His whole being was so impregnated with his great love that he had failed to discover the true cause of Margery’s passive gentleness. It was true he did not think her heart held so deep a love as his own; but she was young, the marriage was hurried, love must have time to grow. In time his great devotion must reap its reward. The liking she now had would change to love. He must be patient and wait. So he reasoned in his happiness, dwelling with a thrill of joy on the memory that Margery had neither relatives nor friends. This girl, the star of his life, had none but him to tend her, none but him to whom she could turn. The pleasure that Margery showed in her new home struck the final chord of happiness in his heart.
The girl found much to occupy her in her new position, and her lovely face and kind words soon won the servants’ hearts, already disposed to love her for her gracious influence over their master.
It was about the end of the week that Margery learned accidentally from her husband that he had neglected his business in town on purpose to bring her away, and, without a moment’s hesitation, she begged him to return and complete his arrangements. The earl demurred, but at last, satisfied that she would not be lonely, he agreed, and departed, leaving many tender injunctions with her to take great care of herself in his absence.
The young wife felt a pang of remorse at the relief and pleasure she experienced when quite alone. She struggled hard with herself day and night; but to forget was so hard, and to remember so easy. Though she was surrounded by all that the world holds dear, she found no satisfaction in her wealth; her mind was lost to the present—it would persistently wander to the past—that past which, despite its pain and humiliation, was so sweet. The return to the country had brought back so much that was linked with her brief love-dream that the struggle seemed to grow greater day by day.
Pauline noticed her mistress’ grave, sad face, but attributed it to his lordship’s absence, and, to cheer her, would repeat the servants’ tales and anecdotes of his goodness, little thinking that every word went to Margery’s heart like a sword thrust. She regretted with a deep, unspeakable grief, that she had been silent with Lady Enid; had she but spoken of Stuart and of her unhappiness, all would have been different, and she would not have pledged her vows to this man, the depth of whose generosity, tenderness, and devotion touched her with acute pain. If she could but give him in return one-half the love he bestowed on her, she would be happier; but her love was dead, buried in a past summer dream, and she had nothing left for him.
“The loves and hours of the life of a man,
They are swift and sad, being born of the sea—
Hours that rejoice and regret for a span,
Born with a man’s breath mortal as he—
Loves that are lost ere they come to birth,