CHAPTER XXX.

Esmeralda stood where he had left her as one stands after receiving a mortal blow, in a dull stupor too profound for pain. She sunk into a chair, and with her eyes fixed on the dark sky, gradually realized what this was that had happened to her. Her husband believed her to be guilty of betraying him. They had agreed to part. She should never see him again.

Presently the details of his proposal came back to her; she was to go on living at Belfayre, and before the world as his wife. How little he knew her! A smile that was far more bitter than tears crossed her face. She got up and paced the room, sometimes with her hands hanging limply and wearily at her side, at others clasping her burning brow. She was trying to think what she should do.

Suddenly, in a flash, it came to her. With a change of manner that indicated a new-born resolution, she took off her dress, and put on the quietest of her traveling costumes. Then she went to the velvet-covered safe and took out her jewel-box. Slowly and carefully she selected the various articles which she had purchased before her marriage, and put these into a case by themselves. In the drawer of the safe were some bank-notes and some gold; she placed these with the jewel-case in her traveling-bag, and locked it.

As she did so, the light fell upon the wedding-ring upon her hand. She held up her hand and looked at it. Then, with tightly set lips, she drew the ring from her finger, and going to the writing-table, placed the ring in an envelope, and addressed it to “The Marquis of Trafford.” This she placed in the center of her dressing-table. Then she put on her hat and traveling-cloak and stood looking round the room with a strange expression on her face, as of one who is taking leave forever of all that she once held dear.

She opened the door and listened. The great house was very quiet; there was no sound but the ticking of the tall clock that stood in the hall and the heavy breathing of the great hound which lay on the rug before the fire-place.

[239]

She went out on to the corridor, not stealthily, though her footfall made no sound on the thick piled carpet. She wished to leave Belfayre unseen and unheard; but, though every man and woman had stood in her way and tried to bar her progress, she would have walked through them; no one should stop her.

From that moment, from the moment she had taken the wedding-ring from her finger, she had, in her mind, ceased to be Trafford’s wife; she was no longer the Marchioness of Trafford, but Esmeralda Howard.

As she passed along the corridor she paused at the door of the duke’s room and for a moment the unnatural calmness of her face wavered and broke up, as it were.

It was the duke’s habit to sleep with the door partly open; it was so open to-night. An irresistible longing to look once more upon the old man who loved her took possession of her. She could not beat it down, and softly pushing the door open, she entered the room.

The duke lay in a great bed with hangings of white velvet. The furniture of the room was white—a fancy of the old man’s. She went softly up to the bed, and looked down on him. He lay sleeping as peacefully as a child, his face as placid as that of a marble mask. She could scarcely hear him breathe as she bent lower and lower until her lips touched the wrinkled forehead. As she kissed him, a tear, the existence of which she was ignorant, fell upon his face.

He did not move or wake, but a smile passed over his face like the sunlight falling upon a still mere. She was glad that he had smiled, that her last look at his dear face should ever linger in her mind with that deep and solemn presentiment of an old man’s peace and happiness. She stretched out her hands to him, and her lips moved, but no spoken words broke the almost death-like stillness, and slowly, with her eyes lingering upon him, she passed out.

As she went down the stairs into the hall, the hound woke and sprung to his feet with a low growl; but when he saw that it was she, he came forward slowly, wagging his tail and looking up at her with loving eyes, and pushed his head against her hand, assured of the caress which she never denied him. She took his head in both her hands and kissed the great smooth forehead almost as lovingly as she had kissed the duke; for both man and dog loved her well—better than the husband who believed her to be a vile and guilty woman. The dog would have followed her when she opened the door, but she softly bid him go back, and he stood and watched her with[240] wistful and troubled eyes as the slim figure stood against the darkness of the night for a moment before it disappeared.

She paused for a moment or two under the great fluted column to decide which way she should take; then she went down the terrace steps and straight along across the garden to the avenue. Had she turned to the right, she would have entered the path which led to the small wood or spinny where Trafford was pacing up and down in his agony; had she turned to the left, she would have crossed the path and met the gamekeeper on his rounds; but, as it happened, she chose the direct road and was seen of none, and so passed through the great gates like a spirit of the night.

