"The years went by in the lonely villa without any change, except that my lady grew into the habit of taking her walks in the grounds later in the night. Not a word was exchanged between her and her husband; had seas divided them they could not have been further apart from each other.
"A dreadful, dreary monotony of days. The direction and control of the house was left entirely to me; my master took not the slightest interest in what was going on. I should have asked to be relieved from the service, had it not been for my affection for my mistress. To live with her--as I did for years, attending upon her daily--without loving her was not possible. Her gentleness, her resignation, her resolution, her patience, were almost beyond belief with those who were not constant witnesses of her lonely, blameless, suffering life.
"She never wrote or received a letter. She severed herself entirely from the world, and these rooms were her living grave.
"She loved her child, but she did not give way to any violent demonstration of feeling. I observed, as the lad grew up, that he became more and more perplexed by the relations which existed between his parents. Had one or the other been unkind to him, he might have been able to put a reasonable construction upon the estrangement, but they were equally affectionate, equally tender towards him. He continued to exercise the prettiest cunning to bring them together, but without avail. Without avail, also, the entreaties he used.
"'Mamma, the sun is shining beautifully. Do come out with me and speak to papa. Do, mamma, do! See, he is walking in the garden.'
"'Mamma, may I bring papa into your room? Say yes. I am sure he would be glad.'
"'Papa, mamma is really very ill. I do so wish you would see her and speak to her! There, papa, I have hold of your hand. Come, papa, come!'
"It was heart-breaking to hear the lad, who loved both, who received love from both.
"'Mamma,' he said, 'are you rich?'
"'In what way, dear child?' she asked, I have no doubt wondering at his question; 'in money? Do you mean that?'
"'Yes, mamma, I mean that.'
"'We are not in want of money, Christian.'
"'Then you can buy whatever you want, mamma.'
"'I want very little, Christian.'
"'But if you wanted a great deal,' he persisted, 'you have money to pay for it?'
"'Yes, Christian.'
"'And papa, too?'
"'Yes, and papa too.'
"'I can't make it out,' he said. 'Yesterday, I saw a poor little girl crying. I asked her what she was crying for, and she said her mamma was in great trouble because they had no money. I asked her if money would make her mamma happy, and she said yes. Then why does it not make you happy?'
"'Would you like some money, Christian,' said my lady, 'to give to this poor girl's mamma?'
"'Yes, mamma.'
"Here is my purse. Denise will go with you at once.'
"We went to the cottage, and found that the family were in deep distress. The father was in arrears with his rent, having been unable to work, through illness, for a good many weeks; he was now strong enough to return to his employment, but he was plunged into such difficulties that all his courage had deserted him. The mother was weak with overpowering anxiety, and the children were in want of food.
"I saw that the family were deserving of assistance, and I directed Master Christian what to give them. He visited them daily for a week and more, and the roses came back to the children's cheeks, and the hearts of the father and mother were filled with hope and gladness.
"'Mamma,' said Master Christian, 'you have no idea how happy they are--and all because I gave them a little money. They play and sing together--yes, mamma, all of them; it is beautiful to see them. They call me their good angel.'
"'I am very glad you have made them happy, my dear,' said my lady.
"'Mamma, they are happy because they love each other, and because they laugh and sing together. Let me be your good angel, mamma, and papa's. Tell me what to do, so that we may live like those poor people!'
"These were hard things for parents to hear, and harder because no answers could be given to them.
"We went out for a stroll every fine day for an hour or so, and when Master Christian saw a child walking between father and mother, who smiled at each other and their little one, and spoke pleasantly and kindly one to the other, his eyes would fill with tears. He would peep through cottage windows--nay, he would go into the cottages, where he was always welcome, and would furnish himself with proofs of domestic happiness which never gladdened his heart in his own home. With scanty food, with ragged clothes, the common peasant children were enjoying what was denied to him.
"He had one especial friend, a delicate child, who at length was laid on a bed of sickness from which he never rose. Master Christian, for a few weeks before this child died, visited him daily in my company, and took the poor little fellow many comforting things, for which the humble family were very grateful. My young master would stand by the bedside of the sick child, and witness, in silent pain, the evidences of paternal love which lightened the load of the little sufferer.
"The day before the child died we approached the cottage, and Master Christian peeped through the window. The child was dying, and by his bedside sat the sorrowing parents. The man's arm was round the woman's waist, and her head was resting on her husband's shoulder. We entered the cottage, and remained an hour, and as we walked home Master Christian said:
"'If I were dying, would my mamma and papa sit like that?'
"I could find no words to answer this question, which showed what was passing in Master Christian's mind.
