“We will always be dear friends, true friends, but Hermione do not seek again to turn me from the purpose of my life! When that is accomplished, when life has been given for life—I will atone to all those whom I now neglect; until then I live for but one object. We will say no more.”
Sir Ronald entered then with some visitors, and the subject dropped, but it was strange for all the rest of the day how those words haunted her. “When a life has been paid for a life I shall be content.” They filled her with a strange, nervous dread and fear, a vague terror that she could not account for nor describe. It was something of a relief to both of them when Kenelm declared that he must leave Aldenmere that evening. He did not tell his errand. It was that he had heard from London of the apprehension of a tramp who was suspected of murder, and he thought it within the bounds of possibility that he might from him obtain some clue. It was a fruitless errand, nevertheless it occupied his mind and gave him something to do. When he was working for her, even though the work were vain, he was happier for it. Three months passed, and looking back upon the gay, sweet summer, Lady Hermione pronounced it the happiest of her life. She had vowed to herself to win her husband from his gloom and melancholy, to fill his life with new and varied interests, to help him make his name famous, and she had most nobly kept her vow. It was September now; the fruits hung ripe in the orchards, the golden wheat had been gathered in huge sheaves, a clear autumn light lay over land and sea; the leaves of the tall trees were falling and lay golden, brown and scarlet under foot. Sir Ronald sat in his study alone, the haggard, pained expression that had once marred the dark beauty of his face had given place to a pleased, bright look that betokened a mind fully occupied. Sir Ronald had indeed grown famous, thanks to his wife, to her bright, cheerful intelligence, her unwearied activity, her loving, tender sympathy with his pursuits. He had written a book on the principal African plants. Botany had always been his favorite study, and she had shared it with him. Directly after their marriage she had set herself, like the true and loving wife she was, to find out his inclinations and tastes. He was no model farmer; the improvement of soil, the qualities of crops, the rearing of prize cattle had no attraction for him—he left all such matters to his dependents—but of plants and flowers he was enamored.
“I should have been a botanist if I had not been a baronet,” he had said to her one day, with a smile, and she had mentally resolved that he should be both. So she studied with him, she praised, she encouraged as only good and wise women can do. Every new work she saw advertised she sent for; she let no opportunity escape of helping and encouraging him. His taste took a strange turn—it was no longer confined to English flowers, the wild, sweet blossoms of the fields and the gems of the garden. He studied with incredible ardor the history of African plants—those ardent flowers that neither burn nor shrivel under the warmest kisses of the African sun—flowers watered only at rare intervals and living in tropical splendor where others would die. This African flora had a strange, weird charm for him. He read, he wrote, he studied, he made glowing dreams to himself of the lives of those brilliant flowers. And then he wrote a book about them—a book that left its mark on the age, that was written in such glowing, fiery, poetical language men and women read it with wonder, read and reread it, wondering why they had never thought before of those curious facts and fancies, wondering why a man in whose soul the light of genius burned so fiercely had never shown the world that light before. Then scientific men read and argued about it until the name of Sir Ronald Alden of Aldenmere became famous throughout the land. There arose between these learned men a wonderful discussion over some of the plants—a discussion that created great interest and attention. The result was that a party of scientific men who were about starting to Africa on an exploring expedition wrote and earnestly implored Sir Ronald Alden to join them.
CHAPTER XXXII.
SIR RONALD’S DECISION.
On this bright September morning Sir Ronald sat in his library alone, the open letter in his hand, considering within himself whether he should decline without saying one word to his wife, or whether he should consult her as to the advisability of going or not. The thought of leaving her was most unpleasant; nay, it was distasteful to him. She had so completely changed the gloom of his life into brightest sunshine that it seemed to him in leaving her for ever so small a time he must leave all the light behind. And yet the prospect was a pleasant one. He had always liked traveling. His new pursuits were most fascinating to him. The idea of going to Africa and seeing the wonders of which he had been only able to read, write and dream, was full of novelty, pleasure and excitement. Still, there was Hermione and the children—those little children, the love of whom had grown in his heart until his whole nature was changed. Were all the scientific pursuits in the world worth even one moment of absence from them? He could not decide. There were two voices in his heart and each called him different ways. The door opened gently and Lady Hermione entered. He was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he never heard her. She went up to him. They had no secrets from each other, this husband and wife who loved so deeply and so well. She laid one white arm caressingly round his neck and bent her beautiful head over him.
“Whom is your letter from, Ronald?”
“Dr. L——,” he replied, mentioning a world-wide known name, to which the whole universe pays homage. Her face brightened with pride and pleasure.
“Oh, Ronald, let me read it! What does he say? It is to praise you, I am sure.”
As she read he watched the changes in her beautiful face, the pride and pleasure, the surprise, and then the pain. Her sweet lips quivered.
“That is enough, Hermione,” he said. “I shall not go.”