Norman, like most strong and healthy young men, was a heavy sleeper. Trafford used to declare that nothing short of an earthquake, or the announcement of breakfast and the prospect of something to eat would waken Norman. Usually Trafford’s man knocked at Norman’s door, and never by any chance getting an answer, entered after a respectful interval. On this morning he did not wait after knocking, but went into the room and said rather louder than usual: “Half past eight, my lord.” This being repeated half a dozen times without any perceptible effect, the man gently shook Norman by the shoulder, and at last the blue eyes opened with an amazed expression, which invariably gave place to one of disgust, and the yawning question: “Oh, is that you? Getting-up time already?” This morning he looked more disgusted and yawned more widely than ordinary, for he had sat up smoking until late, or rather, early, thinking of Lilias, and Esmeralda’s wonderful goodness to him, and he felt as if he could very willingly have knocked the awakener’s head off.

“Half past eight?” he said. “Dash it, I don’t seem to have been asleep more than half an hour.”

“Sorry to disturb you, my lord,” said the man. “I knew your lordship was up late last night, and I should have let you sleep for another half hour, but this telegram’s just come for you, my lord.”

“Telegram this time in the morning?” said Norman, with a yawn, holding out his hand for it.

“It is early, my lord; but the boy who brought it said it had come as soon as the office was open.”

Norman sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, and extracted the hideously colored and uncomfortably feeling paper, read it, then sprung out of bed quite wide awake now.

[241]

“Get my things ready at once!” he said, hurriedly and anxiously. “What’s the first train I can catch?”

The valet thought a moment.

“You might catch the twenty to ten, my lord, if you were very quick. I hope your lordship hasn’t had bad news.”

“Yes, I have,” said Norman.

It was a telegram from The Manor saying that his mother was ill, and asking him to come at once. With the deftness of a well-trained servant, the man helped him to dress as quickly as possible.

“I will have some breakfast ready for you in the west room, my lord, and I’ll order the dog-cart. While you’re having your breakfast I’ll pack your lordship’s things.”

Norman thanked him.

“I don’t care anything about the breakfast,” he said. “I must catch that train; and, look here,” he added, “don’t say anything about the telegram. Just say that I’ve gone up to town, and that I’ll write.”

He did not want the duke to hear of Lady Druce’s illness too suddenly, for very little upset the old man now. Norman would break the news in a letter directly he reached The Manor. But as he went down-stairs he thought he would tell Trafford, and he knocked at his door; but no answer came, and after waiting and knocking again, he went down, thinking it strange that Trafford, who, he knew, was generally so light a sleeper, should not have heard him. He got some breakfast hastily. No one appeared to be up, and he longed, lover-like, for a word with Lilias; even Esmeralda would have been something.

As he was putting on his light overcoat in the hall, he heard a footstep upstairs, and looking up, saw Lady Ada. Even in his hurry and anxiety he noticed that she was very pale, and that there was a singular, tense expression in her face. She started, too, at sight of him.

“Oh, is that you?” she said. “You quite startled me. I’ve a stupid, nervous headache this morning.”

“Yes, it’s me,” said Norman, with his delightful grammar. “I’m off to catch the first train. I’ve had a wire; my mother’s bad. I’m glad I saw you before I went. Will you please tell Lil—Esmeralda”—he stammered and blushed slightly in his confusion—“how it is that I’ve had to go so suddenly?”

She looked at him curiously, with her steel-blue eyes dwindling to points.

Norman was rather surprised at her manner of taking his[242] request; but there was no time for further speech. He jumped into the dog-cart, took the reins, and drove off full pelt.

Lady Ada stood at the door and watched him with a line drawn vertically between her eyes. She had not slept all night. Part of the time she had paced her room; she had heard Trafford go to Esmeralda’s; she fancied that she had heard their voices now and again, as if they were quarreling; then Trafford’s step had passed her door, and all had been still for a time, when she heard, or fancied she heard, lighter footsteps going along the corridor.

Lady Ada was not Lady Macbeth, and though she had dealt what she hoped would prove a mortal blow to Esmeralda’s happiness, she was inwardly quaking as to the result. The schemes of mice and men—and even women—have sometimes an awkward knack of “ganging aglee.” It was just possible that Esmeralda had succeeded in explaining away what Lady Ada considered the irrefutable evidence of her guilt—men are such fools where women are concerned! She desired, yet dreaded, to see Trafford. If Esmeralda had “got over him” and persuaded him of her innocence, he would be sure to turn upon her (Lady Ada), and all would be over between them. She herself was convinced of Esmeralda’s guilt. She didn’t believe for a moment in the telegram or Lady Druce’s illness. Esmeralda had found an opportunity of warning Norman; and he was off, as a man always is on such occasions.

