Mildred's cross, or, The high road to ruin

Front matter

THE

HIGH ROAD TO RUIN.

MILDRED'S CROSS;

Prologue

A tear was drawing to its close.

It had but a few minutes to exist before it was swept into the abyss of the past by the irresistiblo hand of Time.

A very sad and solemn occasion is the death of an old year and the birth of a new. Hearts that are callous beat quicker, while those that are sensitive, are anxious and hopeful — for they know that they are trembling on the threshold of the unknown.

The night was sharp and frosty ; a myriad of stars thronged the placid vault of heaven, while the moon hung like a ball of brightly-burnished silver in the midst of them. Icicles were pendant from the trees, and the streams were covered with thick sheets of ice.

Most of the inhabitants of Tuthin-y-Cwyd, a village in a picturesque part of South Wales, were sitting rouud blazing fires, seeing the old year out and the new one in. Flasks of spirits and bottles of wine flanking substantial repasts might have been discovered upon many tables.

Although a temporary gloom had fallen over the people of the village, they evidently intended to give themselves up to good cheer and merry-making as soon as the knell of the departing year had been rungout by the iron tongues of the belfry.

There was, however, one exception to the general appearance of festivity. The grim and gaunt visage of death had intruded itself upon the serenity of a small household at the extremity of the village.

The house was occupied by a lady of the name of Millington. She was of good extraction, and at one period of her life, of ample means ; but she had the misfortune to marry a man who abandoned himself to the shocking vice of intoxication. He died miserably, leaving his wife with two twin children.

Mrs. Millington dearly loved her boys — those sweet pledges of her affection for her husband — but she was a young wife, and her whole heart had been given to, and her affection centred upon, the father of her children.

In dying as he did, he administered a blow to her from which she never recovered. She gradually sank lower and lower, wasting away as a flower fades before the chills and blights of autumn.

Her only friend after her husband's untimely decease was the curate of the village of Tuthin-y-Cwyd.

Prologue, J

Mr. Lovibond had been acquainted with her family for many years, and she retired to the still and pleasant Welsh hamlet, in order to avail herself of the advice and spiritual consolation that she was well aware she would receive from a truly good and Christian gentleman.

All Mr. Lovibond's efforts to heal the broken heart were unavailing. The unfortunate lady was the prey of a diseased mind, to which none could minister. She knew that she was doomed, nor did she murmur at her fate. A pious resignation filled her mind, and she had but to cast off her earthly garb to be a fit companion for the angels.

Though very weak, and much exhausted, Mrs. Millington had yet breath and strength enough to talk to the man of God, and listen to his comforting exhortation. A placid smile played around her once beautiful but now emaciated face. The future welfare of her children did not trouble her. She knew they would not want ; for she would leave them sufficient to educate and give them a footing in the world ; and she had the happy consciousness of having found an excellent protector for their tender years.

Mr. Lovibond had given her a sacred promise that he would guard the boys with parental care, and do all that lay in his power to make them worthy descendants of a sainted mother.

The poor lady's chief anxiety was, lest they should be tempted by their father's besetting sin. In order to allay this fear, the worthy curate, who was legally appointed guardian and executor, declared that he would bring them up on strictly temperance principles.

Mrs. Millington had a presentiment that she should not see the birth of the new year. The doctor, the curate, and a nurse stood around her bedside. The services of the former were not needed ; but from a feeling of duty and friendship he stayed to the last, The curate had fallen upon his knees, and was offering up a prayer in low and impressive tones. The dying lady folded her arms across her breast, her lips moved, and she was spending the last moments of her brief and unhappy life in heartfelt and sincere devotion.

The eyes of the medical man wandered now and then towards the clock, which stood upon the mantelpiece. It wanted but one minute to twelve.

The curate continued to pray in the same calm and earnest manner.

Suddenly the deep booming of the church clock informed the watchers that the year was over. Silently they counted the strokes. A serene expression pervaded the features of Mrs. Millington. Her lips ceased to move ; and ere the clock had finished clanging out the hour, she was dead !

The doctor touched the curate gently upon the shoulder, for his scientific eye told him that all was over.

Rising to his feet, Mr. Lovibond murmured " Heaven receive her spirit ! " and turned to depart, for his work was ended.

CHAPTER L

WHICH IS CHIEFLY DESCRIPTIVE.

Some years have elapsed since the death of Mrs. Millington, at Tuthin-y-Cwyd. Mr. Lovibond fulfilled the duty that was entrusted to him in a most exemplary manner, having a religious sense of the obligation under which he was placed.

