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FOURTH EDITION.
THE
FATE OF FENELLA.
BY
HELEN MATHERS.
JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY.
MRS. TROLLOPE.
A. CONAN DOYLE.
MAY CROMMELIN.
F. C. PHILLIPS.
" RITA."
JOSEPH HATTON.
MRS. LOVETT CAMERON.
BRAM STOKER.
FLORENCE MARRYAT.
FRANK DANBY.
MRS. EDWARD KENNARD.
RICHARD DOWLING.
MRS. HUNGERFORD.
ARTHUR A'BECKETT.
JEAN MIDDLEMASS.
CLEMENT SCOTT.
CLO. GRAVES.
H. W. LUCY.
ADELINE SERGEANT.
G. MANVILLE FENN.
" TASMA."
F. ANSTEY.
WITH SEVENTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. LEIGHTON.
LONDON:
HUTCHINSON & CO.,
34, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.G.
1893.
I All rights reserved.]
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON, AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.
EDITOR'S NOTE.
HAT twenty-four well-known writers should
each be able to affirm that " I wrote a
twenty-fourth part of that Novel " is sufficiently
striking even in these days of literary collabora¬
tion. But that each should further be able to
say that " I did so without any collaboration
whatever, without a word exchanged, or a refer¬
ence made, to my twenty-three fellow-workers"
will, I think, be regarded as somewhat startling.
That I have survived to write this note is
attributable to the fact that there was no col¬
laboration in the ordinary sense of the word.
Had it been otherwise the ten months of patient
labour involved in matching off a dozen pairs of
authors and authoresses must have produced a
literary " Frankenstein," which would have fallen
upon and pulverised me, as soon as life was
breathed into it, by twenty-four persons discussing
in
iv
editor's note.
plot, plan, and characters from twenty-four points
of view.
Mr. Walter Besant has said, in reference to
collaboration in novel writing, that there must be
one dominant mind responsible for-the production
of the work of two or more collaborateurs. It
would be a little difficult to apply the theory in
this case, where the novel has been developed
chapter by chapter, without plan. I leave it to
the intelligent reader to discover the " dominant
mind " in the " Fate of Fenella."
The story was told week by week in the
pages of The Gentlewoman, for which journal it
was specially written, and having since passed
through two Library Editions, now makes its
appearance in a cheaper form.
J. S. Wood.
Howard House,
Arundel Street, Temple.
August, 1892.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
FENELLA" . . . . „ , I
BY HELEN MATHERS.
CHAPTER II.
KISMET . . .18
BY JUSTIN MCCARTHY, M.P,
CHAPTER III.
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY . . . 31
BY FRANCIS ELEANOR TROLLOPE.
CHAPTER IV.
" BETWEEN TWO FIRES 49
BY A. CONAN DOYLE
CHAPTER V.
COMPLICATIONS . . . . . 62
BY MAY CROMMELIN.
VI
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VI.
A WOMAN'S VIEW OF THE MATTER
BY F. C. PHILLIPS.
CHAPTER VII.
SO NEAR—SO FAR AWAY
BY " RITA."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE TRAGEDY. .
BY JOSEPH HATTON.
CHAPTER IX.
FREE ONCE AGAIN ....
BY MRS. LOVETT CAMERON.
CHAPTER X.
LORD CASTLETON EXPLAINS .
BY BR AM STOKER.
CHAPTER XI.
MADAME DE VIGNY'S REVENGE
BY FLORENCE MARRYAT.
CHAPTER XII.
TO LIVE OR DIE? .
BY FRANK DANBY.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIII.
"THE SCARS REMAINED"
BY MRS. EDWARD KENNARD
CHAPTER XIV.
DERELICT .....
BY RICHARD DOWLING.
CHAPTER XV.
ANOTHER RIFT ....
BY MRS. HUNGERFORD.
CHAPTER XVI.
IN NEW YORK
BY ARTHUR A'BECKETT.
CHAPTER XVII.
CONFINED IN A MADHOUSE .
BY JEAN MIDDLEMASS.
CHAPTER XVIII.
"WITHIN SIGHT OF HOME" .
BY CLEMENT SCOTT.
CHAPTER XIX.
A VISION FROM THE SEA
BY CLO GRAVES.
Vlll
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XX.
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER .
BY H. W. LUCY.
CHAPTER XXI.
"ALIVE OR DEAD?"
BY ADELINE SERGEANT.
CHAPTER XXII.
RETRIBUTION
BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER XXIII.
SICK UNTO DEATH ....
BY " TASMA."
CHAPTER XXIV.
"WHOM THE GODS HATE DIE HARD'
BY F. ANSTEY.
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
*
CHAPTER I.
" fenella."
BY HELEN MATHERS.
" And dinna ye mind, love Gregory,
As we twa sate at dine,
How we changed the rings frae our fingers,
And I can show thee thine ? "
Her hair, gloves, and shoes were tan-colour,
and closely allied to tan, too, was the tawny, true
tiger-tint of her hazel eyes. For the rest, she
was entirely white save for her dark lashes and
brows, the faint tint of rose in her small cheeks,
and a deeper red in the lips that were parted just
then in a spasm of silent, delighted mirth. She
stood on the top steps of the Prospect Hotel,
Harrogate, waiting for the coach to come round,
and looking across the hotel gardens to the
picturesque Stray beyond, upon which an unique
I
2
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
game of cricket was just then going forward,
to the intense diversion of all beholders. Two
little boys had evidently started it on their own
hook, and a variety of casuals had dropped in
to bear a hand, the most distinguished of these
being a nigger minstrel, who, in full war-paint,
and with deep lace ruffles falling over his sooty
hands, was showing all his white teeth, and bat¬
ting with a prowess that kept the whole field in
action.
" I hope Ronny won't get his pate cracked,"
said the girl, half aloud, as the four greys drew
up with a flourish, and the usual bustle on the
steps began. " Good morning, George ! " and
she nodded brightly to the good-looking driver,
who beamed all over, and touched his hat, for
the girl had clambered to many a pleasant drive
beside him during the past fortnight.
" Box-seat again!" snapped a spiteful female
voice behind her. " I wonder she is allowed to
monopolise the best seat as she does, day after
day!"
The girl laughed, as giving a brief glimpse of
a soft mass of whiteness above silken hose, she
swung lightly up to the perch that was indeed
wide enough to accommodate three persons,
though the privilege of occupying the third lay
entirely within George's jurisdiction, and was
never, save to an old favourite, accorded.
" FENELLA."
3
"Where are we going to-day?" she said, as
she settled herself comfortably, and unfurled a
"SHE SWUNG LIGHTLY UP TO THE PERCH " {p. 2.)
big tan-colour sunshade. " Not to any of those
tiresome show-places, I hope? I'm so tired of
them! "
4
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" No, miss," said George, who refused, even in
the teeth of Ronny, to recognise her as anything
but a slip of a girl, "we're going for a drive of
my own; just dawdling about a bit like, and
nowhere in particular."
"Jolly!" she said, sniffing up the pure air as
if she loved it, and with that delightful quality of
enjoyment in her voice which acts like an elixir
on surrounding company. " Do you know, I
mean to come up here every year to drink the
waters, for I've got to love the place!"
George looked delighted as he glanced round
to see if all his cargo was aboard, but as usual
! every one was waiting for the inevitable person
who is always late, and who will probably be
too late for his own funeral if he can possibly
: manage it.
" Most people who come here once come again,
miss," said George, twisting the lash of his whip
into a knot. " There's one gentleman who never
misses a season, and I was going to ask you, as
a favour, if you'd mind his coming on the box-
seat this morning? He 'most always had it last
year. I told him I must ask a lady's consent,
so we're to pick him up outside the Pump-room
if you're quite agreeable."
" Is he fat ?" said the girl, dubiously, and feel¬
ing that her drive would be quite spoiled.
4< He's as slight as a poplar," said George, his
" FENELLA."
5
face lightening up, " and he's a gentleman, miss,
and you can't say more than that. There's so
few of 'em about nowadays ! "
The cargo was now complete. The miscel¬
laneous crowd that daily assembled to witness
the departure of the coach fell back, the horses
stretched out into a gallop, and skirting the hotel
garden, with its lounging seats and cheerful
awnings, rounded the corner with a flourish,
emerging on the Stray with a musical horn-
blowing that made Ronny, in the distance, hold
up his little flushed face to his mother, and wave
the bat he was so very seldom allowed to use.
The girl waved and kissed her hand lovingly
to the boy, and the nigger, appropriating the
compliment to himself, and promptly returning
the same, while he also tried to combine business
and pleasure by hitting a ball, lost his balance,
and sat down in a large puddle. Quaint and
varied were the aspects of life afforded by the
Stray, that curious piece of ground secured to the '
townspeople for ever, that in some parts almost
resembles a fair; while in others, ancient trees
shut in stately houses that have all the dignity
and peace of a cathedral close.
In the open a band was playing, nigger min¬
strels were performing, children played, old maids
cackled, pigeons flocked, fortune-tellers plied their
craft, and old couples sat side by side like puffins
6
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
warming themselves in the sun. Even the inevit¬
able groaning Salvation Army lasses and lads
were there, combining piety and health with that
astuteness which is so distinguishing a feature of
their peculiar religion.
And the thoroughly English scene, so full of
human life, and steeped through and through with
such a glory of September air and sunshine as
even summer had never dared to promise, or
even tried to fulfil, gave extraordinary pleasure to
the heart, making one feel, with Lucretius, that
" he who has grown weary of remaining at home
often goes forth, and suddenly returns, inasmuch
as he perceives he is nothing better for being
abroad."
Down the steep incline in George's smartest
style, past the Crown Hotel, that should surely
be at the top of the hill, not the bottom, and so
to the Pump-room, where with a clash and a
clatter he draws up, scanning the crowd of people,
who, having drunk their nauseous doses inside,
are dawdling and gossiping ,in true Harrogate
fashion before they disperse.
The girl does not take the trouble to look at
any of them, not even when George touches his
hat, and says, " Here, my lord." Then there is
the sensation as of a person ascending the coach,
on her side, she indignantly notes, so that she
hastily whispers,—
" FENELLA." 7
" Couldn't he go on your other side, George ?'
"Very sorry, miss, but couldn't drive that
way," and then she draws her skirts close to her,
with head turned aside, as her unwelcome coach-
fellow swings himself into the seat beside her.
She is so slight, so small, that after all there is
ample room and to spare, especially as he answers
to the graceful description of him furnished by
the driver.
"Do you call this a new drive?" she says
to George, as they rattle past the lovely Bogs
8
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Valley Gardens, and up the steep ascent to the
Spa. 44 Why "
"Fenella /" breathlessly exclaimed a voice
beside her.
4' Frank ! "
Two aghast, petrified young faces looked into
each other; then the girl, recovering herself first,
said,—
44 Pray, how do you come here ? "
" And what brings you ? " he retorted.
14 Gout. What are you laughing at?" she
said, airily; "haven't I got ancestors? Didn't
they drink October ale by the hogshead, and old
port by the gallon ? And Tve got to pay the
piper, for I never heard of the liquor hurting
them. But talking of ancestors, I've got such a
lovely story to tell you. There is a frightfully
fat, vulgar woman at our hotel, and you know
there are only two things in this sinful world that
give me real fits—humbug and vulgarity. Well,
this woman never for one single meal lets any¬
body forget her progenitors, and bawls out at the
top of her dreadful voice, 4 All my people are
cavalry people !' And what do you think ? Her
uncle keeps a pork-shop not far from here, so
after all she's perfectly right in her boast, only
the cavalry are—Pigs ! "
Frank laughed.
44 You are as bad as ever, I see," he said, and
" FENELLA."
9
then glanced at the driver, who had averted his
head as much as possible.
" George," said Fenella, putting a coaxing little
face round his shoulder, "could you—would you
mind putting a bit of cotton wool in your ear on
this side, because I want to talk to—to Lord
Francis? I've got a bit in my pocket some¬
where, I know !"
George's face flickered, as he expressed himself
quite agreeable, but was rather surprised, as blue-
blooded people usually talk before their inferiors
as if they had no more hearing and understanding
faculties than tables or chairs. When the wool
was produced out of a smart little pocket, he
proceeded to plug his ear gravely, and even
rammed it down hard, to show that his intentions
were strictly honourable. This business over,
Fenella turned round, and showed a little laugh¬
ing face that seemed to have caught all the
sunshine of the day, ay, and held it fast.
" I always carry a bit in my pocket for Ronny,"
she said, "as he gets a touch of ear-ache some¬
times. What's that ? They can hear us behind ?
Oh ! no, the trot of the horses' feet swallows up
our voices. Let them talk. They will say I
picked you up ! "
" So you did. Do you know any of them ? "
"Heaven forbid! A woman, my dear, who
never sits in the drawing-room with the other
IO THE FATE OF FENELLA.
ladies," said Fenella, adroitly mimicking a sour
female voice, " there must be something wrong
about her. And so there is," she added, below her
breath, and for a moment the little face grew hard.
" How is Ronny ?" said Frank.
" He is very well," she said, nonchalantly.
" Poor wee man, isn't it a good job he isn't a
girl ? And he hasn't begun to grow ugly and
horrid and masculine yet—he is all mine, mine!"
The mother's love in her rang out trium¬
phantly, and her face grew very tender.
"We have such good times together, he and
I," she went on happily; "he is not with me
to-day, because he is playing cricket at the
present moment. We go down to the Stray
with the bat and stumps, and forage round for a
scratch team. I took a hand myself the other
day, and actually bowled out a butcher's boy ! "
Frank laughed, then shook his head. "You
are quite as mad as ever," he said. " Where is
your companion ? "
" I hope" said Fenella, calmly, " that she is
dead. I didn't try to polish off any of the other
ones, because they meant well in spite of their
aggravatingness, but she was downright wicked.
So I led her a life," she concluded, looking as
triumphantly happy as a child who plays truant
on a glorious day, with a pocketfull of pennies
and burnt almonds.
" FENELLA."
Frank shook his head sadly.
" Why won't you be good, Fenella? " he said.
" You could be so easily."
" I always am," said Fenella, promptly, and
nodded her curly head close to his nose. " I take
sulphur baths, and regularly sneeze sulphur. I
get up every morning at half-past seven. Just
think of that! It's a fearful scramble, because
Ronny never will wake up. He sleeps just like
you, for ever and ever." She stopped, and
coloured vividly, then dashed on again breath¬
lessly, " And of course it takes some time to
dress him."
"You have no nurse, no maid ? " he exclaimed,
in amazement.
" No," she replied, with great sang-froid, " I
like a free hand, and no woman can have that,
with a female detective tripping up her heels, and
wearing her silk stockings. And I love to wait
on Ronny—to wash and dress him, and make him
look sweet. Of course," she added anxiously,
"he isn't always clean—the dirtier a boy is, the
nicer he is—but he is perfectly happy! You
should see us run down the hill to the Pump-
room, though every one has done long before we
get there! And then we eat such a breakfast.
We've got a dear little fat waiter who simply
devotes himself to us, and steals for us all the
newest eggs. But he had an awful accident
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
yesterday," said Fenella, turning tragic eyes on
Frank; "what do you think it was?"
"He fell in love with you ? "
Fenella began to laugh in that low gurgle
which was so like the sound of a cheerful, over¬
full brook.
" Do you remember you said that about my
hairdresser ? And how I said I thought it would
really have come cheaper in the end it I had
married him ? I always thought that rather neat
myself. But I never told you what the accident
was. He broke four hundred plates yesterday ! "
" Very greedy of him if he did it all at once."
"It was all at once. The strap of the lift
broke as he was hauling them up !"
" Poor devil! " said Frank absently.
They were quite away from the houses now,
and the, brisk, pure air, the pleasant scents from
the hedgerows, and the swift movement to the
music of the horses' feet, and perhaps some other
sources of satisfaction within, brought a light to
Fenella's eyes, and a rose-soft colour to her cheek,
that made her altogether enchanting and sweet.
"And pray," said Frank, looking at her
eagerly, unwillingly, as at forbidden fruit that
sorely tempted him, " do you talk to any of the
fellows at the hotel ? "
" No," she said airily, " they talk to me. You
see, they are all so fond of Ronny."
"FENELLA."
13
"No doubt," said Frank, curtly and significantly.
" But I pretend not to hear. Stay—there is
one man whom I talk to "
" Who is he?" said Frank, grimly, and looking
straight between the horses' ears.
" Oh, nobody in particular," said Fenella, rather
faintly; " but you see he has a small nephew
here, and it seems he and Ronny met at the
Grandisons in the country, and are quite old
friends. So the barrister and I have got quite
pally."
Frank sat mute as a fish.
"He is of the type I rather admire," she said,
with a suspicious note in her voice. "You know,
Frank," she lifted a naively impudent, grave little
face to his, " I always did like a dark, clean¬
shaven man!"
Frank himself was as dark and clean-shaven
as it was possible to be, and the corners of his
mouth trembled at her audacity, as he turned
away.
"He told me such a delicious story yesterday,"
she went on, her face breaking up into dimples.
" It was about a little girl upon whose mother
a horrid old woman was calling. When the old
woman got up to depart, she said to the child,
' You'll come and see me, my dear, won't you ?'
1 Oh, yes !' said the child. ' But you don't know
where I live?' 'Yes, I do,' said the child,
M
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
nodding. ' I know who is your next-door neigh¬
bour.' ' Who is that ?' says the old woman.
' Why, mother says you are next door to a
fool!'"
But Frank did not smile. It is curious that
a man's sense of humour is usually entirely in
abeyance when matters of stern import engross
him, while a woman's is usually at its keenest
when tragedy is in the air.
"What do people think at the hotel?" he
burst out, in the undertone both had maintained
throughout the conversation.
" That I am a widow," she said, coolly ; "that
is to say, if they turn up the hotel list of visitors."
"What name have you inscribed?" he said,
coldly.
" Fenella Ffrench. I suppose I have a right
to my own name ? "
" And the child's ? "
" Ronny Onslow."
" What are your trustees about ? " he broke
out, with subdued passion.
Fenella shrugged her slender shoulders and
laughed. " I was twenty-four years old yester¬
day," she said, with apparent irrelevance; "did
you remember ? "
" I remembered," he said, curtly.
" Talking of trustees," she said, " will you
ever forget the talk and fuss and documents that
" FENELLA."
15
day at Carlton House Terrace ? I couldn't help
thinking of Lady Caroline Lamb, and how, when
she and her husband were
required to sign the deed of
separation, the pair of them
could nowhere be found! When
discovered at last, Lady
Caroline was on her hus¬
band's knee, feeding him
with bread and butter!
But, though they
parted, he loved her
all the time," went
on Fenella, the little
mocking voice grown
suddenly wistful;'' and
it was on his faithful
breast that she pillowed her dying head at last,
and his kind voice that sped her on her way ! "
WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE ?
O 16.)
16 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"Yes," said Frank, in a strained voice; "her
faults were more of head than heart. But some
women have not even hearts for faults to be bred
in. Why did you do it?" he said suddenly, with
a mist before his own eyes that hindered him
from seeing the tears in hers.
"Hi! Onslow! I say, Onslow/" shouted a
voice, that seemed to come from beneath the
horses' feet, and both the young people peeped
over, to see a fat little man in white linen clothes,
standing on tiptoe in the road, and blowing out
his cheeks like a cherub's.
"Why, Castleton!" cried Frank, "what are
you doing there ? "
" Walking down my fat, dear boy. I was look¬
ing heavenwards, and saw you coming. Where
do you hang out? Beastly water—rotten eggs,
rusty iron, and a dash of old Nick. Oh! I
say!" (catching sight of Fenella, not quite hidden
by her sunshade), " is that really—well, you
know, really—I am astonished—and delighted,
too ! I always said "
" Drive on !" roared Frank, and on they went
upon the instant, and Frank turned to look at
Fenella. She was very pale, and very angry,
with all the summer gladness gone out of her eyes
and lips.
" Frank," she said, " never, never will I submit
to be made ridiculous. By to-morrow this time
" FENELLA."
17
the story will be all over the London clubs.
Drive back to Harrogate with you I will not, and
either you get down, or I will."
Frank never moved.
" George ! "
" Yes, my lady."
She stamped her little foot.
" How dare you call me that ?" she said, in a
furious under-breath. " Put me down !"
George never budged an inch. The trot-trot
of the horses' feet maddened her, and she sprang
up.
" Fenella," said Frank, winding his arm round
her waist, " if you don't sit tight I'll put you on
my knee, and keep you there, and then I'll kiss
you."
2
CHAPTER II.
KISMET.
by justin h. McCarthy, m.p.
" But, ah, that Spring should vanish with the rose,
That youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close."
Omar Khayyam.
" Hulloa, Jacynth!"
Jacynth awoke from his reverie with a start,
and stared at the speaker. He had quite for¬
gotten where he was. Through the grey smoke
of his cigarette he had conjured, as from some
magic vapour, an enchanting face—a girl's face—
with hazel eyes and wonderful tan-coloured hair.
He had been in dreamland, and now he was only
in the gardens of the hotel, and instead of his
exquisite vision he found facing him a fat little
man in white linen, who looked very hot and
very jolly.
" I say, Jacynth, don't you remember me?"
Jacynth did not remember, at least fully. He
had a dim consciousness that the fat little figure
ought to be familiar to him, but he could not
remember where or why. He had not quite
18
KISMET. 19
collected himself yet, and he was slightly annoyed
at the interruption to his day-dream. Also he
was annoyed at being annoyed and being discom¬
posed by anything. No perplexing witness, no
hostile counsel, no antagonistic judge, had ever
been known to ruffle Clitheroe Jacynth's imper-
'"i SAY, JACYNTH, DON'T YOU REMEMBER ME?'" (/>. l8).
turbability. But then no vision with tan-coloured
hair and hazel eyes had ever come into court
with him. He looked at the fat white figure, and
shook his head gravely.
" But I say, hang it all, Jacynth, don't you
remember that night in Cairo, and the dancing
20
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
girls, and the hasheesh den, and the row, and all
the rest of it ? "
Memory asserted herself in Jacynth's mind.
He did remember a night in Cairo when a party
of young fellows from Shepheard's set out to see
something of the queer Cairene slums. The fat
little man was of the party; he was in white
then, too, Jacynth remembered. He remem¬
bered, too, how hugely the little man had enjoyed
everything, from the—well, the eccentricities of
the dancing girls to the fumes in the hasheesh
den, and even to the final scrimmage in the
gambling hell, when Jacynth by a timely stroke
saved his fat companion from being knifed by
a Levantine rogue who had been detected in
cheating. There was an awful row, afterwards; he
remembered that, too, and an awkward business
before the authorities next morning, but the
names of his friends and his own legal reputation
settled the matter. Yes, he remembered the
fat little man now. He got up with a smile on
his dark, clean-shaven face, and held out his
hand.
" How are you, Lord Castleton ? "
Lord Castleton laughed. That was his way.
He went through life laughing, as if everything
were the best joke in the world.
"I'm glad you haven't forgotten me," he said.
"By Jove! I haven't forgotten you, and that
KISMET.
21
turn of the wrist which sent that Levantine devil's
toothpick spinning. Well, and how are you?"
The men had sat down beside each other on
the garden chair. Castleton produced a cigarette-
case almost as fat as himself, on which a daintily-
painted ballet girl disported.
"Try one!" he said; "they are ripping.
Bingham Pasha sent them to me himself. He
got them from the Sultan."
Jacynth took a cigarette, lit it from the end of
his own, Castleton watching him all the time with
the most jocular expression.
"You're not looking very fit," he said.
" Those confounded courts, I suppose. By
Jove! I shouldn't like to be a lawyer."
"Oh, I'm all right," Jacynth said; "I'm not
taking the waters here. My sister lives here, and
I've a festive little nephew. I only came here
for a rest; I don't quite know why I came here
just now though. Kismet, I suppose."
As he spoke that same vision of face and hair
and eyes floated up before him.
Castleton laughed more boisterously than ever
" Ah! Kismet, the dear old word. Yes, I
suppose it's fate that makes us do most of the
things which we seem to do for no particular
reason."
"Has Kismet brought you here?" Jacynth
inquired. " You seem fit enough, at all events."
22
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" Fit, my dear fellow ? Not at all."
It was one of Castleton's little jocularities with
life to consider himself likely at any moment to
become a confirmed invalid. " I was up in Bag¬
dad, and I picked up an English paper which
said that Harrogate was looking lovely, and
somehow I felt homesick and seedy, and all that
sort of thing, so I just cut the East and came
slap on here."
"Do you know," said Jacynth gravely, "that
there are moments when I feel much more in¬
clined to cut the West, and go, as you say, 'slap
on' to some sleepy Eastern place—Bagdad,
perhaps, or Japan—and dream away the rest of
my life."
" The rest of your life ? You talk as if you
were ninety!" And Castleton slapped his fat
little leg merrily.
" Don't you know what the man-at-arms says in
Thackeray's ballad?" Jacynth replied. "'Wait
till you come to forty year.' Well, I have come
to forty year, pretty nearly. I was thirty-nine
three weeks ago—and do you know, Castleton,
there are times when I'm tired of the whole
business."
" By Jove ! what would the judges say if they
heard the famous Clitheroe Jacynth talking like
this ? "
" My dear fellow, I'm not famous, and if I
KISMET.
23
were, what's the good of being famous at the
price of becoming a fossil ? "
" Do you know," said Castleton, with a grin,
" I believe you must be mashed on somebody or
other, by Jove I do, if you talk "
Before Castleton had finished his sentence he
became aware that Jacynth was not paying him
much attention. In fact, Jacynth's gaze seemed
to be directed very intently towards the end of
the garden, and Jacynth's mind appeared to be
giving no heed whatever to Castleton's amiable
garrulity. So Castleton, following the direction
of his friend's glance, saw in the distance a
woman's form—a form that was familiar to him ;
a form that he had already seen that day.
"By J ove! " said Castleton to himself, softly.
He had no time to say more, even to himself, for
Jacynth had jumped to his feet and was bidding
him good-bye.
" Glad to have met you; hope to see you
soon again." These were the words Jacynth was
saying, with a confusion curiously at variance
with his habitual composure. He shook Castle¬
ton warmly by the hand, and moved away so
rapidly that Castleton's " Why, my dear boy, of
course you will; I shall stop here for ever so
long," was delivered to the empty air.
"By J ove!" Castleton said again, this time
aloud, as he watched Jacynth's rapid advance in
24
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
the direction of the girl. " By Jove, he's struck
like all the lot. Poor devil! I'll stay here and
give him a hint presently. Oh, poor devil, poor
devil!" And Castleton's jolly face expressed as
much honest commiseration as its ruddy plump¬
ness permitted.
In the meantime, Jacynth, walking rapidly,
had met the girl. She smiled a welcome to him,
and stopped as he stopped. Her face seemed
troubled, he thought, in spite of its enchanting
smile.
" How grave you look ! " he began, for want
of anything better to say.
" How grave you look!" she retorted, with a
flash of the familiar enchanting audacity, as she
looked up into his grave dark face.
" I have something to say to you," said Jacynth.
The remark was commonplace enough, but he
felt his voice fail as he said it, and he knew by
the sudden heat in his face that the blood was
filling his pale cheeks.
The sound of his voice evidently impressed the
girl, for she looked up at him with a sudden start
and her reply was queerly girlish and puzzled.
"What is it?" Then, as if she felt suddenly
conscious of a blunder, or of unexpected know¬
ledge, she tried to add other words,—
" I mean, of course—I do not understand—
I am looking for Ronny."
KISMET. 25
" Ronny is quite safe," said Jacynth, gravely.
"He is still at cricket with Harold. What
I have to say does concern him, though, a
little."
" Concern Ronny ! " There was a genuine
note of alarm in the girl's fresh voice, and she
looked up at Jacynth with a wistful trouble in
her eyes. " Concern Ronny ! Why, what have
you to say about Ronny ?"
" Can you give me a few moments ? " he asked.
" It is quiet here."
He pointed to a pathway more secluded than
the rest; a pathway with a rustic garden chair—
a deserted pathway. " Shall we sit here for a
minute ?" he said, and they walked to the rustic
seat, and sat down side by side. There was a
curious look of alarm in the hazel-coloured eyes,
but Jacynth did not notice it, for he was looking
down, tracing a word upon the ground with his
stick, and the word that he traced was the word
he had used but now—Kismet.
"What do you want to say to me?" He
could hear a hard ring iri her voice, and looking
up he saw a hardness in her eyes, and his lips
trembled.
" We have been very good friends," he began,
and faltered. She caught him up.
"We have been good friends," she said. " If
you wish us to be good friends any more you
26
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
will not say what it is just possible that you
may think of saying. There are some words
which will estrange us for ever."
Jacynth looked at her despairingly. How
exquisitely lovely she looked, like some angel
" TRACING A WORD UPON THE GROUND WITH HIS STICK" (/>. 25).
of youth, some vision of summer in that autumnal
garden. His heart seemed to be beating very
fast, his eyes were hot and his lips dry, and his
hands trembled feverishly.
" Listen !" he said, and as he spoke his own
voice sounded far away and unfamiliar, like the
voice of some shadow encountered in a dream.
KISMET.
27
" Listen! I love you with all my heart. Hush!
let me say what I have got to say "—for she had
turned to him, half appealing, as if to interrupt
his declaration—" I daresay you may think it
very audacious of me to love you—or, at least,
for I could not help loving you, to tell you so. I
know that you are beautiful enough and good
enough to be addressed by better men than I.
I should have been content with my secret
love, and held my peace. But I couldn't—I
couldn't!"
He paused for a moment. She laid her hand
on his gently, and he trembled at her touch. " I
am very sorry," she began, but he went on again
wildly,—
" I am not quite a fool. Men who are not
quite fools either say that I have a great career
before me. I have made something of a name
as it is, although I may still almost speak of
myself as a young man. You shall be proud of
me, indeed, I promise you that, if you will only
let me serve you. Life is all a game of chances,
but if you will take this chance I do not think that
you will regret it. Your lover will not be quite
unworthy of your love."
" I am very, very sorry," she said, " but you
have said the words which must divide us. I did
like you, I do like you very much, but we cannot
be friends any more."
28
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"You cannot love me ? " he said slowly.
" I cannot love you—and I know we cannot
be friends. You are not that kind of man. It
would tear your heart to pieces. Better one
wrench at once, and be done with it. And I am
not the kind of woman to accept a friendship
that I knew was only a mask for love."
"You cannot love me?" he asked again
monotonously, like a man repeating some set
formula.
" I cannot love you. I have played with my
life in my own way, and as I have played so I
will pay. Now, good-bye ; I know you too well
and trust you too well to fear that you will
trouble me at all. You will go away, I sup-
pose r
"Yes," said Jacynth, moodily, "I will go
away."
" Thank you, and good-bye." She moved
away swiftly, and he stood there staring after
her until she disappeared inside the hotel.
Jacynth walked moodily back into the garden,
and stared sullenly at the bright sky. If the
autumn day, so warm that it might have been
midsummer, had suddenly changed to winter, it
could not have looked colder or more dismal
to his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders. " So
that's all over," he said to himself bitterly ; " you
have played your stake and you have lost, and
KISMET.
29
now you must remember that it is your duty
to play the man and not the fool." Thrusting
his hands into his pockets he began to walk
slowly down the garden path, feeling very dull
and dizzy, like a man who has had a heavy fall.
He was thinking, or trying to think, of things
which interested him so deeply once, and which
"HE STOOD THERE STARING AFTER HER" {p. 28).
now seemed so strangely uninteresting, when his
meditations were interrupted. He found himself
confronted by Castleton, who was eyeing him
sympathetically.
" Old man," said Castleton, " you saved my life
once, and though it wasn't much worth saving,
I'm devilish grateful to you all the same. So
I'd like to do you a good turn now if I can."
30
the fate of fenella.
" You can't do me any good," Jacynth answered;
" there's nothing the matter with me. Don't talk
rot, there's a good fellow."
" There's a great deal the matter with you, and
I can do you good," Castleton answered. " I
can tell you all about that woman."
CHAPTER III.
how it strikes a contemporary.
BY FRANCES ELEANOR TROLLOPE.
" But this case is so plain . . . that nothing can obscure it, but to
use too many words about it."—Jeremy Taylor.
Lord Castleton, doubtless, did not literally
believe that he could tell his friend " all about"
that woman. But he probably was possessed
with the conviction that when he should have
said what he had to say, there would remain little
more worth telling. We smile with a kind of
fatigued contempt at the venerable classical joke
of the fool who, wishing to sell his house, carried
about a brick from it as a specimen. We know
better how to judge of houses. But we are
willing—sometimes—to pick off a very small
fragment of human life, and to exclaim knowingly,
" Look here, 111 tell you what it is made of! "
Lord Castleton's well-meant offer was not
received with gratitude.
" What woman?" growled Jacynth, taking one
hand out of his pocket to tilt his hat a little more
over his eyes.
31
32
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"Why, Mrs.—Miss—Lady—by Jove, I scarcely
know what to call her ! "
" That's a good beginning," said Jacynth,
sardonically.
" No, no, my dear fellow, I really do know all
about her; only it's—it's a little puzzling where
to begin."
" Why begin ? "
The fat little gentleman reddened and frowned.
Then his good nature, and his sense of obligation
to the other man, and his pity for him (which,
perhaps, rendered the sense of obligation easier to
bear), conquered the momentary irritation.
" The fact is, Jacynth," he said, " I consider
it my duty to tell you the story of Fenella
Ffrench. No one knows it better than I do.
You may hear it told by a score of men in town,
who will be a deuced deal harder on the girl than
I am. I have no animosity against her, poor
little fool—none in the world. In fact, I rather
like her."
" Very gratifying to the lady ; but—excuse
me—not of palpitating interest to me. Good-bye.
I think I shall go tor a long spin."
" Stop a moment, Jacynth ! Did you never
hear of Lady Francis Onslow?"
Jacynth turned round sharply, and looked at
him. "Lady Francis Onslow?" he repeated,
putting his hand to his forehead and looking as
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY.
33
though he were trying to recall some half-effaced
recollections.
" Lady Francis Onslow. She was a daughter
of Colonel Fortescue Ffrench, of Crimean cele¬
brity, and she married Frank Onslow when she
was only seventeen, and three years afterwards
they were separated."
"Is that the woman ? "
" That is the woman."
" She looks such a child ! "
" I told you she was married when she was
ly seventeen."
" But he—Lord Francis—he is alive ? "
"'no; not there!' said jacynth ' {p. 34).
34
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" Very much so! At least he looked alive
enough when I saw him about half an hour ago."
" He is here ? "
" Yes. Look here, Jacynth; just let us take
a turn somewhere ; here, this is a quiet path,
and "
" No ; not there !" said Jacynth, drawing back
roughly, as Lord Castleton laid his hand on his
arm. It was the pathway where he had just been
speaking with Fenella. " I don't know why I
should listen to you at all. What does it matter ?
Nothing you can say will do any good."
Nevertheless, he did listen. What man would
not have listened ? That he should believe it
when it was told was another matter. Jacynth
was a clever man—a man of brilliant talents and
rising reputation in his profession. He had also
certain special gifts which were not so generally
recognised. He had a keen and almost intuitive
insight into character, and a steady power of
incredulity as to a vast proportion of the stories
circulated in the "best society" on the "best
authority."
At first sight this may seem no very extraor¬
dinary power. And perhaps it is not extraordinary,
but it is certainly not common. The gossip of
the smoking room, the tittle-tattle of the clubs,
penetrate, as a fine drizzling rain penetrates one's
clothing, into the consciousness of most men.
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY.
35
Men may declare that they give no heed to
that sort of gossip ; but, as a rule, their minds
are porous, and do not resist it. With persons
who pride themselves on knowing the world,
credulity has almost come to signify believing
good of men's neighbours. „ But Jacynth had often
been cynically amused by the childish credulity
with which a knot of men at his club would
swallow evil stories, intrinsically improbable, and
supported by no tittle of evidence that he would
have dared to offer to the least enlightened of
juries, merely because they were evil. For these
gentlemen " knew the world." Something he
dimly remembered hearing of the separation
which had taken place between Lord and Lady
Francis Onslow; but nothing clearly. He had
not lived in their world; he did not now live
in it.
He had a poor opinion of Lord Castleton's
intellect, but he believed him to be as truthful as
he knew how to be. Jacynth was quite capable
of disbelieving a story against a woman, even
though she were young, beautiful, full of im¬
pulsive high spirit, and separated from her hus¬
band, and even although he had not happened
to be in love with her. He did not intend to
break a lance on her behalf. He was not given
to such breaking of lances, for he also " knew
the world." But neither was he going to accept
36
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Lord Castleton's statements with the undoubt-
ing faith that Lord Castleton seemed to expect.
Nevertheless he listened.
" She was an only child, you know," said Lord
Castleton, hooking himsell on to his companion's
arm, so as to speak confidentially in his ear as
they walked up and down, " idolised by her father.
Her mother died when she was a small child, so
she was left to take pretty much her own way
ever since she was six years old. Ffrench got
some old woman or other to look after her as
she grew older—a kind of duenna, you know.
But as to controlling her, it was a mere farce.
Fenella did as she pleased with the Colonel,
and the Colonel did as he pleased with every¬
body else, for he was a Tartar, and never allowed
any member of his household to contradict him—
always with the one exception, you know; and
so the end of it was that every man, woman, and
child about the place had to be Miss Fenella's
very humble servant, or had to go. She was
the wildest little beggar ; used to go tearing about
the country on a little Arab horse she had. Once
she took it into her head to ride to hounds, and,
by George, sir, she went flying over everything
that came in her way, and was in at the death !
The only woman there ; just think of that! A
child not fifteen riding to hounds quite alone, for
the old groom who used to trot about after her
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. 37
could no more keep up with her than if he'd
been mounted on a tortoise."
A vision of the slight, straight, fearless young
creature, with a wave of tawny hair floating
behind her, the wonderful hazel eyes shining, and
the delicate cheeks glowing like roses, came
vividly before Mr. Jacynth's mind as he listened.
" I know that story's true," continued Castleton.
" Old Lord Furzeby, who was Master at the time,
and had been hunting the country for twenty
years, told me it himself; and said he'd never
seen anything like it. However, he called next
day on her father, and then Ffrench did put a stop
to the hunting. He wouldn't quite stand that."
" Well ? " said Jacynth, after a pause.
" Well, that's just a specimen of the way she
was brought up. But there were worse things
than the hunting, a deuced sight-."
"What things?" growled Jacynth, flashing a
dark side glance at his companion's round,
rubicund face.
" I—upon my soul, I think they may be all
summed up in one word—flirtation ! Of all the
outrageous, audacious, insatiable little flirts that
ever were born for the botheration of mankind,
I suppose Fenella Ffrench is about the completest
specimen."
"Poor mankind!" sneered Jacynth, drawing
down the corners of his mouth.
38
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" My dear fellow, she began when she was in
short frocks. I've no doubt the man where she
bought her hoops and dolls was in love with her.
And when she began to grow up it was a general
massacre."
" Not of the innocents, however," muttered
Jacynth.
" Ffrench's place was in Hampshire, not quite
out of reach by a drive from Portsmouth, although
it was a long pull by road. And before she was
sixteen Fenella had bowled over the whole
garrison. I believe the local chemists expected
a wholesale order for prussic acid the day her
engagement to Frank Onslow was announced,"
said his fat little lordship, chuckling at his own
wit.
" Where did she meet him ? "
"At a garrison ball in Portsmouth. It was
supposed to be a case of love at first sight.
Regular Romeo and Juliet business, don't you
know ? "
"Oh! she loved him?" said Jacynth, between
his set teeth.
" God knows ! She said she did, anyhow, and
made him believe it. As for him, he was des¬
perately mashed."
" And so—and so they married, but didn't live
happy ever after."
"No, by George ! It didn't last long. For
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. 39
the first year or two it was all billing and cooing.
They took a little place in Surrey, and gave them¬
selves up to rurality and domestic affection. Old
"it was supposed to be a case of love at first sight." (/>. 38).
Ffrench used to spend half his time there with
'em. And when Fenella's boy was born, they
had a story that the Colonel was seen wheeling
a perambulator about the garden, and adminis-
4°
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
tering a feeding-bottle. It did seem as though
Fenella had begun to put a good deal of water in
her wine, as the Italians say. They hadn't been
married three years when Colonel Ffrench died
suddenly. I was not in England at the time. I
was in a very low state—all to pieces! In fact,
Sir Abel Adamson has since confessed that he
thought my nervous system However, that
will probably not interest you. I set off on a long
sea voyage, which they said was my best chance.
And, in point of fact, I prowled about for more
than a year and a half. It was in Japan that I
got hold of an old Times with the announcement
of Ffrench's death. O-ho ! thought I to myself.
My Lady Francis Onslow will come in for a nice
little pile. She had something when she married.
And, of course, Ffrench left her everything he
had in the world."
" Then Lord Francis Onslow hadn't made a
bad thing of it ? "
" A very good thing of it!—from the financial
point of view, that is. He was a duke's son ;
but I needn't tell you that a duke's fifth son "
" Can't expect to marry a lady from Chicago
or New York with millions of dollars in pigs
or petroleum. Of course not! That's reserved
for his seniors," said Jacynth.
Lord Castleton laughed. But he did not quite
like this little speech. He considered himself the
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. 41
least bumptious of men about his rank. But
there was something in Jacynth's words—-a twang,
not only of bitterness, but of contempt—which
Lord Castleton inwardly pronounced to be " bad
form." But Jacynth was sore, poor wretch,—
terribly sore ! However, his lordship compressed
his narrative somewhat, as being very doubtful
what venomed criticism might be lurking in the
barrister's mind.
" Well, the main point of the story is what
happened after the Colonel's death, and when
Frank Onslow and his wife went up to town.
Only I thought it well to give you a glimpse of
the madcap sort of life the girl had been allowed
to lead, because it, to some degree, explains a
good deal of her reckless way of carrying on."
Lord Castleton fancied he heard Jacynth mutter
under his breath, " Poor child !" But the clean¬
shaven, firmly moulded jaw looked set and grim
when he glanced at it; and a countenance less
expressive of any " compunctious visitings " of
sentiment than the countenance of Clitheroe
Jacynth, barrister-at-law, as it appeared in that
moment it would be difficult to imagine.
" Lady Francis made one of the biggest sensa¬
tions I can remember, when she began to get
into the swing of London society. She had been
presented on her marriage, of course. But then
Frank had carried her off to the cottage in Surrey,
42
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
and the world had seen no more of her, so that
now she appeared as a novelty. And she is—
well, you know what she is to look at. I know
dozens of women handsomer by line and rule.
But there's something fetching about Fenella that
I never saw equalled. And then the old game
began again. Fellows were mad about her, and
she flirted in the wildest way."
" The Romeo-and-Juliet passion having mean¬
while died a natural death ? " said Jacynth, staring
straight before him.
" Oh, I suppose so. The fact is, she is a
butterfly kind of creature that no man ought ever
to have taken seriously."
" And the husband ? "
" Frank was—well, the fact is, Frank acted
like a fool. He was very young, too, you know.
They were like a couple of children together, and
used to squabble, and kiss, and make it up like
children. Frank never had the least suspicion of
jealousy about her, though. Never— until '
"Exactly!" exclaimed Jacynth, with a nod of
the head.
"Well, whether his aunt, old Lady Grizel, put
it into his head, or whether he saw something for
himself that he didn't like—the fact is, Frank
made a scene one night when they came home
from a ball at the Austrian Embassy, and Fenella
—who is the Tartar's own daughter when she's
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. 43
roused, I can tell you ; dynamite isn't in it!—
flared up tremendously, and there was, in short,
the devil to pay. Fenella, it seems, had been
secretly bottling up a little private jealousy on
her own part. There was a certain Madame—
her name don't matter; and she has returned
to Mongolia, or wherever she came from, long
ago—a certain woman, pretty nearly old enough
to be Frank's mother, but a fascinating sort of
Jezebel, whom you met about everywhere that
season. And Fenella turned round, and declared
that Frank had been making her miserable by his
goings-on with that vile woman !"
" All her foolish fancy, of course ! " said Jacynth,
suddenly looking at the other man with a penetrat¬
ing gaze from beneath his frowning black brows.
" Oh—well—you know Oh, I daresay
Frank had, to some extent, been making an ass
of himself. But, of course, the case was totally
different."
