Lady Rosamond's Secret Part 15

Guy Trevelyan was now a handsome man of twenty-seven. The effeminate blush of youth had given place to an open and engaging animation that made him doubly attractive. Turning his gaze upon his sister, he added:

"Come, little one, tell me this great wonder. I must not be kept in suspense. Cannot Maude a.s.sist you? If so, I rely upon her in the present dilemma," said Guy, turning in playful appeal to Maude Bereford.

"Your surmise is groundless, _mon frere_," returned f.a.n.n.y, in childish glee, "Maude is entirely in the dark, (pardon the vulgarism.)"

"I will pardon you in everything, provided you gratify my curiosity,"

said the other.

"f.a.n.n.y, it is unjust to treat Guy in this way," said Maude, by way of intercession.

"Two against one," cried f.a.n.n.y, with a demure smile upon her face. "The majority has it. I am placed in a difficult position," said she, turning to her friend, adding, "Maude only for your suggestion I might have been able to extricate myself. Well, I shall try my best to maintain peace by compliance to your united wishes."

"By telling us one of the seven wonders," interrupted Maude.

"Yes," said f.a.n.n.y, "I have often wondered why it was that Guy could remain so long in the companions.h.i.+p of Mary Douglas or Lady Rosamond and come back heart whole to Trevelyan Hall."

Captain Trevelyan had received a home thrust, yet he betrayed no feeling and showed no reason for suspicion, at least in the eyes of his sister and her companion. A quiet laugh greeted the remark. Guy Trevelyan had not the keen glances of the secretary levelled at him now, else the puzzling expression that rested awhile upon his face would instantly have been detected.

"That is the great wonder," said the brother, drawing his sister nearer to his side, adding: "Well, my little sister, until _you_ have become weary of your brother's keeping he is anxious to claim the gracious liberty of possessing the love of one devoted heart. What says _la belle_ f.a.n.n.y?"

"Oh, Guy," cried Maude, "she was afraid that you may possibly have charitable intentions towards some fair one and wishes to make the test."

"Why, Maude," exclaimed f.a.n.n.y, "you are really in earnest; I shall begin to think, from the stand you have taken in the matter, that Guy had better beware, else ere long he will not be able to make such avowals to his sister."

"Come, come, little mischief-maker, no jealousy," cried Captain Trevelyan, hastily drawing an arm of each within his own, and then they joined her ladys.h.i.+p in the shrubbery.

f.a.n.n.y Trevelyan was truly in jest. She had found that no real attachment was to be formed between her brother and friend. There had arisen instead a tender familiarity, a friends.h.i.+p that is rare to be seen.

Maude Bereford had grown to treat Guy Trevelyan with brotherly kindness.

It pleased him to witness this feeling arising from disinterested friends.h.i.+p and motives of genuine purity. Were it otherwise he would feel an embarra.s.sment that might affect his honest nature. When left to himself he could not dismiss from his thoughts the remark made by his sister. He knew she was ignorant of his affairs in New Brunswick, yet he felt sorely puzzled.

Not long after the following conversation took place, Maude Bereford was preparing to hasten homeward. Lady Rosamond sent cheerful accounts of her husband's rapid improvement. They were still visiting amid the ruins in hopes of speedily returning to England.

Every fortnight brought to Trevelyan Hall a lengthy epistle from Mary Douglas--lengthy from the fact of its being addressed to each member of the family--bearing remembrance to Lady Trevelyan, many choice bits of gossip to Guy, and charming effusions to f.a.n.n.y, full of love and tenderness. Her last contained a glowing allusion to Lady Rosamond--an eager desire to meet her loving friend; also fervent grat.i.tude for the hopeful restoration of Gerald's health.

"I am almost inclined to feel a pang of jealousy," exclaimed f.a.n.n.y, as she read and re-read the contents of the precious missive. "Mary loves Lady Rosamond better than any other friends on earth."

"Why not, my child?" questioned Lady Trevelyan; "they are old friends--friends in childhood, girlhood, and womanhood. Lady Rosamond is worthy of the truest and purest love. She is beautiful, good, and lovable. Who could see her ladys.h.i.+p but to admire and love?"

"Dear Mamma," returned f.a.n.n.y, "you share my sentiments towards Lady Rosamond. Guy seemed surprised when I ventured to wonder why he could remain so long in the daily society of two such gifted and lovely beings as her ladys.h.i.+p and Mary Douglas, without forming stronger ties than those of friends.h.i.+p."

"Both are lovely," exclaimed Lady Trevelyan. "It would indeed be a difficult matter for a lover to decide between two so much alike in beauty, grace, and loveliness."

"Strange that I did not think of this before, mamma," said the childlike f.a.n.n.y with an air of much wisdom. "The poet must certainly have experienced the same predicament when he wrote:

"How happy could I be with either, Were t'other dear charmer away."