"'Cannot you tell me,' said Master Christian, 'whether my rich parents would do for me what that little boy's poor parents are doing for him? It is so very much, Denise--so very, very much! It is more than money, for money is no use in Heaven, where he is going to. I wish my mamma and papa had been poor; then they would have lived together and have loved each other. Denise, tell me what it all means.'
"'Hush, Master Christian,' I said, trying to soothe him, for his little bosom was swelling with grief. 'When you are a man you will understand.'
"'I want to understand now--I want to understand now!' he cried. 'There is something very wicked about our house. I hate it--I hate it!'
"And he stamped his foot, and broke into a fit of sobbing so charged with sorrow that I could not help sobbing with him.
"Something of this must have reached his parents' ears, and how they suffered only themselves could have known. My master grew thin and wan; dark circles came round his eyes, and they often had a wild look in them which made me fear he was losing his senses. And my lady drooped and drooped, like a flower planted in unwholesome soil. Paler and quieter she grew every day; sweeter and more resigned, if that were possible, with every setting of the sun; so weak at last that she could not take her walk in the grounds.
"Sitting by the window, looking at the lovely sky, she said to me one peaceful evening:
"'I shall soon be there, Denise.'
"'Oh, my lady!' was all I could say.
"'It rejoices me to think,' she said, 'that this long agony is coming to an end. I pray that the dear child I shall leave behind me will not suffer as I have suffered, that his life may be happy, and his end be peaceful. Denise, my mother is in that invisible spirit-land to which I am going. When she sees me coming, will she not be frightened to meet me? for, if it had not been for her, all this misery would have been averted.'
"'My lady,' I said--so saint-like was her appearance that I could have knelt to her, 'let me go to my master and bring him to you.'
"'He would not come,' she said, 'at your bidding, Denise. Has he not been often entreated by our child?'
"Believing that this was a sign of relenting on her part, I said:
"'He knows that I dare not deceive him. He will come if I say you sent for him.'
"'Perhaps, perhaps,' she said; 'but I would not have him come yet. When I summon him here he will not refuse me.'
"'You will send for him one day, my lady?'
"'Yes, Denise, unless I die suddenly in my sleep--an end I have often prayed for. But this great blessing may be denied to me.'
"Ah, how sad were the days! It fills me with grief, even now, to speak of them. All kinds of strange notions entered my head during that time. I used to think it would be a mercy if a terrible flood were to come, or if someone would set fire to the villa. It would bring these two unhappy beings together for a few minutes at least. But nothing happened; the days were all alike, except that I saw very plainly that my lady could not live through another summer. She was fading away before my eyes.
"The end came at last, when Master Christian was nearly nine years old."
"It was a spring morning, and my lady was alone. Master Christian was in the woods with his father; he was to be home at noon, and my lady was watching for him at her window.
"Exactly at noon the lad returned, beaming with delight; the hours he spent with his father were memorable hours in his life.
"'You have enjoyed yourself, Christian,' said my lady, drawing her boy to her side, and smoothing his hair. 'It does you good to go out with papa.'
"'Yes, mamma,' said the lad, in his eager, excited voice. 'There is no one in the world like papa--no man, I mean. He knows everything--yes, mamma, everything! There isn't a thing you ask him that he can't tell you all about it. We have had such a beautiful walk; the forests are full of birds and squirrels. Papa knows the name of every bird and flower. See, mamma, all these are wild flowers--papa helped me to gather them, and showed me where some of the prettiest are to be found. You should hear him talk about the flowers! He has told me such wonderful, wonderful things about them! I believe they live, as we do, and that they have a language of their own. Papa smiled when I said I thought the flowers were alive, and he told me that the world was full of the loveliest mysteries, and that, although men thought themselves very wise, they really knew very little. Perhaps it is so--with all men but papa. It is because he isn't vain and proud that he doesn't set himself above other men. In the middle of the woods papa stopped and said, as he waved his hand around, "This, Christian, is Nature's book. Not all the wisdom of all the men in all the world could write one line of it. That little bird flying in the air to the nest which it has built for its young, and which is so small that I could hold it in the palm of my hand, is in itself a greater and more marvellous work than the united wisdom of all mankind shall ever be able to produce." There, mamma, you would hardly believe that I should remember papa's words; but I repeated them to myself over and over again as we walked along--they sounded so wonderful! Mamma, are there flowers in heaven?'
"'Yes, my dear,' she answered, gazing upwards, 'forever blooming.'
"'Then it is always summer there, mamma?'
"'Yes, dear child--it is the better land on which we dwell in hope. Peace is there, and love.'
"'We shall all go there, mamma?'
"'Yes, dear child--one day.'
"'And shall live there in peace and love?'
"'Yes, Christian.'
"'Mamma,' said the child solemnly, 'I shall be glad when the day comes on which you and papa and I shall be together there, in peace and love. Mamma, you are crying. I have not hurt you, have I?'
