Marion Arleigh's Penance Part 12

He raised that strong right arm of his and rained down heavy blows on the cowardly traitor who had taken a woman's money as the price of his honor and manhood. His face never for one moment lost its calm; but the strong arm did its work, until the coward whined for pity. Then Lord Atherton broke his whip in two and flung it on the floor.

"I should not like to touch even a dog with it," he said, "after it has touched you."

He stood still for some moments to see if the coward would make any effort to rise and revenge himself; but the man who had been content to live on a woman's misery thought the safest plan was to lie still on the floor.

"I shall be happy to repeat my lesson," said his lords.h.i.+p, calmly, "if you require it again."

Allan Lyster made no reply, and Lord Atherton walked away. When he was quite gone, and the last sound of his footsteps died away, he rose--he shook his fist in impotent wrath:

"Curse him!" he cried. "It shall go hard with me but I will be equal with him yet!"

He had played his last card and lost; henceforward there was nothing for him but hard work and dishonor. He knew that what Lord Atherton had said was true; if any one knew what he had done, nothing but hatred and disgust would be his portion.

Lord Atherton went at once to Scotland Yard and asked for a detective.

He showed him the portrait of his wife, told him she had left home under a false impression, and that he would give him fifty pounds if he could trace her.

For a week all effort was in vain, they could hear nothing of her; then one morning Lord Atherton saw an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the "Times," and he said to himself that the lost was found.

CHAPTER XV.

ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT.--On Thursday evening last a lady arrived at the little village of Redcliffe, and took lodgings there. The same evening she fell ill of brain fever, and now is in danger of death. She is a stranger to all in the village, and no clue as to her name or friends can be found.

Any one who has a missing relative or friend is requested to attend to this advertis.e.m.e.nt.

Then followed a description of the lady and of the dress she wore. Lord Atherton felt sure that it was his lost wife.

Without saying one word, he went at once to Redcliffe; he went to the address given and was referred to Mrs. Hirste's.

He went there, and said he had every reason to believe the lady mentioned in the advertis.e.m.e.nt was his wife. "She left home," he said, "unknown to us, delirious, without doubt, at the time, and quite unable to account for her own action."

They took him into the room where she lay; he looked at the flushed face and s.h.i.+ning eyes.

"It is my wife," he said, quietly. "Thank G.o.d, I have found her."

But Marion did not know him; her hot lips murmured continually of Allan, who was persecuting her, and of her husband whom she loved so dearly, but who would never be willing to see her again.

"How she must have suffered!" he said to himself. Then he telegraphed to London for a physician and a nurse. They were not long in coming; by that time the whole village was in a state of excitement and consternation.

"She will recover, I have every reason to believe," said the doctor, "but she has evidently suffered long and terribly. Some domestic trouble, my lord, I suppose, that has preyed upon her?"

"Yes," replied Lord Atherton, "a domestic trouble that she has been foolish enough to keep to herself and which had preyed on her mind."

She had the best of care, the kindest and most constant attention, yet it was some time before she opened her eyes to the ordinary affairs of this life.

Lord Atherton never forgot the hour--he was sitting by her bedside. He had barely left her since her illness began, and suddenly he heard the sound of a low, faint sigh.

He looked eagerly into the worn, sweet face--once more the light of reason shone in those lovely eyes.

"Marion," he said, gently.

She gave one half-frightened glance at him, then buried her face in her hands with a moan.

"My sweet wife," he said, "do not be afraid. I know all about it, darling. I have made that villain destroy those letters. You need fear no more."

"And you are not cross?" she whispered.

"Not with you, my poor child; always trust me, Marion. I love you better than any one else in the world could love you. I am afraid even that I love your faults."

"Do you know that I promised to marry him?" she asked.

"Yes, I know all about it. Thank G.o.d you were not deluded into carrying out the promise. It was all a plot, my darling, between that wretched man and his sister. They knew you had money and they wanted it. I must not reproach you, but I wish you had told me before we were married--you should not have suffered so terribly."

"Shall you love me just as much as you did before?" she asked, after a short pause.

"I may safely say that I shall love you a thousand times better, Marion.

You see, I have found out in this short s.p.a.ce of time that I could not live without you."

She was not long in recovering after that. As soon as it was possible to move her, Lord Atherton took her to Hanton, and there she speedily regained health and strength.

When she was quite well, Lord Atherton had one more conversation with her on this matter.

"You were so very young," he said, "and the brother and sister seem both to have been specious, cunning and clever; they evidently played upon your weakness and childish love of romance. Therefore, my darling, I look very indulgently upon that girlish error, if I may call it by so grave a name. Shall I tell you frankly, Marion, where you did wrong?"

"Yes," she replied, looking up at him with eyes that shone brightly through her tears.

"You did wrong in concealing anything from me," he continued. "Rely upon it, my darling, the surest foundation for happiness in marriage is perfect trust. A secret between husband and wife is like a worm in a bud, or a canker in fairest fruit; no matter if the telling of a secret should even provoke anger, it should always be told. That shall be the last between us, Marion."

She clung to him with caressing hands, thanking him, blessing him, and promising him that while she lived there should never more be any secrets between them.

Lord Atherton was quite right. Allan Lyster was only too glad to keep his secret, but he never did any more good. Years pa.s.sed on; fair, blooming children made the old walls of Hanton re-echo with music; Lady Atherton had almost forgotten this, the peril of her youth, when once more there came a letter from Allan Lyster. He was dying, in the greatest poverty and distress, and implored their help. Lord Atherton generously went to his aid. He provided him with all needful comforts, and, after his death, buried him.

Of Adelaide Lyster, after the failure of her brother's schemes, they never heard again. Lady Atherton is very careful in the training of her daughters, teaching them to distinguish between true and false romance--teaching them that the most beautiful poetry of life is truth.

(THE END.)