He had a daughter of his own ; and when his brother died, leaving a little girl to lament his loss, he consented to take charge of his niece. Mildred and Clara were both beautiful; but they represented different types of beauty. The parson's daughter was fair, and fragile as a lily. Her complexion was delicately white, her hands small, her features well defined, and of that Saxon kind which is common amongst us islanders. Her hair was long, golden, and like floss silk — so soft and fine was it. The rosy bloom of health was on her cheeks, and the natural carmine of her lips added a charm to the pearly whiteness of her teeth.

Clara, on the other hand, was stately and queenlike — dark as the night, resolute and self-reliant; tall, with flashing eyes, having a stern look, which repelled a stranger.

The brothers were unlike one another in general appearance, though both bore some slight resemblance to their mother. John had a more manly look than his brother Leonard, and was generally the foremost in athletic sports and exercises, for Leonard was of a studious disposition, and much given to reading. The effect of his perpetual study was to make him look pale and more delicate than John, who, from always being in the fields or on the river, acquired a ruddy hue, and became strong and stalwart.

At the age of twenty, neither of them had ever touched anything stronger than water. The curate had fulfilled his pledge to the anxious mother. When the time camo for them to choose a profession, John, who at school had always evinced a talent for drawing, elected to be a surveyor and architect ; Leonard, on the other hand, preferred a sedentary life, and went as a clerk into a merchant's office in the City.

In order to facilitate the studies of the young men, Mr. Lovibond removed from Wales to the neighbourhood of London, settling down in the pleasant little village of Hornsey.

" How quietly and calmly our life has been passed up to the present time !" exclaimed Mildred to Clara, during a morning walk.

" Very quietly. Our little domestic stream has never yet been ruffled by a storm," replied Clara ; " but will it always be so 1"

" That is a question that has often arisen in my mind," Mildred said, thoughtfully. " It seems unnatural to be so happy and peaceful as we have been. Authors and pcets say that life is full of toil and trouble."

" What would you give to raise the veil of tho future V exclaimed Clara, with a light laugh. " We should then see if John is to be a great architect, and ■whether Leonard will arrive at the dignity of being a millionaire merchant prince."

"And more than that, dear Clara," said Mildred, " we should know who you are destined to marry."

"And you, Mildred — have you no curiosity — have you no wish to be enlightened as to your own fate V

Mildred blushed, and became thoughtful. Scarcely paying any attention to the remarks which fell from her cousin. Secretly she admired John Milling-ton; and, though Clara guessed that such was the case, she did not throw out any insinuation which would have annoyed her friend.

With the ready eye of a fond father, Mr. Lovibond noticed that John Millington was attached to Mildred. He saw, also, that she reciprocated his affection ; and he remarked all this with pleasure — for he was an ardent advocate of early marriage, and wished above all things to see his daughter comfortably settled.

Life is short, and the tenure by which we hold it precarious. He was growing old ; and were he to be cut off suddenly, there would be no one to take care of his girl, whom he loved tenderly.

Wishing to see John and Mildred man and wife, lie allowed them every facility of communication, and smiled whenever he detected a loving glance pass between them.

He had the greatest confidence in John Millington ■—he would have trusted him with everything he had in the world. The young man was perfect. He did not appear to have any vice whatever about him. No one could be more exemplary than he. Though he was, by reason of his business, obliged to be often in London, he did not give himself up to the dissipations of the metropolis.

He was a stranger to taverns and wine-shops — the fascinations of theatres and music-halls had no charm for him — billiards was a game of which he had not the remotest knowledge.

His only pleasure was to go to his work in Parliament Street, Westminster, early in the morning, and return home direct at night, conscious of having done his best to please his employers, who could not fail to be satisfied with so diligent and conscientious a worker.

He was rewarded by the smiles of Mildred, who loved him as fondly and devotedly as ever a warmhearted girl loved a man who was in every way worthy of her affection.

John knew that Mr. Lovibond had some money in trust for him under his mother's will, and he was also aware that Mildred would, on her marriage, receive some money from her father, who, though not rich, was nevertheless moderately well off. There was positively nothing to interfere with a marriage between the young people ; but John had so much respect and regard for Mr. Lovibond, that he would not make a declaration of marriage to his daughter until he had previously informed him of his intention, and asked his permission to do so.

Tall, thick-set, handsome, athletic, gentlemanly, and unassuming in his manner, John might well feel confident of obtaining Mildred's hand ; and he was confident that he could win her and woo her if her father would give him his consent.

The old man was fond of walking in his garden. It was there that John found him, reclining in a rustic chair beneath the shade of a spacious mulberry tree. It was in the middle of the summer. John had left town early ; and the clock had barely struck the hour of six as he reached home.

