CHAPTER XLIV. OUR NEW HONEYMOON.
It is not to be disguised or denied that my spirits were depressed on myjourney to London.
To resign the one cherished purpose of my life, when I had sufferedso much in pursuing it, and when I had (to all appearance) so nearlyreached the realization of my hopes, was putting to a hard trial awoman's fortitude and a woman's sense of duty. Still, even if theopportunity had been offered to me, I would not have recalled my letterto Mr. Playmore. "It is done, and well done," I said to myself; "and Ihave only to wait a day to be reconciled to it--when I give my husbandmy first kiss."
I had planned and hoped to reach London in time to start for Paris bythe night-mail. But the train was twice delayed on the long journeyfrom the North; and there was no help for it but to sleep at Benjamin'svilla, and to defer my departure until the morning.
It was, of course, impossible for me to warn my old friend of the changein my plans. My arrival took him by surprise. I found him alone in hislibrary, with a wonderful illumination of lamps and candles, absorbedover some morsels of torn paper scattered on the table before him.
"What in the world are you about?" I asked.
Benjamin blushed--I was going to say, like a young girl; but young girlshave given up blushing in these latter days of the age we live in.
"Oh, nothing, nothing!" he said, confusedly. "Don't notice it."
He stretched out his hand to brush the morsels of paper off the table.Those morsels raised a sudden suspicion in my mind. I stopped him.
"You have heard from Mr. Playmore!" I said. "Tell me the truth,Benjamin. Yes or no?"
Benjamin blushed a shade deeper, and answered, "Yes."
"Where is the letter?"
"I mustn't show it to you, Valeria."
This (need I say it?) made me determined to see the letter. My best wayof persuading Benjamin to show it to me was to tell him of the sacrificethat I had made to my husband's wishes. "I have no further voice inthe matter," I added, when I had done. "It now rests entirely with Mr.Playmore to go on or to give up; and this is my last opportunity ofdiscovering what he really thinks about it. Don't I deserve some littleindulgence? Have I no claim to look at the letter?"
Benjamin was too much surprised, and too much pleased with me, when heheard what had happened, to be able to resist my entreaties. He gave methe letter.
Mr. Playmore wrote to appeal confidentially to Benjamin as a commercialman. In the long course of his occupation in business, it was justpossible that he might have heard of cases in which documents have beenput together again after having been torn up by design or by accident.Even if his experience failed in this particular, he might be able torefer to some authority in London who would be capable of giving anopinion on the subject. By way of explaining his strange request, Mr.Playmore reverted to the notes which Benjamin had taken at MiserrimusDexter's house, and informed him of the serious importance of "thegibberish" which he had reported under protest. The letter closed byrecommending that any correspondence which ensued should be kept asecret from me--on the ground that it might excite false hopes in mymind if I were informed of it.
I now understood the tone which my worthy adviser had adopted in writingto me. His interest in the recovery of the letter was evidently sooverpowering that common prudence compelled him to conceal it from me,in case of ultimate failure. This did not look as if Mr. Playmore waslikely to give up the investigation on my withdrawal from it. I glancedagain at the fragments of paper on Benjamin's table, with an interest inthem which I had not felt yet.
"Has anything been found at Gleninch?" I asked.
"No," said Benjamin. "I have only been trying experiments with a letterof my own, before I wrote to Mr. Playmore."
"Oh, you have torn up the letter yourself, then?"
"Yes. And, to make it all the more difficult to put them together again,I shook up the pieces in a basket. It's a childish thing to do, my dear,at my age--"
He stopped, looking very much ashamed of himself.
"Well," I went on; "and have you succeeded in putting your lettertogether again?"
"It's not very easy, Valeria. But I have made a beginning. It's thesame principle as the principle in the 'Puzzles' which we used to puttogether when I was a boy. Only get one central bit of it right, and therest of the Puzzle falls into its place in a longer or a shorter time.Please don't tell anybody, my dear. People might say I was in my dotage.To think of that gibberish in my note-book having a meaning in it, afterall! I only got Mr. Playmore's letter this morning; and--I am reallyalmost ashamed to mention it--I have been trying experiments on tornletters, off and on, ever since. You won't tell upon me, will you?"
I answered the dear old man by a hearty embrace. Now that he had losthis steady moral balance, and had caught the infection of my enthusiasm,I loved him better than ever.
But I was not quite happy, though I tried to appear so. Struggle againstit as I might, I felt a little mortified when I remembered that I hadresigned all further connection with the search for the letter at sucha time as this. My one comfort was to think of Eustace. My oneencouragement was to keep my mind fixed as constantly as possible on thebright change for the better that now appeared in the domestic prospect.Here, at least, there was no disaster to fear; here I could honestlyfeel that I had triumphed. My husband had come back to me of his ownfree will; he had not given way, under the hard weight of evidence--hehad yielded to the nobler influences of his gratitude and his love. AndI had taken him to my heart again--not because I had made discoverieswhich left him no other alternative than to live with me, but because Ibelieved in the better mind that had come to him, and loved and trustedhim without reserve. Was it not worth some sacrifice to have arrived atthis result! True--most true! And yet I was a little out of spirits. Ah,well! well! the remedy was within a day's journey. The sooner I was withEustace the better.
