Elster's Folly by Mrs. Henry Wood (buy e reader .TXT) 📕

"Nonsense! Edward,  You Shall Ride The Pony. Help Him Up,  Ralph."

"No,  Maude. He--"

"Be Quiet!" Said Lady Hartledon,  Bending Towards Her Husband And Speaking

In Low Tones. "It Is Not For You To Interfere. Would You Deny Him

Everything?"

A Strangely Bitter Expression Sat On Val's Lips. Not Of Anger; Not Even

Mortification,  But Sad,  Cruel Pain. He Said No More.

And The Cavalcade Started. Lady Hartledon Driving,  The Boy-Groom Sitting

Beside Her,  And Eddie's Short Legs Striding The Pony. They Were Keeping

To The Park,  She Called To Her Husband,  And She Should Drive Slowly.

There Was No Real Danger,  As Val Believed; Only He Did Not Like The

Child's Wilful Temper Given Way To. With A Deep Sigh He Turned Indoors

For His Hat,  And Went Strolling Down The Avenue. Mrs. Capper Dropped A

Curtsey As He Passed The Lodge.

"Have You Heard From Your Son Yet?" He Asked.

"Yes,  My Lord,  Many Thanks To You. The School Suits Him Bravely."

Turning Out Of The Gates,  He Saw Floyd,  The Miller,  Walking Slowly Along.

The Man Had Been Confined To His Bed For Weeks In The Summer,  With An

Attack Of Acute Rheumatism,  And To The House Afterwards. It Was The First

Time They Had Met Since That Morning Long Ago,  When The Miller Brought Up

The Purse. Lord Hartledon Did Not Know Him At First,  He Was So Altered;

Pale And Reduced.

"Is It Really You,  Floyd?"

"What's Left Of Me,  My Lord."

"And That's Not Much; But I Am Glad To See You So Far Well," Said

Hartledon,  In His Usual Kindly Tone. "I Have Heard Reports Of You From

Mr. Hillary."

"Your Lordship's Altered Too."

"Am I?"

"Well,  It Seems So To Me. But It's Some Few Years Now Since I Saw You.

Nothing Has Ever Come To Light About That Pocket-Book,  My Lord."

"I Conclude Not,  Or I Should Have Heard Of It."

"And Your Lordship Never Came Down To See The Place!"

"No. I Left Hartledon The Same Day,  I Think,  Or The Next. After All,

Floyd,  I Don't See That It Is Of Any Use Looking Into These Painful

Things: It Cannot Bring The Dead To Life Again."

"That's,  True," Said The Miller.

He Was Walking Into Calne. Lord Hartledon Kept By His Side,  Talking To

Him. He Promised To Be As Popular A Man As His Father Had Been; And That

Was Saying A Great Deal. When They Came Opposite The Rectory,  Lord

Hartledon Wished Him Good Day And More Strength,  In His Genial Manner,

And Turned In At The Rectory Gates.

About Once A Week He Was In The Habit Of Calling Upon Mrs. Ashton. Peace

Was Between Them; And These Visits To Her Sick-Chamber Were Strangely

Welcome To Her Heart. She Had Loved Val Elster All Her Life,  And She

Loved Him Still,  In Spite Of The Past. For Val Was Curiously Subdued; And

His Present Mood,  Sad,  Quiet,  Thoughtful,  Was More Endearing Than His

Gayer One Had Been. Mrs. Ashton Did Not Fail To Read That He Was A

Disappointed Man,  One With Some Constant Care Upon Him.

Anne Was In The Hall When He Entered,  Talking To A Poor Applicant Who Was

Waiting To See The Rector. Lord Hartledon Lifted His Hat To Her,  But Did

Not Offer To Shake Hands. He Had Never Presumed To Touch Her Hand Since

The Reconciliation; In Fact,  He Scarcely Ever Saw Her.

"How Is Mrs. Ashton To-Day?"

"A Little Better,  I Think. She Will Be Glad To See You."

He Followed The Servant Upstairs,  And Anne Turned To The Woman Again.

Mrs. Ashton Was In An Easy-Chair Near The Window; He Drew One Close To

Her.

"You Are Looking Wonderful To-Day,  Do You Know?" He Began In Tones Almost

As Gay As Those Of The Light-Hearted Val Elster. "What Is It? That Very

Becoming Cap?"

"The Cap,  Of Course. Don't You See Its Pink Ribbons? Your Favourite

Colour Used To Be Pink,  Val. Do You Remember?"

"I Remember Everything. But Indeed And In Truth You Look Better,  Dear

Mrs. Ashton."

"Yes,  Better To-Day," She Said,  With A Sigh. "I Shall Fluctuate To The

End,  I Suppose; One Day Better,  The Next Worse. Val,  I Think Sometimes

It Is Not Far Off Now."

