Gwynedd; a novel

Front matter

GWYNEDD: A NOVEL, IN TWO VOLUMES. BY FRANCES GERALDINE SOUTHERN. VOL II. fLorrtmn: REMINGTON AND CO., 3, ARUNDEL STREET, STRAND, W.C. 1877. C O NTENTS. — <3HS>— All's Well. Saved. A Murder, a Phantom, and a Death. The Flight of Reason. A Tale of Sin and Shame. The Murderer's Grave. Pride against Love. "Oh, my Lost Love." A Fatal Ride. " My own, own Love." My Love that Loved me so. Le Chateau des Fleurs. In the Conservatory. Two Mad-Caps. ' Not Ploughed. A Son and Heir. The Lovers' Thank-offering. "The Love that is the Deepest Is the Love that's never told." Good Night. Two Brides. Unrequited Love, or a Sailor's Farewell, The Queen and her Slave. Five Years After. GWYNEDD.

Chapter I

all's well. It was many hours before Gwynedd recovered consciousness, and at first she wondered what had happened, and why she was lying thus on her bed, with so many anxious faces around ; but soon she remembered all that had passed between herself and her father, and, as the promise she had made, which would blight her VOL. II. B GWYNEDD, life, came back to her mind, she burst into tears, and wept violently for a long, long time. Then she rose and wrote a heart-rending letter to Darcy ; telling him that she had broken her troth Avith him, and that in two days time she would be the wife of the man she hated more than any on earth. She told him how she had been compelled to do what a day before she would indignantly have denied to be possible — of her bitter struggle, her father's deplorable condition, and her own hopeless misery.

She besought him to write her one word of loA*e and forgiveness on her wedding: morn, before the word had been spoken that would make it sin to breathe that love ; and earnestly did she crave forgive ness for so soon breaking her promise to him, assuring him that it Avas to save her GWYNEDD. father alone that she had at last consented to sacrifice her peace and happiness on earth. She ended by protesting that her love for him was still as stedfast and undying as ever, and that, after her marriage, she craved but one boon of him, and that was that he would never, never let her see him, until years had somewhat cooled the ardour of her love. When at last she folded the long, pitiful letter it was blotted and smeared with her tears. Giving it to her maid to post, she ran to her father, anxious to see how he was.

Entering the room, actually smiling, she found him looking so sensible and happy that she felt she could not have done otherwise than sacrifice herself for his welfare. His present cheerful state was a slight GWYNEDD. recompense for all that she was about to suffer ; but when she descended, later, to the library, and found Clarence there, her courage forsook her, and she thought death would be preferable to life with such a man. On Gwynedd's entrance Clarence rose from his chair, and approaching her, endeavoured to take her hand, but it was withdrawn from his reach, as if from the fangs of a deadly serpent. Clarence, not the least abashed, said in a voice of feigned tenderness, " Miss Penlyn, how can I thank you sufficiently for your consent to our mar nage r As he said this, Gwynedd recoiled with horror.

Must she listen patiently to such words, when she had thought never to hear the like from any lips but Darcy's. GWYNEDD Clarence's voice recalled her from her short reverie as he continued, " Your consenting to our union, dear Miss Penlyn, proves to me that my deep love for you is at last returned." "Do not talk of love tome, sir," returned Gwynedd, fiercely, "for that word has no meaning for us ; I consented to — to — marry you to save my father ; nothing else on earth could make me wed the man I despise above all others, and even now I fear I am acting very wickedly, but yet I think God will pardon me, for He knows that I do it for my parent." Clarence dropped theatrically on one knee, and raised his bleared eyes — in which there actually gleamed a hypocritical tear — to her pure young face, saying, " Miss Penlyn, if those are your feelings towards me, speak the word only and I GWYNEDD, will leave you, and never again inflict my presence upon you.

Bid me go from the light of your loved presence, and I will obey without a murmur." The crafty villain knew well that she would not send him away for fear of worrying her father into a state past all cure. " I wish you to stay, sir," replied Gwynedd, haughtily, " for I have promised my father to marry you, and nothing shall make me break my word to him when he has been so very good to me ever since I was born. So stay, sir ; I will drain my cup of sorrow to the dregs ; — but if you have any feelings of humanity left, pray spare me the pain of seeing you till we meet this time two days, in my father's room, for — " " For the consummation of happiness" GWYNEDD. interrupted Clarence. " Oh, if you only knew, Miss Penlyn, how my heart beats with joy at — " But here Gwynedd's hand was raised to silence him, and with a cutting sneer she said, " Spare me the recital of your feelings ; they are of no consequence to me."