" Oh, of course."
" Fenella talked like a wild Indian, you know.
It couldn't be supposed that because Lord Francis
Onslow kicked up his heels rather more than was
exactly pretty, Lady Francis Onslow was to be
allowed to follow suit. He had taken exception
to a certain man—military attache to one of the
Embassies—and forbade Fenella to dance with
him or receive him in her drawing-room. Need-
44
THE FATE OF FEN ELLA.
less to say that Fenella made a point of waltzing
with him the next night, and of giving him a
standing invitation to five o'clock tea. More
rows. Family consultations. Aunt Grizel volun¬
teering as peace-maker ; I think that was the last
straw. Fenella insisted on a separation ; she was
as obstinate as possible. She would take her
boy and leave him. As to the money, he might
keep it all. And that sort of wild nonsense."
"But she carried her point? She left him?
How was it possible that he let her go?"
" My dear friend, the idea of talking of
' letting' or not letting Fenella Onslow do any
thing she had set her will on is refreshingly
naif. She threatened them that if they did not
consent to an amicable arrangement she would
bring legal proceedings (on account of the Mon¬
golian fascinator !), and make a scandal. Well,
the Onslows hate the name of a scandal as a mad
dog hates water."
" Or as a burnt child dreads the fire," put in
Jacynth.
" At any rate, among them they cobbled up the
deed of separation ; and there is poor Frank with
a wife and no wife, and the boy—he was devoted
to the little chap—taken away from him, at any
rate for some years."
"And there is Lady Francis Onslow with a
husband and no husband."
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. 45
" Upon my soul, I believe she's happier with¬
out him; upon my soul, I do! All she cares for
in life is to flirt; to decoy some wretched fellow
into a desperate state about her, and then to turn
him off with an impudent little assumption of
innocence, and declare she meant nothing.
People said there was more in that affair of the
military attache than her usual coquetries. But I
don't know. I don't believe she has it in her
power to care for any man. However, very few
of those who saw the little drama being acted
before their eyes take a lenient view of Fenella's
conduct. I felt bound to open your eyes, Jacynth.
The woman is as dangerous as a rattlesnake. Of
course she's gone and made a hideous hash of her
own life ; but she has done worse than that to
other people's lives, and she'll go on doing it. I
saw her just now sitting up on the box-seat of the
coach beside her husband, and "
" Beside whom ? "
" Beside her husband, Frank Onslow. There's
nothing she hasn't impudence enough for! It
wouldn't surprise me if they were to come to¬
gether again."
" And that," said Jacynth, walking away by
himself, " is what Castleton calls telling me ' all
about that woman ! ' I don't know whom she
loves, nor whether she loves any one at this
present moment. But that there are depths of
46
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
feeling in that girl of which old Castleton is
about as well able to j udge as a mole of the solar
system But what's the good of it ? I have
played my stake and lost it. I—I must get out
of this place if I'm to keep any hold over myself
at all. How could a raw lad like Frank Onslow
value her or understand her ? Of course, he
was selfish and unreasonable and dull to all the
finer part of her nature, like a boy as he is—
or was, at any rate, when he married her!"
He went up to his room, and dragged out a
portmanteau. He must get away. There was
no use in parleying or delay. Flight—instant
flight—was the only thing for him. But when he
had opened the portmanteau and dragged out a
few clothes from the chest of drawers, he sat down
by the bedside, and buried his face in the pillow.
"I love her! I love her!" he moaned out. And
then he hated himself for his folly.
At this moment a little childish footstep was
heard tramping up the stairs ; tap—tap, tap—
tap, climbing up with much exertion, but with
eager haste, and then a sweet little childish voice
said, " Mr. Jacymf, Mr. Jacymf! Are you
there ? "
jacynth opened the door with a wildly beating
heart. Could she have sent him a message ?
" What is it, Ronny, my man ? " he said, looking
down upon the child's curly tawny hair and
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY.
47
bright, innocent, hazel eyes that were so like his
mother's.
"Halloa!"
cried Ronny,
surveying the
portmanteau
and the litter
of clothes on
the floor,
"'what is it, ronny, my
man?'" {p. 46).
" are you going
away r
" Yes, old boy."
" Is Grandison
going too ? "
" No ; not Grandison.
What do you want,
Ronny?"
" I want you not to go away ! '
" Anything else ? "
"Yes. Why can't you come with us, if you
are going away ? "
48
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" Come with you ? Where ? "
" With me and Mummy. Mummy says we
shall go to a nicerer place than this. And I
may play cricket. I wanted you to come and
play with me and Grandison. But I s'pose you
can't if you're packing your clothes. Ain't they
in a jolly mess ? "
Jacynth lifted the child up in his arms and
kissed him. " Good-bye, Ronny," he said, in a
queer choking voice ; and then he set the little
fellow outside the door and shut it.
Ronny prepared to make the descent of the
staircase, holding tight to the banisters. He put
one little chubby finger up to his cheek and looked
at it. " Hulloa ! " said he, very gravely " my
face is all wet!
CHAPTER IV.
"between two fires."
BY A. CONAN DOYLE.
" Happier is he who standeth betwixt the fire and the flood, than
he who hath a jealous woman on either side of him."—Fourth
Veddah.
The single short drive on the Harrogate coach
had re-awakened all Frank Onslow's dormant
passion for the capricious and beautiful woman
whom he had made his wife. His weak and
pliant nature was one which could readily forget,
and after a few weeks of dull pain his separation
had ceased to be a grief to him, and he had
devoted himself to the turf and the green table
with an energy which had driven his matrimonial
troubles from his mind. That Fenella had at
the least been indiscreet in the case of the Count
de Miirger was beyond all question. Further,
she had allowed her indiscretion to be known and
commented upon. Domestic unhappiness is ill
to bear ; but worse still is it to see pitying eyes
turned upon one in society, to read snappy little
two-edged paragraphs in gossiping papers, or in
49 4
5°
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
a club smoking-room to see heads incline towards
each other while a swift malicious whisper passes
from man to man. All this is bad to bear; and
yet it had been Lord Francis's lot to bear it. It
had soured his mind and hardened his heart at
the time of his separation.
But every wound will heal, and this one also
had skinned over. When in the morning he had
seen the girlish figure of his wife perched upon
the box-seat, with her yellow hair curling from
under the dainty hat, and looked into the hazel
eyes which still shone with the old provoking,
mischievous, challenging twinkle, he had felt
his heart go out to her, and had loved her once
more even as he loved her on that first night
when he had plighted his troth to her after the
Garrison Ball at Portsmouth. It maddened him
now to find that with all the fire of his love he
could not kindle any answering spark in her.
Had she turned away from him, treated him
coldly, or upbraided him for his conduct, then
indeed he might have had hopes. A quarrel
might lead to a reconciliation. But that she
should treat him as an everyday acquaintance,
gossip with him about trivial matters, and break
small jests with him, that was indeed intolerable.'
In vain through the long drive he strove to pass
the barrier. At every allusion to their married
life, or to their quarrel, she either retired into
" BETWEEN TWO FIRES."
51
absolute silence, or else, with quick feminine tact,
turned the conversation into other channels. If
he had forgiven her there was no sign that she in
turn had forgiven him.
And who was there who knew better than
himself that there was much to forgive? If her
name had been coupled with that of the Count de
Murger, had not his been equally and even more
openly associated with the notorious Madame
Lucille de Vigny ? He might have doubts as to
his wife's guilt, but he could have none as to his
own. If he had been subjected to the degrada¬
tion of the pity of his fellow men, had not she
undergone as much, or more ? He remembered
now with grief and compunction how day after
day, and evening after evening, he had deserted
his wife in favour of the society of the fascinating
Frenchwoman. He remembered, too, how patient
she had been at first; then how her patience had
gradually changed to surprise, surprise to sus¬
picion, suspicion to anger, and anger to revenge
in the shape of the flirtation which had brought
about the separation. Who was he, to blame
her? He had himself been the first to sin. Now
he was the first to forgive.' Would she follow
him in the one as in the other ?
Alas! it seemed that she would not—that the
breach was too broad to be ever again bridged
pver. Through the bright summer morning, as
52
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
they rattled past the lines of beech trees, and
through the pleasant Yorkshire lanes, he chafed
and fretted, but in vain. His sin had been too
deep to be forgiven. As he handed her down,
when they arrived once more at the Prospect
Hotel, he pressed her little hands in his feverish
grasp, and looked appealingly into her hazel eyes.
There was no answering softness in their glance
—nothing but amusement and something akin to
contempt. He turned away with a sigh, and
wandered slowly off in the direction of the
Gardens, walking with bent head, and the listless
steps of a melancholy man.
Had his eyes not been downcast he might.
have noticed that he was not alone on the
gravelled, hedge-lined walk, which curved down
through the pleasant Harrogate gardens. A
woman was walking towards him, moving slowly
through the rich yellow sunshine, and glancing
from right to left with the air of one who is a
visitor and a sight-seer. Her light cream dress,
her dainty pink sunshade, and her broad shady
hat with its curling snow-white feather, made a
pleasant picture to the eye, which was by no
means diminished by her approach, for she was a
woman of singular beauty. Though past her first
youth, the lines of her figure were as graceful
and perfect as an artist could desire, while her
face, with its dark Southern beauty, its clear-
" BETWEEN TWO FIRES."
53
cut, delicate features, and imperious eyes, spoke
of a passionate and impetuous nature, such as is
seldom to be found among our cold and self-
contained Northern races.
Approaching from different ends of the walk,
the two had almost passed each other before Lord
Francis looked up, and their eyes met. He
sprang back with a cry of surprise, and of some¬
thing approaching to dismay, while she stood
quietly looking at him out of sombre, deeply-
questioning eyes.
"Lucille!" he gasped. "You are the last
person whom I expected to see in Harrogate."
'/*• " But I am not surprised," she answered, speak¬
ing with a slight French lisp, which added a
charm to her rich, deep voice. " I knew that
you were in Harrogate. That is why I came."
" But why do you wish to follow me, Lucille ?
What good can come of it ? "
"What good? All good. Is not love good?
And do I not love you? Ah, Frank, you taught
me to love you, and how can I unlearn it ? It
is happiness to me to see you and to speak to
you.
" But see the misery that it has caused. We
must part, Lucille. If you truly love me you
will help me to retrieve my life, and not to wreck
it further."
" Ah ! " cried she, with a quick flash in her
54
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
dark eyes. "You have seen her. You have
been speaking with your wife again."
" Yes, I saw'her to-day."
" By chance ? "
" Yes, by chance."
" And you are friends again ?'
" No, not friends."
" Ah, you wished it, but she would not have it.
I can see it in your face. Oh, Frank, how could
you humble yourself to such a woman ? How
could you? To hold out your hand to her, and
to be refused! Quelle degradation! See how
she has treated you—she, who is not worthy to
be the wife of any honest man."
The colour sprang to Onslow's pale cheeks.
It was one thing to know his wife's faults, and
it was another to hear about them.
" That is an old story," he said curtly. " We
may let that drop."
" An old story ? Why, she was with De
Miirger last week in London."
" Fenella was ? "
"Yes, I saw them with my own eyes riding
together in the Row."
Lord Francis started as if he had been stung.
" Come here ! " he said. There was a garden
bench in a little recess, and he threw himself down
upon it. Lucille de Vigny seated herself beside
him, and a triumphant smile played over her dark
" BETWEEN TWO FIRES. "
55
and beautiful face as she marked with a sidelong
glance the anger and chagrin which convulsed her
companion's features.
" Is this true ? " he cried.
" I tell you, Frank, that I saw them with my
" ' IT IS NOT MY CUSTOM TO SAY WHAT IS NOT TRUE.' "
own eyes. It is not my custom to say what is
not true."
" They were riding together ?"
" Yes."
" And talking ? "
" Talking and laughing."
56
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" By heavens, I will see that fellow De Miirger.
I .will shoot him, Lucille ! It is not our custom
in England to duel. But he is a foreigner. He
will meet me. I have wished to avoid a scandal,
but if they court one why should I spare them ?
In the Row, you say ? "
" Yes, and just when all the world was there."
"Heavens! It is maddening." He sank his
face in his hands, and groaned aloud.
" And what matter, after all ? " said she, laying
one delicately gloved hand upon his wrist. " Why
should you trouble ? What is she to you now ?
She is unworthy, and that is an end. Tout est
fini. You are a free man, and may let her go
her way while you go yours. Which way will be
yours, Frank?"
The blood throbbed in his head. He felt her
warm, magnetic hand tighten upon his wrist.
Her soft, lisping voice, and the delicate perfume
which came from her dress, seemed to lull the
misery which had torn him. Already, in her
presence, the fierce longing for his wife which had
possessed him was growing more faint. Here
was a woman, beautiful and tender, who did
indeed love him. Why should his heart still
dwell upon that other one who had brought un-
happiness and disgrace to him ?
" Which way will be yours, Frank ? "
" The same as yours, Lucille."
" BETWEEN TWO FIRES."
57
" Ah, at last! " she cried, throwing her arms
about him. " Did I not know that I should win
you back ? "
"'you false villain !"' (p. 58).
A sharp cry, a cry as from a stricken heart,
and a dark shadow fell between the pair. Lord
Francis started to his feet. Fenella was standing
58
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
in front of them, her hands thrown out, her eyes
blazing with anger.
"You villain!" she gasped. "You false vil¬
lain !" She put her hands to her throat, and
struggled with her words like a choking woman.
Lord Francis Onslow looked down, while the
blood flushed to his temples. Madame de Vigny
stood beside him, her hands folded across each
other, and a look of defiance and anger upon her
face.
" I came out here to tell you that I had forgiven
you. Do you hear ? That I had forgiven you.
And this is how I find you. Oh, I shall never
forgive you now—never, never, never! Why
were you so nice to me this morning if you meant
to treat me so ? "
"One word, Fenella!" cried Onslow. "Answer
me one question, and if I have wronged you I
will go down on my bended knees to you. Tell
me truthfully, and on your honour, were you in
the company of De Miirger last week ? "
" And if I were, sir ? "
" Were you or were you not ? "
" I was."
"You were with him in the Park ? "
" I was."
" Then that is enough ; I have no more to say.
Madame, let me offer you my arm ! " He walked
past his wife with her rival, and the dresses of the
" BETWEEN TWO FIRES."
59
two women would have touched had Fenella not
sprung back with a cry of disgust, as one who
shrinks from a poisonous thing. Madame de
Vigny laughed, and her proud sparkling eyes told
of the triumph which filled her soul.
Fenella Onslow stood for an instant in the
middle of the sunlit walk, her little right hand
clenched with anger, her gaze turned towards the
retreating figures. Then a sudden lurid thought
flashed into her mind, and she started off as
rapidly as she could in the direction of the railway
station. Clitheroe Jacynth's train did not leave
for ten minutes. Ronny had told her of the hour
of his departure. The barrister was standing,
moody and disconsolate, upon the platform, when
he felt a slight touch upon his shoulder, and look¬
ing round, saw a flushed little woman with spark¬
ling eyes looking up at him.
" Fenella ! " he cried.
" Yes ; you must not go."
" Not go ? "
"No, you must come back."
" You bid me ? "
"Yes, I bid you. You must come back to the
hotel."
" But it was you who this very morning drove
me away from it."
" Forget it. Many things have happened since
then. Will you not come ? "
6o
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" Of course, I will come."
" Then give me your arm.'
: HE FELT A SLIGHT TOUCH UPON HIS SHOULDER" (p. 59).
And so it happened that as Lord Francis
Onslow and Madame Lucille de Vigny stood at
4< BETWEEN TWO FIRES."
6l
the door of the Prospect Hotel after their walk,
they perceived Lady Francis and a gentleman,
whom neither of them had seen before, coming
towards them arm-in-arm, and engaged in the
most intimate conversation.
CHAPTER V.
complications.
BY MAY CROMMELIN.
" Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee.
The wanton smiled, father wept,
Mother cried, baby leapt,
More he crowed, more we cried,
Nature could not sorrow hide."
Greene (1560-92).
"I've wired for him!" Fenella imparted in a
startling burst of confidence. " Ronny and I
got up early, and ran down to the telegraph
office."
"My goodnessV Jacynth stared in resentful
dismay at her sparkling eyes. " Well! you have
made a nice complication, now."
The girl laid a beseeching hand on his arm.
" Don't look so furious ; and do—do stand by
me in everything as you promised. Remember
you are my only friend here—except Ronny."
" I have promised," he said solemnly. " But
you might consult me as a friend. And why do
anything so rash—mad ? "
63
COMPLICATIONS.
63
" Because all my life I have taken my own
way ; because if he comes here to vex me, when
we were all quite happy"—she set her small
white teeth—" and flaunts that creature before
my very face, I will show him the red rag he
hates worst! Sauce for the goose is sauce for
the gander."
" Not always. Take care."
" Besides, I want to convince you—every one
—that on my side there is nothing to blame,
nothing—while Frank—oh, there ! "—with a
pathetic little break in her voice that makes
Clitheroe wretched—" after having forgotten this
miserable business very nearly, I hardly slept
last night—thinking."
" You are fond of him still, then ? " said Jacynth,
very low.
"No! no! I hate him now," she exclaimed,
passionately, apostrophising the rocks and trees
around. " I should like to divorce him, and—
and—see that poisonous serpent crushed alive."
" Come, don't say such terrible things. And
divorce is no such easy matter."
Jacynth's heart beat hard as he soothed the
headstrong girl. If she were indeed free ! Down,
down, wild hope ! Was he not her true friend
and faithful counsellor ? " So this accounts for
your silence as we drove here. You meant to
spring this surprise on me,"
64
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Fenella nodded, mischief simply brimming over
in her suddenly transformed little lace.
" If I get into a scrape, you've got to get me
out. It's a duel, you see, between lour of us,
with you and Lord Castleton for seconds, and I
come of a fighting family," her feet breaking
under her into a few steps of a war dance. " O
—o—h ! look there ! "
Her shriek rang far and shrill through the
Knaresborough rocks, as, stiffened suddenly to
stone, she stood with outstretched arms, her
straining eyes gazing up at the clift. A small
object had hurtled through some brushwood over¬
head, and, rolling downwards, was now stopped
half-way. It was a little boy, clinging desperately
to a bush at which he had caught.
Before the last sounds had left her parted lips,
Jacynth bounded forward, and was clambering,
springing as best he could, up from foothold to
ledge. Many holidays of mountain-climbing stood
him in good stead. Higher still—Ah! there!
The bush is giving way slowly at the roots.
A little shower of earth falls down on Fenella's
upturned face ; she has somehow tottered with
quaking knees onward.
Safe—safe! Just as the terrified child feels
his hold giving way, a strong arm catches him
round the waist.
" Thank God!" exclaims a well-known man's
COMPLICATIONS.
65
voice. Fenella feels a little group around her,
summoned by her echoing shriek ; but her filming
vision sees nothing till Ronny is placed, pale but
plucky, in her arms. Presently, with the boy
hugging her neck, and her own tight grasp proving
he has no bones broken, she turns to find Frank,
looking strangely excited, holding out a hand to
Jacynth.
" Let me thank you. That was splendidly
done. You saved the boy's life, and I am—I
" he stammered and stopped, reddening.
"No thanks are needed. I could not tell but
that it was my own little scamp of a nephew.
Where is Grandison ? " Jacynth frigidly an¬
swered, looking round. He had driven Fenella
and the two boys out here, because she wished
to avoid meeting her husband and his prob¬
able companion. And, lo! tricksome fate had
drawn these two hither as by some irresistible
attraction.
Lucille was meanwhile looking on with intense
apprehension. The child—the child was the
sole remaining link between this man and wife,
but that one how strong! She must interfere
rapidly.
Next moment she had dropped on her knees
beside Ronny, who now stood leaning against his
mother, and had tenderly lifted his hand.
"Poor infant—ch£ri\ He is bleeding, see!"
5
66
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
And she softly wiped some trickling drops from
a graze on the chubby, childish fist.
" How dare you ? Leave my child alone ! "
blazed out Fenella, withdrawing as if from the
touch of a reptile.
Lucille rose with an air of dignified humility,
and looked full at Onslow, with surely a sudden
moisture in her beautiful dark eyes.
" I have made a mistake, it is true. But I
am a woman, and only remembered that a child
was hurt—your child!" The last words were
murmured only for his ear.
" Come away," said Onslow briefly, but con¬
solingly.
# * # * #
A very thunder-cloud, charged with electricity,
overhung the end of one of the long dinner tables
in the Prospect Hotel that evening.
Lord Castleton presided at the foot, the post
of honour. On his right hand, seated thus low,
as befitted new guests, were Lord Francis Onslow,
and, " by Jove ! Madame de Vigny herself." To
his left, Jacynth, faithful to his place beside
Fenella, who had asked the head-waiter some
days ago not to move her seat higher, in usual
hotel progression, opposite a sour-faced set
of ladies, with side ringlets and warming-pan
brooches, who whispered innuendoes about her¬
self that palled as a diversion. She had then
COMPLICATIONS.
67
innocently preferred new arrivals. So Castleton
looked at four freezingly expressionless faces, four
pairs of eyes bottling up lightnings.
"In for a storm!" he chuckled to himself,
rubbing his plump hands under the table. " But
who is my lady keeping that empty place for on
her other side ? "
Just then a slight young man, with blond
curls clustering thickly on his head, well-waxed
moustaches, and a slightly foreign military air
about the cut of his clothes and the stiffness of
his shoulders, came down the long room with a
buoyant step. Fenella's eyes gleamed as she held
out her hand in greeting, which the new-comer
pressed with that mingled homage and effusion
betraying a stranger to English customs.
Onslow's dark face grew suddenly livid with
passion. He made a movement as if about to
rise, but was restrained by an imploring touch
on his arm, and a murmured entreaty from his
companion to be calm.
"You see! I obeyed your message on the
instant," said the new comer to Fenella, in an
undertone, audible in the fell silence around.
" Last week you said don't come—it is stupeed.
Now you say, come!"
" Ah, but we have had some new visitors
since then, and it is much more amusing."
After which really impudent remark, Fenella
68
THE FATE OF FEN ELLA.
leant back, and with a look of infantile innocence
on her piquant face, indicated Jacynth.
" I want to make you two acquainted. I like
my friends to like each other. Mr. Jacynth—
Count de Mtirger."
The two men's eyes met, Clitheroe's gaze
"WAS RESTRAINED BY AN
IMPLORING TOUCH ON HIS
ARM " (/. 67).
gravely observant, De Murger momentarily taken
aback, then bowing with gay readiness, as who
should say, "A rival? Come on! measure
swords."
Next he looked across and started.
It was only a slight start, yet Castleton's cheeks
COMPLICATIONS.
69
at once puffed with suppressed mirth. Lucille
gave the faintest inclination of her handsome
dark head. But Onslow, laying his arms on the
table with a cool superiority that in a less well-
bred man might be offensive, stared at his enemy
full, not stirring a muscle.
The cut was direct, cutting De Miirger short
in an instinctively-begun bow of politely cold
recognition. A brilliant smile instantly lightened
the young Austrian's face. He had suspected a
trap, but now he knew his ground.
An awkward silence ensued. Then Castleton
demanded, in nervous accents,—
" What fish is this, waiter—eh ? "
" Tom Dory, milord," answered the recently
imported Teuton with suave readiness.
A little buzz of talk began at once; the
spell was loosed. Under cover of this Castleton
bent forward, irresistibly thirsting to confide in
Jacynth.
" I say, what a game ! Would you think De
Miirger is one of the greatest gamblers going,
and a tremendous duellist ? "
"That boy! He looks as if dancing was his
strong point."
" So it is. He is a favourite leader of cotillons
—invented that figure for Lady Birmingham's
ball of shooting with Cupid's bows and arrows—
you know."
70 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" No, I don't. I am too old for much ball-
going," answered the barrister, curtly.
Meanwhile, though Fenella never once looked
his way, she felt that her husband's eyes were
stabbing her with glances like daggers. It hurt;
but she had the sweet revenge of knowing she
was wounding his pride in return, though the
false Circe by his side might try to pour in balm.
So looking a picture of girlish sweetness in her
delicious white gown, so simple seemingly, so
costly—a white bud of a little creature in con¬
tradistinction to the darker, maturer charms of
her handsome rival, she listened, with apparent
eagerness, to De Miirger.
"Yes, I should regret not going to Vienna
this summer, if I were not here. You do not
know it. Ah, how I should like to show you
our Prater! And the life, the gaiety. How you
would enjoy it! "
" Do you know Vienna?" asked Madame de
Vigny of Onslow, in clear tones, as if her
neighbours were dummies. "It is—how do you
say it in English ?—la ville la plus ddvergondde
in Europe."
At the inference that this abandoned capital
will suit herself, in Madame's evident opinion,
Fenella's pale small cheeks take a sudden rosy
tint, her tawny eyes gleam with quite a tigerish
flash. She throws up her head, challenging
COMPLICATIONS.
71
Onslow mutely to dare countenance the insult.
But Frank's French is that of Eton, and he
merely ejaculates an "Ah!" impassively.
(" Quarrels are so upsetting to one's digestion,"
was Castleton's thought. Yet not for anything
would he have missed the human interest of the
scene, which was "as good as a play." Still
the lull of talk was ominous, so he desperately
addressed the only person from whom no explosion
was to be feared.)
" What is coming next, waiter ? "
"Suckie-pig, sir," responded the gentle German.
Ronny's curly pate appearing on a level with
the tablecloth, and nestling between his mother
and Jacynth confidingly, was a welcome diversion.
All eyes turned with relief on the rosy, roguish
face, alone unconscious of hidden trouble among
them.
" It will soon be dessert-time; I may stay,
mayn't I, mummy? " coaxed the child confidently.
Then, to beguile the time, he produced some
glass marbles from his pocket, aiming at the salt¬
cellar, where his friend Jacynth fielded and sent
them back. With her arm round her son, Fenella
was chatting animatedly to De Mtirger, rejoicing
inwardly in her immense superiority over her
opposite foes in possessing Ronny. A vagrant
ball escaping the latter s fingers, cannoned off a
dish, and flew straight into Madame's lap. With
72
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
a secret honeyed glance at Ronny, she feigned to
detain it.
"No, you mustn't! That would be stealing,
and then you would be put in prison," remon¬
strated the child. Then looking at her with the
sweet familiarity of one of Raphael's cherubs,
" Were you ever in prison ? "
Madame de Vigny, who was just lifting a full
glass of claret to her lips, started, so that some
wine was spilt. She raised her delicate brows,
with a glance of charming dismay at Onslow's
gloomy face.
Castleton and Jacynth, noticing the accident,
exchanged furtive, surprised looks; but Ronny,
no more heeding that red splash than if he had
slopped over his glass of milk, announced in
joyous tones, " Because I was—very nearly.
Grandison and me were very naughty once, and
his nurse tried to give us to a p'leeceman, but we
pulled at her dress so hard she couldn't; and the
p'leeceman shook his finger at me and said, ' Next
time!'—Oh, I say ! "
Suddenly diving, so that his little body eluded
Fenella's grasp, to her surprise he rushed round
the table and flung himself against Frank, who
had annexed the truant marble, and was ostenta¬
tiously secreting it in his own pocket.
"Give it me! It's mine! You must! Please!"
Frank held the treasure nearer, then embracing
COMPLICATIONS.
73
w'ahl you did right to send for me.' " {p. 74).
the boy's shoulders with one caressing arm,
stooped and deliberately kissed the sweet, childish
face.
74
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" Take it, there. Why, you will soon be old
enough to go to school."
Raising his head, he looked straight at Fenella
with such defiance that the wrathful jealousy,
boiling within her at so flagrant a show of
authority, suddenly cooled.
With a shiver at the warning, she nevertheless
had spirit to retort with cool, decisive command,
" Ronny, come here. You must stay by me,
dear, and not go to—other people." Then she
rustled from the table with superb displeasure at
Frank's unwarrantable liberty. Both De Miirger
and Jacynth sprang up too, in quick rivalry as
her bodyguard. They were soon followed by
Castleton, who found it poor fun to watch only
Onslow's lowering face, and Jezebel, as he secretly
politely designated Madame de Vigny.
Before the hotel door the night was still and
cool; stars had begun to twinkle in the " blue
vaults, magnificently deep."
" So you have to suffer such insults ?" De
Miirger impetuously whispers in Fenella's ear.
" Let me avenge you. Ah! you .did right to
send for me."
" No, no, you must not take your own way to
help me. Wait—I must just ask Mr. Jacynth
to do something for me. Then I will come back
and talk to you," murmurs Fenella, frightened,
therefore sweetly deceitful. Then drawing her
COMPLICATIONS.
75
mentor apart, while Castleton eagerly fastens on
the prey she has left, she entreats : " Help me.
Keep the Count and Frank from fighting: any¬
thing but that!"
"For goodness' sake get rid of De Miirger.
He is so embroiling," counselled Jacynth.
" How can I ? After bringing him here a
long journey to-day, can I whistle him away to¬
morrow ?" she responds, with naive indignation.
" It is as bad as putting back the bottle-imp."
"Then you—some of us must leave. The
situation is too strained."
"You advise flight; and I, who am just spoil¬
ing for a fight, as the Irish say"—she was
actually laughing again : it was too bad.
"If you will stay, let me make you acquainted
with my sister Helen, Grandison's mother," said
Jacynth, softly, pity stirring his heart-strings for
this young creature. " She is a good sort—a
genuine woman."
" Thank you," said Fenella, absently looking
round. " What is the Count about? and where
is Ronny ? "
CHAPTER VI.
a woman's view of the matter.
by f. c. phillips.
The next morning Jacynth called upon his sister,
and explained to her that he wished her to extend
a helping hand to Lady Francis Onslow. He
had told Fenella that his sister Helen was " a
good sort—a genuine woman," and he was, there¬
fore, disagreeably surprised when he found the
view that lady took of the situation.
" Lady Francis Onslow ? " she said, raising her
eyebrows. " She is separated from her husband,
is she not ? "
" Yes, but it is not her fault," answered Jacynth,
quickly. " Onslow treated her very badly."
" I remember something about it," said his
sister. " I think there was a kind of shuffling of
the cards and a new deal. Lord Francis took up
with a Frenchwoman, and his wife consoled herself
with Monsieur de Mlirger. Is not that the story?"
"It is a garbled account of it. Lady Francis
was perfectly innocent," said Jacynth, hotly.
76
A WOMAN'S VIEW OF THE MATTER. 77
" I have no doubt, but all the same I think I
would rather have nothing to say to her. It is
always a foolish thing to interfere between husband
and wife."
" I do not ask for your interference, Helen,"
said her brother. " I merely ask you to let me
introduce you to Lady Francis, and I should like
you to be kind to her."
" Why are you interested in her ?"
" Because I think she has been badly treated,
and because she is an impulsive, reckless little
woman who will benefit much from your advice."
" I dislike impulsive, reckless little women,"
said Helen, " and I would much rather not know
her."
"You are very unkind, dear, and quite unlike
your usual self. Lady Francis has got herself
into a fix, and you must really get her out of it
—to please me."
" What fix has she got herself into ? "
" Well, I will tell you. Her husband is here,
as of course you know, and immediately after his
arrival Madame de Vigny appeared on the scene.
Poor Lady Francis, who is naturally outraged at
his conduct, telegraphed to De MiArger to come
down, and this will, of course, make things look
black for her if you do not give her your help and
moral support. She does not know any ladies
here, and of course she has acted imprudently."
78
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"Yes, she has acted imprudently and stupidly.
It only confirms my impression that I would
rather not know her," said his sister.
" But, Helen, she is very young, and she has
no one to advise her."
"She has you to advise her," laughed Helen;
"and as you are a clever rising barrister, I should
have thought you would have been wise enough
to have prevented her telegraphing for her lover."
" He is not her lover ; " shouted Jacynth, loudly.
" As to her extreme youth," pursued his sister,
unmoved at his interruption, " she has a child
old enough to play cricket on the Green with the
tinkers and the tailors and the butcher-boys of
the place. She must surely be out of her teens!
And if she does not know how to behave herself
now, I am afraid she never will."
"Why are you so hard, Helen?" he asked,
looking at his sister in surprise.
" I am not hard," she answered, " but I really
fail to see why you require my aid. Lady Francis
seems quite able to take care of herself. The
fact is, Clitheroe," she continued, " you must know
as well as I do that the lex talionis does not apply
to husbands and wives. It is only in quite the
lower classes that the wife throws back the sugar
basin at her husband when he has aimed at her
with the teapot. Mqn have a certain licence with
regard to flirtation which has always been denied
" 'REALLY, CLITHEROE, YOU ARE VERY UNREASONABLE.'" (/. 80.)
8o
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
to women. It may be wrong—I daresay it is—
but I am not going to head any movement to
bring about a change."
" I think she would listen to you if you would
ask her to send M. de Mtirger back to town,"
said Jacynth. "As it is, they fear there may be
a duel."
" And you want me to mix myself up in
all this unsavoury business ?" she exclaimed.
" Really, Clitheroe, you are very unreasonable."
" I am very sorry for Lady Francis," he said,
in a low voice.
" And I suppose you are in love with her.
Nothing else could explain your strange persist¬
ency. You are very foolish, and you are wasting
your time. If the woman cares for any one, I
suppose it is for her curly-headed attache. It is
evident that you are only being made use of, and
I am certainly not going to follow your ridiculous
example. Lady Francis possesses no possible
interest for me. I consider her unladylike, want¬
ing in savoir vivre and tact, and quite the last
person for whom I could have any sympathy."
" She has been cruelly treated," said Jacynth.
" So have thousands of other women, but they
manage to bear their cruel treatment and behave
with better taste than Lady Francis."
" What am I to say to her ?" said Clitheroe,
almost angrily. " She is waiting in the garden.
A woman's view of the matter. 81
I told her that you would call upon her this
afternoon."
" Then you took a very unwarrantable liberty,"
said his sister. " I will not call upon her. I
should advise you to tell her to send De Miirger
away at once."
" And then will you call upon her ? " he asked,
eagerly.
" No, I won't," answered his sister. " I detest
fuzzy-headed little women, who get on well with
any man except their husbands. There will be
an esclandre one day, and I don't mean to be
mixed up in it."
" I had no idea you were so uncharitable," he
said, with genuine surprise.
" I am not the least uncharitable," she said,
"but you must admit that Lady Francis has
everything against her."
" Appearances may be against her," he said,
doubtfully.
" And appearances in society count for every¬
thing," said his sister. " If women wish to be
original, and what you call reckless and impulsive,
they must give up society, for you may be quite
sure that they will meet with the cold shoulder
wherever they go."
" You have certainly shown it to Lady Francis,"
he said, bitterly.
" For the reason I have told you. As for your
6
82
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
sentimental rubbish about her ill-treatment from
her husband, she cannot have suffered so very
dreadfully, as she has always had Count de
Miirger to console her."
" Thank you, Helen; you have said quite
enough. I am sorry I attempted to enlist your
sympathy, and I am doubly sorry that I mentioned
you to Lady Francis. I don't know what I shall
say to her. You have placed me in a very
awkward position."
" You have placed yourself in one," she said.
" Why not leave Harrogate at once ? You are
only being made a tool of, and you had better let
the partie carrde sort itself as best it may."
Jacynth felt terribly perplexed, and he could
scarcely help feeling that there was a certain
amount of truth—a certain amount of worldly
wisdom—in what his sister had said. Of course
Fenella did not care for him, and never would.
Every one had warned him against her, and it
was very foolish of him to indulge a wild dream
which could never be anything but a wild dream.
He was perfectly convinced of her innocence with
respect to De Miirger, but evidently it was diffi¬
cult to get others to share his credulity. And
why should they believe that she was innocent
when she allowed the man to come and stay in
the hotel with her, in defiance, not only of her
husbands wishes, but also of all the laws of
a woman's view of the matter. 83
society and good taste? His sister's words had
been very severe and uncompromising, but he
almost felt as if he must agree with her, and this
What could he say to the poor, little, misguided
woman who was waiting for him to extricate her
from her difficulties? How could he possibly
84
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
explain to her that his sister had refused to make
her acquaintance, when he had told her that she
might count upon her assistance and sympathy ?
He walked out of the house in a furious frame of
mind. He was angry with his sister, and still
more so with himself for being influenced by what
she had said. He went straight to his rendezvous
with Lady Francis, and when she caught sight of
him she started up, and came forward with out¬
stretched hands. At once his doubts disappeared.
It only needed one look from her pleading brown
eyes for all his old confidence and infatuation to
be restored.
How kind you are!" said Fenella, with grati¬
tude beaming in her face. " Have you been all
this time with your sister ? When am I to see
her ? "
Then Jacynth felt extremely uncomfortable, and
looked down and kicked about the gravel, unable
to answer the questions which were put to him
" What did your sister say ?" pursued Fenella
" Did you explain everything to her ? "
"Yes, I explained everything," he said,
awkwardly.
" But not so well as I can explain it," she con¬
tinued; and then, "I am sure I shall like your
sister—that is to say, if she is like you."
" She is not like me," he said, moodily. " She
is altogether different."
a woman's view of the matter. 85
"Never mind," she said, brightly ; " I shall like
her all the same."
" I am afraid " he began.
" Yes ? What are you afraid of? " she asked.
" HASTILY RUNNING TOWARDS THE HOTEL " (/. 86).
" You see, my sister is going away very shortly;
in fact, she may leave any day," he answered,
confusedly.
" Oh, I am so sorry," she said, simply.
" Yes," he continued, desperately, " and, of
86
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
course, as her stay here is going to be so very
short, she thinks—I mean she fears "
" Well, go on," said Fenella, calmly.
" She fears that she could not be of much
assistance to you."
" But I myself am not going to stay long," she
said. " But it will be very kind of her to let me
'see something of her before she leaves. It will
silence the evil tongues."
" She feels that it will be scarcely worth while
to make your acquaintance," said Jacynth, with
a final violent kick at the gravel.
" I understand," said Fenella, in altogether a
different voice, and the light went out of her face.
" I can assure you " said Jacynth, but
Fenella stopped him.
" You need say no more," she said. Your
sister refuses to know me. I dare say she is right."
Then there was an awkward silence. Jacynth
could find no excuses ready, and Fenella was
inwardly very indignant. At last she managed
to subdue her emotion sufficiently to say to him,—
" I must thank you for the effort you have
made on my behalf; you have been very kind,
and whatever happens to me, I will never forget
your kindness."
Jacynth still found nothing to say, and, scarcely
before he had realised it, Fenella had turned from
him, and was hastily running towards the hotel.
CHAPTER VII.
SO NEAR—SO FAR AWAY.
BY "RITA."
" I never think but to regret
I know too much "
Ti-ie hush and silence of midnight had fallen over
the outer world beyond and about the great hotel,
and something of its hush and mystery brooded
too in the deserted corridors and vacated public
rooms of the building itself. Perhaps one or two
of its inmates—so strangely thrown together—
would have given almost every earthly possession
for the power to gaze unknown—unseen—into
one of those locked chambers : a room where a
woman sat alone, with all the light and laughter
and mischief gone from her face, and the shadows
of suffering and regret resting like sombre mem¬
ories in her veiled and sorrowful eyes.
This was not Lady Francis as the world knew
her—as the men whom shebewitched and tor¬
mented and flirted with in so audacious a fashion
knew her. No, this was a woman maddened by
87
88
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
self-reproach and unavailing regrets, fired with
jealous hatred of a rival, and filled to the heart's
core with the memories and the longings that one
voice, one face, alone in all the world, had power
to awaken, and had awakened to-day.
She had thrown on a loose muslin wrapper, and
the soft lace and pale tinted ribbons seemed to
cling lovingly around the lissom figure, the snowy
throat and arms. The long glass opposite re¬
flected her as she raised her drooping head with
its wealth of unbound hair, and the sorrowful eyes
that met her own struck sharply on her senses as
a surprise—so unlike they were to the eyes she
was used to see. " Oh, what a fool I have
been! " she cried, with an impatience and intoler¬
ance of herself that was the more maddening by
reason of its vain remorse. " And yet I suppose
I should do it again to-morrow under the same
circumstances; yet, oh! Frank, Frank, how I
loved you once — how you seemed to love
I "
me !
She looked down again at the table by which
she was seated. On it lay an open photograph
case containing a photograph. The dark eyes
smiled at her—the handsome, gay, young face
looked radiant in its -happy youth and supreme
content with life.
Fler own intent gaze seemed to drink in
thirstily every line, every feature, well as she
SO NEAR SO FAR AWAY.
89
knew them all. " He doesn't look happy—now,"
she said, and a little sob broke from her.
Impatiently she closed the case, and began
to pace up and down the room in a stormy, im¬
petuous fashion—dashing the tears from her wet
lashes, though they only thronged back fast and
swift in very mockery of her efforts» to deny their
weakness.
" How could I expect it to be different ? Isn't
it always the same—always, always ?" she re¬
peated, passionately. " Love doesn't last; it
can't. And there were so many temptations ;
and then the excitement of conquest, and the
vanity of wishing to show him I could still charm
others, though he seemed to think I had no right
to try. But it was all so false, so—so foolish.
If he had only trusted, if he had only spoken
gently, kindly—as he used to speak ! And then
that hateful woman, that French serpent—fiend
—adventuress. Heavens ! how I hated her ; how
I hate her still. If I thought he cared, really
cared—if I thought he had ever held her to his
heart—kissed her as he used to kiss me—if
Oh ! I could kill her !"
She broke off abruptly, pressing her hand
to her heart, while the blood rushed in a crimson
torrent to her face. " Oh ! he can't! " she moaned,
throwing herself face downwards on the cushions
of the couch. " And yet I believed it—once;
9°
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
and I've never even let any man's lips touch
my hand; never, with all my whims and follies
and vagaries, allowed myself to forget that I am
Frank's wife. But he doesn't care any longer.
How could I expect it? And yet if he had only
spoken one word to-day—one little word, I would
have thrown myself at his feet, and said, ' Oh !
Frank, I love you—I've never ceased loving
you. Oh ! take me back, and let us forget all
this miserable mistake.' Frank ! " She raised
her head and shook back the rich, soft hair im¬
patiently, and stretched longing arms out to the
empty silence. " Frank," she whispered more
loudly, "why don't you come to me? Why
don't you feel I want you as—as surely—some¬
times—you want me. Frank "
She rose unsteadily, supporting herself by one
hand that rested on the back of the couch.
Her face had grown strangely white, her eyes
had a look of intensity that spoke of strained
mental force. " If I dared go to him," she said,
still in that strange whisper. " I've never said I
was wrong—or—or sorry, but I am, Frank—God
knows I am. Don't drive me desperate ; I'm too
unhappy and too' reckless to be always patient.
But if you swear you never loved any other
woman, Frank, I—I will swear I never loved or
thought of any man save you. Never, dear heart
—never."
92
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Still with that strained look, intense and far oft
as that of a sleep-walker, still with face deathlike
in its rigid whiteness, she moved across the room.
The loose shower of hair seemed to annoy her by
its weight. She paused an instant before the
table, and took up a curious-looking silver dagger.
Then, hastily twisting the hair into a thick coil,
she fastened it with the dagger and turned towards
the door.
* * * # #
" Will she read it ? " muttered Lord Francis to
himself, as he looked at the closely-covered pages
of the letter in his hand. " Oh, if she would
only believe ; if she would only let me know what
she really feels. It is maddening to be placed in
such a position ; to see her playing fast and loose
with reputation; to have no more right to kiss
her lips or touch her hand than the veriest
stranger. To be here now, to-night, the same
roof covering us, not half a dozen walls dividing
us, and yet not dare "
He broke off abruptly ; his eyes grew dark
with stormy passions. The pain and fever of
aroused memories throbbed wildly in his heart,
and thrilled his veins anew with love and longing,
as once her light step and sweet low laugh had
thrilled him.
" Fenella !—wife ! " his heart cried. " Oh,
God! are our lives to be for ever wrecked and
SO NEAR SO FAR AWAY.
93
spoilt by this miserable folly ? Child, surely you
know I love you, that all other women are but as
shadows to me. Oh, how my heart aches for
you! Surely you feel it—you can't have forgotten
—you cant ! "
He looked again at the letter, then placed it in
an envelope and sealed it hastily.
" I will go to her—I know her room. I can
slip it under the door if—if she is asleep; but,
perhaps "
He did not finish that thought audibly. Only
opened the door and looked down the dark and
silent corridor beyond.
