Between Two Sins.

Lake County Press, Issue 2063, 13 April 1905, Page 2

Between Two Sins.

(Copyright.)

BERTHA M. CLAY

PART 3, CHAPTER "VX The end of the month of May was :icar, and during all this time I had iot seen one visitor at the hall. Just as we were when the Christmas snow fell, so were we now that the roses and lillies were beginning to bloom, save that the outer world wag like a paradise. The lake-country is, to my thinking, thae fairest part of England, with its tors and fells, its mountains and vales. I shall never forget the sunlight on the hills, the blue deep waters, the winding streams, the laughing green valleys. I had longed for years to see an English May, and now my desire was gratified. I had never dreamed of anything one-half so fair. And this May was the true month of the poets, sweet and smiling. Pink and white hawthorn grew in the hedges ; the lilacs and laburnums were all in flower ; the fields were so bright with daisies and buttercups that they appeared carpeted with silver and gold, and the handsome spikets of the chestnuts were out in profusion. Lady Culmore had steadfastly refused to see a doctor. " "Why shoud I try' to preserve my lfe ?" she said, when I spoke of one. "I had one great hope, but it is dying slowly and surely. When it is quite dead, I shall die too. What is there in my life to make me desire it?" she cried passionately, "Christmas snow, March winds, summer flowers, would come and go; I should be eating my heart away." "But, Lady Culmore," I said, "why should you feel and think in this way? Why should not life be bright to you as it is to others? You are so unhappy that I dare to talk to you as I would not to anyone else. Why need you despair? You are young and beautiful and wealthy; you have a husband who might Well, perhaps I had better not speak of that." '"You do not understand." she said. "I made a terrible mistake once in my life—a most terrible mistake. I see it now. He will never forgive nor forget it." "How did you make it?" I asked. "Trough love of him," she answered. "Heaven knows I speak the truth. I never thought of the right or the wrong; I only thought that it was all for him." "Can you tell me what it was you did?" I asked. She shrunk from me, trembling, with an expression of utter despair. lit seeme.d to me that I was about to solve the mystery at last. But she cried out: "No —a thousand times no! The words would scorch my lips. I did not see then as I see now." "And you say it was this mistake of yours that estranged your husband from you?" I asked. "Yes. He said he would never forgive me, and I begin to think that he never will. I had hope once, but now I have none. So I pray that I may die, for the silence of death is sweet, and life is all bitterness to me." "I could not press the question. I could not force her to tell me this secret which was corroding her very life. As the spring grew warmer, she had fewer distressing nights. I urged her to come out of doors, I tried to interest her in the beauty of the mountain and valley, of flower and tree, but in vain "My heart is dead," she said to me one morning—I had taken her to Esthwaite Water, and we were sitting on a grassy bank. "You see the beauty of the sunlight and the flowers; I do not. Everything is alike to me—a dull, hopeless blank." "Do you not think you ought to try to rouse yourself?" I asked. "I know there are incurable sorrows, but yours can hardly be one." She looked at me with a faint gleam of hope in her eyes. "What do you call an incurable sorrow, Kate?" she asked—we were so much together, and she had grown so fond of me, that she generally used my Christian name. "An incurable sorrow means, I suppose, a sorrow which there seems no hope of assuaging," I replied. "And what should you think would cause such a sorrow as that?" she asked. I thought deeply for a few minutes; then I replied: "There are very few reasons for an incurable sorrow. Death would not be one, for there is the hope of meeting again in heaven; sickness that has no remedy would not be one, for, patiently borne, it brings a blessing of its own; loss of money is not one, for life holds plenty of happiness without wealth, and hard work hurts no one. I am puzzled to imagine what can cause an incurable sorrow. The only thing I can think of Is the doing of an evil deed for which there is no remedy." "You admit that there is a ground for sorrow that can never be cured?" Looking at the beauty of earth and sky, of the gleaming waters kissing the green banks, of the myriads of wild flowers and ferns growing around us, I was puzzled again. All this was the work of the great Creator. Would He who clothed the lilies, who fed the sparrows, give to one of Hi 3 creatures pain that could not be cured? "I am beginning to think that there is no such thing as an incurable sorrow," I said slowly. "We agree that evil deeds, sin, crime, are the greatest sources of sorrow. There is no sin, no crime, so great but that Heaven will pardon it." "Do you think so, Kate?" and the mournful blue eyes sought mine with the first gleam of hope that I had ever seen in them. "I am sure of it," I replied. "There is no sin so great, no crome so horrible but that Heaven will pardon, if pardon be asked." "But man," she said— "why does not man forgive?" "Man acts with human power, heaven with power divine. Men in this world judge, reward and punish according to human laws." "Then It happens sometimes," she said sadly, "that while heaven pardons men punish?" "Tf m«-t hj» so." I said. "TaXe a thief for Instance. He may repent of his sin, and may ask 'pardon for it with prayers and tears; all the same, men must punish hirn. He must be imprisoned, and made, if possible, to give back his ill-gotten goods. So with all other sins. I am quite sure of one thing—that, no matter what men may do. heaven always pardons a humble and contrite heart."