So saying she swept from the room, but had she turned and seen the cruel look of exultation on his face, and heard his fiendish chuckle and muttered words — " At last, my proud beauty, I have you safe!" — she would, indeed, have trembled doubly for herself. She returned to the General's room, summoning all her strength to appear happy — in his presence at least. As she sat down beside him, he said, with a GWYNEDD. pleased smile as he noticed who the intruder was, " Ypu look pale, my child ; you must not stay so long in this room ; go and have a run in the garden, and get some roses in your cheeks against your marriage." " Papa, if you love me, never mention that word to me till the time comes, for I strive to forget it." " Why, my child? Is the idea so repul sive to you ? Clarence told me he thought you would be pleased at the prospect, for he really loves you ; Avhy, then, this sudden change ?"

The General's face grew troubled and anxious, and his strength seemed ebbing fast, so Gwynedd replied quickly, "Yes, papa, Mr. St. John was quite right, it is all for the best ; so do not worry GWYNEDD, yourself about me, but take this medicine and go to sleep, for I want to have you well and strong again soon, my darling old dad." She went and kissed the old man's brow; then, with a trembling hand, she arranged his pillows, and afterwards sat down at his side, her hand locked in his, and watched while he slept, never suffering a tear to escape her aching eyelids, for fear he should wake and see her grief, and disturb the present calm state of his mind by trying to discover what troubled her ; for, in his blindness, he could not see how he was breaking his daughter's heart. He only seemed to feel how merciful a thing it was that he could leave Gwynedd in Clarence's care.

He had never seen her bursts of anguish; those had only been indulged when alone, and her father did not know GWYNEDD. what an aching heart she covered with a smiling face. Darcy, in his quiet home, had heard the awful news, for Clarence had at once tele graphed the simple words, " All's well," to Lady Laura — the signal agreed on between them, when he should have carried his designs into execution and was affianced to Gwynedd. No sooner had Lady Laura received the joyful news than she hastened to Hammer smith to tell Darcy that Gwynedd, his loved, his promised wife, was to be married to Clarence St. John in a few days, and that all hope of his ever calling her wife was completely gone. He hated the woman who had come to deal him this blow, and could scarcely listen to her as she knelt beside him with genuine tears of pity rolling down her GWYNEDD. cheeks, as she saw the look of intense suffering on the face of him she loved so deeply.

She said, " Darcy, do not let this sad news grieve you, for Gwynedd is not worthy of your love. Oh, Darcy, I cannot believe that any girl blessed with your love could resign it even for a crown." " Laura, don't dare to speak of Gwynedd as unworthy the love I bear her; she is true to me, I feel sure ; but, if not, no one shall ever fill her place." " Darcy, don't speak so harshly to me ; it breaks my heart ; for though the world deems me cold, I love you, Darcy, madly, truly. I care not what you think, you shall know the loving heart you spurn, when you so coldly refuse my advances ; you see that Gwynedd is false; oh, then, Darcy — my own, own darling — oh, take me, GWYNEDD, take my wealth, my all, and give me the remnant of your love." And Laura, in her unrestrained madness and jealous frenzy, threw her arms round Darcy's neck, and, kissing him passionately, said, " If you find that Gwynedd is really false, and does not love you, tell me, tell me, Darcy, will you then give me your love ?"

" Never, Laura. You have called Gwy nedd false — I can never love you." " Then, Darcy, farewell for ever. I can never again see you, for, wicked and un womanly as it is of me to say it, I love you to my ruin. I care not now what becomes of me, for I have striven and perjured my soul to win your love, and have lost all ; so farewell ! One day — perhaps before long, who knows — you may understand the depth and strength of a woman's love — hopeless though it be." GWYNEDD. 13 So saying, with a look of love and despair which Darcy never forgot, the unhappy girl rushed madly from the room, back to her wretched though luxurious home, bearing to her death a broken, but a contrite heart. Maddening was the tumult in Darcy's brain, as he shut himself up in his tiny room, refusing to see anyone, and eating nothing.

He told himself it was just what he ought to have expected, for he had given Gwynedd up when she had been willing to share his poverty. But, till now, he had never realised that he could lose her, and so soon too. It was only a few weeks since he had seen her, and heard her vow that she would never marry another with out love ; yet, already, she was about to wed a man who was, he felt sure, altogether GWYNEDD, unworthy of her, and he — her once loved Darcy — could, never, never now call her wife — never again, without sin, fold her in his arms. Oh, why had he not accepted her love, and trusted to Providence for the rest ! He remembered now that she had not mentioned Clarence's name in her letters for some time — why was that ? Was it that she dreaded to wound his love ? He could not tell, but still he could not and would not believe that her love was no longer his.

