Kept Secret

Chapter I

A MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS. It was summer time in a scene so exquisite that it seemed as if the intrusion of grief would be an impertinence. The sun was already westering, and the summer clouds, like " doves with feathers of gold," brooded over a richly wooded expanse, with billowy foliage, melting into the blue horizon. Only a few miles from London, and yet " earth had scarcely anything to show more fair," with the witchery of colour still lurking in the grey trunks of the old oak trees and mossstained boles of the beeches, and glimpses between them of far-off reaches of the river. The play of sunbeams had hardly ceased in the miracle of multitudinous leaf age overhead, and yet here and there the timber had been skilfully thinned with a view of allowing glimpses of the silver thread of the Thames ; the most proficient landscape-gardener could not have managed to convey a more artistic illusion.

For to the unpractised eye of a stranger it might have seemed as if the grounds of Martindale Turrets were a continuance of the beautiful woods which in delicate gradations of greens were merged into the pearly greys of flowing water in the distance — water which, historic in its association, gave a soul to the landscape. In reality, there was a considerable expanse of country between the Turrets and the slopes of 1 B Cliefden, the intermediate space being occupied by stretches of splendid foliage. The place had once been a manor-house, and was still surrounded by the roofs of cottages, and orchards with clustering trees, echoing with bird music when they bloomed in the springtime. Its somewhat Philistine title of "Turrets," having reference to its peculiar archi tecture, had been popularly adopted, owing to the unintentional neglect of its new owners, who in their very fastidiousness had failed to be content with a new name.

The present one was misleading, though it stuck to the place and could not be altered, ministering in some sort to the vanity of the sep tuagenarian banker who had bought the lauded property for his daughter. It was no brand-new house — not one of those imitation Greek, mock Gothic, or fantastic Moorish villas, hybrid in archi tecture, with stuccoed fronts or ornate porticoes, which are apt to spring up like mushrooms in the neighbourhood of great cities. On the contrary, there was a sylvan charm, an old-world atmosphere, lingering about the place, which probably we shall miss when all the parks in England are cut up into allotment grounds for the people. And its owner evidently understood the heightening effect of picturesque accessories, for a peacock strutted at his ease on the terrace walks, spreading out his magnificent tail with dainty pre caution, as if he had the soul of an artist, and could rejoice iu the infinite variety of its graduated tints ; and a collie dog, which had been basking in the sunshiue on the deserted lawn, rose up and stretched himself, and then took refuge in one of the long corridors, which were as silent as the lawn.

" How black is tempest on a summer's day ! " writes one of our modern poets. And if there was no actual tempest at the Turrets, a terribly momen tous possibility was hanging like a thunder-cloud over the place. A great physician had just been summoned from A MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS. 3 London for consultation with the country practitioner, and the men of medicine were now closeted iu a room remarkable for its beautifully-carved oak panelling, and the fine engravings on its walls. The case which called them together was a mysterious one — so mysterious and unusual that the country doctor had considered prudence to be the safer side of valour, and had refrained from giving any opinion at all. But the great man's opinion was guarded and almost negative. " Nervous apoplexy ? " suggested the provincial practitioner, with an apologetic smile.

The great man coughed. "I can't say that I have ever had opportunities of investigating a similar instance — shall we say of trance-condition ? " began the country doctor, still more apologetically. The great man hummed, put his hands behind tho lappets of his coat, aud stared steadfastly at one of the old line engravings, speculating as to the sum of money it would fetch if it were put up for sale. " Catalepsy, followed by hysterical dumbness ? " ventured the country doctor once more. The London doctor nodded. " This phenomenon of dumbness is one of the most uncommon in hysteria. It is due to some internal nervous disorder. These attacks of hemi plegia, accompanied with aphasia, are so uncommon, that I have dared to attempt nothing beyond giving the patient food," said the provincial doctor more glibly.

"But the nervous prostration is alarming; if another attack of catalepsy should supervene " " Life, my dear sir, as Hippocrates said, is short, while art is long," answered the other blandly. "We cannot always be rapid in our diagnosis in difficult cases. Pools and blunderers gull the public with hasty inferences. But there must have been some exciting cause. It is our duty to look closely into the previous history." Meanwhile, the master of the house, who was pacing up and down the adjacent room, feeling as if years of life had been crowded into the last few hours, was waiting impatiently, almost defiantly, for the verdict which might be given. He was one of the laity which does not trouble itself with the heartburnings, the finessings, the diplomatic fencing of orthodox or unorthodox medi cine.

