A Ruined Life

Front matter

DIGBY'S POPULAR NOVEL SERIES In Crown Zvo, Handsome Cloth, Price 2 '6 each. A HIDDEN CHAIN. By Dora Russell, Author of ' Footprints in the Snow,' ' The Other Bond,' etc. (Second Edition.) THE MYSTERY OF CLEMENT DUN- RAVEN. By Jean Middlemass, Author of ' A Girl in a Thousand,' etc, etc. (Second Edition.) DR JANET OF HARLEY STREET. By Dr Arabella Kenealy, Author of ' Molly and Her Man-o'-War,' etc. With Portrait. (Seventh Edition.) THE JOLLY ROGER. By Hume Nisbet, Author of ' Bail Up,' ' Her Loving Slave,' etc. With Illustrations by the Author. (Fifth Edition?) *** Other Works in same Series in due course. DIGBY, LONG & CO., LONDON BY EMILY ST. CLAIRE LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. CONTENTS r__r. PiGE I. — NEW TEAK'S EVE, ..... 1 II. — A FRIEND, ..... 33 III. — ERNEST HEATH, ..... 41 IV. — A PRESENTIMENT OF EVIL, ... 50 V. — UNREST, ...... 62 VI. — THE SHADOW OF DEATH, .... 67 VII. — MOTHER AND SON, .... 83 VIII. — AUF WIEDERSEHEN, ... 95 IX. — MRS. CARLTON, ..... 108 X. — AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, . . . 124 XI. — MRS. heath's DREAM, .... 136 XII. — ERNEST IS PUZZLED, .... 157 XIII. — LEAVES FROM HELENE's DIARY, . . . 171 XIV. — OLD MRS. HEATH HAS SOMETHING TO SAT, . 179 XV. — HELENE RECOUNTS HER HISTORY, . . 194 XVI. — A NEW HOME, ..... 231 XVII.— FOUND 240 XVIII.— FADING, ...... 247 XIX.— SAD NEWS, ..... 254 XX.— PARTING, ......

Chapter I. New Tear's Eve

" Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying clouds, the frosty light ; The year is dying in the night ; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die ! " Tenntson. A small house, situated in a fashionable part of London, and scarcely five minutes' walk from Hyde Park. Lights gleamed from every window, and several well-appointed broughams were drawn up before the door. Dinner was almost over, and below stairs the excitement was beginning to subside. The cook, tired and hot, but in high good humour — for all had gone well — doffed his cap and apron, and, issuing orders right and left to his subordinates, with a view to his own especial comfort, prepared to enjoy himself for the remainder of the evening. A In the dining-room, a lady and several gentlemen were seated at table. Shaded lamps, placed here and there, diffused a rosy light around, and softened down the glare of a large chandelier.

Flowers were scattered about in reckless profusion, the air was heavy with their fragrance, while rich hangings and curtains of silk and plush shut out draughts and deadened all sounds from the outer world. Lord B., who was seated at the head of the table, was a remarkably handsome man, about thirty years of age, with bold, regular features, dark, curling hair, and large, sleepy-looking, brown eyes. On his right sat a woman possessed of extra ordinary beauty, a blonde of magnificent physique, classical features and fair, shining hair, which was gathered in a loose knot at^the back of her small, well-shaped head ; her eyes were grey, and in certain lights appeared almost black. A perfectly fitting dress of creme brocade, cut square in the neck and trimmed with rare lace, displayed her fine figure to advantage.

When addressed she answered in monosyllables, and when left to herself seemed to pay but little attention to the conversation going on, but sat staring blankly before her, heedless of the stealthy glances that were from time to time cast in her direction. That there was something unusual in her present mood seemed evident, and Lord B., after favouring her with a look of particular scrutiny, shrugged his shoulders and lifted his eyebrows, his sole answer to the questioning regards of his guests. The gentlemen, with one exception, drank deeply, and were inclined to get merry and boisterous. Sir Edward Hargrave, Lord B.'s particular friend and crony, sat on his left. Sir Edward was a fair, rather good-looking man, between thirty-five and forty years of age, broad chested, with a thick, short, red neck, keen grey eyes, and a long, tawny moustache, which he stroked and pulled continually.

Whenever he raised his glass to his lips — which was seldom — he glanced across the table and looked, or tried to look, steadily into the eyes of his fair vis-a-vis. These long regards met with no response ; the lady returned the look with in difference, betraying only by a slight curl of the lip that she observed it. Finding their witty remarks and brilliant sallies unheeded, the gentlemen had gradually relapsed, into gloomy silence. " Come, my child," said Lord B., turning to his fair neighbour after an embarrassing pause, " drink, it will help to drive away the blues. " For there's nought can cheer the hearts that pine, Like a deep, deep draught, etc., etc." The foaming glass is pushed back untasted. Lord B. frowns darkly, while the lady, drawing a richly-embroidered cloak about her shoulders, rises slowly from her seat and sweeps majestically out of the room.