How still it was! He heard a clock striking,
somewhere in the silence, two hours after mid¬
night. A strange chill—a feeling of half shame,
half uncertainty—held him there on the threshold.
There seemed something guilty and wrong about
the simple action he intended.
"To think," he muttered to himself, "that a
man should actually feel there was something
improper in leaving a letter at his own wife's
door. Yet, if I were seen, who would believe it?"
He drew the door after him. The whole
corridor was in darkness. At the further end
stood a marble statue surrounded by tall palms.
He had noticed it already during the day. The
room next to it was the one he had seen Lady
Francis enter.
94
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
He moved softly down the long passage.
Suddenly he paused, and shrank back into a
doorway close at hand, That door beside the
statue and the palms was thrown open ; a slender
white figure stood revealed by the light within
the room. At the same moment another figure
—the figure of a man—advanced rapidly, and
spoke in a low, hurried voice.
The watcher stood as if turned to stone. He
saw the woman retreat backwards, step by step,
into the room she had just quitted; he saw the
man attempt to follow her. The door shut; again
all was darkness and silence.
For one hateful, throbbing moment, that seemed
to hold a lifetime of agony in its passage, Lord
Francis stood there, gazing at the closed door.
At last, with trembling limbs and face bloodless
as the dead, he staggered back to his own room
and sank down on the chair where he had written
that letter, with its pleading for love and recon¬
ciliation.
"Too late!" he cried. "Oh, Heaven! to
think my own eyes should be the witness of my
own eternal shame and—hers ! "
His head fell on his arms. He was as one
dazed and stunned by the consciousness of misery
undreamt of, despite those cold and silent years.
Moment after moment passed. One hour and
then another dropped into the gulf of time that
SO NEAR—SO FAR AWAY.
95
is no more. Still he never stirred. Consciousness
of anything besides his own misery—besides the
"THE FIGURE OF A MAN ADVANCED RAPIDLY" {p. 94).
living recognition of his own shame—was dead
within him ; dead as youth was dead, and hope,
96
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
and truth, and all things fair and sweet in life
—slain by a woman's hand.
#«AA. ,\A,
"A* ~7X~ *7T
The dawn was brightening into daylight as
at last Lord Francis roused himself from his long
stupor.
" What had happened ? " he thought confusedly.
" Had he been ill? Had he done anything?'
A hideous dread seized and appalled him. In
those brief hours he seemed to have lived a
lifetime.
"Why did I not kill him ?" he muttered, lifting
his haggard young face up to the faint rose light
that filtered through the curtains. " Kill him !
—ay, and in her arms—kill him and her too!
Heaven ! " a strange, hoarse laugh escaped
him. " I shall go mad if I stay here—under the
same roof with them."
He began to move about confusedly, putting
things together, and tossing his clothes into his
portmanteau. He was possessed but by one
idea—to leave a place made hateful by this dis¬
covery, to get away from .these men and women,
with their jeering tongues and malicious smiles,
who all guessed or knew of his disgrace. It
had been so public, so shameless. She had sum¬
moned this man to her side. She had flaunted
her preference for him before his very face, and
now
SO NEAR—SO FAR AWAY.
97
He cursed her in his heart, as still, with
fevered haste and strange, impetuous movements,
he gathered together his few possessions. Then
he locked his box, and wrote a hurried note to
the manager of the hotel, enclosing a cheque, and
stating that the portmanteau would be sent for
later on. A hurried glance around—a glance
which passed over the letter he had written but a
few brief hours before. It lay where it had fallen
from his hand when he sank into the chair by
his writing-table—lay there so innocent, yet so
fraught with power to work remorse or retri¬
bution in days that were to come.
The grey light of the early dawn gleamed like a
pale phosphorescence over the shadowy corridor,
and lit with spectral mystery the white statue and
the dusky palms. He shuddered as his eyes fell
on them. How significant they had become !
Then, with a smothered oath that breathed
vengeance for the future, he rushed down the
staircase and past the sleeping porter in the
entrance hall, and in another moment was stand¬
ing in the fresh, sweet atmosphere of life and
light that God and Nature have so freely given
to the thankless, sated eyes of men.
#-S£, -AZ. sji, UZ,
vr- 7V" vv-
How that day passed Lord Francis never
knew. It seemed to him, when his senses grew
clearer, that weeks and months must have gone
7
98
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
by since the awful moment that had brought to
him the full and complete knowledge of his wife's
perfidy. Yet there had been a strange and con¬
sistent purpose in all his actions. He had walked
for miles and miles before taking the train. He
had reached London, and driven straight to his
chambers, to the no small dismay and discomfiture
of his man, who had been inaugurating a brief
spell of leisure not as wisely as he might have
done. He had given orders to this man to pack
up clothes sufficient for a long journey, paid his
wages, arranged with his usual caretaker to remain
in the chambers, then departed for Charing Cross
to catch the tidal train en route for Paris.
All this he remembered afterwards. Remem¬
bered vaguely, impassively, as if every action had
been performed by some one apart and outside of
himself; as if he had been spectator instead of
actor. Remembered even as he remembered the
crowded station, the flashing lights, the hoarse
cries of the porters, the bustle and confusion on
the platform, and high above all the shrill voices
of the newsvendors crying out the news of the
evening papers—" Pall Mall! St. James s Gazette!
or Star ! Latest edition ! Mysterious murder of
a foreign count in an hotel! Latest special! "
He threw himself back on the seat of his
carriage. What mattered murders or tragedies
to him ? In heart he knew himself a murderer
SO NEAR SO FAR AWAY. 99
by desire and fierce hatred —in reality his life
had turned to tragedy deep and bitter and terrible,
"HE THREW HIMSELF BACK ON THE SEAT OF HIS CARRIAGE" (/. 98)*
with a hopelessness that the coming years could
never brighten, and the dawn of Hope would
never bless.
IOO
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
The shrill whistle of the engine sounded above
all the clamour. The train moved slowly out of
the station, and still clear and distinct those words
reached him like a meaningless echo—" Murder of
a foreign count! Mysterious occurrence! Special
edition ! Special edition ! "
CHAPTER VIII.
THE TRAGEDY.
BY JOSEPH HATTON.
" Out, out, damned spot! "—Shakespeare.
I t was during these hours that had " dropped
one by one into the gulf of time" that the
miserable Count had been done to death by as
fierce a murderer as had ever mutilated Nature's
handiwork, albeit unconscious of his sanguinary
deed.
While mind and body had, so far as Lord
Francis knew, been absorbed in sleep, both had
been cruelly awake under a strange mesmeric or
electro-biologic influence.
The wrong by which his soul was vexed had
carried him out of himself, and brought him under
the control of what unsophisticated people call
sleep-walking, with suicidal or murderous impulse.
Scientists have found in this hypnological condi¬
tion new examples of unconscious evolution of
the mind; but it is not our business to describe
or investigate the various discoveries which in
IOI
102
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
the direction of hypnotic trance or mesmeric con¬
straint have of late occupied public attention ; we
have merely to record the facts that in this present
history are stranger than fiction.
Illustrations of the possibilities of a dual exist¬
ence have been given to the world in the case of
Hyde and Jekyll, but sleep-walking-is as old as
the hills; and, give the hypnological subject the
original impulse of a bitter wrong sufficient to
excite a vengeful desire, then such a deed as
that which was proclaimed by the newsboys—
as Lord Francis left his chambers to take the tidal
train to Paris—is quite conceivable.
The victim of the dream in action, the sleep¬
walker—the subject of the mesmeriser—comes
out of his trance oblivious of his hypnotic adven¬
tures.
And thus it was with Lord Francis. But what
a crime he had unconsciously committed ! And
with what heroic self-denial the wife had taken
upon herself all the responsibility of the criminal's
vengeful act!
The male figure which Lord Francis had seen
stealing towards his wife's room was the Count
de Miirger. In this Lord Francis was not mis¬
taken, but Fenella was. We know how at the
moment her heart was yearning for its rightful
lord; but De Miirger little thought that Lady
Francis had taken him for Frank. Her feelings
THE TRAGEDY.
IO3
had been so wrought up to the pitch of hope,
that leaving her room to find her husband, and
throw herself at his feet, she fancied him in a
similar frame of mind—as indeed he was—and
love interpreted the approach of the Count into
that of her husband.
Alas! if she had only resented the presence of
the Count in the hearing of Lord Francis; if he
could have heard the overwhelming rebuke of the
true wife as the truculent lover flung himself upon
his knees before her, what a world of misery had
been spared him and her !
Not that the death of the Count was any loss
to society or the world; it was not. There was
no redeeming feature in his character. He had
worked his way into Fenella's confidence by
subtle lies ; he had won his position in society,
such as it was, by the meanest arts; not to
mention the replenishing of his purse on more
than one occasion by doubtful play at cards, even
when invited to the best houses. In short, the
Count was an unscrupulous man; but he was
fascinating to women, and could boast, and did,
of his many conquests.
Such perfidy as this may be successful for a
time, but it not unfrequently has a violent ending.
In the case of Count de Miirger his career was
cut short at the moment when he was, as he
thought, on the eve of his most daring and
IC>4 TI-IE FATE OF FEN ELLA.
villainous success. If his death cast a shadow
upon the reputation of Fenella, since it occurred
in her chamber, it threw around her the halo of
"'THIS MAN ATTEMPTED MY LIFE, AND I KILLED HIM 1 ' " (/. 105,).
a wifely devotion not unworthy of the classic days
of classic virtue.
It is only the reader, however, of the present
history who can understand all that is meant by
this revelation of wifely atonement and love.
THE TRAGEDY.
I05
Fenella, like many another wife, had sought to
amuse herself with a would-be lover ; she had
also played him off against the supposed indiffer¬
ence of her husband in a careless rivalry of his
harmless flirtations.
When the police entered the chamber of Lady
Francis Onslow, they found the Count lying dead
on the floor. Looking to her for some explana¬
tion, she drew herself to her full height, and,
flinging upon the body a silver-hilted dagger she
said, " This man attempted my life, and I killed
him."
It is curious how situations ot a kindred
character often inspire similar explanations. It
will be remembered by many that when the
Deputy in "The Dead Heart" drew the attention
of the guard to the dead Abbe, he did so in words
quite similar to those used by Lady F rancis
Onslow.
It was a most pathetic figure—the slim, pale
woman, as she drew her brocaded gown about
her, and fixed her expressive eyes on the police.
Lord Francis Onslow little dreamed what had
occurred as he fled from the hotel. And yet it
was he whom his wife was shielding in her strange
confession. It was Lord Francis himself who
had slain the Count, and in her presence.
It is known that great discoveries have been
made during so-called sleep. Men have made
106 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
long journeys in their dreams, and awakened
unconscious of their travels. Others have arisen
refreshed with a new sense of knowledge and
! power. Louis Stevenson has confessed that he
first dreams his stories, and then writes them out.
There was in a recent Academy the picture of
a young girl walking with closed eyes amidst
poppies and hemlocks. The present writer has
experienced, in his own career, an incident of
hypnotic sleep or mesmeric trance, during which
he went forth in very truth with knife and pistol
to commit, as it seemed, some great crime, and
was only prevented by the kindly guidance of a
loving arm that held his own, and led him back
to the couch from which he had risen.
And thus it was when Lord Francis exclaimed,
"Too late! Oh, Heaven! to think my own
eyes should be the witness of my own eternal
shame, and—hers," the hand of Fate was stretched
out against the intriguing and vicious Count de
Miirger. For as Lord Francis staggered back to
his room, dazed, stunned, the cold tears welling
up into his eyes, his head on his arms, his whole
form limp with shattered nerves, a new and
terrible power was created within him. He fell
into a chair, entirely overcome, and for a little
while appeared to sleep. But it was the sleep
that awakens, the mesmeric sleep that walks and
acts, the dream-sleep that takes possession of
THE TRAGEDY.
I07
body and mind; such sleep as that which afflicted
Lady Macbeth after the murder of Duncan.
Hardly had De Miirger surprised the startled
Fenella, than Lord Francis arose from the chair
and retraced his steps towards his wife's room.
While all that he knew of himself was asleep,
Nature, in one of its strangest freaks, propelled
him forth.
" Back, sir! How dare you come here ? " Lady
Francis was exclaiming, as he entered the room.
De Miirger had just risen from his knees,
and in Fenella's hand was a gleaming dagger.
" But, my dear Fenella, listen," said the Count.
" Back, I say! Touch me, and I will kill you ! "
" Oh, this is foolish bravado," the Frenchman
answered.
"Another word, and I will alarm the house."
" That would only be to ruin your reputa¬
tion," said the daring lover.
" God knows I have not much reputation to
lose in the eyes of the world, since it seems I
have given you sufficient encouragement to bring
you here."
"Well, then, why be cruel now? You know
I love you dearly !" As he made this last ap¬
peal, Fenella stood transfixed, her eyes no longer
upon his, but gazing, as it seemed, on vacancy.
" Hush!" she whispered, her eyes fixed, her
figure rigid with fear.
108 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
She saw her husband steal ghost-like into
the room; noted his blanched face, his lips blue,
his eyes piercing bright. He seemed to glide
towards her like an .animal creeping towards its
prey.
" Ah, you relent," said the Count, approach¬
ing her with loving action, at which the appari¬
tion of the avenging husband paused. For a
moment Lady Francis thought it was an appari¬
tion, the unreal creation of her fears; but when
it came crouching on again, as if ready to spring,
she realised the situation, and in response to the
Count in his fool's paradise, she whispered,
" Hush ! your hour has come, and mine. And,
O Heaven, he will never know that I am
innocent!"
The next moment the stealthy figure rose up,
and seemed to smite the Count as an anaconda
might. There was no noise, no thudding blow ;
but a great iron grip held him by the throat, and
a moment later the dagger was taken from the
hand of Lady Francis, and was thrust into the
heart of the already dying man.
Presently the deed was done, and the murderer
stood face to face with his wife. He looked at
her as if he saw her not. She spoke ; he did not
seem to hear her.
"I am innocent, Frank," she said, "but oh!
kill me, too, for you can never believe me! I
THE TRAGEDY.
IO9
was seeking you when he came to me ; I had
upbraided myself, and determined to ask your for¬
giveness for my neglect of you. But, oh! for
nothing more, as Heaven is my judge ! But kill
me; you can never again think me a true and
honest wife."
'"hush! your hour has come, and mine!'" {p. 108).
For a moment the somnambulist stood and
gazed at her, but surely saw her not.
"He is mad!" she said, "mad! Or have I
lost my senses? Frank, Frank, I will save you!
Begone! I am to blame. I will accept the
responsibility ! Begone ! "
I IO
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
She did not move as she spoke, nor did he.
They both looked steadily at each other. She
thought he was about to answer her, when he
moved away, retracing his steps from the room
as stealthily as he had entered it. She watched
him with a strange fascination, and without the
power to move until he disappeared. Then, with
a moaning cry, she sank upon her knees, and put
out her hand towards the ghastly heap upon the
floor, in the hope that she was only dreaming,
and that all she had seen was mere phantasy.
The carpet was wet, and there was blood upon
her hand.
"Why did I not kill him?" he had exclaimed,
as we know, when he had returned to his own
room and passed out of his sleep to life and
consciousness.
He knew nothing of the murderous scene in
which he had played so terrible a part—knew
nothing of the crumpled, bleeding body lying in a
hideous heap, with its pale companion looking
down upon it, and the light stealing through the
curtained window, wan and ghost-like.
Fenella watched the first sentinels of the
morning, pointing airy fingers here and there;
one trembling sun-glance falling upon the silver
hilt of the red dagger; another seeking, as it
were, to find out the hideous face of the dead
man. But she uttered no word, only stood there
THE TRAGEDY.
11 1
still and quiet, like some strangely sculptured
statue waiting to be called to life—as she was
presently called by an inspector of police and the
manager of the hotel.
Aroused to action, she took upon herself all the
odium of her husband's deed—took it upon herself
with the queen-like dignity of an avenging angel.
" This man attempted my life, and I killed him!"
And they knew, those common men, that when
she said her life she meant her honour. To her
that was her life, and they were conscious of her
great beauty, even as she stood before them, pale
as a ghost, and with hot, burning eyes.
The officer noticed that there was no evidence
of a struggle ; not a curtain was awry. No chair
was out of its place. The carpet was unruffled,
the room neat and trim, as if nothing unusual had
taken place. Before touching the body he wrote
these facts down in his book ; then, laying his
hand upon the bundle of clothes, he exposed the
dead face of the Count, and requested the hotel
manager to admit his two attendant constables.
One he despatched for a doctor; to the other he
confided the custody of Lady Francis Onslow.
" I charge you formally, madam, with the
murder of this man on your own confession,
which I have written down; and I warn you that
anything else you may say will be given in
evidence against you."
I 12
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"Yes," said Fenella; "he attempted my life,
and I killed him."
" You are my prisoner, my lady," said the
inspector; " but you may call in any friend you
wish to see. At the same time, I again warn you
that anything you may say will be taken down,
and may be given in evidence against you. I
will do my duty as considerately as possible, but
I have a duty to perform, and that of course you
will understand."
The first editions of the newspapers gave
conflicting reports of the Count's death.
For a time the public did not understand
whether the Count had been murdered in his bed
by burglars, whether he was the victim of Nihilistic
vengeance, or whether he had committed suicide ;
but on the morning following the tragedy they
were regaled with all the strange story, and much
more besides.
The confession of Lady Francis Onslow was a
text upon which everybody had a sermon to
preach. But it was speedily a point of comment
that the marks upon the throat of the dead man
suggested a more powerful grip than that of
Fenella. There was something in the condition
of the body which puzzled the experts. This was
no ordinary murder, everybody agreed; nor indeed
was it, as we know.
At the inquest the medical testimony showed
THE TRAGEDY.
113
that death might have been caused either by-
strangulation, or by the deep fierce stab that
disfigured the body.
It seemed to the experts that the man had
been done to death by some person far more
powerful than the prisoner. The marks on the
throat were almost as strong, and the bruises and
depression of the windpipe as great, as would be
caused by hanging. The man had been gripped
by a powerful hand, while he had been stabbed
with a force that had an impression of the
dagger's handle upon the flesh. The witnesses
were few, but they were sufficient to show that
a murder had been committed, though the jury
and the public had evidently grave doubts about
the criminality of the prisoner, Lady Francis
Onslow.
One of the jurors had asked a pointed question
as to the possibility of the deceased having
committed suicide. This was, however, only a
kindly suggestion in the direction of Lady Francis
Onslow's innocence. The Count had been killed
by other hands than his own. There was no
doubt about that.
What irritated the public in regard to the first
day's inquiry was that, while there were hints at
scandal, nothing came out that might be called
piquant.
Of course, there was the fact that the Count
8
i 14 the fate of fenella.
was in Lady Francis Onslow's bedroom at mid¬
night ; but none of the details that led up to this
piece of audacity—if it were audacity—were dis¬
closed.
The coroner, in a mild rebuke administered to
the foreman of the jury, said the Court was as¬
sembled to inquire into the death of Count de
Miirger, but it was not a court of social investi¬
gation ; it was not an inquisition charged with a
mission to unravel scandal, or to exploit the life
and manners of a section of Her Majesty's
subjects. While he would take any evidence
that bore upon the case, however painful that
evidence might be to the private feelings or
public reputation of even the highest in the land,
he would not allow that Court to be unduly in¬
quisitorial in matters that could only satisfy the
prurient and licentious taste of that wretched
section of the public which found its chief amuse¬
ment in French novels and the scandals of Vanity
Fair.
Poor coroner! He lived to regret those words.
Even some of the very best newspapers con¬
demned them; and the worst called for the
coroner's instant dismissal, as a panderer to the
aristocracy, and unfit to preside over a court of
any kind.
On the first day of the inquest the coroner
asked why Lord Francis Onslow was not present.
THE TRAGEDY.
115
The question created an expectant hush, which
was maintained while Mr. Jarrow Cook, of the
firm of Cook, Son & Lovett, the family lawyers
of the Onslows, explained that Lord Francis was
somewhere abroad—where, they did not know.
"When did Lord Francis quit the hotel where
the Count was killed ? " asked the foreman of the
jury.
" I do not know," was the lawyer's reply.
" I believe he left very early and suddenly for
London, and then went on to Paris. Is that
so r
" I really cannot say," was the lawyer's answer.
"I do not know that these questions are in
order, Mr. Foreman," said the coroner.
" Maybe not, Mr. Coroner," replied the fore¬
man, " but there is a good deal, it strikes me,
in the conduct of Lord Francis Onslow in this
matter that requires explanation."
" Mr. Coroner," said the lawyer, " if you will
permit me to say so, Lord Francis will, I am
quite sure, be quite ready to answer any ques¬
tions that this honourable Court may desire to
ask him ; but I think in his absence that "
" Certainly," said the coroner, interrupting Mr.
Jarrow Cook, of the firm of Cook, Son & Lovett.
" I am sure the foreman will feel that it is not
within our province at the moment to refer to
the conduct of Lord Francis Onslow. His lord-
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
ship will, no doubt, present himself before us in
due course, if wanted. If necessary, I will order
his attendance."
" THE PRISONER SAT PLACIDLY IN AN ARM CHAIR " (/. 117).
At this there was some applause in Court,
and Mr. Jarrow Cook rose to remark with all
deference that he thought the coroner's observa-
THE TRAGEDY.
II 7
tion uncalled for; whereupon tne coroner re
minded Mr. Jarrow Cook that he was only there
by courtesy, and that he must request him not
to offer any further criticism of a personal nature
in regard to the conduct ot the Court.
Mr. Jarrow Cook bowed, and the proceedings
went on without any further interruption.
The prisoner, who was dressed in a quiet
gown of grey cashmere, sat placidly in an arm¬
chair near Mr. Jarrow Cook. She was pale,
but quite self-possessed. The evidence of the
police inspector seemed to interest her very
much, as he related with careful regard to detail
how he was sent for, and what he saw and heard
in the prisoner's room ; how he cautioned her,
and what he said when he took her into custody.
An observant reporter thought he detected a
peculiar smile pass over the mobile features of
Lady Francis Onslow when the first medical
witness suggested the impossibility of a woman
having made the marks on the throat of the dead
man ; but no doubt, when the case comes to be
sifted to its very dregs, and the prosecuting
counsel has to reply to this medical criticism, he
will be able to adduce instances of the enor¬
mous strength that comes with passion, or is the
outcome of some great act of revenge, and so on.
That is, if Lady Francis Onslow should have
to take her trial for wilful murder; though the
T 18 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
coroner's inquest ended with her condemnation,
the case has still to go before the police magis¬
trate ; and already public opinion has decided
that if Lady Francis Onslow did kill the would-
be Tarquin, she is only guilty of manslaughter.
By her own confession, upon which she was
originally charged, the man sought her life, and
she killed him. It was remarked by many that
in America she would have easily found bail if
she had been arrested, and that if she had ever
come before a court for trial, she would have
been promptly acquitted. "Justifiable homicide"
is a verdict not unknown to the English law,
many wise persons also remarked.
Meanwhile Lady Francis Onslow was on her
way, in a police-van, to be charged in the police-
court, and a detective had been told off at
Scotland Yard to keep his eye upon Lord Francis
Onslow.
CHAPTER IX.
FREE ONCE AGAIN.
BY MRS. LOVETT CAMERON.
"And my soul, from out that shadow that lies floating on the
floor,
Shall be lifted—Nevermore ! "
She was free—free to go where she pleased—to
do as she liked. The hideous nightmare of the
trial was over; a jury of her countrymen had
brought in a verdict of "justifiable homicide."
The laws of her country had given her back her
liberty, and Fenella was a free woman.
Perhaps the jury had not been altogether unim¬
pressed by the pale loveliness of the unhappy girl
who had stood before them as " prisoner in the
dock," during those two terrible days ; perhaps
the sight of the small pale face, of the piteous
brown eyes, of the childish rosy lips that quivered
a little, yet that never swerved in that one state¬
ment that they repeated through all the weary
examination and cross-examination, may have in¬
fluenced those rough men who held her life in
their hands more than they had any idea of.
n9
I 20
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" I confess it. I killed him; he attempted my
life, and I killed him in self-defence.'
" When you say your life, you mean probably
more, do you not ?" inquired the barrister who
was examining her; and she answered, simply,
" I do—I mean that which to a woman is dearer
than life itself;" and at the words a sort of shiver
of suppressed excitement ran through that packed
and crowded Court—a shiver that made as though
one heart's throb of sympathy and of admiration.
But more than all else did Fenella owe her salva¬
tion to the man who stood up for a whole hour to
defend her.
Clitheroe Jacynth, it was said afterwards, made
his professional reputation over the defence of
Lady Francis Onslow. He had been known to
be clever, he had been reckoned amongst the
rising men of his day, but never until now had
the world quite realised the power that was in
him. He had all the eloquence, the fire, the
passionate pleading of a man whose whole soul
was in the cause that he advocated, and his
arguments carried all before them by the sheer
force of will and talent. No one who saw the
dark, passionate face—the eyes that shone with
righteous wrath—who listened to the strong,
sinuous words, that seemed to burn into the
hearts of his hearers as they fell like living fire
from his lips, ever forgot Jacynth as he was that
FREE ONCE AGAIN.
121
day. And when, at the last, he looked round the
Court, and, after a moment of silence, more
eloquent than words, began, with a deep and
low-voiced impressiveness : "I see around me
here a crowd of men—fathers, husbands, and
"HIS ARGUMENTS CARRIED ALL BEFORE THEM" (/. I20).
brothers—men who have women they love at
home, and whose honour lies in the hands of
those women. Which of us, my brothers—my
fellow-men," he cried suddenly aloud, stretching
forth his right arm in a passionate appeal to those
before him, " which of us all, did those women
122
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
whom we love stand where my unfortunate client
stood upon that fatal night, alone in the darkness,
with no arm to defend her, no ear to hear her
cry, with nothing but a certain and a shameful dis¬
honour before her—which of us, I say, would not
desire that the women we love and hold sacred,
you and I, and every true man in all England,
should do as this woman did, and save her honour
at all costs ? "
There was a murmur of applause that ran round
the Court as he sat down. Then the judge
summed up strongly in her favour. There had
been no evidence to contradict the prisoner's own
statement. No eye save her own had been in
that chamber of death in the darkness of the
night. Something, indeed, had been said about
signs of more force having been used than it was
in the power of a woman's frail hands to employ,
but there had been no evidence in support of that
theory. Not a vestige of any other presence in
the prisoner's chamber, save that of her would-be
destroyer, had come to light; and the jury must
bear in mind that a desperate woman is often
given an almost miraculous strength in such
moments of horror and of fear, and that if the
blow with the silver dagger had been, as it
appeared, struck first, the victim would necessarily
have become much weakened, and was probably
in a partial state of collapse.
FREE ONCE AGAIN.
123
There was much more of it, but it was all in
her favour, and almost before the jury retired it
was felt that their decision was a foregone con¬
clusion. No one could righteously condemn a
woman to death for murder who had taken a man's
life under such circumstances as these. So the
horror of it all came to an end, and Lady Francis
Onslow was told that she was free; that she
could go where she pleased, and do as she liked
One thing there was, however, that not all the
judges and the juries in the land could do for
her : they could not wash the stain of blood from
her hands.
It was when Clitheroe Jacynth came that
night to visit her, at her hotel in Dover Street
(she had left for London immediately after the
trial), that this terrible fact first came home to
her in all its dreadful reality. As he entered the
room, she ran gladly to meet him, impulsively
reaching out both her small hands to him.
" It is to you I owe my life! " she cried; " it
is you who have saved me. How can I ever
repay you, or ever thank you enough ? "
But Jacynth stood with a grave, sad face, and
downcast eyes, and arms folded together across
his breast, and took no notice whatever of those
little white hands stretched out to him.
A dull sense of dismay crept over her ; some¬
thing—she hardly knew why or wherefore—■
124 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
struck a cold chill to her heart, and her hands
sank nervelessly down again to her side.
" Won't you shake hands with me, Mr. Jacynth ?
—you, who have just saved my life ? "
" If I have saved you, it is because it was my
"'WON'T YOU SHAKE HANDS WITH ME, MR. JACYNTH?'"
duty, and because—because—alas, I love you,
Fenella! and I shall love you to my dying day!
That is why, if I can serve you, I will do so,
if I can be of use to you. You can command
me now, and always; but I cannot take your
hand, for there is blood on it! " and he averted
his face gloomily.
FREE ONCE AGAIN.
There was~~a moment of terrible silence between
them. In the old days Fenella would have flamed
out at him—would have heaped abuse and rage
and anger upon his head ; but now she said not
one single word—not one. The events of the
last month had broken her down and crushed
her to the earth, and her tongue was tied. She
could not deny the charge, nor tell the truth.
She had taken this blood-guiltiness upon her soul
to save him she loved—and to the end she must
bear it—to the end! Only, she had not realised
before how dreadful it would be to bear. That
Jacynth, who had worshipped the very ground
she stood upon, should refuse to touch her hand
was very terrible to her.
She sat down. There was a moment of intense
silence ; then dully, spiritlessly, she asked,—
" Why have you come here, then ? "
"To see you—to help and advise you, if you
will take my help, and to tell you about Ronny."
" Ah—Ronny ! " she cried, looking at him with
a sudden eagerness, whilst a pink flush flooded
her pale cheeks. " Where is Ronny ? I must
have him. Will you bring him to me now—at
once—this very night ? "
" My dear Lady Francis, I want you to be
very reasonable and sensible, and to listen to me."
" I never was reasonable and sensible in my
life," she began, with a little pout and a shrug
126 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
of her shoulders that reminded him almost too
painfully of her own wayward self—" but I will
listen if you like," she added humbly.
" I want you to let Ronny be where he is—
for the present at least. He is with my sister
Helen, and with Grandison, her boy, his old
playfellow. I think it would be good for them
both to be left together. My nephew has an
excellent tutor, and Ronny can share his lessons.
My sister has taken them both down to the
country, to her home in Sussex. She was very
hard to you, Fenella, but she is not really a bad-
hearted woman, and she was very, very sorry for
poor little Ronny when—when it all happened
—and when—you were taken from him. Let
Ronny be where he is."
" But I want him—I want him ! " she cried.
"He is all I have on earth—why should I be
parted from him ? "
" For his own good, Fenella! "
" It is best for a child to be with his mother."
He looked at her fixedly, but very sadly and
seriously.
" Do you think so," he asked, slowly—" in
this case ? "
Then she understood. Understood that, be¬
cause of the brand of Cain upon her brow, the
world would not think it good for her boy to be
brought up by his own mother!
FREE ONCE AGAIN.
127
Her cup of woe was indeed full. She bowed
her head—the bright brown head that he would
have died to serve—upon her hands, and wept
aloud.
" Don't," he said, a little unsteadily ; " don't
give way ; be brave, as you always have been,
my dear. Live down this story—this stain upon
your life ; go to other countries, where no one
will know you; make new friends, who will have
heard nothing. The world is before you; leave
England, and do not come back to your boy till
time has covered up with its kindly mantle this
wretched episode of your life. Ronny shall be
well cared for. I will look after him, and write
to you constantly about him. Only—for his own
sake—separate yourself entirely from him, until
he is old enough to know and to choose."
He waited for a moment, looking at her yearn¬
ingly and anxiously, but the bowed head never
stirred. Then, in the silence and gloom of the
bare and half-lit room, he turned, and left her
alone in her sorrow and her desolation.
Thirty-six hours later Fenella stood by her¬
self upon the deck of a Channel steamer,
watching the white cliffs of England, as they
receded farther and farther into the distance.
She was quite alone in the world—she had not
even taken a maid with her. She had made
up her mind that she would break every con-
128
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
nection of her former life, and start entirely
anew. There should not be even a servant
about her to remind her of her past. It was
for this reason that she had decided to go to
the Channel Islands—for a time at least, until
she could settle her further plans. Guernsey was
a quiet and comparatively secluded place, and
she was not likely to meet any of her former
friends and acquaintances there, and it would be
easy to go on to France from there should she
feel inclined to do so.
Jacynth entirely approved of her idea, and
went down himselt with her to Weymouth to
see her off. To be with her in so close a friend¬
ship, and yet to be unable even to take her hand
as a friend should do, was inexpressibly painful
to him; yet he did not shrink from sacrificing
his own feelings in order to serve her, whom,
in spite of everything, he still loved and admired
more than any woman on earth.
" I have treated you very badly," she said to
him once in the train ; " I led you on, and flirted
with you, and made you fall in love with me,
and all for nothing but the pleasure of making
an empty conquest ! I played with your heart
as I have done with that of dozens ot others ;
but I think you will allow that I have been
punished for it."
He could not answer her. The punishment
FREE ONCE AGAIN.
129
her own folly had brought upon her was indeed
terrible. And yet he did not know one half of
the burden she had to bear; nor did he guess
at her hopeless and helpless love for the husband
for whose crime she was suffering, that seemed
to have sprung up into new life in her heart
during these last three weeks of peril and of
well-nigh despair.
Where was he for whom she had suffered
so much, for whose sin her whole life had been
in jeopardy ? This was the question she asked
of herself, wildly and despairingly, as she leant
over the bulwarks of the steamer, and watched
the green waves as they hurried by, and dashed
themselves into foam against the side of the
vessel.
Who that had known the wild, reckless girl
of old, the Lady Francis who had flirted, and
laughed, and danced; who had shocked her ac¬
quaintances, and terrified her best friends, by h€f
mad and foolish frolics—who v/ould have recog¬
nised Lady Francis Onslow in the sad-eyed "Mrs.
Orme," in her dark and Quaker-like simplicity
of dress, who stood mournfully alone upon the
steamer, and looked her last upon her native
shores ?
It is a week later. A little furnished house,
standing in a garden that runs down to the edge
of the cliff, about a mile out of St. Peter's Port,
9
I30 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
has been taken by a quiet but very lovely little
lady, who apparently is a widow, and. who has
given her name to the house agent as " Mrs.
Orme."
She has engaged a couple of maids, and filled
her tiny house with the flowers for which Guernsey
is famous, and that are so cheap that not to have
flowers in every corner is not to have the very
breath of life. The window of her little sitting-
room looks over the blue sea that is bluer than
any other sea in English waters. Out there is
the low land of Herm, and all the little rocky
islands glittering and shining like jewels set in
the blue; and far away the long straight line of
Sark, with her steep cliffs and jagged rocks filling
in the picture on the horizon; whilst in the fore¬
ground there are countless little sails of snowy
whiteness that move to and fro upon the crisp
and azure waters. " Mrs. Orme " sits watching
it all from her garden lawn. It amuses her
vaguely and quietly, but she has nothing to do,
and it is very dull and quiet at Prospect Cottage.
It gives her quite a little excitement when a
beautiful schooner yacht turns into the bay, with
all her sails set, and makes as straight as wind
and tide can take her for the entrance of the
harbour.
Fenella thought she would run down to the
quay to see her come in. She was glad of an
free once again. 131
excuse to go into the town, so she started off
quite in good spirits, having attired herself quickly
in a smart little sailor hat and a trim serge jacket.
" I can call at the Post Office, and see if there
are any letters from Jacynth or Ronny." she
"' MRS. ORME ' SITS WATCHING IT ALL " (/. 130).
thought; and so she started off, little knowing
that she was starting to meet a new complication
in her fate.
The beautiful yacht came in, nearer and nearer,
to port—her sails came down with a ringing
noise, and from the shore one could hear the cries
132
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
and the songs of the sailors upon the deck.
Fenella stood amongst the crowd upon the quay
watching her.
" What yacht is that ? " she asked of a
respectable-looking individual, in the blue serge
garments of a sea-faring man who stood next to
her.
" She's the Seamew, a hundred-and-twenty-ton
schooner," replied the man.
" And to whom does she belong ? "
"To Lord Castleton."
Fenella started. "To Lord Castleton!" she
repeated, blankly.
" Ay, ay! but he ain't aboard her now; he
have lent her, I hear, to a friend who has had
her for the last six weeks. She started from this
very port, did the Seamew, six weeks ago, bound
for Madeira and the Canary Islands, where she
have been cruising about ever since, and now she
have come home again, to the very day as she
was expected to do."
"You are quite sure Lord Castleton is not on
her?" inquired Fenella, earnestly.
" Sartin sure, Miss"—they always called her
" Miss," she was so young and girlish !—" his
lordship was off to the South of France the werry
day she started, and that's how he came to lend
his schooner to his friend."
Fenella breathed anew. " And the friend's
FREE ONCE AGAIN.
T33
name ?" she inquired, after a minute; but her
acquaintance had already moved away from her
side, and was talking to some cronies of his own
farther on.
The yacht had settled down to her moorings
in the dock. The crowd began to disperse—
there seemed nothing more to wait for, and
Fenella, with the rest, moved away.
She had an errand or two to do in the town
before going home, and so she clambered up the
steep irregular picturesque little street, and went
about her small shoppings. Just as she was about
to turn into a baker's shop, half way up the
hill, a man's tall slender figure, in a blue serge
suit and peaked cloth cap, suddenly darkened
the narrow doorway.
"Frank!" she gasped, falling back a step.
" My God—Fenella ! " he said ; and for a mo¬
ment they stood there—pale, speechless, petrified,
gazing with horror and despair into each other's
faces.
CHAPTER X.
lord castleton explains,
by bram stoker.
Lord Francis Onslow lifted his cap. The
action was an instinctive one, for he was face to
face with a lady ; but he was half dazed with the
unexpected meeting, and could not collect his
thoughts. He only remembered that when he
had last seen his wife she was opening the door
of her chamber to De Mtirger. For weeks he
had been schooling himself for such a meeting,
for he knew that on his return such might at
any time occur ; but now, when the moment had
come, and unexpectedly, the old pain of his shame
overwhelmed him anew. His face grew white
—white till it seemed to Fenella that it was of
the pallor of death. She knew that she had been
so far guilty of what had happened—that the
murder had been the outcome of her previous
acts. She knew also that her husband was ignorant
of his part in the deed ; and her horror of the
man, blood-guilty in such a way, was fined down
i34
LORD CASTLETON EXPLAINS. 135
by the sense of her own partial guilt. The trial,
with all its consequent pain to a proud and sensi¬
tive woman, had softened her, and she grasped
"LORD FRANCIS ONSLOW LIFTED HIS CAP" (p. 134).
at any hope. The sight of Frank—his gaunt
cheeks which told their tale of suffering, and now
the deadly pallor, awoke all the protective feeling
which is a part of a woman's love.
136
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
It was with her whole soul in her voice that
she said again, " Frank ! "
His voice was stern as well as sad as he
answered her,—
"What is it?"
Her heart went cold, but she persevered.
"Frank, I must have a word with you—I
must. For God's sake, for Ronny's sake, do not
deny me ! " She did not know that as yet Frank
Onslow was in ignorance of De Miirger's death;
and when his answer came it seemed more hard
than even he intended.
" Do you wish to speak of that night ? "
In a faint voice she answered,—
" I do." Then looking in his eyes, and seeing
the hard look becoming harder still—for a man
is seldom generous with a woman where his
honour is concerned—she added,—
" Oh, Heaven, Frank! You do not think
me guilty? No, no, not you, not you! That
would be too cruel! '
Frank Onslow paused and said,—
" Fenella, God help me! but I do," and he
turned away his head. His wife, of course,
thought that he alluded to the murder, and not
to her sin against him as he saw it, and with a
low moan she turned away and hid her face in
her hands. Then with an effort she drew herself
up, and without a word or a single movement to
LORD CASTLETON EXPLAINS.
137
show that she even recognised his presence, she
passed on up the street.
Frank Onslow stood for a few moments watch¬
ing her retreating figure, and then went across
the street and turned the next corner on his
way to the Post Office, for which he had been
inquiring when he met his wife. At the door he
was stopped by a cheery voice and an out¬
stretched hand,—
" Onslow! "
" Castleton!" The two men shook hands
warmly.
" I see you did not get my telegram," said
Lord Castleton. "It is waiting for you at the
Post Office."
" What telegram ? "
"To tell you that I was on my way here from
London. I went in your interest, old fellow. I
thought you would like full particulars—the news¬
papers are so vague."
"What papers? My interest? Tell me all.
I am ignorant of all that has passed for the
last six weeks." A vague, shadowy fear began
to creep over his spirits. Castleton's voice was
full of sympathy as he answered,—
"Then you have not heard of But stay.
It is a long story. Come back to the yacht. I
was just going to join you there. We shall be
all alone, and I can tell you all. I have the
13^ THE FATE OF FENELLA.
newspapers here for you." He motioned to a
roll under his arm.
The two went down to the harbour, and finding
the sailor waiting with the boat at the steps, were
rowed to the yacht and got on board. Here the
two men were all alone. Then, with a prelimin¬
ary clearing of his voice, Castleton began his story.
"Frank Onslow—better get the worst over
at once—-just after you went away from Harrogate
your wife was tried for murder and acquitted."
"My God! Fenella tried for murder ? Whose
murder ? "
" That scoundrel De Murger. It seems he
went into her room in the night, and attempted
violence, so she stabbed him "
Castleton stopped in amazement, for a look of
radiance came over Frank Onslow's face as he
murmured, " Thank God! " Recalled to himself
by Castleton's silence, for he was too amazed
to go on, Frank said, " I have a reason, old
fellow ; I shall tell it to you later, but go on.
Tell me all the facts, or let me read the papers.
Remember I am as yet quite ignorant of it all,
and I am full of anxiety ! "
Without a word Castleton handed him the
papers, and, lighting a fresh cigar, sat down with
his back to him, and presently yielded to the sun
and fresh air, and fell into a doze.
Frank Onslow took the papers and read care-
LORD CASTLETON EXPLAINS. 139
fully from end to end the account of the trial of
his wife for the murder of De Miirger. When
he had finished he sat with the folded paper in
his hand, and his eyes had the same far-away
'"WHY DID I NOT KILL HIM?'" (/. 140).
look in them which they had had on that fatal
night. The hypnotic trance was on him again.
Presently he rose, and with stealthy steps
approached his sleeping friend. Murmuring,
"Why did I not kill him?" he struck with the
T40
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
folded paper, as though with a dagger, the form
before him. Castleton, who had sunk into a
pleasant sleep, and whose fat face was wreathed
with a smile, was annoyed at the rude awakening.
"What the devil!" he began angrily, and then
stopped as his eyes met the face of his friend, and
he realised that he was in some sort of trance.
He grew very pale as he saw Frank Onslow stab,
and stab, and stab again. There was a certain
grotesqueness in the affair—the man in such
terrible earnest in his mind committing murder,
whilst his real weapon was but a folded paper.
As he stabbed he hissed, " Why did I not kill
him ? Why did I not kill him ? " Then he went
through a series of movements as though he were
softly pulling an imaginary door shut behind him,
and so back to his own chair, where he sat down,
hiding his face in his hands.
Castleton sat looking at him in amazement, and
then murmured to himself,—■
" They thought it was some one stronger than
Fenella whose grasp made those marks on the
dead man's throat." He suddenly looked round
to see that no one but himself had observed what
had happened, and then, being satisfied on this
point, murmured again,—
"A noble woman, by Jove! A noble woman ! "
He called out,—
"Frank—Frank Onslow! Wake up, man!"
LORD CASTLETON EXPLAINS. 141
Onslow raised his head as a man does when
suddenly awakened, and smiled as he said,—
" What is it, old man? Have I been asleep ? "
It was quite evident that he had no recollection
of what had just passed. Castleton came and sat
down beside him, and his kindly face was grave
as he asked,—
"You have read the papers ?"
" I have."
" Now tell me—you offered to do so—why
you said ' Thank God !' when I told you that
your wife had killed De Miirger ?'
Frank Onslow paused. Although the memory
of what he had thought to be his shame had
been with him daily and nightly, until he had
become familiarised with it, it was another thing
to speak of it, even to such a friend as Castleton.
Even now, when it was apparent from the issue
of the trial that his wife had avenged so dread¬
fully the attempt upon her honour, he felt it
hard to speak on the subject. Castleton saw
the doubt and struggle in his mind which was
reflected in his face, and said earnestly, as he
laid his hand upon his shoulder,—
" Do not hesitate to tell me, Frank. I do
not ask out of mere curiosity. I am perhaps
a better friend than you think in helping to clear
up a certain doubt which I see before me. I
think you know I am a friend."