But, why — oh, why was she about to marry this man ? Was this the way his sorrow was to be turned into joy ? Was this that which she had bid him hope ? No ! then he knew she had loved him, and — stay — her words returned to his mind — " I fear there is one who is seeking to ruin my earthly hap pi- GWYNEDD, ness, through one who is very dear to me." Could it then be her father who had forced this marriage on his beloved Gwy nedd — on the daughter he had so fondly idolised since her birth, and whose happiness had always been his chief concern ? No ! Darcy felt sure that was impossible — then what was it ? Over and over again did Darcy ask him self this question, and try to find its answer. He could not— so, with a throb bing brow and beating heart, he wrote to Gwynedd, imploring her to send him at once, by letter or telegram, the meaning of the report he had heard ; and — regardless of all his former resolutions — he told her that if she only sent him one word he would come instantly and claim her, as she had so often asked him to do, as his own ; GWYNEDD, adding, that did no message reach him he must then believe this marriage was agree able to her feelings.

Having posted his letter he wandered far into the country, passing the whole night out of doors ; and, when he returned early in the morning, his wild looks alarmed Ruby greatly. He refused the food she brought him — he could not eat — and his office was forgotten ; for now that he had no beloved one for whom to work, he cared little how his business was neglected. His restlessness and grief increased hourly, and all Ruby's efforts were power less to rouse him from the state of des pondency into which he had fallen. At every passing footstep he would rush to the window, thinking that a telegram or letter had arrived from his beloved ; but all day long he waited, and no word came. GWYNEDD. 17 Before dawn on the morning of Gwynedd's marriage, a solitary figure, in the Hammer smith garden, paced the short walk up and down, waiting for the postman's arrival.

After several hours of lonely tramping the letter carrier turned in at the garden gate with a goodly pile of letters, which Darcy snatched from the astonished man's hands. Then passing one by one hurriedly through his own, he scanned the different writings eagerly for Gwynedd's, but he saw it not ; neither did any of the letters bear the Penlyn postmark. Once again he sorted them more slowly than before, but with the same result — Gwynedd had not sent him one word, so that he must need suppose she was satisfied with her coming wedding. With a groan of despair he rushed back to his room, and for three long hours — till the time of VOL. II. c GWYNEDD. Gwynedd's marriage was over, his long limbs huddled together in the arm-chair — he stirred not. His pale and wretched face lay motionless on his arm, for he was mercifully unconscious to all around, and to all his bitter sorrows.

The strain of the last two days had been too great for human strength to bear, and exhausted nature being tired out, the grief-laden man had fainted for the first time in his life. When at last he recovered, he knew, by what Lady Laura had told him, that all must now be over, and that another possessed the treasure which he had so long been striving to win. But still a voice would whisper — and its mock ing sound maddened him as it kept repeat ing to him his lost love's parting words — " Hope on, hope ever, for thy sorrow shall be turned into joy !"

Chapter II. Saved

It was midnight ; Gwynedd had just left her father sleeping calmly, and was now on her knees in her own room, weeping bitterly for to-morrow, when she was to offer herself up a living sacrifice for her father. Hers was a sad bridal eve truly. Even Clarence St. John, methinks, would haA*e honoured and pitied her as she rose from her knees, and, unlocking a small drawer in her desk, took out a bundle of letters, GWYNEDD, and sat down by the flickering fire to read those sacred relics for the last time. As she read and re-read Darcy's letters her tears fell thick and fast, but silently she dropped the papers, one by one, into the smouldering embers, and with a breaking heart, watched them disappear. As the last letter crumbled to ashes, she felt that all her happiness in life had departed with those cherished memorials of a love she dare not now indulge.

Before she lay down to rest that night she drew Darcy's signet ring from her finger, and placed it in her jewel case, determining to try and do her duty to the wretch who by that time to-morrow would be her husband. Gwynedd had written at once to Mr. Tredethlyn, asking him to perform the ceremony that was to blight her life for GWYNEDD. ever. Staggered at hearing whom she was about to marry, Arkwright had come that day to beg of her to let him see the General, and endeavour to reveal to him the dread ful doom to which he was about to consign his only daughter ; but Gwynedd had kindly, but firmly, declined any interfer ence, knowing that worry would be fatal to her father's mind. So, on her marriage eve, she laid herself, dressed as she was, upon her bed, longing anxiously for the morning to arrive and bring her a last word of comfort and love from Darcy.

