thestory
of
her
life
—
her
English
youth
,
her
elderly
French
husband
,
the
death
of
her
only
child
,
and
her
flight
as
a
young
widow
to
England
during
the
war
of
1870.
She
told
the
story
of
the
child
,
as
it
seemed
to
Elsmere
,
with
a
deliberate
avoidance
of
emotion
,
nay
,
even
with
a
certain
hardness
.
But
it
touched
him
profoundly
.
And
everything
else
that
she
said
,
though
she
professed
no
great
regret
for
her
husband
,
or
for
the
break-up
of
her
French
life
,
and
though
everything
was
reticent
and
measured
,
deepened
the
impression
of
a
real
forlornness
behind
all
the
outward
brilliance
and
social
importance
.
He
began
to
feel
a
deep
and
kindly
pity
for
her
,
coupled
with
an
earnest
wish
that
he
could
help
her
to
make
her
life
more
adequate
and
satisfying
.
And
all
this
he
showed
in
the
look
of
his
frank
gray
eyes
,
in
the
cordial
grasp
of
the
hand
with
which
he
said
good-bye
to
her
.
Madame
de
Netteville
's
gaze
followed
him
out
of
the
room
—
the
tall
boyish
figure
,
the
nobly
carried
head
.
The
riddle
of
her
flushed
cheek
and
sparkling
eye
was
hard
to
read
.
But
there
were
one
or
two
persons
living
who
could
have
read
it
,
and
who
could
have
warned
you
that
the
true
story
of
Eugénie
de
Netteville
's
life
was
written
,
not
in
her
literary
studies
or
her
social
triumphs
,
but
in
various
recurrent
outbreaks
of
unbridled
impulse
—
the
secret
,
and
in
one
or
two
cases
the
shameful
landmarks
of
her
past
.
And
,
as
persons
of
experience
,
they
could
also
have
warned
you
that
the
cold
intriguer
,
always
mistress
of
herself
,
only
exists
in
fiction
,
and
that
a
certain
poisoned
and
fevered
interest
in
the
religious
leader
,
the
young
and
pious
priest
,
as
such
,
is
common
enough
among
the
corrupter
women
of
all
societies
.
Towards
the
end
of
May
she
asked
Elsmere
to
dine
'
en
petit
comité
,
a
gentlemen
's
dinner
—
except
for
my
cousin
,
Lady
Aubrey
Willert
'
—
to
meet
an
eminent
Liberal
Catholic
,
a
friend
of
Montalembert
's
youth
.
It
was
a
week
or
two
after
the
failure
of
the
Wardlaw
experiment
.
Do
what
each
would
,
the
sore
silence
between
the
husband
and
wife
was
growing
,
was
swallowing
up
more
of
life
.
'
Shall
I
go
,
Catherine
?
'
he
asked
,
handing
her
the
note
.
'
It
would
interest
you
,
'
she
said
gently
,
giving
it
back
to
him
scrupulously
,
as
though
she
had
nothing
to
do
with
it
.
He
knelt
down
before
her
,
and
put
his
arms
round
her
,
looking
at
her
with
eyes
which
had
a
dumb
and
yet
fiery
appeal
written
in
them
.
His
heart
was
hungry
for
that
old
clinging
dependence
,
that
willing
weakness
of
love
,
her
youth
had
yielded
him
so
gladly
,
instead
of
this
silent
strength
of
antagonism
.
The
memory
of
her
Murewell
self
flashed
miserably
through
him
as
he
knelt
there
,
of
her
delicate
penitence
towards
him
after
her
first
sight
of
Newcome
,
of
their
night
walks
during
the
Mile
End
epidemic
.
Did
he
hold
now
in
his
arms
only
the
ghost
and
shadow
of
that
Murewell
Catherine
?
She
must
have
read
the
reproach
,
the
yearning
of
his
look
,
for
she
gave
a
little
shiver
,
as
though
bracing
herself
with
a
kind
of
agony
to
resist
.
'
Let
me
go
,
Robert
!
'
she
said
gently
,
kissing
him
on
the
forehead
and
drawing
back
.
'
I
hear
Mary
calling
,
and
nurse
is
out
.
'
The
days
went
on
and
the
date
of
Madame
de
Netteville
's
dinner-party
had
come
round
.
About
seven
o'clock
that
evening
Catherine
sat
with
the
child
in
the
drawing-room
,
expecting
Robert
.
He
had
gone
off
early
in
the
afternoon
to
the
East
End
with
Hugh
Flaxman
to
take
part
in
a
committee
of
workmen
organised
for
the
establishment
of
a
choral
union
in
R
—
—
,
the
scheme
of
which
had
been
Flaxman
's
chief
contribution
so
far
to
the
Elgood
Street
undertaking
.
It
seemed
to
her
as
she
sat
there
working
,
the
windows
open
on
to
the
bit
of
garden
,
where
the
trees
were
already
withered
and
begrimed
,
that
the
air
without
and
her
heart
within
were
alike
stifling
and
heavy
with
storm
.
Something
must
put
an
end
to
this
oppression
,
this
misery
!
She
did
not
know
herself
.
Her
whole
inner
being
seemed
to
her
lessened
and
degraded
by
this
silent
struggle
,
this
fever
of
the
soul
,
which
made
impossible
all
those
serenities
and
sweetnesses
of
thought
in
which
her
nature
had
always
lived
of
old
.
The
fight
into
which
fate
had
forced
her
was
destroying
her
.
She
was
drooping
like
a
plant
cut
off
from
all
that
nourishes
its
life
.
And
yet
she
never
conceived
it
possible
that
she
should
relinquish
that
fight
.
Nay
,
at
times
there
sprang
up
in
her
now
a
dangerous
and
despairing
foresight
of
even
worse
things
in
store
.
In
the
middle
of
her
suffering
she
already
began
to
feel
at
moments
the
ascetic
's
terrible
sense
of
compensation
.
What
,
after
all
,
is
the
Christian
life
but
warfare
?
'
I
came
not
to
send
peace
,
but
a
sword
!
'
Yes
,
in
these
June
days
Elsmere
's
happiness
was
perhaps
nearer
wreck
than
it
had
ever
been
.
All
strong
natures
grow
restless
under
such
a
pressure
as
was
now
weighing
on
Catherine
.
Shock
and
outburst
become
inevitable
.
So
she
sat
alone
this
hot
afternoon
,
haunted
by
presentiments
,
by
vague
terror
for
herself
and
him
;
while
the
child
tottered
about
her
,
cooing
,
shouting
,
kissing
,
and
all
impulsively
,
with
a
ceaseless
energy
,
like
her
father
.
The
outer
door
opened
,
and
she
heard
Robert
's
step
,
and
apparently
Mr.
Flaxman
's
also
.
There
was
a
hurried
subdued
word
or
two
in
the
hall
,
and
the
two
entered
the
room
where
she
was
sitting
.
Robert
came
,
pressing
back
the
hair
from
his
eyes
with
a
gesture
which
with
him
was
the
invariable
accompaniment
of
mental
trouble
.
Catherine
sprang
up
.
'
Robert
,
you
look
so
tired
!
and
how
late
you
are
!
'
Then
as
she
came
nearer
to
him
:
'
And
your
coat
—
torn
—
blood
!
'
'
There
is
nothing
wrong
with
me
,
dear
,
'
he
said
hastily
,
taking
her
hands
—
'
nothing
!
But
it
has
been
an
awful
afternoon
.
Flaxman
will
tell
you
.
I
must
go
to
this
place
,
I
suppose
,
though
I
hate
the
thought
of
it
!
Flaxman
,
will
you
tell
her
all
about
it
?
'
And
,
loosing
his
hold
,
he
went
heavily
out
of
the
room
and
upstairs
.
