Following out this idea, a terrible scene of mutual recrimination took place between the husband and wife, which ended, as such scenes generally do, in total alienation on his part, and frantic jealousy on her's.

Gilbert Rushmere had endeavoured to make the best of a bad bargain, and though he could not respect the woman who had tricked him into making her his wife, he had treated her with more consideration and kindness than she deserved.

The consciousness of having married her for money, involved a moral sense of degradation, which made him more lenient in his judgment, of the deceit practised against him; for had it not been mutual, he could not blame her without including himself in the same condemnation.

For a long time he listened in silence to her maddening speeches, trusting that the heat of her pa.s.sion would wear out, that her tongue would grow tired with continual motion, and that, not meeting with any opposition, she would give it up as a useless task, and go to sleep. He was fully aware of her weakness, but not of her obstinate strength of will.

"Sophia," he said, when utterly wearied with her reproaches for imaginary injuries, "after the disgraceful scene this afternoon in the attic, it would be wiser in you to hold your tongue and go to sleep. If you wish me to retain any affection for you, let me never have a repet.i.tion of such conduct again."

"I shall not keep silence, sir, because you dare to tell me to hold my tongue. I shall speak when I please, and as I please, without asking your leave."

"Well, don't expect me to listen to such nonsense. My heart is overwhelmed with grief for the death of a dear mother. You surely take a strange time to distress me with your foolish and groundless jealousy."

"And you to show your preference for that vile woman, that hired mistress of your patron, Lord Wilton!"

"Good heavens! Sophia, what do you mean?"

"I mean what I say, what all the world knows but yourself. Do you think that I will condescend to be placed below this infamous creature in my husband's estimation, to be told that I am not worthy to untie her shoes. You don't know Sophia Rowly, if you can imagine that I will submit to such an indignity for a moment. _I_, who was born a lady, received the education of a lady, and was always treated as such, until I became the wife of Gilbert Rushmere, the son of an ignorant illiterate tiller of the soil."

"Who has given you a home when you had none, madam, when the debts you dishonestly incurred during my absence had made beggars of us all. This illiterate tiller of the soil made you mistress of his house, and placed you at the head of his table; and this is the way you abuse his generosity. It was an evil day for him, and those dear to him, when your foot crossed his threshold."

"You would rather have seen Dorothy Chance at the head of the table?"

"She would be the ornament of any table. You cannot make me believe the vile scandals propagated against Dorothy by such women as Nancy Watling.

They are just as true, madam, as your accusations against her this afternoon, when nothing would appease your hatred to this beautiful girl, but sending her to prison, or getting her transported. It was murder, however you may disguise the fact; and in perjuring your soul to ruin her, you dared the wrath of G.o.d to d.a.m.n yourself."

"Fine language, this, to address to your wife," said Sophy, cowering before her husband's withering and contemptuous glance.

"You deserve it!" he cried, in a voice of thunder.

"I scorn it!" she returned, with a faint laugh, and pointing at him with her finger.

"It is time, Sophia, that you and I came to an understanding," said Gilbert, becoming suddenly calm. "If you mean to persevere in this line of conduct, we must part!"

"The sooner the better!" she said in the same taunting tone, though inwardly terrified lest he should carry out his unlooked-for proposal; for, cold and selfish as she was, she entertained for him a pa.s.sion that shed a vivifying heat into her torpid nature; it would have been love, had she been capable of the devotion and self-sacrifice that are the leading characteristics of that glorious sentiment. She saw the gulf that yawned at her feet, but was too obstinate to yield. Gilbert now spoke in a more earnest and decided manner.

"Sophia, do you really mean what you say?" There was something in the look and manner that was startling; he, at any rate, meant what he said.

She would not retract, but remained obstinately silent. "Will you answer me?"

"Can you give me a separate maintenance?" she sobbed out at length.

"Will you turn me and my mother out to starve?"

This difficulty had not occurred to him before. It was insurmountable.

He had no means but what he derived from his father, and though as perfectly divorced in affection as the sanction of a legal tribunal could have effected, he was compelled, by a dire necessity, to wear the chain that avarice and ambition had rivetted.

They might henceforth sleep in the same bed, eat from the same board, and in public act towards each other as husband and wife, but they were as much divided in heart and confidence as if the wide ocean flowed between them. Gilbert kept his own secret. Sophia Rushmere gave hers to Martha Wood, who told it, as a greater secret, to Mrs. Rowly.

CHAPTER VI.

A PROPOSAL.

Dorothy felt like a captive long incarcerated in prison who has just got his release, and awakes once more to life and liberty. A year ago, and she would have considered it impossible for her to feel glad at leaving Heath Farm, or any place that Gilbert Rushmere called his home. Gilbert she had ceased to respect, and where he was could no longer be a home for her.

She pitied him because he was miserable, but he had brought his sufferings upon himself in a manner that she could neither excuse nor justify, and her compa.s.sion was of that mixed sort that made her feel ashamed of its object.

