"Do not be uneasy; I know your heart. I have not a great experience such as yours, but the experience of thought and emotion are not unknown to me. You have been miserable, and even to-day it is not too late to sympathize with you."
Jean d'Alberg laughed—a low, incredulous, skeptical laugh, that half-frightened Honor.
"Do not talk of sympathy any more," she said, "such things are soap bubbles, beautiful to look at from a little distance, but stretch your hand out to grasp them, and what remains? No, no, Honor, give up that foolish game. You see by my tale that I have gone through the fire. I need scarcely tell you with what result. I rose from my bed of sickness with a heart of flint and a will of iron. I worked honorably and honestly to bring myself to this country, where there is true encouragement for industry and perseverance, to this Canada, which is the pride and glory of England, and whose arms are extended in an admirable hospitality to the homeless exiles and fugitives of the world. Here there is labor for all honest hands, and gratification for all honest hearts, and God cannot but bless and cause to prosper, a country so just, so encouraging and so kind.
"I was not long here when I first met Mr d'Alberg. He seemed taken with me, but my heart felt not the slightest passing emotion towards him. In the end he became satisfied to accept me as I was, and though I never wore out my sleeves caressing him, still I made him a tolerably good wife, until death wooed and won him from me, leaving me to live on the plenty he had accumulated in a lifetime. I am now neither happy nor miserable, I neither despair nor hope, I am waiting for time to do its best or worst, I am prepared for either. Life or death offer me equal fascinations, I seek nothing but what chance sends me, I have comforts, and in my way I enjoy them, that is all I want. Let me give you now one word of advice; live, act, and die, independently of every other person and circumstance but yourself and your own immediate concerns, for the mask of life is very deceptive, and we are not always strong enough to bear the stroke when it falls."
A heavy sigh followed these last words and then all was over. The long, intricate story of a lifetime, had been breathed out. The shadows of the wintry evening were trooping noiselessly from the corners of the room, and to the quiet observer there was nothing extraordinary to be read from the surroundings. Honor looked serious, but this was nothing new with her. Jean d'Alberg looked sadder than usual, though not with such a bitter sadness as one finds in the face of an ordinary heroine, who reviews the mockeries of her past for another woman. Were the verdict just, it should call them both sensible women.
It seemed such an unnatural and inconsistent sound when the demure old woman-servant appeared in the doorway and announced supper.
But these two women rose and went to the dining-room as mechanically as though they had just been discussing the last "poke" bonnet or Mother Hubbard mantle, in the most usual way imaginable. However, a new tie bound them together now, and though no direct allusion, was afterwards made by either party to the strange narrative, yet their sympathy so strong, though new-born, manifested itself in the look and actions of each, and they became what the world called "staunch friends."
CHAPTER XIV.
"Would you had thought twice,
Ah! if you had but follow'd my advice."
—Byron.
We left Guy in Mr. Rayne's study, in sore trouble as to how he could evade the task set him, and join his rioting friends in their proposed amusement. He scratched his head and made countless agonizing grimaces; he walked the room in long strides, until his patience had reached an almost impossible limit. Then he thought better of it, and decided to hold a calm, cool and collected council with himself. It was plain to his one-sided judgment that he was called upon to act, and to act immediately. But this was easier said than done. It is simple enough for a fellow to strike splendid chords on the piano, merely by ear, or in a moment of impromptu genius he may construct some wonderful little piece of mechanism; Guy felt that he could achieve countless feats such as these, but he'd be blessed if he could master a double-locked window, or door, through any innate talent, on a dark night, when every one is just asleep sound enough to start at the slightest noise. He had persuaded himself, by means of such fallacies, as come unbidden to the susceptible heart in the hour of temptation, that he must go out to-night by fair means or foul. Once decided, he did not hesitate to act, every one had retired, and surely he might steal out unobserved. The chances were he could get back the same way, and there would be nothing more about his little escapade. Noiselessly, stealthily, he collected the articles of his street wear, and rolling them up in a bundle, laid them by the window. Then nervously, and fearfully, he began the work of undoing the fierce looking bolt over the window. Every one of those queer little noises, the voices of the night, seemed to Guy the words of his uncle reproaching him with his disobedience. Once as he was just about to raise the lower part of the window, a coal gave away in the grate, and the rattle that followed its fall made him quake with fear.