Lady Gwendoline’s Secret.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume I, Issue 104, 15 April 1911, Page 2 (Supplement)

Lady Gwendoline’s Secret.

The Story of a Family Secret and a Great Wrong.

BY

AGNES M. & W. J ROWE,

. . . . Authors of . . . “ The Lady of Kileen,” “ A Shadowed Life.” “ His American Wife.” “ A Heritage of Shame.” etc.

CHAPTER XXI. (Continued). }

“I know all, and can sympathise and feel for you, dearest Ida, as though vou were my own child. I honour and respect you for this pride, this conflict which is going on wi.liin you : 1 know the choice between love and duty is a hard one. I cannot decide tor you in this; the call must come from your own heart. You must choose b-tween vour lover anti the world; but wha;, is more, Ida, Reginald Weyman is no fortune-hunter: of :hat 1 am .-•tire. He is >too proud, and much as lie loves you ho will not tell you st, never ask" you to marry him while his position is what it is.” Ida raised her head and locked long and anxiouslv at her friend. "How do you know this: did--did he tell you so liimself?” she said in a low tone.

Lady Gwendoline looked down upon the girl sadly.

“I think a: present your pride need have no fear; love is not likely to put it to any test; Reginald Weyman, if I judge him rightly,, will not tell you of his passion. He is as proud as your;eif, and now that this terrible blow has fallen upon him, is more likely to leave you at. once without speaking than he is to ask you to become his wife.

Ida gazed at her companion in a dazed, horrified manner, as though she did not quite understand her words.

“But why - why should he do this, why leave ire withou; a word. Oh, that would lie cruel, -ruel. he could not do it.” she cried at length. The other smiled.

“Perhaps considering all things, your social position and this new disgiaco which has come upon him. it is best for both if you Zto no. see much of each otter in future. Peihaps it would be as w'-ll for me to warn him ; vl could not bear to see him hurt, -humiliated.”

The girl bowed her head, then after a little raised it suddenly. A fierce R niggle seemed raging within her: shs was a changed being as she. cried : “Oh, do not say these things : it is hard, cruel, when yen know that I love him ; ves. lovo him better than all. I cannot-will not lose him. Tell me what is this trouble, this new disgrace which has come upon him; I have a right to know.” “No: Ida you must not say that, for Reginald wili let no girl share his dishonour: I am sure of it. No matter how h<> might lovo you, he will not bring shame upon the girl of his hen rt. ’ ’

“Then if he is in trouble I insist on knowing what i? is. If it is through rc fault of his own T will not give him up. f< r I" love him and will share his affliction,’’ said the girl firmly. “Aly pi ide is nothing when compared to his loss. Has ho told you himself that he will not ask me?” she cried indignantly

“Ida, thank God for tha: : they show mo that you are worthy of my bov, that you loie him for himself alone. Reginald has not told me this exactly in words, hut he has lately received what h? considers a terrible blow ; he is nop the sen of Mr. Weyman.” “Not their son? And yet somehow 1 am not astonished at the nows; it seemed strange to me that he was. T<i w hom,then docs he belong?” Ida cried, in surprise. Lady Gwendoline paled visibly.

“1 wish I could, .ell you that for certain. He is of good stock, 1 feel sr.re; but I cannot say more. He was Jut adopted by the grocer when a babv, and vet, oh, Ida, I cannot keep it longer from you ; has it ever occurred to you, darling, that he is like, resembles some family you know?” Ida Trevor gazed for a moment in bewildermen:• at her companion, who had grown strangely excited and uervcus in her manner. •

“Ves. oh. Gwendoline he is like. - almrst tile living imago of—but, oh, I must not say what I think ; it is perhaps only a striking resemblance after all : ot course they could bo nothing to each o:her; it- is not possible.” “It is more than possible. Ida. tell ine vour suspicions, and I shall know it they agree with mine,” the other fnllorel.

“Then veu must promise not to be engry or hurt if I say wrong, but, dear Lady Gwendoline, ho is the image of Lord Everslcigh ; he also re-ombles uho carl, your father, and yourself. '

For an instant her ladyship secn»x! overcome by the announcement, and her friend feared she had done wrong :n expressing her opinion, but. it was only for a moment ; the next she recovered herself. a look of eager anticipation joy and delight swept over her countenance., i.ransforming it into such loveliness a<: the other had never wit-ne-snd before.

