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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1888-1-20, Page 6i PUT ASUNDER ` prisoner who e; and is not r. bondage to remorse ; and I would our- tauo my love so that it should not die." os, Lady Castlomaino's Divorce 1 By BERTHA N. CLAY, AUTHOR OR tete. Razunted Life," '"The Earl', Atom". =tent," u Struggle far a nine.. etc„ etc.,. etc. • the little home, or sitting in the garden. while Justine read or talked to her. Justine devoted herself to her patron- ess ; she called her always "dear lady ;", and when she did not read to her, or? when her hands were busy sewing, she sang ballads or told tales. Justine's industry and interest in neodle-work won Gertrude to seek the same distraction from her cares, and rhe also became industrious—Gertrude, who had spent so much of her life in sitting with her hands in her lap, mere. ly being beautiful. "Justine," said Gertrude one day, "perhaps it may make you unhappy to • live here, wbere all is connected with your past and your dead aunt 2" "Oh, no, dear lady ; my aunt loved this place; I like to think that she was happy here." "And you cared for your aunt 2" "Oh, yes! She was the only one of my blood, you know ; and it was my duty to love her. She was often very Idnd " "And often very unkind 2" "That is the part one must forget, dear lady; we should not cherish the remembrance of wrongs ; it makes for- giveness bard." "And why forgive 2" asked Gertrude, sharply. "Because, dear lady, one is happier exercising forgiveness than harboring resentment ; and God has said we must -forgive if we would be forgiven." But if people do wrong to you they to not deserve forgiveness." "Forgiving them is the duty owed to oarselves, not to them; and then life is so short, and death may come and out off all opportunity of forgiving and re- penting." But your aunt, it seems to me, was very selfish toward you." "That was her nature, and we should not be too hard on natural traits," said Justine, her eyes on her sewing. "I think people are to blame for their natural traits. " "For cultivating them or not repress- ing them, yes. But then we should consider how strongly they may have inherited some things, and what force of early circumstances may have iu• ereaaed natural errors. Besides, dear lady, we all have our characteristics that may be unpleasing to others, AN all do wrong sometimes. We should not claim the right to be imperfect, and refuse to forgive others for not being perfect."' All these were new doctrines to Ger. crude. One day she said to Justine : "That tall lady we meet in our wale looks very melancholy." Kilo poor lady is unhappy in her married life." "I believe eveiy one is unhappy in married life," cried poor Gertrude. "Even those who expect most find themselves disappointed. It belongs to marriage to be unhappy," "As I have not been married proba- bly I should not answer," said Justine, looking at ber work. "You might say what you think," re- torted Gertrude sharply. "It teems to me hat the unhappi- ness of married life may come from husbands and wives demanding that each ether should be faultless, when each, being human, must be faulty. elarreeee is a relationship where pride sbnurd be laid aside and forbearance cull'v,rted." ; ould you allow yourself to be raisin:.: a, domineered over 2" "Dees r lady, it seems to me that no miajnr seg by another could be so pain. ful a:, rendemnation of my own 0011- 101±1 is better to suffer wrong than to co wrang. If harshness is met by e} cal -es and gentleness, it is dis- arr r ' 'There aro in great hot -houses rare. els and sensitive plants, and in the , eimun little home garden sweet and .. •• In common things—pansios al:"' we ea. So marriage is an ovine i arden! where such plants as gent " e he. ±;ity, and self-sacrifice grow s and most easily." c„ :..le sighed; she wished that Wavle , like this had moulded her ebild ' i, and that Isabel, the friend wee awayeu her actions and feol- in•s given counsel such as these. It evie painful to her proud spirit to cone :-:u herself, oven so far as to wish that she had been differently trained. She eleeed the conversation back. ' t':,s', is a good theory, Justine; but you ell find it hard to put it into pro •te. You are probably happier for not i : ,.,g married, and I hope you will remain so. "As I have •no marriage portion, and no aoquaiutahces," said Justine, "1 shall probably remain as I am, and I would not wish rashly to enter a state unalterable except by death." "Thereisseparation or divorce," cried Gertrude, bitterly. "I3oth