And yet, if the truth were known, this inseparableness, this constant daily companionship, was apt at times to prove to both more of a trial than a joy, more of a curse than a blessing. On Pelham's side it was a never-ending, feverish dream of unsatisfied desire, which Pearl was eternally resisting, eternally fighting against with all the weapons of her decidedly religious training, and a genuine and innate purity of heart.
And thus matters remained for the next five or six years. Dick Pelham succeeded in course of time to the title, and blossomed into Lord Martinworth, and his devotion to Pearl instead of cooling increased in intensity as time went on. One day, after years of waiting and imploring, he finally succeeded in persuading Mrs. Norrywood to take the decisive step of issuing divorce proceedings against her husband. This had long been his aim. But not only Pearl's hatred of open scandal and publicity, but her better judgment had prevented her hitherto from listening to his persuasions and from acceding to his unwearying entreaties. A severe, and what indeed might have proved a fatal injury from a blow bestowed in one of his ungovernable rages by the husband who had tortured her for so many years, finally however, decided Pearl to give ear to Martinworth's prayers, and at length to go to the extremity of sueing for a divorce.
She succeeded, after days of suspense, in obtaining her divorce. But whereas she had entered the court with the smiles and approbation of the world, she left it with a ruined reputation, a social outcast, and with hardly a friend to hold out a helping hand. The decree nisi had indeed been dearly bought, and as Pearl drove away from the Divorce Court she was the first to realise and to acknowledge to herself that in obtaining her freedom she had, from a worldly point of view, brought about her own doom.
As the judgment was pronounced, Martinworth cast her one radiant glance, which expressed as plainly as words "At last you are mine. At last! at last! after all these years." But there was no answering look of triumph in Pearl's eyes, for at that moment she felt that never again could she raise them to the face of man. In after times she often wondered how she had lived through all those awful days, how she could have remained silent, drinking in that terrible evidence which her husband had raked up from the very gutters. Nevertheless she survived this truly distressing ordeal, and with a look of utter scorn on her face sat patiently listening to servants' lies, and to sordid details of innocent situations, which under the clever cross examination were transformed into all that seemed most guilty and most damaging to her cause.
She walked away that day with Martinworth, and as she passed into her carriage people whispered together and nudged each other. Nothing had been proved,--and yet, in the eyes of her world, she knew that everything had been proved.
"But, of course, she will marry Martinworth now," it said. "He is only too willing to make the position a regular one. That is why she put Norrywood into the Divorce Court, though evidently she never dreamt the old fox would succeed thus thoroughly in turning the tables on her. She has really been somewhat of a fool for her pains. Why didn't she let things go on as they were? Why did she want to put old Norry's back up? She had just as much liberty before as she will have now, and if she had left him alone we should never have heard all these abominable things about her. Of course, before this scandalous case it was easy enough to feign ignorance of all their goings on. Now she has put herself outside the pale altogether, and in spite of that ridiculous verdict one really cannot continue the acquaintance. No doubt, once she is Martinworth's wife,--though of course she won't go to Court--their country neighbours will call on her, and she is just the sort of woman to be adored by the poor people. Pity we can't see her any more. Such a sweet woman, you know," etc., etc., etc.
Pearl knew her world. She heard words such as these ringing in her ears, and as on the doorstep of her house she said good-bye to Lord Martinworth, she vowed to herself never would she see him again. She was an innocent woman, whatever the world might call her. Her first desire had been to have a certain satisfaction in disappointing the cynics of their laughter, and by not marrying the man whose name had so long been coupled with hers, and whom everyone had without doubt expected her to marry, to prove indisputably her innocence. But that was only a momentary thought. Worthier reasons against this union soon took root in her mind. She loved Martinworth with all her soul. The knowledge flashed upon her, that only by not marrying him could she prove her devotion to the man who would willingly have sacrificed all--his position in society, his future, his life's ambitions--by bestowing on her the protection of his name.
That night all Pearl Norrywood's possessions were packed. When her arrangements were completed she sent away her maid, and set herself to the task of writing a letter. It took her a long, long time that letter, and tears were streaming down her cheeks as she penned these words:--
"I am leaving you, my darling; for I can never be your wife. Dick! you must not blame me for this, for it is just because of my great love for you that I can never take your name. The woman who shares that name must never have had the vile things said of her that have been said of me in that horrible Court, this last week. You, in your great love and generosity, had but one thought when my freedom was pronounced--I read it in your eyes, dear. But all during those dreadful hours it was gradually becoming clear to me, I was slowly realising, that for your sake alone, I must never give the world the right of confirming what the world has said. Had I only myself to think of I would, as you know, scorn what people may say, and now that I am free I would marry you, and at last taste what true happiness is. But, Dick, you are a public man. You have a great name and high position to maintain, and the woman who bears that name must be above suspicion. Dick! you are no child. You are a man of the world and of experience, and therefore I beg of you to look around among your acquaintances and friends and to ask yourself if there is a single one who, in spite of the verdict to-day, will believe in our innocence? Such being the case, how can I ruin your life by marrying you?
"I feel no bashfulness in writing this before you speak to me again, for by expressing my decision I thus make it impossible for you ever to speak. Yes, Dick, I am leaving you for ever--for ever. Do not attempt to find me. All your efforts will be fruitless, and oh! indeed, indeed! this separation will be far better for us both. Do not become hard against me, Dick, for you will know--you must believe, dearest, that it is only my love that induces me to leave you. One day you will marry some pure young girl, and you will then bless me for trying to rectify the evil that I have done you, and you will perhaps forgive me for the years that you have wasted with me. And yet, if having made a woman in her darkest hour happy, if having prevented a heart from becoming cold and callous and cruel, if having cast many glorious rays of sunshine around an existence which, without you, would have been one dark abyss, if having blessed me with your beautiful, strong, supporting love, if, having done and given all this, you think your years have been wasted, let me tell you, Dick, they have not--they have not! And now I bid you farewell. What it costs me to write that word, I alone can know. For with it I vanish from your life. If I were strong I should say 'Forget me,' but you know me as a poor weak woman, and knowing me thus you will understand that I can only say 'Forgive me.'
"Pearl."
For several months Pearl Nugent lived in an obscure Welsh village, buried like a hermit. She was awaiting an answer to a letter she had written to Japan, and in due course it arrived. It was a satisfactory letter, welcoming her to the Land of the Rising Sun. Immediately on obtaining her divorce she had written to her cousin, Mrs. Rawlinson, begging her to secure a house for her either in Yokohama or Tokyo, and to make other arrangements subject to her approaching arrival.