"A on see it, too : yoti saw the likeness. Ida, you are correct, bn resembles my family, and whv should ho not beven more hands .mo than they: ho has his father’s manly form and steadfast ‘r V i C 'i ns , as 1”“ loving heart. Tda, I behove he is a "rue Dvsart. am convneed that he is my own child mv long-lost son.

dread, a wild presentiment that after all this man whose ruin he had brought about had eluded him and was even now bejng secretly visited by the woman he loved, kept constantly hovering about him.

This he could not- endure, while the prospect of the aunt and nephew meeting was also repellent to him, for he dreaded what might bo revealed to Lady Gwendoline concerning himself. He know Lord Eversleigli too well to imagine for a moment that the uprighs young nobleman would hail with joy the union between his beloved aunt and the man lie know for a gambler and a rogue: one who used and borrowed other people’s money, and then trusted to their generosity not to betray him to their friends. Tins was how matters stood between Lord Eric and bis uncle’s secretary: but in consideration that Beaumont v as a- <listanj connection of the family, he could not bear to les :en or expose him i<> th<* ear].

“Tin* fellow may not be all bad. he seems attached to my uncle, and as the old man is a bit hard to get on with, tha ‘ counts, for much : but if as 1 suspect he is thinking of Gwendoline, idiv. 1 will ston Ins little game: my beautiful aunt is not for such as lie,” the young nobleman said. Stanley knew there was little love 10-between himself and the voting lord, the knowledge ef a certain forged cheque which the other had honoured for him privately was’always before his ’uliid yet no feeling o f gratitude to Lis benefactor ever entered his heart; he only hated the young man more for the favours best owed, and thought it hard that. Lord Ever«leigh should ho wealthy, whde he. a relative, was comparatively poor. Thus, instead of being grateful, Beaumont took every opportunity to create ill-feo’ing behween the Earl ot Dysart and his nonhew. Lord Eversleigb. was represented 'to his relative as a fast young man, mixing with the commonest of people, pleading the worknien s. cause from public nlatforms. crowing birr self a radical and socialist, doing all i n his power to drag Ills grand old name into disropii io. Beaumont had observed that all he said against Lord Eversleigli made but little impression on his cousin; she always defended her young relative, and even if he was careless and did not write, why that was a family failing, iinn not “o l>e oonntrd a ofFonce The secretary knew that, though secretly she might feel hurt at her nephew’s silence, she was his friend and would defend him. Was it anv wonder now, with the ren’embrance of the .suppressed letters, and loving messages lingering in his mind, that he feared the consnouenccs of an interview between Lady Gwendoline and Eversleigli.

Therefore for divers reasons it necessary that he should follow his cousin, and if sho was already in Barrow, well, to be near her could do no harm : he must only trust so his usual pood fortune to extricate him from the difficulties.

In spite of the griimb'ing of the earl, who considered it very hard tha:. Beaumont should leave him again so. snon. with Gwendoline away also, the other departed, leaving the old man to understand that nothing but bis great Ic.ve for Gwendoline took him from London.

CHAPTER XXII.

AN T’NWELCOME ATS!TOR. To return to Stanley Beaumont. Meantime Im had not lx*en id'e; an soon as .us valet’s telegram reached him h" itnrto. tor London, and with -Henri’s jaluafJo backed up bv -.h-i.-ern. scatte.-in ' cf monev. soon loarnci" ' I*? r :;t ° rf ' ,lsi ” had taken. She hod gone north, the footman tn’”ir -7 I,> , rp bp CO,,W "•’t fill. Mhnt » nkely than tha. S 1 I( . would visit Barrow, trmr the T ake D,,. I Han t ' ,f ' !I afc

Beaumont was no fc-l : ho did not ror ,i moment imagine tha either the heantv of the English lakes, the desire to see her nephew, or even a foiin'ni’ to be near he? dearest friend, con’d be the reason of hi.s cousin’s liastv departure.