are wrong," said Justine. "In marriage one makes solemn vows which one cannot break for pique or passion. The promise in marriage is not merely Made to a man or a woman—it is made to God befdre 1110 altar. From that Promise God only releases us by the angel o2 death." , "And if iyon found you were bitterly, mfstaken,' cried Gertrude, "if the bond became a chain, if you felt yourself a prisoner, if you were degraded by leis - judgments, and ordered liko a slave, and felt that where love had boon pro- mised you, yen had received coldness, suspicion if your love wore dead, you would not fly away from such misery ?" "Dear lady, 1 woulcl try and question if my own conduct had not made part of the change ; and patience would lighten the slain; and ono is not a • February came, aud, after the brief winter, spring was already breathing through the sheltered valley of the Aude, and there, with the spring, a new life lied begun, Above the pale Gertrude bent jute, tine, a little babe in ber arms ; and, as she gave the child into its mother's passionate olasp, she whispered, soft and clear as the voice of conscience : "Dear Lady, this, your son, should bear its father's name." CHAPTER LSI. 'rue CRY 08' C0E8CIENCE, 'Mademoiselle, it would bo 'well to summon some of madame's family." It was the gray-headod Doctor Dc Val, speaking to Justine. "Oh, doctor, surely she is not in don. ger !" cried Justine. "Sho is in a singular state of pros- tration, of mental and physical apathy. 1 can only aocount for it by long mental distress and depression, aid strong mental emotions exhausting her power. She may rally ; but she may drop away at any hour. Her constitutiou has received a severe shook. So lovely and refined a lady must heve many to whom she is inexpressibly dear. Their pro. sauce might have the most salutary effect. And then, Mademoiselle Jule tine, as she is not related to you, this responsibil.ty is too great. Also, con. sider the child. If the mother dins, what is to become of the little one 2" What, indeed? To this point had the mad folly of Gertrude reached, that the child, even its name unknown,might be cast upon utter strangers, with a few hundred pounds' worth of jewels and money its entire portion. "Doctor," said Justine, with tears, "I do not know her friends, ber history, or her former home. She has never told me. I only know that her name is assumed, that she is English, and very unhappy. She has said she is married. She wears a wedding -ring ; but she has not said she is 0 widow." "She is evidently a lady of the high- est culture." "Most surely ; it is evident." ,'!02 birth and station. Herself she may have had reason for concealing; but the child is to be considered. Is there no way to discover her kindred? I dare not ask her—a little excitement might insure her death." "I asked her yesterday if there were any letters she wished me to write, any business to do, and she said no. She has not written or received a letter since I have known her." "Tho position is deplorable." ate was a good old man. Justine had known him for some years. She felt that she must have counsel. She took him aside and showed him a list of the jewels in the basic at Oarcassonee, and the slip she had out out of 'Truth.' Then she laid in his hand Cettrude'e watch, and opened the case. The watch was set with precious stones, and inside the case was the name "Gertrude Ora- veu." Her name is Gertrude—that much 1 know," said Justine. "I know, too, that she prefers to maintain her con- cealment, and I cannot feel right in seeking out what she desires to hide. We cannot know her reasons." "The seeking would be a long process —too long for ns to lie adze to raring any :fine of her friends here until after the natter of life or death has been deter- mined. The method would be to ad- dress the uoarest English consul, and have him ascertain whether a Lady Castlemaine had disappeared from her horn, and if so, we should be pat in communication with the family, or its Solicitor, and make known the existence of the child, and request instructions. C am glad you havo these traces, for by them I think 1 can find the friends of eio little one, if it loses its mother. If, however, she lives, I think, for the sake if, end by means of the child, yon should endeavor to learn something of her history, and to persuade her to eoinmunicate with her friends. She is so sweat, and innocent, and attractive, that I am sure groat misconceptions, or great wrongs done her, are at the root of her miserable isolation." But Gertrude did not die. Slowly she came back to life. Her little child o p.m.