It was very hot in the house, and her head was really aching. She went out in the garden, but there was no shade on the lawn, and she turned into the little spinny. She had not walked half a dozen yards under the trees when she was startled by seeing the figure of a man lying, with his head upon his arm, among the dew-wet bracken.

It was Trafford lying asleep in his dress clothes! She stood stock-still, terribly frightened, and, as if he felt her eyes upon him, he woke, and, seeing her, rose to his feet and stood looking round him for a moment with a dazed air.

“Trafford!” she said.

He turned his eyes upon her like a man slowly coming back to life—and not gladly.

“Why are you lying here?” she asked. “What is it?” And she went up to him half fearfully and touched his arm.

“I—I fell asleep,” he said in a hard, strained voice, “I was out here—walking—and lay down. I must have fallen asleep without knowing it.”

[243]

He passed his hand over his wet hair with a weary, listless gesture.

“What has happened?” she asked under her breath.

He looked at her for a moment before he answered, then he smiled—a terrible smile.

“Esmeralda and I have parted!” he said. “No; don’t ask any question! Let that suffice. We have parted! Go back to the house.”

“But— Trafford!” she panted.

“Go!” he said, harshly. “Leave me alone. I can not bear to speak to any one. I will go into the house by the back way. Tell no one that you have seen me; say nothing. I can rely upon your silence?”

“You can always rely upon me, Trafford,” she said; “always!”

She would have clasped his arms with both her hands, but he pushed her from him almost roughly.

“Whatever you may know, whatever you may guess—say nothing, now nor in the future.”

“I will obey you in everything, Trafford,” she said.

Then she turned and left him.

He walked slowly through the spinny to the small door in the north of the house. It opened on to a hall from which there was a passage to his own rooms, and he gained them without being seen.

His man had gone down with some clothes to air, and Trafford undressed and had a bath. His head felt heavy, his limbs stiff from lying on the wet ground and in the cold morning air, but his brain cleared after the bath, and he was able to realize the grim fact that he had parted from Esmeralda forever.

He would go up to London by the midday train, give instructions to the lawyers to transfer back to Esmeralda the money Belfayre had received at his marriage, and then he would leave England as quickly as possible, and—forever.

His valet noticed that he looked white and ill, and he decided that he would not tell him about the telegram and Lord Norman’s departure until after he had had his breakfast, for the man was fond of his master, and considerate.

Trafford went down-stairs. As he descended, he thought of Norman: he had to deal with him before he left. In the hall stood Lady Ada. She looked at him, and her lips moved, but she said nothing; and he stood a little away from her, his eyes fixed upon something above her head, as if he scarcely saw her.

[244]

“I want Norman,” he said.

“Norman!” she repeated, dully.

“Yes,” he said, with a touch of impatience. “Is he down yet?”

She trembled; she was face to face with a terrible situation.

“Norman has—has gone!” she faltered.

He moved slightly and his teeth set.

“Gone? When?”

“An hour ago,” she said. “He caught the morning train.”

“Why?”

“I—I do not know,” she replied.

The lie was badly delivered, but he did not notice her momentary hesitation and confusion. He took a step toward the stairs, a hideous thought, suspicion, dread, flashing across his mind.

“Esmeralda!” he said under his breath.

She understood.

“I will go and see,” she said.

He put out his hand, as if to stop her, then went up the stairs and knocked at Esmeralda’s door. It was opened, but by Barker. She looked rather troubled and uneasy.

“The marchioness? I wish to see her.”

Barker’s uneasiness increased.

“My lady is not here, my lord,” she said.

Trafford put his hand up against the side of the door, as if to grasp at something.

“Not!”

“No, my lord,” said Barker, looking at him questioningly and beginning to tremble. “When I came in this morning her ladyship was not here. She must have dressed by herself and gone out; she has taken one of her traveling-dresses.”

As she spoke, she glanced toward the inner bedroom. His eyes followed hers, and he saw that the bed had not been slept in. A crimson light seemed to flash across his eyes, and then for a moment he became blind. He stood looking with sightless eyes at the bed; then, without a word, he turned and walked away with uncertain steps like a drunken man.

As he reached the duke’s door it opened quickly, and the duke’s valet rushed out with a cry of horror.

“Oh! my lord, my lord!” he gasped, and turned back into the room wringing his hands.

Trafford followed him and stood beside the bed. One glance told him what had happened. His father was dead.

The old man had passed away into the land of Peace and[245] Rest; had passed away with Esmeralda’s tear still glittering upon his face, with the smile which her kiss had awakened still lingering on his lips.

Esmeralda was the Duchess of Belfayre!