142
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" One ot the best a man ever had!" said
Frank impulsively, as he took the other's hand.
Then, turning away his head, he said slowly,—
"You were surprised because I was glad
Fenella killed that scoundrel. I can tell you,
Castleton, but I would not tell any one else. It
was because I saw him enter her room, and—
God forgive me!—I thought at the time that
it was by her wish. That is why I came away
from Harrogate that night. That is what kept
me away. How could I go back and face my
friends with such a shame fresh upon me? It
was your lending me your yacht, old man, that
made life possible. When I was by myself
through the wildness of the Bay of Biscay and
among the great billows of the Atlantic I began
to be able to bear. I had steeled myself, I
thought, and when I heard that, so far from my
wife being guilty of such a shame, she actually
killed the man that attempted her honour, is it
any wonder that I felt joyful ? "
After a pause Castleton asked,—
" How did you come to see—to see it ? Why
did you take no step to prevent it ? Forgive
me, old fellow, but I want to understand."
Frank Onslow went to the rail, and leaned
over. When he came back Castleton saw that
his eyes were wet. With what cheerfulness he
could assume, he answered,—
LORD CASTLETON EXPLAINS.
143
" On that very night I had made up my mind
to try to win back my wife's love. I wrote a
letter to her—a letter in which I poured out my
whole soul—and I left my room to put it under
her door, so that she would get it in the morning.
But"—here he paused, and then said, slowly,
" but when in the corridor I saw her door open,
and at the same moment De Miirger appeared."
" Did she seem surprised ? "
"Not at first. But a moment after a look of
amazement crossed her face, and she stepped
back into the room, he following her." As he
said this he put his head between his hands and
groaned.
" And then ? " added his friend.
" And then I hardly know what happened.
My mind seems full of a dim memory of a blank
existence, and then a series of wild whirling
thoughts, something like that last moment after
death in Wiertz's picture. I think I must have
slept, for it was two o'clock when I saw Fenella,
and the clock was striking five when I crossed
the bridge after I had left the hotel."
" And the letter : what became of it ? "
Frank started. " The letter ? I never thought
of it. Stay ! I must have left it on the table
in my room. I remember seeing it there a little
while before I came away."
"How was it addressed? Do not think me
144
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
inquisitive, but I cannot help thinking that that
letter may yet be of some great importance."
Frank smiled, a sad smile enough, as he
answered, " By the pet name I had for Fenella
—Mrs. Right. I used to chaff her because she
always defended her position when we argued,
and so, when I wanted to tease her, I called her
Mrs. Right."
" Was it written on hotel paper ? "
"No. I was going to write on some, but I
thought it would be better to use the sort we had
when—when we were first married. There were
a few sheets in my writing case, so I took one."
" That was headed somewhere in Surrey, was it
not ? "
"Yes; Chiddingford, near Haslemere. It was
a pretty place, too, called ' The Grange.' Fenella
fell in love with it, and made me buy it right
away."
" Is any one living there now ? "
" It is let to some one—I don't think that I
heard the name. The agent knows. When the
trouble came I told him to do what he could with
it, and not to bother me with it any more. After
a while he wrote and asked if I would mind it
being let to a foreigner ? I told him he might
let it to a devil so long as he did not worry
me "
Lord Castleton paused awhile, and asked the
LORD CASTLETON EXPLAINS.
145
next question in a hesitating way. He felt em¬
barrassed, and showed it.
" Tell me one thing more, old fellow—if—if
you don't mind."
" My dear Castleton, I'll tell you anything you
like."
" How did you sign the letter ? "
Onslow's face looked sad as he answered,—
" I signed it by another old pet name we both
understood. We had pet names—people always
have when they are first married," he added with
embarrassment.
" Of course," murmured the sympathetic
Castleton.
" One such name lasted a long time. An old
friend of my father's came to see us, and in a
playful moment he said I was a ' sad dog.'
Fenella took it up, and used to call me ' Doggie,'
and I often signed myself 'Frank Doggie'—as
men usually do."
" Of course," again murmured Castleton, as if
such a signature were a customary thing. Then
he added, " And on this occasion ? "
" On this occasion I used the name that
seemed full of happiest memories. ' Frank
Doggie' may seem idiotic to an outsider, but to
Fenella and myself it might mean much."
The two men sat silent awhile, and then
Castleton asked softly,—
10
146
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" I suppose it may be taken for granted that
Lady Francis never got the letter?"
" I take it, it is so ; but it is no matter now. I
refused to speak with her just before I met you.
I did not know then what I know now—and she
will never speak to me again." He sighed as he
spoke, and turned away. Then he went to the
rail of the yacht, and leaned over with his head
down, looking into the still blue water beneath
him.
" Poor old Frank!" said Castleton to himself.
" I can't but think that this matter may come
right yet. I must find out what became of that
letter, in case Lady Francis never got it. It
would prove to her that Frank "
His train of thought suddenly stopped. A new
idea seemed to strike him so forcibly that it quite
upset him. Onslow, who had come over from the
rail, noticed it. " I say, Castleton, what is wrong
with you? You have got quite white about the
gills."
" Nothing—nothing ! " he answered, hastily.
" I am subject to it. They call it heart. Pardon
me for a bit, I'll go to my bunk and lie down,"
and he went below.
In truth, he was overwhelmed by the thought
which had just struck him. If his surmise that
Onslow, in a hypnotic trance, as he had almost
proved by its recurrence, had killed De Miirger,
LORD CASTLETON EXPLAINS.
147
where, then, was Fenella's heroism after all ?
True that she had taken the blame on herself;
but might it not have been that she was morally
guilty all the same ? Why, then, had she taken
the blame ? Was it not because she feared that
"HE WAS AWAKENED BY THE SOUND OF OARS " (p. 148).
her husband might have refused to screen her
shame ; or because she feared that if any less
heroic aspect of the tragedy were presented to
the public, her own fair fame might suffer in
greater degree ? Could it indeed be that Fenella
148
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Onslow was not a heroine, but only a calculating
woman of exceeding smartness ? Then, again, if
Frank Onslow believed that his wife had avenged
her honour, was it wise to disturb such belief?
He might think, if once the suggestion were
made to him, that his honour was preserved only
by his own unconscious act. Was it then wise to
disturb existing relations between the husband
and wife, sad though they were ? Did they come
together again they might in mutual confidence
arrive at a real knowledge of the facts, and then
—and then what would be the result ? And
besides, might there not be some danger in any
suggestion made as to his suspicion of who struck
the blow ? It was true that Lady Francis had
been acquitted of the crime, although she con¬
fessed to the killing; but her husband might still
be tried,—and if tried ? What then would be the
result of the discovery of the missing letter on
which he had been building such hopes ?
The problem was too much for Lord Castleton.
His life had been too sunny and easy-going to
allow of familiarity with great emotions, and such
a problem as this was to him overwhelming. The
issue was too big for him ; and revolving in his
own mind all that belonged to it, he glided into
sleep.
He was wakened by the sound of oars and
voices drifting in through the open port.
CHAPTER XI.
madame de vigny's revenge.
BY FLORENCE MARRYAT.
" Revenge is sweet—especially to women."—Byron.
Perhaps of all the visitors who were in the
Prospect Hotel on the night of De Murger's
murder the one to be most perplexed was Lucille
de Vigny. To her, Lord Francis Onslow's mys¬
terious disappearance was (at first) inexplicable.
Yesterday he had been her lover, full of protes¬
tations of affection, and ready (as she believed)
to fly with her anywhere. To-day he had flown
by himself, and without leaving a word of expla¬
nation behind him. But, as the whole of the
circumstances came to light, when Lady Francis
was dragged away from the hotel in custody,
on the charge of the Count's murder, Mme. de
Vigny thought she had solved the riddle. She
had no belief in Fenella's account of the defence
of her honour. She sneered at the idea with an
incredulous smile. But she did think that Lord
Francis had found his wife and Count de Miirger
149
I50 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
together, and had killed his rival before her eyes,
or perhaps injured him so much with his muscular
English fists that he had died from the effects.
And then the wife, preferring to stand her trial
for manslaughter sooner than confess her in¬
fidelity, had taken the crime, or the accident, or
whatever you may like to call it, on her own
shoulders, but for no love of the absent husband,
who would probably refuse ever to see her
again.
So far Mme. de Vigny's intelligence, which
had not ripened in an entirely moral atmosphere,
had led her pretty near the truth. But her
conclusion was like a broken watch, useless
because the mainspring was missing. For she
did not stop there. She completed the story for
herself. Lord Francis had flown, not for his
wife's sake nor his own—but in order not to drag
her (whom he loved) into the miserable tangle
of his married life. He would remain away until
everything was concluded, and then he would
seek her out again, and they would be happy.
Such a terrible scandal would surely be followed
by a divorce, after which he would be free to put
her in the place left vacant by his wife's infidelity.
But the trial of Lady Francis Onslow took place,
as has been related, and yet no intelligence came
of her missing husband. When she had left
Flarrogate, and the child had been taken away,
MADAME DE VIGNYS REVENGE. 15 I
Mme. de Vigny became tired of being left behind.
She returned to London, and went down to
Haslemere, thinking Lord Francis might be lying
perdu in his country home. But all she found
there was a large board stating that The Grange
was to be let, furnished, and that applications
were to be addressed to Mr. Abraham Hewett,
of Chancery Lane. Quick as thought she
resolved (if possible) to take it. She had no love
for the country, nor for a secluded life, but to
settle in his very home must be, she argued, the
best way by which to come in contact with Lord
Francis Onslow. Even if he did not come there
he must, sooner or later, learn the name of his
tenant, and be drawn into the circle of her love
again. She found no difficulty in the matter.
Her references were the best of all—ready cash
—and Mr. Hewett had been instructed to let
The Grange as soon as possible. Her foreign
accent somewhat puzzled him, and he had men¬
tioned her to his client (as Onslow told Castleton)
simply as a foreigner.
Perhaps she had tried to increase his mysti¬
fication by speaking as incoherently, and writing
as illegibly, as she could. Any way, she secured
The Grange, and took posession of it.
How much she revelled at first in the thought
that she was living in the house which Lord
Francis called his own, using the same furniture,
152
THE FATE OF FENELLA
and walking in the same garden that he had
been used to walk in. Before long she hoped
that he would be there too, watching the moon
" SHE HAD FOUND A FEW OF HIS VISITING CARDS " (/. 153).
rise above the summits of the fine old trees.
She searched the house for some memento of
him—a cast-off glove, a faded flower. But the
MADAME DE VIGNY'S REVENGE. 153
housemaid's broom had been too busy, and The
Grange was inviolate from attic to basement.
Only in a little drawer in his looking-glass stand
she had found a few of his visiting cards, evidently
forgotten or overlooked.
" Lord Francis Onslow, The Grange, Chidding-
ford," and on the other side, " The Corinthians,
Pall Mall." How sweet the words looked ! The
enraptured woman raised them to her lips as
she thought that some day she might own a corre¬
sponding passport to society. Meantime, Madame
de Vigny did not enjoy her solitude long. While
the man she dreamed of was hiding himself in
Paris, and on the Seamew, others of her acquaint¬
ance tracked her to The Grange, and intruded
their presence upon her. Lucille de Vigny was
too beautiful, and, unfortunately, too notorious,
to conceal herself successfully. She had had
many admirers besides Lord Francis Onslow, and
before she had been many weeks at Chiddingford
they commenced to run down from London to
call upon her. And she was pleased to see them.
She had not been used to the company of her
own thoughts.
They proved ugly company to her on occasions
—she had not always the courage to look back
—and she earnestly hoped to make for herself a
future on which the past should have no power
to obtrude. So, pending the return of Lord
154
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Francis, she was glad to welcome the various
friends who considered it worth their while to
travel down to see her. Amongst them was
Colonel Uriah B. Clutterbuck, a Senator from
the United States, who had made a large fortune
over railway iron, and was trying to spend it
in the old country. He had been an ardent
admirer of Madame de Vigny from the first day of
their acquaintance, and would have proposed to
her long before, had not Lord Francis Onslow's
claims stood in his way. But now the Colonel
thought he saw his opportunity. The first evening
he dined with Lucille, and she took him after
dinner into the garden, his heart overflowed, and
he was able to contain himself no longer.
" Mrs. der Vin-yay," he commenced, " Loo-cill
—if I may call you so—there is no man in the
United States that can boast of a bigger pile
than your obedient servant. I am not a lord,
ma'am—I would disdain to be one. Neither am
I, perhaps, an Apoller; but, in point of dollars,
Mrs. der Vin-yay, you will not find my superior,
and they and I are at your service, to-day and
for ever, if you will only say the word."
Madame de Vigny looked at him with surprise,
miiigled with a degree of contempt. She was
a magnificent woman, towering several inches
above the New York Senator, with a finely-
moulded figure, large dark eyes, chiselled features,
MADAME DE VIGNY's REVENGE.
155
and a voluptuous mouth. She looked like a
Juno regarding a human rat.
" Colonel Clutterbuck,' she replied, " you
astonish me. Surely I have never encouraged
you to address me in such an extraordinary
manner. I have not the slightest intention of
marrying again, and I must beg you never to
refer to the subject."
"Very well, Mrs. der Vin-yay," replied the
discomfited suitor, "say no more about it. I
thought you might have liked the pile, ma'am,
if you didn't admire the man ; but it won't go
begging, Mrs. der Vin-yay, you may bet your
bottom dollar upon that."
4< I do not wish to bet anything, Colonel
Clutterbuck," said Lucille grandly, " nor should
I take money into consideration on a question
of marriage. But I am quite content with my
life as it is, and have no desire to alter it."
' Ah! You're waiting for a title, Mrs. der
l-yay," replied the Senator, "that's where it
is. You'll never tell me that a fine woman like
yourself means to remain single for the rest of
her life. But you're gone on these English
aristocrats, like the gals in my country, and
nothing will satisfy you but to be a d.uchess or
a countess."
" Colonel Clutterbuck, your remarks are posi¬
tively offensive, and I must entreat you to turn
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
your conversation to something else. I thank
you for your offer, but I can never accept it.
Come indoors and let me give you a song. I
had a parcel of new ones down from London
last week." She drew her lace wrap about her
as she spoke, and turned to re-enter the house.
Her handsome face looked proud and cold under
the moonlight, but her heart was throbbing
warmly against Lord Francis Onslow's card,
which she carried in her bosom. She was not
really faithful or affectionate, but she had set her
mind upon capturing and holding this man (as
a woman sometimes sets her mind upon a spaniel
or a bonnet), and would not rest until she had
achieved her purpose. In like manner the
American Senator had set his mind upon her,
but he would not break his heart over her refusal.
He had thought she would make a splendid
picture at the head of his New York table, and
an enviable wife to present to his friends, but
if she couldn't accept his pile of dollars he con¬
cluded that some other lady would. So they
parted on their usual terms, and Lucille even
asked him to repeat his visit on the first
opportunity.
The next morning, when her maid brought her
letters into her room with her coffee, she was
struck by the appearance amongst them of a pale
buff letter,, stamped on the top "On H.M.
MADAME DE VIGNY'S REVENGE. 157
Service," and on the bottom, " Dead Letter
Office."
What is that, Rose ? " she cried.
" I do not know, Madame, but it was left here
with the other letters, so I thought I had better
bring it up to you."
Lucille had by this time seized the envelope,
and read the superscription :
" Frank Doggie, Esq., The Grange, Chidding-
ford, Haslemere."
"How strange!" she laughed. " Who is Mr.
Frank Doggie, and why do they send his letters
here ? "
" Shall I return it to the postman, Madame ?"
" No! It would be useless. I will keep it
a little while. It may be inquired for."
So the maid retired, leaving the letter behind
her. It seemed to fascinate Lucille; though she
had the morning papers and several letters of her
own to peruse, her eyes kept turning towards the
buff envelope with marked curiosity, until she
took it up again, and examined it carefully.
What right had Mr. Doggie to have the name of
Frank ?—that name above all others so dear to
her. The fact alone seemed to make the letter
her property. It had come from the Dead Letter
Office. That showed that all reasonable inquiries
had been made for the owner without avail.
There could be no harm, then, in her reading it,
158 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
for the more she regarded it, the more curious
she became to learn its contents ; so without
further ado, she tore it open. It contained an
envelope addressed to " Mrs. Right, Prospect
Hotel, Harrogate," and scribbled all over, both
in red and black ink, and in various signatures,
with the words, " Not known here," " Gone
away," " No such person," etc. This was the
letter (as may be remembered) that Lord Francis
wrote, with such a beating heart, to his wife on
the night of De Miirger's murder, and left, in his
subsequent horror and confusion, on the table in
his bedroom. When he had gone, the servants
carried it to the landlord, who, knowing no one
of the name of " Right," had delivered it over to
the Post Office. And so it had gone the round
of Harrogate, being repudiated everywhere, and
finally found its way to London, and was opened
and returned to the address engraved on the
note-paper. " Mrs. Right and Mr. Doggie."
Madame de Vigny laughed at the strange con¬
junction of names as she prepared to find out
what Doggie and Right had to say to each other.
But she did not laugh long. The first words her
eyes lit upon made the colour fade from her
cheek, whilst her hand clenched savagely over
the unoffending paper. They were the words
Frank had poured forth in the anguish of his soul
at Fenella's feet:—
MADAME DE VIGNY's REVENGE. 159
" My darling—my own, own darling (for that
you must ever be to me, let who will come
between us), why will you make us both so un¬
happy ? I know you are not happy, Fenella!
I can read it in your face ; hear it in each tone of
your voice. Those were not the looks and tones
that made the first years of our married life one
long dream of bliss. And I am supremely miser¬
able, more so than yourself, for I have sinned
more against you than you have against me. I
confess it, dear love. I prostrate myself before
you, and I cry for forgiveness. Can you not
forgive me ? Will you not take me to your heart
again, and let me try to atone for all the past ?
My life is so barren without you and my darling
child. Do you suppose that anything can com¬
pensate me for your loss ? As for Madame de
V., she is nothing to me—less than nothing ; a
toy to pass away the time that goes so slowly
without you ; an opiate that for a moment makes
me forget my pain, and sometimes, even whilst
I seem to yield to her witcheries, I loathe her
because she has come between us. But it shall
never be again, dear love, if you but say the
word. Come back to me, Fenella, and I will
swear to wipe her (and all like her) out of my
life as surely as I would kill the viper that lay
across your path. Oh, when I think of all that
she has cost me, how bitterly I hate her ! "
l6o ' TI-IE FATE OF FENELLA.
There was much more in the same strain, but
this was sufficient for Lucille, who lay back on
her pillow with the paper crushed in her hand,
and jealousy and revenge gleaming from her eyes.
This was how he thought of her, then. This
was how he wrote and spoke of her to his wife—
his faithless, flirting wife—the murderess, by her
own account, of Count de Miirger, the unworthy
mother of his child—the creature to whom he
might, after all, return—so contemptible and
despicable and mean-spirited were men. How
could she be revenged on them both ? On him
for so deceiving herself, and on her for retaining
her power over him ?
Madame de Vigny did not weep. Her temper¬
ament was not of the weeping order, but she
gnashed her teeth with impotent fury as she lay
with her face buried in her pillow, and thought
out her best means of revenge. Her maid was
surprised to find how long a time elapsed before
her usual services were required, but after the
lapse of two hours she was summoned to her
mistress's side.
Lucille was up and engaged in writing.
"Tell George to take this telegram into Chidding-
ford at once," she exclaimed, handing it to her.
It was addressed to Colonel Clutterbuck, and
ran as follows :—" If not engaged, dine with me
this evening."
MADAME DE VIGNY's REVENGE.
161
When Madame de Vigny had arrived at this
decision, she tried to calm
jTf herself, but it was a diffi-
> cuit task. All day she
" SHE ADVANCED TO MEET CLUTTER-
BUCK " (p. 162).
raved against Providence and
the treachery of the man she
had trusted in ; but when the
evening came, she arrayed
herself in her most becoming
costume to meet the Senator.
She had made up
11
162
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
her mind by that time. She had refused him
simply on account of her fatal passion for Lord
Francis Onslow, but that was over now—quenched
as effectually as though it had never been—and
she was determined not to let the Colonel's dollars
slip through her fingers a second time. For many
reasons, too, America would suit her better than
England. How could she have been such a fool
as to think of giving it up for a foolish love
dream ?
She looked more than handsome—she looked
bewitchingly seductive as she advanced with a
soft, luminous gaze to meet Clutterbuck, and asked
his pardon for the trouble she had given him.
" But something has occurred since last night,
my dear friend," she said, " that makes it neces¬
sary for me to take a short sea voyage. My
doctor is rather alarmed about my health, and
insists on my obedience. So, as I have always
had a supreme longing to visit your delightful
country, I have decided to go to America for the
autumn, and want you to tell me the best means
of getting there. You must know so much," she
concluded, as she slipped her arm confidingly
through his.
" Ah, Mrs. der Vin-yay!" exclaimed the
Colonel, patting her little hand, " why can't you
make up your mind to let me take you there ?
You should travel like a queen, Loo-cill, and
MADAME DE VIGNY's REVENGE. 163
there's a house waiting for you in New York
city that might satisfy an empress. Say the word,
Mrs. der Vin-yay, say the word, and you'll make
me the happiest man in the United States."
" But there is an obstacle to our marriage,"
she whispered, " perhaps an insuperable one.
Had it not been so, I should have said ' yes '
last night."
" Dollars can overcome all obstacles," replied
the Colonel. " What is it ? I guess it'll make no
difference between us."
" I have a little nephew—the orphan child of
an only sister, now deceased, and I will marry no
man who asks me to leave him behind."
" That man won't be myself, Mrs. der Vin-yay.
Bring him along, by all means. There's room
in the States for another boy or two, and I'll do
by him as if he was my own."
" Oh, you are too good, too good," exclaimed
Lucille fervently, as she pressed his hand.
The Senator was not young, and in no mind
to wait, besides which he was anxious to get back
to his own country; so, as the lady's wishes
appeared to coincide with his own, they arranged
matters to their mutual satisfaction that evening,
and in a fortnight were married at a registrar's
office in London, without any one but themselves
being the wiser for the transaction. Lucille had
pleaded for secrecy, lest her friends should inter-
164 the fate of fenella.
fere to prevent her leaving England, and the
Colonel had arrived at that age when a man
detests all publicity and fuss. So Madame de
Vigny was transformed into Mrs. Colonel Clutter-
buck as if by magic, and went home to the
Langham Hotel with her husband, as if they had
been married for twenty years. Four days after
the Germanic was to start from Liverpool for
New York, and their cabins were already secured
on board of her.
" And now," said Lucille, with a winning smile,
the day before they started, " you must let me
run down into Suffolk, Colonel, and fetch my
little nephew."
" Suffolk ? That's a long way," said Colonel
Clutterbuck. "Hadn't I better go for you?"
" Oh, no, no ! I couldn't hear of it. The little
fellow would be frightened out of his senses at
the sight of a stranger. He is terribly sensitive;
I can never coax him away but by pretending we
are going to meet his poor, dear mother."
" Very well, Mrs. Clutterbuck, have it your
own way," replied the Colonel, who was beaming
with pride in the possession of so handsome a wife.
So Lucille, armed with Lord Francis Onslow's
card, travelled down on the following day to
Felixstowe, where Jacynth's sister, Mrs. Grandison,
was staying with her own son and little Ronny.
This was the Frenchwoman's revenge
MADAME DE VIGNY's REVENGE. 165
She had heard whilst at Harrogate of Ronny's
destination, and knew that in so small a place she
would experience little difficulty in finding out
which house was occupied by Mrs. Grandison.
She disliked children (as most women of her
stamp do), but she felt she could wreak no
bitterer vengeance on Lord Francis Onslow and
his wife than by depriving them of their son and
heir, so dearly loved by both of them.
Her marriage had been conducted so secretly
that she was most unlikely to be recognised as
Mrs. Clutterbuck, and once she had got the boy
to America she believed that (virtually) he would
be lost. What was to follow after that, or
whether the game would be worth the candle to
her, she never stayed to consider.
Mrs. Grandison, whilst engaged over her mid¬
day meal with the children, was much surprised
to hear that a lady wished to speak to her.
Still more so when on entering the drawing-room
she saw the fashionably-attired Mrs. Clutterbuck.
"You are doubtless surprised to receive a call
from a perfect stranger, madam," commenced
Lucille, with her charming accent; " but time
did not permit me to prepare you for my appear¬
ance. I come as a messenger from Lord Francis
Onslow. I am an intimate friend of his, and
of his poor, dear wife !"
" Indeed!" said Mrs. Grandison gravely.
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Her first opinion of Fenella's conduct had been
intensified to horror when the news of the murder
and the trial were made public, and she had only
taken charge of Ronny under protest—at the
urgent request of her brother—and because she
had felt it to be a Christian duty to keep the
poor child, as far as possible, from hearing the
terrible things that were said of his mother. But
her dislike of the subject was so great that when
Lucille said she was an intimate friend of the
Onslows, she shrank from her with ill-concealed
aversion.
" Indeed! " she reiterated slowly.
"Yes, and have been so for years. This has
been a terribly sad affair for them both, but let
us hope the worst is over. Lord Francis feels
naturally that it is best they should spend the
next few years, at-least, out of England ; there¬
fore they start for the Brazils to-morrow, and
wish naturally to take Ronny with them."
"Lord Francis is, then, reconciled to his wife?"
"Oh yes! Why should he not be? The
unfortunate affair of Count de Miirger's death
really redounds to her credit, and what preceded
it was only a foolish misunderstanding ! "
" Of course if Lord Francis is satisfied no one
has a right to demur at his decision. You come
from him, you say ? "
" Yes. He asked me to fetch Ronny home
MADAME DE VIGNY's REVENGE. 167
for him. He would have come himself, but he
had no time. Here is his card, which he begged
me to present to you, with a thousand thanks
for your kindness to his child."
Mrs. Grandison hardly knew what to do.
She disliked delivering Ronnv into the charge
of a stranger, and yet she felt she had no right
to keep the boy against his parents' wishes. She
kept turning the card over and over in her hands
as she considered the matter.
" Did you say they sail to-morrow ?" she asked
presently.
" Yes, to-morrow, at four in the afternoon."
" It is a very sudden resolution."
" Not at all. They have contemplated it for
weeks past, but Lady Francis' health has pre
vented them carrying it out. Now they have a
sudden opportunity, of which they wish to avail
themselves. How long will it take to get Ronny
ready to go back with me ? "
" Oh, that can be done in half an hour. But
I wish my brother (who put him in my charge)
had written me word that his parents wished to
resume their guardianship."
" I know nothing of that," snapped Lucille.
" All Lord Francis told me was to come down to
Felixstowe, and take back his boy to him at all
costs ; and I should think a parent's wish was
imperative."
168 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"Certainly," replied Mrs. Grandison, " and I
should not dream of disputing it. If you will
kindly wait here for a few minutes I will bring
Ronny to you."
She left the room
,£mrs. grandison appeared with ronny" (/. 169).
she had triumphed and her revenge would be
complete. She remembered how Fenella had
gloated over this boy, how Lord Francis had
written of him as his "darling child," and smiled
MADAME DE VIGNY's REVENGE. 169
to herself as she thought what they would both
say and do when they found he had gone beyond
recall. In a short time the door opened again,
and Mrs. Grandison appeared with Ronny. He
recognised Lucille at once as the lady he had
seen at the table d'hote at Harrogate.
" I know you!" he said, coming forward with
a shy, outstretched hand: "you were with my
papa at Harrogate."
" And with your mamma, Ronny, of course.
We were all there together. But mamma wants
you sadly. She has been fretting terribly for her
boy. We are going back to her together."
" Going back to mummy ? Oh, I am glad! I
have wanted her so," said Ronny, trying hard to
keep back his tears. " It's been very jolly with
Harold, of course, and Mrs. Grandison's been
ever so good to me—but I've missed mummy
every day. Shall we go at once? I'm all ready,
and my box is packed. And shall I see her to¬
day ? Oh ! do let us make haste and go."
He thrust his hand in that of Lucille as he
spoke, who rose smiling, and addressed Helen
Grandison.
" You see, madam, the ties of nature surmount
those of friendship. Please to accept the best
thanks of the parents of this boy, for your care of
him at a very trying moment, to which I must
add my own, and wish you farewell."
170
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" Good afternoon," said Mrs. Grandison stiffly,
as she watched them get into the fly which was in
waiting, and drive away to the station.
And before she had time to acquaint Jacynth
with the circumstance, Ronny (still with the ex¬
pectation of meeting his mother) was far away on
the broad Atlantic !
CHAPTER XII
TO LIVE OR DIE ?
BY FRANK DANBY.
" Row faster, man, row faster! Move—no, sit
where you are, but give me the other oars. Pull,
pull!" he said, " as if you were getting away
from hell." And feverishly, with white set lips,
with gleaming eyes, Lord Francis accentuated his
words by his actions, and propelled the boat with
all the strength of which he was capable across
the blue waters that kept him from Fenella. His
feet pressed against the wood, the muscles of his
arms standing out like iron, the youth in him
dying under the strain, his very brain ceasing to
act, and his heart almost standing still; he tried
by physical exertion to deaden that burning mental
pain that seized him as he felt, saw, heard, and
writhed under the sense that he had wronged her,
wronged Fenella, wronged the woman who always
was and always would be the one woman on earth
for him ; wronged the girl-love that had lain on
his breast, believed and loved him ; the child who
171
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
had grown to womanhood in his arms—Fenella,
his wife.
And at last the keel of the boat grated on the
shore.
He had sat still while Lord Castleton had
spoken of the trial. Once the stunning news
had overwhelmed him, he had become an auto¬
maton and not a man. Sea and sky melted
mistily into each other, and mechanically from
his mouth issued the empty sentences. But then
the hours passed on, Castleton slept, the yacht
lay at its moorings; and then—then a glimmer
of reason and sense penetrated the dull concussion
of that first shock. i
"Fenella!" he said, "Fenella!" It was a
moan, a cry, not a human being asking for his
wife, but a soul in anguish crying to its God.
"Did you call, sir?" asked the mate, coming
forward, touching his gold-braided cap ; " did you
call?" With bloodshot eyes Frank looked at
him, saw beyond him : " Fenella."
" Any part of Guernsey, sir ?"
" I must get back, I must get back."
All that he was capable of was a wish to get
back, to see her face again, to fling himself down
on his knees before her, see that fair, sweet face,
that child's face. Murderess they had called her,
unfaithful he had called her, O Heaven! and she
was his wife, and he
TO LIVE OR DIE ? I 73
And then he was in Guernsey again.
She sat at her window, still, white, silent.
The hours had crushed heavily over her, and
" SHE SAT AT HER WINDOW, STILL, WHITE, SILENT. "
spared her nothing. Not until now did she
know, not until now did she realise, all that her
husband had been to her, all that she had looked
174
THE FATE OF FENELLA
for from him, all the hope that had illuminated
the dark days of her imprisonment, lit up her
bare cell, flushed its soft light over the court¬
house that dreadful day, the day that until now
had been the most dreadful day of all her life.
A hundred eyes had been upon her, had
burnt greedily into her soul—curious eyes, search¬
ing eyes, eyes all around. All the air was alive
with voices—voices that rose and fell mono¬
tonous, persistent, dreadful. What were they
saying? Now a sentence disentangled itself, now
another. " The prisoner pleads guilty, my lord."
"The prisoner!" How curious it sounded.
"The prisoner!" How should she know any¬
thing of prisoners, dreadful creatures, shameful,
lowering, hideous ? She had dreamed of them
in her happy childhood, and awaking shuddering,
had hidden her face in nurse's breast, or been
soothed to rest again in father's arms.
" The prisoner is separated from her husband,"
went on that monotonous voice. How strange,
she was separated from her husband; strange
she should be like the prisoner, a shameful,
disgraced prisoner. And dreaming she smiled,
smiled in the dock, with a hundred opera-glasses
scanning her fair, pale face, and a hundred naked
eyes burning into her secrets.
But the smile woke her: she had always
smiled ; but now, now it was a long time since
TO LIVE OR DIE ?
175
she had smiled. What was she smiling at ?
Then she woke to the knowledge of her sur¬
roundings, and she shuddered in the dock ; the
sweet face grew white and convulsed; suddenly
she burst out crying. Crying aloud, poor child,
poor wayward child, who had meant to play
through life, and woke from her playing—here.
All alive and awake she was for the rest of
that horrible day, quivering and trembling and
sobbing, half child, half woman, as the trial wore
on. Ever and again the crimson flushed into
her cheek, her eyes suffused, her head bent, in
a very agony of shame ; she heard horrible
questions, horrible answers. She felt herself
undraped before these inquisitorial eyes, and
shrinking, drawing her cloak round her with
shaking hands, she would try and hide her poor
hot face.
But as the day wore on, something of hope
crept in warm about her heart. If Frank were
here, he would not let them talk so—Frank, her
lover. She heard again the passionate protesta¬
tions of their short betrothal. She felt again his
lips against hers. She was back again in the
golden days when the sun-flush of love was over
all her life, and sun-queen in those hours she
had played with her happiness. And pitifully the
tremulous lips murmured, " If Frank were here, he
would not let them hurt me; if Frank were here ! "
176 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
What a strange, complicated Fenella! Ar¬
raigned for murder, she pleaded " Guilty."
" Guilty," though her hands were clean! With
the unthinking generosity of a child she did a
woman's deed with a man's heart. She took
her husband's guiltless guilt upon herself, and
cried, " It was I !" while yet the horror of his
act was vibrating through her frame. She had
not counted the cost, could not. But if all the
sum of those dreadful hours and days had been
spread out before her, with shining eyes she
would have scanned it, and still have called out
generously, " It was I."
But her heart was larger than her brain. Her
brain failed her a little at the last. She was
dim, confused, frightened. She forgot so much.
These men who were there to judge her, noting
the crouching, weeping girl, with golden hair
dishevelled, bloodshot eyes, weak and shrinking,
thinking her guilty, pronounced her innocent, and
sent her forth free.
Free ! but what a freedom ! Where was Frank?
Where was anybody ? Who was there to take
her in his strong arms, let her hide her face upon
his breast, weep there until her shame had died
away, and the memory of her degradation was
washed clean ? Who, indeed ?
The man who had defended her, who had been
her lover, who had been her friend, came to her
TO LIVE OR DIE ?
177
and he—he would not take her hand. He had
spoken to her of her boy, and the cold emptiness
of her heart ached with the sudden rush of her
emotion as she cried out, with outstretched arms :
"My boy! bring me my boy!" To press the
child in her arms, to feel the soft down of his
cheek against hers, to hear the lisping, " Muzzer,
muzzer dear! " from his lips, to have his arms
about her—this, this would save her reason. She
felt her reason going, felt her mind darkened, the
path before her no longer clear. She was in a
gloomy world, groping helplessly for a warm
human clasp of fellowship. Jacynth, her friend,
answered her mother-cry. Answered, and left
her childless.
Then he brought her here, here to this beauti¬
ful, lonely, wind-girt, sea-girt island, and left her
to strain her eyes out into the sea, that said
nothing to her. The sky was empty for her;
the flowers, it seemed to her, faded as she
looked. Poor beauty! poor coquettish, light-
hearted Fenella!
Then she met Frank in the street, and light
flashed back to her, and memory and under¬
standing. In a rush of emotion she saw him as
lover, as husband, as murderer. She knew what
he had done. She knew, too, what she had
done to save him. " Frank"—the words rushed
to her lips, words of love, of forgiveness, of
12
i78
the fate of fenella.
and he repelled her. Ice-cold on her heart lay
his dead love, his living contempt, and she who
would have died for him, seemed as if she died
by him. He killed her. Not physically; she still
lived, moved, breathed; but her faith was dead,
and her hope, and her youth. She staggered
home to her old seat by the window. She felt
sick, and giddy, and dazed as from an earth¬
quake ; all her world was in ruins. It was only
now she realised the hope on which she had lived
all this time. Only now she knew that Frank
had been the bulwark on which she rested, the
light toward which she had looked. That though
she was past reason, and had not asked why he
had delayed, she had felt he would come, and
that in his eyes she would read his love for her
that had never swerved, his faith in her that
would answer for all things, his gratitude to her,
gratitude that she would put away, and not let
him linger over, but would banish and forget,
and it should be forgotten. Nothing should be
between them any more, but love. He would
bring her back Ronny ; he and she and Ronny
would be together always.
And then they had met, and he had repulsfed
her, rejected her, looked upon her coldly! She
was hopeless. She looked out over the blue sea,
the rocks, the sails, the harbour, but there was a
film before her eyes, all things were darkened.
TO LIVE OR DIE ? 179
Even the face of Nature would never smile upon
her again. Hope was dead.
Then he came back. He knelt at her feet, he
called her by a thousand endearing names, he
kissed her hands, the hem of her dress. She sat
there dumb, stricken as a statue, the film darkening
"HE CAUGHT HER IN HIS ARMS" (/. l8o).
before her eyes, and her brain throb, throbbing,
like the screw of a steam-engine.
" Fenella, my wife, my darling! For Heaven's
sake, listen to me. Don't look at me like that,
my darling; hear me. I never knew. I swear,
I never knew, I was ill, I heard nothing, knew
l8o THE FATE OF FENELLA.
nothing until an hour ago. My sweet, what you
must have suffered ! Fenella, speak—a word, a
little word. Sweetheart, think of our childhood.
And then a little moan came from her, a little
sighing moan, and she fell half forward. He
caught her in his arms.. " Darling," he said
again, passionately, "only hear me. Ah!"
It was too late ! Was it too late? She lay in
his arms white and cold and silent. Frank,
kissing those pale, cold lips, chafing those dead
hands, murmuring over her a thousand caressing
names, distracted with despair, desperately put
away the fear, and called for help in anguished
tones.
Then the women came in, and were busy about
her, and there was moaning and lamentation, but
still she heard not.
Fenella was not dead, but she was ill—terribly
ill. The silver cord was not broken, but it was
strained to its last fibre. Weeks went by, weeks
when she lay in the little cottage at Guernsey,
and Frank crept about with anguished eyes, and
lived on the bulletins from the sick-room. Weeks
during which, with the gold locks short-cropped,
and the sweet face fever-flushed and unrecog¬
nisable, Fenella lay in bed, and shrieked in her
delirium that Frank did not do it, that she did ;
that Frank hated her because she had done it,
but she had not done it. There was blood on
TO LIVE OR DIE ?
181
her hands, horrible blood, human blood. There
was blood on his hands, but she would kiss them.
She was swimming in blood, drowning in blood ;
but Frank would save her. Ronny was on the
shore, waiting for her—bright-faced Ronny, waiting
to kiss away the stains from them both. And
then she would call out again that she was drown-
" POURING OUT THE WHOLE MISERABLE STORY'" (p. 182).
ing, and call for Frank, always for Frank, in
agonised, delirious shrieks.
" Doctor ! doctor ! " He held him with hands
grown thin and wasted, spoke to him in a voice
all broken with tears, looked at him with eyes
dim with wild, convulsive crying. "Will she
live ? will she live ? "
182
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
The doctor was a man who had studied
humanity as well as physic.
" I think so," he answered; " there is room for
hope. Every day gained brings us nearer to it.
If once she sleeps—sleeps naturally—I think she
is saved." He hesitated, and Frank, hanging on
his words, pressed him further.
" She will wake to reason—to mental rest-
fulness ? "
H e was a man, he had heard his patient in her
delirium. She had a history, this beautiful young
woman who called herself Mrs. Orme, and over
whom Lord Francis Onslow watched with such
care. She had a history, but he did not know
it, did not seek to know it. No idle curiosity
prompted his question. But if she woke, and
woke to trouble, then—then he could not answer
for the consequences.
"Will you let me tell you?" Before Dr.
Fairfax could say "Yes" or "No," Frank had
dragged him back into the room, and was pouring
out incoherently, quickly, the whole miserable
story: their courtship, their married life, their
bickerings, and the interference of relatives, their
separation, his jealousy, the murder that even
now he could not account for or remember—
everything, everything.
The doctor listened, grave, sympathetic. Frank
paused breathlessly.
TO LIVE OR DIE ?
183
" She has a child, you say, a little child ? Did
she care for that ? did she love it ? "
" She worships him as (fool that I have been
not to have seen it!) only a good woman could
love her child."
Frank's jealousy was dead for ever.
" Then bring her child here. Let her wake
amid her natural surroundings—her husband by
her side, her child's voice ringing in her ears, the
life of the ' home' about her. Let the past be
forgotten by her. Let peace be her healing, and
love her medicine. You will be her doctor, not
I, when there is recognition in her eyes, and she
is struggling back to a world that has been so
cruel to her."
He took up his hat. He had spoken. They
must wait the hour.
CHAPTER XIII.
" the scars remained."
by mrs. edward kennard.
When Lord Francis Onslow listened to Dr.
Fairfax's advice, he resolved to act upon it
without loss of time, especially as he sadly
realised that in the present condition of affairs
he could do nothing to expedite his wife's re¬
covery. The issue lay in God's hands. He felt
this keenly, chafing at his helplessness. During
the many hours spent in the chamber of the
sick woman he reviewed his past life with bitter
repentance. Little by little he distinctly per¬
ceived how unworthy had been his own conduct,
and how much he was to blame for the terrible
occurrences which had recently taken place.
When he recalled Fenella as she was when they
were first married, he found it impossible to hold
himself guiltless. However wayward and childish
she might have been, in those days no one could
doubt her purity and innocence. Moreover, she
loved him, and a man does not lose a woman's
184
" THE SCARS REMAINED."
185
love without some cause. Now she lay stained
and crushed upon a bed of pain, like a white lily
stricken to earth. Her name was in all men's
mouths. The spotlessness of her reputation had
departed, never to return. She might have been
a happy wife and mother, and now what was she ?
A creature shunned by her kind, fallen from her
pedestal, and blackened by crime. Ah! it was
pitiful to think of; still more pitiful to trace the
folly, vanity, and wrong-doing which had brought
about such a result. Why could they not have
rested content with one another's love ? What a
fevered, unnatural existence theirs had been of
late years! He smiled a wan smile, as it
occurred to him that their histories contained an
unwonted amount of sensation and melodrama.
Their experiences would form a strange narrative.
Once, long ago, Fenella had loved him truly and
well. Of that he felt morally certain. If he had
only exercised a little patience with his beautiful
child-wife, and sought to correct her errors by
example, rather than by preaching and criticism,
how differently things might have turned out.
She was young. Her faults were chiefly those
of youth and ignorance, combined with the natural
craving for admiration of a pretty woman. But
there was no harm in her—then. She might
have been guided. A girl in her teens is made of
plastic material. Her character is not firmly set,
i86
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
as a rule, either for good or evil. It was in
his power to have influenced her, and to have
developed the finer side of her nature. But,
instead of this, what had he done ? In lieu of
recognising the responsibility which he assumed,
by taking the life of another into his keeping,
he had sought to justify his own shortcomings
by exaggerating hers and imitating them. If she
flirted, he flirted. If she was foolish, he was
doubly so. Was that the way for the head of a
family to behave ? When her coquetries irritated
him, he looked for consolation elsewhere, and
eventually allowed himself to fall completely under
the spell of a middle-aged woman, remarkable
rather for her beauty than her virtue. And
then, when Fenella resented his conduct, and in
forcible language pointed out that the marriage
ceremony should be as binding for the husband
as the wife, what reply did he make? He
answered in the false, unjust voice of the world,
"No; you labour under a very great mistake in
upbraiding me, and have no ground whatever to
stand upon. Society has decreed that a man may
do as he likes, be as unfaithful (within certain
limits) as he pleases ; but you are totally different.
A woman cannot go out of bounds without getting
the worst of it. Therefore, once for all, you had
better recognise your position."
He could see the hot blood rush to her cheek.
"THE SCARS REMAINED."
187
" But this is monstrous, no matter what Society
has decreed. May I ask, Frank, if such is the
law by which you intend to shape your conduct
in the future ? "
"BOWED DOWN HIS HEAD AND PRAYED" (/>. 188).
With shame he remembered his answer. "Yes,
Fenella. Right or wrong, it is the law of every
man of the world."
And from that day they had become more and
more estranged, until at last their unhappiness
188
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
reached a culminating pitch, and, by mutual
desire, they determined to separate. But had
they been happier apart than together? He, for
one, could answer that question in the negative.
