The Cameron pride; or, purified by suffering

by Mary Jane Holmes

Wilford’s voice trembled, and for a moment there was silence in the room, while he composed himself to go on with the story:

“She would not live with me again if she could, she said, denouncing bitterly the Cameron pride, and saying she was happier to be free; and there we parted, but not until she told me that her traducer was the old discarded suitor who had sworn to have revenge, and who, since the divorce, had dared seek her again. A vague suspicion of this had crossed my mind once before, but the die was cast, and even if the man were false, what I saw myself in Rome still stood against her, and so my conscience was quieted, while mother was more than glad to be rid of a daughter-in-law of whose family I knew nothing. Rumors I did hear of a cousin whose character was not the best, and of the father who for some crime had fled the country, and died in a foreign land, but as that was nothing to me now, I passed it by, feeling it was best to be released from one of so doubtful antecedents.

“In the spring of 185— we came back to New York, where no one had ever heard of the affair, so quietly had it been managed. I was still an unmarried man to the world, as no one but my mother knew my secret. With her I often talked of Genevra, wishing sometimes that I could hear from her, a wish which was finally gratified. One day I received a note requesting an interview at a down town hotel, the writer signing himself as Thomas Lambert, and adding that I need have no fears, as he came to perform an act of justice, not of retribution. Three hours later I was locked in a room with Genevra’s father, the same man whom I had seen in Rome. Detected in forgery years before, he had fled from England and had hidden himself in Rome, where he accidentally met his daughter, and so that stain was removed. He had heard of the divorce by a letter which Genevra managed to send him, and braving all difficulties and dangers he had come back to England and found his child, hearing from her the story of her wrongs, and as well as he was able setting himself to discover the author of the calumny. He was not long in tracing it to Le Roy, Genevra’s former suitor, whom he found in a dying condition, and who with his last breath confessed the falsehood which was imposed upon me, he said, partly from motives of revenge, and partly, with a hope that free from me, Genevra would at the last turn to him. As proof that Mr. Lambert told me truth, he brought the dying man’s confession, written in a cramped, trembling hand, which I recognized at once. The confession ended with the solemn assertion, ‘For aught I know or believe, Genevra Lambert is as pure and true as any woman living.’

“I cannot describe the effect this had upon me. I did not love Genevra then. I had out-lived that affection, but I felt remorse and pity for having wronged her, and asked how I could make amends.

“‘You cannot,’ the old man said, ‘except in one way, and that she does not desire. I did not come here with any wish for you to take her for your wife again. It was an unequal match which never should have been; but if you believe her innocent, she will be satisfied. She wanted you to know it—I wanted you to know it, and so I crossed the sea to find you.’”

“The next I heard of her was in the columns of an English newspaper, which told me she was dead, while in another place a pencil mark was lightly traced around a paragraph, which said that ‘a forger, Thomas Lambert, who escaped years ago and was supposed to be dead, had recently reappeared in England, where he was recognized, but not arrested, for the illness which proved fatal. He was attended,’ the paper said, ‘by his daughter, a beautiful young girl, whose modest mien and gentle manner had done much towards keeping the officers of justice from her dying father, no one being able to withstand her pleadings that her father might die in peace.’

“I was grateful for this tribute to Genevra, for I felt that it was deserved; and I turned again to the notice of her death, which must have occurred within a short time of her father’s, and was probably induced by past troubles and recent anxiety for him.

“Genevra Lambert died at Alnwick, aged 22. There could be no mistake, and with a tear to the memory of the dead whom I had loved and injured, I burned the paper, feeling that now there was no clue to the secret I was as anxious to preserve as was my mother.

“And so the years wore on till I met and married you, withholding from you that yours was not the first love which had stirred my heart. I meant to tell you, Katy, but I could not for the great fear of losing you if you knew all. And then an error concealed so long is hard to be confessed. I took you across the sea to Brighton, where I first met Genevra, and then to Alnwick, seeking out the grave which made assurance doubly sure. It was natural that I should make some inquiries concerning her last days; I questioned the old sexton who was at work near by. Calling his attention to the name, I said it was an uncommon one and asked if he knew the girl.

“‘Not by sight, no,’ he said. ‘She was only here a few days before she died. I’ve heard she was very winsome and that there was a scandal of some kind mixed up with her.’