Mr. Lovibond was reading; but he laid down his book, and said, with a kindly smile, "you are back early, John ! Mildred will be pleased. She was wishing, half-an-hour ago, that either your brother or yourself would take her for a walk."

" I do not think Leonard will come till late," replied John. " He told me, as we were going to town this Homing, that he had to superintend the shipment of a cargo of goods intended for the Australian markets, and that the task would last as long as the daylight."

" Ah ! he is a hard-working fellow ; So are the pair of you, for the matter of that ! You will find Mildred in the house. When she knows you have returned, I'll be bound she'll not be long in putting her bonnet on."

The old gentleman laughed, and John smiled, in order to keep him company ; but instead of going towards the house, as a dutiful lover should have done, he lin-

14 The High Road to R um.

gered under the shade of the mulberry tree, and afc last said, in a hesitating manner, " I — I would rather talk to you for a little while. To tell you the truth, I came home early on purpose."

" To talk to me, eh 1 Very well, you can do so, I shall be only too happy to listen to you," said Mr. Lovibond, raising his mild grey eyes, in which sparkled a benevolent intelligence.

" The fact is, Mr. Lovibond, I am in love with your daughter !" exclaimed John. " You must excuse my blunt way ; but when I have anything to say I must out with it at once, or hold my tongue for ever."

" You love Mildred !" said Mr. Lovibond.

" I do ; and heaven knows that my affection for her is pure and disinterested ! I love her with all my heart ; and have done so for some time !"

John had broken the ice, and having done so, found no difficulty in talking unreservedly to Mr. Lovibond, who smiled upon his suit, and despatched him to learn his fate from his daughter.

Mildred was in the conservatory — a small building at the back of the house, so contrived that it received the heat of the sun in its meridian. It was filled with choice plants and valuable exotics, which were under the sole care of Miss Lovibond, who was fond of flowers, and a student of botany.

She received John, as she always did, with a kind smile of welcome, and desisted from picking the dead leaves off some geraniums, which had, before his entrance, engrossed her attention. The petals of the flowers were entirely white, and represented a new variety, which were held in much esteem by both gardeners and amateurs.

" I am glad you have come, John," she said. " I was only saying to my father, a short time ago, that I should like a walk as far as the wood and back. Clara is practising some music, and you know how serious and determined she is with anything she undertakes. Nothing will induce her to leave what she looks upon as work. Business before pleasure is the motto of City men, is it not 1 — and it is hers also."

John walked up to the conservatory, nearly annihilating one or two precious plants in his way, so blundering and uncertain were his footsteps. "When he reached her side, he stopped, and began to talk to her in an impassioned tone. His was an impulsive nature, and if he had anything to say to anybody, he did not beat about the bush in telling it.

What he said to Mildred is not of any consequence.

The conversations of lovers are too sacred to be mentioned lightly. It is enough to say that half an hour passed so rapidly it seemed but five minutes. At the expiration of that time, they emerged from the conservatory hand in hand, and walked across the soft, yielding sward until they reached the mulberry tree.

Mr. Lovibond had not gone away. He was an apt student of the human heart, and he expected them.

Neither spoke aloud. They stood bashfully, and with downcast eyes before him. The old man rose. His vision was dimmed with tears. He took two steps, and stood before them. Then be raised his hands, and said, in a pious tone, " Bless you, my children ! Heaven above us, bless you ! "

Now that the match was settled, and the irrevocable step had been taken, affairs went on gaily. It was arranged that John and Mildred should be made man and wife in six weeks from the day of his proposal — the father of the bride officiating at the altar of the pretty church of Hornsey.

John went to business as usual, and it was acknowledged on all hands that he was a rising man. His architectural drawings were marked with a graceful, ness of outline and a grandeur of invention combined with great powers of elaboration.

A French gentleman called one day at the office in Parliament Street, and said that he wished for a design for a shooting-box, which he intended to erect upon some land he had lately bought in Cumberland.

The custom of the firm with which John Millington was studying was to bring in a portfolio filled with tho drawings of all those who were in their service, to allow the customer to select his artist from the specimens placed before him.

John's drawings pleased the gentleman more than any of the others, and he decided upon having the desired sketch made hy him. John did his best, and had the satisfaction of being told that he had succeeded admirably.

It was necessary that the gentleman should see the draughtsman, and he was shown up-stairs for that purpose

The Frenchman was tall and tolerably good-looking. He wore a frock-coat closely buttoned over a white waistcoat, the edges of which showed above his cravat, which was artistically tied and fastened with a handsome horseshoe-pin, studded with emeralds and diamonds. His gloves were lavender-coloured, sewn with black. In his hand he carried a small cane, tipped with silver.