"'No, dear child, no. To hear you speak gives me great joy.'
"'Ah, but I can't speak like papa. He has told me of that better world, and though I can't understand all he says, I know it must be very beautiful. Papa is a good man. I love him more than any other man--and I love you, mamma, better than any other woman. Papa is a good man, is he not, mamma?'
"'Yes, my child,' said my lady, 'your father is a good and a just man.'
"My heart leapt into my throat as I heard her speak these words of her husband. Was it possible that this dreadful estrangement was to end, and that my master and his wife would at length be reconciled, after all these weary years?
"My lady was lying back in her chair, gazing now at her boy, now at the bright clouds which were floating in the heavens. Ah, my lady, if we were but to follow God's teaching, and learn the lessons He sends us every day and every hour, how much unhappiness should we be spared! But it seems as if there was a wicked spirit within us which is continually dropping poison into the fairest things, for the mere pleasure of destroying their beauty and making us wretched.
"There was an angelic expression on my lady's face as she encouraged her boy to speak of his father.
"'I have often wished to tell you,' said Master Christian, 'that papa is not strong--not as strong as I am. He soon gets tired, while I can run about all day. This morning he often stopped to rest, and once he threw himself upon the ground, and fell fast asleep. I sat by his side and listened to the birds, who were all so happy, while papa's face was filled with pain. Yes, mamma, he was in great pain, and he sighed, oh, so heavily! as though sleep was hurting him instead of doing him good. And he spoke in his sleep, and his words made me tremble. "I call God to witness"--that was what he said, mamma--"I call God to witness that there was in my mind no design to do wrong." And then he said something about sin and sorrow springing from the flower of innocence. A bird was flying near us, stopping to look at us, and not at all frightened, because I was so very, very quiet. "Little bird," I whispered, "that my father could hold in the palm of his hand, do you know what he is dreaming of, and will you, because he is my father and a good man, do something to make him happy?" Oh, mamma, the bird at that very moment began to sing, and papa smiled in his sleep, and all the pain in his face disappeared. That bird, mamma, was a fairy-bird, and knew that papa ought not to suffer. And presently papa awoke, and folded me tight in his arms, and we sat there quite still, for a long, long time, listening to the singing of the bird. Oh, mamma, mamma! why will you not love papa as I do?'
"Who could resist such pleading? My lady could not.
"'My child,' she said, 'I will send for papa to-morrow.'
"'You will--you will!' cried the child. 'Oh, how glad I am! Papa will be here to-morrow, and we shall live together as poor people do, and be happy, as they are!' He sprang from her side, ready to fly out of the room. 'Shall I go and tell papa now? Yes, I may, I may--say that I may, mamma!'
"'Not till to-morrow, Christian. Come and sit quietly by me, and talk to me.'
"He obeyed her, though it was difficult for him to control himself, his joy was so great. He devised numberless schemes in which he and his parents were to take part. They were to go here, and to go there--always together. His friends were to be their friends, and they were to share each other's pleasures. Rambles in the woods, hunting for wild flowers, visits to poor cottages--he planned all these things in the delight of his heart.
"So they passed the day, the mother and child, and when night came he begged again to be allowed to go to his father and tell him what was in store for him. But my lady was firm.
"'No, Christian,' she said, 'you must wait yet for a few hours. They will soon pass away. You are tired, dear child. Go to bed and sleep well.'
"Good mamma! beautiful mamma!' said the lad, caressing his mother and stroking her face. 'I shall dream all night long of to-morrow!'
"She never kissed her child with deeper tenderness than she did on this night. He knelt at her knees and said his prayers, and of his own accord ended with the words: 'And make my papa and my mamma love each other to-morrow!'
"'Good-night, dear child.'
"'Good-night, dear mamma. I want to-morrow to come quickly. Good-night, Denise.'
"'Good-night, Master Christian.'
"In a few minutes he was asleep. Then my lady called me to her, and spoke gratefully of the manner in which I had performed my services to her.
"'You have been a good and faithful servant to me,' she said, 'and you have helped to comfort me. Your duties have been difficult, and you have performed them well.'
"'My lady,' I said sobbing; I could not keep back my tears, she was so gracious and sweet. 'I have done nothing to deserve such thanks. If what you have said to Master Christian comes true I shall be very happy. Forgive me for asking, but is it really true that you will send for my master to-morrow?'
"'It will be so, Denise, unless God in His mercy takes me to-night. We are in His hands, and I wait for His summons. His will be done! Denise, wear this cross in remembrance of me. I kiss it before I give it to you--and I kiss you, Denise!'
"And as she put the cross round my neck, which she took from her own, she kissed me on the lips. Her touch was like an angel's touch.
"Then she said, pointing to the posy which had been gathered in the woods by her husband and her child:
"'Give me those flowers, you faithful woman.'
