Miss Hildreth: A Novel, Volume 2

by Augusta de Grasse Stevens

There are two things no woman can excuse or palliate in a man: disaffection from herself where she has once been the first object of his devotion, or disaffection to an ideal which she has set up as a fetich, and to which unswerving fidelity is expected as a matter of right. Esther had set up in this position the old love of ten years ago that had existed between himself and Patricia; she had, so to speak, dug its dead body from out its unquiet grave, and breathing into it her own vitality and desire, had set herself to work to re-create answering sentiments in his heart. With the impetuosity of woman's nature, which considers no office so legitimately its own as that of binding up broken hearts, and reuniting broken troths, she endeavoured now to re-construct and rehabilitate this passion of his youth, never pausing to reflect upon his attitude in the case, or the probabilities of failure which amounted to certainties.

She had failed, it was true; but that is only half a failure that leaves matters at the point from which they started. There is always room for hope so long as certain premises remain unchanged. Philip was still unbound and unfettered, and Patricia was still Patricia Hildreth. Were not these sufficient foundations on which to build as fancy dictated?

Reflecting on this, and on his own position from Esther's point of view, Mr. Tremain could not but acknowledge that his proposal to Mdlle. Lamien, and their partial engagement, could only be regarded by Esther in the light of direst treachery. Any reasons he might bring to bear in defence of his present situation and the circumstances that had led up to it, would, he knew, be scoffed at and scouted by his staunch little friend. Of what use would it be for him to enter into the physiological side of the question? He could not hope to explain to her the vague, impersonal power that drove him on to this finale. Should he plead that he was not altogether a free agent, and advance in confirmation of this the subtle illusive resemblance of Mdlle. Lamien to another some one, equally shadowy and unreal, he would be met with an incredulous smile, and a suggestion that since he could urge no stronger reason than that of a chance likeness, why need he hesitate to exploiter his delusion? Or why choose Adèle Lamien's negative unreality, in place of Patricia Hildreth's positive personality?

It would be vain also to remind Esther that not only had Patricia twice deliberately refused him in words, but by open raillery and covert mockery had emphasized those refusals, more times than his pride cared to count. No, Esther would be convinced by none of these things; it was worse than hopeless to expect it of her, and therefore worse than useless to appeal to her. In selecting Adèle Lamien for his future wife, he had cut himself adrift from his own life, and from the close sympathy and intimacy of those few friends whose affection had made existence worth living.

He realised perfectly that in thus choosing a woman upon whose past lay not only the blight of secrecy but the curse of suspicion, he made that past his own with all its weight of shame and sin, nay, perhaps, even of crime, at which she had so vaguely hinted. He knew now that in that moment of surprise and overmastering passion, when the spell of her music and her presence held him against his will, he had not reasoned, he had not considered. He had let the potency of the moment bear him away; he had, indeed, seen dimly what the outcome must inevitably be, and yet he had allowed himself to drift on with the current, and made no resistance.

His love, his pride, smarting and burning beneath the cool insolence of Patricia's scorn, hurried him on to such a declaration as should be final, and break for ever the bonds of those ten years that had held him so long, and galled him so intolerably. He would be free, and Patricia should see and recognise his freedom and own its justice, even though she laughed gaily and jested mockingly upon it.

It was indeed in this half defined and scarcely acknowledged retaliation, that he now found his chief solace, for the matter of his new engagement cannot be said to have contributed to his happiness. Still, if fate was so untoward as to eliminate all the higher degrees of perfection from his destiny, it was at least something gained to know that he retained the power of wounding one woman through another. It was not the greatest or grandest revenge, nay, it had something pitifully mean and ignoble about it; but it was revenge, and Philip was still human enough not to have mastered that divine perfection, which kisses the hand bearing the rod, and blesses the scourge even while the blows fall.

In the meantime he hugged his secret, and kept his unhappiness to himself; refused to mingle with his own kind, and rarely stirred from out his chambers, except for the daily walk to and from his office, and grew silent, morose, unapproachable.

The July days came and went with lingering, regretful steps; but they brought him no comfort. He grew to hate the long, bright, cruel hours, during which the sun shone so fiercely in the intense blue sky whose wide expanse was unsoftened by cloud or mist; even as he came to loathe the short midsummer nights, with the flooding moonlight and the radiant stars set in the vaulted firmament of God's glory.

No news and no word came to him from Mdlle. Lamien; he had neither seen nor heard from her since their unsatisfactory parting. He had waited expecting each day some expression from her, some recognition or repudiation of the promise that bound him; but each day brought him only disappointment, until at last, as the days grew into weeks, he ceased expecting and accepted his position almost with relief. He was ready and waiting whenever Mdlle. Lamien should signify her need of him; he would not lift a finger to break the slight chain that bound him, but neither would he by act or word rivet that chain closer.