'
It
has
been
an
accident
,
'
said
Flaxman
gently
,
coming
forward
,
'
to
one
of
the
men
of
his
class
.
May
we
sit
down
,
Mrs.
Elsmere
?
Your
husband
and
I
have
gone
through
a
good
deal
these
last
two
hours
.
'
He
sat
down
with
a
long
breath
,
evidently
trying
to
regain
his
ordinary
even
manner
.
His
clothes
,
too
,
were
covered
with
dust
,
and
his
hand
shook
.
Catherine
stood
before
him
in
consternation
,
while
a
nurse
came
for
the
child
.
'
We
had
just
begun
our
committee
at
four
o'clock
,
'
he
said
at
last
,
'
though
only
about
half
of
the
men
had
arrived
,
when
there
was
a
great
shouting
and
commotion
outside
,
and
a
man
rushed
in
calling
for
Elsmere
.
We
ran
out
,
found
a
great
crowd
,
a
huge
brewer
's
dray
standing
in
the
street
,
and
a
man
run
over
.
Your
husband
pushed
his
way
in
.
I
followed
,
and
,
to
my
horror
,
I
found
him
kneeling
by
—
Charles
Richards
!
'
'
Charles
Richards
?
'
Catherine
repeated
vacantly
.
Flaxman
looked
up
at
her
,
as
though
puzzled
;
then
a
flash
of
astonishment
passed
over
his
face
.
'
Elsmere
has
never
told
you
of
Charles
Richards
,
the
little
gasfitter
,
who
has
been
his
right
hand
for
the
past
three
months
?
'
'
No
—
never
,
'
she
said
slowly
.
Again
he
looked
astonished
;
then
he
went
on
sadly
:
'
All
this
spring
he
has
been
your
husband
's
shadow
—
I
never
saw
such
devotion
.
We
found
him
lying
in
the
middle
of
the
road
.
He
had
only
just
left
work
,
a
man
said
who
had
been
with
him
,
and
was
running
to
the
meeting
.
He
slipped
and
fell
,
crossing
the
street
,
which
was
muddy
from
last
night
's
rain
.
The
dray
swung
round
the
corner
—
the
driver
was
drunk
or
careless
—
and
they
went
right
over
him
.
One
foot
was
a
sickening
sight
.
Your
husband
and
I
luckily
knew
how
to
lift
him
for
the
best
.
We
sent
off
for
doctors
.
His
home
was
in
the
next
street
,
as
it
happened
—
nearer
than
any
hospital
;
so
we
carried
him
there
.
The
neighbours
were
round
the
door
.
'
Then
he
stopped
himself
.
'
Shall
I
tell
you
the
whole
story
?
'
he
said
kindly
;
'
it
has
been
a
tragedy
!
I
wo
n't
give
you
details
if
you
had
rather
not
.
'
'
Oh
no
!
'
she
said
hurriedly
;
'
no
—
tell
me
.
'
And
she
forgot
to
feel
any
wonder
that
Flaxman
,
in
his
chivalry
,
should
treat
her
as
though
she
were
a
girl
with
nerves
.
'
Well
,
it
was
the
surroundings
that
were
so
ghastly
.
When
we
got
to
the
house
an
old
woman
rushed
at
me
—
"
His
wife
's
in
there
,
but
ye
'll
not
find
her
in
her
senses
;
she
's
been
at
it
from
eight
o'clock
this
morning
.
We
've
took
the
children
away
.
"
I
did
n't
know
what
she
meant
exactly
till
we
got
into
the
little
front
room
.
There
,
such
a
spectacle
!
A
young
woman
on
a
chair
by
the
fire
sleeping
heavily
,
dead
drunk
;
the
breakfast
things
on
the
table
,
the
sun
blazing
in
on
the
dust
and
the
dirt
,
and
on
the
woman
's
face
.
I
wanted
to
carry
him
into
the
room
on
the
other
side
—
he
was
unconscious
;
but
a
doctor
had
come
up
with
us
,
and
made
us
put
him
down
on
a
bed
there
was
in
the
corner
.
Then
we
got
some
brandy
and
poured
it
down
.
The
doctor
examined
him
,
looked
at
his
foot
,
threw
something
over
it
.
"
Nothing
to
be
done
,
"
he
said
—
"
internal
injuries
—
he
ca
n't
live
half
an
hour
.
"
The
next
minute
the
poor
fellow
opened
his
eyes
.
They
had
pulled
away
the
bed
from
the
wall
.
Your
husband
was
on
the
farther
side
,
kneel
ing
.
When
he
opened
his
eyes
,
clearly
the
first
thing
he
saw
was
his
wife
.
He
half
sprang
up
—
Elsmere
caught
him
—
and
gave
a
horrible
cry
—
indescribably
horrible
.
"
At
it
again
,
at
it
again
!
My
God
!
"
Then
he
fell
back
fainting
.
They
got
the
wife
out
of
the
room
between
them
—
a
perfect
log
—
you
could
hear
her
heavy
breathing
from
the
kitchen
opposite
.
We
gave
him
more
brandy
and
he
came
to
again
.
He
looked
up
in
your
husband
's
face
.
"
She
has
n't
broke
out
for
two
months
,
"
he
said
,
so
piteously
,
"
two
months
—
and
now
—
I
'm
done
—
I
'm
done
—
and
she
'll
just
go
straight
to
the
devil
!
"
And
it
comes
out
,
so
the
neighbours
told
us
,
that
for
two
years
or
more
he
had
been
patiently
trying
to
reclaim
this
woman
,
without
a
word
of
complaint
to
anybody
,
though
his
life
must
have
been
a
dog
's
life
.
And
now
,
on
his
deathbed
,
what
seemed
to
be
breaking
his
heart
was
,
not
that
he
was
dying
,
but
that
his
task
was
snatched
from
him
!
'
Flaxman
paused
,
and
looked
away
out
of
window
.
He
told
his
story
with
difficulty
.
'
Your
husband
tried
to
comfort
him
—
promised
that
the
wife
and
children
should
be
his
special
care
,
that
everything
that
could
be
done
to
save
and
protect
them
should
be
done
.
And
the
poor
little
fellow
looked
up
at
him
,
with
the
tears
running
down
his
cheeks
,
and
—
and
—
blessed
him
.
"
I
cared
about
nothing
,
"
he
said
,
"
when
you
came
.
You
've
been
—
God
—
to
me
—
I
've
seen
Him
—
in
you
.
"
Then
he
asked
us
to
say
something
.
Your
husband
said
verse
after
verse
of
the
Psalms
,
of
the
Gospels
,
of
St.
Paul
.
His
eyes
grew
filmy
,
but
he
seemed
every
now
and
then
to
struggle
back
to
life
,
and
as
soon
as
he
caught
Elsmere
's
face
his
look
lightened
.
Towards
the
last
he
said
something
we
none
of
us
caught
;
but
your
husband
thought
it
was
a
line
from
Emily
Brontë
's
"
Hymn
,
"
which
he
said
to
them
last
Sunday
in
lecture
.
'
He
looked
up
at
her
interrogatively
,
but
there
was
no
response
in
her
face
.
'
I
asked
him
about
it
,
'
the
speaker
went
on
,
'
as
we
came
home
.
He
said
Grey
of
St.
Anselm
's
once
quoted
it
to
him
,
and
he
has
had
a
love
for
it
ever
since
.
'
'
Did
he
die
while
you
were
there
?
'
asked
Catherine
presently
after
a
silence
.
Her
voice
was
dull
and
quiet
.
He
thought
her
a
strange
woman
.
'
No
,
'
said
Flaxman
,
almost
sharply
;
'
but
by
now
it
must
be
over
.
The
last
sign
of
consciousness
was
a
murmur
of
his
children
's
names
.
They
brought
them
in
,
but
his
hands
had
to
be
guided
to
them
.