Very Far Off He Knew It Could Not Be. But He Spoke Of Hope Still: It Was

In His Nature To Do So. In The Depths Of His Heart,  So Hidden From The

World,  There Seemed To Be Hope For The Whole Living Creation,  Himself

Excepted.

"How Is Your Wife To-Day?"

"Quite Well. She And Edward Are Out With The Ponies And Carriage."

"She Never Comes To See Me."

"She Does Not Go To See Anyone. Though Well,  She's Not Very Strong Yet."

"But She's Young,  And Will Grow Strong. I Shall Only Grow Weaker. I Am

Brave To-Day; But You Should Have Seen Me Last Night. So Prostrate! I

Almost Doubted Whether I Should Rise From My Bed Again. I Do Not Think

You Will Have To Come Here Many More Times."

"Oh,  Mrs. Ashton!"

"A Little Sooner Or A Little Later,  What Does It Matter,  I Try To Ask

Myself; But Parting Is Parting,  And My Heart Aches Sometimes. One Of My

Aches Will Be Leaving You."

"A Very Minor One Then," He Said,  With Deprecation; But Tears Shone In

His Dark Blue Eyes.

"Not A Minor One. I Have Loved You As A Son. I Never Loved You More,

Percival,  Than When That Letter Of Yours Came To Me At Cannes."

It Was The First Time She Had Alluded To It: The Letter Written The

Evening Of His Marriage. Val's Face Turned Red,  For His Perfidy Rose Up

Before Him In Its Full Extent Of Shame.

"I Don't Care To Speak Of That," He Whispered. "If You Only Knew What My

Humiliation Has Been!"

"Not Of That,  No; I Don't Know Why I Mentioned It. But I Want You To

Speak Of Something Else,  Val. Over And Over Again Has It Been On My Lips

To Ask It. What Secret Trouble Is Weighing You Down?"

A Far Greater Change,  Than The One Called Up By Recollection And Its

Shame,  Came Over His Face Now. He Did Not Speak; And Mrs. Ashton

Continued. She Held His Hands As He Bent Towards Her.

"I Have Seen It All Along. At First--I Don't Mind Confessing It--I Took

It For Granted That You Were On Bad Terms With Yourself On Account Of The

Past. I Feared There Was Something Wrong Between You And Your Wife,  And

That You Were Regretting Anne. But I Soon Put That Idea From Me,  To

Replace It With A Graver One."

"What Graver One?" He Asked.

"Nay,  I Know Not. I Want You To Tell Me. Will You Do So?"

He Shook His Head With An Unmistakable Gesture,  Unconsciously Pressing

Her Hands To Pain.

"Why Not?"

"You Have Just Said I Am Dear To You," He Whispered; "I Believe I Am So."

"As Dear,  Almost,  As My Own Children."

"Then Do Not Even Wish To Know It. It Is An Awful Secret; And I Must Bear

It Without Sympathy Of Any Sort,  Alone And In Silence. It Has Been Upon

Me For Some Years Now,  Taking The Sweetness Out Of My Daily Bread; And It

Will,  I Suppose,  Go With Me To My Grave. Not Scarcely To Lift It Off My

Shoulders,  Would I Impart It To _You_."

She Sighed Deeply; And Thought It Must Be Connected With Some Of His

Youthful Follies. But She Loved Him Still; She Had Faith In Him; She

Believed That He Went Wrong From Misfortune More Than From Fault.

"Courage,  Val," She Whispered. "There Is A Better World Than This,

Where Sorrow And Sighing Cannot Enter. Patience--And Hope--And Trust In

God!--Always Bearing Onwards. In Time We Shall Attain To It."

Lord Hartledon Gently Drew His Hands Away,  And Turned To The Window For A

Moment's Respite. His Eyes Were Greeted With The Sight Of One Of His Own

Servants,  Approaching The Rectory At Full Speed,  Some Half-Dozen Idlers

Behind Him.

With A Prevision That Something Was Wrong,  He Said A Word Of Adieu To

Mrs. Ashton,  Went Down,  And Met The Man Outside. Dr. Ashton,  Who Had Seen

The Approach,  Also Hurried Out.

There Had Been Some Accident In The Park,  The Man Said. The Pony Had

Swerved And Thrown Little Lord Elster: Thrown Him Right Under The Other

Pony's Feet,  As It Seemed. The Servant Made Rather A Bungle Over His

News,  But This Was Its Substance.

"And The Result? Is He Much Hurt?" Asked Lord Hartledon,  Constraining His

Voice To Calmness.

"Well,  No; Not Hurt At All,  My Lord. He Was Up Again Soon,  Saying He'd

Lash The Pony For Throwing Him. He Don't Seem Hurt A Bit."