(' now hopes and interests for her. She had at last an object for her pas- sionate' love—an object all her own— a heart fixed wholly on her, that would never misunderstand ber. All the warmth of her ardent nature was lav- ished on thi8 child; and that affection so filled her heart, 'bat she was now farther then ever from desiring a reoon- ciliation with her husband. Furious anger had died out in a cold resentment; her love, misjudged and rebuffed, had wavered for a little for some Centre and object, and now clasped all its tendrils around this baby boy, Sho would share him with no one. She would never misjudge nor misupderstand him. She would be all in all to him. 1301 as Gertrude slowly struggled back from the cold border -land of death, there were two that watched ber, in. tent on saving her from herself, and being better to her than her own desire —the old doctor and Justine. 'Justine had all the finesse, the stra- tegic skill of the true Frenchwoman. Her acute mind divined at once that the child was now the key to the mo- thor's heart, and the master power of the mother's future. "The dear little one!" said Justine, one day, as the child lay asleep on ber lap, "all his life is before him. 1: won- der what destiny be has been born to." Gertrude knew what destiny it was— a destiny which she was combating. If he bad boon born to his rights, in his ancestral home of Neath, what joy -bells would have welcomed the heir of Cas- biernahiol 'What love of the tenants would have centrad on the little repro, sentative of an honorable line I What Mende would have crowded with con- gratlilabions i What. gifts would have none for the christening 1 That little ,lark heats was torr, bo en earl's coronet! THE BI,US3ELS That little voles, now only raised fn a piping cry, rounded to 0 manly bong, belonged to the Mouse of Lords I But she, his mother, would not have it so. She comforted herself with the thought that a devoted mother was a ohild's best heritage, and, nursed entirely by her, he was surely better off than given to two grand nurses in the stately our. sery of Castlemaine. "Do yon know," said Justine, as Ger- trude lay long silent, "one obief reason why I love tolook at a little babe When I see how intense a mother's love is for her child, it comforts nee to think that once all that passionate affection was given to me, My mother died when I eau barely remember her ; but iu other mothers I see her love to me. You understand that, I kuow, doer lady. When you hold your little one to your bosom, you thick that just with that strong, uuending love you have for him, the mother you have lost loved yon. Is it not swept to think bow dear yon were to her 2" Oh, this was a new thought to Ger. trudo. 1 -ler mother ! She bad not lost her I She had robbed her 1 Her mo- ther had been doomed by her to live in ahem and pain, mourning a disappear- ed child. 011, that had been hard 1 "Do you think all mothers love so?" she asked, wistfully. "Oh, surely 1" said Justine. "Why, you can tell by remembering. As long as your mother lived, were you not hor chief thought? Did she not glory in your beauty ? Did she not live for you? Was not all her ambition for you? If a good thing could be for only one of you, woulcl she not much rather you should have it than to have it herself ? That is the way all mothers love. There is your baby. Hug him in your arms, and as you feel your heed full of love for him, think that is just the way your mother loved you." Justine put the little one iu'bis mo- ther's arms and went away. All Gertrude's heart at that hour went out to her mother. A flood of remotes overwhelmed her. She thought how sweet it would be to send for her mother—to have her come to ber, and rejoice with her over her child. Then she remembered that Isabel had told her that separation or divorce obtained by Lord Castlemaine would deprive her of the custody of her child ; for the heir of Castlemaine would belong to Castlemaine, and his father would claim his keeping. Perhaps she would not be allowed even to see her own child! Oh, better a thousand deaths—better the sacritioe of everything than the loss of this object of her idolatry. She knew how hard Lord Castlemaine could be. She remembered that he told her that his love could turn to hate, and that he could be cruel to one he had loved. That cruelty would deprive her of her boy. Her tears rained over the little soft round head. She pressed the little warm face to her bosom. "011, my baby 1 my baby 1" she said ; "I sacrifice all to keep you! For my child I give up