A
few
minutes
after
it
seemed
to
me
that
he
was
really
gone
,
though
he
still
breathed
.
The
doctor
was
certain
there
would
be
no
more
consciousness
.
We
stayed
nearly
another
hour
.
Then
his
brother
came
,
and
some
other
relations
,
and
we
left
him
.
Oh
,
it
is
over
now
!
'
Hugh
Flaxman
sat
looking
out
into
the
dingy
bit
of
London
garden
.
Penetrated
with
pity
as
he
was
,
he
felt
the
presence
of
Elsmere
's
pale
,
silent
,
unsympathetic
wife
an
oppression
.
How
could
she
receive
such
a
story
in
such
a
way
?
The
door
opened
and
Robert
came
in
hurriedly
.
'
Good-night
,
Catherine
—
he
has
told
you
?
'
He
stood
by
her
,
his
hand
on
her
shoulder
,
wistfully
looking
at
her
,
the
face
full
of
signs
of
what
he
had
gone
through
.
'
Yes
,
it
was
terrible
!
'
she
said
,
with
an
effort
.
His
face
fell
.
He
kissed
her
on
the
forehead
and
went
away
.
When
he
was
gone
,
Flaxman
suddenly
got
up
and
leant
against
the
open
French
window
,
looking
keenly
down
on
his
companion
.
A
new
idea
had
stirred
in
him
.
And
presently
,
after
more
talk
of
the
incident
of
the
afternoon
,
and
when
he
had
recovered
his
usual
manner
,
he
slipped
gradually
into
the
subject
of
his
own
experiences
in
North
R
—
—
during
the
last
six
months
.
He
assumed
all
through
that
she
knew
as
much
as
there
was
to
be
known
of
Elsmere
's
work
,
and
that
she
was
as
much
interested
as
the
normal
wife
is
in
her
husband
's
doings
.
His
tact
,
his
delicacy
,
never
failed
him
for
a
moment
.
But
he
spoke
of
his
own
impressions
,
of
matters
within
his
personal
knowledge
.
And
since
the
Easter
sermon
he
had
been
much
on
Elsmere
's
track
;
he
had
been
filled
with
curiosity
about
him
.
Catherine
sat
a
little
way
from
him
,
her
blue
dress
lying
in
long
folds
about
her
,
her
head
bent
,
her
long
fingers
crossed
on
her
lap
.
Sometimes
she
gave
him
a
startled
look
,
sometimes
she
shaded
her
eyes
,
while
her
other
hand
played
silently
with
her
watch-chain
.
Flaxman
,
watching
her
closely
,
however
little
he
might
seem
to
do
so
,
was
struck
by
her
austere
and
delicate
beauty
as
he
had
never
been
before
.
She
hardly
spoke
all
through
,
but
he
felt
that
she
listened
without
resistance
,
nay
,
at
last
that
she
listened
with
a
kind
of
hunger
.
He
went
from
story
to
story
,
from
scene
to
scene
,
without
any
excitement
,
in
his
most
ordinary
manner
,
making
his
reserves
now
and
then
,
expressing
his
own
opinion
when
it
occurred
to
him
,
and
not
always
favourably
.
But
gradually
the
whole
picture
emerged
,
began
to
live
before
them
.
At
last
he
hurriedly
looked
at
his
watch
.
'
What
a
time
I
have
kept
you
!
It
has
been
a
relief
to
talk
to
you
.
'
'
You
have
not
had
dinner
!
'
she
said
,
looking
up
at
him
with
a
sudden
nervous
bewilderment
which
touched
him
and
subtly
changed
his
impression
of
her
.
'
No
matter
.
I
will
get
some
at
home
.
Good-night
!
'
When
he
was
gone
she
carried
the
child
up
to
bed
;
her
supper
was
brought
to
her
solitary
in
the
dining-room
;
and
afterwards
in
the
drawing-room
,
where
a
soft
twilight
was
fading
into
a
soft
and
starlit
night
,
she
mechanically
brought
out
some
work
for
Mary
,
and
sat
bending
over
it
by
the
window
.
After
about
an
hour
she
looked
up
straight
before
her
,
threw
her
work
down
,
and
slipped
on
to
the
floor
,
her
head
resting
on
the
chair
.
The
shock
,
the
storm
,
had
come
.
There
for
hours
lay
Catherine
Elsmere
weeping
her
heart
away
,
wrestling
with
herself
,
with
memory
,
with
God
.
It
was
the
greatest
moral
upheaval
she
had
ever
known
—
greater
even
than
that
which
had
convulsed
her
life
at
Murewell
.
CHAPTER
XLIII
Robert
,
tired
and
sick
at
heart
,
felt
himself
in
no
mood
this
evening
for
a
dinner-party
in
which
conversation
would
be
treated
more
or
less
as
a
fine
art
.
Liberal
Catholicism
had
lost
its
charm
;
his
sympathetic
interest
in
Montalembert
,
Lacordaire
,
Lamennais
,
had
to
be
quickened
,
pumped
up
again
as
it
were
,
by
great
efforts
,
which
were
constantly
relaxed
within
him
as
he
sped
westwards
by
the
recurrent
memory
of
that
miserable
room
,
the
group
of
men
,
the
bleeding
hand
,
the
white
dying
face
.
In
Madame
de
Netteville
's
drawing-room
he
found
a
small
number
of
people
assembled
.
M
.
de
Quérouelle
,
a
middle-sized
,
round-headed
old
gentleman
of
a
familiar
French
type
;
Lady
Aubrey
,
thinner
,
more
lath-like
than
ever
,
clad
in
some
sumptuous
mingling
of
dark
red
and
silver
;
Lord
Rupert
,
beaming
under
the
recent
introduction
of
a
Land
Purchase
Bill
for
Ireland
,
by
which
he
saw
his
way
at
last
to
wash
his
hands
of
'
a
beastly
set
of
tenants
'
;
Mr.
Wharncliffe
,
a
young
private
secretary
with
a
waxed
moustache
,
six
feet
of
height
,
and
a
general
air
of
superlativeness
which
demanded
and
secured
attention
;
a
famous
journalist
,
whose
smiling
self-repressive
look
assured
you
that
he
carried
with
him
the
secrets
of
several
empires
;
and
one
Sir
John
Headlam
,
a
little
black-haired
Jewish-looking
man
with
a
limp
—
an
ex-Colonial
Governor
,
who
had
made
himself
accepted
in
London
as
an
amusing
fellow
,
but
who
was
at
least
as
much
disliked
by
one
half
of
society
as
he
was
popular
with
the
other
.
'
Purely
for
talk
,
you
see
,
not
for
show
!
'
said
Madame
de
Netteville
to
Robert
,
with
a
little
smiling
nod
round
her
circle
as
they
stood
waiting
for
the
commencement
of
dinner
.
'
I
shall
hardly
do
my
part
,
'
he
said
with
a
little
sigh
.
'
I
have
just
come
from
a
very
different
scene
.
'
She
looked
at
him
with
inquiring
eyes
.
'
A
terrible
accident
in
the
East
End
,
'
he
said
briefly
.
'
We
wo
n't
talk
of
it
.
I
only
mention
it
to
propitiate
you
beforehand
.
Those
things
are
not
forgotten
at
once
.
'
She
said
no
more
,
but
,
seeing
that
he
was
indeed
out
of
heart
,
physically
and
mentally
,
she
showed
the
most
subtle
considera
tion
for
him
at
dinner
.
M
.
de
Quérouelle
was
made
to
talk
.
His
hostess
wound
him
up
and
set
him
going
,
tune
after
tune
.
He
played
them
all
,
and
,
by
dint
of
long
practice
,
to
perfection
,
in
the
French
way
.
