Blind Love.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VI, Issue 35, 30 August 1890, Page 4

Blind Love.

By

WILKIE COLLINS.

[The Right of Translation is Reserved.]

THE STORY. THIRD PERIOD. CHAPTER XXXI. THE SCHOOL FOP, HUSBANDS.

fON the next day Mountjoy heard newsof Iris, which was not of a nature to relieve hisanxieties. He received a visit fro in Fanny Mere. The leave-taking of Mr Vimpany, on the previous evening, was the first event which the maid had to relate. She had been present when I the doctor said good-bye to master and mistress. Busi- : ness in London was the reason he gave for going away. The master had taken the excuse as if he j really believed in it, and seemed to be glad to get rid of his friend. The mistress expressed her opinion that Mr Vimpany’s return to London must have been brought about by an act of liberality on the part of the most generous of living men. • Your friend has, as I believe, got some money from i myfriend/shesaid toherhusband. Aly lord had looked X at her very strangely when she spoke of Mr Mountjoy in - - that way, and had walked out of the room. As soon as his back was turned, Fanny had obtained leave of absence. She had carried out her intention of watching the terminus, and had seen Mr Vimpany take his place among the passengers to London by the mail train. Returning to the cottage, it was Fanny’s duty to ascertain if her services were required in her mistress’s room. On reaching the door, she had heard the voices of my lord and my lady, and (as Mr Mountjoy would perhaps be pleased to know) had been too honourable to listen outside, on this ■occasion. She had at once gone away, and had waited until she should be sent for. After a lorn; interval, the bell that summoned her had been rung. She had found the mistress in a state of agitation, partly angry, and partly distressed ; and had ventured to ask if anything unpleasant had happened. No reply was made to that inquiry. Fanny had silently performed the customary duties of the night-toilet, in getting my lady ready for bed ; they had said good-night to each other, and had said no more. In the morning (that present morning), being again in attendance as usual, the maid had found Lady Harry in a more indulgent frame of mind ; still tioubled by anxieties, but willing to speak of them now. She had begun by talking of Mr Mountjoy : — ‘ I think you like him, Fanny ; everybody likes him. You will be sorry to hear that we have no prospect of seeing him again at the cottage.’ There she had stopped ; something that she had not said, yet, seemed to be in her mind, and to trouble her. She was near to crying, poor soul, but struggled against it. ‘ I have no sister,’ she said, * and no friend who might be like a sister to me. It isn’t perhaps quite right to speak of my sorrow to my maid. Still, there is something hard to bear in having no kind heart near one —I mean, no other woman to speak to who knows what women feel. It is so lonely here—oh, so lonely ! I wonder whether you understand me and pity me?' Never forgetting all that she owed to her mistress—if she might say so without seeming to praise herself—Fanny was truly sorry. It would have been a relief to her, if she could have freely expressed her opinion that my lord must be to blame, when my lady was in trouble. Being a man, he was by nature cruel to women ; the wisest thing his poor wife could do would be to expect nothing from him. The maid was sorely tempted to offer a little good advice to this effect ; but she was afraid of her own remembrances, if she encouraged them by speaking out boldly. It would be better to wait for what the mistress might say next. Lord Harry’s conduct was the first subject that presented itself when the conversation was resumed. My lady mentioned that she bail noticed how he looked, and how fie left the room, when she had spoken in praise of Mr Mount joy. She had pressed him to explain himself—and she had made adiscovery which proved to be the bitterest disappointment of her life. Her nnsband suspected her ! Iler husband was jealous of her ! It was too cruel ;it was an insult beyond endurance, an insult to Mr Mount joy as