In the midst of the wildest dissipation, the gayest
scene, his heart had ached, and ever in his
memory there dwelt the recollection of loving
words and looks, which no effort on his part
could banish. Looking back on the past, he saw
that he was even more to blame than she. There
had been faults on both sides, but mainly on his.
As he sank on his knees by Fenella's bedside he
admitted the fact, freely, and without reserve.
And thus kneeling, a flood of tenderness and
remorse swept over his spirit, and he who had
not prayed for years, and was in the habit of
denying the existence of a Deity, bowed down his
head, humbly, meekly, like a little child, and prayed.
"Oh, good God!" he cried, "be merciful.
Spare her to me, if only that I may atone for all
my past errors by a life of devotion. We have
stood on the brink of a precipice. Almost she
and I have fallen into a bottomless pit, for in
our blindness we turned our backs upon Thee;
but now, O great All-Father, strengthen us, and
counsel us in this, our sore necessity."
He arose from his knees sobered, but calm.
Then he stooped, kissed Fenella's burning brow,
and went forth to seek his son—the little, innocent
" THE SCARS REMAINED."
189
boy, with the curly head and clear eyes, the very
thought of whom made his heart grow big.
There are reasons in the lives of all of us when
the best of which we are capable rises to the
surface—when the resolutions which we make
for the future are not based on an insecure and
worthless foundation, but on a fixed and per¬
manent one. Such a time had come to Lord
Francis. He left Guernsey a chastened, but a
better man, determined henceforth to lead a new
and purer life.
The journey seemed interminable. The
tedious hours dragged on, and steam and
machinery were unable to convey him fast enough
to his destination. At last he reached Felix¬
stowe, and hurried to Mrs. Grandison's residence.
Philip Grandison was related to the Onslow family.
Lord Francis had seen a great deal of his wife
before his marriage, and they called each other
by their Christian names.
" Helen!" he cried, as Mrs. Grandison, taken
aback by his unexpected visit and haggard
appearance, stared at him as at an apparition,
" where is Ronny ? I want to see Ronny.
Bring him to me at once! Fenella murmured in
her delirium that he was with you."
" Have you not sailed ? You and Lady Francis
have not started, then, for Brazil, after all ?" she
asked in bewilderment.
19° THE fate of fenella.
" No," he answered, impatiently. " I haven't
the least idea what you are talking about. There
never was any question of our going to Brazil.
Fenella is lying at death's door, and I have come
here to fetch Ronny away."
" But, Frank, Ronny has gone. You yourself
sent for him. Surely you must remember having
done so."
"/ sent to fetch Ronny! Helen! have you
taken leave of your senses ?" And he gripped
her hard by the wrist.
"Don't, Frank!" shaking him off, and fearing
for his reason as she looked into his wild eyes;
" you hurt me."
" I sent no one to take Ronny away," he said,
with increasing excitement. " Do you mean to
say that the child is not here ? "
"No, Ronny left us several days ago. I made
sure that you knew."
Lord Francis staggered. The intelligence fairly
prostrated him. For a moment or two he could
not speak ; then, in a hoarse voice, he said,—
" Of course you know where the boy has
gone, Helen? You can tell me where to find
him ? It is of the utmost importance that I
should take him back to Guernsey with me at
once. His mother's life may depend upon
Ronny's presence."
Mrs, Grandison's countenance assumed an
f'HELEJvr! HAVE you TAEEN EPAVS OF YOUR SENSES?'" (/>. I9O),
192
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
expression of sore perplexity. She felt that
Lord Francis held her responsible for his son.
" Unfortunately," she said, " I have not the
least idea where he has gone. The other day
a lady came here "
" A lady ! " he interrupted, eagerly. " What
kind of a one ? Describe her personal appear¬
ance ; it may give me a clue."
" She was not exactly a young woman, Frank ;
nevertheless she was very beautiful in a Southern,
majestic style. Her eyes and hair were almost
coal black, and she spoke with a foreign accent.
In short, she looked like an Italian or Spaniard."
The wretched man groaned aloud. Too well
he knew who his boy's abductor was, and his
conscience told him that Lucille de Vigny's
conduct was actuated by motives of revenge.
She resented his desertion, and took this means
of telling him so. He tottered to a chair, and
sinking down on it, hid his face in his hands.
Were the consequences of his imprudence ever
to pursue him ? Oh ! it was horrible, horrible !
" Frank," said Mrs. Grandison, gazing at him
in alarm, " do you know the lady ? Is she an
acquaintance of yours ? "
He shuddered. "For my sins, yes! Would
to God she were not! I have to thank Madame
de Vigny for all my misery. If I had never
set eyes on that woman, Fenella and I might
"the scars remained." 193
have been living happily together at this moment.
It was she who came between us, curse her !"
"HELEN LOOKED AFTER HIS RETREATING FORM" (p. 195).
" Madame de Vigny!" exclaimed Helen, with
a red flush mantling in her cheek. " Oh, Frank!
if only I had known, nothing on earth would have
13
i94
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
induced me to give Ronny up into her charge.
Poor, dear little Ronny! Why, she is an odious
woman—an abominable woman ! "
" I quite agree," he said, moodily. " But
abuse cannot alter the fact of her having stolen
my boy. I can't think, though, how you let him
)>
g°-
" She came here, Frank," continued Mrs.
Grandison in self-defence, " and some instinct
warned me against her. I refused at first to
accede to her request, but she was so urgent
that at last I believed she was really empowered
by you to take Ronny away. See, here is your
card, which she produced, in token of the genuine¬
ness of her errand." And so saying, Helen
turned to the mantelpiece, and showed Frank
his card. He looked at it, then snatched up
his hat, and prepared to leave,
"This is a bad business," he said, tremulously.
" A very bad business indeed; I would not have
had it happen for a year's income. But perhaps
you can tell me where Madame de Vigny is to
be found ? "
" Alas ! no. She left no address, and I haven't
the faintest notion where she resides. But stay,"
putting her hand up to her forehead, "if I
remember rightly, Madame de Vigny did hint at
travelling abroad and taking a long journey.
Why, Frank, how impetuous you are!" as her
" THE SCARS REMAINED."
195
visitor opened the door. " Where are you
going ? "
" Going!" he replied, his face all working
with emotion. " I am going straight to London
to engage a detective to hunt out Madame de
Vigny's whereabouts, and after that I intend
returning to Guernsey. Fenella is lying danger¬
ously ill of brain fever. We do not know what
turn her illness may take. The doctor thought
that the sight of Ronny might do her good, but
now—now," breaking down suddenly, " I must
go back alone, so help me God ! " And without
wishing Mrs. Grandison good-bye, he rushed
downstairs.
Helen looked after his retreating form with
the tears springing to her eyes. " Poor Frank ! "
she sighed, "how he loves Fenella! And yet
she has completely spoilt his life. He was such
a bright, nice boy once upon a time. It quite
makes one's heart ache to see him as he is now.
CHAPTER XIV.
derelict.
by richard dowling.
When Lord Francis found himself in the train,
on his way up to London from Felixstowe, his
mind was in a condition bordering on frenzy.
The wife of his youth, the wife of his choice, the
only woman to whom his heart had ever gone
forth with unalloyed joy and limitless bounty, lay
at death's door, from which one hope existed of
beckoning her back—the touch of their child's
tiny hand. And now, at this moment of supreme
crisis, cursed Fate stepped in and took the child
from his sight, snatched the possible deliverer
from his arms!
Cursed Fate, or Nemesis, or lex talionis, call it
what one might, there was the maddening fact,
the overwhelming act of that foreign woman
whom once, in his malignant perversity, he
thought he loved, who over and over again swore
she loved him and only him ! Granted he had
treated her badly, had he attempted her life ?
196
DERELICT.
197
Why, then, should she attempt his ? Why should
she seek to kill him through the hearts he held
most dear ? Because he had made love to her and
ridden away ? Great heavens ! Was not his sin
against her as a mustard seed to the whole world
in comparison to this attempt on Fenella's life ?
From the beginning of their acquaintance
Lucille knew he was married ; at no time of their
acquaintance did he know much of her. She had
her dark eyes, and her mystery, and her history
—these were parts of her fascination. She had
enslaved him, as a drug or wine might enslave
him, for a time ; but she had never touched the
essence of his being—that was for Fenella, for
Fenella only.
When he reached London he drove straight
to Scotland Yard. If he had been in a normal
state he would, no doubt, have paid a visit to his
solicitors first, but he was in no normal state. He
could not have told when he ate last, or where
he had slept ; what day of the week or month it
was. All that was usual was worthless, and only
the quest he was on worthy of heed.
At Scotland Yard he was at once shown into
the presence of Inspector Brown. His father's
position made his name illustrious ; his murder
trial had made himself notorious.
" My child—my boy of six—has been stolen.
His mother, Lady Francis, is in danger of death
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
from illness, and the instant recovery of the boy
is a matter of life and death. She is in brain
fever, and the doctor says if her boy is at her
bedside when she recovers her senses it may
save her life. Whatever sum of money may be
necessary to recover the boy I'll double it, treble
it, quadruple it, if you only find him for me, and
" 'DO YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW HER NAME?'" (p. 199.)
at once!" he cried out to the inspector, all in a
breath.
" The recovery of the child does not, unfortun¬
ately, depend on mere money, my lord."
" On what, then ? "
" On possibility. If it is possible to be done it
will be done; and whether we succeed or fail,
you may rely on no time being lost. Will your
lordship kindly give me all the particulars ? "
DERELICT.
199
The father told the history of the boy's abduc¬
tion, as Mrs. Grandison had given it to him.
" And this foreign, handsome lady who took
the child away, do you happen to know her name ? "
Did he happen to know Lucille's name ? Good
heavens, how strange such a question seemed !
But it was one thing to know her name, and vow
hatred of her, and another thing to give to the
police the name of a woman he once made love
to. He hesitated.
The inspector looked up from the sheet of
paper on which he had been taking down the
particulars.
The inspector, believing the other had not
heard, repeated the question.
" Bah ! " thought Lord Francis, " why should I
hesitate ? She has not hesitated to lie and to
steal Ronny ; and Fenella's life is in the scales."
He said aloud: " The lady is French,"—the
inspector recommenced writing,—"her name is
Madame de Vigny."
The inspector looked up again, this time with a
start, laid down his pen, and cleared his throat as
though to clear his mind. " May I ask your
lordship to repeat the name ? "
" Madame de Vigny—Lucille de Vigny. Do
you know anything of her ? "
" Perhaps," said the inspector, touching an
electric bell.
200
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
A policeman in uniform entered. The in¬
spector handed the man a slip of paper. The
constable withdrew. In a few moments he re¬
turned, handed some documents to his superior
officer, and retired.
" Does your lordship happen to know anything
of this Madame Lucille de Vigny before she
came to England a few years ago ? "
" Absolutely nothing."
" I suppose we are talking of the same lady
the inspector looked down at his papers—" a tall,
strikingly handsome, dark woman of about thirty-
five or forty now. She was in the Prospect
Hotel, Harrogate, at the time of the late tragic
occurrence there, though she was not herself
brought into the case ? "
" Yes, that is the lady."
" Well, we do know something of her here.
We have been keeping an eye on her for a little
time at the request of the French police. A
French detective has been over here about her.
It was not until the day before yesterday, when
instructions came from Paris to act, that we knew
she had left the country."
" Left the country ! " cried Lord Francis, falling
back on his chair in consternation.
" Sailed for New York in the Germanic four
days ago. She is wanted in France for connection
with some wholesale swindling of a bank in Lille
DERELICT.
201
four or five years ago. We lost sight of her for
a little while lately, but that we have just explained
by the fact that she recently went through a form
of marriage at a registry with a rich American
senator, Colonel Clutterbuck. I say, went through
"THEN HE SAT DOWN TO THINK" (p. 202).
a form of marriage, for her husband, one of the
clerks in the Lille bank, is now in the hands of
the French police. My lord, you may make your
mind easy about your boy. No doubt he is the
child who sailed with Colonel and Mrs. Clutter-
202
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
buck in the Germanic as 4 Mrs. Clutterbuck's
nephew, Roland Tyrrell, aged six.' "
" What is to be done now ?" cried Lord
Francis, relieved at getting a clue to his boy,
and in despair at finding the child must already
be half-way across the Atlantic.
" She will be arrested on landing and brought
back."
" But the boy—my son ? "
"If you wish it we can cable and have him
looked after for you. There will be a few days
lost in legal formalities in New York."
"I'll follow the boy; I'll go by the next
boat!" and with this resolution, and no thought
of anything else, he rushed away from Scotland
Yard for his chambers.
At his chambers he found everything as he had
left it weeks ago. Into a couple of portmanteaux
he bundled some clothes—any—no matter what
he could put his hands on. Then he sat down
to think. His brain was in a whirl. Only
one thought had any value, any place in his
mind—the recovery of Ronny. On that depended
all. On that depended the life of Fenella, and his
own power of making reparation to her for all
she had gone through.
He had forgotten one thing at Scotland Yard.
The inspector had said they could cable to have
the boy taken care of for him. He had not asked
derelict.
203
the inspector to do so. He sat down, and with
a hand that shook so that he could hardly hold
the pen, he wrote to the inspector, begging that a
message might be sent by cable, bidding them
look after Ronny on his behalf in New York.
He marked the envelope " Private," for there
was plenty of time for the cable, and he wished
the whole affair to be kept as quiet as possible.
Then he had nothing else to do but to get for¬
ward. He did not think of looking to see or of
inquiring when the next boat left. Queenstown
was the point nearest to America, and by the
Irish mail that night he started for Cork.
It was not until he had been six hours plunging
through the Atlantic towards the New World, in
the huge ocean steamer, that he remembered he
had sent no word to Guernsey. But he dismissed
the omission from his mind as a matter of no
moment, "For," thought he, "all the messages
in the world would not serve my poor girl as she
now is, and I am going to fetch the elixir of life
for her—pur Ronny's voice."
At the moment that Lord Francis was soothing
his mind and cheering his way with this encourag¬
ing reflection, Inspector Brown, of Scotland Yard,
was writing to him, as follows :—
" My Lord,—I hasten to acknowledge the
receipt of your note of the day before yesterday,
204
the fate of fenella.
which came after I left. It was marked ' Private,'
and consequently was not opened in the ordinary
course. I was absent on duty yesterday, and
only got it just now. Hence I could not answer
it sooner. The French authorities have decided
that, having secured the so-called Madame Lucille
De Vigny's husband, and she having got off to
America, they will not follow her further for the
present. She will therefore walk ashore free out
of the Germanic, and, in the absence of formal
instructions, we shall be powerless to stop her.
Hoping this may reach you in time, I am, my
lord, your humble servant,
" Christopher Brown, Inspector."
Meanwhile the struggle for life in that cottage
room in Guernsey had turned in favour of Fenella.
The doctor had given a guarded opinion when
Lord Francis made his frantic appeal to him.
Before her husband fronted the western ocean the
wasted sufferer opened her eyes, and once more
looked out through the glance of reason on the
world where she had endured so much.
For a day or two she hung between life and
death. She looked too frail for this world. But
she had store the best of medicines in her own
blood, youth, and she began to mend rapidly.
Happily, when she came to herself, she did not
clearly remember the dreadful past. All was dim
DERELICT.
205
and shadowy. The doctor was careful to say
nothing that could renew her sorrow. He was
aware that her husband had set off to recover
the boy, but since Lord Francis dashed out of the
place no word had come from him, and as the
patient made no inquiries the doctor held his
peace. The nurse knew nothing, and Fenella
herself had a vague feeling that the past, what¬
ever was in it, had better be let alone. She was
too weak for conflict, for even consecutive thought.
Hour after hour she lay weak and silent and
gentle, the ghost of her former self, all the old
audacious sprightliness vanished. She took what
they gave her, and spoke when she was spoken
to, and resisted nothing the attentive people
around ordained for her. She did not ask ques¬
tions. She had no memory of her husband's
penitential visit; no means of knowing that he
had gone to fetch their child.
The doctor, seeing that she was in no distress,
left her in the hands of beneficent Nature. Peace
was the finest cordial his patient could taste now,
and if she showed no sign of joyousness, she was
easy and at rest.
Fenella's brain being free of the fever, her
splendid constitution and her youth asserted their
prerogative to lead her to health, and the kindly
doctor stood amazed at the progress she made
towards convalescence. "You have nothing to
206
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
do now but get well," said he, " and you are
getting well as if getting well were a fever in full
power. You are building up as fast—ay, faster
—than you lost."
She answered only with a smile. She took
no particular interest in getting well, or in any¬
thing else, for that matter. Although the brain
may have been relieved from the ravages of
active disease, it was inert, lifeless. The fountains
of memory were still frozen, or dried up. She
knew she lay at her cottage in Guernsey,
but she did not actively realise why she was
there. She felt that, if she made a great effort,
she could tell herself the story of her presence
upon the island ; but she was languid, and took
no interest in anything, not even in herself.
"You may sit up for an hour to-morrow,"
said the doctor, one day.
She said : " Thank you, doctor."
He was careful not to call her by any name,
and he told the nurse and maids not to address
her as " Mrs. Orme." " Let us get the body
strong first," thought he. " Until word comes
from Lord Francis we have nothing pleasant
to say to her, and she may forget that she was
ever 'Mrs. Orme.'"
So day slid into morrow, and brought no news
—no word of any kind—and Lord Francis was a
whole week gone, and the sufferer was allowed
DERELICT.
207
to move about a little. The good doctor con¬
cluded that Lord Francis had changed his inten-
" ' I HOPE IT BRINGS YOU GOOD NEWS' " (/. 208).
tion again, had for some reason or other reverted
to the condition of mind he had been in when
he borrowed Lord Castleton's yacht, and took
208
the fate of fenella.
himself away into southern seas beyond the voice
of England.
On the eighth day a letter came from London.
It was addressed in a clerkly hand. It was the
first letter that had come for Fenella since she
had fallen ill. She was sitting in an arm-chair
by the fire when she took it from the doctor,
for he had given strict orders she was to get
no letter except from his hand. The superscrip¬
tion was in such commonplace clerkly writing that
the good doctor made sure it was some ordinary
business communication, one from her lawyer or
trustee, or some other person connected with the
routine of her affairs. She was now strong
enough to stroll a short distance out of doors,
and had taken a turn in the garden the day
before, and was to walk a mile along the road
later to-day when the sun grew stronger.
" A letter from some of your business people,"
said the man of science. " I hope it brings
you good news." A little rousing would not
come amiss to the lovely invalid.
It was addressed to " Mrs. Orme." She broke
the cover. It contained a brief note from her
lawyer, and a letter enclosed, the writing of
which, a woman's, was unfamiliar to her. The
lawyer's letter ran :—
" Dear Madam,—I enclose a letter which
derelict.
209
reaches me from an unknown source, with an
anonymous request that it may be forwarded to
you.— I am, dear madam, yours faithfully,
"John Thornhill."
The letter enclosed was addressed to " Lady
Francis Onslow." She broke the cover of that.
It, too, was short. It ran :—
" Your husband has left you for ever, and I
have taken care you never shall see your child
again.
" Lucille de Vigny."
That was all.
H
CHAPTER XV.
another rift.
by mrs. hungerford.
Fenella rose to her feet. There had been one
terrible moment when all things faded from her,
but she overcame that. She would not faint!
She turned to the doctor, who, watching her
anxiously, now came a step nearer to her. In
truth, her face, always colourless, was now
ghastly; but there was a sudden strength in
her eyes, her whole demeanour, that betokened,
as it were, a new life within her. Lately, so
weak she had been, she had fainted at any small
thing that fell into her path threatening to annoy
her; but now, when she had reached the most
momentous point of her life, her hardihood
returned to her, and the old, sweet, girlish gaiety,
that might almost be termed audacity, developed
into a courage true and noble.
This was no time for weakness. Now was
the hour to rise and assert herself! If this
devilish letter meant that evil machinations were
2IO
another rift.
211
at work to deprive her of her husband and her
child, now was the time to fling aside all con¬
siderations and fight for her own.
Her own ! were they her own ? A terrible
remembrance of the past when he, Frank, had
been untrue to her, returned again. What if
he should be untrue again! And again with
"'read that! said she" (p. 212).
that woman! Her heart for a second died
within her, but another thought restored her to
herself. Her child ! Her darling! Her Ronny !
He, at least, was all her own. She need fear
no rival in his affections.
There was something so tragic in the expres¬
sion of her young, beautiful face that the old
2 1 2
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
doctor went closer to her and touched her arm
as though to rouse her.
"What is it, my dear?" asked he. nervously.
He had grown very fond of her during these
past weeks, when she hovered between life and
death.
" Read that! " said she, holding out to him
the fatal letter. She let her eyes rest full on his
—the lovely eyes now so much too large for the
pale, small face. Her long white robe fell to her
feet, showing but too plainly the attenuation of
her figure. She looked like some tall, sad,
mediaeval saint, with her white clinging garments
and her nimbus of red-brown hair.
" Good heavens! " said the kind little doctor,
letting the letter flutter to his feet, " But what
can this mean ? Your husband—so devoted as
he seemed—and—Who is this woman, then ?
This Madame de Vigny ?"
" A fiend," said Fenella, softly, bitterly. " But
I shall overcome her yet. Give me paper, a
telegram form, ink : I "—excitedly—" I have a
friend who will help me. One friend,"—she
turned, and looked piteously at the old man. " I
have only one friend in all the world," said she,
" and he—distrusts me."
"You have another," said the good old doctor,
stoutly, " in me. And I do not distrust you.
Come! come now, my dear. Take courage,
ANOTHER RIFT.
213
Here are pens and paper. Let us telegraph to
this distrustful, if useful, friend of yours."
Fenella wrote rapidly, and handed the telegram
to the doctor. He read it aloud :—
" Come to me at once. Great trouble! Make
no delay, I implore you ! "
Having read it, he went back to the address
—" Clitheroe Jacynth !"
" Jacynth!—a distinguished man. One almost
unconquerable, they say now. I congratulate you
if you have him on your side."
" Ah! but you forget! "
" Tut—when he comes I shall speak to him.
I shall dissolve all doubts," said the little man,
kindly. " And now to despatch this at once.
I shall take it myself, if you will promise to lie
down and try to rest for a while."
" I promise," said she, meekly ; but it was a
promise vain indeed. The door once closed
behind him, she began her dreadful walk up and
down, up and down the room. She felt half
mad. Her child—her little one, in that woman's
power.
It was noticeable that in this hour all her
thoughts went to the child.
-if*
■7p Tt5 TP
"Hullo, Jacynth! This you? By Jove!
what mad haste. Not even a word for an old
friend ?"
214
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" Why, Castleton ! What brings you here ? "
" Folly! Folly only, if it must be told," said
Lord Castleton, dismally. " Sentiment is folly,
isn't it, Jacynth ? Yet a sentimental desire to
know how the Onslows are going on is driving me
back to Guernsey—a spot I quitted a week ago."
"To Guernsey! Why, that is where I am
going, too. Have you heard anything?" He
looked eagerly at his companion. " Do you
know anything? I have had a telegram from
—from her. Can you explain it ? "
" A telegram ! When ? "
" A few hours ago. Look here, Castleton.
I honestly think you are a friend of Lady Francis
Onslow's,—read this."
" I am a friend of both the Onslows," said
Castleton, deliberately. He meant what he said.
He took the telegram and glanced at it.
" Same old game! " said he at last, lifting his
brows. "Another quarrel, I suppose. I thought
when they came together this time that they
meant business, but it seems not. How few
married people are suited to each other!"
" I never thought much of Onslow," said
Jacynth, slowly. " A weak character at all times.
I suppose nobody would dispute the fact of his
having been unfaithful to his wife ?"
"With Madame de Vigny ? Pouf! There
were faults on both sides."
ANOTHER RIFT.
215
" On Madame de Vigny's and his ? Certainly."
"Not at all. On his and Lady Francis'. She
certainly led him a life."
"'I NEVER THOUGHT MUCH OF ONSLOW'" (/. 214).
" A life he deserved ! He—married to her."
He looked suddenly at his companion, and the
touch of passion in his eyes revealed all things.
"To that poor, sweet, pretty girl. He to play
fast and loose with her, a child just out of her
216
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
schoolroom. It "—he paused and commanded
himself—" In my opinion it was contemptible."
"You give yourself away a good deal," said
Castleton, who looked amused—who looked,
indeed, as if he would like to laugh. He had a
great affection for Jacynth, who was rather a
special sort of man, and, in spite of his mirth,
felt sorry for him. " You are counsel for the
defence still, I see. You are, I presume, on the
side of Lady Francis."
" That would be an impertinence from any man
but you," said Jacynth, moodily. " There is no
need to go into it, however. Whether I love her
or not is no matter. It "—miserably—" can never
matter now. What I do is—to pity her with all
my soul."
" Because of her marriage?"
Jacynth looked at him as if hesitating.
"For that, too," said he, deliberately. " She
married, in my opinion, the last man in the
world who would have made her really happy.
But my pity did not run that way. I was thinking
of that miserable trial and its consequences."
" Yes, she was a trifle too magnanimous there,"
said Castleton, believing the other knew all about
it. "It would have been better, to my way of
thinking, if she had told the broad truth, and let
Onslow take his chance."
"His chance ! " said Jacynth, staring at him.
ANOTHER RIFT.
217
" Certainly; it wasn't so bad a chance. He
might, he positively would, have got off all right.
But she chose to take the guilt on her own
shoulders, and now she has created an enigma
very difficult of solution."
"You mean " Jacynth paused ; he seemed
gasping for breath.
" I mean " Suddenly Lord Castleton grew
silent, and gazed at his companion with a troubled
countenance. " Do you mean," said he, " that you
didn't know ? Why, you conducted the case for
herd
" I know nothing," said Jacynth, with great
agitation. "If you can throw any honest light
on the matter, do it, I entreat you."
" I hardly know whether I should. I "—
Castleton drew back from him—" I was so sure
you knew that My dear fellow, pray forget
what I have said."
" I shall forget nothing," said Jacynth, sturdily.
" I should advise you not to forget either. Look
here, Castleton," catching his arm, "is it advis¬
able to forget ? Who knows what this telegram
may mean ? We are both friends of hers."
" Are you a friend of his?"
"No! Why should I disguise the truth? I
have told you before how I regard him. But
what has that got to do with it?"
"You are prejudiced."
2 18
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" I am not. If you have anything to disclose,
Castleton, disclose it! I may be of use to
you " He hesitated.
"Well, considering she has sent for you, I sup¬
pose she means to tell you herself," said Castleton.
" And "—reluctantly—" it is well you should
know beforehand what there is to know, though
I am surprised that she has not already told you."
To him there was but one certainty, and that was
that Fenella had betrayed to Onslow the part he
took in the fatal night's work that murdered De
Miirger. Probably Onslow had resented what
she told him, and disbelieved it, and she had then
sent for her lawyer. What else could demand so
imperative a telegram? On the instant he opened
his heart to Jacynth, and told him all his belief,
all his doubts.
" I could never forget," said he, " how he
looked in that last hypnotic fit; and hypnotic is
the fashionable word for it, I know, but I call it
madness. And his heart isn't sound, you know.
He inherits disease in that direction. His father
died of aneurism of the heart. Some day he will
have a fashionable fit too strong for him, and
there will be an end."
" The best thing that could happen for both of
them," said Jacynth, deliberately. He had been
terribly upset by Castleton's revelation, and
though hardly permitting himself to believe in it,
ANOTHER RIFT.
219
still felt a wild, mad joy in the thought that she—
she, the only woman the whole wide world con¬
tained for him—might be innocent of bloodshed
after all. " See here," said he, vehemently, " if
this thing be true, if she saw him commit that
crime—for crime it was—do you think they could
ever live happily together in the future ? Why,
think, man, would she not see the colour of blood
upon his hands ? would she fail to rank him
amongst murderers ? And he "
" Why, he knows nothing."
"True; and therein lies the real tragedy.
Knowing nothing, he thinks of her as a murderess.
There it lies, you see, in a nutshell. He thinks
her, she thinks him, guilty of a ghastly crime, and
yet you madly believe they could live together
happily."
"It need not go on like that; she might tell
him the truth."
"She? Never!"
" At all events, he might learn it."
" And if so, what would be gained? The
world would shun them both; and they were
made for the world. We are all made for the
world."
" True! " A shrill whistle aroused them both.
" Come on, the train is about to start," said
Castleton.
sJfr ate
Tt» TP TP 7p 7p
220
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
As Jacynth entered her sitting-room, Fenella
rose and ran towards him.
" At last, at last! " she said. The words came
in a sort of gasp. Jacynth, holding her hands,
stared at her, shocked at the change in her ap¬
pearance. Every vestige of colour was gone from
her face, her eyes looked wild, and her parted lips
were very pale. She had pushed back her hair
from her forehead with a quick gesture, just as
he entered the room. She was at her worst this
moment, but the man's love was so strong that
he failed to see that. He thought her lovely—
lovely always; and what was strange, even'
younger than she used to be.
"You know? you have heard?" she went on,
her tone feverish.
"You forget!" said he, gently, with a view
to calming her agitation. " I know nothing.
I have had only your telegram, and that was
so vague."
"Ah! You shall see anbther 'telegram,' then.
That " thrusting Madame de Vigny's letter
into his hand —" that is not vague, at all
events."
Jacynth read it carefully. He frowned.
" That woman again ! " he said.
" Yes, again." She stood back from him.
" Do you believe he has gone back to her ?
Do you ? Do you ? " The very vehemence of
ANOTHER RIFT.
221
her question conveyed to him the knowledge
that she thought he had gone back.
" There is only this," said he, striking the
paper. " And it is from her. She is not the
woman to believe in."
" No ! But I have thought it out for all that,
and " She paused, and pressed her hands
to her head. Jacynth gently led her to a seat.
She looked exhausted. " He left me," said
she, presently, " to find my child, and bring him
to me. He came back, and there was no child
with him. I was ill then—very ill. I could not
think, but for all that I knew. Then he went
away again, and I waited—waited. Great
Heaven!" said she, clasping her hands, " if
you only knew what it was to wait like that for
a sight of your child ! And then there came
—that! " She pointed to the letter which he
still held. "Well, what do you think?" asked
she in a low voice, bending forward.
"It is hard to thirik "
"No, it is not! " He was horrified by the
change in her tone, and looked at her. She
was still bending forward, her hands clasped,
her young, sweet face as hard as misery could
make it. "It is the easiest thing," she said.
"He met her again, I suppose—I think, and
together they have gone away, taking my child
with them. Oh!" She sprang to her feet,
222
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
and flung out her arms. " Oh! the child!
He might have gone—gone for ever—it would
be hard, for I loved him ! but to take the child
from me ! The child ! My darling! My baby !
Do you know how many months I have lived
without my little sweetheart ? You, you of all
men know! " She turned to him, and caught
him by the arm. " Ever since that awful trial!
I gave him up then, my little one : and for
what ? " she almost hissed out the words—" to
shield his father ! "
"You mean—" saidjacynth, his heart beating;
was he now to hear the truth from her own
lips ? But the sound of his voice broke in upon
her passion, and checked her.
"Nothing," said she, quickly, "except that—
that he is false to me."
" I tell you again not to dwell too much on
that," said Jacynth, slowly. Although his whole
life seemed to depend upon it, he could not refrain
from pleading his rival's caflse. "You have only
that woman's word for it. This letter may be a
fabrication from beginning to end."
"A curiously well-timed one." She laughed,
in a cruelly miserable way. "If she knew nothing
of him, how did she learn that my child and my
husband were now away from me ? "
" More curious things have been explained,"
said he.
ANOTHER RIFT.
223
" You ! you talk to me like this?" cried she,
passionately. " You would defend him ! You,
who knew he was once untrue? You"—faintly
—" who once loved me ? "
"I shall be your friend always," said he, putting
a great constraint upon himself. "It is because
I am your friend that I speak thus : why not look
at it in another light? You say your husband
left you hurriedly; you say that Madame de Vigny
must have known of his absence from you, and
also of your boy's. It might be that she, out of
revenge, stole the boy, and that your husband is
now pursuing her with a view of restoring him
to you."
He said this more to gain time than anything
else, little thinking that he had guessed the truth,
and had laid before her the exact facts of the case.
" A fairy tale," said she mournfully. " No !
He lied to me the last time I saw him. When
I asked him to bring me my child, he said he was
tired—asleep. I too was tired, worn out from
sickness and a broken heart, and too weak to do
aught but believe him. The child was not here
at all! " She stepped back from Jacynth, and
covered her face with her hands. " Oh, my
Ronny ! my beloved ! Oh, my little child ! "
She took down her hands. Her lips were
trembling. "Mr. Jacynth, what shall I do?"
said she.
224
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" The first thing to do," said he, harshly, " is
to keep up your courage." He spoke in a queer,
grating tone. He knew if he once gave way he
should betray himself—betray the wild, mad long¬
ing he felt to take her in his arms, and press her
poor, sweet, pretty head down upon his breast,
and try with all his soul to comfort her. "You
are condemning your husband unheard. Is that
fair ? Is it just ? "
" He has not been just to me! "
" True ! And, therefore, you find it difficult in
such a crisis as this to believe in him." He
looked at her suddenly. "Still you love him?"
said he. The words were a question.
" Do I ? " said she. Her words were also a
question addressed to her own heart. " I feel so
tired—so tired," she said. " It has been a struggle
always and through many things I loved him.
J " She hesitated. " I despise myself," she
said, " but I think I love him still! " A pang
shot through Jacynth's heart. He did not note
the suggestion of doubt in her voice. " I love
him, I think," she went on, slowly, " I think', but
this I know, I distrust him."
" Distrust means ruin," said Jacynth.
" To what ? To love?"
" To all things."
"To friendship ? "
" Yes. To all things,"
ANOTHER RIFT.
225
She went close to him.
" That is not true," she said. " You are
befriending me now, yet you distrust me."
" I ? No ! You are thinking of that wretched
trial! " He spoke with extreme agitation. " But
I have heard all."
"All?"
"Yes! All. And if ever a man craved
another's pardon upon his knees, I crave yours."
" All ? " repeated she, faintly. She seemed
to have heard that one word only.
"Yes," said he. He let his voice sink to a
whisper ; he leaned towards her. " Who killed
De Miirger?" asked he.
o/.
vv* "7V" "Tr*
"It is true! " said he presently, when she had
told him all. "It is true that the world still
produces heroines. It is now more imperative
than ever that Lord Francis should be found."
"For what?" said she. "Do you think I
should betray him now—even now ? Ah ! Mr.
Jacynth, you do not know me. No! I shall go
to my grave bearing this burthen. After all"
—sadly—" he once did love me ! "
"If he has gone off with that woman again,
I don't see why you should spare him," said
Jacynth. "But, as I have said, I hope for the
best about that. In the meantime "
She interrupted him.
15
226
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"In the meantime, find my child!" said she.
She was still ghastly pale, but a little fire had
come into her eyes. "Bring him back to me;
get him back from that woman. Oh!' a little
nervously, " I have no right to speak to you like
this. Why should I order you about? Only—
only—you are kind—kind always, and—I have
now no friends ! And Ronny—Ronny always
hated strangers ! Oh, my child, my little heart! "
She broke down suddenly, and burst into violent
weeping. " Oh, God !" cried she, "what shall I
do ? That woman ! That woman,—if she has
him, she will kill him ! He, who never knew
anything but love! My little lamb ! Oh! his
eyes, his laugh. You saw him ! Was there ever
so pretty a boy ? Oh! once—once "—passion¬
ately—" you said you loved me ! Help me now!
Tell me how I shall begin the search for Ronny."
" You would go yourself? "
" Oh, yes, yes ! Oh ! if you only knew what
this last day and night have been !" She was
sobbing violently, now, but by a supreme effort,
she controlled herself; she took down her hands
from her face, and pressed them against her
throbbing bosom. " I will be calm," she said ;
"this is no time for tears, and you must not
think me weak. I am strong—very strong. Tell
me now how I shall begin."
" I will tell you," said he, " but you must try
ANOTHER RIFT.
227
and see my plan as I see it. Now, it seems to
me impossible that you, in your weak health, just
recovered from a dangerous illness, could possibly
institute such a troublesome search as this is
likely to prove."
"SHE FELL ON HER KNEES BEFORE JACYNTH" (p. 229).
" And if not " began she, despairingly.
" There is a substitute," said he. " 1 shall
undertake this matter."
" You ?"
228
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"Yes. If you will entrust this affair to me,
I will promise to bring you back your—husband.
" Bring me back my child ! " said she.
"Fenella, your husband! You will want to
have him back ! "
" I have told you I am tired," said she, coldly.
" I have borne a great deal, and " she paused.
" There is something on your mind," said he.
" His hands ! " she said. She seemed to shrink
visibly. She shuddered. " The blood! I was
unconscious then, I think and it is only now
—now But his hands, and his face ! Great
Heavens! how he held him. He choked him
It was as if he was over there now," staring
wildly at the far part of the room. "His fingers
closed round his throat, and there was such a
sound—a gurgle—Heaven, what a sound ! and
then he stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed—he
was mad. Oh !" with a long-drawn, piercing sigh,
' / shall go mad if I think of it! "
" Then don't think," said Jacynth. He caught
hold of her arm and shook her sharply.
" Whenever I see him I see blood," said she,
still trembling.
" Never mind him, think of your child," said
he, with a desire to rouse her. " Am I to start
now ? and when I find him, what message am I
to give him from his mother ? "
He had roused her indeed. " A message! " she
ANOTHER RIFT.
229
said. The old, sad, dreadful fear in her face died
away. Hope lit it into a lovely life. " A message
to Ronny !" she cried.
She fell on her knees before Jacynth, and
took his hand and laid her cold cheek upon it—
a cheek wet with tears. " Tell him his mother
loves him," said she. "Tell him, too, that his
mother will for ever love the one who will restore
him to her."
CHAPTER XVI.
in new york.
by arthur a'beckett.
Mrs. Clutterbuck, the newly-married wife of
Colonel Clutterbuck, of New York, was not " at
home " to visitors. She had given orders to that
effect, but the command was superfluous, as there
v/ere no callers. To tell the truth, Madame de
Vigny had not been a great social success in
the country of her adoption. The Senator, her
husband, had married her to preside over his
establishment and to gracefully adorn his dinner-
table ; and although she had accepted both duties,
the result had been disappointment. Mrs. Clutter-
buck's notion of looking after a house was to take
the minimum amount of trouble, and order the
maximum amount of goods. She had run up
bills in all directions, giving a special preference
to the stores of jewellers, dressmakers, and
vendors of lace. Her idea of dispensing hospi¬
tality was scarcely in accord with the Colonel's
notions on the same matter. The Senator, who
230
IN NEW YORK.
231
was a power in Wall Street, firmly believed that
more could be done over the viands and iced
water than in the place of custom, and was in
"'THEY ARE NEITHER POLISHED NOR AMUSING"' (/. 232).
the habit of filling his dining-room with people
who could be useful. His desire was, of course,
to conciliate those he invited by adopting a tone
232 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
of business-like geniality ; but he received no
assistance from his wife, whose solitary aim
seemed to be the unprovoked and contemptuous
snubbing of her husband's guests.
" Loo-cille," said he one day, after a banquet
had ended in disaster, " I guess you are not
particular to company. Guess, madame, you
prefer solitude to some of the best known persons
in the United States."
" If you mean by that," replied Mrs. Clutter-
buck, admiring herself in a mirror, "I do not
care for the vulgar crowd you ask to dinner, you
are certainly right. They are neither polished
nor amusing."
" Strikes me, madame, that you seem to feel
the want of the British aristocracy. You can't
get on without them—that is so. It seems a
pity that Lord Francis Onslow should be on
the other side of the Atlantic. He would have
been a decided acquisition to our family circle.
See ? "
' What do you mean ?" asked Lucille, with
her large eyes fixed upon the Colonel mena¬
cingly. "What do you mean?"
" What I say," retorted the Colonel. " I do
not want, madame, any unpleasantness, but I
give you fair warning that I know a thing or
two. I have special sources of information."
"Do you want to insult me?" Lucille asked
IN NEW YORK.
233
in a low tone, raising her head, and still keeping
her steady gaze upon her husband, her eyes
looking into his eyes, as if they would read his
very soul.
" Come, come, madame, none of that!" cried
Clutterbuck, waving her off. " I tell you,
Loo-cille, I was not born yesterday, nor yet
the day before. My will is a pretty strong one,
and I tell you distinctly I am not a subject. I
have been tried before, and it would not do. So
take my word, madame, you are giving yourself
a great deal of trouble for nothing. Take my
advice, madame, and drop it. Guess it won't
do."
She seemed to concentrate her power of will
into a supreme and final effort, and then she
shrank back into a fauteuil—conquered. Her
husband laughed, and continued,—
"You see you cannot contrive it. No,
madame, it won't do. So, if you take my
advice, I would not try it again. You see it
just riles me, and I am not a nice man to rile.
I love and respect all ladies, but I have a sharp
and short way of reckoning with snakes. See ? "
She was silent for a moment, and then burst
into a hysterical laugh. " There," continued her
husband, " you notice you are unhinged. It is
not good for you, this kind of excitement. And
now tell me, how is Ronny ? Why did he not
234
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
come down to give his uncle good morning
before I started for business to-day ? "
" Ronny has gone," replied Lucille, shortly.
" Gone! " exclaimed the Senator. " Why,
where have you sent him ? "
" That is my business," returned Mrs. Clutter-
buck. " Surely I have a right to do what I
please with my own nephew."
" Nephew! " echoed he. " Whew ! "
" Have you any reason for questioning the
relationship ? "
" Well, no," replied her husband, stroking his
beard; " but it strikes me, for so near a relative
the lad does not seem to care particularly about
you. Why, I do believe he likes me better than
he does you."
" Ronny has bad taste."
" Maybe, madame, maybe," returned her
husband; "but you might keep a civil tongue
in your head. It's that kind of thing that riles
my guests."
" What kind of thing ? "
"Oh, drop it! Now tell me, when do you
expect Ronny's return ? "
" I don't expect it at all."
" Ah! I see you are not in a communicative
mood, so I shall take myself off. But see here,
madame. You were intended by Nature for the
leisured class, but in the States we haven't got
IN NEW YORK.
235
the institution. Some day we may import it from
Europe, and if we do, why then you will find
yourself quite at home. But, until we do import
it from Europe, take a word of advice. Climb
down, madame, climb down."
And with this parting shot the Colonel took
his departure.
Mrs. Clutterbuck listened to the retreating
steps, and then went to her desk. She sat down
in front of the table, and pondered. Had she
acted wisely ? Certainly it was advisable to quit
England—Europe—but was not this a case of
from the frying-pan into the fire ? The Colonel
was a man of violent passions, and she felt that
she was absolutely without influence over him.
He was too strong for her. She had been accus¬
tomed to do what she liked with members of the
opposite sex; here was a man who set her at
defiance, laughed her to scorn. What was she to
do ? She was absolutely dependent upon him
for support. Unless she could get back to
Europe (which was not a desirable spot for the
moment), or find a travelling Englishman, she was
powerless. Her husband's friends and acquaint¬
ances appeared to hold her in abhorrence.
Besides, manners and customs on one side of the
Atlantic seemed to differ from customs and
manners on the other. It was not a cheerful
prospect. However, there was nothing to be
236
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
done but to submit, and to keep her eyes open
to take immediate advantage of any chance that
might offer itself. So she sat down before the
little table, and, unlocking her desk, examined its
contents. There were a few letters written in
faded ink, and tears gathered in her eyes as she
glanced at them.
" He loved me once," she said with a sigh,
" and I absolutely loved him ; yes, loved him.
Well, that is past. He has abandoned me as he
abandoned her, and I can strike them both
through their boy."
Then she took out a letter that bore the New
York postmark of the day before, and read it
through from end to end. It was a long letter,
and seemed to give her satisfaction. " I do not
see how they can recover the boy," she mur¬
mured ; " and if this programme is carried out in
the future, he should be as much lost to his family
as a grain of sand in the desert, or a needle in a
bundle of hay."
Then she considered whether she should burn
the letter, or return it to her desk. She decided
upon the latter course, and placed it for greater
security in the concealed recesses of a secret
drawer. The rest of the afternoon she spent
listlessly in reading novels with yellow covers
and playing on the piano. She had no visitors.