A
visit
of
his
youth
to
the
island
grave
of
Chateaubriand
;
his
early
memories
,
as
a
poetical
aspirant
,
of
the
magnificent
flatteries
by
which
Victor
Hugo
made
himself
the
god
of
young
romantic
Paris
;
his
talks
with
Montalembert
in
the
days
of
L'Avenir
;
his
memories
of
Lamennais
's
sombre
figure
,
of
Maurice
de
Guérin
's
feverish
ethereal
charm
;
his
account
of
the
opposition
salons
under
the
Empire
—
they
had
all
been
elaborated
in
the
course
of
years
,
till
every
word
fitted
and
each
point
led
to
the
next
with
the
'
inevitableness
'
of
true
art
.
Robert
,
at
first
silent
and
distrait
,
found
it
impossible
after
a
while
not
to
listen
with
interest
.
He
admired
the
skill
,
too
,
of
Madame
de
Netteville
's
second
in
the
duet
,
the
finish
,
the
alternate
sparkle
and
melancholy
of
it
;
and
at
last
he
too
was
drawn
in
,
and
found
himself
listened
to
with
great
benevolence
by
the
Frenchman
,
who
had
been
informed
about
him
,
and
regarded
him
indulgently
,
as
one
more
curious
specimen
of
English
religious
provincialisms
.
The
journalist
,
Mr.
Addlestone
,
who
had
won
a
European
reputation
for
wisdom
by
a
great
scantiness
of
speech
in
society
,
coupled
with
the
look
of
Minerva
's
owl
,
attached
himself
to
them
;
while
Lady
Aubrey
,
Sir
John
Headlam
,
Lord
Rupert
,
and
Mr.
Wharncliffe
made
a
noisier
and
more
dashing
party
at
the
other
end
.
'
Are
you
still
in
your
old
quarters
,
Lady
Aubrey
?
'
asked
Sir
John
Headlam
,
turning
his
old
roguish
face
upon
her
.
'
That
house
of
Nell
Gwynne
's
,
was
n't
it
,
in
Meade
Street
?
'
'
Oh
dear
no
!
We
could
only
get
it
up
to
May
this
year
,
and
then
they
made
us
turn
out
for
the
season
,
for
the
first
time
for
ten
years
.
There
is
a
tiresome
young
heir
who
has
married
a
wife
and
wants
to
live
in
it
.
I
could
have
left
a
train
of
gunpowder
and
a
slow
match
behind
,
I
was
so
cross
!
'
'
Ah
—
"
Reculer
pour
mieux
faire
sauter
!
"
'
said
Sir
John
,
mincing
out
his
pun
as
though
he
loved
it
.
'
Not
bad
,
Sir
John
,
'
she
said
,
looking
at
him
calmly
,
'
but
you
have
way
to
make
up
.
You
were
so
dull
the
last
time
you
took
me
in
to
dinner
,
that
positively
—
—
'
'
You
began
to
wonder
to
what
I
owed
my
paragraph
in
the
Société
de
Londres
,
'
he
rejoined
,
smiling
,
though
a
close
observer
might
have
seen
an
angry
flash
in
his
little
eyes
.
'
My
dear
Lady
Aubrey
,
it
was
simply
because
I
had
not
seen
you
for
six
weeks
.
My
education
had
been
neglected
.
I
get
my
art
and
my
literature
from
you
.
The
last
time
but
one
we
met
,
you
gave
me
the
cream
of
three
new
French
novels
and
all
the
dramatic
scandal
of
the
period
.
I
have
lived
on
it
for
weeks
.
By
the
way
,
have
you
read
the
Princesse
de
—
—
?
'
He
looked
at
her
audaciously
.
The
book
had
affronted
even
Paris
.
'
I
have
n't
,
'
she
said
,
adjusting
her
bracelets
,
while
she
flashed
a
rapier-glance
at
him
,
'
but
if
I
had
,
I
should
say
precisely
the
same
.
Lord
Rupert
,
will
you
kindly
keep
Sir
John
in
order
?
'
Lord
Rupert
plunged
in
with
the
gallant
floundering
motion
characteristic
of
him
,
while
Mr.
Wharncliffe
followed
like
a
modern
gunboat
behind
a
three-decker
.
That
young
man
was
a
delusion
.
The
casual
spectator
,
to
borrow
a
famous
Cambridge
mot
,
invariably
assumed
that
all
'
the
time
he
could
spare
from
neglecting
his
duties
he
must
spend
in
adorning
his
person
.
'
Not
at
all
!
The
tenue
of
a
dandy
was
never
more
cleverly
used
to
mask
the
schemes
of
a
Disraeli
or
the
hard
ambition
of
a
Talleyrand
than
in
Master
Frederick
Wharncliffe
,
who
was
in
reality
going
up
the
ladder
hand
over
hand
,
and
meant
very
soon
to
be
on
the
top
rungs
.
It
was
a
curious
party
,
typical
of
the
house
,
and
of
a
certain
stratum
of
London
.
When
,
every
now
and
then
,
in
the
pauses
of
their
own
conversation
,
Elsmere
caught
something
of
the
chatter
going
on
at
the
other
end
of
the
table
,
or
when
the
party
became
fused
into
one
for
a
while
under
the
genial
influence
of
a
good
story
or
the
exhilaration
of
a
personal
skirmish
,
the
whole
scene
—
the
dainty
oval
room
,
the
lights
,
the
servants
,
the
exquisite
fruit
and
flowers
,
the
gleaming
silver
,
the
tapestried
walls
—
would
seem
to
him
for
an
instant
like
a
mirage
,
a
dream
,
yet
with
something
glittering
and
arid
about
it
which
a
dream
never
has
.
The
hard
self-confidence
of
these
people
—
did
it
belong
to
the
same
world
as
that
humbling
,
that
heavenly
self-abandonment
which
had
shone
on
him
that
afternoon
from
Charles
Richards
's
begrimed
and
blood-stained
face
?
'
Blessed
are
the
poor
in
spirit
,
'
he
said
to
himself
once
with
an
inward
groan
.
'
Why
am
I
here
?
Why
am
I
not
at
home
with
Catherine
?
'
But
Madame
de
Netteville
was
pleasant
to
him
.
He
had
never
seen
her
so
womanly
,
never
felt
more
grateful
for
her
delicate
social
skill
.
As
she
talked
to
him
,
or
to
the
Frenchman
,
of
literature
,
or
politics
,
or
famous
folk
,
flashing
her
beautiful
eyes
from
one
to
the
other
,
Sir
John
Headlam
would
,
every
now
and
then
,
turn
his
odd
puckered
face
observantly
towards
the
farther
end
of
the
table
.
'
By
Jove
!
'
he
said
afterwards
to
Wharncliffe
as
they
walked
away
from
the
door
together
,
'
she
was
inimitable
to-night
;
she
has
more
rôles
than
Desforêts
!
'
Sir
John
and
his
hostess
were
very
old
friends
.
Upstairs
smoking
began
,
Lady
Aubrey
and
Madame
de
Netteville
joining
in
.
M
.
de
Quérouelle
,
having
talked
the
best
of
his
répertoire
at
dinner
,
was
now
inclined
for
amusement
,
and
had
discovered
that
Lady
Aubrey
could
amuse
him
,
and
was
,
moreover
,
une
belle
personne
.
Madame
de
Netteville
was
obliged
to
give
some
time
to
Lord
Rupert
.
The
other
men
stood
chatting
politics
and
the
latest
news
,
till
Robert
,
conscious
of
a
complete
failure
of
social
energy
,
began
to
look
at
his
watch
.
Instantly
Madame
de
Netteville
glided
up
to
him
.
'
Mr
.
Elsmere
,
you
have
talked
no
business
to
me
,
and
I
must
know
how
my
affairs
in
Elgood
Street
are
getting
on
.
Come
into
my
little
writing-room
.