well as to herself. If that best and dearest of good friends was to be forbidden the house, if he was to go away and never to see her or s|>eak to her again, of one thing she was determined—he should not leave her without a kind word of farewell ; he should hear how truly she valued him ; yes, anti how she admired and felt for him ! Would Fanny not do the same thing, in her place And Fanny had reinembered the time when she might have done it for such a man as Mr Mountjoy. ‘ Mind you stay indoors this evening, sir,’ the maid continued, looking and speaking so excitedly that Hugh hardly knew her again. ‘My mistress is coming to see you, and I shall come with her.’ Such an act of imprudence was incredible. * You must be ont of your senses !’ Mountjoy exclaimed. ‘ I’m out of myself, sir, it that’s what you mean,’ Fanny answered. ‘ I do so enjoy treating a man in that way ! The master’s going out to dinner—he’ll know nothing about it—and,’ cried the cool cold woman of other times, ‘he richly deserves it !’ Hugh reasoned and remonstrated, and failed to produce the slightest effect. His next effort was to write a few lines to Lady Harry, entreating her to remember that a jealous man is sometimes capable of acts of the meanest duplicity, and that she might be watched. When he gave the note to Fanny to deliver, she informed him respectfully that he had better not trust her. A person sometimes meant to do right (she reminded him), and sometimes ended in doing wrong. Rather than disappoint her mistress, she was quite capable of tearing up the letter, on her way home, and saying nothing about it. Hugh tried a threat next : ‘ Your mistress will not find me, if she comes here ; I shall go out to-night. ’ The impenetrable maid looked at him with a pitying smile, and answered : ‘ Not you.’ It was a humiliating reflection —but Fanny Mere understood him better than he understood himself. All that Mountjoy had said and done in the way of protest had been really dictated by consideration for the young wife. If he questioned his conscience, selfish delight in the happy prospect of seeing Iris again asserted itself, as the only view with which he looked forward to the end of the day. When the evening approached he took the precaution of having his own discreet and faithful servant in attendance, to receive Lady Harry at the door of the hotel, before the ringing of the bell could summon the porter from his lodge. On calm consideration, the chances seemed to be in favour of her escaping detection by Lord Harry. The jealous husband of the stage, who sooner (or later) discovers the innocent (or guilty) couple, as the case may be, is not always the husband of the world outside the theatre. With this fragment of experience present in his mind, Hugh saw the door of his sitting-room cautiously opened, at an earlier hour than he had anticipated. His trustworthy representative introduced a lady, closely veiled—and that lady was Iris. CHAPTER XXXII. GOOD-BYE TO IBIS. Lady Harry lifted her veil, and looked at Mountjoy with sad entreaty in her eyes. ‘ Are you angry with me ?’ she asked. ‘ I ought to be angry with you,’ he said. ‘ This is very imprudent, Iris.’ ‘ It’s worse than that,’ she confessed. ‘ It’s reckless and desperate. Don’t say I ought to have controlled myself. I can’t control the shame I feel when I think of what has happened. Can I let you go—oh, what a return for your kindness ! —without taking youi hand at parting? Come and sit by me on the sofa. After my poor husband’s conduct, you and I are not likely to meet again. I don’t expect you to lament it as I do. Even your sweetness and your patience —so often tried—must be weary of me now. ’ ‘ If you thought that possible, my dear, you would not have come here to-night,’ Hugh reminded her. ‘ While we live, we have the hope of meeting again. Nothing in this world lasts, Iris - not even jealousy. Lord Harry himself told me that he was a variable man. Sooner or later he will come to his senses.’ Tho-e words seemed to startle Iris. ‘ I hope you don’t think that my husband is brutal to me !’ she exclaimed, still resenting even the appearance of a reflection on her marriage, ami still forgetting what she herself had said which justified a doubt of her happiness. ‘ Have you formed a wrong impression ?’ she went on. ‘ Has Fanny Mere innocently ’ Mountjoy noticed, for the first time, the absence of the maid. It was a circumstance which justified him in interrupting Iris—for it might seriously affect her if her visit to the hotel happened to lie discovered. ‘ I understood,’ he said, ‘ that Fanny was to come here with you.’ ‘ Yes ! yes ! She is waiting in the carriage. We are careful not to excite attention at the door of the hotel ; the coachman will drive up and down the street till I want him again. Never mind that ! I have something to say to you about Fanny. She thinks of her own troubles, poor soul, when she talks of me, and exaggerates a little without meaning it. I hope she has not misled you in speaking of her master. It is base and bad of him, unworthy of a gentleman, to be jealous—and he has wounded me deeply. But, dear Hugh, his jealousy is a gentle jealousy. I have heard of other men who watch their wives—who have lost all confidence in them—who would even have taken away from me such a trifle as this.’ She smiled, and showed to Mountjoy her duplicate key of the cottage door. ‘ Ah, Harry is above such degrading distrust as that ! There are times when he is as heartily ashamed of his own weakness as I could wish him to be. I have seen him on his knees before me, shocked at his conduct. He is no hypocrite. Indeed, his repentance is sincere, while it lasts —only it doesn’t last ! His jealousy rises ami falls, like the wind. He said last night (when the wind was high) : ‘"lf you wish to make me the happiest creature on the face of the earth, don’t encourage Mr Mountjoy to remain in Paris !” Try to make allowances for him !’ ‘ I would rather make allowances, Iris, for you. Do you too wish me to leave Paris?’ Sitting very near to him—nearer than her husband might have liked to see- Iris drew away a little. ‘ Did you mean to be cruel, in saying that?’ she asked. ‘I don’t deserve it.’ ‘lt was kindly meant,’ Hugh assured her. ‘lf I can make your position more endurable by going away, I will leave Paris to-morrow.’