"Do not think me vain or proud for repeating the words she spoke to me. They were very, very precious to me, and the sweetness has not died out of them, though she who uttered them is dust.
"I gave her the flowers, and she held them to her heart, and encouraged me to sit with her later than usual. Two or three times in the midst of our conversation, she asked me to go to Master Christian's room to see if he was asleep, and when I told her he was sleeping beautifully, and that he looked like an angel, she smiled, and thanked me.
"'He will grow into a noble man,' she said, 'and will, I trust, think of me with tenderness. I often look forward and wonder what his life will be.'
"'A happy one, I am sure,' I said.
"'I pray that it may be so, and that he will meet with a woman who will truly and faithfully love him.'
"Then she asked me if there was a light in her husband's study, and going out into the balcony to look, I said there was, and said, moreover, that my master often sat up the whole night through, reading and studying.
"'You have been in his service a long time, Denise,' said my lady.
"'Yes, my lady. I was born in this house, and my mother lived and died here.'
"'Was your master always a student, Denise?'
"Always, my lady. Even when he was a boy he would shut himself up with his books. He is not like other men. From his youngest days we used to speak of him with wonder.'
"'He is very learned,' said my lady. 'How shall one be forgiven for breaking up his life?'
"'Ah, my lady,' I said, 'if I dared to speak!'
"'Speak freely, Denise!'
"And then I described to her what a favourite my master was when he was a lad, and how everybody admired him, although he held himself aloof from people. I spoke of his gentleness, of his kindness, of his goodness to the poor, whom he used to visit and help in secret. I told her that never did woman have a more faithful and devoted lover than my master was to her, nor a man with a nobler heart, nor one who stood more highly in the world's esteem.
"She listened in silence, and did not chide me for my boldness, and when I was done, she said she would retire to rest. But she was so weak that she could scarcely rise from her chair.
"'I had best remain with you to-night, my lady,' I said; 'you may need my services.'
"'It is not necessary," she said; 'I shall require nothing, and I shall be better to-morrow.'
"I considered it my duty to make my master acquainted with his wife's condition, but I did not tell him of her intention to ask him to come to her to-morrow for fear that she should alter her mind. There had been disappointment and vexation enough in the house, and I would not add to it.
"I could not rest, I was so anxious about my lady, and an hour after I was abed, I rose and dressed myself and went to her room. She was on her knees, praying by the bedside of her child, and I stole softly away without disturbing her.
"Again, later in the night, I went to her room. She was sleeping calmly, but her breathing was so light that I could scarcely hear it. In the morning I helped her to dress, and afterwards assisted her to her favourite seat by the window.
"Master Christian was already up and about, and shortly after his mother was dressed he came in loaded with flowers, to make the room look beautiful, he said, on this happy day.
"It was a day he was never to forget."
"The morning passed, and my lady made no sign. Master Christian, flitting restlessly in and out and about the room, waited impatiently for his mother's instructions to bring her husband to her. I offered her food, but she could not eat it. On the previous day the doctor, who regularly attended her, had said that his services were required at a great distance from the villa, and that he should not be able to visit my lady on the morrow. She had replied:
"'Do not trouble, doctor; you can do nothing for me.'
"And, indeed, there appeared to be no special necessity for his presence. My lady was not in pain; she looked happy and contented. But she was so quiet, so very, very quiet! Not a word of complaint or suffering, not a moan, not a sigh. Why, therefore, did my heart sink as I gazed at her?
"At length Master Christian was compelled to speak; he could no longer control his impatience.
"'Mamma, do you like the way I have arranged the flowers? The room looks pretty, does it not?'
"'Yes, my child.'
"'I wanted it to look very bright to-day. So did you, did you not, mamma? Papa will be pleased when he comes.'
"'I hope so, my dear.'
"'And I shall tell him that it is not so every day, and that it is done for him. Shall I go for him now?'
"'Presently, my dear. Wait yet a little while.'
"'But, mamma, it was to be to-day, you know, and it is nearly afternoon. Just look at the clock, mamma, it is nearly two---- Ah, but you are tired, and I am worrying you! Now I will sit quite still, and when the clock strikes two, you shall tell me to go for papa. Say yes, or look it, mamma.'
"'Yes, my dear, at two o'clock you shall go. Denise will accompany you, for perhaps, Christian, your papa will think that the message comes from your affectionate heart, and not from me.'
"'That,' said Master Christian,' is because I have tried to bring papa to you before. But I did it out of love, mamma.'
"'I know, my dear, I know. If, when you were a little baby, and could not speak or think of things, I had reflected, it might all have been different. Perhaps I have been to blame.'
"'No, mamma, you shall not say that; I will not let you say that. You can't do anything wrong, and papa can't do anything wrong. Now I shall be quite still, and watch the clock, and I will not say another word till it strikes.'