"Yet," sht t>''.t-l .'.-v-i'- 'riii ;;ly, "toy husband will never forgive me. Why should he be less pitiful, less merciful than heaven? If I knelt and prayed to him from sunrise to sunset, he would wave me away with the same cold gesture. Oh, Kate, Kate, do not be shocked, but I think—nay, I am sure—that I would sooner have my husband's forgiveness than the pardon of heaven." And her eyes sought mine with a wistfulness that made my very heart ache. "No, you do not mean that, Lady Culmore, for in that case you must have loved your husband with a greater love than you have given the Creator." "I did," she gasped—"hence my sin, my terrible sin! I will be wiser, Kate, I will weary heaven with my prayers for pardon; and, when It is granted, I will not cease to seek <my husband's forgiveness. Oh, my sin, my sin! It was all for love of him. I would have gone through Are and water for him; and now—" I looked at her in wonder and amazement. What had she done? What was the sin of which she spoke? There were traces of great sorrow on her beautiful face, but no traces of sin. A few questions from me then, when her heart was softened, would have drawn her secret from her; but I would not ask then. After we had talked for some time, she sat in silence, watching the golden light that played amongst the trees and shone upon the waters. Then she spoke again. " Kate," she said, " I£ you loved anyone very much —so much that you forgot everything else in the world, so much that you forgot all about right and wrong—and you committed a great sin for the sake of the W,an you loved, should you not think f>" would find it easy to forgive ?" "1 should think forgiveness would de-

per.d entirely on what the sin was. Lady Culmore." The words seemed to strike her like a blow. She wept silently, bitterly. " Whatever wrong you did. Lady Culmore," I said gently. " you have suffered enough." " I shall suffer until I die !" she moaned. I left her a few minutes afterward to go in search of some rare ferns, and when I came back she was lying with her face on the grass. She was sobbing—- " Forgive me —oh, forgive me. It was all for him ; 1 loved him so." And I wondered more than ever what was the mystery of this woman's life. CHAPTER VII. " Miss Forster," said Sir Rudolph, ore morning, " will you take a message from me to Mrs. Harper ? I promised to be at Bernham Woods by eleven o'clock, and it is nine now ; so that I have not time to see her myself." " I will take any message you please, Sir Rudolph," I replied, grieved that he altogether ignored his wife, who was present. She looked up, with a deep shadow of pain in her eyes. "Tell Mrs. Harper that I expect my brother, Mr. Ulric Culmore, this evening, and that he wil 1 remain a few weeks. I should like the blue rooms to be prepared for him." The blue rooms were two very charming apartments in the west wing, near to Sir Rudolph's ; one was used as a sit-ting-room, the other as a sleepingroom. " Ask Hrs. Harper to see that a writing-table is placed in the sittingroom," continued Sir Rudolph ; "my brother will want to study while he is here." He bowed and went away. Lady Culmore came up to me, and once more I noticed the excessive whiteness of her hand, the palor of her face. She clutched rather than held my arm. "Kate," she cried, in a low, terrified whisper, "Kate, what does this mean?" "I do not understand you. Lady Culmore," I said. "Why is he coming, of all the people in the world? Ulric Culmore— why is he coming? I —l am sore afraid." "Afraid of what?" I asked. "Surely not of Sir Rudolph's brother?" "Yes, of him," she said. "What is ho coming for?" "To see Sir Rudolph, and to rest most probably," I said. "Do you think so?" she cried ea Sc;rly. "Do you see nothing else In it?" "What else could there be?" I asked. "He is a barrister, and very clever," she said. 'That has nothing to do with it," I answered, laughing. But she continued to tremble, and I left her to attend to Sir Rudolph's orders. "Mr. Ulric Culmore coming !" said tile housekeeper. "I am glad !" "Do you know him ?" I asked. "Yes, miss. He came to Brooke Hall while I was there, and I liked him very much. I am glad he is coming. He will be sure to bring some kind of change to this miserable house." "Then he has never been to Ullamere ?" I asked. "No," she replied. "The last time ho came to Brooke was to attend the funeral." A funeral la an every-day matter, and it did not occur U> me to ask whese it was. "When h° was at Brooke Hall, all was right between Sir Rudolph and my lady," continued Mrs. Harper. "I ren.ember that they both drove with him to the station .He will be surprised indeed when he sees how matters stand here; but I think he will improve them. Both Sir Rudolph and my lady are much attached to him." I remembered the white face and the frightened eyes of Lady Culmore. and I doubted if this were the case so far as she was concerned.

