Darrell Chevasney. A novel

Front matter

JRRROLsDS' 3/6 SERIES OF POPULAR NOVELS, By WELL-KNOWN AUTHORS. (Crown %7io., Cloth.) Uniform with "Darrell Chevasney.' i. LOUIS DRAYCOTT. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 2nd Edition. 2. GEOFFREV STIRLING. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 5th Edition. 3. BONNIE KATE. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 2nd Edition. 4. A NEW OTHELLO. By Hon. Iza Duffus Hardy. 2nd Edition. 5. THE MAID OF LONDON BRIDGE. By Somerville GlBNEY. 6. EVELINE WELLWOOD. By Major Norris Paul. 7. OLD LATTImEÆL'S, ,L©3ACY. By J. S. Fletcher. 8. THAT LITTLE GIRL. .B^ Curtis Yorke. 4th Edition. q. DUDLEY. BWJtjgTÆ'^pRKE. 3rd Edition. 10. THE WILD Rim»-ENS. By Curtis Yorke. 3rd Edition. ir. THE BROWN PORTMANTEAU, and other Stories. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. T2. HUSH ! By Curtis Yorke. 3rd Edition. 13. ONCE ! By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 14. A ROMANCE OF MODERN LONDON.

By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 15. HIS HEART TO WIN. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 16. DARRELL CHEVASNEY. By Curtis Yorke. 17. BETWEEN THE SILENCES, and other Stories. By Curtis Yorke. [/« the Press. OTHERS IN PREPARATION. LONDON: IARROLD c> SONS, 10 and n, Warwick Lane. & itoltsl. BY CURTIS YORKE, .4 ill hor of "Husk I" "Once," "His Heart lo Win," "A Romance of Modern London," "Dudley" " The Brawn Portmanteau," " The Wild Rut hvens," £-Y., &rc " And the soul ? Is that visible or invisible ? " " It is invisible to man, Socrates," he said. Plato. LONDON : JARROLD AND SONS, 10 & u, WARWICK LANE, E.C. 1894. [All Rights Reserved.} CONTENTS. CHAP I ER PAGE I. In which a Promise is Broken - - g II. Sisters - - -22 III. Mother Devron - 31 IV. A Strange Betrothal - - 43 V. At the Sign of the Arrow - - 50 VI.

The Squire's Wife - - 58 VII. At His Bidding - - 65 VIII. One Happy Hour - 76 IX. Two Wives -. - 84 X. "Unto One of the Least of These" 91 XI. By Night - - 96 XII. In all Bitterness - - 106 XIII. Days that were Dead - 112 XIV. Bitter Sweet - - - 118 XV. On Her Wedding Day - - - 127 XVI. The Shadow Deepens - 134 XVII. The Legend of the Nun's Garden - 141 XVIII. Unchained - - - - 149 XIX. Set Free - - - i55 CONTENTS. VIII

Chapter I. In Which

A PROMISE IS BROKEN. Midway upon the journey of our life, I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost." DANTE -.—Inferno. T N an old-fashioned, neglected garden, lit by the sum *■ mer moonlight, a man and a woman stood facing each other. I write of a hundred years ago. The man was deathly pale, and his eyes were glittering strangely. Otherwise, except for a certain catch in his breath now and again, few would have guessed that to-night held the supreme crisis of his life ; that his brain was reeling under a shock so overwhelming and so unlooked for that his whole being was held in a fierce, intolerable pain. When he spoke, his voice, though very low, was perfectly clear and steady. "And so," he said, "it is all over. That is what I have come all these weary miles to hear — that it is all over."

" Yes," she answered, with a quick, uncertain gesture ; " it is all over." From a thick copse close by, a nightingale was pouring forth her rich, wildly-passionate strains, which, as they rose and fell, seemed to press into the man's heart and brain the dreary words, " All over ! All over ! " The woman was young — not much more than nine teen — and really beautiful. A richly-coloured blonde, with eyes of deepest brown ; eyes that expressed in their liquid, innocently deceitful depths, more than they had ever felt for any man — as yet. Her companion was blonde too, but of a totally different type ; calm, colourless, and, nine people out of ten would have said, passionless. In this last, how ever, the nine would have been wrong. The pair presented an almost startling contrast as they stood there in the silvery moonlight.

