THE EARL'S ATONEMENT.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXII, Issue 7270, 7 March 1885, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE EARL'S ATONEMENT.

BY BERTH/. M. CLAY, Author ot " Thrown on the World," " Beyond Pardon," &c

CHAPTER LXVL— (Continued.) Husband and wife looked still at each other. What was to be done ? " I do not ask a favour that you should gammon him r " ehe said ; "I demand it as a right. I appeal to you : bring here this man who has spoiled my life, and see how he meets the charges made against him. Lord Penrith rang the bell and unlocked the door. "Ask Lord Kelso if he will come here, he said to the servant-man, and again there as a pause. Valerie would have continued talking, fcut Lord Penrith said : "There will be no heed now for another word until he comes." Then he drew Lady Penrith away from the table to the other end of the room, and the two stood in earnest conversation together. Under the same roof and at tho same time two other scenes were taking place full of interest. Agatha, knowing that Valerie was v/ith Lord and Lady Penrith, was almost mad with suspense. Wes it about her and about Vane that she was there ? It must be one or the other. What would happen ? Would she be sent away in disgrace, or •would anything go wrong with Beatrice nd Lord Kelso? ■"I would rather die myself, she said, •' than that anything should happen to .Beatrice." She tried to attend to the children's lessons, but it was impossible she could not even hear what they said; all her heart, thought, and interest wera with Valerie. What was she doing what was she saying ? She could not bear it. She left the lessons and the children to their fate and went to her own room ; while Lord Kelso and Beatrice, having half an hour to spire, had found their way to tho music-room. There was no fear of interruption, no fear cf intruders, and hippy Beatrice enjoyed half an hour with her stately lover. " Oh, love, If yon were only here, Hi side me in tlm mellow light, Tlioagh all the bitter winds should blow And all the ways be choked with snow, 'I would be a true Arabian night," sang Beatrice, and Lord Kelso, smiling at the clear young voice and pretty words, said :

"I am here, Beatrice. You have but the one love, I suppose." "Only one," said the girl, raising her eyee to his, "and I shall never have another —you and you only. One life will not be enough to love you in." He felt, with a sharp pang of pain, how unworthy he -was oE this sweet, girlish idolatry. When he was with Beatrice, as with Agatha, he always wished himself a better man.

"My little love," he whispered, "I wish I were more worthy of your love, but I will do my best to make you very happy." " I could not be anything else but happy," she said. "I Bhould bo happy if even I only saw you once each day, but to be with you every day, and all day long, is too much happiness to bear thinking about. I 3ay to myself often it can never be true ; I cannot realise it. When you have been staying here and go away again, it is just as though sunlight changed to darkest night. lam to live always in brightest sunshine, am I not ?" " Yes, always, rcy darling," he said— •' always." Just then a footman came to the door with a message that Lord Penrith would be much obliged if Lord Keleo would go to him at once : he wanted to see him.

"That is unkind," said Beatrice, "just the only few minutes I have to spend with you. If papa knew how cruel it was he would never have sent for you."

She smiled as he bent down and kissed her lips, whispering some loving words to her, and no one living ever saw the same smile on her face again. He went, wondering what particular business the Earl could have with him just before dinner, and regretted that he had not spent the half hour with Beatrice—ifc was too bad, He had no more idea of what awaited him than a laughing child has of grim death. "Come in!" said Lord Penrith, who was longing to be able to speak his mind, but who was restrained by prudence for a time. Lord Kelso went in. They knew he was guilty, and that she had spoken the truth when they saw kis face—as it looked when his eyes fell upon her. Lord Penrith left his wife' 3 side, and advanced to meet him.

" I want you, Lord Kelso," he said. " This lady, Mademoiselle d'Envers, has come here expressly to make certain charges against you. I would not believe them, but she challenged me to bring you face to face with her." The woman loved him. Her face changed, paled, grew crimson, and quivered ; her eyes glowed and darkened. Lord Kelso, who had quickly recovered his self-possession, turned to her with a bow, which she returned.

