr. Curtis which stood between us, and yet I could not bear you to think that I bad behaved badly to you.

But now that you have given up all for me — tbat you are ready to give yourself to me — I am bound to teU you why it is tbat I dare not take tbe dear gift which you bold out to me. For your own sake, my dar ling, I dare not take your love — not until I know for certain whether or no my poor little bride is stiU alive." - sk -

Chapter III. Telegrams

" When one is past, another care we have ; Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave." — Heerick.

CHAPTER DI. TELEGRAMS.

I listened in silence to tbe end, and then my face sank down into my hands, whilst a low moan of pain escaped me. So it was all at an end ! — all my dreams, my hopes of happiness, aU that a woman looks for to make up the joy of life ! I must give it all up ! Even tbe dreaming was now forbidden to me ; there was nothing in tbe future for me but colourless despair. And Captain Thistleby must find his wife ; for tbat sbe was dead, as be seemed — God forgive him ! — to hope, never for one instant entered into my calculation. Why should sbe be dead ? She had been young, Land strong, and vigorous ; there could be no reasoD why death should have claimed ber. Somewhere, I felt very sure, sbe still Uved ; and where tbat " some where " was, it was undoubtedly Captain Tbistleby's duty to discover. " You are not angry with me ?

" be said, wistfully, after some minutes. " Will you not forgive me, Freda ? " " There is nothing to forgive," I an swered, drearily. " You could not help it, I suppose ? " " I did not think of it when I first met you," be answered. " I have never spoken of my marriage, no one knows it. Bella would be as much surprised as you are ; sbe has never had the slightest idea of it. It aU happened so long ago, long before sbe married my brother. There has never seemed any occasion for teUing my story to any one. I have flirted and made love to dozens of women, but I have never done so seriously until I met you. When first I saw you, I never imagined tbat our rela- TELEGRAMS. 31 tions towards each other would have any other depth or significance on either side than an ordinary flirtation, such as I have passed through unscathed and unscathing many a time.

But after a time, when I met you again at Eddington, I found out tbat this was a very different case. I leave you to judge of tbe misery I suffered, when I began to realise bow far beyond my reach you were. And there was a time when tbe temptation to ignore that miserable mistake of my youth, and to let tbe secret of my wretched past, which no one knew but myself, remain for ever buried in my own heart — to woo you and to win you, for myself boldly — was almost too strong for me. Indeed, I came to Eddington, mad with jealousy and despair, with no other intention. And then I thought — I thought bow terrible it would be if you ever came to know the truth after, when it would be too late. And I loved you too well, darling, to do you so cruel a wrong, and so I left you." My noble-hearted lover! bow dear be seemed to me, whilst be told me so simply tbe story of his love, and of bis resistance of the overpowering temptation which bad assailed him, and to which I -beUeve nine men out of ten would have succumbed.

I bad never loved him so well as now, and yet my love was no longer a glory, but a shame. I could never more own to it, nor confess it. Henceforth it must remain for ever hidden and concealed. I rose and held out my band to him " Thank you," I said. " I honour and respect you above all living men, and I can never cease to be grateful to you you for your unselfish goodness. But you and I, Mark, must henceforth become strangers to each other. I will ask you to take me to Bella's house, and then I will say good-bye to you, and it must be for ever." TELEGRAMS. 33 He did not attempt to contradict me. He rang the bell, paid the bill, and ordered a cab. As we came together out of the door of the httle hotel, a victoria was driving slowly by with a lady inside it. Captain Tbistleby suddenly put out his hand and pulled me back into tbe shadow of the doorway.

" It is Clara Featherstone ! " he said. " I hope to goodness she did not see you." " I don't see why it should matter if sbe did," I answered, somewhat proudly. " Sbe is tbe most spiteful and venomous tongued woman in England," answered Mark, as be put me into tbe cab. " She would do you a mischief if she could ; but I don't think sbe saw us, ber bead did not turn towards us in tbe least." But Mrs. Featherstone bad seen us both perfectly, as I was afterwards to discover to my cost. We reached Chester Square after a drive vol. ii. of almost absolute silence between us. No sooner had the housemaid who bad been left in charge of the house caught sight of me, than sbe flew back into the ball, and brought out two of those fatal coloured telegraphic envelopes in her band. " Oh ! Miss, I am so glad you've come," sbe exclaimed.