"He sat, as he had promised, quite still, with his eyes fixed on the clock, and I saw by the motion of his lips that he was counting the seconds. Slowly, oh, so slowly, the hands moved round till they reached the hour, and then the silver chimes were heard. First, the four divisions of the hour, then the hour itself. One, Two. In my ears it was like the chapel bell calling the people to prayer.
"'Now, mamma!' cried Master Christian, starting up.
"She took his pretty face between her hands, and drew it close to hers. She kissed his lips and his forehead, and then her hands fell to her side.
"'May I go now, mamma?'
"He saw in her eyes that she was willing he should bring his father, and he embraced her joyfully, and ran out of the room crying:
"'Come, Denise, come! Papa, papa!'
"He did not wait for me, and when I arrived at the study door, the father and son were standing together, and Master Christian was trying to pull my master along.
"'This little fellow here,' said my master, striving to speak cheerfully, but his lips trembled, and his voice was husky, 'has a strong imagination, and his heart is so full of love that it runs away with his tongue.'
"'It does not, papa, it does not,' cried Master Christian very earnestly. 'And it is not imagination. Mamma wants you to come and love her.'
"My master turned his enquiring eyes to my face.
"'My lady wishes you to come to her, sir,' I said simply.
"I knew that the fewer words I spoke at such a time the better it would be.
"He did not question me. He was satisfied that I spoke the truth.
"His agitation was great, and he walked a few steps from me, holding Master Christian by the hand, and then stood still for quite a minute. Then he stooped and kissed his son, and suffered himself to be led to my lady's room.
"I followed them at a little distance, and remained outside my lady's room, while they entered and closed the door behind them. It was not right that any eyes but theirs should witness so sacred a meeting; but though I denied myself the pleasure of being present, my heart was in my ears. It was proper that I should be within call. In my lady's weak state, my services might be required.
"From where I stood, I heard Master Christian's eager, happy voice:
"'Mamma, mamma--here is papa! He is come at last, mamma! Speak to him, and love him, as I do! Papa, put your arms around mamma's neck, and kiss her.'
"Then all was quiet--so quiet, so quiet! Not a sound, not a breath. Ah, Holy Mother! I canhearthe silence now:--I canfeelit about me! It was in this very room, and my lady was sitting in the chair in which you are seated.
"Suddenly the silence was broken. My master was calling loudly for me.
"'Denise--Denise! Where are you? Come quickly, for God's sake!'
"Before the words were out of his lips, I was in the room. My master was looking wildly upon his wife and child. The lad, with his arms about his mother, was kissing her passionately, and crying over her.
"'Mamma, mamma! why do you not speak? Here is papa waiting for you. Oh, mamma, say only one word!'
"'Is it true,' my master whispered to me, 'that your lady sent you for me?'
"'It is true, sir,' I replied in a low tone.
"'What, then, is the meaning of this?' he asked, still in the same unnatural whisper. 'I have spoken to her--she will not answer me. She will not even look at me!'
"A sudden fear smote my heart. I stepped softly to my lady's side. I gently unwound Master Christian's arms from his mother's neck. I took her hand in mine, and pressed it. The pressure was not returned. Her fingers, though still warm, were motionless.
"'What is it, Denise?' my master asked hoarsely. 'The truth--the truth!'
"He read the answer in my eyes. We were gazing on the face of a dead woman!
"Yes, she was dead, and no word had been exchanged between them--no look of affection--no token of forgiveness. How truly, how prophetically, had she spoken to her husband in their last interview on this spot, eight years before! 'After this night I will never open my lips to you, nor, willingly, will I ever again listen to your voice!'
"From that hour to this he had never heard the sound of her voice, and now that, after their long agony--for there is no doubt that his sufferings were as great as hers--she had summoned him to her, she was dead! Ah, if she had only lived to say:
"'Mine was the fault; it was not only I who was betrayed; let there be peace and forgiveness between us!'
"Did she know, when she called him to her, that he would look upon her dead face? Could she so measure her moments upon earth as to be certain that her heart would cease to beat as he entered the room at her bidding? No, it could not have been, for this premeditation would have proclaimed her capable of vindictive passion. She was full of tender feeling and sweet compassion, and the influence of her childmusthave softened her heart towards the man who had loved and married her, and had done her no wrong.
"That she knew she was dying was certain, and she was willing--nay more than willing, wishful to forgive and to ask forgiveness as she stood upon the brink of another world. The sight of his worn and wasted face may have shocked her and caused her sudden death. But it remained a mystery whether she had seen him--whether her spirit had not taken flight before her husband presented himself to her. It was a question none could answer.