" Thi3 is your vengeance," he said. "Yes," she replied, "this is my ven« geance." "Will you answer some questions, Lord Kelso," she said, "questions which I shall .ek on your honour as a gentleman ?" He looked contemptuously at her, but made jo reply. "Is the story told of you and Lady G— true or not ?" she asked.

" Of what consequence can it be to you ?" he replied. "I would not condescend to answer you." "No ! I felt sure that you would speak the truth ; if not, Lord Penrith, who wishes to know the truth, had better put the question himself.

"Is it true?" asked Lord Penrith, with a dark frown.

"I am ashamed to say that it is perfectly true," he replied. It was a horrible crime, but if anything could redeem it, it was the frank, manly fashion in which he owned it.

" You see I was right!" cried Valerie, in triumph, "Now let him deny, if he can, that he deceived one of the most innocent and beautiful girls in the world; that he made her believe in some wretched attempt »t a mock marriage, and took her away to Switzerland, where she lived with him for some time believing herself to be his wife, la this true ?"

He looked at Lord Penrith as though the question came from him. " To my eternal regret, sorrow, and condemnation," he replied, " it is true."

There was a dead silence for one halfminute, then a muttered curse fell from the white lips of Lord Penritb, and again Valerie cried, in triumph : " You Bee now that I have spoken the truth." CHAPTER LXTII, DOOMED TO A LIFE-LOS G SORROW. Lord Kelso was not a hardened man. He ecoiled with pain when Lady Penrith turned ier white face, haggard with misery, to him. " Why have you done this to my Beatrice ? What has she done to you that you should spoil her life ? Oh, Heaven ! who is to tell her, and she preparing for her wedding-day ?' Lord Kelso's voice was full of emotion as he said :

"Lady Penrith, I do not know in what words to answer you. I wish that I had been dead before I had brought this trouble to you and to Beatrice. I wish, indeed, that I had died. Will you listen to mo for a few minutes I cannot make any excuses for myself ; I do not wish to make less my sin, but let me say this much for myself : if I had my life to live over again I would act differently. I say it, with tears of sorrow and contrition, that I have never studied anything except myself and my own pleasures. Only Heaven knows whether it will be any excuse for me to say that I was never taught. I was born the heir to'groat wealth, and I always thought I could do as I liked. lam not all bad. I believe that if anyone had ever said to me that self-con-trol and self-restraint were noble, I might have tried to be noble. As it was, quite naturally, I thought of nothing but my own pleasure. I have never done what the world would call a mean thing. I have been generous—l may even say charitable —but I have not respected the claims of women. I am doubly ashamed to say it in the presence of such a woman as you, Lady Penrith, but I am afraid I have merely looked upon them as toys. 1 have found out my mietake. They have the virtues of angels, the vices of devils. I love Beatrice. I feel that my ipe are not worthy to mention her name. I five her because she is like an angel." Be turned to Valerie. "You can say what more you will," he Baid quietly ; » you have had your revenge." •»«.;?• h V e ad , ifc ' and the taste oi it » Speet to m$ bps," she said.

Lord Kelso tamed to the unhappy parents. " Whatever you have to to me, wait until this woman has gone. She haa had her vengeance, let her go." "I have more to say before I go," said Valerie. "It is easy to deceive a foolish woman—it is easy to betray innocence or simplicity—but it is not so easy to deceive and betray a French noblewoman. I told you that my revenue should last my life. Every time you attempt to make any woman believe in you or attempt to make any woman marry you, I will repeat what I have done this time.

Ho made no answer. A contemptuous smile curled hia lips. A woman's threats would never move him.