When the dinner hour arrived the Colonel had
IN NEW YORK. 237
not reappeared. However, this did not greatly
disturb her, as it was his custom on occasions
to stay away from home; but when he decided
" SHE LIGHTED A CIGARETTE" (/. 238).
to dine elsewhere he usually communicated
through the telephone his intentions. He had
neglected to do this, so Mrs. Clutterbuck decided
upon her own responsibility to dine alone. She
238
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
gave the necessary orders, and in due course
the meal was served and discussed. After the
things had been removed (she had taken her
dinner in the boudoir) she lighted a cigarette. It
was not a habit which met with her husband's
encouragement, but as he was not there to up¬
braid her, she saw no reason why she should
not indulge her taste for the fumes of nicotine.
A little later the door was thrown open, and the
Colonel entered. He was pale, and his features
worked. Evidently he was in a violent passion.
" You are quite a stranger," she said, with a
little laugh, " and I have dined without you.
I did not feel your loss, because the supreme
de volaille was excellent. Take one?"
He deliberately seized the proffered cigarette-
case, and> threw it with all his force against
the wall. She shrugged her shoulders, and
laughed again. "What a child you are! You
remind me of Ronny, and yet you are no relative
of his."
" Are you a relative of his ? " asked the Colonel
slowly, weighing every word as if he were afraid
to trust his voice.
"Why, yes. Did I not tell you that he was
my nephew ?"
" And did you not tell me a lie ? "
There was a pause, and they looked at one
another as a duellist regards an opponent—neither
IN NEW YORK.
239
anxious to begin, both on guard. Again she
laughed.
"You are not very cheerful company this
evening."
" Then I will make my visit as short as
possible."
" Ah! you are paying me a visit, are you ?
You purpose obtaining a separation?"
" There is no necessity for a separation."
" I see, then, you will obtain a divorce. I have
always been told that in America there are special
facilities for disjoining marriage ties. Is New
York a good place for that sort of thing ? "
" There is no necessity, madame, to dissolve
marriage ties."
"You are very, very serious this evening," said
Lucille, putting the cigarette in her mouth. " I
hate conundrums. All this afternoon I have been
worrying myself to find an answer to the riddle,
why I became your wife ? "
"You never did become my wife," replied the
Colonel, shortly.
Lucille turned pale, and then her face was
suffused with colour. She rose to her full
height.
" And you have come to tell me this ? "
"Now, madame, see here; I don't want any
heroics. I am going to take it quietly, and
I advise you to do the same. Now, what I
240
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
have to say is just this. I made a mistake in
marrying you."
" The mistake was mutual."
" Now, madame, there is no cause for interrup¬
tion. You shall have the story right away, and
if you have not enough of it by the time I have
done, it will be your fault and not mine. Look
you here—if I made a mistake you made a greater.
Have you ever heard of a crime called bigamy? "
"Yes," returned Lucille, coolly. "It is a weak¬
ness of mine—I committed bigamy when I
married you."
"And you tell me that without turning a hair?"
exclaimed the American, fairly taken aback at her
audacity. "Then you know I could throw you
into gaol, madame ? "
"You can do nothing of the sort," she returned.
" Now stop further explanation; you see there is
no necessity. I have saved you the trouble of
inflicting a long story on me with your terrible
nasal twang, and I am thankful."
" Look you here, madame!" returned the
Colonel, white with passion, " don't you rile me
too much. There is a limit, I tell you, and you
have about reached it, and a bit over."
" Oh ! I am not in the least afraid of you.
For the reason that causes you not to hurl me
into gaol will prevent you from murdering me.
And less than a murder would not do ; even your
IN NEW YORK.
24I
countrymen don't care about wife—I beg your
pardon—women-beaters."
The Colonel ground his teeth and clenched his
hands, but kept tranquil.
" Madame, you are right," he said at last,
" Quite right : I am not going to murder you.
Anything of that sort I can leave to your husband
—when he gets out of prison. But to come to
business. If you take my advice, you will make
tracks. I have had private information that you
have escaped by the skin of your teeth. They
have got your husband, and they wanted you,
but the prosecutors seem to be economical, and
they are satisfied with him. So instead of being
taken to the Tombs on your arrival in New York,
you were allowed to come home with me. And
a nice home you have made it, madame," and he
looked round the room crammed with costly gim-
cracks. " It has cost me a pretty penny."
" Very likely," she replied calmly, " but you
can afford it."
" Yes, fortunately I can, madame. Uriah
Clutterbuck is good for millions."
"You had better not boast of your wealth, or
you will make me avaricious."
" Avaricious ! Why, what has my wealth to do
with you, madame ? All that is past and gone.
We squared up when Mrs. Clutterbuck returned
to Madame Vin-yay."
16
242
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" Not quite," said Lucille with a cold smile.
" You must be a bad man of business, and yet
you have realised a fortune."
"Yes, I have made my pile, madame," he
returned, with a vague feeling of uneasiness ;
" and as to my being a man of business, why,
you just ask any one who knows me."
"There is no necessity," said Lucille, "be¬
cause I can test you myself. As a man of
business, how much do you intend to pay me to
go away ? "
The Colonel indulged in a low whistle, and
for a moment regarded with absolute admiration
the woman he had for a time believed to be his
wife. Then he slowly produced his pocket-book,
and taking out some notes, placed them before
her. She took them up, and reckoned the amount.
" Not bad for a first bid," she observed, " and I
see you know how to deal. You are a better
man of business than I imagined. Say double,
and we will call it done."
Again the Senator produced his pocket-book,
and once more extracted from its recesses some
notes. He placed these before Lucille, and she
took them up as before. Once again she arrived
at a total.
"You are satisfied I shall not disturb you?"
she asked. "You can trust me?"
*' Well, yes, madame, I can," replied the Colonel.
IN NEW YORK.
243
" You think quite rightly that I don't want a
scandal,—I don't. But if there is to be one,
we may as well have it on a grand scale. If
you come back, madame, to annoy me, why, then
I shall know that I may as well go in for the
entire cucumber, and act accordingly."
"You will shoot me ? "
" I guess it will come to that. You are a
woman of great discrimination. I shall remove
you, and I can do it with a better grace after
you have been away a bit. So you know what
to expect. And now, as we have had this friendly
chat, there is no reason why we should quarrel.
Loo-cille, here's my hand."
She burst into a bitter laugh.
" Do you think I am going to take it ? If by
grasping it I could make it wither, I would seize
it and hold it to my heart."
" Why, what have I done, madame ? "
"Why, you have robbed me of my last chance.
If you had stood by me I might have pulled
through. Well, it will be pleasant reading to
see a report of your death."
" I daresay it will," said the Colonel, biting
his lip until the blood came. " In the meantime
you can read this. And now, madame, I have
to bid you adoo."
And laying down a marked paper before her,
he stalked away.
244 the fate of fenella.
Lucille, left to herself, remained lor some
moments buried in the deepest thought. What
should she do next ? She had expected the
storm, for she had felt that the discovery of her
past was only a question of time. So she was
not unprepared for the Colonel's desertion. She
had taken care to supply herself with a goodly
store of diamonds and precious stones, and
accordingly for the moment was not within the
reach of want. The bundle of notes she had
extracted from the Senator's pocket-book repre¬
sented a considerable sum, and added to the total
of the value of her worldly goods. Then she
had her beauty. She looked into the mirror,
and shuddered. What would her husband do
when he escaped from the prison walls ? It
was the question she had asked herself a hundred
times ; it was the question that had been suggested
to her not an hour ago. It would be a terri¬
ble day of reckoning.
" He will kill me," she muttered. " He has
more pluck than this blustering American. He
will kill me. Well, and if he does, what does
it matter ? "
And then she took up the marked paper that
the Senator had left behind him, and glanced
carelessly through it, until she came to the
column that bore the trace of ink. Then she
started back as if stung by an adder. The
IN NEW YORK.
^45
marked passage told the world in general, and
the American capital in particular, that Lord
Francis Onslow, the husband of the acquitted
murderess, had lately arrived in New York.
sU. 5V. J/. JA,
*7? *Jp "/Vs 7r
It was night-time in the chief American police-
station before Frank could find an opportunity
for continuing his inquiries. On his arrival he
had quickly learned that Mrs. Clutterbuck had not
been arrested—that a telegram had been received
warning the officials to do nothing, as their
services were not required. And, for the mo¬
ment, the chief officer whom he consulted could
tell him nothing more. He had been advised
to let matters take their course.
"You see," said the chief, " we can't do much
at present, sir. The Colonel is highly respected,
and a Senator, and until we have authority to
interfere with his arrangements we must hold
our hands. You say that the boy that accom¬
panies them is your son. Maybe it is so ; but
still the lad is under the Colonel's protection, and
we don't want to lend ourselves to an abduction
case. It would be giving ourselves away."
" But I tell you the boy belongs to me."
" Maybe he does, and maybe he doesn't. The
word of Colonel Clutterbuck is as good as yours,
and while the lad is in his custody I don't see
how we can help you. If you take our advice,
246
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
you will let matters slide for a while. We will
keep our eyes upon the household, and if we find
him taken out of the custody of the lady who says
she is his aunt, why, then we will communicate
with you, and then will be the time for you to
come upon the scene. At present, you will
pardon me, sir—I should say, my lord—you are
what I may call a superfluity."
"Then you refuse to help me?" said Frank,
angrily.
" Well, that is not quite as I want to put it,"
replied the officer of police, " but I guess it's
about the true meaning. Don't be impatient, sir;
many a bright undertaking has been ruined by
too much impatience. I know it isn't pleasant
advice to any one to be told to take things coolly,
but that's just the advice I would give to you.
Let things slide a bit, and when the time is ripe
for action, why then you shall know all about it."
"At least you will give me the Colonel's
address ? "
" Can't say I can ; the Colonel is a man of
business, and you will hear of him from every one
in the proper quarter; but it is no part of my
duty to act as a directory. You will run against
him soon enough without my aid. So, sir, or, as
I should say, my lord, if you are not busy, I am,
and I must wish you good-day."
With that, the official bowed and walked away.
IN NEW YORK.
247
Frank, finding that nothing was to be done,
turned also, and so the men separated.
In his hurry to leave England, and reach the
United States, Fenella's husband had neglected
to arm himself with letters of introduction, and
now he found the disadvantage of being in a
strange city without a friend. He walked down
Broadway, and paraded Fifth Avenue, but saw
none but unfamiliar faces. He had put up at
one of the large New York hotels, where he had
advisedly given a false name. He was not
particularly anxious to make the acquaintance of
the American interviewer,—a gentleman who was
unique until copied in England some few years
ago. So far he had been able to preserve his
incognito, as the police official, who was a kind
fellow at heart, had promised to preserve the
secret of his identity. So, chafing at the delay,
he wandered about listlessly, until, to his great
delight, he received one evening a summons to
attend at the bureau.
"You see I have not forgotten you," said the
official. " Now I think we can set to work. The
boy you have been looking for has left the custody
of the Colonel—he is no longer in his care."
"And where is he?" asked Frank, eagerly.
"That is a conundrum, my lord, that, for the
moment, I cannot answer," was the reply. " The
fact is, we have made a bit of a mess of it. A
248
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
recruit—a sharp one, but still a recruit—was put
upon your business, and he seems to have
muddled it."
" What do you mean ? "
" Well, look you here. He was ordered to keep
his eye on the lad, and to report when the boy
was removed from the Colonel's custody. Well,
he did his duty, inasmuch as he gave us the notice
the boy was off. That has been reported right
enough, but " he stopped.
" Don't you know where my son is at this
moment?" said Frank angrily.
"Well, sir—I should say, my lord—that is
exactly what I cannot say. Our man rushed
off to tell us the news of his departure; he
would have done better had he followed up the
track."
" And what do you propose to do ? "
" Oh, we have made the best of it. We have
sent a first-class officer, up to every move in the
game, to take the matter up, and by this time
you may be sure the country is being scoured high
and low. When we come upon a track you shall
hear of it. We can trust the Colonel. He is
respected, and would not lend himself to any
underhand piece of work. But it's the lady that
is doing it. Now, we have not much of an
opinion about her, and she is in it, that's the
worst of it. However, don't you cry out yet ;
IN NEW YORK.
249
ours is the smartest service in the world, and we
will do our best for you."
" But can I do nothing ? "
"A FAMILIAR FIGURE WAS BENDING OVER HIM'' (p. 251V
44 Well, no, sir—I should say, my lord—I don't
see that you can. You had better look in to¬
morrow evening, and then I could report progress.
In the meanwhile, keep an eye upon yourself.
250
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
New York is a dangerous place for a stranger. I
know you Englishmen are brave fellows, but such
a thing as kidnapping, even an adult, is not
unknown on this side of the Atlantic. So have
a care, sir—I should say, my lord."
Smiling at the correction, Frank departed, deter¬
mining to return on the following evening. On
his way to the hotel he had to pass a large house
at the corner of a street, and as he walked along,
he felt that there was some one gazing at him
from one of the ground-floor windows. He turned
his head in that direction, and immediately a
blind was drawn down abruptly ; but not until
two piercing eyes had gazed for a moment into
his own. He resumed his way, and then stopped
suddenly. He was quite alone, for the street
was empty. He raised his hand to his brow, and
trembled as if he had an ague fit. He seemed to
be fighting some unseen, some terrible enemy.
The perspiration ran down his face, and then of
a sudden he became calmer, unnaturally calm.
He appeared to be in a trance. He moved as
if some power were controlling his actions. He
hesitated, but only for a second, and then began
to retrace his steps, and slowly, but surely, he
walked along as a somnambulist progresses. His
eyes were wide open, but sightless ; his arms
hung listlessly by his side, until the time came
for him to open a door, then slowly he extended
IN NEW YORK.
his right arm, and his rigid hand seized the
handle. He had passed through and entered the
hall. Slowly he walked up the stairs, and slowly
he made his way to the entrance of a large
room. Again he opened a door, and again he
walked on, until, seemingly exhausted, he sank
into a chair.
When he returned to consciousness he still
imagined he was taking part in some strange
dream ; for although he did not recognise the
apartment in which he was resting, a familiar
figure was bending over him. A woman had just
taken her hand from his brow, and was standing
over him. He uttered an exclamation of horror,
and tried to rise to his feet. The woman smiled
and withdrew her hand, and once more he sank
back in the chair in which he was resting.
Lord Francis Onslow and Madame de Vigny
were face to face.
CHAPTER XVII.
confined in a madhouse.
by jean middlemass.
Love was dead. There was no gainsaying the
fact. With returning consciousness the expres¬
sion of hatred became so fully developed on his
face that Lucille de Vigny cowered before it.
His wild bloodshot eyes looked as if they were
ready to start from his head, and the desperation
in his entire mien made her feel that there was
no length to which he would not venture. . Was
he about to commit another murder ?
Madame de Vigny knew naught of the previous
one, or probably she would have run away in dire
fear.
As it was, she was under the impression that
the man she had once so loved, and still cared
for more than any one else in life, had suddenly
become mad.
Rising at last to his feet with an effort, he
began to speak gaspingly : "You fiend, you arch-
demoness ! where is my child ? "
252
CONFINED IN A MADHOUSE.
253
She laughed, and calling up her courage, tried
"to brave the matter out, though certainly she
had never been so frightened in all her life before.
Then, seeing that laughter irritated him, she said,—
" I believe he has gone back to his mummy,
f
"HE SEIZED HER BY THE THROAT '(p 254).
or, at all events, to Mrs. Grandison. Colonel
Clutterbuck, my husband, would not stand him
any longer."
" It is a lie, and you know it! Colonel Clutter-
buck is not your husband, and the child has not
left America. Where is he ? "
" As you know so much, probably you know
254
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
the rest. It is therefore useless for me to speak."
Her tone and her manner were most aggravating,
and in Lord Francis Onslow's then mood were
positively dangerous. After the semi-somnolent,
semi-stupid phase through which he had passed,
an excitement had set in, over which he had but
little control.
He turned savagely on Madame de Vigny,
and seized her by the throat with his long, thin
fingers ; and yet she was the woman before whom
he had once knelt in adoration.
" My boy—where is my boy ? Tell me, where
is Ronny ? "
How could she tell him while he held her in
a vice, even if she wished to do so. She tried
vainly to utter some sound, possibly a scream,
but nothing was heard save a gurgle, while her
features became livid. The look of her to a
degree sobered him, and he relaxed his grip;
that is, he almost threw her from him with
a force that caused her to fall with her head
against the sharp edge of a sofa.
Even then he took no notice of her ; it did
not seem to trouble him that she was hurt, or
that the handkerchief she held to her head was
covered with blood.
He did not, however, attempt to touch her
again, but walked up and down the room talking
rapidly.
CONFINED IN A MADHOUSE.
255
" Curse of my life that you have been! give
me my child, that I may take him to the wronged
Fenella, and forget that you ever existed. If it
had not been for you what a happy man I might
have been with Fenella—my beautiful Fenella."
"And De Miirger?" asked Lucille, whose
sting even fright and injury had not wholly killed.
" De Miirger—curse him too ! But I forgot,
he is dead—Fenella killed him to save her honour,
even as I will kill you if you do not take me
where I shall find Ronny."
But Madame de Vigny had not quite lost her
wits, or her capacity for self-defence, though the
pain in her head was intense, and the blood
was still flowing freely. She managed, without
his remarking it, to crawl from the sofa to the
door, and then suddenly, before he had time to
stop her, she jumped up, opened it, passed rapidly
out, closed it, and locked him in.
Having done this, she could do no more,
but fell in a dead faint on the mat.
Meantime, " cabined, cribbed, confined," Lord
Francis was indeed " kept like a tiger in too
small a cage."
She had thought him mad, and in truth it
almost seemed as if she were right. He thumped
at the door till the echoes in the house rang
again; still no one came. The servants were all
very far away, and were, moreover, amusing
"closed it, and locked him in" (p. 255).
CONFINED IN A MADHOUSE.
257
themselves with a game of poker, which was
engrossing them far more at that moment than
their mistress's visitors and quarrels. Not suc¬
cessful with the door, Lord Francis tried the
window, but it was at least sixty feet from the
ground—the jump was certain death ; then he
fell to smashing sundry bits of bric-a-brac that
fell in his way—more to annoy Lucille than
because he did not know what he was doing ; and
finally he rang the bell.
The bell brought Lucille's maid, but she did
not open the door, though he loudly demanded
that it should be unlocked.
The maid found her mistress faint and bleeding
on the landing ; it was scarcely likely she would
open the door till she had tended her, especially
as there was no cessation of the smashing inside.
Lucille was recovering her senses when the
maid arrived, and thus by the help of an arm
crawled into her own room, which was not very
far distant. The first sentence she managed to
pronounce was,—
" Do not let him out—he is mad. Poor man,
he has a dreadful wife, who has driven him mad.
Set some one to watch the door in case he should
force it, and send for Dr. Walton."
It was not for herself that Madame de Vigny
desired the presence of Dr. Walton, for she
gashed her face, and put some plaster on the
l7
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
wound, which, after all, was not a very serious
one, and she was a good deal revived by the time
the doctor arrived.
Dr. Walton was a personal friend of Madame
de Vigny; that is, she had made a friend of him
since she had come to New York. She had a
wonderful facility for fascinating the male sex
and annexing their services, and she felt very
certain she could depend on Dr. Walton, or she
would not have sent for him.
When he did arrive, which was speedily, he was
naturally aghast at the injury she had received.
She would have allowed him to see it at its
worst stage if she had not feared to disillusionise
him by the aspect she had presented when the
maid found her.
"Never mind me," she said, "I shall be all
right in a day or two, but I cannot go on being
subject to attacks from that madman. You must
remove him ; he says I have his child, whereas
you know Ronny is my own nephew."
Dr. Walton did not know anything except what
she had told him, but he believed in her, and
therefore did not think of doubting her statement.
" My dear madame, I will do the best I can for
you; of course this must be stopped. Do you
think it will be necessary to take—ahem!—
extreme measures ? I have some influence with
the police,"
CONFINED IN A MADHOUSE.
259
"No police at all, if you please, Dr. Walton.
The police are a body with which I wish to
have no dealings. They have never done me any
good. You have a house a little way out of town
where you keep patients who cannot control them¬
selves. Take this man there as your guest until
I have time to communicate with his friends in
England. He will be out of mischief and harm,
and you will be doing a good action."
"You know his friends?" asked Dr. Walton,
a little dubious whether he was not risking his
professional reputation by taking this step.
" Well, I am most intimate with his wife.
She is a most flighty, ill-behaved little person. I
fancy it is her shortcomings that have driven this
poor man to desperation. Still, of course, she is
the proper person to communicate with. Hark!
how he is knocking at that door again—there
really is no time to be lost. I do not believe
there is a bit of whole furniture in the room."
Thus urged, Dr. Walton proceeded to do what
she wished ; in fact, he began to think that it was
the only thing that could be done. To get this
man away quietly was, however, the difficulty—
he did not want a scene and a scandal.
" Can you depend on the man on guard ? " he
asked.
" For coin—yes," she said, laughing ; " money
makes most people reliable—for a time."
26o
the fate of fenella.
" Well, stay where you are, and leave me to do
the rest. I will return later, and let you know
the result." So saying, Dr. Walton proceeded to
the room where Lord Francis was still knocking
clamorously. He said a few words in a low tone
to the man at the door, and then he proceeded to
interview the supposed lunatic.
To any one less experienced than Dr. Walton
Lord Francis would certainly have seemed to be
quite mad, but the doctor saw at once that he was
merely suffering from excessive nervous excitement.
" A few days' seclusion would, however," he
thought, " do him no harm," as by that time, with
a little judicious treatment, he would probably be
quite himself again.
Was there something in Dr. Walton's touch or
look that soothed Lord Francis, predisposed as
he was to hypnotic influence, or was the doctor
armed with some calming anaesthetic—who shall
say ? But as if by magic, rage and excitement
subsided, and as though insensible to what was
passing around, Lord Francis sank down once
more into the chair in which he was sitting when
he first saw Lucille de Vigny.
Now he was entirely in the doctor's power
he could do with him as he liked. The servant,
still outside the door, was called into the room,
and in less than five minutes Frank Onslow
was transported to the doctor's carriage, and was
CONFINED IN A MADHOUSE.
26l
driven off to the private mad-house outside the
city, of which Dr. Walton was the director.
From her bedroom window, by the aid of
a gas lamp in the street, Lucille de Vigny saw
him depart.
" Now," she said, " you are mine to do as I
like with. You will not leave that place until you
have absolutely given up Fenella—for ever."
Madame de Vigny was an attractive woman,
and she had, as in the instance of Dr. Walton,
her slaves. She forgot that Fenella was quite
as attractive, nay, more so, for she was younger
than Lucille, and many thought her much better
looking. She, too, had her devoted allies;
Clitheroe Jacynth was no mean opponent for
Walton, save that Walton was on his own
ground. Still, if Madame de Vigny was not very
much on the alert she might yet be baulked.
For the moment, however, she decidedly held
the trump cards in this terrible life game.
For some minutes after the carriage had driven
off she stood by the window, thinking. The day
had been an eventful one, and before the morrow
dawned she must decide on some plan of action.
A move out of her present quarters was
inevitable, unless she wished to be turned out.
Besides, since she no longer dared call herself
Mrs. Clutterbuck, it was far better to reappear
as Madame de Vigny in a new place. She did
262
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
not, however, wish to leave the city till circum¬
stances had shaped themselves somewhat; but
New York was large enough for her to remain
perdu for a while if necessary. She counted
her dollars. Colonel Clutterbuck's parting gift
had been no mean one. She would not want
money for some time to come. Having so far
arranged her affairs, and told the maid to pack
up, as they were going away for a few days,
she went into the sitting-room where Frank
Onslow had been locked in for at least an hour,
and, as she surveyed the debris, she smiled.
When Clutterbuck came back, as he doubtless
would in a few days, when he thought she had
had time to clear out, what would be his feelings,
as, of course, he would attribute the breakages
to her, and call it petty revenge ? But what
matter ? In fact, she felt rather glad that it
had happened, especially as, casting her eyes
round the room, she saw that the desk was
uninjured. If Lord Francis had managed to
dive into that, there is no saying what a pregnant
change there might not have been effected in the
course of events.
She opened it, took from it the papers which
she considered of considerable importance to her¬
self, sealed them up in some strong brown paper,
and put the packet carefully into a despatch box
she intended to take with her.
'YOU ARE IN MY HANDS—I KNOW YOUR PAST'" (p. 265).
264
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
For that night she would sleep under Colonel
Clutterbuck's roof, and on the morrow she would
take her departure. Before, however, she went
to bed there was still work to be done. She told
the servants, who did not yet know of the
separation, that their master would not be in, and
that they could shut up the house and go to bed.
Having thus rid herself of them, she got ready
to go out, tying a very thick veil over her hat in
order to conceal the white plaister on her head,
which might otherwise have been remarked.
The servants' quarters were at the back of the
house, so she slipped out unobserved. She took
a tram, and went to an outlying part of the city.
There she got out, and walked down two or three
streets, looking carefully behind her to see if she
were followed.
At last she knocked at the door of a tumble-
down-looking house. It was opened by a slatternly
foreigner, whose face lighted up into something
like a smile when she saw Madame de Vigny.
Not that she had any love for her; but her
coming meant gold, and it was of the avaricious
nature of this woman to do anything for money.
" Is it all right?" asked Lucille, speaking French
in a low tone.
"Yes, he went this morning, and if Satan him¬
self sent his myrmidons on the quest, they would
not find him. Poor boy ! it will be a hardish life
CONFINED IN A MADHOUSE. 265
that he will lead in the future. Have you ever
read Daudet's 4 Jack ' ?"
44 Tush for Daudet's 4 Jack '! Don't mix up
sentiment with business."
44 Business is done for the present, as far as I am
concerned, only I quite understand I have to mother
him in the future. Mercy, what a lot of money
it does cost to keep a child, even in a poor way !"
44 I know all about it; the terms are arranged.
Here is six months' money in advance, as I am
going away for a little. Not the slightest de¬
viation in our compact, remember. You are in
my hands; I know your past."
The woman made a cringing movement as she
pocketed the money, and gave a promise of alle¬
giance ; but a few minutes later, as Madame de
Vigny walked away, she muttered to herself,—
44 I know as much of you as you of me, ma
belle Lucille. Which of us has the most need
to be afraid of the past, I wonder ? "
Madame de Vigny adopted the same plan for
returning home that she had done for coming to
these purlieus. She took a tram to the Broadway,
and from there started to walk to Colonel Clutter-
buck's house.
She had not, however, proceeded far when,
to her consternation and surprise, she met Lord
Castleton and Clitheroe Jacynth strolling to¬
gether arm in arm.
CHAPTER XVIII.
"within sight of home."
BY CLEMENT SCOTT.
" How will it end ? In sorrow or in pain ?
It all depends, sweetheart, it all depends.
" We may be parted, we may meet again :
It all depends, it all depends."
Of all forms of mental torture to which a sane
human being can be subjected, say which is the
worst—to hear the door of your prison cell close
behind you, with hope gone, friends alienated,
love ruined, home wrecked, and the awful prospect
of seven years' unutterable silence and solitude,
knowing before God you are an innocent man ?
or to discover, and beat your brains into discord
with the knowledge that, being sane, you are the
inmate of a lunatic asylum ; that, having reason,
you are classed with idiots, and that every ex¬
planation you can offer will be treated with a
mocking laugh ?
The borderland between sanity and insanity
is slighter than many believe or would care to
own. If ever man's brain had been tested to
266
" WITHIN SIGHT OF HOME."
267
its utmost limits of tension, that brain beat and
throbbed in the head of the wretched Frank
Onslow. He had lost his adored wife, and had
found her; he had been granted the supreme
hour of reconciliation and rapture, and it was
turned into the dull agony of expected death. He
had been told that if she awakened from her dull
brain stupor, and could mingle her kisses with
those of her husband and her child, her life might
be spared; and he knew that when she did
awake she would discover that her lover and her
lord had vanished without a word. She might be
dead even now. He might have killed her. He
who would have died to give her life might, for
aught he knew, have struck her once more just
as she was tottering into the very arms of death.
Everything had failed—utterly, completely failed.
Frank Onslow had become grey with grief. '
The child who should have been in his arms
was lost, God knew where ; the wife whose life
depended upon his honour was either dying or
dead ; the woman, who had by him been changed
from a companion into a fiend, was triumphant ;
and he, the hapless victim, was under lock and
key, powerless to move, impotent for good or evil.
The more the poor creature protested his
sanity, the more mad he seemed to be. The very
situation, the ghastly surroundings, the hideous
objects he met on every side, were enough to
268
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
turn the brain of the strongest man. Insanity
is bred in the air like a pestilence. Mad doctors
become mad. Nurses, attendants, porters, and
servants connected with lunatic asylums in time
are devoid of reason. Put a madhouse, private
or public, in any given neighbourhood, and in
the course of years the surrounding villagers
and neighbours will become as cracked as King
Lear himself, as suicidal as Ophelia.
When Frank Onslow awoke from the stupor
of surprise he found to his horror that he was
surrounded by gibbering madmen and crack-
brained women. They sneaked round him,
pulled him by the sleeve, and babbled nonsense
into his ears. They believed that every one was
mad but themselves. They were deceitful, cruel,
treacherous, hysterical, and maudlin.
Here was an old man driven mad by gluttony
—a wild, weird, wolf-like man, who, after every
meal, chattered for the next like a monkey.
Scarcely had he swallowed his dinner before
he stamped up and down the corridor, muttering,
" I want my nice tea and cut bread and butter.
I tell you I want my nice tea and brown bread
and butter." And after tea was swallowed he
whined for his supper. Here was the young
lover who was driven mad because he could not
marry the girl he had met night after night in
the stalls of the opera. Every night he dressed
" WITHIN SIGHT OF HOME." 26g
himself up in his evening clothes, put an artificial
flower in his button-hole, and sitting on an old
wooden chair, looked into space, and warbled
the music of Faust's love scene. Here was a
woman driven mad by the bad man who had
deserted her, whose hair had turned grey in
her long imprisonment, but who ever since wept
tears all day over the love-letters thrust into
her bosom, and reduced to a pulp with much
weeping. Here was the man who believed he
had a millstone on his head; here the woman
who was convinced that every means was being
taken to accomplish her dishonour. Out they
all came, mumbling, maundering, making faces
at one another, pulling and picking at one
another's coat sleeves; defiant, blasphemous,
hysterical, howling and weeping ; men and women
cursing ; men and women rending the air with
their piteous cries. Men glared at him with
features distorted with rage ; women hissed at him
with lips polluted with blasphemies. It was
enough to make any one mad to talk to them.
This was no home for the afflicted. It was a
veritable hell upon earth.
The worst of it was that there was no humane
desire to cure the insane. In public institutions
they attempt to cure; too often in private homes
they do not hesitate to kill the last vestige of
reason. The doctors, instead of soothing their
270
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
patients, irritated them. The mad point was not
avoided, it was insisted upon. The conse¬
quence was that the wards, comparatively quiet
before the medical attendants went their rounds,
became a pandemonium after they left them. It
would never have done to cure a paying patient.
The object was to make him day by day madder
and madder still.
In order to save his distracted brain Frank
Onslow relapsed into solemn and sullen silence.
He was tortured with their mocking laughs. If
he appealed to the doctors they laughed at him ;
if he consulted the attendants they turned away
with a grin. If he hoped to obtain sympathy
from the patients, the fitful gleam of intelligence
turned into the animal laughter that was hideous.
" I shall go mad," said the wretched man to
himself, "unless I hold my peace. Henceforward
I will be dumb. It is my only safety."
There were regular visiting days at this par¬
ticular establishment. The proprietor of it did
not dare to run counter to public opinion, and he
was artful enough to encourage these visits of
inspection in order to show how admirable and
infallible was his system. The patients were
driven mad in private, and petted in public.
They were literally fawned upon and thrashed.
Frank Onslow was saved by a miracle. In
his darkest hour of distress he had lost hope in
"within sight of home." 271
everything but prayer for help, prayer for deliver¬
ance, prayer that he might be rescued in order to
protect the helpless. He was sitting moodily in
his room, tortured with the sense that his reason
would soon be lost to him, when he remembered
" BEFORE THE IMPRISONED MAN STOOD LORD CASTLETON " (p. 2"J2).
that this was the day when visitors were admitted.
He had prayed until his brow dripped with agony.
His experience of the curious visitors so far
had not been very encouraging. Whenever he
attempted to get into conversation with any of
them, or to pass a letter into their hands, he was
greeted with a smile, or one of those mocking
2 72 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
laughs. " Poor fellow," they whispered, " how
dreadfully mad he is !' If not, they shrank from
him as if he had been a wild beast.
The great iron bell pealed at the asylum gates.
There were voices in the hall. Frank Onslow
listened, and listened again. It was an English
voice talking to an American. Where had he
heard that voice before? They were coming
upstairs. The voices, indistinct before, became
louder and louder. Yes; he knew both their
voices. They were perfectly familiar to him.
" My God, is it possible ? Can it be true ?
Are my unworthy prayers answered at last ? "
The door of the room opened, and before the
imprisoned man stood Lord Castleton and the
very American detective who had been consulted
when Frank arrived from England.
Here was an unexpected discovery. It was a
miracle of miracles. There had been no search
for the missing man. There was no hue and
cry. Lord Castleton, like most Englishmen of
an inquiring turn of mind, wanted to see the
sights of New York, in order to record his im¬
pressions when he returned home. He had
employed the services of one of the sharpest
detectives in the city to show him round, and by
a miracle he had discovered, and probably saved
the life and reason of, his old friend.
In an instant the officer of police understood,
" WITHIN SIGHT OF HOME."
273
and grasped the situation. Once given the clue,
and difficulties melt into thin air. It took very-
little time to procure an order for the release of
the unfortunate Englishman, and before night
time the medical proprietor of the fashionable
mad-house was safely lodged in New York prison,
and available for evidence on the subject of Mrs.
Senator Clutterbuck, and, more important still,
the safety and whereabouts of the unfortunate
child Ronny.
At one time it appeared as if the troubles of
Frank Onslow would end in an unsuspected man¬
ner. The drama was becoming a tragedy. He
was released, it is true ; he was safe once more.
The discovery of his child was now more than
probable; the discomfiture of his enemy, Mrs.
Clutterbuck, was nearly complete ; but the reaction
after all this mental and physical strain nearly
cost Frank Onslow his life. The strongest men
break down at a given point, and now it was
Frank's turn to succumb.
Once outside the asylum he appeared to be
more insane than when he was in it. He
wanted to face his enemy, and swore he would
kill her. He pleaded to scour New York for the
boy. He rushed off to the telegraph office to
inform the wretched mother that he was true, and
she might yet hope ; but the strain was too much
for even his strong constitution, and when he had
18
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
placed in the hands of the detective every atom
of information he possessed, and had almost
imperatively been urged to leave the work of
discovery to the hands of others, he went back
reluctantly to his hotel, half-hysterical with excite¬
ment, but utterly dead beat. Lord Castleton
found his friend next morning raging in the
delirium of fever. At one time he cried piteously
for Fenella, and kissed the pillow where he
believed she had rested; in another instant he
was twisting the bedclothes into a knot, and
imagined he was strangling Madame de Vigny.
In the intervals he was sobbing, as if his heart
would break, " Ronny, Ronny, my boy, my boy!"
No woman could have tended a sick man
with greater devotion than did Lord Castleton.
Night and day he never left his friend, except
to receive reports from the head office of the
detectives, who once more proved themselves
the finest officers in connection with any police
service in the world. By constant care and
devoted nursing the crisis was past. Reluctantly
the doctors gave the permission for a move
to be made, and on a certain bright morning
Lord Castleton, with the aid of an invalid
carriage, took his worn and wasted friend down
to the docks, where he had secured berths for
England on board one of the fastest of the ocean
liners. The journey to the sea seemed to revive
" WITHIN SIGHT OF HOME."
275
the patient. As yet he had not been allowed to
see any friends save Castleton, or to ask any
questions. But the mists gradually disappeared
from his eyes, and a smile of happiness played
on his wan features.
"THE CHILD WAS LOOKING UP INTO HIS FATHER'S EYES " (/>. 277).
" God bless you, old boy ! " he said to
Castleton as they drove slowly to the ship.
" God reward you ! Never did man find a truer
friend. I should have been under the turf, old
man, if it had not been for your tender care."
276
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Castleton was anxious not to excite his friend
too much. For the day was not over, and he
knew that the drama of it was not yet complete.
On board they found Jacynth, who had been
as loyal to his trust as Castleton.
The two men, when they met, whispered for
a second to one another, and there was a look
of distressed suspense on Frank Onslow's face.
" Is all well ?" whispered Castleton.
" More than well," answered Jacynth.
" Where is he ?"
" In the cabin."
" Do you think we dare risk it ?"
" We must and shall," muttered Lord Castle¬
ton. "He can't break down now. It may save
his life."
Gently these two brave gentlemen led their
poor sick friend to his cabin, and placed him
on his couch, but before they left him in a half-
dream they uncovered the sleeping form of a
little child, who was resting in an opposite berth,
the fingers of one hand twisted in his sunny locks
and the others clasped over a woman's portrait.
The faithful Jacynth had taken it from next his
heart, and placed it in the child's hands.
It was Ronny, who had gone to sleep kissing
his mother's picture, which had fallen from his
baby hands.
For hours the sick mart slept, and his friends
" WITHIN SIGHT OF HOME "
277
stood, sentinel-like, loyal hearts, at the cabin door.
The sun had sunk, the stars were out, and the
steamer was already miles at sea, ploughing
through the waves, lessening the journey between
America and dear old England.
Still the true friends watched at the sick man's
door. Suddenly they heard a passionate cry—a
wild cry of pleasurable pain, a cry that faded into
a moan of relief.
" Ronny, Ronny darling—my child, my son—
oh! how good is God! Let us thank God
together."
Quietly the two friends opened the cabin
door, and saw father and son on their knees in
an attitude of prayer. The child was looking up
into his father's eyes, and the wasted man, with
streaming eyes, was kissing his wife's portrait,
and murmuring, " I have kept my oath. Beloved
one, I'm bringing Ronny home to his mother's
arms."
The stars went out, and darkness fell upon
the sea. There was silence in the cabin now, for
father and boy were wrapped in a profound sleep.
Castleton and Jacynth had finished their cigars,
and turned in.
Close upon midnight two figures came upon
deck from the steerage part of the steamer, and
walked backwards and forwards without exchang¬
ing a single word ; but they never separated.
278
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
It was a detec
tive from Scotland
Yard, and Madame
de Vigny was in his
custody, cursing her
fate.
As the huge ship "MADAME de vigny was in his cus-
plunged through the tody, cursing her fate."
green Atlantic waves, bearing homewards the fatal
"WITHIN SIGHT OF HOME." 2 79
lives of so many interested in this eventful history,
poor Fenella, worn almost to a shadow, sat
dreaming in her garden in " the island of
carnations."
She knew, at any rate, that Frank was faithful
and that her boy was safe.
CHAPTER XIX.
A vision from the sea.
by clo graves.
The great ocean liner pushed her homeward way-
through the rolling surges of the Atlantic. Other
yearning, tender hearts there doubtless were
whose sole freight of hope the steamer carried ;
but the heart that beat so anxiously in the little
Guernsey cottage had the most at stake. The
ordeal of the past months had not lessened
Fenella's beauty. The outlines of her features
were sharper, their tints less vivid than of old.
The tawny eyes looked wistfully out upon the
world from orbits that were hollowed with grief
and watching ; the chestnut hair showed a thread
of silver here and there. Would Ronny know
his mother again ? Fenella often asked herself
that question. Meanwhile, for the child's sake,
she husbanded her newly recovered strength with
jealous care. She ate and drank, rose and slept,
walked and rested, for Ronny. He must not
find a peevish invalid in place of the old play-
A VISION FROM THE SEA.
28l
fellow. None but her own hands should hence¬
forth minister to the needs of this small idol
of her heart. With these and other fond, foolish
fancies she wore away the tedious hours of
waiting.
One of her usual walks led in the direction of
the village of St. Sampson's. The brown-faced
quarrymen and fisher-folk grew accustomed to
the sight of the pale, plainly-dressed lady with
the wistful eyes, who so often paused to rest, or
to smile at, and speak kindly to, the sturdy, sun¬
burnt urchins that rolled in the dust by cottage
thresholds, and pulled off their blue knitted caps
as they passed her, in rude homage to her beauty,
and respect for her loneliness.
One bright October afternoon she sat upon
one of the rough wooden benches facing the
wall of the little harbour, watching the progress
of a child's game. There were five players, four
of them hard-fisted, mop-headed urchins, with the
brown skins and blue eyes that seem indigenous
to the island. The fourth was a girl of nine or
ten, a pale-faced, black-haired little creature, with
a shrewd, elfish manner and a voice of unchildish
shrillness. The game had to do with a wedding,
of course—all the Guernsey children's games deal
with marriages or christenings—and the song
that accompanied it was vocalised with immense
vigour and zest by all the performers :—
282
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"Jean, gros Jean, marryit sa fille,
Grosse et grasse et bien habille.
A un niarchand d'sabots;
Radinguette, Radingot!"
The verse was repeated with even more shrill¬
ness. Then the marriage procession tailed away
round the corner with a clattering of little wooden
shoes, the sallow-faced girl gallantly supported
on the tattered jacket-sleeve of the most bullet-
headed of the boys. Fenella laughed, not with
the ringing, careless music of the old days, but
still sweetly and clearly. She lifted her eyes
and met the melancholy glance of a shabby man,
a stranger, whose attention, like her own, had
been attracted by the children.
The man was poorly dressed. He wore an
old great-coat of grey frieze, and a peaked cap
shadowed a lean, unshaven, sallow face. The
fringes of his ragged trousers fell over broken
boots. No scarecrow was ever more dingily
attired than this strange man, who now lifted
his cap and bowed with something of foreign
ceremoniousness, and looked at Fenella out of
melancholy, hollow eyes,
" When the heart is heavy, madame, it is good
to look at the little people." He spoke in
English, fluently, and with a strong French
accent. " They are so gay always ; they know
so little of care. To sing and shout, and jump
A VISION FROM THE SEA.
283
Gros Jean, that is the business of life. Well!
As good a business as any other, when all is
said and done."
He shrugged his shoulders, and folded his
arms upon his hollow chest, shivering as the keen
sea breeze crept in at the loop-holes of his
raggedness, and nipped his gaunt body. He did
not beg, or seem about to. The impulse was
self-prompted that stretched Fenella's hand to
him with a silver coin in it.
" Take this. You look ill or hungry."
" Hungry, madame," said the man softly. " A
thousand thanks." He hid the coin about him
furtively, and saluted Lady Onslow again. The
lifted cap revealed a narrow head shaved almost
to the skin. Upon the temple was a livid scar,
new-healed and ugly.
"You are a stranger to Guernsey?" Fenella
hazarded.
" A stranger, madame. I came from Cherbourg
yesterday. A fisherman brought me in his boat.
I am not particular as to my accommodation, as
madame will guess, nor was the boatman extor¬
tionate. Yet he took all my money, and left me
without enough to buy a meal."
" You have friends in the island ? "
" No and yes," the man returned. " The little
daughter of one who was an old comrade of mine
lives here in charge of a woman who was her
284
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
foster-mother, and has married a foreman of the
stone works. Madame has seen her playing with
the children of the good carrier. She did not
know who looked at her and questioned of her
name just now. When last I saw her (five years
ago) she was but four years old. At four years
old the little Lucille could not be expected to
understand Madame is cold?"
Fenella shrank and shivered at the sound of
that hated name. She recovered herself in an¬
other instant. She looked at the forlorn creature,
who tried to interest her in his little story, with
compassionate gentleness.
" Can the father not come himself to see his
child ? " she asked. Is he an invalid, or—— "
The man answered her shortly and harshly,—
" The father is in prison."
He laughed a grating laugh, and ground the
heel of his broken boot upon the pavement.
" H as madame patience to hear his story ?
Common enough, common enough. The father
of the little black-haired one was once a clerk in
a bank at Lille. He had assured prospects,
enough for present wants ; a charming—oh ! yes,
a charming—wife and a child. Charming women
are apt to be vain ; vain ones are apt to be ex¬
travagant, madame. She wanted money—always
money. Her husband was like wax in her hands.
