Justitia, or the Result of Obstinacy

Preface

. In case any one should be inclined to doubt the possi bility of the existence of snch a mother as Mrs. Verning, it will be well to state that the greater part of this story is perfectly true, and the characters are taken from life. The story has been written for the sole purpose of bringing before the public one particular case out of thousands, of what I consider to be the greatest sin of modern civilisation. G. H. M. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. ON THE LAKE 11 II. LADY BERKLEY AT HOME .... 19 III. SPA 30 IV. AN INTERVIEW 40 V. AND AFTERWARD 46 VI. FATHER GUILLARD 62 VII. THE JOURNEY 81 VIII. THE STORM 103 IX. AND ITS SEQUEL 112 X. CHATTER 121 XI. A VISIT TO ME. DONERo's HOUSE . . .132 XII. CHURCH-TIME 146 XHI. THE CLIMAX 158 XIV. THE RESULT . 163 XV. FINALE JUSTITIA, OK THE RESULT OF OBSTINACY.

Chapter I. On The Lake

'Twas on one of those lovely afternoons that are so characteristic in the glorions land of Switzerland, when a deep blue sky everywhere reigns, and the sun pours down its majesty upon the earth, as if it would absorb the souls of human creatures and carry them in pride and thanksgiving to the great Father of all, that Dorothy Verning, her head resting on a pillow at the stern of a little boat floating down the Lake of Lucerne, lay watching in the distance two rocks that seemed to be widening apart from each other as slowly but surely the boat drew nearer and nearer. Her lovely black hair fell softly over her shoulders ; her Greek and classic features gave her more the ap pearance of a goddess than a human being, as, clad in pure white, her chin resting on her hand, she silently watched the beautiful riplets of the blue waters, an expression of dreamy thought and sadness clouding her pensive features.

Near her were the open pages of the celebrated novel " The Murder of Delicia." Dorothy had put it aside, and, regardless of anything else, was thinking of this work. " Oh, how I would like to know the author of that book ! " she sighed. " If only I could do such good to the world as she ! " And at that thought a little tear fell on her cheek, as all the past with its sorrows and pangs came floating into her memory. Yes, Dorothy Verning loved, and was loved ; yet, through the obstinacy of her mother — or " determina tion," as Mrs. Verning was pleased to call it — (who looked to position as the one great object of life, and loved to mingle in the foolishness, and what is more true, wickedness of the nineteenth century, in forbidding her daughter her only happiness for the sake of what Society would think) this sweet and gentle creature was brought day by day nearer to the verge of despair.

Eric Ashton was the one thought of Dorothy's life ; she loved him even as a true woman, and only a true woman can do. ON THE LAKE. 13 She had met him at "Aix" some three years ago, and although herself then only nineteen years of age, and he a youth of twenty, yet fate destined them to be such constant companions, that although they tried to keep it as secret as possible, it was not difficult to observe that they had come to love each other with a love that was sweet and beautiful, as only the love of a soul for soul can be. But Dorothy, without the slightest expectation, since her acquaintance with Eric, had suddenly entered into an immense fortune from her favourite uncle, who quite unexpectedly died, and left all his estate and money to his favourite niece. And Mrs. Verning, after this event, by which her daughter was possessed of a fortune far beyond her anticipation, determined that she should marry a " lord " — as she put it — and would have no nonsense about it.

Eric Ashton, although a rising young author, she declared to be a little " dotty," and openly affirmed she would have none of his petty ways with her. Although he had never spoken of his love to Mrs. Verning, yet people talked and commented upon it, and Society was heard saying that the " little fool " Eric Ashton ought to be jolly glad he had got hold of such a " ripping " girl as Dorothy Verning, and what was more important still, with such an income at her back. Mrs. Verning heard of these and many other remarks, and determined, if possible, and at all costs, to put an end to them. So one day, politely (that is to say, what nineteenth century " ladies " term politely) calling Eric to her, she told him to leave her house, and no more plague her daughter with any of his " drivel " that he was pleased to call " poetry," adding that in the future she hoped he would turn to a more " respectable " profession, and earn his daily living as all gentlemen and sons of honourable parents are in the habit of doing.