Iris moved back again to the place which she had already occupied. She was eager to thank him (for a reason not yet mentioned) as she had never thanked him yet. Silently and softly she ottered her gratitude to Hugh, by offering her cheek. The irritating imiuence of Lord Harry’s jealousy was felt by l»oth of them at that moment. He kissed her cheek—and lingered over it. She was the first to recover herself. ‘ When you spoke just now of my position with my husband,’ she said, * you reminded me of my anxieties, Hugh, in which you once shared, and of services which I can never forget. ’ Preparing him in those words for the disclosure which she had now to make, Irisalluded to the vagabond lifeof adventure which Lord Harry had led. The restlessness in his nature which that life implied had latterly show itself again ; and his wife hail traced the cause to a letter from Ireland, communicating a report that theassassin of Arthur Mountjoy had been seen in London, and was supposed to be passing under the name of Cai rigeen. Hugh would understand that the desperate resolution to revenge the murder of his friend, with which Lord Harry had left England in the past time, had been urged into action once more. He had not concealed from Iris that she must be resigned to his leaving her for a while, if the report which had reached him from Ireland proved to be true. It would be useless, and worse than useless, to remind this reckless man of the danger that threatened him from the Invincibles, if he returned to England. In using her power of influencing the husband who still loved her, Iris could only hope to exercise a salutary restraint in her own domestic interests, appealing to him for indulgence by careful submission to any exactions on which his capricious jealousy might insist. Would sad necessity excuse her, if she accepted Mountjoy’s offer to leave Paris, for the one reason that her husband had asked it of her as a favour ’ Hugh at once understood her motive, and assured her of his sympathy. ‘Y ou may depend upon my returning to London tomorrow,’ he said. ‘ln the meantime, is there no better way in which I can be of use to you ’ If your influence fails, do you see any other chance of keeping Lord Harry's desperate purpose under control ?’ It had only that day occurred to Iris that there might be some prospect of an encouraging result, if she could obtain the assistance of Mrs Vimpany. The doctor’s wife was well acquainted with Lord Harry’s past life, when he happened to be in Ireland ; and she had met many of his countrymen with whom he had associated. If one of these friends Happened to be the officious person who had written to him, it was at least possible that Mrs Vimpany’s discreet interference might prevent his mischievous correspondent from writing again. Lord Harry, waiting for more news, would in this event wait in vain. He would not know where to go, or what to do next—and, with such a nature as his, the end of his patience and the end of his resolution were likely to come together. Hugh handed his pocket-book to Iris. Of the poor chances in her favour, the last was to his mind the least hopeless of the two. ‘ If you have discovered the name of your husband’s correspondent,’ he said, ‘ write it down for me, and I will ask Mrs Vimpany if she knows him. I will make your excuses for not having written to her lately; and, in” any case, I answer for her being ready to help you. ’ As Iris thanked him and wrote the name, the clock on the chimney-piece struck the hour. She rose to say farewell. With a restless hand she halflowered her veil, and raised it again. ‘ You won’t mind my crying,’ she said faintly, trying to smile through her tears. ‘ This is the saddest parting I have ever known. Dear, dear Hugh—good-bye !’