Each physique exactly contradicted the other — and its own nature. In her was none of the passion expressed by the soft crimson curves of her full-lipped mouth, her melting beseeching eyes. In him, his outward passionless calm was a mere habitual mask — hiding the molten current within. He did not know her nature — or if he did, he had thought to change it. She did not know his — or this story had never been written. She was looking nervously away from him, her tiny white fingers lacing and interlacing themselves rapidly, the matchless curve of her cheek just touched by the shimmering moonlight. Each moment she seemed to him fairer, and more to be desired. As his voice cleft the stillness again, she turned her eyes upon his face, and what she saw there gave her the first dim, half defined knowledge of the devil that women can rouse in men.

" It is two years to-night since we last met," he said, still with that same strange repression in his voice — " two short, little years. And yet they have been long to me — though I never seem to have lived until they began. For during those two years you have been mine ! — mine ! — my promised wife. At least, I believed so. I could not be supposed to know, you see, that you were only — playing with me." His voice was so terribly, so unnaturally at variance with his expression, that the girl involuntarily shivered, and took a few steps away from him. But by an almost imperceptible movement he placed himself between her and the moss-grown little gate near which they stood. " You will listen to me, I know," he went on, leaning slightly towards her. "We always listen to dying words, do we not?

And the best part of me is dying to-night. You have killed it." She looked at him beseechingly with her great terri fied dark eyes. " Darrell," she said, in a half-sobbing whisper, " you frighten me. It is cruel of you to speak in that way. I was a child when you went away. There was no real engagement between us, for my father had not given his consent. It is his wish that I should marry Maurice Brackenbridge. Darrell, dear Darrell, it was as a friend I loved you. I love you as a friend still. I have been to blame, I know. I ought to have written to tell you ; but I did not dream you would care so much. I wish I had written. But, 1 thought I had rather tell you. I thought " " Yes," he interrupted her quietly, " it would have been better, perhaps, if you had — written to tell me. It would have been more " He stopped, and raised his hand quickly to his throat.

" Darrell," murmured the girl entreatingly, " don't look like that. You make me fear — I know not what." But he did not seem to hear her. He was leaning his back against the little gate, his face upturned to the throbbing stars. " And this is your bridal eve, you tell me," he went on monotonously, every word falling distinct and clear upon the silence. " To-morrow you will become Maysel Brackenbridge, and mistress of Carbrook Hall. Do I envy your bridegroom, I wonder? By my faith, no ! — or his hours on earth would be few. Methinks I almost pity him. When you tell him — if you have not already told him — of the trifling episode in your life in which / played the leading part, he will doubtless pity me." He paused, then went on with a low mirthless laugh, " I must be a fool indeed to care so much, for, in sooth, it is an old enough story.

A rich man and a poor man — both fools ; both slaves to a mad passion for a woman who — conveniently indifferent to 'both — throws the poor man over. It was nothing to her that he — credulous fool ! — was toiling night and day in the great far-away city to make a home for her there ; it was nothing to her that he denied himself the sight of her for all these weary months — that he denied himself all but the barest necessaries — that he counted the months and days and hours until the time should come when he might claim her — that he held her image in his heart as a sacred talisman against aught that might insult her womanly purity. And when at last an unforeseen chance threw in his way what to him was comparative fortune — when, half delirious with joy, every pulse throbbing with ecstasy, he realized that his long-dreamt-of heaven was almost within his grasp — what then?