That ' n me other business had .aken her so f, lr f ron , home be felt certain and a vn<nm. ’indefinable fear that what ho had lieforo suspected was trim of him : that his rival sti.l lived, Lady Gwendoline was Jir.-eoiinng and helping his old enemy to escape from priscn i But a new

CHAPTER XXIII

LADY GWENDOLINE’S HISTORY

A cry of astonishment, incredulity, disbelief, and doubt rose to Ida Trevor’s lips, but she suppressed it ; for a moment she szared at Lady Gwendoline as if she feared her friend'had taken leave of her senses, then the remembrance of the other’s secret sorrow, her strange lonely life considering her'starion, a hundred things crowded upon her now with double- import. She knew well that the beautiful daughter of the Earl of Dvsart mi<drt have tieen allied with the’ highest”in the land; she recollected that duke; and foreign princes had laid their .’parts and coronets at her feet vet they had lieen refused, as weli as others or -more humble origin The thought had often entered Ida's head that there must be some taim-ible reason for this; Lady Gwendoline”was no man hater sne knew, in fact, was rather partial to the company of the opposite sex, and seemed to oniov-their society to a certain point: bu'f’the moment sentiment was broached or thev desired to become more than a friend Lady Gwendoline drew into herself and became as adamant.

Ida her most indma'te. almost her only, friend, knew different. She had -en7’ Od l tha l I that TOld exterior > eat a hear, of gold, warm, true, and sxlf-sacrincing.

This knowledge had led her to suspect that in nor girlhood i.he earl’s daughter had loved someone very dear ’ y and nad been disappointed. Thtacts of the ca=e she had never heard bmng quite content to know Gwen’dobiie: but cf mm thing she was X b, ‘mus, have been a strange man < he- d.d not iovo h.or friend or perhaps lie might have died, or bein' to c ,O AVI i ’T' -vV 10 £rirl bought. Mhde a stub hke that of a knifAll these idea rs d thramzb her erf"snrn r 'f<L starin £ r .in bewilder7 i at '? r , r ' om P : ' mon. ht ‘ a,d diSti »«tly. understood s a v P‘ ,U * son ’ Guendolin- did you □the/criod' Ch ' k ’’ n, ' V V€ry °" n *" tlj< * G "endoline. ~.r o vou vl T Ida Has ued at length. I bo ' J a ’ n dl throe vears o>.’v'° vTnT'know f °’ yet l onp in name T’ T lou know mv sad < r - r no ._ T«a; I can trust you. and though I can ''mid. fr r ,he tune is not. V et r : pe I dhi:!?'" 1 "" Id<s s' di l e l H 'l'in" sensation in • ..hro.nt the 4 cars rose to her eves to T'*' c°- ,l 7.’ cclf 'l’" moved softly ter t.wnd s side and. slipping hey

arm gently round the other’s waist, kissed her pale lips. / “You think bhat Reginald is your son; oh, Gwendoline, I hope for your sake as well as his that this may prove to be the case. God grant you may not be mistaken. Dearest, if'it is not taxing your strength <(oo much, tell me your story: let me share your grief and accept all my sympathy.' Oh, my poor dear friend, to think you have been both wife and mother all these years, yet divided from those you love; for, Gwendoline, you do love them, do you ncc, in spite of all?” “Heaven is my witness no woman loved more: a cruel fate alone separated me from my husband and tore my child from rar bosom, but it is useless telling you this; you shall hear the whole sad story, and then judge for yourself, Ida.”

In a voice which at. times betrayed the intensity of her feelings and the terrible anguish the bringing back of all her wrongs and troubles caused her, Gwendoline began: “As a child mine was rather a lonely life : left without a mother in my babyhood, I was thrown altogether into the hands of servants. My father being a widower and young was much courted by society, but for all his gay manner and that he entered freely into the delights and sports of the fashionable world, ho never once thought o c putting another into the place of his dead wife, the only woman he ever loved.

“As time passed on and my parent noticed that, though resembling his side of the family, I gave promise of being beautiful ho began to take more interest in my welfare; he was proud of me, and we grew to love each'other dearly. Abmlb this time a great blow’ fell upon my father: his younger brother had married a lady of good family, but whose poop’e turned against her because the man of her choice was only a younger son, and therefore not wealthy. Mv I’nele Maurice, through my father’s inflnonre, obtained a post in India, and thither he and his wife went

“What was my father’s horror to hear some rears later that both his brother and sister-in-law were dead: the wife having nursed her husband caught the fever and followed him a. few weeks later. Now for the first time I was told of the existence of the bov cousin who had neither father nor mother and who would arrive shortly to share mv studies and reside with us From the moment of his coming, though he was hut then a handsome, rather shv boy of sixteen, it seemed to me that I loved Maurice Dysart: and from what I have since leorn-d, he more than worshipped the little girl consul of twelve.

