“You have not done anything, but the earl has a prejudice.”
“Against whom?”
“Against all who are not nobly born. It is altogether most unfortunate as far as you are concerned, but you must remember, Tom, I never deceived you. I told you all about Aveline when you proposed and asked my consent. You knew perfectly well that there was a dark, impenetrable mystery hanging over her at that time. We cannot see into futurity, and not anyone of us could have guessed that she was nobly born. Think of all these things, and be patient.”
“Patient, mother! When a man is robbed of a wife whom he dearly loves, you preach patience? I will write and ask her to come back.”
“It would not be wise to do so, but you can of course do as you think best.”
“I will write. She has been gone away seven weeks, and in none of her letters does she make the slightest allusion to returning home.”
“Well, then, write to her,” said Mrs. Maitland hastily; “write.”
Tom Gatliffe wrote a somewhat hasty epistle to his wife, in which he expressed a wish for her return. If she had made up her mind to desert him, he besought her to let him know.
In reply to this Aveline informed him that she could not leave Broxbridge without incurring the displeasure of its owner, as she had promised to obey him in all things.
At the same time she informed him that her love was as strong and powerful as ever, and that she would never voluntarily desert him. Still for the present it was expedient that they should remain separate and apart.