“ ... This is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.”
“That’s it!” he said. “That’s what’s the matter with her! She is crowned with that crown—poor little Violet! And by Jove she wears it royally! And she will rule her sorrow and conquer it with a fine strength and firm spirit,—and she will be a queen among women yet!—my little broken-hearted girl!”
And he wafted a kiss back to the windows of Miss Letty’s house as he pulled his hat over his eyes and walked away.
CHAPTER XI
After a storm comes a calm, and the old proverbs which tell us that the longest lane must have a turning and the darkest cloud a silver lining are not without something of a cheery note in their constant reiteration, like the repeated warble of a thrush telling us of the certainty of spring. And Violet Morrison soon began to prove these old-fashioned truths for herself, though the sudden and ruthless destruction of her first love dream had cast a shadow over the bright opening of her life, and had made her graver and more thoughtful than her youth and beauty warranted. Her troubles were none the less hard to bear, when the recalcitrant Max Nugent, weary of his connection with Lady Wantyn, promptly severed it as soon as her husband divorced that famous “beauty,” and sought to make his peace with the innocent girl whom he had so deeply wronged. Again and again he wrote to her and implored her to forgive him and to marry him,—but she answered none of his letters. The first faith and devotion of her heart were killed, and she knew she could never trust him, but he very persistently urged a renewal of his attentions in spite of the curt return of his letters through the Major’s hands, and she was therefore very glad when her uncle and Miss Letty decided to take her abroad for a time on a tour through France, Italy and Spain, as this gave her freedom, and an escape from the constant pleading of her former lover. The interest in new countries, and the constant distraction of thought caused by the various wonders and beauties of the shifting panorama, served as an excellent mental and moral tonic, and braced up all the energies of her mind. They stayed abroad, residing sometimes in one beautiful place, sometimes another, for about three years, and it was while they were wintering in Palermo in the last year of their wanderings that the Major received a letter which gave him the burden of another secret which he had to keep from Miss Letty in addition to the one concerning the “dead rascal” Harry Raikes. The letter was from an old friend and fellow-officer, and among other items of the news he gave was the following:—
“By the way, you asked me to tell you if I ever heard any news of D’Arcy-Muir’s son. I have heard something, and I expect it won’t please you. He passed by the skin of his teeth into Sandhurst,—and the other day was expelled for being drunk and kicking up a disorderly row. It is a bad job for the young chap, but what’s in the blood will out—and I suppose he has caught the drink disease from his father. He has ruined his military career at the outset.”
Long and deeply did the good Major ponder over this piece of depressing intelligence. He read it in the courtyard of the hotel in Palermo where they were just then staying, a courtyard which, as is the custom in Southern climes, presented the appearance of a fairy flower-garden, festooned with climbing plants in blossom, with oranges ripening in the warm sun, and odours of mimosa, heliotrope and violets on the air. “Expelled for being drunk”! The news seemed an infamy and an insult, in such a scene of beauty as that which he looked upon.
“God bless my soul!” he murmured disconsolately, fixing his eyes on a fair cluster of white clematis swinging above his head. “It seems to me that some of us aren’t fit to inhabit this planet! There’s everything beautiful in it, and everything is wisely ordained,—and it is only we who make the mischief and create the trouble. ‘Expelled for being drunk’! And that kind of thing ends in being expelled from the world altogether before one has served one’s time. What would Letty say!”
He sighed heavily,—but in a few minutes of consideration decided that it would be worse than foolish to tell her.
“Let her keep her little ideal somewhere in her heart,” he said to himself. “Don’t let me be such a great blundering idiot as to smudge all the picture out for her. She believes in Harry Raikes,—she may as well believe in Boy as long as she can. And if anyone tells her what’s happened, it won’t be me!”