Hein! She moulded her wax well—so well.
A VISION FROM THE SEA.
285
She made of an honest man a rogue, madame, a
forger, and a thief."
" HE SHOOK HIS CLENCHED HAND IN THE AIR " (/>. 287).
He broke off to wipe away the leaden drops
that had gathered on his face with a miserable
rag of a tattered handkerchief. His gaunt figure
286
THE FATE OF FEN ELLA.
quivered, and the sinews started out like cords on
the backs of his wasted hands.
Fenella spoke to him gently. " It distresses
you to speak of it," she said.
" It relieves me to speak of it. Figure to your¬
self, madame, how this man must have loved that
wretch, to sin so at her bidding. And she—she
had not even the merit of being faithful to him.
He found that out before the trial—for the frauds
were discovered, and he was arrested. He de¬
nounced her as his accomplice. She fled before
the law could lay hands on her—with one who
had been, for long, her secret lover."
His face was frightful as he said the words.
If he had been himself the wretched dupe,
whose dreadful story he had upon his lips, he
could not have looked and spoken with greater
rancour. But he went on,—
" So my friend—always my friend, madame
will remember—is found guilty, and sentenced
to imprisonment for eight years. He is sent
to the ' Maison Centrale' at Clairvaux. Com¬
pulsory labour, absolute silence—silence in the
dormitory, silence in the workshop, silence in
the yard, silence in bed, from half-past six until
six the next morning, is the Clairvaux routine.
Madame would never imagine how many cries
of execration and despair, how many sobs of
anguish, how many oaths of vengeance, can be
A VISION FROM THE SEA.
287
packed into the space of one human breast that
has the padlock of the law upon it."
He struck his own breast as he spoke, fiercely
and shook his clenched hand in the air.
" I have been a prisoner myself," he went
on ; " madame is not afraid of me ? I knew that
man at Clairvaux. Prisoners have methods of
communication in spite of rules and punishments.
I knew his sorrow as he my own. I promised
him, when my hour of liberation came, I would
visit the island to which his child had been
taken, see her without speaking to her, and
send him word. The last two years of his
sentence have yet to expire before my friend can
speak; unless he grows desperate, as a man
does when the end is near, and escapes from
prison. Clairvaux is a strong place, but there
is a way out of it. He has told me so. Chut!
Here are the little ones returning. You are
going, madame ? Accept my thanks, the grati¬
tude of a poor man whom you have helped upon
his way. I have not wearied you with the story
of my friend ? A common criminal, no more.
And once having been in prison, as philanthropic
people say, it is twenty to one that he will
eventually return there,—I myself also. But the
next crime of which that man is found guilty
will not be forgery."
Fenella yielded to an uncontrollable impulse.
288
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
She looked full into the hollow, glistening eyes.
She put a question to the ragged creature.
"Not forgery ?" she said, repeating his words.
" What then ? "
The man bent towards her. She recoiled
from the contact of his foul and ragged garments.
She shuddered as his hot breath scorched her
cheek. In a single word he gave the answer
to her question,—
" Murder!"
A dizziness came over her; she reeled, and
put out her hands to save herself from falling.
They touched the cold stone of the harbour
wall. Her drooping lids lifted; she looked
round vacantly.
The man was gone.
" The dreadful word ! " she whispered—" oh,
the cruel word! It blights the present, it blackens
the future. What can the future hold for Frank
—or for me ? What does it promise to our child ?
A stained title, a heritage of guilt and shame—
a heavy, heavy weight for my innocent love to
bear. Oh, my heart, my heart is breaking! "
Tears came to her relief. She pulled down
her veil hastily, and hurried home, as the dusk
October evening closed in. Late that night she
knelt by the open window of her bedroom, and
looked out upon the stormy heavens, upon the
quiet sea. Herm loomed near the horizon, a
A VISION FROM THE SEA.
289
dark and shapeless mass upon the sleeping ocean.
The restless eye of the lightship opened and shut;
a bat flittered noiselessly past, and vanished in
the velvet darkness.
"she knelt by the open window" (p. 288).
"Three days more," Fenella said—"only three
days. Oh, my son, my little son! Does the
time seem as long to you as it does to your
mother ? "
l9
290
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
She closed the window, and went to her bed.
Sleep would not come at first. But towards the
time of the flood tide she slept and dreamed.
She dreamed that she saw a great ship—an ocean
steamer—ploughing homeward through a waste
of waters. She knew that the vessel carried
those three lives that were so dear to her.
Friend, husband, child, lay sleeping in the cabins,
lulled by the throbbing of the incessant screw.
All peace, all security apparently. And yet a
voice kept whispering in her ear, "Watch, watch!
Danger !"
It seemed to the dreaming woman then that
she stood upon the vessel's quiet deck. Not a
sound broke the quiet except that throbbing of
the screw. Not a sign of life appeared, until
from the dark companion-hatch of the steerage
deckhouse a solitary figure crept—the figure of a
woman. And the white face it turned upon her,
illumined by the pale rays of the moon, was the
face of Madame de Vigny.
And the voice kept whispering, "Watch, watch!
Danger ! " She strove to shriek aloud and warn
those on board, but her lips were sealed. She
followed the creeping figure aft ; followed it down
a narrow brass-bound stairway, with no conscious
movement of her feet; followed it through dusky
passages, lighted by dim, swinging lanterns, and
down stairways narrower still. Then it came to
A VISION FROM THE SEA.
291
a halt, and she stood behind it, listening and
watching.
A faint rasping sound. The striking of a
match. A flickering light that revealed the
place in which they stood together to be a place
used for the keeping of ship's stores. Oil and
tallow, firewood and candles, coils of dry rope,
bundles of matches and other inflammable articles
were gathered there. And then she knew, as
another match struck and fired, and the pale blue
flame lighted that evil face, the deadly purpose
of her enemy. And even as she strove to burst
the bonds of silence that held her, darkness fell
upon the scene.
When she opened her eyes, still dreaming, the
stately vessel was still gliding through the waters,
herself removed from it by a distance that seemed
impassable. But still the throbbing of the
screw oningled with the whisper that warned
her of danger to come. She strained her eyes
and held her breath, and watched as she was
bidden.
Then a little smoke began to curl upwards from
one of the aft hatchways. Thin and white, a
narrow column of vapour slanting in the freshening
breeze. Then a forked tongue of yellow flame shot
out menacingly, and then a great bell began to
clang furiously; and mingled with other sounds
came the sound of voices shouting together. Only
292
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
one word they kept repeating, and that word
" Fire ! Fire ! fire ! fire ! "
The darkness was banished now by the fierce
red glare that came from the burning vessel.
Her deck was alive with orderly gangs of men,
who came and went with hose and buckets,
pouring water down the hatchways upon the
roaring flames. Forward the passengers crowded
together. And amongst those white faces which
the quiet stars shone down upon, and the leaping
flames illuminated with their own fierce glare,
the dreaming woman saw the face of her child.
H e was held, not in his father's arms, but in
those of Jacynth. Frank was standing with his
hand upon the shoulder of that true friend and
staunch companion. The men spoke together
with stern, grave looks ; the child laughed and
clapped his hands as the hissing tons of sea water
fought with the fire that gnawed at the vitals of
the brave vessel, deep below the water-line. And
as the mother stretched her arms towards her boy
the whole picture faded for the second time.
Another followed. Still the wide grey sea.
No burning vessel on it now. Only a line of
boats upon the waters, black against the back¬
ground of a lurid, stormy dawn. The boats
advanced towards the dreamer slowly. In the
first only one familiar face—the face of Lord
Castleton ; in the second, none but strangers;
A VISION FROM THE SEA.
293
in the third, strangers again ; in the fourth, and
last, a woman bound with cords lying at the
bottom of the boat amidships, a grave, stern man
keeping close watch and ward over the prisoner.
In the stern-sheets rough-handed, pitying men,
dishevelled compassionate women, gathered round
a little group of two. One of these in the uniform
of an officer of the ship—the surgeon, perhaps,
from the skilful way in which he supported the
convulsed and trembling figure of the other on
his arm, and held a restorative to the lips, and
seemed to speak vain words of comfort. And
the desolate creature to whose misery that kindly
ministrance brought no relief lilted his head, and
looked at Fenella with eyes that were the eyes
of her husband.
In her sudden agony of dread it seemed to her
that she cried out the names of the two who were
missing. " Frank, where is Jacynth ? Where is
Ronny ? What have you done with my boy ?
Tell me, for God's sake ? "
And it seemed that her husband heard. He
turned despairing eyes on her. He shook his
head, and pointed to the sea.
She cried out then, and awoke as the first faint
rays of daylight pierced through the blinds of her
bedroom in the cottage at Guernsey. And the
woman who waited on her, roused by that piercing
cry, came running in.
CHAPTER XX.
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER.
BY H. W. LUCY.
Six hours before the time Fenella beheld with
fevered fancy the light cast by the burning ship
over the illimitable waters, the Danic, with steam
shut down, was slowly drifting outside Cork
Harbour. She was waiting for the tender to
come alongside to take off the mails and bear
away the passengers who, having had enough of
the open sea, preferred to take the short cut by
train across Ireland, and so home by Holyhead.
There had not chanced to be any special cause
for quitting snug quarters on board the steamer.
The Danic had made a splendid voyage. Not
once had the "fiddles" appeared on the dining-
table to the accompaniment of smashing crockery
in the steward's pantry. Day after day the
passengers had been able to sit out on their deck-
chairs enjoying the sunshine, the fresh breeze,
and the sparkling sea, through which for hours
together the tireless dolphins swam, emulous of
294
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER.
295
the big ocean liner's volant speed. Two days out
they had passed close by a whale, who cheerily
spouted farewell as they speeded by.
Ronny looked on with grave eyes. He had
often heard of a whale, but never before seen
one.
" Will Jonah come out by-and-by?" he asked
Jacynth, his constant companion, who held him
standing on the rail.
"No, I think not," Jacynth answered gravely.
" Jonah, you remember, did not find the quarters
so comfortable that he was likely ever to seek
them again of his own free will. Residence in
a whale, Ijowever temporary, is an experience
that satisfies an ordinary man for a lifetime.
The whale is only spouting, getting rid of super¬
fluous water taken in from the great depths."
" Well," said Ronny, his quick sympathies
moved in another direction, "he must get very
thirsty if he does that often."
Ronny had thriven wondrously on the broad
Atlantic, which had in no sense proved a dis¬
appointment to him. He was a prime favourite
with all on board, the pet of the sailors, 'more
particularly of the bos'n, whose whistle he was
sometimes privileged to sound. Next to Jacynth
he was fonder of the bos'n than any one else,
even than of his ' father, whose mood was less
attuned to that of the light-hearted healthy lad,
296
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
whom the stewards did their best to endow with
dyspepsia by surreptitiously feeding him at un¬
lawful hours with spoil from the dessert. He would
sit by the hour on a coil of ropes, his big eyes
fixed intently on the brown visaged bos'n, who
told him stirring tales (probably not all true) of
seafaring life.
At first he had full run of the ship, and availed
himself of the privilege.
" Father," he said, running breathlessly up to
Lord Francis one morning when they were in
mid-Atlantic, "what do you think? I've seen
Mrs. Clutterbuck."
The little fellow, who, in ordinary circumstances,
seemed to know no fear, trembled in every limb,
and, as far as was possible with sun and wind-
tanned face, was pitifully pale.
"Where?" asked Lord Francis, with signs
of equal perturbation.
" Forrard," said Ronny, who had not in vain
sat with the bos'n, and never now spoke of going
downstairs when he should say going below.
' I was standing by the rail at the end of the
hurricane deck, looking at the passengers playing
cards on the steerage deck, when she came
along. She beckoned to me to go down to her,
but I turned and bolted."
" Was she by herself?"
" No, there were a lot of people around. She
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER.
297
wasn't speaking to any one, nor any one to
her."
" Are you sure it was she ? "
" Quite; she smiled just as she did when
she came down in the country to take me away
to join mother. I liked her smile then, but I
don't now."
"'I WANT YOU TO PROMISE ME SOMETHING.'"
" Ronny," said his father, taking his hand and
leading him aft, " I want you to promise me
something ; will you ? "
" Yes, father," said the boy promptly, looking
straight at him with eyes that never lied.
" Then you must never leave this deck for
the lower one, whether in the steerage or amid-
298
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
ships. It's quite big enough for a little fellow
like you. You promise me ?"
"Yes, father," said Ronny; and he kept his
word to something more than the letter, limiting
his excursions forward to the capstan, some
distance from the steerage end. Perhaps he
would not have gone so far, but it was here his
friend the bos'n, when his turn came, kept his
watch, and sitting there Ronny was careful to
turn his back upon the bow, so that by no
chance might he again see that evil face with
the smile he, though all unused to the world,
recognised as false.
On this bright evening off Queenstown Ronny
was in a condition of special glee. Jacynth had
put in the sweepstake on the day's run a sovereign
in the name of Ronny, and Ronny had won the
stake.
"Good gracious!" cried Jacynth, holding him
at arm's length, " what on earth is a little mite
like you going to do with ^50?"
" I know," said Ronny, his eyes beaming with
delight. " I remember when we were staying
at Harrogate having a ride in a donkey chaise.
It was very nice, but mother told me that the
donkeys here are nothing like what grow in the
streets of Cairo. When she was there she had
two white donkeys as tall as a horse, with
beautiful ears as long as my arm, and great
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. 299
brown eyes that look at you as if they wondered
whether you could be so cruel as to want them
to trot through dusty streets on a hot day.
Mother often said she would like to have a pair
of donkeys like she had in Cairo,—4 Pharaoh
and Rameses ' were their names,—together with
a little carriage to hold her and me. I'll buy
her the whole turn-out with my £50, and we'll
go driving about all by ourselves through Jersey,
Guernsey, Alderney, and Sark."
"Well, that's pretty selfish of you," said
Jacynth, who keenly realised the joys of the
situation as pictured by the boy, only he would
like to have rearranged the company behind
" Rameses and Pharaoh." They were all and
always thinking of a woman waiting and watching
in Guernsey. Lord Francis, with wistful eyes,
thought of love; Jacynth with dumb, gnawing
pain; Ronny with eager desire to see her smile,
hear her voice, and feel her arms sheltering him ;
Lord Castleton having some doubt as to whether
she was worthy of it all; and Madame de
Vigny
Well, Madame de Vigny did not talk of the
direction her thoughts took.
It was so near the dinner hour that it had been
decided to postpone dinner till the mails and
passengers bound for Queenstown had left. The
tender was close in sight, rolling and pitching in
3°°
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
a manner that seemed inscrutable to the throng
leaning over the taffrail. The magnificent Danic
stood immovable as a stone pier on the rolling
tide. The tender was speedily freighted with
innumerable bags containing the mails ; some
thirty passengers followed, amid hearty farewells
from newly-made friends left behind, and many
appointments were registered to meet again in
London or Paris. With the last group there
stepped towards the gangway a tall figure and a
woman closely veiled, carrying a small bag in her
hand. Just as she was stepping on the gangway
the tender gave a lurch that dislodged the railed
plank. Two passengers already on it narrowly
escaped the disaster. They had just managed to
skip on to the paddle-box of the tender, when,
amid loud cries of " Stand back ! " addressed to
the group pressing forward on to the Danic, half
a dozen ready hands hauled the gangway out of
its aslant position, and made things smooth again.
Once more the tall veiled figure pressed forward,
when one of the steerage passengers roughly
gripped her by the shoulder, and thrust her back.
" Not this journey, madame," he said, seizing
her wrist with a grip of iron. " Your passage
is booked all the way to Liverpool, and we may
as well make the most of the journey." The
woman turned on her captor with the fury of a
trapped lioness. For a moment it seemed as if
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. 3OI
she would grapple with him, and since she was
nearly his height it would have been a desperate
conflict, probably ending with a death grip under
water.
For a moment the idea flashed over the mind
of Madame de Vigny. She felt her game was
up ; wearied with the squalor of her unused condi¬
tion, she did not care how soon she handed in the
checks.
But she remembered that she had still one card
to play, over which she had brooded in the dead,
unhappy night as she lay wide awake in her
narrow berth. ,
" Perhaps you'd better have let me go," she
said to the man, whose plain clothes disguised his
vocation of police serjeant. Then she sauntered
slowly back, conscious that among the crowd on
the hurricane deck, curiously watching this episode,
was the man she really began to love with desper¬
ate affection now that her charms no longer lured
him, and he was restlessly counting every mile
that separated him from the white-curtained,
rose-garlanded cottage in Guernsey where his
wife awaited his coming.
" Jacynth, I wish I was certain to live for
ten years, or even for three," said Lord Francis
Onslow, in the low nerveless voice that had
recently become habitual to him. The two friends
were walking up and down the deck smoking
302
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
their last cigar. Four bells had sounded, and
they had the deck pretty much to themselves,
save for the ghostly figures of the watch that
moved with noiseless footsteps to and fro. When
they came on deck after dinner the moon was
shining, and far away on the starboard bow they
could clearly discern the coast of Ireland, lying
like a dark shadow on the moonlit water. Even
as they walked and talked the scene changed. It
had not at any time of the day been perfectly
calm, as the passengers on the tender found as
they made their way into Queenstown Harbour.
Now it was blowing pretty fresh from the south¬
west, bringing up angry-looking clouds that from
time to time hid the moon, promising presently
finally to obscure its light. They were drawing
up to Carnsore Point, and were soon in the race
of the channel. By this time they had found
their sea legs, and though the wind played havoc
with their cigars as they paced about, and they
gave up the attempt to keep pace in walking,
they held on, Jacynth's spirits rising with the
boisterous breeze.
"Ten years, old man? Why, you're only
thirty at most, turned middle milestone—good
for another thirty at least—and why should you
not see threescore years and ten ? "
" Because," said Lord Francis, " I'm pretty
well played out at thirty. I've warmed both
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. 303
hands at the fire of life, and burnt them too. You
remember when we were in Paris last year going
to see ' Emile Angier,' from the play 'Jean de
Thomeray ' ? Often of late one scene comes back
to me. The silent Quai Malaquais which, on the
eve of the beleaguering of Paris, the daylight
even has deserted. Upon it Jean enters, sceptic
and libertine, who jeers at his friend who has
taken the trouble to get wounded in the struggle
with the Germans closing round the capital.
Suddenly a military band approaches, playing a
march Thomeray knew when a child in far off
Brittany. At sight of the Breton Mobiles march¬
ing along at quick step to meet the enemy of the
country, Thomeray's heart swells and bursts the
bonds in which his scoffing nature has permitted
itself to be bound. You remember how he steps
forward, and claims a place in the Breton ranks.
4 Qu'etes-vous ? ' they ask, looking distrustfully at
his fine gentleman's clothes. ' I am,' he said, ' a
man who has lived ill and would die well.' That
am I, Jacynth ; but it would not be meet that
I should die just yet. I've been a fool, and
worse. But if I had only three years, two years,
one year, to pay some of my long debt to Fenella,
I wouldn't care about what might follow. It's
been all my fault from first to last. I want
time to tell her that, and to make some slight
amends."
304 the fate of fenella.
" Nonsense, Onslow : you are hipped ; perhaps
seasick. Shall we turn in ? "
" You might, as we shall be in the Mersey
early in the morning, and there's packing up to
be done. But I'll take another turn. Good¬
night."
" Well, if you send me to bed, good-night.
I daresay another ten minutes in the fresh air
will take the blues out of you."
For another hour Lord Francis tramped up
and down, unconscious of the unlit cigar in his
mouth, thinking of the time when he first met
Fenella, of the years of idyllic happiness that
followed their wedding day, of Ronny's appear¬
ance on the scene, of the little rift in the lute that,
unwatched, broadened slowly, and made all the
music of their young lives mute.
Softly he sang to himself—
" Farewell, farewell,
" A river flows between."
" Going to be a nasty night," said a tarpaulined
figure, looming out-of the murk that enveloped
the forepart of the deck, over which the spray
drifted as the Danic plunged her head into the
angry sea, and lifting it again, shook it as a
retriever dashes the water off its front.
"So it seems, bos'n," said Lord Francis. "But
we're not far off port now. Good-night.'
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. 305
" Good-night, my lord. Better not leave things
loose about in your stateroom to-night."
# * * * * #
Jacynth slept the sleep of a man with a quiet
conscience and a good digestion, who had passed
the greater part of the day on deck of a ship over
which swept strong air blown across the broad
Atlantic. He rarely dreamt, but on this par¬
ticular night, some two hours after he had bidden
Lord Francis good-night, and turned into the
state-room he had all to himself, he began tossing
about with a great weight on his mind. If he
had a weakness in the matter of personal dress
it was centred upon his stockings of rich red
wool, and ribbed as is the salt sea sand. He
had a shapely leg, and missed no opportunity,
when out of town, of displaying it with the advan¬
tage of knickerbocker dress. He was dreaming
now that a great calamity had befallen his
treasured store of stockings. A spark from the
funnel of the steamer, which, as he went below,
he had seen streaming fire into the dark night,
had, in the unaccountable way peculiar to dreams,
fallen upon his bundle of stockings snugly en¬
sconced in his box in the stateroom, and they
were hopelessly smouldering; in vain he struggled
to rise, seize a jug of water, and souse them.
Something held him down by the chest, and he
could not move. His terror seemed to have
20
3°6
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
communicated itself to the passengers and crew.
Hurried feet trampled on deck overhead. Voices
sounded in eager talk, and the bos'n's whistle
shrilly rose above the row of the waves that
thunderously beat aft the shattered port-light.
Possibly help would come in time, and some of
the stockings would be saved. A rattle at the
door. Jacynth, almost awake, cried, " Come in ! "
" ' LOOK ALIVE, SIR ! SHIP'S AFIRE ! ' "
An invitation quite superfluous, for the door was
burst open.
"Look alive, sir!" shouted the bos'n, entering
hurriedly. " Ship's afire, and the boats are being
got ready!"
"And Ronny?" said Jacynth, wide awake now,
the nightmare of the burning stockings uplifted.
" The young un's all right, I seed to him
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. 307
first, and his father's got him in tow. Better
slue on as many things as you can. It'll be bad
in the boats till morning breaks."
Jacynth was not long in dressing, foregoing
in his haste the luxury of his worsted stockings,
which he had full time to regret. When he went
on deck a strange sight met his eye. The passen¬
gers, fully two hundred in number, were massed
together aft of the bridge, most of the women
bareheaded, and all showing signs of hasty dress¬
ing. From one of the hatches near the wheel a
dense volume of smoke poured forth, now and
then with increasing frequency; lit up by tongues
of flame on either side of the hatch, a line of
blue-jackets plied hose and bucket in ineffectual
struggle with the growing furnace. A singular
quietness prevailed. There was a murmur of
conversation among the closely-packed crowd of
passengers. A sharp word of command from the
first officer in charge of the fire brigade rose from
time to time above the howling wind and the
war of the turbulent waves that dashed against
bulwarks, as if possessed with passionate desire
to get at the flames. Ronny, his father holding
one hand and Lord Castleton the other, stood on
the outer fringe of the crowd aft, as near as he
could get to the fire, which he was evidently
enjoying as the best thing he had seen since the
whale disappeared. The captain and second
3°8
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
officer stood on the bridge, and through the
wheelhouse window could be seen four grim faces
of the blue-jacketed giants whose curiously cheery
voices answered the captain's signals with the cry,
"Starboard!" " Steady it is, sir!" The captain,
leaning over the rail of the bridge, and addressing
the crowd of trembling but quiet passengers,
said, " Friends below there, I hope you're all
comfortably wrapped up. This is a bad job, but
there's no danger. If it had come an hour later
we should have made for Holyhead, and put in
all right. But with this wind, and the start the
fire has got, I don't think we could carry on so
far. The land is close by. If there were day¬
light we could see it. The ship is now making
for the spit of land at the back of Pwllhely.
There is a smooth mile of beach there, which, if
I can make it, will bring the ship up comfortably,
and you can walk ashore in your slippers."
Jacynth led a cheer for the gallant captain,
which was taken up by the passengers, and
seemed to do them an immense amount of good.
After this the wonderful quietness once more fell
over the doomed ship that sped onward swiftly
through the sea that was now as rough as the
bos'n's forecast had pictured. On the crowded
deck all was as orderly as if, according to their
daily habit, the passengers had mustered to take
a look round before going down to dinner. The
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. 309
wind, now blowing what even a sailor would have
admitted to be half a gale, whistled shrilly
through the creaking spars. The course taken
by the ship brought it more abaft, and sometimes
a gust blew the smoke from the burning hatch
under and across the bridge, choking the pas¬
sengers, and hiding the captain and second mate
from view. But for the most part it blew clear
away over the starboard side, leaving the vessel
amidships and forward clear enough.
" Land ahead! " sung out the look-out man ;
the sing-song voice of the man throwing the
lead showed how nearly they were approaching
the coast, the outline of which was recognised
in the deeper shadow on the horizon.
" Half-speed," the captain signalled to the
engine-room. But the half-speed of an ocean
liner soon bridges space, and nearer and nearer
came the dark line of the coast. Straining eyes
looking out from beneath the bridge could make
out the outline of a mountain, at the foot of
which nestled the smooth beach that was to give
them safety and rest. Nearer and nearer it came,
and higher and higher rose hope. Nothing
between it and them but the sea, rough enough,
but nothing to the majestic liner even with its
hatches full of fire. The water steadily shallowed
as the monotonous cry of the leadsman marked
minute by minute the lessening fathoms.
3IO THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Suddenly, even as the leadsman sang out his
last record, a crash resounded through every fibre
of the ship. The Danic came as suddenly to
a halt as if she had run up against Penmaenmawr.
The crowd amidships were knocked down pell-
mell over each other, as if a giant hand had swept
across them at the level of the chin. The captain,
leaning against the rail of the bridge on the star¬
board side, was pitched headlong into the sea.
That proved the worst thing of all. The
second officer, left in command on the bridge
at this critical moment, signalled to the engine-
room, " Go astern full speed." That seemed an
order natural enough, though the veteran Captain
Irving would not have been led into so fatal a
mistake. The Danic had run on to a jagged
rock, which rose like a spear head out of the sea,
and had literally embedded itself in the hull of
the steamer. Had the ship been kept head on,
it might have hung suspended, the jagged rock
serving to staunch the wound it had made, at
least long enough for the boats to be launched,
and every one to quit the ship.
The mighty screw, reversing its action in
obedience to the word of command, slowly but
irresistibly drew the ship back. The terrified
passengers could hear the iron plates ripped open,
and barely was the vessel free from the rock than
she began to go down by the head.
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. 3II
There was a rush for boats. They were ready
and in perfect order. But with the sea rushing
in in tons through the great gap in the hull, there
was neither time nor opportunity for the marshal¬
ling of the now terrified passengers. It was not
overboard, and the officers, expecting him to issue
instructions, hesitated. Somehow boats filled,
and four were safely launched. The two last had
not far to fall from the height of the davits, the
bulwarks being now almost level with the water.
Just as their keels touched the sea, the great
312
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
steamer went down by the head, sucking them
under.
As soon as the collision came Jacynth had
darted forward to the spot where he had seen
Ronny standing, fearing no evil, for his hand was
in his father's. When he came up to them Lord
Castleton had disappeared — swept away, they
surmised, in the rush for the boats. Jacynth, as
he made his way aft, caught sight of Madame de
Vigny and her escort clambering into one of the
boats.
"Come along, Onslow; I'll carry Ronny," said
Jacynth.
" Yes, but let the women go first."
" So we will ; but not all the men," said
Jacynth, grimly eyeing the crowd fighting round
the nearest boat.
" My lord, and you, sir," said the bos'n, coming
by, " take my advice. Don't be in a hurry about
the boats. She's settling down. In five minutes
there won't be a bulwark above water-line, but
the masts and spars will be aloft safe and dry
till morning. Fetch young un along, and I'll
give you a hand up the mainmast. There's
nothing more I can do below. Look alive ! and
hold on tight. You'll feel a bump in another
moment."
With a final lurch forward the ship went down,
and the waves at last had their will on the
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. 313
seething mass in the hatchway. From secure,
if not comfortable, quarters in the maintop Lord
Francis, Jacynth, and Ronny saw the two boat¬
loads swamped, heard the seething roar of the
waters as they closed over the burning hatch,
and listened with chilled hearts to the shrieks of
drowning men and women that filled the air.
It seemed a long night, but it was really only
three hours, before, with the morning light, a
steam-tug bound for Liverpool, after giving a
fair start down channel to its charge, caught
sight of the wreck, and took off what at first
seemed to be the only survivors.
" And," said Jacynth, as he sat in the captain's
cabin, forgetful of his own stocklngless state,
and chafed Lord Francis Onslow's numbed hands
and feet, " if we had been four strings of price¬
less pearls, hanging on to the yardarm, they
couldn't have been more delighted to have
plucked us off."
CHAPTER XXI.
" alive or dead?"
by adeline sergeant,
The Liverpool streets were, as usual, muddy,
crowded, and malodorous ; but had they been
bowers of Elysian bliss they could not be traversed
by men with gladder hearts than those of Onslow
and Jacynth when they set foot on English soil.
The gladness was of a sober sort, and tinged,
perhaps, by anxiety for the future and sorrow for
the past; but there was a natural elation, brought
about by the recollection of the peril that they had
escaped, and triumph in the thought of Ronny's
restoration to his mother's arms. They took a
friendly leave of the captain and officers of the
ship which had brought them to Liverpool, and
then proceeded to the nearest hotel, where they
intended to stay for a few hours only, in order to
replenish their pockets and wardrobes.
" Shall we telegraph to Fenella ? " fYank asked,
wistfully; and Jacynth replied, in a brisker
tone,—
3*4
"ALIVE OR DEAD?"
3*5
" Why, of course, or she will be hearing some
garbled version of the shipwreck story, and will
imagine that she has lost Ronny for ever."
" Don't put too much in the telegram," said
Lord Francis, still in an uncertain voice. "' Ronny
safe and well ; we are bringing him back to you
to-day.' And, Jacynth old man, sign it with both,
our names. She owes his safety to you rather
than to me. Sign it by your name alone, if you
like. I have no right" (a little bitterly) " to claim
her gratitude."
Jacynth stood silent for a moment. Onslow
was generous, but did he not, after all, speak
truth? Surely he—Jacynth—had some right to
Fenella's gratitude; it was all that would be left
to him. when the husband and wife were recon¬
ciled. He felt sure that that reconciliation would
take place, and no place would then be left for
him save that of a useful friend. Yes, he was
tempted for a moment to claim the whole of
Fenella's gratitude for the safety of her boy. But
how could he let Frank Onslow be more generous
than himself?
He laughed slightly when that little pause
was ended, and shook his head.
" Lady Francis will question me pretty closely,
and will soon find out where credit is due," he
said. " There is no question as to which of us
has suffered most in her cause and Ronny's."
3 f6
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
And he signed the telegram with Onslow's name
alone.
They had thought of going south that evening,
but an unexpected delay arose. Ronny developed
symptoms of a severe cold, verging on bron¬
chitis, and the doctor, who was immediately
summoned, declared that it would be the height
of folly to let him travel for a day or two.
" It's nothing serious, but you cannot be too
careful where children are concerned," he said,
"and the boy has had a chill. You, too"
(glancing at Lord Francis), " don't look quite fit
for a long journey."
" I am fit for anything; all I want is to be
with my wife again," Onslow averred feverishly.
The doctor glanced at him in a dubious way,
and shook his head. He knew something of
the Onslows' history—as who did not ?—and did
not understand the young man's anxiety to seek
out his presumably erring wife. " Even for your¬
self I should not recommend the journey until you
have had a rest," he said; "and as your little
boy is so unwell, you cannot do better than keep
yourselves quiet and warm for a day or two until
he is recovered."
He spoke privately to Jacynth afterwards.
"The little fellow is not seriously ill; you need
not be alarmed," he said. "I am making a trifle
worse of his case than I need in order to detain
"ALIVE OR DEAD?"
317
Lord Francis for a short time. I suppose you
see for yourself how much he is in need of rest
and care. The fire must have given him a severe
nervous shock."
" He is not strong, but I hoped that he would
be better if I could get him to Guernsey, and
leave him in good hands.'
" Do you mean his wife's hands?" the doctor
asked abruptly.
" I do. He will never be happy till he has
seen her."
" Then why not telegraph to her to come
here ? The great thing just now with Lord
Francis is to keep his mind easy. If her
presence would soothe and calm him you had
better send for her at once, especially as the
boy is unwell. If he should be unduly excited
or agitated, however, I would not answer for
the consequences."
Jacynth hesitated. " I do not know," he said
slowly, " whether she could travel so far. She
has been ill—and "
" And, perhaps—she may not care to come,
eh?" said the shrewd old doctor. "You must
excuse me if she is a friend of yours, but the fact
is, everything I have heard of Lady Francis
Onslow leads me to conclude that she will
not put herself much out of her way for her
husband's sake."
318
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" You do not know her," said Jacynth, warmly ;
then, controlling with some difficulty a feeling of
offence, he added, " I believe that she is very
much attached to Lord Francis, and would come
at once if she thought that he was ill."
" Then telegraph," said the doctor. " Any¬
thing rather than let him travel in his present
state of nerves and heart. It might be the death
of him." And with a brusque nod he took
himself off, leaving Jacynth more than ever per¬
plexed by the duty that devolved on him.
What could he say to Fenella that would
neither frighten nor repel ? If he told her that
Ronny was ill she would be frantic with alarm.
If he said that Lord Francis needed her she might
shrink away with wounded pride. He thought of
the way in which she had spoken to him of her
husband, and decided that he could not hope to
conjure by his name. As he had said to the
doctor, she would come if he told her that Lord
Francis were ill; but if he summoned her on that
account, how explain her appearance to Onslow
himself? Every way seemed to be surrounded
by difficulties. At last, in desperation, he wrote
and despatched the following telegram,—
" Ronny knocked up by travelling ; Lord
Francis also unwell : can you come to us in order
to save delay ? "
" The mother's heart in her," said Jacynth to
"ALIVE OR DEAD?"
319
himself, " will supply all that is ambiguous in this
message, and we shall have her with us to¬
morrow."
He felt so much more at ease when the message
was sent off, that he turned into the smoking-
room to glance at the papers and smoke a cigar
"he wrote and despatched the telegram" {p. 318).
before going back to Onslow. Ronny was under
the care of a nurse, and Onslow was probably
resting; he had no special responsibility with
respect to either of them at present, and he was
glad to feel himself free.
The papers already contained long accounts ol
32°
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
the fire, of the swamping of the boats, and of the
rescue of the four survivors found clinging to the
wreck. A list of the drowned passengers and
crew was appended, and here Jacynth caught
sight of the name of Madame de Vigny. " So
she went back to her old title, did she ?" he
mused. " Well, one obstacle to Fenella's happi¬
ness has been removed now that that woman is
dead. Let us hope that she is dead indeed. It
would be no kindness to her or to others to hope
for her safety."
His eye had fallen on a short paragraph, which
at first he had overlooked. Here it was stated
that three or four of the crew had managed, by
clinging to floating spars or other pieces of wreck¬
age, to come safe to land, and that it was possible
that more lives had been preserved in this way
than could at present be ascertained. There was
no mention, however, of any woman among the
survivors; and, uncharitable as the wish might
sound, it must be confessed that Jacynth heartily
desired to be assured that Lucille de Vigny would
trouble no man's peace again.
The rest of the day dragged slowly by—slowly
because he and Onslow were both fretting at the
delay caused by poor Ronny's illness. They were
longing to reach the sunny shores of Guernsey, to
enter that rose-wreathed cottage, and to pour
their stories—each in his own way—into the ears
"ALIVE OR DEAD?"
3 21
of the woman dearer to them than any other in
the world. And Onslow was not upheld by the
hope that Jacynth cherished—namely, that Fen-
ella, forgetting her past injuries in the love of
her child, would fly at once to nurse him, and to
clasp her newly-rescued husband in her arms.
Painful as this consummation might be to Jacynth
personally, he was unselfish enough to rejoice in
the prospect of P'enella's future happiness ; but
Lord Francis, who did not know of the later
telegram, grew irritable in his state of suspense
and anxiety, and could neither rest by day nor
sleep by night.
Jacynth had counted confidently on a return
telegram from Fenella as soon as possible, and
he was annoyed and disappointed when another
day dragged slowly by without any news of her.
Did she harbour so much resentment against
Lord Francis that she would not even come to
him when their child was in danger ? Jacynth's
anger burned a little at the thought. He could
not believe that Fenella would be thus implacable.
And Ronny was distinctly worse : he was fever¬
ish, and wandered in his talk, calling out for
" Mummy," and imploring to be taken away from
Mrs. Clutterbuck in a way that was pitiful to hear.
There were hints, too, of that darker time when
he had been left alone with men and women of
a coarser type—brutes in human guise, who
21
322
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
starved and beat him, and swore at him because
he would neither lie nor steal. This part of his
story his friends had striven to make him forget,
but when his brain was clouded by fever, the
frightful images of those terrible weeks in a New
York slum came back to him with redoubled
force, and it sometimes seemed as though only
the presence of the mother for whom he cried
so constantly could chase them away.
And yet Fenella did not come.
On the third day Jacynth waxed desperate, and
resolved to telegraph again. He had seen in the
newspapers some accounts of a gale which had
been raging in the Channel, and it occurred to
him that the Guernsey boats might perhaps have
ceased running, which would of course give a
reason for Fenella's silence; and yet it seemed
to him impossible that she should have heard
nothing yet, or been unable to send him any
answer. He would telegraph again, but he would
go to Onslow first; it was possible—just possible
—that she might have written to him.
From the look of agitation on Frank's face,
and the convulsive tightness with which he
grasped a letter in his hand, Jacynth fancied
at first that his conjecture had been correct.
"What is it?" he said, hurriedly. "Your wife
—is she coming ? Does she know that you are
safe?"
"ALIVE OR DEAD?" 323
"Heaven knows! She makes no sign. No,
the letter is not from her."
His face was so pale, his aspect so dis¬
ordered, that Jacynth could only gaze at him
in surprise. And seeing his expression, Frank
suddenly thrust the letter into his hand.
" See there ! " he said. " What does it mean ?
Do you think there is anything in it ? If it
should be true—of Fenella, my darling—whnt
have we done ? " And he sank down in a chair
324 the fate of fenella.
beside the table, and buried his face in his
hands.
Jacynth opened the letter, which was written
on coarse blue paper, and enclosed in a common
envelope. Outside it looked like a tradesman s
circular. There was no stamp, no postmark ;
it was simply superscribed with Onslow's name,
and addressed to the hotel. The writing was
evidently disguised—many of the words were
printed, others written in a sloping hand.
" I will not tell you who I am," the letter
began, " or you may not believe me; never¬
theless, I speak the truth. I am the only
person, except Lady Francis Onslow, who can
unravel the mystery of Count de Mtirger's death.
From her lips you will never hear it: will you
hear it from mine ?
" She is innocent of his death ; I can convince
you of that. She is screening another. Do
you not want to know his name ? I was in the
corridor on the night when the murder took
place ; I saw and heard all that occurred.
"If you want to clear your wife's name, come
at four o'clock this afternoon to No. 10, Pearson's
Row, Merslet Street, then I will tell you all.
"One who Knows the Truth."
The paper dropped from Jacynth's hands.
" If Madame de Vigny were living I should say
" ALIVE OR DEAD ? "
that she wrote this letter," he remarked. " But
how," he added, rather to himself than to Frank.
" how could she know ? "
Onslow looked up. His face was haggard,
and there was a wild light in his eyes. " If she
lives," he said brokenly, " she shall pay for all
that she has done "
" There is no likelihood that she has been
saved," Jacynth broke in. " I don't think a
single woman was rescued. No, Frank, this is
a plant; and of course you will take no notice
of it."
"No notice of it! But do you think that I
would leave a stone unturned where Fenella's
honour is in question ? "
"For heaven's sake don't go!" cried Jacynth
hotly. " There can be no possible good in it.
What can there be for you to hear, unless you
doubt your wife's story ? "
His brow became dark and menacing as he
spoke, but he was more anxious than angry. He
and Fenella knew the truth, and he was bound
by her wishes to keep it secret from Lord Francis.
Was it possible that any one else should know ?
Surely, he said to himself, no other soul on earth
now living had an inkling of the truth. But at
all hazards he would try to prevent Onslow from
keeping so suspicious and so unworthy a tryst.
Frank Onslow, however, had made up his mind,
326 THE FATE OF FENELLA.
and did not respond to any of Jacynth's somewhat
ineffective arguments. And when the clock struck
three he took up his hat, and went out without
saying whither he was bound. But Jacynth was
only too certain that he had gone to the place
mentioned in the letter.
While he still stood hesitating whether to
follow, and force his company on him whether he
would or no, there was a sound outside the door
" ALIVE OR DEAD ? "
327
which made him start—the rustle of a woman's
dress, the well-known intonation of a woman's
voice.
"My Ronny; is he here? And Frank—
Frank ? "
Fenella had arrived.
She came in, radiant with hope and joy, holding
out her hands to Jacynth, who came slowly for¬
ward, and clasped them in his own.
"My Ronny!" she repeated. "Ah, how happy
you have made me! I shall have both Ronny
and Frank again. Take me to them at once ; I
cannot bear another instant of delay."
CHAPTER XXII.
retribution.
by george manville fenn.
" Merslet Street, sir? Oh, yes: first to the
right, second to the left, and then third to the
right."
Frank Onslow nodded his thanks and hurried
away, trying hard to retain the sequence of rights
and lefts in his confused brain, while the police¬
man whom he had questioned stood looking after
him and beating his gloves.
"What does he want down Merslet Street?
No accounting for these swells."
Onslow had not noticed the man's manner,
but he could not help hesitating for a moment
as he reached the street named ; and he hesitated
again as he paused at the open door of No.
10—open, as he thought, like a trap.
But the intense desire to test the value of the
promised information bore down everything else;
and, forgetting the aspect of the coarse-looking
women and ruffianly men loafing about at public-
328
RETRIBUTION.
329
house doors and the corners of the streets, he
knocked sharply.
" I will not go in," he said to himself.
u Ronny—Fenella—my life may be of value to
them if it is little to me."
"A HARD-FACED, SHOWILY-DRESSED WOMAN."
A hard-faced, showily-dressed woman of about
forty came to the door, looked him sharply up
and down, and before he could speak exclaimed,—
"Oh, you're the gent, are you?"
33°
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
"What do you mean? Yes, I am the gentle¬
man who was to come here by appointment.
"Then you're too late," said the woman,
sourly. " She's gone ! "
" She—has—gone?" faltered Onslow. "The
appointment was at four o'clock. It is not ten
minutes past."
" I can't help that. She came back in a hurry
in a cab, fetched her bag, and she's gone."
" But the—the lady—is coming back ? "
" Not likely. If you came you was to be shown
into the room she took. Want to wait ? "
" No," said Onslow shortly, as a strange sus¬
picion flashed through his brain, and he turned
and hurried away.
Had Lucille been saved, and was this some
fresh scheme on her part, some fresh web spinning
to entangle him, and keep him and Fenella apart?
He shivered slightly as he walked sharply
away, feeling that he must by an accident have
escaped from some new peril; and as he walked
rapidly on through the crowded streets he saw
nothing but the face of his fair young wife gazing
at him reproachfully, but with a yearning look of
forgiveness in her eyes.
" Yes, there must be forgiveness now," he
muttered feverishly ; "I do not deserve it, but
for Ronny's sake. And she is waiting for me—
waiting till I go to her, and on my knees beg
RETRIBUTION.
33T
her to come; and she will come, for the sake of
our darling boy."
He was hurrying on with the busy tide of life
eddying by his side, but his eyes had once more
assumed their fixed, hypnotic look as he gazed
straight before him, seeing the chamber in which
his child lay dying, as it seemed, his little head
tossing from side to side, while his monotonous,
ceaseless cry was for his mother.
He had room but for one thought now, and
that was to fetch Fenella to her boy's bedside;
and as the mental vision faded, and his counten¬
ance resumed its wonted aspect, the influence
remained.
He hesitated for a few moments, thinking that
he would first return to the hotel; but feeling
that if the boy were worse he would not have
the strength of mind to leave him, he forced him¬
self in the other direction, and made straight for
the great station.