my mother 1" For Gertrude knew well that as soon as her mother knew of her whereabouts ^rad the birth of her son, she would in- form Lord. Castlemaine. Lady Craven was not the woman to deprive her grandchild of a coronet. If Gertrude had boon a practical business woman like Justine, she would have begun to question where money to educate this child and establish him in the worel, was to come from. What, as he grew to manhood, was she to offer him in exchange fox the estates and title of which she had deprived him ? Not being a business woman, nor one accustomed to provide ways and moans, she resolved to banish all recollections of and yearnings for her former home and friends, and devote herself only to living for, and loving, and keeping her idolized child. Whenever Justine made any hints that tended to the past, she that het ears. But one act of justice she did perform—she named the child .Rudolph. She however stipulated that she ane. Justine were to call him only "Boy;" or "Baby." She said Rudolph was too old and stiff a name for him. Tho llama assured Justine that her suspicions about the paragreph were correct, and that a Lord Castlemaine was the father of this little man ; but Justine did not feel that she had any right to seek out that father, or mem- municabo with him, while this mother, who had befriended her, lived. Gertrude was . able, at last, to be cub of doors again. The warm sprig„ had fully come; all the world was radiant. In the little garden, or in the groves, lived Gertrude, Justine, and the baby. One day Justine said boldly to Ger- trude : "Dear lady, do not be angry if I say what seems my duty. You must have friends who love you ; and this dear child must have kin, Why do you nob write to them 2" '"Justine," said Gertrude firmly, "you must never speak to me of my family again. It only httrts, and cannot help me, I will tell yon plainly, I fled away from England,and hid myself in France, so that my child could not be taken from me. I live in and for this child; ho is my all. It is a barbarous law, Justine, that allows a child to be taken from his own mother 1 Surely the child belongs more to the mother than to any one else 1 And the law is so cruel, Justine l If a mother is a good woman she can lose her child because itis legitimate; bnd if she is a wicked woman, the child is hers to keep, As I am a good woman, the law would rob me of my child, since his father has turned to bo my enemy." "Oh, dear lady 1 this little angel would make you two friends 1" "No, no! It is too late 1 We are put asunder forever 1" "Justine," said Gertrude, some days after, "do you know how much it costs' U8 each year to live ?" "Yes, door. lady ;, I keep careful ao. counts," And with our money, and what you think yott should sell those jewels for, hew long can wo live as we do now 2" "Five years, dear lady," said Justine, who had. been aver. this question many times in her own mind. At seventeen or eighteen," saki Ger, Crude, slowly, "a child could not bo parted from his mother, He would be old enough to love her, to judge for himself, to assort his right to see her, That leaves us twelve or thirteen years to bridge over, Justine. I have a great fortune coming to neo in my own right, sometime. When that time of need cornea, there is a lawyer I shall write to for money, concealing that I have a child," "But if same 0ue suspects ---asks 2" said Justine. "I will do anything --I will evou say the child is dead 1" And in this Gertrude persisted. This strengthened as the year waxed in beauty and waued to its decay, and another summer shone on the valley of the Ando; and the little child, finding his tongue and his logs, filled the cot- tage with prattle and glee — a dark, flashing, beautiful child, the image of Rudolph, Lord Castlemaine. But as the child grew in vigor, the old doctor's keen oye saw that the ex- quisite loveliness of his mother was frail and tromelous as a light of a star that stoops to its setting. Ilor steps grew slow; her voice took softer oa- dences; her blue eyes bad the far -oft look of one gazing on the unseen ; her dainty hauls worn transparent, and loosely on her finger hung her wedding ring. But Gertrude did not know this. She bad no more thoughts of herself. Her existence seemed to have passed into that of her child, and her soul was absorbed in that most unselfish of all passions, maternal love. In this long time of living unselfishly absorbed in another, in living under the gentle influence of Justine, hearing day by day that tender gospel of '"Blessed aro the meek 1" from Justine's lips, the