THE CASE OF THE DISTURBED TREVELYANS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2756, 9 January 1907, Page 73

THE CASE OF THE DISTURBED TREVELYANS.

By Frank Mortox. ni.

Three years later, Laving spent the interval mostly in India, I was in Sydney, settled for a spell ; and one night my sister and my wife came to me full of admiration for a Mrs 'lrevelyan, wiiom they had met at some women's function £hey had been attending. Mrs Trevelyan, they told me, was an Englishwoman of means, travelling for her nealth. She was staying with the Dentons in Macquarie street, and my womenfolk had promised to call on the morrow. For which purpose they demanded my escort. I naturally protested. I said I knew the type of travelling Englishwoman who attended the National Council of Women the week of her arrival, and I preferred to stand afar off. "She will be fifty if a day, your Mrs Trevelyan," I snorted. "She will talk the newest womanisms in a voice with a hard, dry edge to it. She will ha%e steely eyes and a gold pince-nez. She will be intolerant of men, and very critical of God. There is nothing more utterly irritating than the latest woman when she globe-trots, and I decline contact You will call on your paragon unattended, my"~" dears. She wiJl probably ask you whether I drink or gamble, whether I am a man of pure life, whether I stand in the right attitude towards enfranchised Women, and 'vliat ray ircome is. ~ But I daresay she has asked these preliminary questions already." "Really," said my spouse, " you are even a little madder than usual to-night, mon ami. Mrs Trevelyan looks -five-and-twenty, and is as pretty as a dream. She's not at all ' new.' She told me that all she could say for womanhood suffrage was that it was a splendid thing in theory. She has the softest voice I ever heard, and the sweetest eyes imaginable. And she speaks more, oh ! vastly more, respectfully of your pampered sex than ever I feel moved to do. She even voiced the heresy that half the wretchedness of the world is caused by the silliness of women. So, my dear, you will come with us ; not because we need your company, but because your masculine curiosity is aroused." Whereupon my lady left the room, to laugh in better security. And I, of course, bad no further thought of opposition. I happened suddenly to remember a man named Trevelyan, long vegetating in lonely by-ways, cynical, but comfortless. Could it be? Once introduced to Mrs Trevelyan, I had no doubt of it. She was unquestionably the cirl of the photograph I saw 'at Pulau Panjang, greatly beautified by years of womanhood, ennobled and softened inevnlieablv. The admiiation she had stirred in my wife and m,v sister T now ur>deistood. Th : s woman un chaste? — already I felt a curious irritation at pooi- Trevelyan's stupidity. That first day of our acquaintance I had no opportunity of quiet talk with her. But a day or two later, in my on n hou^e. I got her safely apart, my wife (to whom I had made necessary explanations) enthusiastically conniving. Even then I scarcely knew how to commence Fma'ly I did it by plunerinsf blirrliv in mpr>ias re=. as any blunderinc; schoolboy mi^'ht have done. "'My wifo thinks you are a widow. Mrs Trevelv&n," I said. " I should be sorry if that was so. When I enjoyed your husband's hospitality three years ago he seemed in excellent" health." Her face flushed hotly, then b?came as white a-s death. At first she seemed unable to speak. But soon Ao r-ecovercd, and though her voice was a little shr.ky at first, «ht soon got back her self-i>nssession. "Parton my emotion," she murmured. "It was a little sudden — your recognition of me, your knowledge. I Please t-sU me, where did you meet my husband? All. do not trifle with me, if you are indeed a friend of his! — all over the world I liave looked, am looking, for him!" Now the sight of tears in a woman's •eyes unnerves and unmans ttjs, and I devoutly wished myself well out of this delicate dilemma. "I can scarcely tell you where he is," I said. "He gave me his confidence, and I promised to respect it. But if I can help you otherwise, I am altogether at your service. I think I know where a letter of mine would reach him." "A letter of yours!" she cried. "And why not a letter of mine? But of what use is a letter? Ah, I know : he is still hardened against me. I wrote him in London, and my letter was contemptuously returned unread. That letter might have s,aved us both, had it not been for his bitter obstinacy. And now, when I can convince him utterly — utterly ! — his solicitor says he can forward neither word ror letter. You say you are in his confidence. Tell me, did he—did he go into the circumstances of our separation?" "Yes," I said reluctantly, "he did. But why pain yourself with references to that, dear Mrs Trevelyan?" "Pain myself ! Do you forget whose name I bear? Do you forget the stigma, the inferred disgrace, of my husband's desertion? Do you think I can ever rest, while he tells you — perhaps others — that his life was wrecked by the faithlessness of this wife, the woman he loved and trusted? Oh, it is horrible ! Tell me, do you — you irho know so little of me, but are f-till so kind — do you believe that I ever betrayed myself and my womanhood so? If you do, why do you let me know your frit* and your *»i&ter? If you do not, why do you withhold the only help I ask of you?" "I Ao not believe you guilty," T said ; "but if I did it would rot be my part to condemn: each must be tolerant, where all ar« so weak. No, I have no doubts of you- Only I must remember that your jhusband, who lost all his world in believing you untrue, thinks differently, and th&t I 4M to some extent jour b.iu>hand'«