He was evidently, from his manner, a polished man of the world, accustomed to mix with gentlemen. John was considerably impressed with him ; but, though impressed, he could not help thinking that there was something about his pale face which denoted a fondness for late hours. He had a snake-like, treacherous eye, cold and pitiless in its restless glance ; and John came to an unfavourable conclusion respecting his visitor.

Yet his politeness, and his easy, familiar manner, were calculated to take an inexperienced man like John Millington by storm ; and so it eventually did.

Some conversation took place between them, after which the gentleman rose to depart.

" Shall I send the sketch to you 1" asked John.

" Oh, no ; I will not trouble you. I shall be driving in this direction again in a week — will that be tiir.o enough for you 1"

"Amply sufficient."

'■' It will 1 In that case I shall have the pleasure of paying you another visit shortly. For the present, good-bye !"

The affable Frenchman put on his hat, which he placed jauntily on his head, stroked his peaked beard, and gave an amiable twist to his moustache, preparatory to emerging into the outer air, and took his departure.

John opened the door for him, bowed, and returning to his desk, looked at a card which the French gentleman had given him.

It bore this address :

"Mr. Varney Vaillant, 154^r, Pall Mall.';

Chapter II

THE WEDBIXG. JOHN MILLIXGTON DRINKS HIS FIRST

GLASS OP WINE, AND LIKES IT.

Let the bells ring ! Let them diffuse their clangour throughout the reeling belfry — let them intoxicate the ears of the lovers with deight — for, if rightly interpreted, their sound proclaims a wedding.

The village of Hornsey was, on the first day in the week of September, thrown into a state of commotion and excitement, owing to the fact of a wedding being about to take place between two old and respected residents.

It was on that day that John Millington led Mildred to the altar. Mr. Lovibond arranged the wedding breakfast in his own way. He despised the conventional mode of breakfasting in a room, and had the table placed upon the lawn in the rear of his house.

Just before the party started for the church, John said to Mr. Lovibond, " I really quite forgot to tell you that I have invited a friend of mine to the wedding. He is very well off, and quite a nice fellow. I think you will like him."

" I hope so, I am sure, dear boy !" replied Mr. Lovibond. " Any friend of yours should stand in the same relation to me. Who is he, and where did you meet him?'

" He is a French gentleman, of the name of Varney Vaillant. He came one day to Brassey and Williamson's, and took a fancy to my drawings. I made a sketch for him, and he seems to have taken a great fancy to me ; he said he would try and come to the wedding, but if he could not, I was to excuse him."

" It isn't a decided engagement, then 1"

" Oh, no ; though I must confess I should like to have him."

"You may have acquired a friend worth having, dear boy," said Mr. Lovibond, calmly ; " but I have always advised you to be discreet in making acquaintances !"

At this moment something occurred to occupy their attention, and for the time Mr. Varney Vaillant was forgotten.

20 The High Road to Ruui.

The distance between Mr. Lovibond's house and the church was so short that it was not worth while to order carriages. The villagers, if those who live in a London suburb can be called villagers, heard that the bride and bridegroom would walk to the church, and they lined the roadway leading from their homes to the sacred edifice, forming a lane through which the party had to pass.

Many were the exclamations of admiration which the personal appearance of the bride, and the manly de meanour of the bridegroom, elicited from the spectators.

While the marriage ceremony was being performed, a splendidly -appointed equipage drove up to the church-door, and Mr. Varney Vaillant alighted. Soon after entering and walking up the aisle, he did not join the party, but allowed the verger to show him into a pew, where he remained until all was completed. He was, however, the first to congratulate John, who in a timid voice said, " Mr. Vaillant — Mrs. Millington."

Mrs. Millington ! It seemed so strange to Mildred to be called Mrs. Millington ; but she recognised the fact that she was a wife, and a new era in her life had commenced.

" What a superb creature !" was Mr. Vaillant's inward exclamation. " She is a goddess ! Venus herself was not more lovely !"

His eulogium was fully justified, for Mildred had never in the whole course of her existence appeared to more advantage. She trembled, and coloured, and clung tenaciously to John, and looked ur> into his face to exchange sympathetic glances.

Oh ! how proud she was of him as they walked from the church through the world of curious but friendly people, who would say what they thought, and who insisted upon cheering and shouting themselves hoarse.

He was her husband, and they said he was handsome ; and so he was. They said he was good and generous, and a pattern of virtue ; and so he was. What joy to have such a man as her partner through life ! How thankful she ought to be to Providence for all its goodness.