Great is the law of Duty ; but the elder law of Love claims its higher right. Never, in all the years of their friendship, had they forgotten themselves as they forgot themselves now. For the first time her lips met his lips, in their farewell kiss. In a moment more, they remembered the restraints which honour imposed on them ; they were only friends again. Silently, she lowered her veil. Silently, he took her arm and led her down to the carriage. It was moving away from them at a slow pace, towards the other end of the street. Instead of waiting for its return, they followed and overtook it. ‘We shall meet again,’ he whispered. She answered sadly : ‘ Don’t forget me.’ Mountjoy turned back. As he approached the hotel he noticed a tall man crossing from the opposite side of the street. Not two minutes after Iris was on her way home, her jealous husband and her old friend met at the hotel door. Lord Harry spoke first. ‘ I have been dining out,’ he said, ‘ and I came here to have a word with you, Mr Mountjoy, on my road home. ’ Hugh answered with formal politeness: ‘ Let me show your lordship the way to my rooms.’ ‘ Oh, it’s needless to trouble you,’ Lord Hany declared. ‘ I have so little to say —do you mind walking on with me for a few minutes ?’ Mountjoy silently complied. He was thinking of what might have happened if Iris had delayed her departure—or if the movement of the carriage had been towards, instead of away from, the hotel. In either case it had been a narrow escape for his wife, from a dramatic discovery by the husband. ‘ We Irishmen,’ Lord Harry resumed, ‘ are not famous for always obeying the laws ; but it is in our natures to respect the law of hospitality. When you were at the cottage yesterday I was inhospitable to my guest. My rude behaviour has weighed on my mind since- and for that reason I have come here to speak to you. It was ill-bred on my part to reproach you with vour visit, and to forbid you (oh, quite needlessly, I don’t doubt!) to call on me again. If I own that I have no desire to propose a renewal of friendly intercourse between us, you will understand me, I am sure ; with my way of thinking, the less we see of each other for the future, the better it may be. But, for what I said when my temper ran away with me, I ask you to accept my excuses, and the sincere expression of my regret.’ ‘ Your excuses are accepted, my lord, as sincerely as you have offered them,’ Mountjoy answered. ‘So far as I am concerned, the incident is forgotten from this moment.’

Lord Harry expressed his courteous acknowledgments. ‘ Spoken as becomes a gentleman,’ he said. ‘ I thank you-’

There it ended. They saluted each other ; they wished each othergoodnight. ‘A mere formality !’ Hugh thought, when they had parted.