"Then Why Need You Have Alarmed Us So?" Interrupted Dr. Ashton,

Reprovingly.

"Well,  Sir,  It's Her Ladyship Seems Hurt--Or Something," Cried The Man.

Lord Hartledon Looked At Him.

"What Have You Come To Tell,  Richard? Speak Out."

Apparently Richard Could Not Speak Out. His Lady Had Been Frightened And

Fainted,  And Did Not Come To Again. And Lord Hartledon Waited To Hear No

More.

The People,  Standing About In The Park Here And There--For Even This

Slight Accident Had Gathered Its Idlers Together--Seemed To Look At Lord

Hartledon Curiously As He Passed Them. Close To The House He Met Ralph

The Groom. The Boy Was Crying.

"'Twasn't No Fault Of Anybody's,  My Lord; And There Ain't Any Damage To

The Ponies," He Began,  Hastening To Excuse Himself. "The Little Lord Only

Slid Off,  And They Stood As Quiet As Quiet. There Wasn't No Cause For My

Lady's Fear."

"Is She Fainting Still?"

"They Say She's--Dead."

Lord Hartledon Pressed Onwards,  And Met Mr. Hillary At The Hall-Door. The

Surgeon Took His Arm And Drew Him Into An Empty Room.

"Hillary! Is It True?"

"I'm Afraid It Is."

Lord Hartledon Felt His Sight Failing. For A Moment He Was A Man Groping

In The Dark. Steadying Himself Against The Wall,  He Learned The Details.

The Child's Pony Had Swerved. Ralph Could Not Tell At What,  And Lady

Hartledon Did Not Survive To Tell. She Was Looking At Him At The Time,

And Saw Him Flung Under The Feet Of The Other Pony,  And She Rose Up In

The Carriage With A Scream,  And Then Fell Back Into The Seat Again. Ralph

Jumped Out And Picked Up The Child,  Who Was Not Hurt At All; But When He

Hastened To Tell Her This,  He Saw That She Seemed To Have No Life In Her.

One Of The Servants,  Richard,  Happened To Be Going Through The Park,

Within Sight; Others Soon Came Up; And Whilst Lady Hartledon Was Being

Driven Home Richard Ran For Mr. Hillary,  And Then Sought His Master,  Whom

He Found At The Rectory. The Surgeon Had Found Her Dead.

"It Must Have Been Instantaneous," He Observed In Low Tones As He

Concluded These Particulars. "One Great Consolation Is,  That She Was

Spared All Suffering."

"And Its Cause?" Breathed Lord Hartledon.

"The Heart. I Don't Entertain The Least Doubt About It."

"You Said She Had No Heart Disease. Others Said It."

"I Said,  If She Had It,  It Was Not Developed. Sudden Death From It Is Not

At All Uncommon Where Disease Has Never Been Suspected."

And This Was All The Conclusion Come To In The Case Of Lady Hartledon.

Examination Proved The Surgeon's Surmise To Be Correct; And In Answer To

A Certain Question Put By Lord Hartledon,  He Said The Death Was Entirely

Irrespective Of Any Trouble,  Or Care,  Or Annoyance She Might Have Had In

The Past; Irrespective Even Of Any Shock,  Except The Shock At The Moment

Of Death,  Caused By Seeing The Child Thrown. That,  And That Alone,  Had

Been The Fatal Cause. Lord Hartledon Listened To This,  And Went Away To

His Lonely Chamber And Fell On His Knees In Devout Thankfulness To Heaven

That He Was So Far Innocent.

"If She Had Not Given Way To The Child!" He Bitterly Aspirated In The

First Moments Of Sorrow.

That The Countess-Dowager Should Come Down Post-Haste And Invade

Hartledon,  Was Of Course Only Natural; And Lord Hartledon Strove Not To

Rebel Against It. But She Made Herself So Intensely And Disagreeably

Officious That His Patience Was Sorely Tried. Her First Act Was To Insist

On A Stately Funeral. He Had Given Orders For One Plain And Quiet In

Every Way; But She Would Have Her Wish Carried Out,  And Raved About The

House,  Abusing Him For His Meanness And Want Of Respect To His Dead Wife.

For Peace' Sake,  He Was Fain To Give Her Her Way; And The Funeral Was

Made As Costly As She Pleased. Thomas Carr Came Down To It; And The

Countess-Dowager Was Barely Civil To Him.

Her Next Care Was To Assume The Entire Management Of The Two Children,

Putting Lord Hartledon's Authority Over Them At Virtual,  If Not Actual,

Defiance. The Death Of Her Daughter Was In Truth A Severe Blow To The

Dowager; Not From Love,  For She Really Possessed No Natural Affection At

All,