'
And
she
led
him
into
a
tiny
panelled
room
at
the
far
end
of
the
drawing-room
and
shut
off
from
it
by
a
heavy
curtain
,
which
she
now
left
half-drawn
.
'
The
latest
?
'
said
Fred
Wharncliffe
to
Lady
Aubrey
,
raising
his
eyebrows
with
the
slightest
motion
of
the
head
towards
the
writing-room
.
'
I
suppose
so
,
'
she
said
indifferently
;
'
she
is
East-Ending
for
a
change
.
We
all
do
it
nowadays
.
It
is
like
Dizzy
's
young
man
who
"
liked
bad
wine
,
he
was
so
bored
with
good
.
"
'
Meanwhile
,
Madame
de
Netteville
was
leaning
against
the
open
window
of
the
fantastic
little
room
,
with
Robert
beside
her
.
'
You
look
as
if
you
had
had
a
strain
,
'
she
said
to
him
abruptly
,
after
they
had
talked
business
for
a
few
minutes
.
'
What
has
been
the
matter
?
'
He
told
her
Richards
's
story
,
very
shortly
.
It
would
have
been
impossible
to
him
to
give
more
than
the
driest
outline
of
it
in
that
room
.
His
companion
listened
gravely
.
She
was
an
epicure
in
all
things
,
especially
in
moral
sensation
,
and
she
liked
his
moments
of
reserve
and
strong
self-control
.
They
made
his
general
expansiveness
more
distinguished
.
Presently
there
was
a
pause
,
which
she
broke
by
saying
—
'
I
was
at
your
lecture
last
Sunday
—
you
did
n't
see
me
!
'
'
Were
you
?
Ah
!
I
remember
a
person
in
black
,
and
veiled
,
who
puzzled
me
.
I
do
n't
think
we
want
you
there
,
Madame
de
Netteville
.
'
His
look
was
pleasant
,
but
his
tone
had
some
decision
in
it
.
'
Why
not
?
Is
it
only
the
artisans
who
have
souls
?
A
reformer
should
refuse
no
one
.
'
'
You
have
your
own
opportunities
,
'
he
said
quietly
;
'
I
think
the
men
prefer
to
have
it
to
themselves
for
the
present
.
Some
of
them
are
dreadfully
in
earnest
.
'
'
Oh
,
I
do
n't
pretend
to
be
in
earnest
,
'
she
said
with
a
little
wave
of
her
hand
;
'
or
,
at
any
rate
,
I
know
better
than
to
talk
of
earnestness
to
you
.
'
'
Why
to
me
?
'
he
asked
,
smiling
.
'
Oh
,
because
you
and
your
like
have
your
fixed
ideas
of
the
upper
class
and
the
lower
.
One
social
type
fills
up
your
horizon
.
You
are
not
interested
in
any
other
,
and
,
indeed
,
you
know
nothing
of
any
other
.
'
She
looked
at
him
defiantly
.
Everything
about
her
to-night
was
splendid
and
regal
—
her
dress
of
black
and
white
brocade
,
the
diamonds
at
her
throat
,
the
carriage
of
her
head
,
nay
,
the
marks
of
experience
and
living
on
the
dark
subtle
face
.
'
Perhaps
not
,
'
he
replied
:
'
it
is
enough
for
one
life
to
try
and
make
out
where
the
English
working
class
is
tending
to
.
'
'
You
are
quite
wrong
,
utterly
wrong
.
The
man
who
keeps
his
eye
only
on
the
lower
class
will
achieve
nothing
.
What
can
the
idealist
do
without
the
men
of
action
—
the
men
who
can
take
his
beliefs
and
make
them
enter
by
violence
into
existing
institutions
?
And
the
men
of
action
are
to
be
found
with
us
.
'
'
It
hardly
looks
just
now
as
if
the
upper
class
was
to
go
on
enjoying
a
monopoly
of
them
,
'
he
said
,
smiling
.
'
Then
appearances
are
deceptive
.
The
populace
supplies
mass
and
weight
—
nothing
else
.
What
you
want
is
to
touch
the
leaders
,
the
men
and
women
whose
voices
carry
,
and
then
your
populace
would
follow
hard
enough
.
For
instance
,
'
—
and
she
dropped
her
aggressive
tone
and
spoke
with
a
smiling
kindness
,
—
'
come
down
next
Saturday
to
my
little
Surrey
cottage
;
you
shall
see
some
of
these
men
and
women
there
,
and
I
will
make
you
confess
when
you
go
away
that
you
have
profited
your
workmen
more
by
deserting
them
than
by
staying
with
them
.
Will
you
come
?
'
'
My
Sundays
are
too
precious
to
me
just
now
,
Madame
de
Netteville
.
Besides
,
my
firm
conviction
is
that
the
upper
class
can
produce
a
Brook
Farm
,
but
nothing
more
.
The
religious
movement
of
the
future
will
want
a
vast
effusion
of
feeling
and
passion
to
carry
it
into
action
,
and
feeling
and
passion
are
only
to
be
generated
in
sufficient
volume
among
the
masses
,
where
the
vested
interests
of
all
kinds
are
less
tremendous
.
You
upper-class
folk
have
your
part
,
of
course
.
Woe
betide
you
if
you
shirk
it
—
but
—
—
'
'
Oh
,
let
us
leave
it
alone
,
'
she
said
with
a
little
shrug
.
'
I
know
you
would
give
us
all
the
work
and
refuse
us
all
the
profits
.
We
are
to
starve
for
your
workman
,
to
give
him
our
hearts
and
purses
and
everything
we
have
,
not
that
we
may
hoodwink
him
—
which
might
be
worth
doing
—
but
that
he
may
rule
us
.
It
is
too
much
!
'
'
Very
well
,
'
he
said
drily
,
his
colour
rising
.
'
Very
well
,
let
it
be
too
much
.
'
And
,
dropping
his
lounging
attitude
,
he
stood
erect
,
and
she
saw
that
he
meant
to
be
going
.
Her
look
swept
over
him
from
head
to
foot
—
over
the
worn
face
with
its
look
of
sensitive
refinement
and
spiritual
force
,
the
active
frame
,
the
delicate
but
most
characteristic
hand
.
Never
had
any
man
so
attracted
her
for
years
;
never
had
she
found
it
so
difficult
to
gain
a
hold
.
Eugénie
de
Netteville
,
poseuse
,
schemer
,
woman
of
the
world
that
she
was
,
was
losing
command
of
herself
.
'
What
did
you
really
mean
by
"
worldliness
"
and
the
"
world
"
in
your
lecture
last
Sunday
?
'
she
asked
him
suddenly
,
with
a
little
accent
of
scorn
.
'
I
thought
your
diatribes
absurd
.
What
you
religious
people
call
the
"
world
"
is
really
only
the
average
opinion
of
sensible
people
which
neither
you
nor
your
kind
could
do
without
for
a
day
.
'
He
smiled
,
half
amused
by
her
provocative
tone
,
and
defended
himself
not
very
seriously
.
But
she
threw
all
her
strength
into
the
argument
,
and
he
forgot
that
he
had
meant
to
go
at
once
.
When
she
chose
she
could
talk
admirably
,
and
she
chose
now
.
She
had
the
most
aggressive
ways
of
attacking
,
and
then
,
in
the
same
breath
,
the
most
subtle
and
softening
ways
of
yielding
and
,
as
it
were
,
of
asking
pardon
.
Directly
her
antagonist
turned
upon
her
he
found
himself
disarmed
he
knew
not
how
.
The
disputant
disappeared
,
and
he
felt
the
woman
,
restless
,
melancholy
,
sympathetic
,
hungry
for
friendship
and
esteem
,
yet
too
proud
to
make
any
direct
bid
for
either
.
It
was
impossible
not
to
be
interested
and
touched
.
Such
at
least
was
the
woman
whom
Robert
Elsmere
felt
.