friend. You ask me to break the one promise I ever explicity made to him." What an ass I was ! But really, you know, I meant well. I was passionately addicted to leaving other people's affairs alone.

"Wait," she said. '"I will tell you all my story. Only I would much rather that your dear wife heard it too." So I went to the door and called my tyranness. I cannot tell you just how convincingly truthful Mrs Tievelyan's tone an I oianner were, nor how rapidly she won all my sympathy. Had I not been very well fixed I should have been in serious danger of falling in love with her myself. "My dear," I said, as my wife came in, "Mrs Trevelyan wants to tell me something she would like you to hear." I drew up a chair for her. But she »vent straight to the couch where Mrs Trevelyan was sitting, and' put an affectionate arm about our guest's waist. Which was i lamentably ridiculous and unquestionably proper thing to do. "I was not quite seventeen when I met Mr Trevelyan," the lady began, "and I was barely past seventeen when I mamed him. He had had a brilliant university career, and I chared hi& devotion with his books and preferences. lam afraid I was a somewhat empty-headed companion for co learned a mate ; but we never thought af that, and I'm sure that we loved each other very dearly. 1 could sing a little, play a little, paint a little, and the rest of it •, but of a good number of my husband's Epecial studies I knew nothing. I vas content not to know. You ccc, I vas so young ; I had no one to tell me that the wife who desires to win her husoand permanently must get into touch with all his worid. My maid was a handsome and sprightly girl, who suited me well, and seemed much "attached to me. But I had not been a year married when I • height f hat I detected in Marie a growing .enderneso of regard for my husband I watched her, and my suspicions were cbnfinriofi. Of course, I was not jealous. I had perfect confidence in him, and I am aure tha., he had not so much as noticed _Le girl's foolishness. It was for her own fc-^ke that I dismissed her ; and though I eeenred her a comfortable place in a friend' 3 bouse, I could see that she had Ditter thoughts of me My husband was wrapjK-d up in his studies, and I was Ll.rown much on my own resources. Among jur iiore familiar visitors at that time ■Tas Arthur Spencer. We had been children togethei, he and I, and had 1 always kept up some of the old boy-and-girl camaraderie. I could see that my husband d.d not like Arthur, and that annoyed me. Arthur was, perhips, fonder of drawing 'oaini and 'eminine society than a healthy young fellow of twenty fchould be: but T never, then or tince, knew any greater rrong of him. He was often in our home, and he amused me. Then ome • ■iv husband's accusation, like a bolt fiom the blue. He accused me, — but you know •11 that. At fiist the shock stupefied). J'hen, when I attempted explanation and denial, his withering anger almost broke my heait. I told him that Arthur was Einip'y my friend ; and he «aid that flirtation was at best on'v a cloak for sm — tit hough I had made no admission of fliit.ition. The whole thng, considering tha leims of simple sistcr'.y badinage on which I stood with Arthur, had something Ivcucrous mixed with the dreadful aecs cf ii. But my hubbird left me. I wrote _o him in London, in teinis of conipletest "incjmr and forgiveness, and he returned !,iv letter unread, unopened. Then he nent away, and for 10 loug years I have utterly lost irack of him. First. I was naturally angry ; then deeply pained and sjrg^ieved. I made no search for him, no complaint of his desertion ; although, as yi'i' may imagine, my acquaintames made the most unkind and injurious conjectures But I lived through it. For seven weary ycaiK— -ver.rf that should have been the happiest of my youth — I lived plono, eating out my heart in silence. I needed nothing, for he was foolishly generous about money. Two vcjrs a^o, in the fearhil railway accident at Crt-we (you will r«in^niber>, Marie Dulaur, s-he < who was once m,y miid. received shocking: '"njuries. On her deaui-bed sic sent for me. I cannot tell yo'i all that she confessed. Pledging my husband to secrecy as to hi« inforriant, she had told him things — oh, horrible things .. — concerning myself and Arthur Spencer With all the malignant ingenuity of which her cla«s is capable, 6he built up the vile slander against me. All the evil her mind could conceive, she wove into the slander, and a few slight come : dences seemed to be corroborative, and fed his jealous rage. With ruthless malice sh*- added perjury to perjury, until he was driven to believe her I wonder, knowing what I do, that he did not kill me, instead of merely leaving me. The woman put her confession into writing, and I have it with me, signed and witnessed. But until I can find my husband all this is useless to me. Hi* solicitor is adamant, pleading explicit orders. I m>ist find him, if only that I may restore myself in his uelf -respect. Now, wall you tell me where I can find Mr Trevelyaji?" ''Of course he will, dear," said my wife. "I should like to hear him refuse !" IV. When Mra Trevelyan left us it was early February; and with the exception of a brief note written by her in Singapore a few weeks later, we had no news for full six months. The note fiom Singapore was characteristic : "Your husband's friend to whom l brought the letter has been most delicately kind. I had to tell him tovnething of my story, ar.d his kindness mad-e the task almost ea«y. He knows your island, and to-morrow we set out on a launch belonging to hi» firm. Hjs wife will complete the party, until . Ah, 1 cannot writs more now. Of my agitation, as the time draws near, you can judge, and I know that X have your sympathies. If I return