So Eric, unconscious of the cause of his banishment, despairing for the loss of Dorothy, half wondering whether he would kill himself or no, confessed all to his father whom he loved, and was sent by that kind and sensible gentleman to Spa in Belgium for " a change of air " (alas ! poor Eric, no change of air could cure his tortured soul), the venerable old man adding with that sweet smile that was so distinguishable in him, that all things would end well, and begging his darling son not to concern himself too much, but to trust always to God, and to leave all things to His sweet protection. But to return to Dorothy. Anger, remorse, and despair seized her soul. Instead of the happy, bright girl of her home, as she had ever been, she became silent, melancholy, pensive — so much so, that even the old gardener, who would come once a week to see that his son was continuing well with his work, remarked, ON THE LAKE. 15 " Well I niver, what a change has come over Miss Dorothy !

" Change ! Yes, change indeed ! Dorothy had been stabbed, her happy days torn from her, and her poor little heart almost rent in twain (a circumstance that frequently happens in this modern pande monium of London). Lord Arthur Roland was Mrs. Verning's choice ; he, she determined, should marry her daughter. Lord Arthur was the son of a peer of the realm, and a member of one of the most distinguished families of England. Mrs. Verning had made his acquaintance at a ball given by one of her friends, and from the moment she saw him, determined he should marry her daughter. To bring this about was no difficult task, for Lord Roland, as may be understood, had no objection to taking as his wife perhaps the most beautiful girl in London, with an income of £30,000 a year! He soon became a constant guest at Mrs. Verning's house, and Dorothy was quickly made to understand her mother's intentions.

Lord Arthur, however, did not inherit any of the genius of his ancestors, but on the contrary was un fortunately known to all his friends and relations as a man who had spent his life in riotous living and luxurious frivolity, and who was incapable of thinking of anything else save his own particular " superiority " over all his brothers on earth ! He was one of those kind of " don'-cher-know " fellows who are so con spicuous " "West," with their frock-coats, tall collars, and " haw-haw " voices ! But in spite of this Mrs. Verning determined that her daughter's money and " her favourite Arthur's " title should be united. And so it happened that this foolish, lazy, drivelling idiot of a man, because he had a " title " at the back of his name, was chosen to become the husband, or more rightly termed the master, of Dorothy Verning.

How many times had Dorothy implored, begged her mother to spare her this torture ! 'Twas useless. Obstinacy had the better part of Mrs. Verning, and she was, as she put it, " determined " to have her own way with her children. This swaggering Roland would talk in his club of what he termed his "beastly luck," and would daily congratulate himself that, after all, there was something in him that he had failed to notice before ; and sarcas tically smiling to himself, he wonld meditate on the amount of money that was shortly destined to be his, at the same time thinking that Dorothy Verning was not half a bad sort of girl, and he would let her have her own way if she only "obeyed" him. Oh, how vile ! that a man should lower himself to snch an extent! ON THE LAKE. I Of course Society talked of this, and at all the Drawing-Rooms Lord Arthur Roland was the topic of conversation.

" Where will he live, my dear ?"..." You know he has nothing of his own." ..." Fine thing for Lady Roland, who, as I heard the other day, is rather hard up." . . . These, and many snch idle speeches, would fill up the time passed at " afternoon teas " and suchlike entertainments. All this Dorothy was thinking of as she floated down the beautiful lake, and tears fell from her eyes as the awful truth dawned upon her — she was engaged ! and about to return to town — to London — for Lord Roland's friend, Lady Berkley's soiree — to leave the glorious mountains, the placid country, and return to — to London ! Ay, she was engaged. Yes, but to one whom' she hated. Then her thoughts flashed to Eric. Where was he ? Perhaps he had killed himself! Oh! what if he should do such a thing ? No ! it was not possible, it could not be !

" Eric ! " she sobbed — and the wild rocks of the lake seemed to take up her cry, the bulrushes shivered, and even the setting sun seemed to pity her, as he sadly smiled and dropped behind the hills, closing one more day on the little life of man. Placing a cloak round her, she then pulled the little boat and soon reached the shore, and, thinking of her return home, which was to be the next day, made her way to the hotel, and — wishing to avoid her mother and Lord Arthur Roland — went straight to her room, which overlooked the lake, and standing on the little balcony she watched the boats go by, and heard the rich organ notes in the cathedral opposite playing the Mass, and holding out her hands she blessed the place she loved — the world — and prayed, ay, one deep prayer for — Eric Ashton.

Chapter II. Lady Berkley At Home

The large and massive drawing-room of Lady Berkley's splendid home was alight with the flash of jewels and the grandeur of riches as Dorothy Verning, her arm in that of Lord Arthur Roland's, entered the spacious apartment. Naturally Dorothy was the principal guest of the evening, and at her entrance many Society ladies and young lords and counts turned their eyes in her direction. Lady Berkley, with her usual courtesy, greeted Dorothy in a manner that was as pleasant and cordial as it was real. " How pleased I am to see you, my dear ! " said Lady Berkley. " And Lord Arthur must, I am sure, feel most proud, knowing how envied he is in the ''choice ' of his beautiful fiancee ! " — an accent on the " choice." To which both Dorothy and Lord Arthur thanked Lady Berkley, assuring her how honoured they felt that she had put off her soiree till their return from Switzerland, and passed on down the centre of the large hall.