The gentlemen look at each other, and mindful of their frowning; host, take care that their remarks are not overheard. Left alone, they begin to enjoy themselves for the first time that evening. Lord B. calls his confidential friend and companion to account for his sombre mood and lack of appetite, while young Carrington, a pretty boy with dark blue eyes and chestnut curls, looks wistfully to wards the door. " Well ! " said Lord B., raising his glass and turning to a pale, dissipated-looking young man about twenty-five years of age, who, having spent his own fortune, is about to marry a rich cousin a good deal older than himself, " here's to the fair Miss Crœsus ! may you be happy, my boy ! " The boy, who is pretty far gone already, drains his glass feverishly. " I'm sure I ought to be happy," he says with a sigh ; " she was awfully good to me when I was a little chap in frocks and pinafores, used to take me on her lap and give me sweets and things, and kiss me and call me an angel."

The men laugh loudly, and as they put their heads together, the word " fool " is distinctly audible. "Not such a fool as he looks," says Sir Edward, pulling his red moustache and glancing at the bridegroom in prospective, who is filling his glass and letting the wine run over on the table-cloth. " I remember once trying very hard to propose to an elderly spinster," says Lord B. " She was rich and I was awfully in debt at the time. The lady happened to be our guest, and I thought it a splendid opportunity. I had taken a good deal of refreshment, more than I was aware of, perhaps, and I know that for hours I followed her about from one room to another, waiting my chance. At last it came, and I found myself alone with her in the drawing-room. She began to play one of Beethoven's sonatas, and, glad of a respite, I threw myself down on a chair, and, fixing my eyes on her back hair, watched the diamonds twinkling among the plaits.

She wore a marvellously tight-fitting dress, and I remember wondering how she ever got into it, and wishing she were not quite so thin — after all, a few pounds of flesh more or less, what did it matter ? and from the back she really looked quite nice. I thought of her enormous fortune and the awful trouble it was to get a few pounds from the governor. I bent forward and was about to whisper her name, when she looked round and smiled. A cold perspiration broke out on my forehead. I begged her to excuse me for a moment, and rushed away to my room. It was November and bitterly cold. I opened the window and door and, sitting down in a strong draught, told my man to fetch me a little something to steady my nerves. He stood looking on respectfully while I emptied and filled my glass ; if he had shown the slightest symptom of surprise I should have thrown him downstairs, but he never moved a muscle. ' Did I feel equal to going down again, or would I like to rest for a little while ? ' he inquired.

I had been staring at the wall for some little time, but I suddenly pulled myself together and descended once more to the drawing-room. It's neck or nothing now, I thought. My lady was reclining on the couch, reading ; I felt my courage going, and knew there was no time to lose. I sat down by her side, and fixing my eyes upon her face, endeavoured to call up a look expressive of love and intense admiration. My countenance must speak, for I could not. There must have been something wrong in the look I gave her ; my'features could not have been under proper control, for she started up and made for the door ; and just as she reached it, my respected parent entered. Although in a disturbed state of mind, I was perfectly conscious that I had but one father — and even he was too much for me sometimes — but at that moment I could have sworn I saw two.

I was speechless, and could only sit staring at him. He soon settled the matter by ordering me to leave the room, and asked me how I dared insult his guests by appearing before them in such a condition. He was furious. I retired to my unhappy couch, feeling like a miserable wretch who, after having made up his mind to have a tooth drawn, finds the dentist out. I had gone through all that agony for nothing, worse than nothing, for I awoke next morning with a headache that made me wish myself in the grave. I have never seen the lady since." All laughed except the engaged man, who looked as steadily as his condition permitted at the speaker. Perhaps he saw two offenders instead of one ; anyhow, he dropped his eyes and filled his glass without uttering a word. " What's the matter with you to-night ?

" inquires Lord B., his good humour vanishing as he turns to his friend. " Are you in love, or have you the blues ? Perhaps you are in a hurry to get upstairs ? If there is one thing I hate more than another " — raising his voice and striking the table with his fist — " it is to see a man sober and observant when all his companions are drunk." Sir Edwards flushes and curls his lip sneeringly. " I do not see why I should make a beast of myself to please other people," he says quietly. " I know when I have had enough." Lord B. tilts back his chair, and pulls and drags savagely at his moustache. The clock on the mantelpiece strikes nine. A fierce gust of wind sweeps round the house, rattling the doors and well-guarded windows. " The old year is dying hard," remarks one of the guests. " Let us drink to the new one, it will soon be here."