When her maid came in the morning to call her, Gwynedd heard, with horror and bitter disappointment, that the postman had passed Penlyn Towers without calling. So, then, there was no letter from Darcy — GWYNEDD not a word to strengthen her for her trial, now so near at hand. She had never thought of such a thing as his not writing, but now she felt that he had been so deeply grieved, so cruelly wounded by her conduct, that he could not address her, even by letter; and as this idea took possession of her mind her cup of sorroAv was filled to the brim. Rising at once, as it was already late, she attired herself wholly in black, and, Avith one great gasp of agony that seemed to rend her heart, she passed from her chamber, with a slow, determined step, to her father's room, to meet her dreaded husband.

As she entered, the Yicar was standing in his surplice by the window, the prayer-book, lying on a table near, open at the fatal service, and all was ready — the bridegroom alone tarried. GWYNEDD. Arkwright wrung Gwynedd's death-cold hand in silence, for he could not speak ; his emotion was too great. Having received her father's loving embrace on her pale, marble cheeks, and heard his muttered " God bless you, my child," she stood speechless at the foot of his bed, and awaited the arrival of her affianced husband. Her face was of an alabaster whiteness, and great drops jof perspiration stood on her fair young brow — worthy a martyr's crown. Her large brown eyes were heavy and red, and rims of inky blackness half encircled them beneath ; her teeth were pressed so tightly on her lovely lips that they forced the b.lood through her fair skin, but her whole demeanour was as calm and composed as death itself.

Each minute seemed an hour to the poor girl as she GWYNEDD. clung to the bed for support and strength ; resolved that by no outward sign should her sick father know the awful anguish he was inflicting on his beloved child. At last the moment was come. When Gwynedd's strength was well nigh spent, down the long corridor came a hurried footstep, and at the sound her heart stood still. But, summoning all her fast ebbing courage to her assistance, with a mighty effort she left her place beside her father, and moved slowly towards the door to receive her husband as he entered. As she reached it, it was opened with sudden violence, and she stood face to face with- — a woman. A woman the whiteness of whose face rivalled that of her own. Gwynedd started back with the horror of despair at finding that she had still another GWYNEDD. term of suspense to endure, but a paper, all soiled and damp, was thrust into her hand, and a voice, that sounded unearthly in its solemnity, said — " Read that, Miss Penlyn, and be thankful that a merciful Providence has stepped betAveen you and a living death.

Mr. Clarence St. John is lying at our cottage in his last sleep." So saying, Jane Pryce — for it was she — turned and left the room, and Arkwright raised the lifeless form of Gwynedd from the floor; for, on hearing that she was saved from the fearful fate that had aAvaited her, her overstrung nerves had given way, and, for the second time within two days, she was laid on her bed, to all appearance a corpse.

Chapter III

A MURDER, A PHANTOM, AND A DEATH. Great and alarming was the consternation that reigned throughout the Lunatic Asylum of Treverward, when it was discovered that Mary Parkyns had escaped. High and low, in house and ground, they searched, and found her not. Messengers were sent over the town and neighbourhood around, but all in vain. Mary Parkyns was never found, and for some time her escape and fate alike re mained a mystery. On the previous day GWYNEDD. 27 the doctor had been round, as usual, to see his patients ; and, in poor Mary Parkyn's room had told the attendant of Miss Penlyn' s sudden marriage, which was to take place the next day ; adding that Mr. St. John was a lucky man, whoever he might be, to win such a wife. As Mary Parkyns listened to their con versation her face grew white with rage, and she determined to foil Clarence St. John's plans.

Accordingly that same day, ill though she was, she determined, at all hazard, to make her escape from the Asylum. Chance favoured her considerably, for her bedroom was on the ground floor, and unbarred — as she was a harmless patient — and though the window was small she felt sure that she could get through when it was dark ; so she waited patiently for night to set in GWYNEDD. before attempting to put her design into execution. As the clock struck the hour of eight she removed the ponderous chest that stood in front of the window ; and squeezing her thin form through the small aperture, she dropped lightly to the ground, just as a burly figure passed on in front. So far she was undetected, and she glided noiselessly to the entrance door, and hid herself behind a projecting pillar to wait for an opportunity to slip out.

At length the bell rang, and the door was opened to admit the milkman; when, seizing the moment at which the porter stood, door in hand, talking to him, Mary Parkyns passed out behind his back unnoticed. Having enquired the way to Miss Penlyn's house, she was soon toiling wearily up the steep hill from Treverward GWYNEDD. 29 — excitement alone giving her strength to walk thus far. At the entrance to the wood hehind Sunny Dingle she met a man going home with his team from a long journey into Wales ; from him she again enquired her nearest way, and was told that it lay through the dark wood on her left. Dark as it was she boldly entered it, and slowly descended the narrow footpath. Pit pat — pit pat — came footsteps quickly behind her. As she came to the pool, in the hollow of the wood, she turned to discover who was following her, but it was too dark to discern any object.

