"Of course I did not, my dear," was the reply. "I turned his absurd threats upon himself. But it is unpleasant to have these things said.

And you see Truby's letter bears out the rumours."

"Ah, me!" Esther sighed, almost wringing her hands, "to what am I fallen?"

"My dear," her husband ventured to urge, "it is time this unhappy matter were settled. After the wrong which will have been done to Mr.

Trevethlan"--he started when the name had pa.s.sed his lips--"after that, I say, we must overlook what has occurred since."

"Do what you will," muttered his wife, "my part in the affair is over.

But are you sure they will accept forgiveness? Has he asked for it?"

"Oh yes, dear mother," said Gertrude. "Let me intercede. My poor sister has no peace till she has thrown herself at your feet, and Randolph has none while she is unhappy."

"Well, well," Esther murmured, "I have no more to say. Bring them here, if you will, Gertrude. And since it must be so, the sooner the better."

"And really, my dear Esther," said the husband, "the match is not so disadvantageous after all. You see it will unite the properties, and if Trevethlan is now but a small estate, it is at least unenc.u.mbered, which is more than we could say of Tolpeden; and I remember that Mildred was telling me once--"

"Never mind now, papa," said Mrs. Winston, who saw that every word he uttered was a dagger in her mother's heart. "Let me go and prepare my sister to come home."

Indeed, Esther's humiliation required no aggravating circ.u.mstances. She was deeply wounded in the tenderest parts of her character. Pride, ambition, and love of rule had all been mortified and abused. And now she succ.u.mbed. She resigned any further struggle, and yielded to her victorious foe. Her spirit and mind were alike brought down. After the above conversation she retired to her own room, and drew her miniature from her bosom, and looked long and stedfastly on the tranquil lineaments. Again she reviewed her whole life, and again she fell upon the ever-recurring question--Did he then love me? And she scarcely knew whether an answer in the affirmative would give her most of joy or of regret.

The man who had so long ministered to her will, was in his humbler sphere as completely overthrown. But his feelings were bitter and fierce, and no trace of compunction or repentance was to be found among them. On reconsidering his threats, he clearly saw their futility. When he partly disclosed his story to a scandal-mongering individual with a view to extortion, he was only laughed at for his pains. And he very clearly perceived, that for himself there was nothing in prospect but the penalty of perjury. On every hand he felt that he had been thwarted and defeated. The man whom he knew that he hated had wedded the lady whom Michael fancied he loved, and he foresaw the reconciliation that would make them happy. While he himself, instead of being on the high road to fortune, was an outcast from society, disgraced and infamous.

Yet did one matter detain him in London. One hope remained to save him from absolute despair. By one chance he might even yet retrieve himself, and aspire to a certain position in the world. Wealth, he fancied, would cover a mult.i.tude of sins. Cunning had failed him, luck might stand his friend. Day by day he sought the ancient hall, where the wheel of fortune, no longer a mere symbol, dispensed blanks and prizes to a host of care-worn worshippers. And of all that feverish crowd, no votary watched the numbers as they turned up, with more desperate eyes than the peasant of Cornwall. Reckless alike of the jests of the indifferent, of the boisterous glee of the fortunate, and of the execrations of the ruined, he awaited his turn with intense excitement. The great prizes were still in the wheel. He might have realised a very handsome profit on his ticket. But he would scarcely have parted with it for anything short of the highest amount in the list. Little he cared when the revolving cylinder threw out a paltry thousand; no such trifle was an object to him. But he ground his teeth when a number which was not his, appeared in connection with a prize of twenty thousand pounds, and when the very next turn of the wheel declared his ticket--blank--he crushed his hat over his eyes, and slunk out of the hall. He slunk away from town: it was his final leave-taking of the metropolis.

CHAPTER XV.

Oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded, Why thus for ever haunt my view?

When in the grave your light lay shrouded, Why did not memory die there too?

Vainly doth hope her strain now sing me, Whispering of joys that yet remain-- No, never more can this life bring me One joy that equals youth's sweet pain.

Moore.

All this time Mildred Trevethlan remained in strict retirement. The only visits which interrupted her solitude were those she occasionally received from Mrs. Winston and from Helen. Gertrude brought intelligence of Mrs. Pendarrel, which was unhappily not of a kind to comfort the repenting fugitive, and her calls were rendered of brief duration by her anxiety to return to the invalid. She could not pretend to a.s.sign any other cause than Mildred's flight to their mother's dejection, and her sister trembled to think of the effects of her disobedience. In the many hours when she was necessarily alone, or attended only by Rhoda, she was haunted by fears of the most alarming kind, and whenever Randolph came home after an absence as short as he could make it, he always fancied that his wife's sadness had increased since he left her.

Yet her despondency was lightened for a time when Helen came to see her.

For she, gentle and hopeful, dwelt always on the theme to which Gertrude dared not allude. She always promised, or rather predicted, that a reconciliation could not be distant. She bid Mildred to fix her eyes upon that prospect, and to overlook the trouble immediately around her.

And upon her brother she urged the duty of obeying the chaplain's injunctions, in their full spirit, and without delay. But Randolph listened to such remonstrances with impatience, and still postponed the day when he would make any advances.