proud spirit of Gertrude Castlemaine had softened. She seldom looked back now ; but when she did, it was rather in pity than in wrath. She blamed herself now quite as oft as she blamed Rudolph ; and had it not been that sbe felt that the unchange- able decree of divorce was between them, she would, in hours of softened musing, have written to Rudolph to en- treat his pardon. But for that it was too lata "Poor child 1 Poor little lad 1" said .Doctor De Val, one day, looking at the boy, who played at Gertrude's feet, as the dootor, who daily made a friendly visit to the cottage, sat by her side. " What do you mean, doctor ? Is not my child well 2" "Yes, But I always pity a child without a tether's care." "He has his mother's devotion." "Tine. But God meant two parents for children, as they need two. How much of guidance and help the son needs that the mother cannot give. The man must bo tutored by the man ; and this child must then be tutored by the strange man, not his father. Then who will make room for him in this crowded world? Who will help him on ?" "Oh, doctor 1" cried Gertrude, "why must people make their way, and got on? Is not a lowly station, a quiet life, bost? It is free from so much pride and arrogance, cruel power." "That is true ; and if one is born in that station it is well to bo content with wbat God has given. But God appoints the lot of men, and if he places a child in high 'auk or station, no doubt there his duty lies where God has set him, and there he can best serve God and his fellows. What right, then, has any one to say,"Rank has dangers and thorns; God hs not chosen well for the child; Twill choose better,' and put him in some other place where he shall be free from temptations. How do we know that by those very temptations it has not been ordained that he shall grow 2" "But if the father is dead 2" said Gertrude. "Then the child is to be pitied." "And if the father is not dead, Wee - not with the child 2" "Than some one has robbed ' 1, and in some way the ordiu ." •• tori has been set et naught." "But one may have dory' :.:1 .:,ia Ice the best." "It i8 never the best to e,• madame. This child deem . ther. What will fa., an ...aur .. .?" (JFiA ' ;.•• it LXIT. ""R'n?, Y0L' e'm t,1m. In 'nose days v. slowly failing healtt, cents, and l"„"o en ir", rnihl, ro near 4'arrr0a""one, ' :;1(' • . mainod at el abh • Most of the w i•,L"{' w;ia t0 =i tea. The .,'e urn ' ' •'s roan, , to e, fc,:v o"t sorv„ sorrow ,roeiled over 1, .. i chie• ever the heart of it In 0 t i sad meet is he 1 grown "!d. Ile ha I fo'in.i ' i 1 Gertrude. At all the rani v .i mud of all the railroad servo .ts 0,1 eery had been made. At Dover laid otter towns not far fro',, Neabh, search had been made at all the hotels. In London the pursuit of the loot Lady Castro- main had poen zealously, if gnielly, carried on, and nothing had been dia. covered. and Castlemaine had now no hope. He was sitting alone in his library, ouo summer day, busy over the esti- mates for some repairs at the abbey church, when some one entered the open window, and a lightstop came toward him. Lord Castlemaine sprang to his foot and faced Isabel Hyde, "Isabel—Miss Ilyde I" he exolaimod, holding out his hand. "Don'b take it back—say Isabel, It is like old times, like my happiest days." She did not attempt to take her hand /zone his clasp., He led hor to a seat, and roturned to his place. They looked at each other, fixedly. "ilow yen have changed 1" cried Tea. "Yes, l have ehauged. I was happy once, Isobel."' "Oh, Rudolph, t, .saw ,.wvor 1orgh'a those who cauda you suffer 1" Lord Castlemaine'e brow contracted a littlo, "It is almost two years since we mot, Miss Hyde," ho said. "It is not my Wilt' I have written to you: I have asked you to dome and see mo. I have asked if I could not see you in London—" "I see no ono; I go nowhere," said Lord Castlemaino, hastily, "Now I look at you, I think you are a little changed, too, Isabel." "I wonder I am nob altogether °hang., ed, when my heart has grown siok with caro and sorrow. I could no longer en- dure my anxiety about you. I fauoied you might bo dying hero alone. So, without saying a word to any ono, I came here. I took a lodging at the organist's cottage, and finding you wore at the abbey, I Dame oval bo see you— to urge you to do what you should do. "Alia what should do 2" "You should forgot your past; you should shake off your gloom, and make a new life in the future. A man in your position owes duties to his country and society. It may be hard for you to come back, but it seems to me you aro untrue