Run to Earth: A Novel

by M. E. Braddon

These words, carelessly spoken, galled Sir Oswald to the quick; but he tried to conceal his pain, and parted from his nephew with affected gaiety of spirit.

Alone in his own study, he pondered long and moodily over the events of the day. He shrank from the society of his wife. Her tender words irritated him; he began to think those soft and loving accents were false. More than once he answered Honoria's anxious questions as to the cause of his gloom with a harshness that terrified her. She saw that her husband was changed, and knew not whence the change arose. And this vagrant's nature was a proud one. Her own manner changed to the man who had elevated her from the very mire to a position of splendour and honour. She, too, became reserved, and a cruel breach yawned between the husband and wife who, a few short days before, had been so happily united.

Truly, Victor Carrington's schemes prospered. Reginald Eversleigh looked on in silent wonder—too base to oppose himself to the foul plot which was being concocted under his eyes. Whatever the schemer bade him do, he did without shame or scruple. Before him glittered the dazzling vision of future fortune.

A week elapsed—a weary week for Sir Oswald Eversleigh, for every day and every hour seemed to widen the gulf between himself and his wife. Conscious of her innocence of the smallest offence against the man she truly and honestly loved, Honoria was too proud to sue for an explanation of that mysterious change which had banished all happiness and peace from her breast. More than once she had asked the cause of her husband's gloom of manner; more than once she had been coldly, almost rudely, repulsed. She sought, therefore, to question him no further; but held herself aloof from him with proud reserve. The cruel estrangement cost her dear; but she waited for Sir Oswald to break the ice—she waited for him to explain the meaning of his altered conduct.

In the meantime, she performed all her duties as mistress of the mansion with the same calm grace which had distinguished her from the first hour of her elevation to her new position. But the struggle was a painful one, and left its traces on her beautiful face. Sir Oswald perceived the change in that lovely countenance, and his jealousy distorted this change into a damning evidence against her.

"This man's devotion has touched her heart," he thought. "It is of him she is thinking when she is silent and pensive. She loves me no longer. Fool that I am, she never loved me! She saw in me a dupe ready to lift her from obscurity into the place she longed to occupy; and now that place is hers, she need no longer care to blindfold the eyes of her dupe; she may please herself, and enjoy the attentions of more agreeable adorers."

Then, in the next moment, remorse took possession of the baronet's heart, and for awhile he fancied that he had wronged his wife.

"Is she to blame because this man loves her?" he asked himself. "She may not even be aware of his love, though my watchful eyes have penetrated the secret. Oh, if I could only take her away from Raynham without delay—this very moment—or if I could clear the castle of all this frivolous, selfish, heartless gang—what happiness it would be! But I can do neither. I have invited these people, and I must play my part to the end. Even this Victor Carrington I dare not send out of my house; for, in so doing, I should confirm the suspicions of Lydia Graham, and all who think like her."

Thus mused Sir Oswald as he paced the broad terrace-walk alone, while his guests were enjoying themselves in different parts of the castle and grounds; and while Lady Eversleigh spent the summer afternoon in her own apartments, brooding sadly on her husband's unkindness.

There was one person to whom, in any ordinary trouble of mind, Sir Oswald Eversleigh would have most certainly turned for consolation; and that person was his old and tried friend, Captain Copplestone. But the jealous doubts which racked his brain were not to be revealed, even to this faithful friend. There was bitter humiliation in the thought of opening those bleeding wounds which had so newly lacerated his heart.