Still nearer and nearer came her pursuer, and in another instant a hand was laid roughly on her shoulder, and a voice she knew too Avell hissed out the enquiry, GWYNEDD. " What are you doing here, you jade ?" It was Clarence St. John. He had been out late on business, and having also taken the short cut home through the wood, had caught sight of the poor Avoman crossing in front of him. She shook his hand from her shoulder, saying — " I am going up to Penlyn Towers to tell the young lady whom you wish to marry, who and what you are ; for I cannot let her young life be cast away on such a wretch as I know you to be ; and after I have told her I care not what you do to me. You caused my ruin, and my life is so miserable that I do not fear the gallows." " The gallows," hissed Clarence, "is too good a death for such a wretch as you, but, beware how you enrage me.

Down, woman, down upon your knees, and swear GWYNEDD. 31 to wait here quietly till I can bring a con veyance to carry you back to Treverward, or I will find means to silence your lying tongue." But he miscalculatd his power. With head erect, she faced the man, and said — "Kneel to you, indeed ! I care no longer for your threats, and unless you swear to give up all thoughts of ruining that poor young girl, I shall go now — this very night — to reveal your past life to her." " By Heavens ! that you shall never do," and the next minute a heavy blow felled the wretched outcast to the ground. A faint groan — a terrific shudder — and all was over. Clarence knelt beside the body, his face expressing a fiendish satisfaction, and find- GWYNEDD ing that life was quite extinct, he rose, and without a pang of remorse, dragged the corpse to the edge of the bottomless pool, and kicked it, as he would a dog, before he hurled it into its dark depths.

A loud splash — and the waters closed for ever over the lifeless body of his unhappy victim. As it sank deeper and deeper in its watery grave, Clarence murmured, " I think you are pretty safe now, you Avretch, and Gwynedd Penlyn shall still be 55 mine. As he said these words the Tower clock chimed one ; and the moon rose high and bright behind the wood, and shone through the thick dark trees on the troubled waters of the fatal pool. Clarence bent over to see if anything were visible that might reveal the dark GWYNEDD. deed, and started back in terror as he saw, reflected there, not only his own ghastly face, but also the figure of an old man standing behind him. He was tall and stiff, with silvery locks, and dressed in a large frock coat and open waistcoat, with ruffles on his shirt, and a large necktie folded many times round his throat.

He stood with outstretched arm behind Clarence, and pointed to the pool, as he laid his other hand, cold and ghostlike, upon his shoulder. Clarence shuddered at the touch, and with a faint scream turned to face the phantom, which he recognised as resemb ling one whom he had wronged in years gone by, and with wild, blood-shot eyes, and hair on end, he cried in a piteous tone, while his limbs trembled beneath him — D VOL. GWYNEDD, " In Heaven's name, tell me what you want with me." The phantom moved in silence slowly up the path to Penlyn Towers, always pointing to the deep, dank pool. Clarence, through very fear, and in the hope of escape, took a side path in the wood, which just there was so thickly overshadowed by dark elms and firs that not a ray of moonlight could penetrate its depth ; but as he strode on, the phantom strode before him, and Clarence, terror stricken at last, stood rooted to the spot, bathed in a cold perspiration.

On came the phantom, nearer and nearer, but fear held him ; he could not move — and now the ghostly spectre stood face to face with the murderer. One hand pointed towards the pool, the other was laid cold and damp on Clarence's GWYNEDD. brow ; but he felt it not, for at that instant he sank a corpse to the earth, struck down by the hand of an avenging Providence — the victim of unendurable terror.

Chapter IV. The Elight Of Reason

The next morning, as some workmen were crossing the wood, whistling gaily as they brushed the dewdrops from the grass with their ponderous boots, they stood aghast at seeing the body of a man lying across their path. They quickly recognised it as that of Clarence St. John, but no marks of violence were visible on his person to account for his death. Raising the body from its damp resting GWYNEDD. 37 place, they carried it up the path to Sunny Dingle. As they passed the pool, whose waters appeared to them strangely troubled, they caught sight of a small white parcel, soiled and damp, lying on the ground. On examining it they found that it was addressed to Miss Penlyn, so they put it carefully away, and proceeded with their burden to Mrs. Pryce's cottage, and there laid Clarence St. John, a corpse, in the room which he had left the night before in health and strength, and confident of success.