"Let us, at least, be fully restored to our rights," he would say. "Let my father's honour be re-established; let me have a name to bestow upon my bride; and then, when we have exposed the wretched plot by which we were overthrown, we may have the satisfaction of forgiving those who wronged us, and may, if they choose, in turn, accept their forgiveness."

Helen grieved, but could prevail no farther. And, fortunately, the period marked by her brother was fast approaching. Mr. Winter had been already in communication with the friends of Ashton, the clergyman. By good hap, they were able to identify the ring which was found among the buried clothes. This confirmation of the smuggler's story lent it the credit which his character could not give. Everope's confession, attested by Rereworth, had, at least, overthrown the credibility of his previous testimony. And thus the whole case on which the plaintiff in the action had rested his t.i.tle broke down, and the obscurity which hung around the late Mr. Trevethlan's marriage was finally dissipated.

We need not trouble our readers with the technical proceedings which would terminate in a formal and public reversal of the verdict at Bodmin. Randolph had enjoyed the pleasure of communicating to his wife the approaching result, and, in more kindly temper, was revolving the mode by which they might be reconciled to her friends, when Gertrude came with the message of peace. It was much more than the husband had conceived possible, or than the wife had dared to hope. It left no room for further perverseness. Randolph saw the flush of joy with which Mildred received the offer, and accepted it with eagerness. Mrs. Winston proposed to take them at once to May Fair; and they went without delay.

Without pausing, she conducted them into the presence of Mrs. Pendarrel.

And Randolph had taken the mother's offered hand, and Mildred had been pressed to her heart, before either of them well knew what they were about.

Some little awkwardness supervened. Mrs. Winston, with her usual tact, led her sister from the room. Randolph was alone with his father's Esther.

"Mr. Trevethlan," the lady said, after a short silence, and with a faint sigh upon the name, "we have much to forgive each other."

"I have forgiven," Randolph answered. "Let the past be forgotten."

"You have forgiven!" Esther exclaimed mournfully. "Do you know in what you have been wronged?"

"All that is personal to myself has pa.s.sed from my mind," he replied.

"Ay," said Mrs. Pendarrel, "but there is much that is not personal to yourself. Where is your sister? You are happy in the possession of such a one. Do you know that even to her I have been unkind and unjust?"

"Oh, madam," Randolph said, "do not recall these things. Helen has differed widely from me. Would that I had been guided by her advice!"

"Yet you were right, and she was wrong," observed Esther, who seemed to feel a relief in unburdening her mind. "That letter was intended to try you, and you interpreted it correctly. Helen was more charitable than I deserved."

"Madam," said Randolph, moved by compa.s.sion for the humiliation before him, "there had probably been great provocation."

"I do not know," was the meditative answer. "I have tried to persuade myself there was. For if there were not, how shall I ever be justified?

Did she tell you, Randolph--did your sister tell you--that I robbed her?

See. Do you know this miniature?"

And she showed him the picture of herself. The sight of it reminded her hearer of those dying imprecations which had been so fatal to all his happiness. A dark cloud overspread his brow.

"Ay," said Esther, perceiving the change in his countenance. "You remember, now, that it is not only your peace which I have broken. There is another's for which I have to answer."

"Oh," Randolph exclaimed, "heavy was the task laid upon me, and bitterly indeed have I judged!"

"Listen," Mrs. Pendarrel continued, speaking in tremulous accents. "You know this portrait, but you know not its history. You know not how it once hung from the neck of a wayward and wilful girl. It had often been begged and prayed for, by one who loved her faithfully, fondly--ay, as she believes now--till death. It was taken, or given, in a moment of overpowering tenderness. The vows were plighted, and each had promised to live only for the other. And then she--she, forsooth, idol and votary, worshipped and worshipping--must snap the link, in her petulance and pride, break the heart which adored her, and seek to console her own misery by trampling upon her victim. Oh, Randolph Trevethlan, your father has been deeply avenged. I never forgot that early dream. But I strove to persuade myself that I was forgotten, and excused my own arrogance with the thought. And now this image, which he wore upon his heart--it tells me that he loved me to the last."

"And he died," Randolph said, restraining his emotion, "with words of love upon his lips. 'I mentioned'--it was spoken with his latest breath--'I mentioned Esther Pendarrel. She was once very dear to me'--he then referred to his disappointment--'but I have often thought I was not indifferent to her. If so, she has my pardon.' Oh, madam, I repeat, indeed, something like the words, but it were vain for me to express the feeling with which they were uttered. Alas, I recked not of the promise they contained. I only looked on the dark side of the picture. I chose to make it impossible to ascertain the truth. Entrusted with what was really a message of peace, I have perpetrated animosity. It is I, it is I, who should implore pardon."

Silence followed this speech. Esther fell into a reverie on the past. It was of a more tranquil character than those which of late had caused so much anxiety to her friends. At length it was broken by the return of her daughters. She called Mildred to her side.

"You have deprived me of the power," she said, with a mournful expression strangely at variance with the words, "little rebel, to perform a mother's part. Yet I fain would do it."

She placed Mildred's hand in that of Randolph.

"Take her," she said, "Randolph Trevethlan, and may you know a happiness which has never been mine."

Mildred threw herself into her mother's arms.

"My children," Esther continued, "you will make your home here, till....

And where is Helen?"

Mrs. Winston said, that Helen would perhaps pay her another visit. And in a short time Mrs. Pendarrel quitted the room. She left more of anxiety than of comfort behind her.