His impatience very nearly got the better of him when the London physician, being ushered solemnly into his presence, halted, and put his hand benevolently on the fair head of a young girl who had been also waiting, crouched up, so that her father had scarcely noticed her, in a big arm-chair near the door. "She favours her mother," he remarked, with a flavour of that old-fashioned speech which suited the ponderosity of his appearance and the benignity of his smile. His intention was to get rid of the young inter loper, and his ruse succeeded, for the girl, who had sometimes been hurt because she was told she was not like the mother whom she almost worshipped, now escaped from the room to hide a rush of tears. " I think there is nobody like mother — nobody ! nobody ! " she said, beneath her breath, before she rushed away to hide her want of self-command.

And yet even she did not realize at once the im mense importance of that momentous possibility which was hanging over her father's head, like the knife of the guillotine, ready to descend. The removal by a sudden untimely stroke of the bud which is beginning to open, or of the flower in its perfection, is said to be different from the loss of that flower when its petals are ready to fall, or when its perfection is over. And yet it is doubtful if Boyd Lethbridge would at any time of his life have been comforted by philosophical reflections at the idea of parting with the wife who had been as the desire of his eyes to him, not only in her full maturity but in her fading beauty. There is no A MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS 5 affection more true and touching than that which exists between married people when the illusions of youth are all over, when mutual imperfections are known to each other, and when faithful spirits can be knit more closely than before.

Perhaps the highest love is that which remains unabated when passion is past, and the tired feet ready to enter into the haven of rest. The affection between the Lethbridges had been of such a nature. When they had been tried and tested in the battle of life, they had only seemed to cling more closely than before. Neither of them was yet old. They might be said to be still treading different parts of that arid ridge of middle-life which is more dry and uninterest ing and less beautiful than old age. Yet each wor shipped the other in the good old English sense of the word. A romantic story of long devotion on the part of the man, and of long faithfulness and long waiting on the part of the woman, had added a special charm to a happy wedded life. But a few days before there had been no presage of disaster.

The wine of life had been rich and luscious as ever to Boyd Lethbridge ; it was so sparkling still, that it tempted the man to drain the cup to his heart's desire before he allowed it time to settle on the lees. The incense ascending from the altar of that homestead would have been satisfying to the nostrils of most men, however fastidious. Helena Lethbridge was still beautiful with the rich beauty of autumn — her love for her husband and daughter outshining aud hallowing all other friendships. Herself the only daughter of a rich London banker, she had been difficult to please in her youth, when her future lay before her like an empty canvas, and when many suitors came " a wooing." People who knew nothing of an earlier attachment had wondered that her fancy should have been at tracted at last, when she was nearly thirty years of age, by a man who was six years her senior, who had fallen in love with her twelve years before, and in the interim had been to Australia, and was said to have made a small fortune.

Boyd Lethbridge had been educated at Cambridge. He was a quiet man of scientific tastes, and con siderable attainments as a scholar, who, until he was associated with the firm of Martindale aud Hardy, was never suspected to have the tastes of a great financier. On the contrary, he was said to have secluded himself by choice in comparative poverty directly he left the university, caring prin cipally for the cultivation of his own mind, and contenting himself with the society of servants. Being tolerably rich now, favoured by a wonderful stroke of the wheel of fortune, and looked upon as the future head of the flourishing banking business of Martindale and Hardy (the latter having been defunct some ten years or so), it was natural that envious people should circulate certain stories to his dis advantage.

Some said that he was simply a scholar spoilt, and that they would not trust him with the management of their shillings, since the banking business would be certain to go to rack and ruin under his management. Others averred that he had been a ne'er-do-well in Australia, and that the very fact of his choosing a life so tempting to adventurous spirits, should have led old Mr. Martindale to be a little more careful before he married his daughter to a man who had once been a rough gold-digger. Boyd Lethbridge was in such an assured position that he could afford to laugh at all such innuendoes. Men who have made a success can be scornful about the critics who have failed, and those who knew Mr. Lethbridge intimately believed him to be above all criticism. He seldom spoke about the years he had spent in Australia.

But when Helena Martindale became his wife, he once more made an effort to develop in all their fulness the physical and in tellectual gifts which had been given him by nature, A MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS. 7 and was speedily recognised as an accomplished type of one form of the high culture of the nine teenth century. He could fascinate women and dominate men, and Helena, who was charmed with her husband, and proud of his popularity, attached little consequence to the fact that he disdained all vulgar beliefs as chimeras or hypocrisies. Old Martindale succumbed to the spell almost as thoroughly as his daughter. From the day of Helena's marriage, when it was confidently reported that the son-in-law would soon be associated as partner in the old-established banking house of " Martindale and Hardy," which was one of the most prosperous houses in the city, and that such promotion would be but a stepping-stone to future honours, Mr. Lethbridge's enemies had disappeared in a miraculous manner.