"I am aware that there are people who would say that my lady deliberately designed this last bitter blow to her husband. My master did not think so. When the first shock of his grief was spent, his face expressed nothing but sorrow and compassion. He kissed her once--on her forehead, not on her lips--and after her eyes were closed and she lay, white and beautiful, upon her bed, he sat by her side the whole of the day and night--for a great part of the time with Master Christian in his arms.
"There were those in the villa who declared that on the night of her death the white shadow of my lady was seen gliding about the grounds, and from that day the place was supposed to be haunted. For my own part I knew that these were foolish fancies, but you cannot reason people out of them.
"The next day my master made preparations for the funeral. His strange manner of conducting it strengthened the superstition. He would not have any of his old friends at the funeral, although many wrote to him. Only himself and Master Christian and the servants followed my lady to her grave. He would not allow any black crape to be worn, and all the female servants of the house were dressed in white.
"It caused a great deal of talk, a good many people saying that it was a sinful proceeding on the part of my master, and that it was a sign of joy at his wife's death. They must have been blind to the grief in his face--so plainly written there that the tears came to my eyes as I looked at it--when they uttered this slander. And yet, if the truth were told, if it were deeply searched for among the ashes in his heart, it is not unlikely that my master was sorrowfully grateful that his wife's martyrdom was at an end. For her sake, not for his own, did he experience this sad feeling of gratitude. It was entirely in accordance with his stern sense of justice--in the exercise of which he was least likely to spare himself of all people in the world--that, while he was bowed down to the earth in grief, he should be glad that his wife was dead.
"All kinds of rumours were afloat concerning the house and the family. The gossips declared that on certain nights the grounds were filled with white shadows, mournfully following each other in a long funeral train. That is how the villa grew to be called The House of Shadows.
"It was like a tomb. Not a person was permitted to pass the gates. Not a servant could be prevailed upon to stop. All of them left, with the exception of Martin and myself, and my daughter, Dionetta's mother. Dionetta was not born at the time. We were glad to take Fritz the Fool into the place, to run of errands and do odd jobs. He was a young lad then, an orphan, and has been hanging about ever since. But for all the good he is, he might as well be at the other end of the world.
"The rumours spread into distant quarters, and one day a priest, who had travelled scores of miles for the purpose of seeing my master, presented himself at the gates, which were always kept locked by my master's orders. I asked the priest what he wanted, and he said he must speak to Mr. Almer. I told him that no person was admitted, and that my master would see none, but he insisted that I should give his errand. I did so, and my master accompanied me to the gates.
"'You have received your answer from my servant,' said my master. 'Why do you persist in your attempts to force yourself upon me?'
"'My errand is a solemn one,' said the priest; 'I am bidden by Heaven to come to you.'
"My master smiled scornfully. 'What deeds in my life,' he said, 'I shall be called upon to answer for before a divine tribunal, concern me, and me only. Were you an officer of justice you should be admitted; but you are a priest, and I do not need you. I am my own priest. Begone.'
"He was importunate, and was not so easily got rid of. Day after day, for two weeks, he made his appearance at the gates, but he could not obtain admittance, and at length he was compelled to forego his mission, whatever it might have been, and to leave without having any further speech with my master.
"Soon after he left, my master took Master Christian to school, at a great distance from the village, and returning alone, resumed his solitary habits.
"How well do I remember the evening on which he desired me not to disturb him on any account whatever, and to come to his study at four o'clock on the afternoon of the following day. At that hour, I knocked at the door, and received no answer. I knocked several times, and, becoming alarmed, tried the handle of the door. It was unlocked, and I stepped into the study, and said:
"'It is I, sir, Denise; you bade me come at this hour.'
"I spoke to deaf ears. On the floor lay my master stone dead!
"He had not killed himself; he died a natural death, and must have been forewarned that his moments on earth were numbered.
"That is all I have to tell, my lady."
"And you have really told it very well, Mother Denise," said the Advocate's wife; "with such sentiment, and in such beautiful language! It is a great talent: I don't know when I have been so interested. Why, in some parts you actually gave me the creeps! And here is Dionetta, as white as a lily. What a comfort it must have been to the poor lady to have had a good soul like you about her! If such a misfortune happened to me, I should like to have just such a servant as you were to her."
"Heaven forbid, my lady," said Mother Denise, raising her hands, "that such an unhappy lot should be yours!"
"Well, to tell you the truth," said Adelaide, with a bright smile, "I do not think it at all likely to happen. Of course, there is no telling what one might have to go through. Men are such strange creatures, and lead such strange lives! They may do anything--absolutely anything!--fight, gamble, make love without the least sincerity, deceive poor women and forsake them--yes, they may do all that, and the world will smile indulgently upon them. But if one of us, Mother Denise, makes the slightest trip, dear me! what a fuss is made about it--how shocked everybody is! A perfect carnival for the scandal-mongers! 'Isn't it altogether too dreadful.' 'Did you ever hear of such a thing?' 'Would you have believed it of her?' That is what is said by all sorts of people. But ifIhappened to be treated badly I should not submit to it tamely--nor between you and me, Mother Denise, in my opinion, did the lady whose story you have just related."