The men fill and empty their glasses, wish ing each other luck and a better year than the last. The clamour of voices and loud peals of laughter — occasioned by one of the party getting up to make a speech, and sitting down again after a solemn pause without having uttered a word — ascends to the drawing-room and disturbs its sole occupant. The lady, who is seated in a low chair drawn up close to the fire, throws down the book she has been reading, and with an exclamation of impatience rises and begins to pace the room. She pauses once before a tall glass, and stands for some moments gazing earnestly at the face and form reflected there. Pushing the fair, shining hair fiercely back from her smooth, white forehead, she views herself coldly and critically as one would look at a stranger, then turning away with a bitter smile, she resumes her seat and, fixing her eyes on the glowing embers, falls into deep thought.

The voices grow louder, the laughter more boister ous, and as if the noise in her present nervous and excited frame of mind is more than she can bear, she places herself before the piano and strikes a few chords. She touches the instrument with skilled and loving fingers; the harmony acts like magic, it calms her passion and chases the frown from her brow ; as she plays the door opens softly and, before she is aware of it, the gentlemen are in the room. They crowd round her with com pliments and expressions of admiration. Without paying the slightest attention to their earnest en treaties for a little more music, she abruptly quits the piano and, resuming her place in the low chair before the fire, turns to the handsome boy with the chestnut curls who is standing near her. She motions him to take a seat by her side and, blushing crimson with pleasure, he complies.

They converse for some little time — about music principally — and rising presently, in obedience to the wish of his fair companion, who has been endeavouring to recall a certain air, he sits down at the piano and begins to play an old German melody, simple but marvellously sweet and beautiful. It brings tears into the eyes of the woman, who leans proudly and wearily back in her chair, casting cold, contemptuous looks about her from time to time. Her bosom heaves and she bites her lips fiercely. Sir Edward Hargrave, who has been watching her narrowly, leaves his seat and comes slowly towards her chair. Lord B., who has been con versing with two or three men at the other end of the room, follows his friend's movements, and Sir Edward, finding himself observed, begins idly turning over the leaves of a book of engravings.

" A charming face," he observes in a low tone, calling attention to the portrait of a celebrated actress ; then dexterously slipping a note between the leaves, he looks up meaningly, and closing the book, walks away to another part of the room. When a storm is brewing, men and beasts grow restless and uneasy ; something lurking in the at mosphere must have had a disquieting influence upon the guests, for they begin to fidget on their chairs and consult their watches. Some of the younger men would have liked to stay, but receiv ing no encouragement to do so, they prepare to take leave. Sir Edward removes his hand from Lord B.'s shoulder, and advancing smilingly, and in evident good humour, towards the occupant of the low chair, bids the lady good-night. She has taken the book from the table, and is carelessly turning over the leaves.

" Sir Edward ! " He turns back sharply. " Is this note for me ? " holding it up, and there by attracting the attention of every man in the room, "or did you merely place it here to mark the page ? " Sir Edward turns pale to the lips, and stretches out his hand towards the missive ; he has scarcely grasped it when Lord B., white with rage, springs forward and arrests his arm. For an instant the two men stand panting and glaring at each other, their eyes flashing with hate and anger ; the letter falls to the floor, and a fierce struggle ensues — chairs are overthrown, and the men crowd round and try in vain to separate the combatants. " Come ! " says the youth with the chestnut curls, excitedly forcing his way to the fair cause of all the mischief, and giving her his arm, " this is no place for you."

He opens the door quickly for her to pass out, watches her as she ascends the stairs until she is out of sight, and returns to the scene of con tention. The clamour of voices raised high in angry alter cation gradually subsides ; men descend the stairs with lagging, uncertain footsteps ; doors open and shut ; broughams roll away, and presently the house is still. Pale and dishevelled, Lord B. re-enters the dining-room, helps himself to another glass or two of wine, straightens his tie, and with reluctant steps, and an injured air, makes his way upstairs. The door of a small apartment, above the drawing-room, stands wide open ; it is exquisitely furnished ; valuable pictures adorn the walls ; the hangings are of pale blue satin, and couches and chairs are draped with the same material ; wax candles and a shaded silver lamp diffuse a soft light over the room.