Burning with love, and joy, and hope, he travels night and day to tell her, with his own lips, that all the weary waiting is over. He pictures their meeting — here — where they have met so often. He pictures her fair face alight with incredulous happiness. He almost feels her arms about him — his lips on hers. Well ? They meet — and what has she to tell him ?' That it is her bridal eve ! — that in a few short hours she will be a wife ! But not his — mark you — not his ! " With the last words a strong shudder passed over him, and a more ghastly pallor settled on his clear cut features. His voice shook, too, as the voice of one who endures some horrible physical agony. " Darrell, forgive me ! " cried the girl, wringing her hands piteously. " Be angry with me — speak harshly to me — but in mercy don't look at me like that !

I have been very cruel to you, I know. But you were always kind to me, Darrell — always, since we were tiny children. You will forgive me ? " He looked down at her with a curious dispassionate smile. " Shall I ? " he said. " Perhaps I may. But — not in this world." Then he continued in a voice which only half indicated the self-control he was exercising, " And all these winning, maddeningly sweet ways of yours — your shy, seductive glances — your half-ut tered replies to my passionate love-words — all these wiles by which you stole the very heart out of my body — all these things meant nothing, you tell me. They were only marks of friendship. In that case, God grant your men friends be few — or it bodes ill for your husband's peace of mind. And your promise to marry me? Was that a mark of friendship, too?

Do you remember the night you gave it? Do you remember our meetings in this lonely place ? Do you remember how at our last parting — so long ago — I held you in my arms ? — how your heart beat against mine ? — how I kissed your hair, your eyes, your soft, cool forehead — but, ah ! I remember — never your lips ! You used to say — have you forgotten ? — it was one of your pretty, prudish sayings — that no man save your husband should ever kiss your lips. But even that was surely part of your vile coquetry — for you held the unspoken promise over me until I have felt that my very soul would be a poor price for that withheld kiss. My God ! do such women as you know what devils you make of men ? " His voice had become hoarse and uneven ; for the terrible, almost superhuman restraint he had "i;!therto put upon himself, was rapidly giving way.

"Oh, Darrell, Darrell!" cried Maysel, weeping bit terly. "Can you ever forgive me? Try to forgive me, and to think kindly of me again. I was a vain, foolish child two years ago. I was proud of your love, and mistook my own childish love for something more. I see now how wicked — how cruel I have been to you." With the last words, she came quite close to him, and laid one little white hand on the sleeve of the brown cloth riding-coat he wore. At her touch, he caught his breath sharply, and said in a hoarse, rapid whisper — " Don't touch me ! Take your hand off my arm ! Do you hear me ? " The girl shrank back a pace or two. " Let me pass," she said, indistinctly and fearfully. "It is late. They will wonder — at home. Let me pass." " Yes," he said, speaking slowly, and with deep labouring breaths that were almost sobs.

" Yes — I will let you pass. But first, tell me — speak truly for once, remembering the many lies you have fooled me with. This man — so soon to be your husband — is it love you feel for him? — or is it only — friendship? Is it Maurice Brackenbridge you care for? Or is it his wealth, his social position — all these things that women sell their souls for? Is this what has weighed with you? Maysel ! For the love of Heaven, speak ! " Her eyes drooped, and her lips quivered, but she did not answer. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and let his teeth meet sharply on his under-lip. " Ah," he said, hoarsely — " you need not answer. I know. So — you love him. Not as you could love, though ! Not as I could have taught you to love ! Nevertheless, you will give yourself to him. You will " He stopped short, then went on in a voice almost inarticulate with long-controlled passion, " One question more.

This man whom you love, whose wife you will be — to-morrow — he doubtless, has been more fortunate, less subservient to your wishes than — I ? You have yielded your lips to him ? You have willingly, gladly perhaps, granted to him the kisses — you denied to me ? " " You forget yourself, Darrell Chevasn ey," she said coldly. " I am not accountable to you for what I may do, or may not do." A pale smile flitted over his lips. " Answer me," he said, briefly. Hitherto he had not attempted to touch her, but had stood with his clenched hands hanging by his sides, looking down at her as she faced him — oh, how mad deningly fair ! — under the misty moonbeams. But now he took both her hands. His were icy cold, she felt ; and their grip was cruelly hard. For the space of a minute both were silent ; the man because his voice was beyond his control ; the girl from a half paralysed, undefinable fear.