Early the next morning I left London for Paris by the tidal-train.Benjamin accompanied me to the Terminus.
"I shall write to Edinburgh by to-day's post," he said, in the intervalbefore the train moved out of the station. "I think I can find the manMr. Playmore wants to help him, if he decides to go on. Have you anymessage to send, Valeria?"
"No. I have done with it, Benjamin; I have nothing more to say."
"Shall I write and tell you how it ends, if Mr. Playmore does really trythe experiment at Gleninch?"
I answered, as I felt, a little bitterly.
"Yes," I said "Write and tell me if the experiment fail."
My old friend smiled. He knew me better than I knew myself.
"All right!" he said, resignedly. "I have got the address of yourbanker's correspondent in Paris. You will have to go there for money, mydear; and you _may_ find a letter waiting for you in the office when youleast expect it. Let me hear how your husband goes on. Good-by--and Godbless you!"
That evening I was restored to Eustace.
He was too weak, poor fellow, even to raise his head from the pillow.I knelt down at the bedside and kissed him. His languid, weary eyeskindled with a new life as my lips touched his. "I must try to livenow," he whispered, "for your sake."
My mother-in-law had delicately left us together. When he said thosewords the temptation to tell him of the new hope that had come tobrighten our lives was more than I could resist.
"You must try to live now, Eustace," I said, "for some one else besidesme."
His eyes looked wonderingly into mine.
"Do you mean my mother?" he asked.
I laid my head on his bosom, and whispered back--"I mean your child."
I had all my reward for all that I had given up. I forgot Mr. Playmore;I forgot Gleninch. Our new honeymoon dates, in my remembrance, from thatday.
The quiet time passed, in the by-street in which we lived. The outerstir and tumult of Parisian life ran its daily course around us,unnoticed and unheard. Steadily, though slowly, Eustace gained strength.The doctors, with a word or two of caution, left him almost entirely tome. "You are hi
s physician," they said; "the happier you make him, thesooner he will recover." The quiet, monotonous round of my new lifewas far from wearying me. I, too, wanted repose--I had no interests, nopleasures, out of my husband's room.
Once, and once only, the placid surface of our lives was just gentlyruffled by an allusion to the past. Something that I accidentally saidreminded Eustace of our last interview at Major Fitz-David's house.He referred, very delicately, to what I had then said of the Verdictpronounced on him at the Trial; and he left me to infer that a word frommy lips, confirming what his mother had already told him, would quiethis mind at once and forever.
My answer involved no embarrassments or difficulties; I could and didhonestly tell him that I had made his wishes my law. But it was hardlyin womanhood, I am afraid, to be satisfied with merely replying, and toleave it there. I thought it due to me that Eustace too should concedesomething, in the way of an assurance which might quiet _my_ mind. Asusual with me, the words followed the impulse to speak them. "Eustace,"I asked, "are you quite cured of those cruel doubts which once made youleave me?"
His answer (as he afterward said) made me blush with pleasure. "Ah,Valeria, I should never have gone away if I had known you then as wellas I know you now!"
So the last shadows of distrust melted away out of our lives.
The very remembrance of the turmoil and the trouble of my past days inLondon seemed now to fade from my memory. We were lovers again; we wereabsorbed again in each other; we could almost fancy that our marriagedated back once more to a day or two since. But one last victory overmyself was wanting to make my happiness complete. I still felt secretlongings, in those dangerous moments when I was left by myself, to knowwhether the search for the torn letter had or had not taken place. Whatwayward creatures we are! With everything that a woman could want tomake her happy, I was ready to put that happiness in peril rather thanremain ignorant of what was going on at Gleninch! I actually hailedthe day when my empty purse gave me an excuse for going to my banker'scorrespondent on business, and so receiving any letters waiting for mewhich might be placed in my hands.
I applied for my money without knowing what I was about; wondering allthe time whether Benjamin had written to me or not. My eyes wanderedover the desks and tables in the office, looking for letters furtively.Nothing of the sort was visible. But a man appeared from an inneroffice: an ugly man, who was yet beautiful to my eyes, for thissufficient reason--he had a letter in his hand, and he said, "Is thisfor you, ma'am?"
A glance at the address showed me Benjamin's handwriting.
Had they tried the experiment of recovering the letter? and had theyfailed?
Somebody put my money in my bag, and politely led me out to the littlehired carriage which was waiting for me at the door. I remember nothingdistinctly until I open ed the letter on my way home. The first wordstold me that the dust-heap had been examined, and that the fragments ofthe torn letter had been found.
The Law and the Lady Page 44