Whether
in
his
hours
of
intimacy
with
her
,
twelve
months
before
,
young
Alfred
Evershed
had
received
the
same
impression
may
be
doubted
.
In
all
things
Eugénie
de
Netteville
was
an
artist
.
Suddenly
the
curtain
dividing
them
from
the
larger
drawing-room
was
drawn
back
,
and
Sir
John
Headlam
stood
in
the
doorway
.
He
had
the
glittering
amused
eyes
of
a
malicious
child
as
he
looked
at
them
.
'
Very
sorry
,
madame
,
'
he
began
in
his
high
cracked
voice
,
'
but
Wharncliffe
and
I
are
off
to
the
New
Club
to
see
Desforêts
.
They
have
got
her
there
to-night
.
'
'
Go
,
'
she
said
,
waving
her
hand
to
him
,
'
I
do
n't
envy
you
.
She
is
not
what
she
was
.
'
'
No
,
there
is
only
one
person
,
'
he
said
,
bowing
with
grotesque
little
airs
of
gallantry
,
'
for
whom
time
stands
still
.
'
Madame
de
Netteville
looked
at
him
with
smiling
half-contemptuous
serenity
.
He
bowed
again
,
this
time
with
ironical
emphasis
,
and
disappeared
.
'
Perhaps
I
had
better
go
back
and
send
them
off
,
'
she
said
,
rising
.
'
But
you
and
I
have
not
had
our
talk
out
yet
.
'
She
led
the
way
into
the
drawing-room
.
Lady
Aubrey
was
lying
back
on
the
velvet
sofa
,
a
little
green
paroquet
that
was
accustomed
to
wander
tamely
about
the
room
perching
on
her
hand
.
She
was
holding
the
field
against
Lord
Rupert
and
Mr.
Addlestone
in
a
three-cornered
duel
of
wits
,
while
M
.
de
Quérouelle
sat
by
,
his
plump
hands
on
his
knees
,
applauding
.
They
all
rose
as
their
hostess
came
in
.
'
My
dear
'
said
Lady
Aubrey
,
'
it
is
disgracefully
early
,
but
my
country
before
pleasure
.
It
is
the
Foreign
Office
to-night
,
and
since
James
took
office
I
ca
n't
with
decency
absent
myself
.
I
had
rather
be
a
scullerymaid
than
a
minister
's
wife
.
Lord
Rupert
,
I
will
take
you
on
if
you
want
a
lift
.
'
She
touched
Madame
de
Netteville
's
cheek
with
her
lips
,
nodding
to
the
other
men
present
,
and
went
out
,
her
fair
stag-like
head
well
in
the
air
,
'
chaffing
'
Lord
Rupert
,
who
obediently
followed
her
,
performing
marvellous
feats
of
agility
in
his
desire
to
keep
out
of
the
way
of
the
superb
train
sweeping
behind
her
.
It
always
seemed
as
if
Lady
Aubrey
could
have
had
no
childhood
,
as
if
she
must
always
have
had
just
that
voice
and
those
eyes
.
Tears
she
could
never
have
shed
,
not
even
as
a
baby
over
a
broken
toy
.
Besides
,
at
no
period
of
her
life
could
she
have
looked
upon
a
lost
possession
as
anything
else
than
the
opportunity
for
a
new
one
.
The
other
men
took
their
departure
for
one
reason
or
another
.
It
was
not
late
,
but
London
was
in
full
swing
,
and
M
.
de
Quérouelle
talked
with
gusto
of
four
'
At
homes
'
still
to
be
grappled
with
.
As
she
dismissed
Mr.
Wharncliffe
,
Robert
too
held
out
his
hand
.
'
No
,
'
she
said
,
with
a
quick
impetuousness
,
'
no
:
I
want
my
talk
out
.
It
is
barely
half-past
ten
,
and
neither
of
us
wants
to
be
racing
about
London
to-night
.
'
Elsmere
had
always
a
certain
lack
of
social
decision
,
and
he
lingered
rather
reluctantly
—
for
another
ten
minutes
,
as
he
supposed
.
She
threw
herself
into
a
low
chair
.
The
windows
were
open
to
the
back
of
the
house
,
and
the
roar
of
Piccadilly
and
Sloane
Street
came
borne
in
upon
the
warm
night
air
.
Her
superb
dark
head
stood
out
against
a
stand
of
yellow
lilies
close
behind
her
,
and
the
little
paroquet
,
bright
with
all
the
colours
of
the
tropics
,
perched
now
on
her
knee
,
now
on
the
back
of
her
chair
,
touched
every
now
and
then
by
quick
unsteady
fingers
.
Then
an
incident
followed
which
Elsmere
remembered
to
his
dying
day
with
shame
and
humiliation
.
In
ten
minutes
from
the
time
of
their
being
left
alone
,
a
woman
who
was
five
years
his
senior
had
made
him
what
was
practically
a
confession
of
love
—
had
given
him
to
understand
that
she
knew
what
were
the
relations
between
himself
and
his
wife
—
and
had
implored
him
with
the
quick
breath
of
an
indescribable
excitement
to
see
what
a
woman
's
sympathy
and
a
woman
's
unique
devotion
could
do
for
the
causes
he
had
at
heart
.
The
truth
broke
upon
Elsmere
very
slowly
,
awakening
in
him
,
when
at
last
it
was
unmistakable
,
a
swift
agony
of
repulsion
,
which
his
most
friendly
biographer
can
only
regard
with
a
kind
of
grim
satisfaction
.
For
after
all
there
is
an
amount
of
innocence
and
absent-mindedness
in
matters
of
daily
human
life
,
which
is
not
only
niaiserie
,
but
comes
very
near
to
moral
wrong
.
In
this
crowded
world
a
man
has
no
business
to
walk
about
with
his
eyes
always
on
the
stars
.
His
stumbles
may
have
too
many
consequences
.
A
harsh
but
a
salutary
truth
!
If
Elsmere
needed
it
,
it
was
bitterly
taught
him
during
a
terrible
half-hour
.
When
the
half-coherent
enigmatical
sentences
,
to
which
he
listened
at
first
with
a
perplexed
surprise
,
began
gradually
to
define
themselves
;
when
he
found
a
woman
roused
and
tragically
beautiful
between
him
and
escape
;
when
no
determination
on
his
part
not
to
understand
;
when
nothing
he
could
say
availed
to
protect
her
from
herself
;
when
they
were
at
last
face
to
face
with
a
confession
and
an
appeal
which
were
a
disgrace
to
both
—
then
at
last
Elsmere
paid
'
in
one
minute
glad
life
's
arrears
,
'
—
the
natural
penalty
of
an
optimism
,
a
boundless
faith
in
human
nature
,
with
which
life
,
as
we
know
it
,
is
inconsistent
.
How
he
met
the
softness
,
the
grace
,
the
seduction
of
a
woman
who
was
an
expert
in
all
the
arts
of
fascination
he
never
knew
.
In
memory
afterwards
it
was
all
a
ghastly
mirage
to
him
.
The
low
voice
,
the
splendid
dress
,
the
scented
room
came
back
to
him
,
and
a
confused
memory
of
his
own
futile
struggle
to
ward
off
what
she
was
bent
on
saying
—
little
else
.
He
had
been
maladroit
,
he
thought
,
had
lost
his
presence
of
mind
.
Any
man
of
the
world
of
his
acquaintance
,
he
believed
,
trampling
on
himself
,
would
have
done
better
.
But
when
the
softness
and
the
grace
were
all
lost
in
smart
and
humiliation
,
when
the
Madame
de
Netteville
of
ordinary
life
disappeared
,
and
something
took
her
place
which
was
like
a
coarse
and
malignant
underself
suddenly
brought
into
the
light
of
day
—
from
that
point
onwards
,
in
after
days
,
he
remembered
it
all
.