He had wronged the Irish lord in arriving at that conclusion. But time was to pass before events helped him to discover his error. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE DECREE OF FATE. ON his arrival in London, Mountjoy went to the Nurses’ Instituteto inquire for Mrs Vimpany. She was again absent, in attendance on another patient. The address of the house (known only to the matron), was, on this occasion, not to be communicated to any friend who might make inquiries. A bail case of scarlet fever had been placed under the nurse’s care, and the danger of contagion was too serious to be trifled with. The events which had led to Mrs Vimpany’s present employment had not occurred in the customary course. A nurse who had recently joined the Institute had been first engaged to undertake the case, at the express request of the suffering person —who was said to be distantly related to the young woman. On the morning when she was about to proceed to the scene of her labours, news had reached her of the dangerous illness of her mother. Mis Vimpany, who was free at the time, and who felt a friendly interest in her young colleague, volunteered to take her place. Upon this, a strange request had been addressed to the matron, on behalf of the sick man. He desired to be • informed of it, if the new nurse was an Irishwoman.’ Hearing that she was an Englishwoman, he at once accepted her services; being himself (as an additional element of mystery in the matter) an Irishman ! The matron’s English prejudices at once assumed that there had been some discreditable event in the man’s life, which might be made a subject of scandalous exposure, if he was attended by one of his own countrypeople. She advised Mrs Vimpany to have nothing to do with the afflicted stranger. The nurse answered that she had promised to attend—and she kept her promise. Mount joy left the Institute, after vainly attempting to obtain Mrs Vimpany’s address. The one concession which the matron offered to make was to direct his letter, and send it to the post, if he would be content with that form of communication. On reflection he decided to write the letter. Prompt employment of time might be of importance, if it was possible to prevent any further communication with Lord Harry, on the part of his Irish correspondent. Using the name with which Iris had provided him, Hugh wrote to inquire if it was familiar to Mrs Vinipany, as the name of a person with whom she had been, at any time, acquainted. In this event he assured her that an immediate consultation between them was absolutely necessary in the interests of Iris. He added in a postscript, that he was in perfect health, and that he had no fear of infection—and sent his letter to the matron to be forwarded. The reply reached him late in the evening. It was in the handwriting of a stranger, and was to this effect: — ‘Dear Mr Mountjoy,—lt is impossible that I can allow yon to run the risk of seeing me, while I am in my present situation. So serious is the danger of contagion, in scarlet fever, that I dare not even write to you with my own hand, on notepaper which has been used in the sick-room. This is no mere fancy of mine ; the doctorin attendance here knows of a case, in which a small piece of infected flannel communicated the disease after an interval of no less than a year. I must trust to your own good sense to see the necessity of waiting, until I can receive you without any fear of consequences to yourself. In the meantime, I may answer your inquiry relating to the name communicated in your letter. I first knew the gentleman you mention some years since ; we were introduced to each other by Lord Harry; and I saw him afterwards on more than one occasion.’ Mountjoy read this wise and considerate reply to his letter with indignation. Here was the good fortune for which he had not dared to hope, declaring itself in favour of Iris. Here (if Mrs Vimpany could be persuaded to write to her friend) was the opportunity offered of keeping the hot-tempered Irish husband passive and harmless, by keeping him without further news of the assassin of Arthur Mountjoy. Under these encouraging ciicumstances, the proposed consultation which might have produced such excellent results had been rejected ; thanks to a contemptible fear of infection, excited by .a story of a trumpery piece of flannel ! Hugh snatched up the unfortunate letter (cast away on the floor) to tear it in pieces and throw it into the wastepaper basket—and checked himself. His angry hand had seized on it with the blank leaf of the notepaper uppermost. . On that leaf he discovered two little lines of print, presenting in the customary form, the address of the house at which the letter had been written ! The writer, in taking the sheet of paper from the case, must have accidentally turned it wrong side uppermost on the desk, and had not cared to recopy the letter, or had not discovered the mistake. Restored to his best good-humour, Hugh resolved to surprise Mrs Vinipany by a visit, on the next day, which would set the theory of contagion at defiance, and render valuable service to Iris at a crisis in her life. Having time before him for reflection, in the course of the evening,'"he was at no loss to discover a formidable obstacle in the way of his design. Whether he gave his name or concealed Ins name, when he asked for Mrs Vimpany at the house-door, she would in either case refuse to see him. The one accessible person whom he could consult in this difficulty was his faithful old servant. That experienced man—formerly employed, at various times, in the army, in the police, and in service at a public school —obtained'leave to make some preliminary investitions on the next morning. He achieved two important discoveries. In the first place, Mrs Vimpany was living in the house in which the letter to his master had been written. In the second place, there was a page attached to the domestic establishment (already under notice to leave his situation), who was accessible to corruption by means of a bribe. The boy would be on the watch for Mr Mountjoy at two o’clock on that day, and would show him where to find Mrs Vimpany, in the room near the sick man, in which she was accustomed to take her meals. Hugh acted on his instructions, and found the page waiting to admit him secretly to the house. Leading the way upstairs the boy pointed with one hand to a door on the secondfloor, and held out the other hand to receive his money.

While he ]>oeketed the bribe and dfatpjieared. Mountjoy opened the door. Mrs Vimpany was seated at a table waiting for her dinner. When Hugh showed himself she started to her feet with aery of alarm.