"Everything occurred," said Mother Denise stiffly, "exactly as I have described it."
"With a small allowance," said Adelaide archly, "for exaggeration, and with here and there a chapter left out. Come, you must admit that!"
"I have omitted nothing, my lady. I am angry with myself for having told so much. I doubt whether I have not done wrong."
"Mr. Christian Almer, whom I expect every minute"--and Adelaide looked at her watch--"would have been seriously annoyed with you if you had not satisfied my curiosity. Where is the harm? To be living here, with such an interesting tale untold, would have been inexcusable, perfectly inexcusable. But I am certain that you have purposely passed over more than one chapter, and I admire you for it. It is highly to your credit not to have told all you know, though it could hurt no one at this distance of time."
"What do you think I have concealed, my lady?"
"There was a certain M. Gabriel," said Adelaide, "who played a most important part in the story--a good many people would say, the most important part. If it had not been for him, there would have been no story to tell worth the hearing; there would have been no quarrel between husband and wife, and the foolish young lady would not have died, and I should not be here, listening to her story, and ready to cry my eyes out in pity for her. M. Gabriel must have been a very handsome young fellow, or there would not have been such a fuss made about him. There! I declare you have never even given me a description of him. Of course he was handsome."
She was full of vivacity, and as she leaned forward towards the old housekeeper, it appeared as if, in her estimation, nothing connected with the story she had heard was of so much importance as this question, which she repeated anxiously, "Tell me, Mother Denise, was he handsome?"
"He was exceedingly good-looking," Mother Denise was constrained to reply, "but not so distinguished in his bearing as my unhappy master."
"Tall?"
"Yes, tall, my lady."
"Dark or fair? But I think you gave me the impression that he was dark."
"Yes, my lady, he was dark," replied Mother Denise, coldly, more and more displeased at the frivolity of the questions.
"And young, of course--much younger than Mr. Almer?"
"Much younger, my lady."
"There would be no sense in the matter otherwise; anyone might guess that he was young and handsome and fascinating. Well, as I was about to say--I hope you will forgive me for flying off as I do; my head gets so full of ideas that they tumble over one another--all at once this M. Gabriel drops clean out of the story, and we hear nothing more of him. If there is one thing more inexplicable than another in the affair, it is that nothing more should be heard of M. Gabriel."
"We live out of the gay world, my lady; far removed from it, I am happy to think. It is not at all strange that in this quiet village we should not know what became of him."
"That is assuming that M. Gabriel went back into the gay world, as you call it, which is not such a bad place, I assure you, Mother Denise."
"He could not have stopped in the village, my lady, without its being known."
"Probably not; but, you dear old soul!" said Adelaide, her manner becoming more animated as that of Mother Denise became more frigid, "you dear old soul, they always come back! When lovers are dismissed, as M. Gabriel was, they always come back. They think they never will--they vow they never will--but they cannot help themselves. They are not their own masters. It is the story of the moth and the candle over again."
"You mean, my lady," said Mother Denise, very gravely, "that M. Gabriel returned to the villa."
"That is my meaning exactly. What else could he do?"
"I will not say whether I am glad or sorry to disappoint you, my lady, but M. Gabriel, after the summer-house was barred up, never made his appearance again in the village."
"Of course, under the circumstances, he could not show himself to everybody. It was necessary that he should be cautious. He had to come quietly--secretly, if you like."
"He never came, my lady," said Mother Denise, with determination.
"But he wrote, and sent his letters by a confidential messenger; he did that at least."
"I told you, my lady, that while my poor mistress lived in these rooms she never received or wrote a letter."
"If that is so, his letters to her must have been intercepted."
"There were no letters," said Mother Denise, stubbornly.
"There were," said Adelaide, smiling a reproof to Mother Denise. "I know the ways of men better than you do."
"By whom, my lady, do you suppose these imaginary letters were intercepted?"
"By her husband, of course, you dear, simple soul!"
"Mr. Almer could not have been guilty of such an act."
The Advocate's wife gazed admiringly at the housekeeper. "Dionetta," she exclaimed, "never be tempted to betray your mistress's secrets; take pattern by your grandmother."
"She might do worse, my lady," said Mother Denise, still unbending.
"Indeed she might. I am thinking of something. On the night you were aroused from your sleep, and heard the sound of a man falling to the ground----"
"I only fancied it was a man, my lady; we never learnt the truth."
"It was a man, and he climbed the wall. And he chose a dark and stormy night for his adventure. He was a brave fellow. I quite admire him."