To Mildred, it was simply a union of one fond heart with another — an epoch of happiness — a prelude to a lifetime of content, through the vista of which she could discern little wee darlings clinging to her arms and calling her by the holy name of mother.

The wedding-breakfast had been tastefully laid out, principally under Clara's superintendence ; for though the local confectioner considered himself an adept at arranging anything of the kind, he did not succeed in pleasing Clara, who, in her usual imperious way, ordered him to the rightabout, and did the work herself

There were little towers and castles made of sugar, never intended to be eaten, which had done duty over and over again on similar occasions — the Tower of Pisa, leaning on one side, being conspicuous amongst them together with Warwick Castle, in the sugar moat of of which were two stately swans. Flowers — cut and growing in pots — were placed everywhere in great profusion. Viands were plentiful — all the delicacies of the season, as it is the custom of the entrepeneurs to say, might have been discovered ; but there was one thing missing — and that was wine.

Not a single bottle of Champagne or sherry was to be seen. Neither was beer either bottled or on draught, allowed to enliven the banquet. Mr. Lovibond had not forgotten Mrs. Millington's dying behest, and he thought that he should exercise a wise discretion in pursuing his system of total abstinence even on such a festive occasion as the marriage of his daughter with his ward.

Mr. Varney Yaillant was introduced to everybody ; but, contrary to John's expectation, he was not ver^ cordially received. Of course, he was treated with the utmost courtesy and politeness, but there was something wanting in Mr. Lovibond's greeting which John did not like.

The Frenchman did not take the slightest notice of this. He laughed and talked to everybody — was soon the life and soul of the party.

No ono expects a bride or bridegroom to be very lively on the morning of their marriage : a quiet and sober demeanour more becomes them. Mr. Lovibond's hilarity was at all times naturally of a milk-and water description, and Clara and the two bridesmaids were staid and decorous, while Leonard did his best to talk and chat, and confessed to himself that Mr. Varney

Vaillant was an invaluable addition to the party.

It was a lovely morning. The weather was beautifully fine, and would have tempted any one but steady, hardworking John Millington to take a holiday, and run over to Paris with his young wife.

But, no.

It was Mr. Lovibond's wish that they should spend the honeymoon at Hornsey ; and they did not murmur at a decree which would have terribly annoyed eome newly-married couples.

After taking a walk round the garden, everybody sat down at the table. The bells of the church, which could be plainly seen in the distance, rang out a merry peal. Mr. Varney Vaillant shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly when he saw that there was rio wine upon the table.

His servant, who had put the mail-phaeton up at some neighbouring stables, was standing on the lawn, with a group of domestics and their favoured friends.

Mr. Vaillant beckoned to him, and he advanced. The master whispered a few words into the man's car, and he went away.

Bat scant justice was done to the galantines, pates, in puddings, fowls, hams, and other good things. Conversation flagged. Mildred looked as if she would like to cry, or faint ; and there was an evident wish in John's eyes to takeMildred's hand inhis, and comfort her.

The want of a little wine to enliven the proceedings and to set some toasts on foot, was apparent.

The bridesmaids were not teetotallers ; and they looked a little disappointed.

Five to ten minutes elapsed, and then Mr. Varney Vaillant's servant returned, bearing a basket in his arms. He set it down at the side of the table near his master, and began to opeu it. After cutting the cords with a knife, he had accomplished his task ; and throwing some straw on the grass, to the surprise of everybody he produced some bottles of champagne, and placed them on the table.

Taking one in his hand, Mr. Varney Vaillant exclaimed, addressing John, " I hope you will pardon my apparent rudeness, but I thought our friendship was sufficiently strong to permit me to make you a present of some wine."

John was utterly astonished, and knew not what to do or say.

Had a thunderbolt descended amongst the little party, they could not have been more astonished.

Mr. Lovibond was red in the face with resentment — we will not say rage, for he had too much command over himself to fly into a passion.

Rising from his chair, as if he were about to make a speech, he exclaimed, " if my son-indaw pardons you, sir, I will not. What right have you, a stranger, to introduce wine to a table at which it is forbidden and carefully excluded 1 ?"

Mr. Varney Vaillant stroked his moustache, and preserved the imperturbable calm which was his chief characteristic.

"Really, my reverend friend,"he replied, with a slight tinge of sarcasm, " I had not the slightest intention of insulting you. I brought the wine in a thoughtless manner as a present to my friend, Mr. Millington, thinking that it would be an acceptable addition to a wedding breakfast. I give you my word, that I had no more idea than the man in the moon that you or your family were impregnated with temperance ideas."

" Not ideas, sir ; call things by their right names — ■ say principles," said Mr. Lovibond, sternly.