•'I will not retaliate upon a woman," he sail, " or I might, in my turn, make certain revelations not very pleasant for Mademoiselle d'Envers to hear. Out of contemptuous pity I will keep her secret. She has told you some of the truth, but she haa hot told you what a snake in the grass she proved heraelf to the girl whom she drove to her death. I tell you honestly that I loved that girl with my whole heart, and I would have married her legally and properly long ago but that I wa3 ashamed to let her know I had deceived her before. If that woman, with her horrible treachery, bad not come between us, in all probability we should have been married. I love Beatrice because she resembles in her purity, her innocence, aad sweet gaiety the girl whom this woman murdered with false words." •' Hush T' cried Lord Penrifch. " You most never mention my daughter's name again. Lord Kelso'e handsome face grew pale. "13itso !" he said. "I cannot complain. You see, mademoiselle, your work is well done ; your revenge is very complete. You have doomed a bright, happy, loving girl to a life-long sorrow. She whose name I may never more mention need never have known of my wrong-doing. Hundreds of men have done tho same thing, but they have settled down afterward, have married good women, and have so become good men. I might havo done the same ; living with one so good and pure would have made a good man of me. I could have protected her from all evil, and have made her very happy." The recollection of what she had been saying when he left her, came baok to him ; his voice faltered, and the tears came to hia eyes. You have had full vetgenace, mademoiselle ; 1 scorn to retaliate. If you wish to know whether you have succeeded in making me suffer, yes, you have done so ; I do suffer, and I shall suifer all my lifa. You need not be proud of the feat you have accomplished. Lord Penrith, when this person has gone, we will speak together." Lord Penrith made no answer. Thinking of Beatrice, it was with difficulty that he refrained from taking the man before him by the throat, and ending the life that seemed to him accursed. Lady Penrith read his thoughts in his agitated face and trembling frame.

" Nay, dearest Hildebrand, "shesaid, " that will but make matters worse. Be cairn and patient. Blind, hot rage will not help us." Valerie made a sweeping bow. "My mission is accomplished," she said. "You know, Lord Penrith, if anyone attempts to win your consent to this marriage, what will happen. I shall be there. I shall stand by the altar and the priest to denounce him, and your name shall be associated with thegreatest scandal that has ever been known, even in this land of scandals,"

" Threats would never deter me from doiug what I thoughb right,"' said Lord Penrith. Then, without another word, he opened the door and held it, a hint that t no person could mistake.

" I must express my opinion of you," he said to her. "Lord Kelso does not shine in the stories you have told, but the most contemptible person I know or have heard of —is yourself. , ' Lady Penrith said no word as the woman who had marred her daughter's life passed out of sight; but she stood there with a look on her face that hurt Lord Kelso more than anything else in the world. " Who is to comfort my child?" she said to her husband. " Who is to tell her ?"

Then Lord Kelso went nearer to her, and bowed his head before her.

"Lady Penrith," he pleaded, "will you listen to me ? Need this cruel deed be done? Need Beatrice be told. My follies or sins were all over before I saw her. Since I have known her I have been true to her in thought, word, and deed, jnsfc because she is so sweet and innocent. I would respecther innocence, and shield her with the best strength of a man. Could you forgive me ?" The passionate sorrow in his voice touched her gentle heart. " I could forgive you," she said ; " but I could never give you my beautiful, loving child."

"Think better of it!" he cried, with passionate energy. '' I own my crime : I have done wrong ; I am heartily sorry for it; I would undo it if I could ; I would make any atonement I could. No man could do more."

"That is true; but what you done quite unSts you to be my daughter's husband. I should never rest for thinking of her; I should never be happy about her. lam one of those who consider the destruction of the soul as far worse than the ruin of the body." Lord Penrith looked at Lord Kelso. "If my wife would give my daughter to you I would not. I would sooner a thousand times see her lying dead !" Lord Kelso uttered a cry of despair. "It seems unmanly to plead against your decision," he said, "but do, for Heaven's sake, stop and think. If you send me away, you make Beatrice suffer for my sins. What has Beatrice done ?"

" Nothing. That is the craelleet part of it," said Lord Penrith. "She may suffer, and she will suffer. Better that than to link-her life with such a life as yours." "You are too hard," groaned Lcrd Kelso. " I do not think bo," said Lord Penrith.

Then they were silent, while the carriagewheels of the woman who had come down upon them like a whirlwind rolled down the avenue.