It was the proper thing to make up to him, and to be able to inscribe the name of Lethbridge on one's visiting list, since on the decease of old Mr. Martindale Helena would be sole inheritor of all her father's property. The time was not yet. More than once the gossips had been heard to hint that old Mr. Martindale was a little tight with his money. Considering the necessity for keeping in with the Lethbridges, it was dangerous to hint that Mr. Lethbridge himself might be a bit of a screw. But it was certainly rather odd that in spite of all that money made in Australia, and in face of the fact that the old manor-house had been presented to Boyd Lethbridge as a part of his wife's dower, in a perfect condition from threshold to roof tree — a triumph of annexation from aristocracy to plutocracy — neither Mr. nor Mrs. Lethbridge were as lavish in expenditure as the neighbours had expected.

Helena's admirers said that she gave away much in charity ; that all the arrangements in her establishment were perfect if not extravagant, and that if ever a woman knew how to be opulent without waste, and to manage things comfortably without unnecessary show, that woman was Helena. She was the most unselfish of her sex, enjoying to the full the exquisite pleasure of such unselfishness, losing herself in the happiness of others, simple and unhackneyed in her tastes, and yet at times so warm hearted and emotional that her generous impulses were apt to pauperise the good folks around her. Her husband had sometimes playfully accused her of retarding the progress of civilization by her charity. It went without saying that Mrs. Leth bridge was without an enemy amongst rich or poor, that kindness so spontaneous and unselfish — not weighing the adequacy of return from others — had endeared her to her neighbours as well as to her dependents.

What mystery could there be in a life so unclouded as this, that the husband, in the intensity of his grief, winced under the questions of the medical men which seemed to intrude into the tradi tionary sanctities of his married life ? "Had he been particular to see that the patient had been protected from all sources of annoyance ? and had he any reason for supposing that hers was an exceptionally sensitive disposition '{ " He submitted to both questions without directly answering them, and looked at his interrogator as if he were trying to examine a new idea. As if a practical woman, like his wife, who prided herself on being an excellent housekeeper, and never allowed herself to be annoyed by those little gnat-bites of worries and vexations which were apt to disturb less equable tempers, could be accused of being sensitive !

And as if a social and territorial magnate, like him self, a director of companies, a chairman of committees, a life-governor of hospitals — a man with an air of command about him suited to a leader of men — could be supposed to be anything but particular in his domestic life ! He muttered an ejaculation beneath his breath which made the big man from London take out his watch and slowly and thought fully examine it. To urge him further seemed to be like applying a spark to petroleum, and the family medical attendant, whose courage was never of the highest, was appalled at a sudden burst of irritability from the usually bland voiced Mr. Lethbridge. The catechism of questions had to be abandoued. The whole affair seemed to be inscrutable. For though the vehmrjericM below stairs might have their own private theories about a hitch which had possibly taken place so as to disturb the pleasant relations which had formerly existed between their master and mistress, there seemed to be nothing on which to pin a consistent theory.

The peeping foot man and the garrulous lady's maid — ready enough in most London houses to parade a wicked romance if they can find the slenderest needle-point of evidence — did not exist in this old-fashioned country establishment, and no one thought of seeking for spies amongst the faithful servants who seemed to be almost a part of the family. So the doctors had to be contented with oft-repeated truisms about shocks to the nervous system, which did not throw any light on the case. If even the neighbours talked, they did it with bated breath. For Helena Lethbridge had such a habit of attaching people to herself that those who thought her unduly romantic for a middle-aged woman were loth to gossip about her affairs.

Chapter II. Wiiat Did She Die Of

? The few facts which might have been elicited from the small talk in the neighbourhood, seemed in no way to throw any further light on the mysterious illness. Yet it was long afterwards remembered how, during the weeks before the peculiar attack, which the country practitioner had ventured to characterize as "trance-condition," Helena Lethbridge had entertained more guests than usual in her husband s absence. The " At Homes "—artistic and musical— for which Mrs. Lethbridge was known, were a mild form of hospitality by no means uncommon with her on the days when Mr. Lethbridge spent more time than usual in the city. She was eminently social, and it was one of the gentle recreations of her blameless life to entertain friends on the occasions when Boyd Lethbridge did not return till the last train was due from London.