'
...
I
know
,
'
cried
Eugénie
de
Netteville
at
last
,
standing
at
bay
before
him
,
her
hands
locked
before
her
,
her
white
lips
quivering
,
when
her
cup
of
shame
was
full
,
and
her
one
impulse
left
was
to
strike
the
man
who
had
humiliated
her
—
'
I
know
that
you
and
your
puritanical
wife
are
miserable
—
miserable
.
What
is
the
use
of
denying
facts
that
all
the
world
can
see
,
that
you
have
taken
pains
,
'
and
she
laid
a
fierce
deliberate
emphasis
on
each
word
,
'
all
the
world
shall
see
?
There
—
let
your
wife
's
ignorance
and
bigotry
,
and
your
own
obvious
relation
to
her
,
be
my
excuse
,
if
I
wanted
any
;
but
,
'
and
she
shrugged
her
white
shoulders
passionately
,
'
I
want
none
!
I
am
not
responsible
to
your
petty
codes
.
Nature
and
feeling
are
enough
for
me
.
I
saw
you
wanting
sympathy
and
affection
—
—
'
'
My
wife
!
'
cried
Robert
,
hearing
nothing
but
that
one
word
.
And
then
,
his
glance
sweeping
over
the
woman
before
him
,
he
made
a
stern
step
forward
.
'
Let
me
go
,
Madame
de
Netteville
,
let
me
go
,
or
I
shall
forget
that
you
are
a
woman
and
I
a
man
,
and
that
in
some
way
I
cannot
understand
my
own
blindness
and
folly
—
—
'
'
Must
have
led
to
this
most
undesirable
scene
,
'
she
said
with
mocking
suddenness
,
throwing
herself
,
however
,
effectually
in
his
way
.
Then
a
change
came
over
her
,
and
erect
,
ghastly
white
,
with
frowning
brow
and
shaking
limbs
,
a
baffled
and
smarting
woman
from
whom
every
restraint
had
fallen
away
,
let
loose
upon
him
a
torrent
of
gall
and
bitterness
which
he
could
not
have
cut
short
without
actual
violence
.
He
stood
proudly
enduring
it
,
waiting
for
the
moment
when
what
seemed
to
him
an
outbreak
of
mania
should
have
spent
itself
.
But
suddenly
he
caught
Catherine
's
name
coupled
with
some
contemptuous
epithet
or
other
,
and
his
self-control
failed
him
.
With
flashing
eyes
he
went
close
up
to
her
and
took
her
wrists
in
a
grip
of
iron
.
'
You
shall
not
,
'
he
said
,
beside
himself
,
'
you
shall
not
!
What
have
I
done
—
what
has
she
done
—
that
you
should
allow
yourself
such
words
?
My
poor
wife
!
'
A
passionate
flood
of
self-reproachful
love
was
on
his
lips
.
He
choked
it
back
.
It
was
desecration
that
her
name
should
be
mentioned
in
that
room
.
But
he
dropped
the
hand
he
held
.
The
fierceness
died
out
of
his
eyes
.
His
companion
stood
beside
him
panting
,
breathless
,
afraid
.
'
Thank
God
,
'
he
said
slowly
,
'
thank
God
for
yourself
and
me
that
I
love
my
wife
!
I
am
not
worthy
of
her
—
doubly
unworthy
,
since
it
has
been
possible
for
any
human
being
to
suspect
for
one
instant
that
I
was
ungrateful
for
the
blessing
of
her
love
,
that
I
could
ever
forget
and
dishonour
her
!
But
worthy
or
not
—
—
No
!
—
no
matter
!
Madame
de
Netteville
,
let
me
go
,
and
forget
that
such
a
person
exists
.
'
She
looked
at
him
steadily
for
a
moment
,
at
the
stern
manliness
of
the
face
which
seemed
in
this
half-hour
to
have
grown
older
,
at
the
attitude
with
its
mingled
dignity
and
appeal
.
In
that
second
she
realised
what
she
had
done
and
what
she
had
forfeited
;
she
measured
the
gulf
between
herself
and
the
man
before
her
.
But
she
did
not
flinch
.
Still
holding
him
,
as
it
were
,
with
menacing
defiant
eyes
,
she
moved
aside
,
she
waved
her
hand
with
a
contemptuous
gesture
of
dismissal
.
He
bowed
,
passed
her
,
and
the
door
shut
.
For
nearly
an
hour
afterwards
Elsmere
wandered
blindly
and
aimlessly
through
the
darkness
and
silence
of
the
park
.
The
sensitive
optimist
nature
was
all
unhinged
,
felt
itself
wrestling
in
the
grip
of
dark
implacable
things
,
upheld
by
a
single
thread
above
that
moral
abyss
which
yawns
beneath
us
all
,
into
which
the
individual
life
sinks
so
easily
to
ruin
and
nothingness
.
At
such
moments
a
man
realises
within
himself
,
within
the
circle
of
consciousness
,
the
germs
of
all
things
hideous
and
vile
.
'
Save
for
the
grace
of
God
,
'
he
says
to
himself
,
shuddering
,
'
save
only
for
the
grace
of
God
—
—
'
Contempt
for
himself
,
loathing
for
life
and
its
possibilities
,
as
he
had
just
beheld
them
;
moral
tumult
,
pity
,
remorse
,
a
stinging
self-reproach
—
all
these
things
wrestled
within
him
.
What
,
preach
to
others
,
and
stumble
himself
into
such
mire
as
this
?
Talk
loudly
of
love
and
faith
,
and
make
it
possible
all
the
time
that
a
fellow
human
creature
should
think
you
capable
at
a
pinch
of
the
worst
treason
against
both
?
Elsmere
dived
to
the
very
depths
of
his
own
soul
that
night
.
Was
it
all
the
natural
consequence
of
a
loosened
bond
,
of
a
wretched
relaxation
of
effort
—
a
wretched
acquiescence
in
something
second
best
?
Had
love
been
cooling
?
Had
it
simply
ceased
to
take
the
trouble
love
must
take
to
maintain
itself
?
And
had
this
horror
been
the
subtle
inevitable
Nemesis
?
All
at
once
,
under
the
trees
of
the
park
,
Elsmere
stopped
for
a
moment
in
the
darkness
,
and
bared
his
head
,
with
the
passionate
reverential
action
of
a
devotee
before
his
saint
.
The
lurid
image
which
had
been
pursuing
him
gave
way
,
and
in
its
place
came
the
image
of
a
new-made
mother
,
her
child
close
within
her
sheltering
arm
.
Ah
!
it
was
all
plain
to
him
now
.
The
moral
tempest
had
done
its
work
.
One
task
of
all
tasks
had
been
set
him
from
the
beginning
—
to
keep
his
wife
's
love
!
If
she
had
slipped
away
from
him
,
to
the
injury
and
moral
lessening
of
both
,
on
his
cowardice
,
on
his
clumsiness
,
be
the
blame
!
Above
all
,
on
his
fatal
power
of
absorbing
himself
in
a
hundred
outside
interests
,
controversy
,
literature
,
society
.
Even
his
work
seemed
to
have
lost
half
its
sacredness
.
If
there
be
a
canker
at
the
root
,
no
matter
how
large
the
show
of
leaf
and
blossom
overhead
,
there
is
but
the
more
to
wither
!
Of
what
worth
is
any
success
,
but
that
which
is
grounded
deep
on
the
rock
of
personal
love
and
duty
?
Oh
!
let
him
go
back
to
her
!
—
wrestle
with
her
,
open
his
heart
again
,
try
new
ways
,
make
new
concessions
.
How
faint
the
sense
of
her
trial
has
been
growing
within
him
of
late
!
hers
which
had
once
been
more
terrible
to
him
than
his
own
!