Close to the couch is a large stand filled with flowers, and the air is impregnated with their delicious perfume. A bright fire is blazing on the hearth, and the atmosphere is almost tropical. Lord B. pauses for an instant on the threshold, and enters. " Well ! " addressing the lady who reclines on a couch, weariness and disgust expressed in every line of her countenance, " have you nothing to say ? or has the task of entertaining your guests been too much for you ? " " My guests ? " she answers, shrugging her shoulders and turning her large eyes full upon his face ; " they came at your invitation ; they are your friends, not mine. I have nothing to do with them." " Friends — yes," he says, savagely pulling and twisting his moustache. "A nice specimen of friendship I have had this evening.

D — n that fellow's impudence ! I am sorry I introduced him to you ; I must have been a fool to let him come here." " You put too much confidence in your fellow beings, I'm afraid," she says, closing her eyes wearily, as if tired of the subject. " With a little more courage, any of the other men would have served you the same." " Is that your experience ? " " Yes," she answers simply. Lord B. bites his lip. " And yet you never told me anything of the kind," he resumes after a short silence. " It would have been of no use. Your old friends " — with a scornful emphasis on the word friends — " know me now and have ceased to trouble me, and after quarrelling with them you would have brought new ones, and I should only have had the same annoyance to go through over again." " Surely my friends are not all blackguards."

" Perhaps not," she answers with another shrug of the shoulders. " I'm only speaking of those who come here." Lord B. colours and commences to pace up and down the room, blessing the whole world, and his false friend, Sir Edward, in particular. " Come, my child ! " he says presently, growing somewhat calmer, " let us change the subject. I see you are not well to-night — you have eaten nothing ; let me order up some champagne." " No, thank you." Lord B. consults his watch, " By Jove ! " he exclaims, " it is later than I thought, and I must be off by eight o'clock to morrow morning." " One moment, Arthur," laying a detaining hand upon his arm. " Sit down, I have something to say to you." Lord B. resumes his seat with a frown and the air of one who knows that something unpleasant is coming. "You remember the conversation which took place between us a few days ago," she says, looking earnestly and fixedly into his face.

" I want you thoroughly to understand that I meant every word I said on that occasion, and I hold to it now. When you return from abroad I shall have passed out of your life for ever, and I hope we shall never meet again. I have sinned deeply, but as God hears me, I have had no moment of happiness. I would not wish my bitterest enemy to suffer as I have suffered. I do not reproach you ; it is too late for that now. Let us bid each other good bye. I wish you no evil." Lord B. drops his eyes ; he looks half ashamed, half angry, and takes refuge in a sullen silence. " You will have no trouble about the house," she continues. " The servants will remain until all is in order, and your lawyer can manage the rest. These things" — touching the gems glittering on her breast and arms — "I shall send to your banker, as you refuse to take them back."

"Nonsense, my child," he says. "Don't be a fool — be more like other women — get all you can, and keep it." " You have heard my decision," she says quietly, " and I shall not change it." " They might come in very useful some day ; even if you don't care to wear them. At any rate I shall keep them for you ; you can write to me if you want anything. But seriously, my child, before you decide on running away, think the matter over. I shall never care for any other woman, and if I have failed to keep my promise to you, the fault rests with my infernal relations, not with me. If my — " " Hush ! " she says, laying her hand upon his arm and rising from her couch, " enough has been said. It is late, let us bid each other good-night and good-bye." Lord B. takes the small white hand within his own, and fixes his eyes on the beautiful face of the woman standing before him.

"You will come back to me in less than six months," he says. She withdraws her hand from his grasp, and placing it on the back of a chair, straightens herself haughtily, as if waiting for him to be gone. Instead of taking his departure, Lord B. begins to pace the room. " I hate leaving you like this," he says, pausing suddenly in his march. " Have you any wish ? Is there anything I can do for you ? " She lifts her eyes to his face. " Nothing," she answers, regarding him stead fastly. " I wish you were more like other women," he continues, growing restless and uncomfortable under her look. " Heiene ! I have never been able to understand you." She shrugs her shoulders and, with a slight curl of the lip, sinks down wearily into the chair standing near her. Lord B. leans against the mantelpiece, and watches her for some moments in silence.

" Well ! " he says, seeing that she has taken up a book, "it seems you want me gone, or per haps" — waxing angry at her indifference — "my presence here is inconvenient, and as I have no wish to interfere with your private arrangements, I had better take my departure. Forgive me, Heiene," he exclaims hastily as, casting the volume aside with a passionate air, she springs to her feet. " I have been annoyed and insulted to night, and scarcely know what I am saying." " You have been annoyed and insulted," she repeats, with a bitter emphasis on the word " you " ; " and what about me ? Have I nothing to com plain ? " " You — hush," interrupting her ; " don't let us quarrel on the eve of parting. Once more, have you anything to say to me before I go ? " " Nothing." I think I told you so before. All that is necessary has been said."