The nightingale sang on pitilessly — her song pierc ingly, agonisingly sweet. A tiny breeze had risen, and floating over a bed of clove carnations, filled the air with a rich, subtle fragrance. At last Maysel spoke. " Let me go," she gasped, making a violent but in effectual effort to withdraw her hands. "Your answer?" he returned inflexibly, though almost inaudibly. Maysel had grown white, her breath came thick and fast. " No man has ever kissed my lips," she said in a breathless kind of way. " Now — let me go ! " " Swear it ! " " Nay — why should I ? " " Swear it, I tell you — or by the Heaven above us He stopped, and moved his grasp from her fingers to her wrists, thus drawing her yet nearer to him. Something in his eyes as they flashed into hers roused her to a sudden wild terror. " I swear it," she sobbed.

" I swear it, Darrell. AW -let me go ! " IN WHICH A PRO A>I I SE IS BROKEN. 19 But even as he spoke he caught her in his arms ; they clasped her closer — closer ; her weak struggles were as nothing in his powerful grasp. He held her against his heart, and pressed mad, fierce, reckless kisses on her shrinking lips — kisses that were full of mingled passion and despair. " Now," he panted, releasing her suddenly — " go to your bridegroom. Tell him / have had the kisses your lips first suffered from man — that you were mine first — that your soul shall be mine to all eternity. That I swear " — raising his hand — " that as you have blighted my life, so shall yours be blighted, and the lives of all you hold most dear. May God's curse be upon you, and upon your husband ! — and may your children " But here his voice changed and faltered, and finally broke hoarsely.

" Oh, it is too horrible — too horrible," he muttered " I cannot realise even now — even now — that to-morrow — to-morrow — you will be his wife ! Not mine — not mine! Oh, my God — my God!" And with the agony and cry of the last words, he leaned faint and sick against the ivy-grown wall and hid his face on his arm, his powerful frame shaking as a woman's might have done. Terror, amazement, and indignation had hitherto held the girl speechless. But now she turned upon him suddenly. • • B " Coward ! " she said, between her teeth. " I was mad to trust myself alone with you to-night. Miserable coward ! " Then she broke into shamed angry weeping. He raised his head, and pushed the heavy hair from his forehead. As he did so a wild laugh broke from him — a laugh that in a woman would have been hysterical.

"Coward, am I?" he echoed, with difficult, quick drawn breath. "Yes, I suppose I am — isa man be a coward who snatches a taste of the dear, impossible heaven within his grasp before he is condemned to inevitable hell ! What are you crying for ? " he broke out suddenly and roughly. " My kisses have done you no harm ! You need not grudge them to me out of all I have lost." Then his voice changed, and he went on brokenly, " Maysel, don't cry — don't — for pity's sake. I cannot bear it. Oh, my lost darling, forgive me. For God's sake, have some pity — " His voice grew hoarse and unsteady, and died away ; his hands opened and shut convulsively, he tried in vain to control the working of his bloodless lips. " Go ! " he said indistinctly, and as he spoke, he hid his face in his shaking hands. " Go, I tell you — and quickly !

" He stepped back from the little gate, she fled swiftly through, and was soon lost in the dusk of the lane be yond. IN WHICH A PROAIIISE IS BROKEN. 21 little sound man's night swept There was silence for a few moments in the garden. And then on the night fell the muffled of tearless, gasping sobs — the sobs of a strong broken heart. Heavy clouds had drifted across the moon, the ingale's song was hushed ; and a moaning wind drearily over the sleeping flowers. DARRELL CHE VASNE Y. 22

Chapter II. Sisters

" Whilst yet the calm hours creep. Dream thou — and from thy sleep Then wake to weep ! " lyTAYSEL ARDEN ran swiftly down the lane in ■'■'-'■ the shimmering moonlight until she reached the Rotheram road ; then, turning up another and a narrower lane, she stopped before a small arched door in the wall, took a heavy key from the pocket of her gown, and having let herself in softly, closed the door again. She was now in the gardens of Adderthwaite Grange ; and a few minutes later she had entered the house by a side door, and gained her room. A girl was sitting at a table in the centre of the room, the light from an antique silver lamp falling upon her pale face and glittering hair and upon the nervous little fingers clasped upon her lap. There was a curious fleeting likeness between the two sisters — for they were sisters — and yet they were SISTERS. 23 strikingly dissimilar.