" There she is, my dear," said many eager voices. " Yon would not think that she was possessed of such a large fortune, would you ? " " What lovely diamonds she has ! " etc. These and many suchlike whispers were frequent for some time, till a hush seemed to fill the place as a long-haired man known as " Signor Sarena," a great musician, entered, bowing to Lady Berkley as the hostess of the evening. Dorothy felt greatly relieved at the entrance of this professor, the gaze of much of the assembly being diverted from her to the musical genius — a circumstance which she in no small way appreciated. As the evening wore on Dorothy fonnd herself in earnest conversation with a young barrister. " But, Miss Verning," he was saying, " do yon mean to tell me you would not like fame — to have the world speaking of you ?

Come now, I am sure of it." " Ah, Mr. Wilson," sighed Dorothy, " what is fame but a passing cloud that must end ? The only thing worth fame is poetry, and then real poets are above it ! What does it matter what the world thinks ? Look at the so-called great musicians of the day, for example " (a nod in the direction of the eminent professor, who was about to discourse some melodious harmony, whilst swarms of eager admirers were crowding round the grand piano, almost crushing one another in their en deavours to obtain a view of the celebrity), " they live but for the world — for Society — the fame of people, who are constant to nothing. The world never holds to one thing long. Do you not remember what Shakespeare says ? — " ' One foot on land, one foot on sea, To one thing constant never.'" " Oh yes," said the young man, " but that was applied to men, you know."

" That is no matter. Do not men compose the world ? — at least, the world is supposed to be ruled by them ; and yet I often wonder whether they know how to rule themselves ! But, tell me, is there not some great classical genius here to-night ? I thought I heard something about it." " Professor Bonstaff ; do you not know him ? Shall I introduce you ? He will be delighted, I am sure, to have the honour of your acquaintance. He is just about to publish a new Greek Dictionary, you know ; it is the topic of conversation in the educated world." " Really ? " said Dorothy indifferently, the Greek Dic tionary having no special attraction for her. " Why, there he is," said Mr. Wilson, and pointed in the direction of a company of smart young ladies, who seemed absorbed in the conversation of an elderly-looking man with a tremendous forehead and red face.

" Is that he ? " said Dorothy disappointedly ; " dear me, what a very clever-looking man ! " " What a noble forehead ! " said Mr. Wilson. " Exactly," said Dorothy, although secretly she was wondering whether there was anything in it. At this moment, the distinguished individual at the piano commenced a rapid movement in the bass, ran up the keys with extraordinary rapidity, crashed out several chords, then burst into an air that seemed as if he were playing several instruments at the same time, his hands rushing about in the air like a couple of bats, and eventually ended with a tremendous thud in the bass, amidst almost overwhelming applause ! — ladies' fans waved, handkerchiefs floated in the air, several of the younger females almost went on their knees, and all seemed talking to each other, without any one paying the least attention to what the other one said — whilst the distinguished individual, one hand on his heart, continually bowed to the assembly, smiling, looking more like a bear than any resemblance to a human being.

Dorothy, seated at the side of the young barrister, watched this extraordinary scene with a bored expression of contempt and fatigue. " What fools people are ! " she said to herself. " I rather pity the poor man than envy him. How they'll run him down when his back's turned ! " She was, however, distracted from her thoughts by the appearance of her mother in company with Lady Berkley, who brought up several young ladies who wished to have the honour of Dorothy's acquaintance. " This is my daughter," said Mrs. Verning, " the future Lady Roland " (with a smile) ; to which Dorothy bowed, and paid the usual compliments, assuring them hovv pleased she was to see them. " What a marvellous musician ! " began one of the young ladies. " Wonderful," returned Dorothy. " But you did not see him. Oh, the sweet man !

I should just like to hug him ! " At which Dorothy looked absolutely astonished. All this time Lord Roland had not paid any attention to Dorothy (a proceeding which many of the ladies did not fail to remark), but was engrossed in the con servatory before a mirror in company with a vulgar young woman, who in the previous part of the evening had given an exhibition of her singing, and who now proceeded to call him " Dicky " and patted him on his shoulder, congratulating him on his good luck at the fortune that was shortly destined to be his. " But tell me," said the young woman, " you don't really like this Miss Verning, do you ? " Lord Roland pulled his moustache, pouted a little, looked at his empty-headed face in a sort of sleepy way and said, " Well, you know, I shall try to make her a good husband."