The insults she had received from his wife were still rankling in her breast; their low, base character made them unendurable to a sensitive mind, and she thought less of her former lover when a.s.sociated with this woman whom he had accepted in her place for six thousand pounds. His bargain would have been a dead loss to him at treble that sum. He had ventured his all upon it, and had lost everything which makes life desirable: the love of a true heart, his own self-respect, and the fair prospect of domestic happiness. Dorothy felt it painful to witness his degradation, and the situation in which she had been placed precluded any attempt on her part to elevate his mind, and inspire hopes of a more exalted nature. She had a sad foreboding that this false step, though the first, was not likely to be the last, in a rapid downward career.

What better could be expected from constant a.s.sociation with such a partner as he had chosen?

The mother, whose loss at that moment was pressing heavily on her heart, to whom Gilbert had always been an earthly idol, had been mercifully taken from the evil to come, and, much as Dorothy had loved her, she no longer wished to recall her to life, to preside over a home that Mrs.

Gilbert's temper would render a domestic h.e.l.l.

Dorothy was thankful for her emanc.i.p.ation from that house of misrule.

She breathed more freely in the fresh air, and her heart once more expanded to the genial influences of nature. The evening was warm and balmy after the thunderstorm, and the golden sunset shed upon wet leaves and dewy gra.s.s a glory as from heaven. The birds sang in the glistening bushes by the roadside, and the air was rife with delicious odours, as if an angel had scattered his censor over the rebaptized earth.

The holy tranquillity of the scene chased away the dark shadows that, like spirits of evil, had been brooding for several weeks upon her mind, thoughts which were not of heaven, the remembrance of all those injuries that had been heaped upon her, making her angry and resentful, and anxious that her tormentors might be paid in their own coin.

Nature's vesper song to her Creator, poured from a thousand warbling throats, once more attuned Dorothy's sad heart to prayer and praise. Her soul fell prostrate to the earth, the green footstool of His glorious throne, and was gently raised by ministering spirits, and lifted towards heaven.

Near the parsonage, she met Mrs. Martin and the children coming to meet her. With what joy she kissed and embraced them all. What charming little tales they had to tell her of domestic life. Their rabbits had multiplied, their pigeons had all accessions to their families. Harry had discovered that very morning a nest of young kittens in the stable, belonging to Mrs. Prowler, the cat, and they were not to be killed or sent away, until dear Dolly had picked out the prettiest for little Arthur, who was going to name it Dolly, in honour of their dear friend.

Then they told her that Johnnie had been ill, but was able to sit up now, and he wanted to hear all the nice stories she used to tell him, and sing to him his favourite hymns; and Dorothy's weary heart overflowed with happiness to find herself once more among faithful and loving hearts.

After having taken her the round of the garden, to look at all the flowers she had helped them in sowing and planting, and pointing out the prettiest blossoms, and gathering her a choise nosegay, they went gamboling before her into the house, wild with joy that she had come to live with them never to go away again.

"There is another friend very anxious to see you, Dorothy," said Mrs.

Martin, as they pa.s.sed the well known study door. "Mr. Fitzmorris arrived by the mid-day coach. He looked ill and fatigued, and I persuaded him to lie down for an hour or two, until Henry returned from s...o...b.., where he had to attend a vestry meeting after poor Mrs.

Rushmere's funeral. I wonder if he is awake." She gave a low rap at the door, and Dorothy's heart leaped to the sound of the gentle voice that bade them come in.

"Go and speak to him, Dorothy. The sight of you will do him good, and help to dissipate his melancholy."

At that moment the door opened, and Gerard received them with his usual frank kindness. Dorothy's black dress informed him of what had happened.

He took her hand and led her into the room, making her sit down in the study chair while he drew his seat beside her.

"My dear friend, I see how it is. You have lost that excellent mother. I did hope I should see her again, and administer to her the glorious symbols of Christ's undying love, before she sank to rest. G.o.d has ordered it otherwise. Did she suffer much in that last conflict, which all foolishly dread and shrink from?"

"She was spared all its terrors, Mr. Fitzmorris; she died in sleep. To judge from the beautiful serenity of her face, her waking was in heaven."

"I too have looked on death since last we met. In death itself there is nothing terrible; it is but the returning wave of life flowing back to Him, and may be regarded as the birth of spirit to its higher destiny.

But oh, Dorothy, the death that I lament, that I would have given my own life to avert, was one of such a painful nature, so sudden, so unlooked for, by the dear thoughtless being, who cared not for his soul, scarcely knew that he possessed one, that I can feel little hope in his case.

Struck down in a moment in the vigour of manhood; of all the wasted years of a misspent life, he could not redeem one hour from time, to prepare for eternity. It is terrible, heart-crushing, but it is G.o.d's will, and what am I that I should dare to murmur at a just decree!"

"But did you ever warn him of his danger?" asked Dorothy.

"I have nothing to reproach myself with on that head. After my own conversion, I besought him with tears and prayers, with all the eloquence which conviction can give, to turn from the errors of his ways. He laughed at my enthusiasm, and called me a madman and a fool, refused to listen to my earnest appeals, and finally shunned my company.

I loved him too dearly to be baffled thus. I wrote constantly to him, and laid my own heart bare, in the hope of winning his, but he refused to answer my letters, and at length returned them to me unopened. I had no other resource left, but to pray for him. But my prayers have returned into my own bosom, and my brother went down to his grave, and gave no sign. He lived two days after his accident, but was never conscious for a moment."