“My father, too. became very fona of the handsome noble-minded youth, and I know.’ that already lie was laying p-lans for hi= nephew s future. So the days parsed on, and no happier, brighter •■loldron cmi’d he found than wo two. AVe shared studies, pleasures, everythin'’' toge+her ; and the only cloud which darkened our path was the time when Maurice was to leave his nnvate tutor for college. “He had been gone a few weeks and I was just recovering from my loneliness when another event happened mi our small family T had often heard of my parent’s half-sister, who had married altccether beneath her and settled down in the Col on ms ; but as father had had no word cf this side of his familv for years I did not trouble to ask whether my aunt was alive or dead. V’hat was my surprise then one morning to be introduced to a. rather hand some vouth of about eighteen trhotn my father said was his nephew. Stanley Beaumont. 1 was to welcome this new* relative from Australia and make him feel at home, for in future he would take up his abode in our family as papa’s private secretary “T obeyed my parent’s instructions ti the letter, and Stanley soon became a congenial companion : he shared and enjoyed the same privileges that Mauricn had done, but though amiabditv itself, and very attentive to me. he was not Maurice. Had I been wiser then, or seen tilings in the same light as T did later on. I might have nrevented much of (hat evil that followed ; but I was only an innocent, thoughtless girl w hose only idea was the pleasure of. the moment and how best to enjoy the good things provided For me.

"I knew nothing of lovers, therefore, without the least knowledge that I was treadinw on dangerous ground, I accepted Stanley’s attention ; we boatea, rode, walked, and drove together, for father did not require much of his secretary’s time, and wished his humbci’ relative treated as one of ourselves 1 It was about the time of Maurice’s expected vacation that I first noticed a change in Stanley : I had been pouring into his ears all the accomplishments of the other, and with a girl’s impetuosity praised my cousin’s handsemo. face and athletic figure, even boasting of his talents’, the prizes he ujs winning at Oxford, as well as his P-iiins and ambition for the future. “If or. Maurice’s arrival I fancied Ibero was a change I put it down to rhe secretary feeling a bit awkward ttith strangers, and in my own delight 'iFipm’ness gave it no further thought. Maurice was geniality itself with our relative ; he declared as they wore eonsjns. oven though distant ones. •halt family ties connected us all, and ' ,<t ” was thicker than water. . * soon, found out, however, that though Stanley was as attentive as ever to me, his manner to his cousin as anything but cordial: he was reserved, cold, and distant, sometimes disagreeable and sullen. Presently ha ceased to be one of the pleasant party we formed for different picnics and excursions, so Maui ice and I fell again our own old wax* of going off alone. II nn J this time we "began to realise two wore company, three none, so did not press our cousin anv more to join us.

I need scarcely tell von, Ida. what t io end of so much intercom s'’ led to ; .Maurice Dysart became the idol of my voung heart, while he in return declared he loved mo from the beginning, in fact, scarcely romonilw-red when h< first realised that bis brotherly love for Ins ntt'e companion developed into a n 011£ ’ devotion and passion. . This avowal of affection took pine.’ I ; ut before his return to Oxford, but as he nad no position vet we Kent our i-.eciet to ourselves. i>o blind in our oivn happiness had we become, that, for some time ne>thor of its noticed that there vas a distinct alteration in Stanley's manner towards Maurice. H« was al! ilmiahibtv pmv. p-d rrioi] Ip’r !'°A i”gratiate himself into my lover’s good grains.