"We have to consider our name," said Lord Penrith. "Even if my wife and myself were willing now to give our daughter to you, you retnumber what that woman said —that she would denounce you befoce the priest and the people, and that such a scandal should hang round your name as has never been heard before. You remember ?"

"She would not dare to do anything of the kind," he cried, indignantly. "She would both dare and do," said the Earl. "No such scandal must attach itself to my beloved child. The matter is ended, and for ever. My strongest condemnation and reprobation rest with you. You have wronged Heaven and man ; your soul wants washing in tears of penitence, your life reforming; but under no circumstances whatever can you be permitted to see Beatrice again. The proper and manly course will be for you to leave Penrith at once."

Even he, in his righteous anger, was struck by the keen pain on the handsome face before him. A low cry came from the Earl's lips. "My little love !" he said to himself. He looked up at Lord Penrith with haggard eyes. "Do you know," he cried, "that I left her half an hour ago with loving words on her lips, and that she is waiting for me? She asked me not to be lone, and 1 promised to hurry back to her. You cannot be so cruel as to say that I maet not see her again, my little, loving love !" and the strong man —the man who had thought so little of the sufferings of others—covered his face with his hands and wept aloud, such tears as men weep only once in life, and that is v/hen their dearest hope is slain. Even those who were incensed against him felt sorry for him in that hour. " I must see her once more," he cried. " I shall go mad if you forbid it. Just once. Oh, Lady Penrith, you have a woman's heart, and it must be a kind one, tat me see her once—only once." Lady Penrith held up her hand.

" I shall look upon you always as my child's murderer," she said. " Beatrice will never be happy again." •' But you will let me see her ?" he pleaded. "Once —only once," "It must rest with Lord Penrith," she replied. " It must rest with Beatrice herself," said Lord Penrith. "If it will lessen her sorrow, and she wishes to say good-bye to you, she may do so, but—it must be good-bye. What do you propose to do ? I wish you to leave my house at once."

"My punishment is hard," cried Lord Kelao—"harder than I can bear."

" I wish you to leave at once," said Lord Penrith. " I will send word to my daughter that you have been compelled to return to London on particular business. Do not give either Lady Penrith or myself the pain of looking upon you again." " But you will let me see her once again to say good-bye ? You will not refuse me ? It ia the desperate prayer of a desperate man. , '

" I will consider it. If my daughter asks me I shall not refuse her. but I shall take her out of England at once." In silence Lord Kelso quitted the room. CHAPTER LXVIIL THE FATHER'S EXPLANATION. . Every fashionable newspaper in London had the same paragraph : " POSTPONEMENT 01' THE JIAKHUOB OF TH3 EARL OF Kelso.— marrhge of Lord Keiso is postponed, owing to the very serious illness of Miss Pcnritb, whose condition js a source of great anxiety to her relations." Thoae few lines did not tell much of the tragedy which had taken place at Penrith Oastle, but that told all the outer world ever knew. In one of the grand old rooms overlooking the river, with its rush of waters, and the woods —a room, large, bright, and lofty— a young girl lay, doing hard battle with death, lay like a bruised flower, like a broken lily, her fair head tossing wildly on the pillow, a wistful, hunted look in her eyes, as though the pain were too great. She longed to die, while all in the house moved with silent footsteps, and the sound of a laugh was never heard. It was as though the sun had set, and everlasting night reigned. That bright, beautiful Beatrice should be lying there, the golden hair all down, the beautiful face either white or worn or flushed and fevered, sick unto death with that one fever for which there is no cure. She looked at the doctor who came to attend her.

" Do not try to cure me," she said to him. " Let me die!"—that was the burden of her song—" let me die !" She had not said much when they told her. She listened to all, and when Lord Penrith had finished, she cried out : " You say I must give him up. I cannot! I cannot!" She wrung her hands with a low cry, a despairing gesture. " I cannot I" she repeated, "lam sorry he has not been a good man; but, good or wicked, I love him, and I cannot give him up." She listened with a ghastly face, while Lord Penrith teld her the story in the best and kindest words he could find.