‘ Are you mad ?’ she exclaimed. ‘ How did you get here ? What do you want here ? Don’t come near me !’ She attempted to pass Hugh on her way out of the room. He caught her by the arm, led her l>ack to her chair, and forced her to seat herself again. ‘ Iris is in trouble,' he pleaded, ‘ and von can help her.’ ‘ The fever !’ she cried, heedless of what he had said. ‘ Keep back from me—the fever !’ For the second time she tried to get out of the room. For the second time Hugh stopped her. ‘ Fever or no fever,’ he i>ersisted, ‘ I have something to say to you. In two minutes I shall have said it, and I will go-’ In the fewest possible words he described the situation of Iris with her jealous husband. Mrs Vimpany indignantly interrupted him. ‘ Are you running this dreadful risk,’ she asked, ‘ with nothing to say to me that I don’t know already ? Her husband jealous of her ’ Of course he is jealous of her ! Leave me—or I will ring for the servant.’ ‘Ring, if you like,’ Hugh answered; ‘but hear this first. My letter to you alluded to a consultation between us, which might be necessary in the interests of Iris. Imagine her situation, if you can ! The assassin of Arthur Mountjoy is reported to be in London ; and Lord Harry has heard of it. ’ Mrs Vimpany looked at him with horror in her eyes. ‘ Gracious God !’ she cried, ‘ the man is here—under my care. Oh, lam not in the conspiracy to hide the wretch ! I knew no more of him than you do when I offered to nurse him. The names that have escaped him, in his delirium, have told me the truth.’ As she spoke, a second door in the room opened. An old woman showed herself for a moment, trembling with terror. ‘ He’s breaking out again, nurse ! Help me to hold him ! ’ Mrs Vimpany instantly followed the woman into the bedroom. ‘ Wait and listen,’ she said to Mountjoy—and left the door open. The quick, fierce, muttering tones of a man in delirium were now fearfully audible. His maddened memory was travelling back over his own horrible life. He put questions to himself ; he answerd himself :— ‘ Who drew the lot to kill the traitor ? I did ! I did ! Who shot him on the road, before he could get to the wood ? I did ! I did ! Arthur Mountjoy, traitor to Ireland. Set that on his tombstone, and disgrace him for ever. Listen, boys—listen! There is a patriot among you. I am the patriot—preserved by a merciful Providence. Ha, my Lord Harry, search the earth and search the sea, the patriot is out of your reach ! Nurse ! What’s that the doctor said of me ? The fever will kill him ? Well, what does that matter, as long as Lord Harry doesn’t kill me? Open the doors, and let everybody hear of it. I die the death of a saint—the greatest of all saints —the saint who shot Arthur Mountjoy. Oh, the heat, the heat, the burning raging heat !’ The tortured creature burst into a dreadful cry of rage and pain. It was more than Hugh’s resolution could support. He hurried out of the house. Ten days passed. A letter, in strange handwriting, reached Ins at Passy. The first part of the letter was devoted to the Irish desperado whom Mrs Vimpany had attended in his illness. When she only knew him as a suffering fellow-creature she had promised to be his nurse. Did the discovery that he was an assassin justify desertion, or even excuse neglect ? No ! the nursing art, like the healing art, is an act of mercy —in itself too essentially noble to inquire whether the misery that it relieves merits help. All that experience, all that intelligence, all that care could offer, the nurse gave to the man whose hand she would have shrunk from touching in friendship, after she had saved his life. A time had come when the fever threatened to take Lord Harry’s vengeance out of his hands. The crisis of the disease declared itself. With the shadow of death on him, the wretch lived through it—saved by his strong constitution, and by the skilled and fearless woman who attended on him. At the period of his convalescence, friends from Ireland (accompanied by a medical man of their own choosing) presented themselves at the house, and asked for him by the name under which he passed—Carrigeen. With eveiy possible care, he was removed ; to what destination had never been discovered. From that time, all trace of him had been lost. Terrible news followed on the next page. The subtle power of infection had asserted itself against the poor mortal who had defied it. Hugh Mount joy, stricken by the man who had murdered his brother, lay burning under the scarlet fire of the fever. But the nurse watched by him, night and day. (TO BE CONTINUED.)