Milly Darrell

by M. E. Braddon

week. The weather had been incessantly wet during thistime--dull, hopeless, perpetual rain day after day, without a break inthe leaden sky. But at last there came a fine evening, and I went downto the terrace to take a solitary walk after my long imprisonment. Itwas between six and seven o'clock; Milly was asleep, and there was noprobability of my being wanted in the sick-room for half an hour or so.I left ample instructions with my handy little assistant, and went downfor my constitutional, muffled in a warm shawl.

  It was dusk when I went out, and everything was unusually quiet, not aleaf was stirring in the stagnant atmosphere. Late as it was, theevening was almost oppressively warm, and I was glad to throw off myshawl. I walked up and down the terrace in front of the Hall for aboutten minutes, and then went round towards the drawing-room windows.Before I had quite reached the first of these, I was arrested by asound so strange that I stopped involuntarily to listen. Throughout allthat followed, I had no time to consider whether I was doing right orwrong in hearing what I did hear; but I believe if I had had ampleleisure for deliberation, it would have come to the same thing--Ishould have listened. What I heard was of such vital consequence to thegirl I loved, that I think loyalty to her outweighed any treacheryagainst the speaker.

  The strange sound that brought me to a standstill close to thewide-open window was the sound of a woman's passionate sobbing--such astorm of weeping as one does not hear many times in a life. I havenever heard anything like it until that night.

  Angus Egerton's sonorous voice broke in upon those tempestuous sobsalmost angrily:

  'Augusta, this is supreme folly.'

  The sobs went on for some minutes longer unchecked. I heard his stepsounding heavily as he walked up and down the room.

  'I am waiting to hear the meaning of all this,' he said by and by. 'Isuppose there is some meaning.'

  'O Angus, is it so easy for you to forget the past?'

  'It was forgotten long ago,' he answered, 'by both of us, I shouldthink. When my mother bribed you to leave Ilfracombe, you bartered mylove and my happiness for the petty price she was able to pay. I was aweak fool in those days, and I took the business to heart bitterlyenough, God knows; but the lesson was a useful one, and it served itsturn. I have never trusted myself to love any woman since that day,till I met the pure young creature who is to be my wife. Her truth isabove all doubt; she will not sell her birthright for a mess ofpottage.'

  'The mess of pottage was not for me, Angus. It was my father's bargain,not mine. I was told that you had done with me--that you had nevermeant to marry me. Yes, Angus, your mother told me that with her ownlips--told me that she interfered to save me from misery and dishonour.And then I was hurried off to a cheap French convent, to learn toprovide for myself. A couple of years' schooling was the price Ireceived for my broken heart. That was what your mother called makingme a lady. I think I should have gone mad in those two dreary years, ifit had not been for my passionate love of music. I gave myself up tothat with my whole soul; my heart was dead; and they told me I mademore progress in two years than other girls made in six. I had nothingelse to live for.'

  'Except the hope of a rich husband,' said Mr. Egerton, with a sneer.

  'O God, how cruel a man can to be a woman he has once loved!' criedMrs. Darrell passionately. 'Yes, I did marry a rich man, Angus; but Inever schemed or tried to win him. The chance came to me without a hopeor a thought of mine. It was the chance of rescue from the dreariestlife of drudgery that a poor dependent creature ever lived, and I tookit. But I have never forgotten you, Angus Egerton, not for one hour ofmy life.'

  'I am sorry you should have taken the trouble to remember me,' heanswered very coldly. 'For some years of my life I made it my chiefbusiness to forget you, and all the pain connected with ouracquaintance; and having succeeded in doing that, it seems a pity thatwe should disturb the stagnant waters of that dead lake which men callthe past.'

  'Would to God that we had never met again!' she said.

  'I can quite echo that aspiration, if we are likely to have many suchscenes as this.'

  'Cruel--cruel!' she muttered. 'O Angus, I have been so patient! I haveclung to hope in the face of despair. When my husband died I fanciedyour old love would reawaken. How can such things die? I thought it wasto me you would come back--to me, whom you once loved sopassionately--not to that girl. You came back to her, and still I waspatient. I set myself against her, to win back your love. Yes, Angus, Ihoped to do that till very lately. And then I began to see that it wasall useless. She is younger and handsomer than I.'