to yourself and to your race wheels you shut yourself up to brood and die. Return to public life, return to aooial life ; you can yet find happi- ness and be useful." Lord Castlemaine shook his head. "'There are enough to do the public work you speak of. Society does not need me, and I am devoting myself diligently to the caro of my tenantry, to the improvement of the laboring classes, and progress of education in the country. For the rest I am a bro. ken man." "I know—I know," cried Isabel, "an apathy possesses yon. I want to rouse you from it. Yon have given up every- thing. Even in the matter of divorce the case is at a stand -still.' "There will be no divorce," said Lord Castlemaine, slowly. "And why not? Given that, you would be free of the past, and once more be happy. Gertrude certainly fled from you." "I think possibly in that act she was suffering from mania or hallucination, and to secure a divorce on that ground would he persecution." 'You make me angry, angry for your sake 1" cried Isabel. "You were the one wronged and persecuted from 8100 beginning. Oh, Gertrude was never worthy of you. It makes my heart ache to see you clinging to a memory of a love that at best was an illusive fancy. When given the joy of being your wife, her heart was not great enough to appro. ciate ber place—slue scorned your bap. pinoss, trampled on your, wishes. At last I have felt i,: my duty to try and rouse you from fruitless grief by telling you that your idol was always and only clay." "Don't I Hush, Mabel!" entreated Lord Castlemaine. "I can new remem- ber nothing that once angered mo; I only recall her as my lovely and loving wife, with whom I was and might have always been so happy if I had not boon too harsh and hasty." "You harsh and hasty 1 Yon wrong yourself, and you are all wrong about her. Gertrude was not loving—she was a spoiled, "capricious beauty. Can you not see it yet? She had been trained by au ambitious mother, and her pride was gratified at ber sudden and easy conquest of the Marl of Oaa- tlemaine, But hers was a fickle fancy, and an inordinate vanity. She was born a coquette, and desired to see all men at her feet. To conquer Colonel Lennox, who had been victorious over so many hearts, was her pride, and to indulge that pride she would scorn your love, shame your honor, mock your commands. Oh, after all this, can you love her still 2" "Miss Hyde, you were her friend I" "Hers ? I was your friend. I knew you feat; and when I met her I read her well. I understood your infatua- tion ; I tried to warn you; and when I could not save you. I set myself to the task of making her more worthy of you. 1 tried to rouse her pride in your lofty name—her respect for your lin- eage ; I tried to save her.from herself end her follies;. I thought if 1 were with her I could prevent her from coin- milbing errors—could help mould her bantos to yours—could prevent collision's between you, I set my whole heart on !yen from shame and disgrace, and I g have failed." Lord Casbleinaine looked up slowly; ho steam quietly; "riot r L 'nswer me. You saw Colo - rel Lome,: ^f"+ n; you saw him when he lod;ed at the organist's. Tell me, why did you meet him as you did 2" Isahnl had not thought that this was known. Sho knew nothing of the poacher, long since happy in Canada. lint, nothing daunted, she made prompt reply "Why did I ? Can yen not see that like all my other acts, it was for you? 1: didnot care for Colonel Lennox; I disliked him; ho was too great a con. trash to you.. Hedisliked me. When I found that I could not prevent Ger- trude's mad folly in attempting a con- quest of him, and proving to you how little weight your authority had, I waa so desperate in my zeal to help you, to save you from all this that has fallen on you and wrecked your life, and is ending your line in darkness and de- priving your country of your aid; to •hinder that, when Gertrude would not listen, I tried appoale to Colonel Len- nox. I appealed to his honor to go away and tempt hor n0 longer ; I told him she was 'playing with him, and makinga josh of biro; and with him as wither, I failed. But it was for you, not for them; I did it all for you." "I cannot understand you," said Lord Ceetle,naino, uneasily, "Look back. • Remember those early dela of one friendship; the winter bet fore you nlet Gertrude. Who was your Mend then ? 'Vail nob 7 the Dee yen songhb2 Were we not ofbonosb to. gather? Who so well as -1 could share r1'o lit rrhrsntr e. JAN. 20, 1888. 0 CD CD 1'3 4:5 CD Com• CO sz7 SO t0 en co (O ti O CO O ti 0 ;io Sod 941 My& 1?.v 0 t-1 0 0, td 0