These gatherings were never exclu sive. Singularly unworldly and free from petty ambition, Helena Lethbridge had never disdained those who sought her acquaintance, though the society of Maidenhead, Cookham, and Marlowe was rather motley, formed by the nouveaux riches, who either settled in the neighbourhood after making fortunes and building " palatial residences " for them selves, or who were still buried in the city like her husband, running up to town every day, as the rail was so accessible. The old house called "The Turrets" was well adapted for social purposes. The little village, in which it had once been the principal residence, was nearer to Cookham Dean than to Maidenhead. Yet from Mr. Lethbridge's grounds it was easy to get to Maidenhead Thicket, or back to the river and on to Great Marlowe.

And when the property had been put up for sale, it had been selected for its com parative nearness to the metropolis — the journey to Martindale's bank being scarcely longer than the drive to the station. If people did not mind that drive, it was easy enough for a woman like Helena Lethbridge to make the Turrets a centre of attraction to all her neighbours. It was perhaps a "little thine" to do, but one of the little things which came naturally to a kindly-hearted woman who found "all worldly joys go less to the one joy of doing kindnesses." There were many who found the Turrets a " house beautiful" for rest and refreshment, and also a place of amusement. For Mrs. Lethbridge was not only an artistic woman, but one who had read much, and who in endeavouring to lift her' own sex from the bondage of " dollhood and imbecility " never allowed herself to think contemptuously of other women as dolls.

The little parties which she had given in the week before her illness had proved, as usual, an entire success. But in both she had managed to infuse some higher interest. In the first, some tableaux vivants from Shakspere's plays had formed an at tractive feature in the programme, Helena herself having been persuaded to personate Hermione in the celebrated statue scene of the " Winter's Tale," in which her young daughter had taken the part of Perdita. The ease and grace of the performance had been pronounced unusual, aud Mrs. Lethbridge, who still preserved the fine proportions of her figure, and whose drapery had been carefully studied by an artist summoned from London to arrange the tableaux, was said to have looked as lovely as the young daughter who knelt in rapture at her feet. At the next party there had been music, and here again Helena Lethbridge appeared to advantage.

A few simple people, not ashamed to admire, had held their breath as she interpreted with more than her accustomed skill some of those melodies sacred to memories that wring the heartstrings — melodies that bring back to many of us " the touch of a vanished hand," or the "sound of a voice that is still." Helena was of a cheerful disposition, nor was she, perhaps, more sad than usual when she lingered over those well-loved melodies, with " linked sweetness long drawn out," giving full effect to the pathos that underlay the rhythm of the melody. But it wras remembered also, that her daughter had remonstrated with her, " Mother, why do you choose such melan choly tunes to-night ? " and that she had put her off with an evasive reply, "Why should one tune be considered sadder than another ? I am never merry when I hear sweet music."

A girl of sixteen was too young to be kept up to so late an hour in the opinion of many of the ex perienced matrons. Mrs. Lethbridge, they declared, was apt to err in these respects from over-tender ness to her child, just as she was said to be too indulgent to the drolleries, the little familiar girlish ways, which many were ready to condemn in the much humoured Enid. Other girls at such an age would have been dressed in short frocks, or sent to boarding school, instead of being taken into companionship by their mothers. But few of the Maidenhead ladies could appreciate the close and mysterious bond of union between this mother and daughter, a bond of union which no outsider could fathom, and which had developed the child's intelligence precociously, perhaps abnormally, by the earliest, closest, and most instinctive tie of innocent love.

It is but a law of nature that a mother should make no demand for a return of her outlay of affection upon her children. Not always are those united by fleshly ties at the same time spiritually related. But this case was an unusual one. Enid's heart clave to Helena's passionately, loyally. The girl cared about few people in the world, but for those few with a devotion rarely equalled, a child's lover-like adoration. That evening she waxed eloquent as usual in praises of her mother's music. And Mrs. Lethbridge said, with a deprecating smile, — " Oh, of course it is absurd — the fuss she makes about me, but I admit that her flattery is beautiful to me." People accustomed to attach importance to the smallest domestic details in a case of strange and sudden illness like this, might have been interested to know how a young fellow, who was present, capped the remark by saying enthusiastically, " It is not flattery, Mrs. Lethbridge, — your daughter is right, as she generally is."