"Admire a thief!" exclaimed Mother Denise, in horror.
"My dear old soul, youmustknow it was not a thief. The house was not robbed, was it?"
"No, my lady, nothing was taken; but what is the use of speaking of it?"
"When once I get an idea into my head," said Adelaide, "it carries me along, whether I like it or not. So, then--some time after you heard a man falling or jumping from the wall, you heard the sound of someone walking in the paths outside. He was fearful of disturbing anyone in the house, and he trod very, very softly. I should have done just the same. Now can't you guess the name of that man?"
"No, my lady, it was never discovered. He was a villain, whoever he was, to poison our dogs."
"That was a small matter. What is the life of a dog--of a thousand dogs--when a man is in love?"
"My lady!" cried Mother Denise. "What is it you are saying?"
"Nothing will deter him," continued Adelaide, with an intense enjoyment of the old woman's uneasiness, "nothing will frighten him, if he is brave and earnest, as M. Gabriel was. You dear old soul, the man you heard in the grounds that night was M. Gabriel, and he came to see your mistress--perhaps to carry her off! This window is not very high; I could almost jump from it myself."
Mother Denise pressed her hand to her side, as though to relieve a sudden pain; her face was white with a newly born apprehension.
"Do you really believe, my lady," she asked in trembling tones, "that M. Gabriel would have dared to enter the grounds in the dead of night, like a thief, after what had occurred?"
"I certainly believe it; it was the daring of a lover, not of a thief. Were any traces of blood discovered in the grounds?"
"None were discovered; but if blood was spilt, the rain would have washed it away."
"Or it could have been wiped away in the dark night!"
"Is it possible," said Mother Denise under her breath, "that you can be right, and that my master and M. Gabriel met on that night!"
"The most probable occurrence in the world," said Adelaide, with a pleasant smile. "What should have made your old master so anxious that you should not speak of the sounds you heard? He had a motive, depend upon it."
Mother Denise, who had sunk into a chair in great agitation, suddenly rose, and said abruptly:
"My lady, this is very painful to me. Will you allow me to go?"
"Certainly; do not let me detain you a moment. I cannot express to you the obligations you have laid me under by relating the history of this house and family. There is nothing more to do in these rooms, I believe. How very, very pretty they look! We must do everything in our power to make the place pleasant to the young master who is coming. But I think I can promise he will be happy here."
Not even Adelaide's smiles and good-humour could smooth Mother Denise's temper for the rest of the day.
"Mark my words, Martin," she said to her husband, "something wrong will happen before the Advocate and his fine lady leave the villa. She has put such horrible ideas into my head! Ah, but I will not think of them; it is treason, rank treason! We shall rue the day she came among us."
"Ha, ha!" chuckled the old man slyly. "You're jealous, Denise, you're jealous! She is the pleasantest lady, and the sweetest spoken, and the most generous, and the handsomest, for twenty miles round. The whole village is in love with her."
"And you as well as the rest, I suppose," snapped Mother Denise.
"I don't say that--I don't say that," piped Martin, with a childish laugh. "Never kiss and tell, Denise, never kiss and tell! If I was young and straight----"
"But you're old and crooked," retorted Mother Denise, "and your mind's going, if it hasn't gone already. You grow sillier and sillier every day."
A reproach the old man received with gleeful laughs and tiresome coughs. His worship of the beautiful lady was not to be lightly disturbed.
"The sweetest and the handsomest!" he chuckled, as he hobbled away, at the rate of half a mile an hour. "I'd walk twenty mile to serve her--twenty mile--twenty mile!"
"And this is actually the room," said Adelaide, walking about it, "in which that poor lady spent so many unhappy years! Her prison! Her grave! Dionetta, my pretty one, when the chance of happiness is offered to you, do not throw it away. Life is short. Enjoy it. A great many people moralise and preach, but if you were to see what they do, and put it in by the side of what they say, you would understand what fools those people must be who believe in their moralising and preaching. The persecuted lady whose story your grandmother has told us--what happiness did she enjoy in her life? None. Do you know why, Dionetta? Because it was life without love. Love is life's sunshine. Better to be dead than to live without it! Hark! Is not that a carriage driving up at the gates?"
She ran swiftly from the room, down the stairs, into the grounds. The gates were thrown open. A young man, just alighted, came towards her. She ran forward to meet him, with outstretched hands, with face beaming with joy. He took her hands in his.
"Welcome, Mr. Almer," she said aloud, so that those around her could hear her. "You have had a pleasant journey, I hope." And then, in a whisper, "Christian!"
"Adelaide!" he said, in a tone as low as hers.
"Now I am the happiest woman!" she murmured. "It is an eternity since I saw you. How could you have kept away from me so long?"