Nita was older than Maysel by perhaps a year. She was smaller and thinner, and almost as plain as her sister was beautiful. Her lustreless yellow hair was singularly unbecoming to her sallow skin ; her features were small and insignificant. But her eyes atoned for much, being clear, soft, and blue, and wonderfully expressive. " Well ? " she said, in a constrained voice, which yet held an underlying excitement. "Well, was he there? And — did you tell him ? " She had risen as Maysel entered, and now stood leaning one hand somewhat heavily on the table. "Yes," her sister answered, half under her breath — "he was there — and I told him." " Maysel — how white and scared you look ! " exclaimed Nita quickly. " What is the matter ? " But for all answer Maysel sank on her knees by the window-seat, and covered her face with her hands.

When some minutes had passed Nita knelt down by her sister's side, and laid one arm softly over her neck. " Maysel " — she whispered agitatedly. " What is it ? What has happened ? " Maysel shuddered violently, and putting away the other's arm, she rose to her feet. " Don't ask me," she said, pressing her hands to the sides of her head. " I — cannot tell you. Oh, Nita, I have been very cruel — horribly cruel ; and I am very, very miserable ! " Nita had risen too, and now stood watching Maysel's face intently, a strange light in her clear blue eyes. " Miserable ? " she echoed softly. " And yet to-morrow is your wedding-day ? What would Maurice Bracken bridge say to that, think you ? " Maysel did not answer. She was walking restlessly up and down the room ; a strange, feverish excitement filled her veins, her pulses were throbbing wildly, and on her lips still burned the memory of Darrell Chevasney's fierce kisses.

After a brief space Nita spoke again, this time harshly and unevenly. " It would almost seem that you regret your former lover. Were his reproaches so terrible, then ? Was he so utterly broken-hearted ? Or has this one night so utterly re-established his old power over you ? " Maysel stopped in her restless promenade, and began to weep bitterly. Nita pressed one hand tightly upon her own heart, as though to still its wild beating. "You love him still, Maysel?" she said, drawing the weeping girl towards her. "Is it not so? Nay — do not sob so bitterly. It is not yet too late. Better break off your marriage on the very eve of its fulfilment than swear a lie at God's holy altar." As she spoke she seated herself, and held Maysel in her arms until the heavy gasping sobs had ceased somewhat SISTERS. 25 For perhaps the space of a quarter of an hour neither spoke.

Then Maysel half raised herself from her kneel ing position, and murmured faintly, " Oh, my sister ! I fear I am both weak and wicked. A few short hours ago I could have sworn that Maurice Brackenbridge had all my heart, and that my childish love for Darrell had faded, never to be revived. But to-night," she continued feverishly, and pressing more closely to her sister's breast — " to-night I scarce know my own fickle heart. I know not if it be love — -but his voice, his dear, well-remembered voice, seemed to draw my soul to his ; his eyes half terrified me and half fasci nated me ; his kisses— Ah, Nita, do not blame me, it was not with my will ! — his kisses seemed to awaken my sleeping heart, and turn its blood to fire." Nita had become deathly pale. "Hush!" she muttered indistinctly, "Hush — you torture me.

For alas ! unhappy girl that I am, I know his fatal power only too well." Maysel looked at her in stupefied, incredulous amaze ment. " What ! " she breathed, rather than uttered. " What ! You care for — Darrell Chevasney ? " " And if I do ? " was the wild answer. " If I have cared for him all these years — though he never gave me a passing thought — what is that to you? If I have felt I could die happy for one caressing word or touch — if, since my childhood, I have looked up to him and adored him as something more than human — But, ah ! I must be mad, methinks, to confess that I have given my love, unasked, to my sister's lover. In truth it is a pretty confession ! " And laughing hysterically, she laid her head down on her arm in a passion of sobs. Maysel, weeping also, drew her into her arms, and held her there, as Nita had held her so short a time ago.