A week had elapsed after Maude had arrived at the castle when a hastily written note was received by f.a.n.n.y Trevelyan from the former, containing sad news from Rome. Gerald Bereford had apparently recovered, and was on the eve of returning home when he was suddenly seized with hemorrhage of the lungs, which rapidly reduced him and brought on prostration. Medical a.s.sistance had been obtained, but he now lay in a critical state, every means being used to prevent another attack, in which case there could be no hope.

Maude Bereford had penned those lines in bitter anguish. She loved her brother from the depths of her heart. His life must be spared. Heaven could not deprive her of such a blessing. Ah, no, he will live! In this hour of trial the sorrowing girl sought comfort in those rebellious and sinful thoughts. She had not the sustaining faith to say, "Thy will be done." It is needless to say that Maude's letter met much sympathy at "The Hall." f.a.n.n.y cried heartily. She could not think of any thing but the sadness that had fallen upon the inmates of the Castle.

"Poor Lady Rosamond," exclaimed she, in tones of undisguised sadness, "how she will lament her sad fate if Gerald should die? Oh, mamma, I cannot think it possible that he must die."

"Tempt not Heaven, my child, for 'with G.o.d all things are possible,'"

said Lady Trevelyan, who was a truly Christian woman. "Everything is ordered aright," continued her ladys.h.i.+p, "there are no afflictions or trials in life but what are considered for our good. It is indeed a heavy blow upon the young wife to lose the husband of her choice, but how many have borne up when deprived of father, mother, husband and child."

"Oh, mamma," exclaimed f.a.n.n.y, "if I could only look upon the ways of Providence in the same manner as you. I know it is sinful, but I cannot help thinking that it is too hard for Gerald to be taken away from Lady Rosamond. How I pity her. Poor dear Maude too. How badly she must feel."

The physician's worst fears were realized. Spite of every care and precaution a second attack of hemorrhage made its fatal ravages upon the fast sinking body of the sufferer. Gerald Bereford must die. All hopes are at an end. Death has set its seal upon his broad, fair forehead.

Soon the eyes that still fondly linger upon the form of his beautiful wife shall close to open upon the scenes of another world.

This was a bitter trial to Lady Rosamond! Her husband was to die in a foreign land. He was to be deprived of a last farewell to the dear friends at home. Such thoughts, bore heavily upon the susceptible nature of this faithful woman. Could she then have gathered those loved ones around the dying bed of her husband, she would have sacrificed every earthly desire; yes, her life. Then did she think of her friend, Mary Douglas; then did she need the consolation of a true Christian friend.

Like a ministering angel, she strove to soothe the last hours of her dying husband. Never was woman more devoted, heroic and patient. Not a murmur escaped her lips as she sat for hours watching the quickening breath in death-like struggle, convulsing the almost lifeless form of one who had ever been kind, dutiful, loving, and true to his vow.

On his death-bed, Gerald Bereford felt no pangs of remorse devouring his latest thoughts. He could die in the belief of having been ever devoted to her whom he had promised to love, cherish and protect. Keenly did Lady Rosamond feel this reflection. Had her husband been less kind, generous and true, she could have borne the present with a firmness worthy of her spirit. But the thoughts that now filled her breast were maddening, merciless and torturing.

"What have I done to suffer so much through life," was the mental question ever uppermost.

Gerald Bereford had fought the battle of life bravely. He had taken part in its conflicts and struggles, never flinching from his post when duty called. Ambition had dazzlingly tempted him on--on--further on. He must be victorious in gaining the cause for which so many had fought with firm determination. Could he have lived to see the result of such political warfare--its blessings and its privileges--its freedom--he might exclaim with the brave general, "I die happy." But he _did_ die happy. He _lived_ a happy life--he _died_ a happy death.

Lady Rosamond had many kind friends amidst this sad bereavement. Her pale face had power to move the most stoical--more powerful than the loudest outbursts of grief, or the paroxysms of a pa.s.sionate and unsubdued sorrow.

What she suffered in those hours of silent anguish Heaven alone can ever know. Thoughts forced themselves upon her almost too hard to bear. Truly did she need the strength for which she had prayed on a former occasion.

It seems a sacrilegious intrusion to unveil the heart of this truly devoted woman, who had sacrificed her entire being to the wishes and welfare of one whom she had calmly laid to rest. Fain would we stop here. But the sequel must be told.

Lady Rosamond had married Gerald Bereford with a firm resolve to be a dutiful and yielding wife, yet her heart had refused to follow. She never loved the man who lived upon her smiles. Still he knew it not. She was to him kind, loving, and pure. She was indeed _kind_. In every action shone kindness in characters of bold relief. Everyone who knew her found naught but true kindness. _Loving_? Yes, loving; though Gerald Bereford stirred not the depths of Lady Rosamond's heart, she was capable of a love as undying as the soul that gave it birth. It was her life--her being. In pity for her faithful husband she had guarded every secret pa.s.sage of the heart which might lead to the betrayal of bitter and desolate feelings. _Pure_? Yes; purity was the guiding star which marked the daily course of this woman's existence. Her acts were pure--her mind was pure--her heart was pure--every thought was pure.