On the evening of the 27th or May I went out for a short .stroll through the grounds. Dinner was delayed until half past eight, on account of Ulric Culmore's expected arrival. I wr.ndered down to the lakeside, and Bt(od there watching- the gold of the laburnum, the blue of the lake, the rippling green foliage, the brown distal:! hills, until I was lost In admiration. It was the chill breeze coining from the lake that roused me. I had b«n absorbed in trying to penetrate the mystery of the baronet's housebold, and 1 found tha.t the time had passed on rapidly. I hastened back to tlio 2iou*<?; and. a* X stood outside

the i '•!•.!.?. which was hidden by great masses of white Jasmine md c'.lrobing roses, I heard a strange voice say :

"You have visitors at Ullamere, Rudolph ?" "No," was the quick reply, "we have noi."

"There was one of the loveliest girls I have ever seen in my life down by th-> lakeside," added the strange voice. "I saw her as I was crossing the bridge—a brunette, perfect in her way." "Miss Forster," said Rudolph, quietly. "And who is Miss Forster ?" asked the unknown. "She Is, as you say, a most lovely girl/and she is as good as she is lovely. She lives here at Ullamere as companion to Lady Culmore." Then I heard a light laugh. "I should noi have thought you would have allowed that. You were always companion enough for her." I hurried away, the conversation was not intended for me; and surely he, the stranger, must have been mistaken In calling me a lovely girl! Why, at school the other girls were always teasing me about my dusky hair and dark eyes ! Of course this must be Uric Culmore. I longed to see his face, for his voice was rich and musical. I was young, and no one had ever praised me, no one had ever paid me any homage. My heart thrilled with delight at this tribute to my beauty. Then the dinner-bell rang. I felt shy pnd embarrassed; but I had no time to think of myself. Lady Culmore came to my room. "Kate," she said, "let me go down with you." She wore a rich sapphire velvet, with a parure of fine pearls. "Do I look nice ?" she asked eagerlv. . .. ...,,. T ..„

"You look perfectly beautiful," I replied. "That is a dress fit for a queen." "But. my face ?" she said. "Kate, if you saw' my face now for the first iiire should you think that I had anything on my mind, that any seoret was eating my life away? Tell me truely, Kate. Do I look like a woman with a secret?" I turned so that I could see her plainly. The magnificent dress, falling 1,1 graceful folds, suited her to perfection; the pearls shone round her white grtceful throat and in the colls of her fair hair; a sweet subtle odor was wafted to me. No figure, no fa.ee could have been more beautiful; but, alas, she was right—it was the face of a woman with a secret! The eyes and lips betrayed it—they were so constrained, she kept such a guard over them. She stood watching me anxiously, as though her very life depended upon my answer. For a few monu nts I was silent.

"And you do not wish Mr. Ulrlc Culmore to find" it out?" was all I could bring- myself to say. "1 do not," she replied. "Then you must let your face relax. There is a restraint, a tension about it, that tells the story." "How shall I shake It off?" she cried, suddenly clinging to me. "You are so kind to me, so good to me, tell me—how shall I shake it oil?" "Forget it," I said.

I regretted my words as soon as they were uttered. She flung up her arms with a terrible cry. "Forget it! Oil. Heaven, if I might, if 1 could but have the power to forget it for one hour—only one hour!" I saw that one of her fits of violent excitement " was impending, and that she would not be able to go down to dinner unless it was averted. I talked to her, reasoned with her. admired In: r dress—admiration of such a kind, poor lady, always pleased her—and, by tlu- time the dinner-bell rang'. I had quite forgotten my own little gleam of b.-.ppiness in having been called lovely. I went into the room with Lady Culmore. She trembled so that she could ha idly hold her fan in her hands. Som one came to meet us as we

entered; some one with a handsome face and winning voice took Lady Culmore's hand in his and said :

"Why Nest, you are not looking well ! What is the matter ? Will you introduce me 'to Miss Fprster ?'

Alt. me ! the thought of the rapture Of that moment will cause my heart to thrill with ecestasy until I die !