fiom this qu-est alone, it will be indeed tb/- shipwreck of all my hopes."

She did not return alone. But it was August bsfore any news of that reached us. Then came two letters. They were dated from an address near Nice, and I give them in full, save for some extravagant expressions of gratitude for the simple services we had rendered The letters cojnplete the story. Mrs Trevelyan wrote to my wife :

"Yesterday I was nine -and-twenty ; but life is full of joy again, and I feel nineteen.

. . . Ah yes. I found him ; not much altered- from when I saw him last : .a little browner only, a little thinner, a good deal greyer about the temples And on the well-loved face, dear friend, a look of quiet sadness which all these months I have been gradually coaxing away. Of the manner of the finding he can tell best, and it seems to be a lengthy letter he is writing to your husband. These two hours he has scarcely spoken to me, or at the best flung me an occasional word or so — quite unimportant, and irrelevant to

all serious issues. . . . .Next year we hope to see you — ■when I am strong again, please God, after Baby is born."

Then Trevelyan

"Man ! You have no idea of what I owe you. 1 Had I not met you so unexpectedly in '91, I should still be mooning desolately among these lonely islands. And

now, instead of that . . . Listen ! "All is silence and sweet solitude about this cosiest of villas. When an occasional new sound impinges it is nothing lustier than the droning of some la/.y vagabond of a bee, or some sharper splash than usual on the beach below. We are resting for the moment in a very bower. In the air the odouT of the roses blends with subtler 6weets. I don't know who built the villa or who designed the garden : only, while the villa is altogether charming for our purpose, the garden is incomparable and unique — full of summer surprise, a richly-ordered tangle of delicious things. Fronting the garden curves a dainty bay ; beyond that, the whispering surface of the Perfect Sea ; beyond that, Nice, drowsing irt a haze of purple- grey. In the harmony of our bay there are tones ami semi-ton&s, deeps and shallows, streams of gold and spaces of pellucid grey. An earthly paradise indeed, and monopolised by two. There was a serpent in our Eden, but him we have slain. Were there more than t^-o, Paradise itself were scarcely perfect ; I cannot conceive a thronged heaven And yet — and yet, dear once-met friend, I think I see you smile. Some large part of this glamour, you cay, is in my vision and of my mood, a tliiiig subjective and f<? the uninitiate unappieeiable. You are right; and yet. a.s I look again, you are wrong — dear God ! how wrong!.