There was purity in her sorrow, leading to pure and holy thoughts--speaking to the soul--giving comfort--giving hope.

In deep sincerity did Lady Rosamond mourn for her husband. She mourned his loss as that of a loved brother--a dear friend--one in whom she confided. She found much comfort in the thought of having done her best.

She had fulfilled her duty--she had struggled bravely. She had cheered her husband's path through life--she had kept her secret--made one being happy. Surely such thoughts must have offered some relief. She had committed no wrong, having gone forth at the summon of duty, she had taken upon her frail, trembling form, a cross overpowering in its weight, yet she murmured not.

As she is sitting beside the lifeless remains of one who had filled such an important part in her history--a striking ill.u.s.tration of life in its varied forms of existence--its joys--its sorrows--its longings--its aspirations--its dreams--let us look upon her as one of the many purified through much suffering--whose faith will meet its recompense.

CHAPTER XXII.

CONCLUSION.

Reader, we will ask you to follow us as we pa.s.s over a period of two years--two long years. The task imposed is an arduous one, yet, we shrink not. All former friends must be searched out, and once more introduced. Be not impatient if we do not succeed in the direct order of your wishes. In the uncertain distance faint echoes are already heard between intervals of solemn thoughts, while the name of Rosamond strikes upon our ear and vibrates within us as though the influence of myriads of spirits had woven around a deep subtle spell from which we cannot force ourselves. In truth, you have won us--your point is gained.

Now to your relief. Bereford Castle stands in its grandeur and beauty with not an object near to mar the effect. Its stoical exterior bears no impress of the loss sustained in the heir and son. Menacingly it frowns upon those scenes which recall the realities of life. Amid storm, suns.h.i.+ne, sickness and death, its aspect is unchanged--true type of its age, order and design. On entrance, the interior is calm, quiet and inviting. Daily contact with the inmates has had a soothing effect. Look around. In the s.p.a.cious drawing room, opening upon the garden, is the family occupied in different ways. Lord Bereford is seated beside the familiar form of a beautiful woman dressed in robes of mourning. A second glance is not necessary to aid recognition. The sweet pensive smile is sufficient. Lady Rosamond has lost none of her charms. Time has no grudge against her for personal wrongs, no retributive justice to be meted out--instead, the quiet happiness of a contented mind is lavished with true delight. A fond light beams in the lovely eyes as they turn towards Maude Bereford--ever the same Maude that strolled around Trevelyan Hall some time in the past. The same simplicity is attached to every movement, action and speech--Maude still.

But a stranger is engrossing her attention. A tall, handsome and gallant gentleman occupies a seat at her side, devoting his attentions to her, occasionally addressing Lady Rosamond in terms of endearing familiarity.

There is not much difficulty in ascertaining the relations.h.i.+p. Geoffrey Seymour had become a frequent visitor at the Castle. The blushes that greeted him told the tale upon Maude Bereford. Yet, she cared not for the eyes of the world. She had given her heart to a true, honorable and affectionate lover. Already she has woven bright dreams wherein are clearly portrayed outlines of two fond beings living in the suns.h.i.+ne of each other's love, surrounded by the comforts and ease of a bright and happy fireside. Lady Bereford is within the privacy of her own apartments. Grief and anxiety have left heavy marks upon her hitherto well preserved face. The furrowed forehead, wrinkles and grey hairs, show full well the heavy blow which had been dealt her ladys.h.i.+p in the death of her first-born. Time cannot eradicate the inroads made upon this high-minded woman. Her failing health speaks of dissolution. The mother's heart that beat so wildly as she dreamt of the glorious future of her son, now feebly responded to the sluggish torpor of faded hopes.

Other friends are awaited at the Castle. Ere we have time to turn aside, light steps are flying across the hall and a girlish figure is at our elbow, and the next instant in the arms of Lady Rosamond and Maude. The childish face of f.a.n.n.y Trevelyan once seen is not soon to be forgotten.

Oh no, f.a.n.n.y, you occupy an important niche within our memory! Two years were only a myth--a dream to the young mistress of Trevelyan Hall, save when some other's troubles aroused her sympathy and called forth the fine feelings of her nature. The former playful glee is still alive in f.a.n.n.y's buoyant and lively manner. Her gaiety at times subsides to gaze upon Lady Rosamond's thoughtful face. The heart of this maiden is still fancy free. Guy Trevelyan is not disappointed in his sister, he being yet the dearest object of her heart.