" But yon don't love her ? " persisted the young woman. " Well, what do you expect, Nina ? " said Lord Roland. " But what do you think of her ? " " Well, I don't like her " (with a pout). " I envy her too much " (another pout). " Envy her — why ? " " Because she will be Lady Roland " (an accent on the " lady "). " You never asked me to become your wife." " No, but think, when I am married, what presents I shall be able to give you ! " Whereat Nina smiled, evidently thinking of the many little bills she would give " Dicky," as she called him, when he was married — knowing that Dorothy's money would pay for them. " Well," said Lord Roland, " aren't you satisfied with that, my lady ? " " Don't be naughty " (patting him on his shoulder with her fan). " Come, now," said Lord Roland, " we really must go into the drawing-room, or Mrs. Verning will be after me."

Whereat the two re-entered the room, and were soon lost in the crowded assembly. Meanwhile, Dorothy, who had been conversing with one of the yonng ladies her mother introduced her to — a Miss Sharpe — and having heard many pianoforte solos from the distinguished Signor Sarena, which were becoming undoubtedly tedious, had retired with this young lady into one of the two by-rooms separated by a plush curtain in Lady Berkley's splendid hall. " But," said Miss Sharpe, " do you mean to tell me you have never heard of the new book ? " " What new book ? " "Eric Ashton's." Dorothy's heart beat fast. " Eric Ashton's ! No ; when was it published ? " " Only last week. Everybody is talking about it." "No, I have not heard of it ; I suppose being at Switzerland I missed the announcement in the paper. Please go on."

(Little did poor Dorothy know that her mother had forbidden all conversation on the matter.) " It is most wonderful, they say," continued Miss Sharpe. " Have you read it ? " asked Dorothy eagerly. " No, but my brother has. It is very sad, he says — about a young man who loves, but circumstances forbid him having any acquaintance with his young lady." Tears came into Dorothy's eyes. " Poor Eric ! " she sighed. " Bnt yon know the young man, do you not, Miss Verning ? " " Oh, very well. Eric Ashton and I used to be great friends." " And are yon not now ? " " Oh yes ; bnt you see " — here she almost broke down, bnt pulling herself together, continued — " you see, my mother does not like him, and — well, will not have him in the house." " How very strange ! " said Miss Sharpe. " Everybody says how nice he is.

Why, lots of people have told me he is absolutely charming." But at this moment Miss Sharpe was drawn away by the voice of her mother calling for her. " I must go," she said ; " there is my mother calling for me. Good-bye, Miss Verning ; I am so pleased to have met you." " Good-bye." And in another instant Miss Sharpe was gone, leaving Dorothy pale, and thinking deeply. " Everybody is talking about it," kept ringing in her ears. " A young man who loves, but circumstances for bid him having any acquaintance with his young lady ! " She looked very beautiful as she sat there, her head resting on the pillow of an easy chair, half-dreaming, forgetful of the company and the world, save Eric Ashton. "I must read that book," she said to herself. "Poor Eric ! " and a little tear fell from her cheek as she wondered if, in the six months that had separated them since her engagement to Lord Roland, he had changed at all.

" Poor, dear Eric ! " she sighed, " I must see him. I will buy the book and send him a letter ; perhaps old Bob the butler will post it for me, or I can do it myself. A letter is a poor present, but he will love it. Oh, how I would like to give myself to him I " She was awakened from her reverie by the voice of her fiance at the other side of the plush curtain that separated the two rooms from each other. " I tell you I love you," he was saying. " Oh, Dicky," put in Nina, " how can you be so silly ? What of Miss Verning ? " " She — I only want her money ; that's all. Oh, do not despise me, Nina, though our acquaintance to each other has been what it has been ; yet I tell you I love you." Dorothy listened, the colour going and coming to her face, as if she were undergoing some terrible emotion.

" As to Dorothy," continued Lord Roland, " well, that doesn't matter. I shall only be married in a sort of political way to her." " Hush, Dicky ! " said Nina. " How can you talk like that! You might have some pity for the poor girl." Dorothy, with a beating heart, almost beside herself, felt spellbound, and listened without a word. " Pity ! Well, you see, the mother is such a fool. Just because I have a title at the back of me she's putting the thirty thousand a-year daughter of hers in my hands, and I'm not such an idiot as to reject her. Eh, Nina ? " Here a laugh ensued, followed by a kiss. " No ; you must not do that," said Nina. " Supposing any one should come in. And besides, you men always say the same thing — you love to kiss girls." Dorothy, one hand on the curtain, a look of defiance in her eyes, stood ready to tear it aside.