But now it was Maysel — awed and shocked — who was the comforter. A deep affection had bound these two sisters together since their babyhood. Their mother had died at Maysel's birth, and their father was a taciturn, studious man, old for his fifty years, and a confirmed recluse. The girls had been brought up under the care of an austere maiden aunt, who had ruled the household at Adderthwaite Grange ever since her nieces could remember, and of whom they both stood in wholesome awe. Of late, however, Aunt Dorothy had been singularly gracious to her younger niece ; for the future wife of Maurice Brackenbridge — the influential land owner and magistrate, and squire of half Sheffield and Rotheram besides — was worthy of consideration and respect ; and Nita, for the time, basked in the reflected light of her sister's glory.

At last Nita drew herself away from Maysel's arms. SISTERS. 27 " It is late," she said in a dull tired voice. " We should be in bed. What would Aunt Dorothy say if she knew? Forget my mad words. And oh, Maysel, if your heait tells you that Darrell's love will make you happy — and it seems to me there is much in him to make a woman happy — tell Maurice all. He is a good man and a chivalrous, and " " Nay," interrupted the other sadly — " Darrell's love for me has changed to hatred, methinks. He called down bitter curses on me to-night — curses that in remembering I shudder. And something in my heart — I know not what — tells me that Maurice's love is the worthier. And yet — and yet — " She stopped, and shivered slightly ; then went on with an unwonted firmness in her sweet voice, " Let us speak of it no more.

One broken promise in a maiden's life is enough, it seems to me. And in truth I dare not think of what Aunt Dorothy and my father would say if I broke my promise to Maurice now He loves me well, and will ever treat me tenderly and courteously. My lot will be as fair a one as falls to most wives." " And Maurice ? " asked her sister quietly. " Will he be content, think you, to possess you — and not your heart ? " " I know not yet that he does not possess my heart," was the passionate answer. " But I am excited and wear)', and talk foolishly. And listen, Nita — there was that in Darrell Chevasney's eyes to-night that made me sorely afraid of him. Methinks he could be pitilessly cruel." She paused and looked fearfully over her shoulder. " It is you who have been cruel, Maysel," said Nita coldly, " and that you know right well.

If " But here the door opened suddenly, and a tall, erect old lady entered the room. " Maysel and Anita," she said, looking severely from one to the other — " why these late and unseemly hours ? Dost know the hall clock has struck eleven long since ? and that you have both to be up betimes to-morrow? And whence these traces of tears, Maysel ? A pretty matter for tears, forsooth, that to-morrow will see you the bride of the richest man in all the countryside — a position envied you by every maiden in Yorkshire and Derbyshire. I hold not with bride's tears. To bed at once ; and thank God for the love of a good man — and a wealthy ! " added Aunt Dorothy. She then imprinted a chilly kiss on each niece's forehead, and rustled away. The two girls undressed in silence, said their simple prayers, and got into bed.

" Maysel," said Nita, just before she slept — " did you think Maurice Brackenbridge depressed and unlike him self to-night ? " " No," returned her sister. " But in truth he may have been ; for I was so disturbed by receiving Darrell's SISTERS. 29 message saying he had returned and would meet me in the Nun's Garden, and so fearful lest Maurice should stay beyond the time for me to go, that I scarce noticed his mood." It was long ere Maysel slept, and towards dawn she dreamed a curious dream. She dreamed that she was standing at the gate of the Nun's Garden. (This garden, by the way, was an enclosed though isolated space lying some way back from the road between Sheffield and Rotheram, where trees and shrubs, flowers and weeds, grew together in confused and picturesque luxuriance. It is gone now, and a street of shops and second-class houses stands in its place.)