“‘My lady,’ said the girl, ‘is there anything the matter? All the servants are looking so strange—is anything wrong?’
“God help me! I went mad—mad with fear, shame, outraged love, wounded honor, and dread of what was to follow. I tore the hair from my head. I cried aloud for my dead mother. I was mad.
“They gave me sleep and merciful oblivion. But morning only brought me the same frantic alarm, the same terrible waking. What had I done; what were they going to do with me? What was wrong? I could not rise; my limbs were heavy, my head ached. I was bewildered and uncertain. There were times when I fancied I must have been guilty of some great crime, and have forgotten it. Surely my husband, whom I had loved and revered as the noblest of men, could never have wrongfully accused me. Was it possible that I had done anything wrong and had forgotten it? I tried to think over every word I had ever spoken—every action since I had been married, and I could not discover one that was worthy of such blame.
“‘An intrigue?’—I began to remember his words—he said that I had carried on an intrigue with the Duke of Launceston. What did they call an intrigue here in England? In my land it was something that young girls did not even know by name. What was it here? I had sung songs with him; I had paid him the same amount of attention that I considered due to all my husband’s guests; but Heaven knew my heart and conscience were free from all blame.
“How that day passed I could tell no one; it was one long dream of misery, one delirium of horror; and the night even worse. I saw the servants looking strangely at me—some of them sent in notice to leave—one or two went that very day; yet I was innocent, God knows I was—innocent as a little dreaming babe.
“The following morning brought a letter from my husband, it was even more cruel than his words had been. It merely said that he had commenced proceedings for a divorce, on the grounds of my conduct with the Duke of Launceston, and that he would not return home while I was there.
“Was ever woman so desolate? There was no one to whom I could appeal in this hour of distress—no friendly hand or heart to aid me. I could only kneel and pray to the most high God to make my innocence clear. Mr. Eyrle, my prayer will be answered yet.
“I was quite at a loss what to do. My heart was broken, for I had loved my husband very dearly. I had neither spirit, life, hope, energy or care for life left. What could life give me, now that he whom I had loved so dearly had proven not only false, but all that was mean, wicked and cruel. If I had knelt by my husband’s grave—if I had known him dead, it would have been ten thousand times easier to bear. I had no money. Sir Alfred never allowed me the free use of his purse. I had no friends. I shrank from going near any of the fashionable acquaintances I had made. Who would believe me innocent if he said I was guilty? Suddenly it flashed across me that this scandal must have been afloat in London, and that was why people looked so shyly at me; that was why the ladies I had known and liked avoided me, and no one could have spread that scandal but my husband. What chance had I against him—my word against his?
“Where was I to go? In all the world there was no one so utterly friendless and wretched. I thought heaven itself had worked a miracle in my favor when later on that day there came a letter from a London lawyer, a Mr. Hewson, saying that my aunt, Donna Maria de Borga, was dead, and had left all her money to me. It had been transmitted by her desire from Spain to England, and was ready for me any time I liked to claim it. At last, then, I had money, more than sufficient to live upon in the greatest comfort. I think no one was ever so grateful for a legacy as I felt then.
“An idea occurred to me. I resolved to go to London, and see this Mr. Hewson; perhaps he could advise me what to do. The more I thought of this plan the more advisable and prudent it appeared to me. I acted upon it. Sir Alfred had not given me much jewelry, but the little I possessed was made into a parcel, together with everything he had given me, and was sent to him. Then I bade farewell to the home I only remember with hatred and disgust.