  'She is better than you, Augusta. It was not her beauty that won me,but something nobler and rarer than beauty: it was her perfect nature.The more faulty we are ourselves, the more fondly we cling to a goodwoman. But I don't want to say hard things, Augusta. Pray let us putall this folly aside at once and for ever. You took your course in thepast, and it has landed you in a very prosperous position. Let me takemine in the present, and let us be friends, if possible.'

  'You know that it is not possible. We must be all the world to eachother, or the bitterest enemies.'

  'I shall never be your enemy, Mrs. Darrell.'

  'But I am yours; yes, I am yours from this night, and hers. You think Ican look on tamely, and see you devoted to that girl! I have only beenplaying a part. I thought it was in my power to win you back.'

  All this was said with a kind of passionate recklessness, as if thespeaker, having suddenly thrown off her mask, scarcely cared howutterly she degraded herself.

  'Good-night, Mrs. Darrell. You will think of these things more wiselyto-morrow. Let us be civil to each other, at least, while circumstancesbring us together; and for God's sake be kind to your stepdaughter! Donot think of her as a rival; my love for you had died long before I sawher. You need bear no malice against her on that account. Good-night.'

  'Good-night.'

  I heard the drawing-room door open and shut, and knew that he was gone.I walked on past the open windows, not caring if Mrs. Darrell saw me.It might be better for Milly, perhaps, that she should know I had heardher secret, and had been put upon my guard. But I do not think she sawme.

  It was about a quarter of an hour later when I went in, and it wasquite dark by that time. In the hall I met Mrs. Darrell, dressed forwalking.

  'I am going round the shrubberies, Miss Crofton,' she said.'Insupportably close to-night, is it not? I think we shall all have thefever if this weather lasts.'

  She did not wait for my answer, but passed out quickly. I went back toMilly's room, and found her still sleeping peacefully. Ten minutesafterwards I heard the rain beating against the windows, and knew thatit had set in for a wet night.

  'Mrs. Darrell will not be able to go far,' I thought.

  I sat by the bedside for some time thinking of what I had heard. It wassomething to have had so strong a proof of Angus Egerton's loyalty tomy dear girl; and assured of that, I did not fear Mrs. Darrell'smalice. Yet I could not help wishing that the marriage had beenappointed for an earlier date, and that the time which stepmother anddaughter were to spend together had been shorter.

  Milly woke, and sat up for about half an hour, supported by pillows, totake a cup of tea, while I talked to her a little about the pleasantestsubjects I could think of. She asked if Mr. Egerton had been atThornleigh that evening.

  'Yes, dear, he has been.'

  'Did you see him, Mary?'

  'No; I did not see him.'

  She gave a little disappointed sigh. It was her delight to hear merepeat his messages to her, word for word, ever so many times over.

  'Then you have nothing to tell me about him, dear?'

  'Nothing; except that I know he loves you.'

  'Ah, Mary, there was a time when you doubted him.'

  'That time is quite past and gone, dear.'

  She kissed me as she gave me back her cup and saucer, and promised togo to sleep again, while I went to my room to write a long letter home.

  I was occupied in this way for more than an hour; and then, hav
ingsealed my letter, went down with it to the hall, to put it on a tablewhere all letters intended to be taken to the post in the morning wereplaced over-night.

  It was nearly ten o'clock by this time, and I was startled by the soundof the hall-door opening softly from without, while I was putting downmy letter. I looked round quietly, and saw Mrs. Darrell coming in, withdripping garments.

  'Good gracious me!' I cried involuntarily; 'have you been out all thistime in the rain, Mrs. Darrell?'

  'Yes, I have been out in the rain, Miss Crofton,' she answered in avexed impatient tone. 'Is that so very shocking to your sober ideas ofpropriety? I could not endure the house to-night. One has feverishfancies sometimes--at least I have; and I preferred being out in therain to not being