“Oiiite itncons-ions of any ovij ■’•>- t°ntion on his part. T haih 1 this ihanoo W’tli n’~asiire and wo hoco'.’o as friendly, if not more so, than I>*>fore. _ What then n v horror durnig Manriopdg absence to have a declaret’-’n of Stanley s love thrust neon p'o? Tn t'dl him his mission was net W ”nied. ’hat he must for-et n- as I did not levo hi”’ was ire|««. He beco-me wnronsoryihlo,* wcu'd not li-ten to inv ex’•lanatfon. and tpof w-ro nr‘ for (hat wretch.<d cousi” of mine. J must Imvo i O v f d him. AVe nario-1 m an.'-or, fo,- ho was mas i”””to. and in viol”it forms denonnoo'i AFurol'-e as a sneak and a ”oj;no ; wild” l> n also e vf”‘o that would part ||.s ;it whsfevc’’ C'-st. “Had I Loop like other girls hat! a n oth z ’r or lev” ’ aunt tn go .and collide it« what t’-ouble n ight h”v” lie”” sav«d: I cou’d not tell m*. father. I «ur

ao little of him in those days, anti I knew also he could not countenance my engagement to Mf.urieo because he was poor, and had no position. My only course then was to write to Mauricwi end tell him. Need I tell you the outcome of this; in order to save mo from S'anley, and so that nothing could separate us. wo were married secretly. Tdaurice returning to Oxford, and 1 living my quiet usual life at home. “Shortly after my husband’s return to his studies a terrible thing happened. AVe had been husband and v.ifo now nearly nine ‘months, and were about to tell my father, when a great Wow overtook us; I learned one terrible morning that Maurice had been arrested for forging one of my father’s cheques.

'’The first horror past, T was not so much afraiil, I felt confident somehow the accusation was false, my husband innocent: all would shortly be explained. and this mistake rectified.' My father was abroad at the time, or I felt certain iny Maurice would have been exculpated at once. “I went direct to see my darling and experienced a great deal of trouble in obtaining an interview, for I did not want to claim my privilege as a wife until Maurice himself made the secret public At last through his lawyer T succeeded. What- was my horror to find that all bail had been refused, and that my husband could in no way account for the writing on the cheque which so strangely resembled his own.

“Of what happened during tliat. sad meeting I cannot go over now, for even to this dav the anguish and pain I experienced on finding him in a common cell is more than I can bear to thiiik of. My great hope now lay in my father, and I was thinking of telling him all, confessing what- Maurice wa*« to me, and imploring his help, but my husband prevented me. “ 'Darling, you must not do this even t-» save me; you must keep our secret a little longer. It would only auger your father now to learn that you. his 1 daughter, shared a disgraced husband’s life. Wait until my name is cleared, and this stain has been removed, and '■nee I am free again and no shadow ’’por. me. we shall acknowledge the truth. My Wife must bear no dishonoured name.

“The parting was hitter, as yon can imagine: it was terrible to me to have tc tear myself away and leave him whom I loved in (hat lonely prison cell, while I returned home, tried to lead my usual life, hut waited and watched with anxiously beating heart for the return of mv father and his secretary from abroad.

‘When at last the weary waiting and suspense was over and they arrived imagine my horror and dismay to find my parent already incensed against Maurice. So angry was lie, that the more T pleaded, the more indignant; he became, refusing to believe he was innocent of the crim?.

“ ‘lf lie is not guilty, well, let. him prove it by showing ns the real culprit; the law will give him a fair chance to clear himself if he can. To think that one of my own flesh and blood should bring such disgrace and fcharne upon ciir name and family; he, 100, mv favourite nephew, the one vhom I loved and treated almost as h son, +o be thus ungrateful. No girl, sav no more, I will not listen : even if w.v influence could save him, if by h~nenring the’cheque and paying up in full I could settle the matter, I would not now. Besides, it is not in my power to do so; the bank are the prosecutors, it is out of my hands, for the law spares no criminal, he he noble or commoner, iich or poor.”

“Then seeing all else fail. I threw myself on mv knees and with tears in my eyes implored him to save Maurice; T told him I loved my cousin, and that if he 'was convicted my life would be mined. I called my father by every endearing name, and my dead mother, to have pity, hut al! was in vain. He only liecame enraged still more on hearing of our affection for each other, and raved about our impudence in daring to mention such a thing as an engagement without consulting him ; and again regretted liis misfortune in harbouring such an ungrateful cub under his roof. “I was ordered to give up all thought of Maurice, and told that under no circumstances was I ever to set eyes on him again. “The agony I endured during all this you can imagine better than I describe, when I say I loved this man with all my heart and sold; that though my lips were sealed by promise to him, I would willingly have deserted home, resigned friends, wealth, position, all that a woman’s heart holds dear if by doing so 1 could save him. my husband.” (To be Continued.)