"If hie own sins did not lie like a great gulf between you, Beatrice," he said, '"you could not marry him. That fair young name of yours must not be blackened with calumny, and that woman will keep her word. You must try to forget him." "Forget him, papa! I will, when my heart forgets to beat and my eyes forgot to see. I will forget him when the sun is darkened and the moon gives no light, when my body forgets my soul, and Heaven forgets me—then will I forget my Earl, my Earl I" "My Beatrice," said her father, gently, " you are too good, too noble to love a worthless man."

"He is not worthless," she repeated. "He may have been wicked, he may have douo all these terrible things you but he is not worthless."

She listened to him with a face so ghastly, and with trembling hands, with such anguish in her eyes, that Lord Penrith said to himself it was worse than slaying her. Every now and then the white hands were clenched, as if the pain were unendurable.

When Lord Kelso left the room that evening, husband and wife turned and looked at each other in silence. Lady Penrith was the tirat to break it. With "pale, trembling lips, she said to him : " What shall we do, Hildebrand ? Who is to tell her ? I cannot. She will die, my beautiful, wounded dove—she will die !" "Ah, no ; grief does not kill so quickly ; ifc would be better if it did."

"I love you, Hildebrand," she said, gently, " and I am quite sure that if the same thing had happened to me, it would indeed have been my death." Lord Penrith kissed his wife's troubled face.

" We must do the best we can for her, my darling," he said, "and the best, Heaven knows, is bad enough. I will break it to her ; she will suffer less with me, perhaps, than with you. Heaven help me ! If ever I meet that mau again, and there is no restraint upon me, it will be his life or mine. Philippa, darling, try to cheer up; it may not be so bad. She is young ; she may soon recover; she may not take it so deeply to heart. Time heals all wounds, even the wounds of death. In three or four years she will have forgotten him, let us hope." But even as he spoke, his heart was heavy, and Lady Penrith only wept the more. '"'I feel," she said, " as though I had been stabbed to the heart; ,1 feel as though I could never leave this room and face life again."

"Goto your own room, Philippa. Yet, no ; for her sake we must keep appearances ; we must not let the servants suspect anything ; we must go to dinner as usual, and endure the ordeal in the best way we can. I shall tell Beatrice that Lord Kelso has gone to town on important business; then you can go to your room, and I will break it to the poor child. We must shield her; wo must think for her. It will never do to have any of this known. The least hint of it would be the child's ruin. Remember how much of her future depends on your self-con-trol now ;" and these few words gave the unhappy mother courage to help Beatrice. She would bear and sutler much. All was done as he wished. The news soon spread throughout the castle that Lord Kelso was suddenly summoned to London, and no one had the wit to connect his sudden journey with the appearance of the foreign woman who had demanded to see Lady Penrith. Husband and wife left the room where Lady Penrith had heard what she'knew to be her daughter's deach-knell. She went to her room ; ho sought his daughter. He heard her now in the music-room; she was sitting where her lover had left her, singing over and over again to herself the beautiful lines of the sweetheart soug :

" Oh, love for a year, a month, a day, But alas for the love that loves alway."

He stood for a moment and looked at her. That peaceful, tender expression was never to be on her face again. He thought of an innocent lamb with a knife at its throat; of a white dove, with the cruel bat that is tearing its innocent heart; and, strong as he was, his heart grew sick at the thought. Suddenly Beatrice saw him, and she sprang from her seat with a joyful cry. •' Papa ! why did you send for my Earl ? How cruel it was of you. That one half-hour in the music-room is tho only time we have just before dinner ; and we have so much to aay ; 1 tell him everything." A happy, dreamy smile came over her face, and in the full gladness of her heart she kissed her father's hand.

It was strange that he made no answer, but looked at her with an indescribable somethin in his face.