" Nina, how stupid you are ! Nobody will come in. I tell you I love you," continued Lord Roland. " I'll give you anything you want — come now. Dorothy's money shall pay for it. Ha ! ha I ha ! " And here he smacked his knee in joyful anticipation of the thirty thousand a year. " Then if that is so, give me a diamond brooch with the name of " This sentence was never finished, for with one pull of the curtain Dorothy tore it aside and stood before them. " Yon ! " she began, turning to her fiance. " Is that the way you speak of me ? You only want my money ! Yon shall never have it ! I have heard all you have said ! My mother will hate you when she knows the truth ! No, Lord Roland, Dorothy Verning shall never be your wife ! Coward, to talk of a woman like that ! I hate you ! " And with these words she swept past them, her beautiful eyes flashing in her rage.

On reaching the hall she went quickly to the dressing room, put on her cloak, and, ringing the bell, ordered a cab — to the great astonishment of the " boy in buttons," who was accustomed to think " Miss Verning " much too swagger for a cab — and, without waiting for her mother, drove straight home. Once in her room, she flung herself on the bed and sobbed out her wrecked heart, and in her agony cried, " I will not marry him ! I will not ! Liar ! coward ! thief ! Sooner than marry him I will kill myself ! "

Chapter III. Spa

The beautiful month of June, with the lilies and forget me-nots, and the deep blue colour of the sky, made the little town of Spa even more attractive than perhaps at any other period of the year. It was one of those cool, lovely nights that generally follow the excessive heat of the day, and that the pretty little park, alive with the gaiety of individuals of all nationalities, seemed even more attractive by the addition of Chinese lanterns and various coloured lights that shone among the branches of the proud and stately trees, which are the admiration of visitors as well as the inhabitants of the vicinity. Many people were seated : some taking refreshment, others talking eagerly, and others again listening with earnest admiration to the strains of the beautiful music issuing from the celebrated orchestra, that every night in the season entertains the visitors, and which, no doubt, is perhaps the chief of the many attractions of this fascinating little town.

SPA, Two or three pieces of the programme were already finished, and another was about to commence, when two individuals passed through the gangway and entered the park. The younger of the two had his arm in that of the elder, and both appeared to be in earnest conversation. At their entrance many people turned and whispered, and some even rose to greet them ; but the two passed on without noticing any of these attentions, seeming lost in each other's company. They walked up and down for some time, till at length the elder of the two said, — " Let us sit here ; we can see the people," and pulling a table to him called a waiter and ordered two cups of coffee. The younger assented without a word, and taking a seat placed his arm on the table, leaned his chin on his hand, sighed, and seemed lost in a dream of silent far off thought.

"You are not well to-day," said the elder. "I told you not to come here to-night." The younger turned his head slowly, and said, — " Well, I couldn't stay any longer in the house : besides, I want to hear the music, it is so lovely ! " " Yes, but it makes you sad," returned the elder. "Since Dorothy was taken from me I have never been anything else." " Hush ! You must not think of that time ; you are much stronger now and nearly your old self again. Come, cheer up — take some coffee." The last remark being said at the appearance of the extraordinary little waiter, who, with a singularly satis fied air, peculiar to himself, having placed the coffee on the table, remarked, — " Le cafe" est pret, monsieur. Un franc, s'il vous plait." The elder gentleman then paid the necessary sum, and the little waiter retired, bowing low for the extra cinquante centimes bestowed upon him by the generous stranger.

The stranger then curled his long, fair, handsome moustache, sipped his coffee, and remarked, — " Why, Eric, they are playing your favourite piece." Eric had no need of telling. Already the tears were in his eyes, as the beautiful orchestra played to the warm summer night the ever superb music of Gounod's Faust. He had heard it with Dorothy at Paris. How happy he had been that night ! and now the remembrance came back to him. It was awful — insupportable ! He almost screamed for the orchestra to stop. " I cannot — no, I cannot bear it ! " he moaned. " Dorothy ! Dorothy ! " and then fell almost lifeless across the table. SPA. All this had happened so quickly that the elder gentleman had hardly had time to perceive the younger one's emotion before he observed his head sink down. It was lucky they were a little way apart from the crowded aristocracy, else no doubt great confusion would have prevailed.