He
feels
the
special
temptations
of
his
own
nature
;
he
throws
himself
,
humbled
,
convicted
,
at
her
feet
.
The
woman
,
the
scene
he
has
left
,
is
effaced
,
blotted
out
by
the
natural
intense
reaction
of
remorseful
love
.
So
he
sped
homewards
at
last
through
the
noise
of
Oxford
Street
,
seeing
,
hearing
nothing
.
He
opened
his
own
door
,
and
let
himself
into
the
dim
,
silent
house
.
How
the
moment
recalled
to
him
that
other
supreme
moment
of
his
life
at
Murewell
!
No
light
in
the
drawing-room
.
He
went
upstairs
and
softly
turned
the
handle
of
her
room
.
Inside
the
room
seemed
to
him
nearly
dark
.
But
the
window
was
wide
open
.
The
free
loosely-growing
branches
of
the
plane
trees
made
a
dark
,
delicate
network
against
the
luminous
blue
of
the
night
.
A
cool
air
came
to
him
laden
with
an
almost
rural
scent
of
earth
and
leaves
.
By
the
window
sat
a
white
motionless
figure
.
As
he
closed
the
door
it
rose
and
walked
towards
him
without
a
word
.
Instinctively
Robert
felt
that
something
unknown
to
him
had
been
passing
here
.
He
paused
breathless
,
expectant
.
She
came
to
him
.
She
linked
her
cold
trembling
fingers
round
his
neck
.
'
Robert
,
I
have
been
waiting
so
long
—
it
was
so
late
!
I
thought
'
—
and
she
choked
down
a
sob
—
'
perhaps
something
has
happened
to
him
,
we
are
separated
for
ever
,
and
I
shall
never
be
able
to
tell
him
.
Robert
,
Mr.
Flaxman
talked
to
me
;
he
opened
my
eyes
;
I
have
been
so
cruel
to
you
,
so
hard
!
I
have
broken
my
vow
.
I
do
n't
deserve
it
;
but
—
Robert
!
—
—
'
She
had
spoken
with
extraordinary
self-command
till
the
last
word
,
which
fell
into
a
smothered
cry
for
pardon
.
Catherine
Elsmere
had
very
little
of
the
soft
clingingness
which
makes
the
charm
of
a
certain
type
of
woman
.
Each
phrase
she
had
spoken
had
seemed
to
take
with
it
a
piece
of
her
life
.
She
trembled
and
tottered
in
her
husband
's
arms
.
He
bent
over
her
with
half-articulate
words
of
amazement
,
of
passion
.
He
led
her
to
her
chair
,
and
,
kneeling
before
her
,
he
tried
,
so
far
as
the
emotion
of
both
would
let
him
,
to
make
her
realise
what
was
in
his
own
heart
,
the
penitence
and
longing
which
had
winged
his
return
to
her
.
Without
a
mention
of
Madame
de
Netteville
's
name
,
indeed
!
That
horror
she
should
never
know
.
But
it
was
to
it
,
as
he
held
his
wife
,
he
owed
his
poignant
sense
of
something
half-jeopardised
and
wholly
recovered
;
it
was
that
consciousness
in
the
background
of
his
mind
,
ignorant
of
it
as
Catherine
was
then
and
always
,
which
gave
the
peculiar
epoch-making
force
to
this
sacred
and
critical
hour
of
their
lives
.
But
she
would
hear
nothing
of
his
self-blame
—
nothing
.
She
put
her
hand
across
his
lips
.
'
I
have
seen
things
as
they
are
,
Robert
,
'
she
said
very
simply
;
'
while
I
have
been
sitting
here
,
and
downstairs
,
after
Mr.
Flaxman
left
me
.
You
were
right
—
I
would
not
understand
.
And
,
in
a
sense
,
I
shall
never
understand
.
I
cannot
change
,
'
and
her
voice
broke
into
piteousness
.
'
My
Lord
is
my
Lord
always
;
but
He
is
yours
too
.
Oh
,
I
know
it
,
say
what
you
will
!
That
is
what
has
been
hidden
from
me
;
that
is
what
my
trouble
has
taught
me
;
the
powerlessness
,
the
worthlessness
,
of
words
.
It
is
the
spirit
that
quickeneth
.
I
should
never
have
felt
it
so
,
but
for
this
fiery
furnace
of
pain
.
But
I
have
been
wandering
in
strange
places
,
through
strange
thoughts
.
God
has
not
one
language
,
but
many
.
I
have
dared
to
think
He
had
but
one
,
the
one
I
knew
.
I
have
dared
'
—
and
she
faltered
—
'
to
condemn
your
faith
as
no
faith
.
Oh
!
I
lay
there
so
long
in
the
dark
downstairs
,
seeing
you
by
that
bed
;
I
heard
your
voice
,
I
crept
to
your
side
.
Jesus
was
there
,
too
.
Ah
,
He
was
—
He
was
!
Leave
me
that
comfort
!
What
are
you
saying
?
Wrong
—
you
?
Unkind
?
Your
wife
knows
nothing
of
it
.
Oh
,
did
you
think
when
you
came
in
just
now
before
dinner
that
I
did
n't
care
,
that
I
had
a
heart
of
stone
?
Did
you
think
I
had
broken
my
solemn
promise
,
my
vow
to
you
that
day
at
Murewell
?
So
I
have
,
a
hundred
times
over
.
I
made
it
in
ignorance
;
I
had
not
counted
the
cost
—
how
could
I
?
It
was
all
so
new
,
so
strange
.
I
dare
not
make
it
again
,
the
will
is
so
weak
,
circumstances
so
strong
.
But
oh
!
take
me
back
into
your
life
!
Hold
me
there
!
Remind
me
always
of
this
night
;
convict
me
out
of
my
own
mouth
!
But
I
will
learn
my
lesson
;
I
will
learn
to
hear
the
two
voices
,
the
voice
that
speaks
to
you
and
the
voice
that
speaks
to
me
—
I
must
.
It
is
all
plain
to
me
now
.
It
has
been
appointed
me
.
'
Then
she
broke
down
into
a
kind
of
weariness
,
and
fell
back
in
her
chair
,
her
delicate
fingers
straying
with
soft
childish
touch
over
his
hair
.
'
But
I
am
past
thinking
.
Let
us
bury
it
all
,
and
begin
again
.
Words
are
nothing
.
'
Strange
ending
to
a
day
of
torture
!
As
she
towered
above
him
in
the
dimness
,
white
and
pure
and
drooping
,
her
force
of
nature
all
dissolved
,
lost
in
this
new
heavenly
weakness
of
love
,
he
thought
of
the
man
who
passed
through
the
place
of
sin
,
and
the
place
of
expiation
,
and
saw
at
last
the
rosy
light
creeping
along
the
East
,
caught
the
white
moving
figures
,
and
that
sweet
distant
melody
rising
through
the
luminous
air
,
which
announced
to
him
the
approach
of
Beatrice
and
the
nearness
of
those
'
shining
tablelands
whereof
our
God
Himself
is
moon
and
sun
.
'
For
eternal
life
,
the
ideal
state
,
is
not
something
future
and
distant
.
Dante
knew
it
when
he
talked
of
'
quella
que
imparadisa
la
mia
mente
.
'
Paradise
is
here
,
visible
and
tangible
by
mortal
eyes
and
hands
,
whenever
self
is
lost
in
loving
,
whenever
the
narrow
limits
of
personality
are
beaten
down
by
the
inrush
of
the
Divine
Spirit
.
CHAPTER
XLIV
The
saddest
moment
in
the
lives
of
these
two
persons
whose
history
we
have
followed
for
so
long
was
over
and
done
with
.
Henceforward
to
the
end
Elsmere
and
his
wife
were
lovers
as
of
old
.
But
that
day
and
night
left
even
deeper
marks
on
