“The people around would say, that they were astonished that you didn’t make your escape years ago. Cara is but an infant, she will have her own life, she is the daughter of a rich man; you are not called upon to sacrifice the whole of your existence to her; you have a right to live, as much as she has! Mrs. Fenchurch will be shocked—that I grant you—but that Maudie Hesketh and my sister will forgive you—I guarantee.”
“No, no, no, I never could do it—I beseech you not to tempt me!” then without another word, she suddenly turned into a side path, and actually ran away. But although Letty had evaded him on this occasion Lancelot Lumley would not relinquish his intention; he knew what he was doing; he took into consideration all the scandal, the talk, and the injury that it would cause him in his profession. On the other hand, he thought of Letty: they would be so happy together, and ultimately they would live it down!
He wrote her a clear, urgent, and impassioned letter, putting everything plainly before her, and imploring her to leave home.
“For six months after the divorce you could live in some quiet seaside or country place, or in Switzerland. I have ample money to provide for this. I will of course not see you, and I shall apply for an exchange to a battalion in India; when the decree nisi is pronounced, all our troubles will be over, and like the people in the fairy tale, we shall live happy ever after.”
Before the end of the week, they had met again; and the force of fear and love, and Lumley’s eloquent persuasion ultimately carried the day; but during this week, Letty had lived in a palsy of indecision, painfully conscious of the debility of her own will. One moment, she had made up her mind, the next she changed it; however, after a decisive interview, in which Lumley said, “It must be yes or no—now—for I am going away,” with a white face and trembling lips, Letty had breathed the syllable ‘Yes.’
CHAPTER XIX
IT had been arranged by Captain Lumley that he was to go to London, where, by a certain train and on a certain day, he would be joined by Mrs. Blagdon. In this short breathing-space Letty had much to think of, and accomplish. She collected, sorted, and packed some clothes, and a few treasured personal belongings; but abandoned all her jewellery, except one or two trifling ornaments, a string of pearls, and her uncle’s diamond heart, destroyed the whole of her innocent correspondence, put the photograph of her wedding group into the waste-paper basket in four pieces, and, heaviest task of all, set about writing letters to her aunt, to Frances, and to Maude Hesketh. To her she said:
“I know that you alone realise the awful life I have led since my marriage, and will pity and forgive me. I never see you now, and I am shut away from all the world—not a wife, but a prisoner. Sometimes last winter when Frances and her father were at Bournemouth, I was afraid that my mind would have given way; the loneliness and monotony seemed to deaden my brain. Dear Cousin Maudie, do not think too badly of me, and love me still.”
The leave-taking epistle destined for her husband, was a more difficult task; how many sheets of paper were destroyed, before she had succeeded to her satisfaction!