The speaker was but a lad — an orphan with no prospects — a protege of Mrs. Lethbridge's, as match making mothers had said, shaking their heads with disapproval, and remarking that he was far too often at the Turrets. For other matrons sometimes spoke sternly of Helena as a very romantic woman. They themselves were never sentimental, and their grown-up daughters would be careful not to betray any tender secrets to them. But Mrs. Lethbridge, who prided herself on her freedom from convention, had never been anxious to consult respectable precedents, and had never grown old in subduing her heart into obedience to social codes. To have long cherished in your own youth the memory of an almost hopeless attach ment, and to have been singularly faithful through out the years, is likely to make you tender to the sensitive feelings of others.

She did not even frown on Geoffrey Carden when that stripling said hotly, speaking of the playmate of his childhood, " Enid is right, as she always is." She only answered with a sunny smile, " She thinks much of me because I am her mother." " Oh, if you were only my real mother as well ! " said the lad, forgetting his usual bashfulness, and fired by the recollections of the gracious expression on the Hermione's face — wife and motherhood sub limated — as well as by the pathetic music which still rung in his ears. "It is the dearest hope of my heart that some day you may be." " Hush-sh," said Helena, as she glanced meaningly at Enid. " Hush, people will be noticing ! " For it was as if neither the elder lady nor the impetuous boy could help the instantaneous divination of each other's feelings.

But it would be greatly over-estimating the importance of the episode to say that it gave Helena anything like a shock. Geoffrey Carden was the son of her favourite friend. She loved him almost as much as if he had been a child of her own. She had watched him grow up from boyhood. It was imprudent, no doubt. But Helena had that contempt which familiarity breeds for wealth, having never known the want of it, and having noticed how the possession of too much gold is apt to steel the heart/narrow the sympathies, and induce apathetic sloth in the young men who possess it. Experience had taught her that there was a good deal of unholy wealth, and she did not desire more of it as an inheritance for her child. " Hush, foolish boy ! " she repeated, putting her hand to her lips, but her smile was not severe.

The time did not seem so very far off when she too had been able to idealize one of her fellow-creatures. And though, as she had grown older, she had some times lost sight of the earlier ideal, having perhaps found another which was better and nobler; yet that middle-aged people, priding themselves on their cold common-sense, should talk lightly of such ex periences, as if they had outgrown them and despised them — as if love, even if it were betrayed on earth, might not wake again after death — always kindled Helena Lethbridge's wrath. So, though she was taken by surprise when the stripling dared to tell her, "It is the dearest hope of my life that one day I may call you — mother," she acted tenderly and graciously, like herself. " You must promise to say nothing about this yet; you are young, and my daughter is a child," she answered, pressing his hand; "the future is in the hands of God."

The "yet" gave the young fellow hope, as she, without upbraiding him, only bade him wait till he was older. "You are too young to talk about such things yet — too young to know your own mind," she said, with an indulgent smile. " I have not talked," he answered ; " but always — all my life — I have felt the same about her." "Your life has not been very long — you are two innocent children, and you must keep children, WHA T DID SHE DIE OF? 15 still," she said, with an increase of the smile which seemed to spread from the lips to the eyes; "but in four or five years — when you come from the University — I really do not think that will be too long to wait — you must first win your spurs." All the time she was saying to herself, " What does it matter that he will not be rich ? My husband was not rich when I met him first."

It was not likely that she would have repeated the conversation ; and as to the lad himself, it is needless to say that the sort of shyness with which he shrank from betraying his emotion, effectually tied his tongue. " She is a trump," he thought to himself when that night he lay awake, pride and shame making him repent the hasty speeches in which he had be trayed a warm, youthful passion he had intended to have hidden. " She is a trump, and I was a fool. I had no right to speak." The party was not a late one, perhaps in defer ence to Enid. The guests had all left the house before the master returned soon after twelve o'clock. But then, for the first time within the memory of the older servants, the sounds of a protracted altercation were heard from the drawing-room. One voice was raised in pleading tones, another answered angrily — even fiercely.

On the following morning' Mrs. Lethbridge was Do O unable to rise from her bed. But the trifling attack of indisposition passed off easily, and Helena - — more silent than usual, and noticeably paler — took her place at the dinner-table, parrying the anxious inquiries of her child. The master was again absent in London, and when he returned on the following morning, his temper did not seem to be improved. For the first time he was stern and haughty in his manner, with flashes of nervous irritability. There were again sounds of earnest talking, as on the previous day, and then Mrs. Lethbridge was closeted for some hours in her bedroom, complaining of feeling ill. The next day she still secluded herself, and was busied, as the old nurse said, with letter-writing. But she made an effort to rise to meet Mr. Lethbridge, when once more he returned from London, and it was noticed that long after the young lady had retired for the night, the mistress, who had complained of feeling ill, remained imprudently sitting up.