Never till then sha.ll I forget his first glance. So I nv't my fate; —the love that was my doom ! It came to me when Ulric Culmore looked into my face for the first time. I remember it was only a momentary glance; but my heart beat fast, a mist came before my eyes, a vague somethingstirred in my heart;, one glance from those beautiful eyes had suddenly roused my whole being Inta new life. When I was myself again, he was talking to Lady Culmore, and there was evident anxiety in his voice. "I cannot think what lias changed you so completely, Nest," he was saying. "You had two Of the most delicious dimples in the world, and they have both disappeared. I remember thinking to myself that, when I married, r would choose a wife with just such dimples." Mow terribly awkward it was! Just as. he said those words I wondered if I was blessed with such charms. I raised my eyes suddenly; and found that he was looking at me. I felt as though I had been detected in some terrible crime, and blushed to the very roots of my hair.

Sir Rudolph came into the room and went to speak to his brother, I turned to Lady Culmore, who looked very pale and agitated. "Pray forgive me, Lady Culmore," I said. "What was the pretty name by which Mr. Culmore called you?" A sad, sweet smile came over her beautiful face.

"Nest," she replied "It Is a Welsh name. I can not tell why it was given to me. It brings back so much to my mind. I have not heard the name for a yeai l —for a whole year. I had almost forgotten it." Then 1 looked up In wonder, for 1 heard a sound that was quite novel to me—Sir Rudolph laughing, actually laughing in the most light-hearted fashion. How completely that laugh changed the expression of his face it would be Impossible to tell. I had been at Ullamere from Christmas live until now, the end of May, and euch a thing had never occurred before. "Kate." said Lady Culmore. "do you

think that L'lric will notice Sir Rudolph's manner to me?"

I felt sure that he must; but I did my best to comfort her by saying that we would talk so much that it would not be perceived. CHAPTER Vni. The dinner that evening was, for two of us at least, an anxious interval. Lady Culmore evidently did not wish Mr. Culmore to see the peculiar footing on which she stood with Sir Rudolph. He himself did not change his manner in the least. Except for the needful civilities of the table, he did not address his wife. She spoke to him several times, and between us we managed to hide from the visitor the terrible state of tilings that existed. Yet I saw him once or twice look from one to the other with strangely wondering eyes, as though he could not quite understand or make out how matters stood. He was bewildered and puzzled. And, though it was a delight to me to sit there at table with him, where 1 could see the handsome face and listen to every bright, cheerful word that fell from his lips, 1 was glad when we went away. It was such an effort to keep up conversation in the circumstances. Mr. Culmore held the door open for us as we passed through. He smiled at Lady Culmore. "We shall not be long, Nest," he said "It is a barbarous custom for men to linger over their wine." But I felt sure Sir Rudolph would not join us; it was not his custom. Lady Culmore could not rest. "Play to me, Kate; sing to me," she said, when we reached the drawing room. "Do something that will bring them here; I dread leaving them alone." She was pacing up and down the room, her hands clasped, here eyes full of wistful sorrow. "Sing something that will attract them," she entreated. And I sang my best songs, French and They did not come. I knew they would not. Her agitation increased every moment, until it became almost hysterical. "What will he think, Kate? What will Mr. Culmore think? He must scene must notice the change. He will never rest until he knows the cause." "You may be quite sure that, If Sir Rudolph does not come to spend the evening with us, he will not spend It in talking about you." I read her fear. Whatever the secret of her life was, she dreaded lest her husband should reveal it. to his brother. I knew Sir Rudolph was Incapable of that.

I continued to play and sing; but the Clock had struck It before they came, and I saw that the gloom and the Shadow had .spread to Ulric's handsome face and rested there. Yet I felt sure that Sir Rudolph had not betrayed his wife.

Mr. Culmore looked wonderingly from one to the other.

"You must not blame me, Nest. Tt Is not fair to tell talcs out of school; but Rudolph would not come. Ho would have all my bar stories over again. I told him it was not polite." Then he came over to me. He talked to me, and the sound of his voice was sweet and pleasant to my ears. Yet I was not so much engrossed but that 1 saw Lady Culmore go up to her husband and speak to him. She folded her hands, as though she were uttering a prayer, but she did not offer to touch him. I knew afterward that she was pleading with him. In tones that might have melted any heart, that he would be just a little merciful to her while Ulric was here. And he had answered: "A contract is a contract. Ours can not be broken." The gentlemen remained in the drawing room for hair an hour, and the puzzled, bewildered look in Ulric Culmore's eyes deepened. In his happy, cordial way he made an effort to bring them together. He asked If we should like a game of whist. Sir Rudolph said "No." fn his conversation hi- appealed from one to the other; but Sir Rudolph was impenetrable; cold, impassible—nothing stirred or moved him; and, when Mr. Culmore found this to be reajly the case, he was too much of a gentleman to persevere. He let matters take their own course, and looked on in silence.

