Running the Gauntlet: A Novel

by Edmund Yates

"I hardly think it will do that," said Helen; "I fancy he will establish Mrs. Chisholm here en permanence; that is to say, until he marries."

"Is he likely to marry? Have you heard anything of that sort?"

"O no! he has never talked of any girls to me. He has never said anything the least like intending to marry. The only woman he ever speaks of--and he does talk of her, and sometimes hears from her--is Lady Mitford; you remember, you told me about her marriage,--the daughter of Mr. Stanfield, your old tutor, you know."

"Of course, I remember. How strangely things come about! it really seems as if there were only two sets of people in the world; for one never meets any one with whom one has not some link of communication! And Georgie Stanfield is Laurence Alsager's female crony and correspondent! How and where is she?"

"In town, I believe; but I don't know much about her. He used to speak of her vaguely, in talking to me of the great world and its hollowness, as of one whom he greatly liked and esteemed, and who was unfortunately circumstanced. He said he would have asked Lady Mitford down here in the autumn, if he could have asked her without her husband; but that, of course, was impossible, and he could not invite Sir Charles Mitford. I believe they are very unhappy. Think of that, Cuthbert,--a husband and wife unhappy! a splendid home, with rank and wealth, and misery!" The girl lifted solemn eyes full of wonder and compassion to her lover's face. "Sir Laurence wished that I could know her, for her sake, he kindly said."

"I wish you could, Helen; you would comfort her and do her good: and yet I would not have you saddened, my child, and made wise in the possibilities of life, as you must be if you had the confidence of an unhappy wife. You are better without it, darling--far better without it."

Then the curate remembered the alarm he had felt when Colonel Alsager made his appearance at Knockholt Park; and he confessed it to Helen, who laughed at him, and pretended to scold him, but who was not a little pleased all the time.

"You stupid Cuthbert!" said the young lady, to whom the curate had ceased to be an object of awe since their engagement; "it never came into Laurence's head to wish to marry me; and I am certain it never crossed any human being's imagination but your own that such a thing could ever happen."

The Reverend Cuthbert was reluctantly obliged to break off the conversation at this point, and go about his parish business. So he took leave of Helen, enjoining her to write to Sir Laurence that very day, and to make him acquainted with their engagement,--as Mrs. Chisholm, who had just entered the room, and to whom he referred the matter, gave it as her decided opinion that the communication should be made by Helen.

The post was not a subject of such overwhelming importance at Knockholt Park, its punctuality was not so earnestly discussed, nor was there as much excitement on its arrival, as at the generality of country-houses. Mrs. Chisholm had very few correspondents; Helen had only two, exclusive of Sir Laurence; and no letters were "due" at this particular time: hence it happened that the ladies often left the breakfast-table before the arrival of the letter-bag, and that its contents awaited their attention undisturbed through more hours of the day than most people would believe possible. Mrs. Chisholm never read the newspapers until the evening, and Helen never read them at all, being content with Cuthbert's version of public affairs. On this particular morning, however, Helen thought proper to remain in the breakfast-room until the post should arrive. The truth was she shrank from the task of writing to Sir Laurence, and she knew she ought to set about it at once; so she lingered and fidgeted about the breakfast-room long after Mrs. Chisholm had betaken herself to her daily confabulation with the housekeeper. Thus she was alone when the letter-bag was brought in, and she turned over its contents, expecting to find them of the usual uninteresting nature. There were several letters for Sir Laurence "to be forwarded," a number of circulars, a few letters for some of the servants, the customary newspapers, and lastly--a missive for Helen herself. It was a large letter in a blue envelope, and directed in a lawyer-like hand Helen opened it, feeling a little frightened, and found that the cover enclosed a packet addressed to her, in the hand of Sir Laurence Alsager, and marked "Private."