"Where is Lord Kelso, papa?" she cried. " He said he would not be long." What was he to say to her, when he knew that in this life she would never see him again ? CHAPTEIi LXIX. UIGHT FOK EVER MORIS. " My dear Beatrice," he said, gently, " you must try not to be disappointed. Lord Kelso has been suddenly summoned to London." How could he go on ? She started as tnough she had beeu shot; her lovely colour died from her face, leaving the very lips white ; a dark shadow came into her eyes. "To London ! Oh, papa, it cannot be true. To London, without seeing me ! You are jesting ; but it is a cruel jest, a horrible jest! Let me go to him." " My dearest Beatrice, it is no jest, and he had no time to see you j ho was compelled to go by the next train, and he had not one moment to spare." "Papa!" she cried, looking at him with great solemn eyes, her face growing more ghastly in its pallor—"papa, tell me the truth—the perfect truth. Iβ he dead J" " Dead 1" cried Lord Penrith. " No, child, certainly not; it is as I tell you. He has been obliged to start suddenly for London, and ho had not time to see you." She laid her hand on her heart.

"I have a strange feeling here," she eaid, quietly—"3uch a strange feeling, papa, as if something had happened to him." " Why did you ask me if he were dead ?" asked Lord Penrith, who had hardly recovered from the shock of the question. " I did not think he could leave me without one word or one kiss," she said, silowly. "It it so unlike him; he never forgets me, no matter how great his hurry is. It would not have taken him one moment to have said, • Good-bye, Beatrice ; lam coming back tomorrow.. It is crael of him," she said, in her soft, gentle voice. "He said ho should not be more than a few minutes away. What shall I do, papa ?" And she looked wistfully in his faco. What could he say, who knew that she would never see him more.

" I cannot help thinking there is something wrong," she continued. '' It would be better to tell me. He is ill, perhaps, or there is some misfortune. lam quite sure ho wonld not go to London without speaking to me." " It is not pleasant business that has taken him away, aud he was certainly much pat out."

" That would not matter," she said; 'nothing but death would make him forget me. If he had unpleasant business, he should have told me, and I would have comforted him. Papa," she continued, eagerly, •• if he has lo3t all his money, you would not let that part us ?" "No, my darling," he said, gently; " money should not part you." " Wa3 it about this same business that you sent for him, papa ?" she said, and something of relief came over her face. If her wise, kind, good father knew it, there could be nothing wrong. " Yes," he replied ; "it wasbusines3 that came to my knowledge, and I sent to tell "Ah, then it will be all right if you know, papa; you are so wise, so good, so clever. You can do anything. When will he come back ? Will he come to-morrow ?" She laughed, a curious, wistfu) laugh that he never forgot. " I hope he will not be long away. Ido not know what I should do now, papa, without him. It would be like living without sunshine or flowers, or anything else that makes life bright. When will he come back again ?" . "I do not know, it is not certain—ah, there is the dinner-bell ? I air a very poor substitute for Lord Kelso; let me take you into dinner, Beatrice ?" And so long as he lives Lord Penrith will never forget that dinner, will lever forget the effort ho had to get through it. Lady Penrith came down, and they contrived to get up some kind of conversation, but it was easy to see how great the effort was. Beatrice grew more and more sure every moment that something was wrong; how great and terrible that wrong was she little dreamed. When dinner was over Lady Penrith went to her own room, and Lord Penrith took his daughter to the drawing-room to tell her the truth. Never again in his life, Lord Penrith said to himself,°could he ever go through such a scene ; it was over at last, and she knew that she should never see the man she loved so dearly again, except to bid him farewell. On the whole, she had borne it better and more quietly than he had dared to hope. She had finished speaking, she had said the laet word, and she was sitting on the easy chair he had placed for her, pale and silent, her hands folded, her eyes half-closed. Lord Penrith took her in hia arms and kissed her. " You cannot tell the torture it has been to me to tell you this, and your mother —she feels it so keenly that she is quite ill. You are a good, brave child, and you have borne it well. Your mother, I know, is breaking her heart over you. Let me take some message to her that will console her and cheer her." [To be continued.]