When something or other happened that revealed the gulf between this hapless husband and wife, I saw his eyes tlxed on me questloningly; but no words crossed our lips. Sir Rudolph seemed devotedly attached to his brother; the love that should have been lavished on his wife was given to him, It was delightful to see them together; he was so amiable, so attentive, Ulric so bright and kindly. Put Lady Culmore was sorely pained. I did not remember ever to have seen her look so unhappy. Ulric made no change in his treatment of her. He was kind, attentive and affectionate to her. Kither he knew her secret: and thought nothing- of it, or did not know and retained his old affectionate respect for her. Mr, Culmore came to breakfast with us the next morning, and was startled at. not finding his brother there. "Where is Rudolph?" lie asked. "lie seldom takes breakfast with us," replied Lady Culmore, her lace. flushing painfully. And Ulrlc, seeing- it, said no more.

So the days passed, and, though Ulric's presence seemed to have brought light and sunshine, it wrought no change in the unhappy relationship which existed between husband and wife. He never alluded to it; he seemed gradually to fall Into our strange ways. He was kind and loving to both, ignored the estrangement as much as possible, took the part of neither, and behaved as well as any man could i >s-

slbly have behaved In the circling stances.

After a few days Lady Culmore recovered herself, finding that her broth-er-in-law merely wondered and looked puzzled. How am I to tell what next happened! What words .all 1 find sw r eet enough,

fair enough for my story? On Christmas Eve, leaning over the stile that led Into the snow-clad meadows, looking up to the night sky where the stars shone, I had prayed heaven as a Christmas gift to send in'.- some one to love me; and with the budding of the green leaves, with the singing of birds and the sunshine of May, my prayer was granted.

I seemed to be standing outside the gates of some wonderful land, when suddenly they opened, and the golden lighl fell upon me, blinding and dazzling me. At first I thought of Ulric Culmore simply as a scholar and a gentleman; later 1 began to look upon him as one of the handsomest, noblest, most generous of men; finally I found that ids presence greatly affected me. Why should my heart beat fast at the sound of his voice? Why should my face burn at the sight of him? Why did I tremble like a leaf in the wind when he spoke to me? Why did every nerve and pulse thrill at the bare menHen of ills name? My heart told me It was because I loved him.

I gave him the whole love of my heart, and I never thought of Its being returned. It was happiness enough to me to love him. 1 never thought of past or future; the present sufficed for me. Heaven knows that 1 was not presumptuous In my love. To live where I should see him, to do aJI In my

power for thoee he loved, to live loving him, to die breathing his name -i had no greater ambition, no more fervent hope. To me he stood quite apart in the world of men—there was none like him, none equal to him; that he should over dream of placing 1 me by his side seemed almost improbable. So the lovely month of roses came round while the heart of the child changed into the passionate, loving heart of the woman, and I was a child no more. How I loved him! And it was no wonder. I had seen so little of life. He was really the first young, handsome man I had known. That beautiful June was the happiest month of my life; not that 1 forgot the troubles and nin'invs of others, but that the glamour of love's young dream was so strong upon me that my heart was full.

Ulric Culmore had come to Ullamere to study and to rest, yet how often in the early mornings, when the lake' was like a sheet of molten gold and the rosy light lay on the distant hills, I found him in the grounds or down by the water side! And 1 had not the faintest idea that he came because he wished to talk to me. The knowledge that I loved him with a full and perfect love that was to be my one secret in life, gave me, strange to say, perfect ease in his presence, perfect confidence while with him. So we talked in the early morning hours, under the stately trees, and down by the river side, the birds singing to us, the flowers pending us their sweet perfume, the sun shining down upon us.

Mr. Culmore liked talking to me. He always took breakfast with Lady Culmore and me. He very often came during the morning to read to us as we sat in the shade of the great speacling trees; he followed us always into the drawing room after dinner; he accompanied us in our walks and drives. "How much pleasanter a house is when there is a gentleman to take an interest in matters!" I said one day thoughtlessly to Lady Culmore. I re-

ponted the words the moment I saw her face grow pale. One morning Ulclc and I were together amongst the roses. He plucked one and gave it to me; it was a lovely moss rosebud just peeping coquettishly from its green leaves. "Do you know what this means?" he asked.

I said "No." that I knew nothing of the language of flowers. You do not know what a moss rosebud symbolizes?" lie Questioned. "Promise me to try to find out." Was it the warm sunlight thai dazzled my happy eyes? 1 could not look ut him. 1 took the rosebud and ran away shamefacedly. (To be continued.) 938.