"Yes, she fourd me. I had lingered on at the<lame island, with occasional excursions and short absences. Of my wife I had heard nothing :n espiriiil. My solicitor had, indeed, told me of her desire to communicate with me: but that I had expected, and since my knowledge seemed so sadly sure, I cfoo&s to ke<p to my original determination. I wrote the man of law succinctly: 'Give my nddnsi, to nobody. Apart from strictly ordinary and necessary business, communicate nothing to me, nor receive any conimunieatvm on my behalf.' I was a fool, of course ; but — it is *iisy to be wise*. after the cv- nt.

"Ard in this matter, dear man, I on imagine you mi lined to chide. H>»w could I steel my heart so resolutely ngainst the woman I loved? How could I believe shameful evil of one I had esteemed m pure? How could I dream of infidelity in one -who had seemed S3 faithful? I can imagine you, I say, more than half condemnatory. And yet the ca'e seemed clear enough to xne. I am. or was, of a keenly jealous temper: and yom jealous man is roost easily convinced of that which most injuriously affronts his peace. And you cannot conceive the cunning malignity of the vroman Dulaur. I knew nothing of her fancy for me. I had no special reason to doubt her. That she was tun, in fact, wbat we call a g<"od woman morally, I now know ; but neither my wife nor I remotely suspected that. So that I was a little surprised when Mr& Trevelyan abruptly dismissed the girl,, and evaded explanation when I asked her for her reasons. At first only my curiosity was aroused. Dulaur had been in service at the school in Fiance in which my wife wai educated. Mrs Trevelyan had always sroken highly of her. Dismissing her, Mr« Trevelyan gave the girl such testimonials and introductions as speedily procured her other service ; and for the dismissal there was no reason that I could fathom. Curiosity prompted the first bleach of conjugal confidence, when I saw mj wife's maid and questioned her. If ever woman born was possessed by seven devils, that «Wm was Mane Dulaur, and in my foolish conduct she found her chance. At first she refused to say anything, begged me not to question her, stimulated tears. But I pressed her, and at last — 'having exacted a promise that I would not mention her name — she yielded, st'll as though tinder prot<-st. Of the skiU with whirh she spun her tissue of lies, of the utter and devilish malignity o? her adroitly ordered perjuries, T can give you no fair conception. Her whole infernal story was pre-arranged, and she was itching to'tell it; and yet it seemed that she only told it with extreme reluctance and distress as my repeated questions drew it from her. Imagine the position : my ignorance of this woman's "Character, my actual misconception of it ; imagine th<° curious tangle of circumstances which gave flame to my suspicions, food to my credulity ; imagine the opportunity offered tothit woman's hate, to her abominable and wanton imagination. The story she told I need not, cannot repeat to you in detail. In effect it was that my wife was a morally corrupt woman, and that Arthur Spencer was only her latc-st lover. S>he told me th*t tbase ill habit/ had commenced far

back, that even at school the woman I had married was the slave of shameful and secret sins. Dulaur was a perverse devil, and the infamous ingenuity of detail with, which she made her charges was as revolting as it was convincing. In support of her story, she gave me all sorts of scraps of contributory evidence, things which bad seemed trivial and now seemed base. She pioduced half-a-dozen little leather-covered volumps — flotsam from the literary oess of the eighteenth century — the sort of vileness that viveurs and bibliophiles keep in secret drawers — each volume inscribed with mv wife's maiden name, in what was apparently my wife's own handwriting. These things sickened me into complete conviction. The books, said Dulaur, had been given to her to destroy Finally, she told me that Mrs Trevelyan had dismissed h«r with gifts on her repeated remonutrances regarding Spencer. Well, there is the story. It is easy now to see that I should have been less credulous, more critical, more loyal; but at the time I was convinced, although conviction tore mv heart and trampled out my hopes. The confession Dulaur left is full and explicit, as 6'range and terrible a revelation of in utterly unscrupulous and evil soul as any that could be imagined.

"But why write more? My wife forgives me. Her very action is a new revelation of her purity and her love. Already the happiest seal is set on our re-union — sho has told your wife, I dare say. So write me now, and, please God, we shall see you in a very little time. For me the days are golden, and the hours *fly far too fast. My whole life lias be<n remodelled and most sweetly changed. Insensibly I am slipping back to old aspirations and old hopes. I can almost believe again that there is- something, incomprehensible but all-comforting, inscrutable but ineffably benign, something behind this small existence and its trivial toys, something which in the end may

make time break. AncJ let us part ip "reatures thorough Into etorni*y. our due."