“Yes, I knew that; forgive me, Mr. Warden, if my conduct seem grossly impertinent to you. I know I have not the slightest right to ask these questions, but if you think I have in any way been to you as a son through these long sorrowful days, as a son I beg for the confidence of my father.”
“A son! ah, you have indeed been to me as a son in my affliction! But you are probing old wounds now, my young friend, and asking for a story sadder than the one you know already, because there is sin and crime mixed up in it.”
There was a pause, neither spoke for some minutes. Mr. Warden shaded his face with both hands, and his thoughts wandered back to his bright young days when sorrow seemed a far-away thing and death a hideous impossibility. The long sorrowful years that had since come and gone, faded from his memory; he no longer saw the room where he sat, nor even his companion, and rushing back upon him in full force came the recollection of young, strong passions, early hopes and fears, bright sunshiny hours when life was better worth having than it now was.
At length he uncovered his face and began speaking slowly as one in a dream. “I can see her now, see her as she stood the first day I saw her, in the lonely mountain country. Her feet on the black-red lava, the glowing sunset behind her head, her rich dark beauty flashing back every gold and crimson ray. I can see yet, her long white dress with its bright coloured ribbons and the dark-faced nurse by her side who scowled and frowned at me as my eyes expressed the wonder and admiration I felt. There and then I could have knelt at her feet and worshipped her as a goddess. Young and passionate, I poured out my all of love and devotion at her shrine; she vowed she loved me as I loved her; she took my heart into her keeping—played with it—broke it—and threw it on one side for ever.”
He paused, overcome by his recollections. Lord Hardcastle leaned forward breathlessly. Here was Mr. Warden voluntarily according the confidence he was so eager to obtain.
Presently Mr. Warden recommenced. “I married her according to the rites of her own Church. I can see her now in her royal beauty (she had the blood of Spanish kings in her veins) as she swept down the aisle, the small head thrown back, the dark eyes sometimes flashing, sometimes drooping, the full-parted lips and the delicate nostril. Lord Hardcastle,” he said suddenly turning to the young man, “You thought my daughter lovely, I suppose, but compared with her mother, my first Aimée, she was but as the wild white daisy to the queenly lily.”
Again he paused, then once more recommenced—
“For four short years we lived together, in perfect love but not in peace, for her wilful, passionate temper raised many storms between us. At last I felt it my duty to endeavour to curb, if I could not conquer, her waywardness; but I found the task altogether beyond me—I had so indulged her every whim and fancy that she would not brook the slightest control at my hands. Her nurse, Isola, added not a little to our difficulties; she worshipped her young mistress as a being of a superior order, and was continually representing to her that I had become harsh and tyrannical of late, whereas I was simply endeavouring to teach my wife how to acquire a little self-control. Seeing this, I contrived one morning to have a long quiet talk with Isola on the matter. I assured her my one object was to secure the peace and happiness of her young mistress, and begged her to aid me in my efforts as far as possible.
“But it was useless. Isola was loud and stubborn in her Cevenol patois. Mademoiselle (so she still called my wife) was perfect. What would I? Did I wish to freeze the warm southern blood in her veins, and teach her the cunning and caution of the cold-hearted northerners? Had not Aimée’s father and mother, each in dying, committed their darling to her care, and no power in heaven or earth would induce her to betray the trust. ‘I love those who love her,’ the poor ignorant faithful creature concluded, ‘and those who hate her, I hate also with an undying hatred.’ These last words she almost hissed in my face, then abruptly turned and left me, taking my little girl by the hand, telling her to come and gather lilies to make a crown for her dear mamma.
“Then I went to Aimée herself, and asked if she were ready to give me some real proof of her love, for I had come to ask her a great favour—