" Well, then, good-bye. It is an abrupt parting, but in your present unreasonable frame of mind I see there is nothing to be done. You know where to write to me if you want anything. Good-bye, my child." "Good-bye," she answers, ignoring the out stretched hand. Lord B. flushes angrily, pauses irresolutely for a moment on the threshold, and seeing nothing encouraging in the pale face and set lips of the woman he is about to leave, turns slowly away. The hall door closes behind him with a bang Tl that resounds throughout the house, and, excepting the servants, who are feasting and enjoying them selves below stairs, the lady — familiarly addressed as Heiene — is left alone, and without fear of being again disturbed. She sits for some time, her head bowed upon her hands, as if in deep and anxious thought.

Then, rising suddenly and taking the lamp from the table, she drags her way slowly upstairs, and, pausing before the door of a room situated at the top of the house, she unlocks it and enters. It is a long, narrow apartment, with a low ceiling and light coming down through the roof. In the centre of the room stands an easel, on which rests a picture requiring but a few more touches for its completion. Other pictures and drawings of every size and description hang upon the walls or lie piled up upon the floor. Advancing towards the easel, and holding the lamp high, she stands gazing long and earnestly at the almost-finished painting. The picture repre sents a woman, richly dressed and of great beauty, reclining on a couch. Her loosened hair hangs about her face and shoulders, and, flowing down, almost touches the floor ; a mask has fallen upon the ground, and on a table near, thrown carelessly down among golden ornaments, boxes of bonbons, wine, fruit, knots of ribbon and lace, lie a bouquet of drooping flowers.

The eyes of the young girl are closed, and her dream is revealed in a misty cloud floating upward. The dim vision shows a woman, calm and smiling, surrounded by her children. They hang about her knees, and a babe nestles at her breast, while near by, looking fondly on the group, stands the husband and father. She turns slowly away, and, lifting one or two pictures, which have been turned with their faces to the wall, examines them critically. Replacing them again, and gathering up her trailing dress, she passes several times up and down the room. In the act of leaving she pauses for a moment on the threshold, and looks thoughtfully about her, " My whole fortune is here," she murmurs ; " all I have in the world." Returning to the room she has recently left, and resuming her seat before the fire, she sits staring gloomily at the glowing coals, and as she gazes, her brow darkens, and, with the red glare full upon her, shivers, as if with cold.

To escape from thought she takes a book of poems from the table and attempts to read, and while she sits there, carelessly turning over the leaves, we may as well turn over a dark page or two of her history. Heiene Clifford was the daughter of an actress, Her father, the younger son of a noble family, married in direct opposition to the wishes of his relatives, and died, unforgiven by them, leaving his beautiful young wife and child, who was scarcely old enough to lisp her father's name, without any provision whatever. The widow returned to the stage, and, in spite of ill-health, struggled on until her daughter was nearly eighteen years of age. Her death left Heiene alone in the world, with no fortune but a glorious gift of nature — the possession of an exquisite voice — and this gift the poor mother had spent the greater part of her earnings in cultivating.

She lived just long enough to witness her daughter's first triumph. The public were charmed with the young debutante, and for nearly three years all went well. Then came misfortune. A severe cold, neglected in the beginning, brought on a long and dangerous illness. The invalid exerted herself too soon, a relapse followed, and when she recovered from a second, and more tedious, fit of sickness, her voice was gone. During her illness, Lord B., who had been one of her most ardent admirers at the theatre, became unremitting in his attentions. He called every day to make inquiries or to bring books, and sent presents of fruit and flowers. His father was very ill at the time, and his complaint was of such a nature that any hope of his ultimate recovery was impossible. His own home was enshrouded in gloom, and Lord B. found the greatest consolation in the society and sympathy of the young actress.

He was madly in love for the first time in his life, and, at last, carried away by the force of his passion, and unmindful of his rank and the trouble such a union was likely to cause him, he proposed and was accepted. The engagement, however, was to be kept secret while the old peer lived, and Lord B. stipulated that his future wife should, on no account, return to the stage or accept any other position during the time which must elapse be fore their marriage could take place. The entire loss of her voice, however, rendered any anxiety on the former point unnecessary. Heiene at that time was almost at the end of her finances, and anxiety retarded her recovery. Through the medium of her servant, an elderly woman who was cook, housekeeper and her dresser at the theatre, Lord B. soon discovered the state of affairs, and insisted on providing the woman who was soon to become his wife with a suitable home.