" It was madness to expect her to come here,"
he kept on muttering. "It was my duty to fetch
her to our child."
His actions were almost mechanical, but
throughout he felt as if some force other than
his own natural impulse was urging him on in all
that followed, though there seemed nothing un¬
usual in the aspect of the careworn man who
spoke to the inspector on the spacious platform,
332
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
learned that the next London express started in
half an hour, and then paced the flags slowly till
he could take a ticket and his place in a corner
of one of the coupes.
The rest was dreamlike and there were times
when he became unconscious. It could hardly
be called sleep. And at those moments, mingled
with the rush and roar of the swift train, he could
hear Ronny's plaintive cry for her who would
bring him back to life and health, while in the
faint distance, as if beckoning him onward, there
was Fenella's sweet, half-reproachful face, waiting,
always waiting, until he should come.
Ever the same, whether sunk in repose or
awake and staring out at the blurred landscape,
there was Fenella with her great eyes silently
calling him to her feet.
Yes, all dreamlike—visionary—of a great
station, of a short journey through the great
city; then of the rail once more, and then of
the steamer calmly gliding down Southampton
Water. The lights here and there, then the
darkness and the cool, soft, light breeze fanning
his burning temples, as he leaned over the bul¬
warks forward, staring with fixed eyes, waiting
for the morning and the first glimpse of the
sunny island which he loved.
Always confused and dreamlike, but there
were memories of the dancing waters, of dimly
RETRIBUTION.
333
seen white rocks, and of a great blaze of light
flashing out at intervals with electric glare, and
seeming to sweep the sea. Then a long, long
period of darkness in a rough, tossing sea, whose
cool spray ever dashed in his face, and at last
a pale pearly grey, changing to a warm glow ;
then broad sunshine, and at last the rocky
islets and his destination, looking a very paradise
set in the deep blue sea.
The sight of the island gave him hope, and
his brain cleared for the time. He saw Fenella
placing her hands in his, eager to follow him
to their child, and for one moment he closed his
eyes and clung fast to the vessel's side, for there
was a sensation^ of joy that turned him giddy.
It seemed greater than he could bear.
The port at last and the tedious landing, for
it was low water; but he sprang down into the
first boat that came alongside, and, feeling calmer
now, he landed, but, as he stepped ashore,
staggered and nearly fell.
A curious feeling of irritation came over him
as he saw a man smile, and he turned upon
him resentfully.
" Don't be cross, sir," said the man. "You're
not the first who has felt dizzy after being sea¬
sick. You'll be all right after breakfast."
" Breakfast!" The man's words rang in his
ears, and he remembered that it was many hours
334
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
since anything had passed his lips. But he
thought no more of his growing weakness, and
had himself driven to the rose-hung cottage
where Fenella was waiting for him with out¬
stretched hands.
How long the time seemed, and how misty
and dim everything looked! The sun shone
brilliantly, but there was a something pressing,
as it were, upon his brain ; a strange pain too
at his heart, and that feeling of faintness which
seemed to overcome him from time to time.
At last! The cottage where he had left her—
his darling—yes, the only woman he had ever
loved; and he sat up eager to spring out—to tell
her that his mission had been faithfully performed.
But he had to avail himself of the driver's arm,
and totter up to the door, his eyes wildly search¬
ing the window for Fenella's face.
Then once more, as in a dream, some one
meeting him, and a voice speaking. " The lady ?
No, sir, she left here in the bad weather, two days
ago, by the boat."
Onslow heard no more, for a black cloud
closed him in, and when he recovered conscious¬
ness he was looking in the pleasant face of
the elderly little doctor who had attended his
wife.
" That's better, my dear sir," he said. " You
are suffering from exhaustion. That's right—no,
RETRIBUTION.
335
no, you must drink this. You are not used to
the sea, I suppose. It does prostrate some
people, and leave them weak."
"Mrs.—Lady Francis Onslow—my wife?"
gasped the wretched man.
" She has left the island, my dear sir, and
really you must' Good Heavens ! what are
you going to do ? "
" Return at once," said Onslow, trying to rise.
"Impossible! You are not fit to travel."
" Must travel."
" But there is no boat till to-morrow morning
between nine and ten, and even if there were,
believe me, my dear sir, it would be madness.
It is my duty to tell you that you seem to me to
be developing symptoms that "
The doctor said no more, for Frank Onslow
had sunk on the couch insensible once more, and
the next day's boat had gone when, weak so that
he had to support himself with a stick, he made
his way slowly along the cliffs after despatching
a telegram to Jacynth at the hotel at Liverpool,
telling him of his state, of his failure, and im¬
ploring him to send news.
He knew that it would be hours before an
answer could come, and to try and calm himself he
was slowly walking along the path, gazing out to
sea at the swiftly coming tide, and thinking of
the long period that had to be got over before
336
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
he could take boat the next morning, and escape
from what now seemed to him a prison.
Sick at heart and angry at his weakness, he sat
down upon one of the blocks of stone that rose
from amongst the heather just as footsteps ap¬
proached from the direction in which he had
come, and a strange, foreign-looking man, thin,
ghastly, and whose ragged garments were hardly
hidden under a rough pea-jacket, looked at him
sharply as he passed, and raised his cap, showing
his closely-cut hair.
Onslow acknowledged his salute, saw in him a
beggar, and his hand involuntarily went to his
pocket; but the man made a quick gesture, and
passed on.
" One as wretched, perhaps, as I," thought
Onslow; and then, as if moved by some strange
impulse, he rose and followed the man, who
somehow had a strange fascination for him.
The path turned there, and the man disap¬
peared beyond a projecting rock, but reappeared,
sheltering behind the rock as if to avoid being
seen.
It was curious, but Onslow passed on, left the
man bending downwards as if to fill a pipe. But
the man and his gestures passed out of Onslow's
thoughts instantly, for, as he went on past the
rock in turn, he stopped short, paralysed at the
sight of a well-dressed lady approaching him
RETRIBUTION. 337
rapidly, leaning down and talking to a little elfish,
sharp-faced peasant child, whom she was leading
by one hand, while she carried a small travelling
bag in the other.
" Lucille !" gasped Onslow, as a great dread of
some fresh complication assailed him.
Cf
" A LITTLE ELFISH, SHARP-FACED PEASANT CHILD. "
She started, drew herself up erect, and then,
with a look of wonder in her eyes, which gave
place to a look of delight—
"Ah! mon ckeri!" she cried. "Then you
have followed me?" Then to the wondering
338
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
child, " Go back to the cottage, petite. I do not
want you yet. I will fetch you soon. The little
one of an old friend, Frank," she continued.
The handsome, smiling face suddenly turned
livid, the jaw dropped, and, with her eyes dilated,
Lucille de Vigny stood gazing past Onslow as
if at some spectral object at his back. Then,
clutching the bag to her breast as if to protect
herself, she uttered a wild, animal-like cry of
dread, turned, and dashed down among the rocks,
where a precipitous track led to the sea.
Almost at the same moment a hoarse voice
cried to Onslow in French,—
"Take care! The poor child! Do not let
her see!"
But as the man literally plunged down the track,
the child uttered a piercing shriek, covered her
little face with her hands, and dropped down
upon her knees.
Onslow was paralysed for the moment, and
then, as he heard another cry from below, he
forgot his weakness, a thrill of vigour ran through
him, and he staggered to the commencement of
the track. The woman was hateful to him now ;
he had looked upon her as a serpent in his path,
but still she had loved him in her way. She
was a woman, and he could not stand supine and
not raise a hand to defend her from the attack of
the savage-looking wretch whose aspect had filled
RETRIBUTION.
339
her with such horror. He looked to right and
left: there was not a soul in sight, while at his
feet the sea came rushing and swirling in amidst
the wild, jagged rocks, a wave every now and
then rising up and falling with a roar, scattering
the spray high in air.
In his weak state it was madness to attempt
the descent; one at which he would have hesi¬
tated even when well and strong, while now, as
he lowered himself down, clinging to rock after
rock, and grasping at a handful of the tangled
growth amongst their interstices, he felt that
the thrill of strength was passing rapidly away.
But still he went on, with the thought in his
mind that even had Fenella been present, and
known of her enemy's peril, she would have urged
him to try and save her from this man.
For now he felt that it could not be robbery ;
it must be something more; and again, as from
below there arose a hoarse, despairing cry for
help, he asked himself, Was this another of
Lucille's victims, and—— Good heavens ! the
thought chilled him with horror. The man
refused his alms—he was no common beggar—
did it mean some terrible revenge ?
The idea thrilled him with another wave of
strength, and he went on lowering himself down,
feeling that those who had gone before must have
fallen. For there was no track now; he was on
54°
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
a precipitous slope, where a false step would have
sent him headlong down to where the waves
were racing in
among the broken
crags of granite
crusted with limpet
and barnacle, and
amber-clinging fu-
cus, and amongst
which every now
and then were the
long strands of
ruddy or olive sea-
wrack tossed here
and there, like the shaggy hair of strange sea
monsters, coming in with the tide.
Onslow had lowered himself down till his
" FORCING HERSELF AS FAR BACK AS
SHE COULD " (p. 341).
RETRIBUTION.
341
strength totally failed, and he sank upon a ledge,
giddy with weakness and excitement, as he looked
about him in vain for those he sought.
At that moment a huge wave broke with a
heavy, booming roar, and in the following noise
and rush of the waters he lay down on his chest,
reaching out over the edge of the shelf to peer
below, for the chilling thought came upon him
now that both must have reached the bottom, and
have been swept away.
A thrill ran through him again, for there, not
thirty feet below him, in a complete cul de sac
among the rocks, stood Lucille, her face towards
him, her wrist thrust through the handle of the
bag, and her fingers, with her delicate gloves all
torn, cramped as it were into the rough rock on
either side, as, with her head thrown back and
her body bowed, she seemed to be at one and the
same time clinging desperately to the rock, and
forcing herself as far back as she could from the
bareheaded man, who stood a couple of paces
away, his arms crossed upon a breast-high stone
between them, and his chin upon them, as he
gazed with a grim satisfaction at the terror-
convulsed face before him.
Onslow grasped the position, and he saw, too,
something glitter,—it was the point of a knife
which appeared between the rock and the man's
elbow.
342
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" And I can do no more," groaned Onslow to
himself.
At that moment he made an effort to try and
climb down, and a terrible spasm at his breast
made him sink down again, panting.
But his movement had caught Lucille's eye,
and she glanced up wildly, and uttered a shriek.
"Frank! Frank!" she cried; "help, help!
He is mad!"
The man looked up and uttered a loud laugh,
as he said calmly, in good English,—
" No, monsieur, I am not mad. I am this
woman's fate."
"No, no!" shrieked Lucille, about whose feet
the waves were now surging; but she dared not
stir, lest the man should spring upon her with that
knife. " Frank, for God's sake, help ! He will
kill me."
"Yes," said the man, "as you killed me, body
and soul, and buried me in a dungeon that was
like a tomb."
" No, no!" shrieked Lucille. "Help, Frank!
You loved me once."
" Ha! ha! " cried the man, unfolding his arms
and glaring at Frank. "Another lover ! Poor
wretch, I pity you! She has wrecked you as she
wrecked me."
" No, no ! " cried the wretched woman hoarsely.
" Help ! help !"
RETRIBUTION.
343
" There is no help, woman! " thundered the
man. " The end has come. Monsieur, I claim
the right of punishment. I am her husband.
Bah! you can do nothing. It is her fate.
" And so," he continued, as he turned his
terrible eyes on the shrinking woman, "you saw
me away there yonder, and fled here. Fool! I
knew you would come here to steal away my little
Lucille—curse you ! Why did I let her bear
your name ? You would have stolen her away ;
not that you loved her—you never loved, you
cannot—it was to plant another sting, another
poisoned arrow in the breast of the poor trusting
wretch who loved you, idolised you, and com¬
mitted crime for your sake. But you could not
escape me longer. I followed you from yonder
town; I tracked you step by step, till I have you
here before me, dying—do you hear, wretch ?—
dying before my eyes."
"No, no, for pity's sake!" she shrieked, her
thin voice hardly rising above the roar of the
coming tide. "Frank, call for help; he will
murder me ! "
" Yes—call, monsieur, call aloud. There is
none to hear. No one can help her now. This
is the time for which I prayed in the cold, silent
dungeon at Clairvaux—for which I prayed as I
toiled ; and it has come—come at last. Lucille,
dearest wife—ah, how beautiful you are !—will
344
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
you embrace me once again ? Thus, with the
knife between us, the hilt to my breast, the point
to thine ? Shall we clasp each other in our arms
once more, or shall I wait, and see the waves
slowly rise—and rise—and rise till they sweep
above your head ? "
She uttered no sound now for the moment,
but kept her eyes fixed upon him, while Onslow
strove vainly to call for help—to go to the
woman's aid ; but every nerve seemed chained,
and he could only gaze down as the man glided
round the rock which parted him from his wife,
holding the knife-hilt against his breast.
Then, heard above the roar of the waves,
Lucille's voice rang out inarticulately as she still
clung there, her back to the rock, her arms out¬
stretched. It was the cry of the rat driven to the
corner from which there is no escape; and in his
agony Onslow lay there watching the ddnoitement
of the tragedy, perfectly helpless to save.
CHAPTER XXIII.
sick unto death.
by "tasma."
Our nineteenth century, as we are all aware,
is nothing if not analytical. Chemists spend
days and nights in examining into the properties
of some apparently unimportant compound, and
do not abandon their task until they have ascer¬
tained the exact proportions in which primal
gases are blended in its composition. In the
same way men of science, dissectors of motives,
and those curious lay-preachers, the French
novelists, take some complicated sentiment of
the human heart, and twist it round and turn it
inside out, and expend themselves in efforts to
trace it back to its origin through the influences
of heredity or idiosyncrasy, or a predominance of
white or red globules in the blood. Their
researches are not always as fertile in results as
those of the chemists, for in every human organi¬
sation there enters an unknown quantity which
upsets the calculations of all the physiologists and
345
346
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
psychologists combined. Nevertheless, they carry
on their labours undaunted, and it may be said of
them, as of the alchemists of old, that if they do
not find the philosopher's stone, they make at
least occasional discoveries which help to bring
about a better understanding of human needs
and weaknesses. It is unnecessary to say that
the sentiment of love, or the condition of a man
or woman under the influence of this sentiment,
is the favourite object of their investigations ; and
the more it is entangled with other sentiments—
such, for instance, as those of duty, or honour, or
pride, or passion—the better they are pleased;
for, like the chemists with their unknown com¬
pound, they can give full vent to their analytical
skill in pulling it to pieces, and proving to their
own satisfaction that it is made up of all manner
of minor mingled sentiments, and is, in fact,
nothing but a mere jumble of inherited instincts
and impulses.
The state of Jacynth's mind during his friend's
absence upon his fruitless and bootless quest
in Guernsey was just such as a scientific French
novelist would have loved to fathom and explain.
In so doing he would have performed a feat of
which the object of his investigation was himself
utterly incapable, for Jacynth, for reasons best
known to himself, shrank from making too close
an examination of his feelings and desires at
SICK UNTO DEATH.
347
this particular period. It might have been that
he was afraid of facing the conclusion which
lurked at the bottom of them. There was a
small balcony at the Liverpool hotel, just outside
the room wherein Ronny was being coaxed into
" FOLLOWING OUT A TRAIN OF DISJOINTED THOUGHTS
convalescence by his mother, where our hero
would sit smoking his cigar until late in the
afternoon, following out a train of disjointed
thoughts that he essayed to drive away upon the
circling wreaths of smoke drifting before him
348
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
into the void. Perhaps they were more impres¬
sions than thoughts, half sad, half pleasant
musings, that it was safer not to reduce to
coherent shape. He was conscious throughout
of a dominant wish that the present time could
be prolonged into an indefinite future ; not at the
cost of sickness and suffering to his unfortunate
friend, but only, perhaps, at the cost of a timely
prolongation of the actual gales which prevented
the Guernsey boats from putting to sea. He
had not willed that his signature should appear
upon the telegram to Fenella in connection with
her husbands ; but since fate and (to say the
truth) Frank's folly in running off upon a wild
goose chase of his own had combined to leave
him in charge, he could not but feel that there
was a certain poetical justice in the situation,
which it was allowable to enjoy to the full while
it lasted. He pondered a good deal upon
Fenella's character, which seemed to have
revealed itself to him latterly in a new light.
He remembered that her first question, her first
cry, as she rushed into the hotel, had been for
her child. It was only afterwards that she had
shown any solicitude concerning the fate of
Ronny's father. Then had she not resigned
herself to the lot—nay, had she not wilfully
chosen it—of a self-constituted grass-widow for
years unnumbered ? Her child, however, she
SICK UNTO DEATH.
349
had kept by her side, and, as far as could be
seen, he had satisfied all the needs of her heart,
for Jacynth was of those who believed that the
train-attendant of Fenella's adorers had had
nothing to say to her heart, though they might
have amused her vanity. Could she belong,
he asked himself, to the order of woman of
whom Dumas fils speaks, when he says that in
certain natures the instinct of maternity over¬
comes the instinct of wifehood, and that the
woman ceases to be wife and mother, and
becomes mother and wife, or possibly mother
only? In that case, any man who should prove
himself a true friend and protector of her little
boy might be sure of having a warm second place
in her heart. It was certainly to be deplored
that Ronny's natural protector was not better
fitted for his responsible office. Though Lord
Francis had shown spasmodic bursts of affection
for the lad, and had undergone in New York
a useless martyrdom in his behalf, which a man
who, to speak familiarly, had kept his head upon
his shoulders would have known how to avoid,
he had not been a father to him in the true
sense of the word. He had not once essayed
to reach the mother's heart through the child's
during all the years that he had been separated
from her. How differently Jacynth would have
acted in his place! but then, as he reflected,
35°
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
he would never have parted from Fenella at all.
He would have given her no reason, no excuse
for desiring to leave him ; and as for those flirta¬
tions of her juvenile matronhood, he would not
have taken them too seriously, for he would have
felt convinced that she would outgrow them—
would leave them behind, very likely, with the
cutting of her wisdom teeth. Well, life's experi¬
ence had done for her what a husband's guidance
had failed to do. She was amazingly reasonable
now, and might develop into a delightful com¬
panion for a man of sense. It was a pity,
Jacynth thought again—but I do not believe he
avowed the thought—that Frank should have
been so wanting in this quality. A fine fellow
without doubt—a man to lead a forlorn hope in
an emergency; only forlorn hopes are unfor¬
tunately rare as everyday occurrences. A grain
of common sense would have been much more
to the purpose, and this grain was unhappily
just what Fenella's husband lacked. When his
friend's deficiencies were not vaguely outlining
themselves upon the smoke wreaths before him,
the recollection of a certain episode would take
their place, which never failed to bring a curious
half smile upon the smoker's face—not a smile
of the lips, but an unconscious wrinkling of the
skin in the neighbourhood of the eyes, which
conveyed the impression of some inward pleasure.
SICK UNTO DEATH.
351
The episode had occurred the first morning that
Ronny had been well enough to be taken out
in a bath chair to Sefton Park, his mother and
1
"would he mind just tasting the tiniest drop?" (p. 353).
Jacynth walking on either side. The little boy
had espied a sailor sitting on a bench with a
smoked-out' pipe in his hand (lacking, perhaps,
352
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
the means ot replenishing it), and having the
vision of his friend the bos'n before his eyes,
and a full comprehension, gathered from his
night upon the mast, of the dangers that lie in
wait for those who go down to the sea in ships,
had asked that his bath-chair might be stopped,
while he pulled out his new purse, and extracted
one of the sixpences his mother had put in it,
for the tobaccoless sailor. The man's gratitude
had been unbounded. He had taken off his
hat to all the group, under the evident impres¬
sion that it was a family party, and, " May all
your progeny, sir and my lady, take after this
'ere little chap," he had said at parting; " it's the
best wish a grateful heart can salute ye with."
Fenella had blushed a deep rose colour, and
Jacynth had felt an unreasoning pang of elation
and regret as he walked away. He would have
liked to come across the sailor again, not to
correct him of his error, but to reward him
for it.
Another point connected with the present
aspect of affairs, which it was pleasant to be
reminded of, was the way in which Fenella
seemed to lean upon him. She would open the
door that communicated with the balcony at all
hours of the day to ask him to decide this or
that question for her. Might not Ronny be " let
off" his tonic, which he hated, and have some
SICK UNTO DEATH.
353
roast chicken ? Did Mr. Jacynth think it would
hurt him to have his sofa wheeled on to the
balcony—and oh ! would he mind just tasting
the tiniest drop of the new cough mixture, which
was quite a different colour from the last, and
telling her whether he thought the apothecary
might not have made some mistake ? And all
these questions Jacynth settled with a pseudo-
marital authority it was delightful to exercise.
He unhesitatingly prescribed roast chicken in the
place of the tonic; he wheeled Ronny's sofa
himself on to the balcony ; and he swallowed a
whole teaspoonful of magenta cough mixture
without a murmur, inwardly flattered that Fenella
should assign him the role of a slave of the
worst of the Roman Emperors (for was he not
her slave in all things ?). Her smile took away
all the bitter flavour from the drug, and the
subsequent hours, during which she sat by the
side of Ronny's sofa, seemed to pass like a
pleasant dream. What he most enjoyed was the
atmosphere of domestic retirement and freedom
that pervaded them. Fenella would insist upon
his continuing to smoke his cigar, and so at
home did he feel in her presence that it had
actually happened to him to close his eyes behind
the Times he was pretending to read, and to
allow himself the full measure of the traditional
forty winks (though why forty, more than fifty
23
354
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
or a hundred, I for one have never been able
to discover) before he opened them again.
Fenella, for her part, would remain silent or speak,
just as the spirit moved her. Sometimes she
would read a sentence out loud from her book
—an old copy of " Sartor Resartus," as it hap¬
pened, taken from the hotel library, and ask him
if he could make it clear for her. At other
times she would take no notice of his presence,
but would occupy herself entirely with Ronny.
Jacynth loved to watch her at these moments from
behind his paper, and seek fresh proofs of the
infinite variety of her charm. He did not wonder
that the little boy adored his mother. She was his
playmate and companion, as well as his nurse and
guardian. The stories she told him, when he
was tired of playing at spilikins, with transparent
little fingers that trembled from weakness, were
delightful. There was always some point in them
which provoked a duet of laughter from both to¬
gether, that Jacynth found it good to listen to.
There were times, too, when the conversation
would become general : that is to say, when Ronny
would be the chief speaker, and when he would
tell, in his quavering little voice, of the wonderful
and terrible things he had seen in the New York
slums. Jacynth, moved with pity for the white
terror portrayed on Fenella's face, would essay to
divert his attention to other topics. He could
SICK UNTO DEATH.
355
not, however, prevent the child from narrating to
his mother the manner in which he had been
ultimately found and rescued. " They wouldn't
let me go out of the room," he said, earnestly ;
"we was all together in a room upstairs—oh ! up
such a lot of stairs—Mick, that was the man's
name, and Bridget and me. It was only one
room, and that was all our house; the other
people only had one room for all their house,
too, and they gave me a horrid old mattress in
the corner to sleep on, and I had no toys, not the
least little bit of a toy to play with, and I did
get so tired all day long, and it smelt so horrid
in the room, you can't think. And one day
Bridget thumped me on the head with a plate —
there was only two plates she had—and it broke
all to pieces ; and I cried so, you can't think ; I
cried, and I cried, and I asked God to send you
to me, mummy; I went on asking Him and
begging Him all the time. But I don't think He
heard me, for there was lots more rooms and more
ceilings—oh 1 ever so many over ours before you
got to the roof. And one day there was some
one knocked at the door—a great loud knock,
and Bridget called out, ' There's the black man
come for you ; hide for your life, you spalpeen'
—she often called me a spalpeen—and I was so
frightened, I ran to my mattress, and Bridget
threw a horrid old dress over me, and nearly
356
THE FATE GF FENELLA.
smothered me. Mick wasn't there, and what do
you think ? When the men came in I heard a
voice that wasn't a bit like a black man's voice.
I'd often heard the black men talking, you know.
There was a black butler where I was staying
before in New York, but this voice wasn't a bit
like that; and so I just peeped, like this, from
under the clothes ; and, oh! mummy, there was
Mr. Jacynth and a lot of policemen standing
inside the room, and I gave a great shriek—didn't
I, Mr. Jacynth?—and I kicked away the dress,
and I rushed right to where Mr. Jacynth was
standing, and I held to his legs—I did ; and he
took me right up and kissed me. I put my arms
round his neck, and I cried and sobbed fit to
break my heart; and what do you think, mummy ?"
(Ronny's voice conveyed unnumbered notes of
emphatic exclamation.) "Mr. Jacynth was cry¬
ing, too ; he was : I seed him." He might have
added " as you are crying now, mother," for as
the climax of the narrative was reached Fenella
broke down completely, and instinctively held out
her hand to the saviour of her little boy. Jacynth
could not refrain from pressing his lips to it, and
the action conveyed a thousand times more than
the courtly old custom is wont to convey under
ordinary circumstances. Ronny, overcome by
the recollections of the scene he had conjured up,
flung his arms round his mother's neck, and then
SICK UNTO DEATH.
357
held up his .face to Jacynth to be kissed. " Let's
kiss all together," he said, in the effusiveness of
the moment, and Fenella was fain once more to
turn away her head lest Jacynth should see her
blushes.
In connection with all this portion of the
disastrous chances that
Ronny had experi¬
enced, it will be noticed
'could not refrain from pressing his
lips to it " (p. 356).
that no mention of his father
crossed his lips. It was only
when the moving accident on
board the Danic was under dis¬
cussion that Frank's share in the strange eventful
history came to be narrated; and even then, whether
for the reason that Jacynth's presence recalled his
behaviour on that dreadful night more strongly
to Ronny's mind than that of his absent father, or
whether because his personality was in point of
358
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
fact So much the stronger of the two, it is certain
that the child persistently assigned the role of the
principal hero to his friend, notwithstanding the
well-intentioned efforts of the latter to transfer
a portion of his laurels to Lord Francis. Les
absents ont toujours tort, says the French proverb,
and in a modified sense Ronny was unconsciously
proving the truth of the proverb.
It must not be supposed, however, that Fenella
neglected to inform herself in so far as was pos¬
sible of her husband's movements. The telegram
from Guernsey had apprised her of his safe arrival,
and of his enforced detention through bad weather.
The three days' gale had grown into a five days'
gale, and every morning Jacynth notified to
Fenella, with an expression of becoming gravity,
the deplorable reports that had reached him from
the meteorological authorities ; and insisted on the
inadvisability of risking a Channel crossing until
the present tempestuous winds should have abated.
As Ronny was growing hourly better, and had
been promoted by the doctor from roast chicken
to mutton chops, and, indeed, to "anything he
fancied," which was a larger order, perhaps, than
the worthy man could have imagined, Lady
Francis accepted the delay in her husband's return
with commendable philosophy. I am not sure
that she would have shown equal resignation if
there had been no one at hand to participate in
SICK UNTO DEATH.
359
her delight at Ronny's recovery; but Jacynth's
interest in the event seemed almost to equal her
own, and his skilful suggestion that the longer
Frank remained away the greater would be the
joyful surprise that awaited him, as regarded the
amount of flesh that Ronny would have put on
during his absence, seemed the best of reasons
for taking patience.
It is an ill wind, says the old proverb, that
blows nobody any good. The wind that retarded
the Guernsey boats was blowing the roses into
Ronny's cheeks and joy into Jacynth's heart,
when it suddenly lifted, and a great calm fell
upon land and sea. Looking from the balcony
Fenella saw the lake in the opposite park shining
in the distance like a silver shield, and reflected
that at the same time next evening she would
probably be watching it with her husband by her
side. Ronny was now running about in the full
exercise of a convalescent's privileges, and tyran¬
nising over his mother and his friend upon the
principle that he was to live at his ease, to do
as he pleased, and " not to be worried, the doctor
says." With the recuperative force of childhood,
he seemed hourly to grow and expand, and many
were the conversations that Fenella had with
Jacynth upon the subject of his future training.
She noticed that a word from the latter went
further than a whole chapter of expostulations
360
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
from herself, and fell unconsciously into the habit
of referring the little boy to his friend upon
every occasion. It may be that as she watched
the sky this evening she was wondering what
Ronny would do when the firm and gentle in¬
fluence that was so beneficial to him was removed ;
and altogether so absorbed was she in her thoughts
that she did not even hear Jacynth's step approach¬
ing until he was by her side. Then she turned
her face, transfigured by the sunlight glow, and
looked at him with questioning eyes. Jacynth's
face was very grave; there was bad news written
in every line. He held a telegram in his hand,
and Fenella, with a sudden sense of icy chilli¬
ness invading her forehead and cheeks, took it
from him without a word. Jacynth, seeing her
so white, thought she was about to faint, and
forced her gently back into a chair. The telegram
was brief, as telegrams are wont to be, even
when infinite joy and sorrow are compressed into
them. " Lord Francis Onslow seriously ill," it
said. "Advise Lady Francis to come at once."
"Oh, why," was Fenella's first thought, "had
she not gone sooner ? Why had she allowed
herself to take it for granted that the winds and
the waves were the cause of the long delay ?
Might not her heart have told her that some
stronger power than those was holding her
husband back ? Had she even once taken the
SICK UNTO DEATH.
36!
trouble to verify for herself the list of the arrivals
and departures on the Guernsey boats ? What
selfishness, what apathy, what indifference, alas!
she had been guilty of!" These were the self-
upbraidings that pursued her all the time she was
making her hurried and eager preparations for
departure. Jacynth had essayed, in his usual
calm and kindly fashion, to reassure her against
her worst fears, but he could not enter into the
subtler causes of her remorse. Ronny, in morbid
terror of being taken to sea again, behaved,
nevertheless, like a man when Jacynth showed
him that it was his duty to take care of his
mother. That very night he, Fenella, and the
child, who were so used by this time to passing
for Monsieur, Madame, et Bebe that they almost
felt like the personages they simulated, left Liver¬
pool for London.
A privilege children share with animals is
their inability to realise the meaning of sickness
and sorrow, or suffering at a distance. Though
Ronny knew that he was being taken to see
" poor papa, who was ill," the knowledge did not
bring home to him in any way the fact that he
was in danger of losing his father. Fenella's
prescience was keener ; the words " seriously ill "
pursued her like a maddening refrain throughout
the whole long journey. In vain Jacynth repre¬
sented to her that " seriously" did not signify
362
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
the same thing as "dangerously." For the first
time since he had known her she showed a
disposition to resent his consolatory speeches.
On the steamer she hid herself away in the ladies'
cabin—a proceeding which Jacynth knew to be
contrary to all her instincts—and left him to
smoke his cigar forlornly on the deck. She would
not even give him the solace of taking charge of
Ronny, but carried the little boy below into the
petticoat atmosphere of the unwholesome strong¬
hold she had selected. Jacynth, therefore, battled
with his thoughts alone. He was better able than
Ronny to realise the import of the telegram which
had summoned him to Guernsey, and it must be
admitted that he did his utmost to bring himself
to hope that the issue would be such as his con¬
science and his sense of honour demanded that
he should hope, for the consideration that Frank's
death would transform the " might have been"
into the " might be" was one that he strove
manfully to put away. It must not be as a Judas,
he told himself, that he approached the bedside
of his friend, sick, perhaps, unto death at this
very moment.
Ay! sick unto death, though even the doctor
who attended poor stricken Frank would have
told you there was hope still. What did the
doctor know of the last terrible scene in a life's
tragedy to which his patient had been a helpless
SICK UNTO DEATH.
303
witness, before he dragged himself back, quaking
with fever and affright, to the cottage wherein
he had taken up his temporary abode ? What
if the love that had linked him for a space with
Lucille de Vigny had had little in common with
the " holy flame that for ever burneth " ? What
if it had been nothing but the evanescent and
unholy outcome of " fantasy's hot fire "? It had
yet left a recollection behind it which rendered
it more terrible for him to see her tortured and
slain than another and a better woman. That
second during which the lunatic's knife had been
pressed against her heart, the second during which
she had shrieked aloud to him for help, a hideous,
unmelodious shriek, more like a squeal of far-gone
animalish agony than a woman's shriek, had
utterly unmanned him. He had realised in that
short space all the horrors of a Dantesque hell
whence rescue is impossible. Yielding to the
mad impulse of the moment, he would have flung
himself down from the rock, a useless victim, had
not the mighty ocean or possibly some stronger
power still taken the matter into its hands, and
rendered all intervention useless. Frank was
conscious of a loud booming noise, accompanied
by a mighty swish and swirl of water that seemed
to cover the whole tragic scene from his view.
The salt spray dashed aloft, and closed his smart¬
ing eyes. When he opened them again Lucille
364
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
and her husband were gone; only a monster
wave curling back into the ocean was sounding
their dirge. Whether the knife had entered her
heart before the sea took her into its merciful
embrace; whether in her death struggle she had
clutched at her murderer, and dragged him down
with her to her doom; whether some mighty
wave had risen unexpectedly, and swept both
combatants away at the same instant, could never
be known. The ocean seemed to be lashed into
a sudden fury. For a moment Frank dimly dis¬
cerned some object that might have been a
woman's hair floating under the liquid green. But
was it Lucille's hair ? For all he knew it might
have been only one of those waving tangles of
brown seaweed that the mighty Atlantic surges
wash into the English Channel. With trembling
knees and a reeling brain he staggered away from
the scene of the tragedy. It was fully two hours
before he succeeded in dragging himself back to
the cottage, where he terrified the inmates by
the aspect of his drawn white face and hollow
eyes. What had become of Lucille's sobbing
child, orphaned in one short, fateful instant, he
could not have told. Tended and put to bed by
kindly hands, he lay like the Israelitish king with
his face to the wall, in the torpor that followed
upon the too great tension he had endured.
Even the zest for life seemed to be leaving him.
SICK UNTO DEATH.
3^5
There was only one thing left, for which he
would fain have endured a few hours longer, and
no one could give him the assurance that this
thing he yearned for was coming closer and closer
to him with every vibration of the screw that
drove the Guernsey boat, with its freight of
passengers, nearer and nearer to its destination.
CHAPTER XXIV.
s< whom the gods hate die hard."
by f. anstey.
It seemed that the doctor was right after all.
Frank Onslow was feeling better, distinctly,
undeniably better, as he lay on the chintz couch
in the little sitting-room of the rose-hung cottage
at Guernsey. The. pain about the region of the
heart had entirely disappeared under skilled
medical treatment; not for many a day had he
felt more vigorous and hopeful, reclining there
with his eyes fixed upon the door in momentary
expectation that it would open, and admit the
slight girlish form of the wife from whom he had
been so long and cruelly separated. Yes, Fenella
was on her way to him ; he would see her, hold
her in his arms! There might be years of
happiness yet in store for them—years in which
to atone, to forget. Surely the boat must have
arrived by this time! What was that sound ?
He had not deceived himself; there was a light
step on the gravel outside. She had come
366
" WHOM THE GODS HATE DIE HARD." 367
—she was here; in another instant she would be
at his side! The door was gently opened ; he
rose to his feet with a smothered cry of joy, rose
—and the next instant sat down again heavily,
with a groan of irrepressible disappointment, for
the woman who stood there, dazzling yet in her
faded Southern beauty, was not Fenella; it was
Lucille de Vigny, whom, as he fondly imagined,
he had last beheld drowning in the blue-green
waves, clasped in the fierce embrace of her injured
and revengeful husband, the blade of whose
dagger was deeply embedded in her bosom!
The shock of the surprise was considerable; it
was some time before he could recover sufficiently
to express himself adequately.
" Witch, demoness, arch-fiend that you are!"
he groaned, " how came you here ? Has the sea
given you up once more ? "
" Ah, Frank ! " she said, with a soft musical
accent of reproach, " I did not expect that ques¬
tion (to say nothing of the form in which it was
put) from you, of all men. Who should know
how I escaped what seemed a well-nigh inevitable
doom, if not the man who preserved my life ? "
"I—/preserve your life?" gasped Onslow, in
a bewilderment which, under the circumstances,
was not unnatural.
"You forget soon, sooner than I. I can see
the whole scene yet : my horrible husband holding
368
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
me closer, closer still; the steely glitter of the
blade as it touched my breast; you on the rock
thirty feet above, gazing with eyes that are fixed
—oh, but fixed! " (she closed her own as she
spoke, with a flicker like the instantaneous
shutter of a camera), " and next, without warning,
with a sudden bound you leapt the distance be¬
tween us, hurled, with a strength that in your
shattered state seemed almost supernatural, my
would-be executioner into the sea with one hand,
while you supported my half-fainting form with
the other, and then strode away up the cliff like
one in a dream. Surely you remember ?"
Frank shook his head ; he had no recollection
whatever of the incident. That this should be so
will not surprise the reader, who is already aware
that he was subject, under certain mental con¬
ditions, to hypnotic trances. In one of them he
had, as we know, destroyed a life ; in another he
had preserved one—with an equal lack of volition
or consciousness in either case. Even now he
could not bring himself to credit her account, any
more than he could affect a decent degree of
satisfaction at so untimely a resuscitation.
Still, there she stood, alive—whoever had
rescued her; and it occurred to him presently
that he might at least profit by the fact to obtain
some light upon a point which had cost him
several anxious thoughts of late. Had she, or
"whom the gods hate die hard." 369
had she not, written that mysterious letter from
Pearson's Row ? If she had, could she indeed
prove that Fenella was guiltless of Count de
Miirger's blood ?
Despite his intrinsic loyalty to his wife, he
could not help preferring that her fair little hand
should be unstained even by a justifiable homi¬
cide. It was weakness, no doubt; but man is
built up of prejudices which can neither be
defended or overcome.
" Lucille," he said, more mildly, though in a
voice which betrayed his harrowing emotion, " for
long months past you have persecuted me with a
relentlessness that I can only characterise as
demoniacal. You did your utmost to alienate
my poor wife's heart from me, and sow mistrust
and suspicion between us. Not content with
that, and actuated by no conceivable motive but
blind and wanton malevolence, you abducted our
only son—my little Ronny ; and when, with a
very natural desire to rescue him from such a
guardian, I followed you to New York, you pro¬
cured my incarceration in a lunatic asylum, where,
but for a happy accident, I might have remained
to this day! Worse still, when all our perils
seemed at an end, and I, with my boy restored
to me, was on board the Danic within a few hours-
of home and happiness, it was your malignity, I
Jiave only too rntich reason to suspect, that fired
?4
37 o
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
the ill-fated vessel, in the hope of involving us
all in one common doom ! And yet—and yet,
Lucille, I cannot but think that you still retain a
lingering spark of true womanliness somewhere,
in spite of all! By that spark, I adjure you
solemnly to tell me, as you hope for mercy,
whether you did or did not write that letter
signed ' One who knows the truth ' ? "
"I did," she answered; " I do know it. I
nave come here with the full intention of telling
it."
"And you can clear Fenella?" asked Frank.
" Then I forgive you freely all the wrong you
have done. Only speak, Lucille. Tell me all
at once; keep me no longer in suspense !"
" Wait," she said, calmly, and almost sooth¬
ingly : " are you quite sure that you can bear to
know the truth ? "
"Sure!" he exclaimed. " If only Fenella did
not stab the Count,' what care I what other hand
dealt the fatal blow ? "
Lucille de Vigny smiled a dark and mystic
smile, as she said slowly, "Not even if the hand
should prove to be your own ? "
Frank Onslow fell back, with blue and writhing
lips. "It is a lie!" he said hoarsely, "a cruel
lie!"
" It is the truth, my poor Frank. I can prove
it."
"whom the gods hate die hard." 37]
Now, as has been already stated, this was mere
conjecture on her part. In spite of the assertion
in her letter, she had not been in the corridor of
the Prospect Hotel when the tragic occurrence
had taken place. On the contrary, she had been,
perhaps, the most perplexed by Frank's disap-
" MY POOR FRANK ! I CAN PROVE IT." (p. 37O).
pearance the next morning. It was only subse¬
quently that her feminine intuition had supplied a
partial solution of the mystery. However, her
shot told with terrible effect.
" Prove it! " he repeated incredulously. " Why,
after I had seen the Count enter Fenella's room,
372
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
1 went straight to my own. I sat up in a stupor
till daylight—I did, indeed, Lucille ! "
" And at daylight you fled," said Madame de
Vigny, softly.
"Only as far as Paris," he rejoined; "and I
did not fly. I travelled in my ordinary manner."
" At least you left your wife to go through
the inquest and trial alone."
" I did not know of either until weeks after¬
wards, when Castleton showed me the reports."
"Not know of a sensation that was convulsing
all England ? Paris is scarcely Kamschatka, my
dear Frank. English papers are procurable at
the hotels."
" I—I was ill," he said, feebly, " or else I was
yachting for weeks in the Bay of Biscay. Or
both—I don't know ! " Even to his sick and
bewildered brain his story began to seem rather
a lame and improbable one. " But my wife,"
urged the wretched Frank, with a pitiful return
of hopefulness, " expressly admitted, when she
was examined and cross-examined on her trial,
that she had done the deed herself in defence
of her life. I have never yet known Fenella,
with all her faults, stoop to a direct falsehood.
How do you get over that, Lucille ? "
" I am a foreigner," was the chilling response,
" and, as such, imperfectly acquainted with your
criminal procedure. Still, J have always undep-
"whom the gods hate die hard." 373
stood that persons indicted for such offences are
not entitled to give evidence in their own defence.
I may be wrong."
It should be explained here that Madame de
Vigny was wrong—or partly so. There certainly
is some such rule, but it would be strange, indeed,
if an advocate of Clitheroe Jacynth's position and
influence could not succeed in getting it set aside
in favour of his fair client, when, as his legal
acumen had divined, the effect of such an admis¬
sion would inevitably insure the prisoner's trium¬
phant release, even on a trial for manslaughter.
And the result, as has been stated, amply justified
his calculations.
But the diabolical plausibility of Lucille's re¬
joinder destroyed the last vestige of hope for
Frank, who was less familiar with the laws of his
country than every well-educated Briton should
be.
" You are right," he groaned : " I did it—I
must have done it! And—what on earth shall
I do now, Lucille ? "
Her face, past its first youth as it was, became
rapt and transfigured with tenderness as she bent
over him, and laid one slight burning hand on
each of his shoulders.
" I will tell you," she said, in her low, cooing
accents. "If you stay here you are lost! For
ever since your rash visit to Inspector Brown at
374
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
Scotland Yard, nay, before that, the detectives
have been upon your track. It cannot be many
years, or months, perhaps, before they hunt you
down, even in such a remote island as Guernsey.
And if you are arrested and brought to trial,
Fenella will be powerless to screen you any
longer. As your wife she will be unable to give
her testimony in your behalf, as you are doubtless
aware. I alone know your guilt, but do you think
that I would betray you ? Why, I love you,
Frank ; I think I have always loved you, even
when I seemed to hate you most. And now that
you have saved me from a hideous death, oh!
my dear, my dear, how can I give you up ? No,
fly with me at once. We will go to South Africa
where society is freer and healthier than here,
and conventional prejudices do not exist. Come,
Frank, come ere it is too late."
The miserable man wavered on the couch; he
did not love this woman—at least, not with any
passion deserving the name, but he was in her
power. And how, how could he face his lovely
innocent Fenella with the consciousness that he
was a murderer ?
As he still hesitated, there came a resounding
knock at the trellised door which made them both
start.
" The detectives ! " whispered Lucille de Vignyj
"already ! Quick, Frank, the back door!"
"whom the gods hate die hard." - 375
But Frank Onslow had not lost all his manli¬
ness ; he drew himself to his full height with a
proud dignity.
" Back doors are not exactly in my way, Lucille,"
he said ; "let them take me. I am ready to atone
with the last remnant of my miserable ill-spent
life."
And the door flew open as he spoke, but it was
no detective that entered. Fenella came in, in
her pretty light frock, her small cheeks flushed
with a now unaccustomed rose-tint, and something
of the old, merry, mischievous sparkle in her tan-
coloured hazel eyes; for she had been laughing
and talking on the way up with Jacynth, and
telling him how she had fascinated the steward
of the steamer, until, with her native light¬
headedness, she had almost forgotten the gravity
of the errand on which she came. Jacynth's dark,
clean-shaven face, with the imperturbable expres¬
sion and the firmly-moulded jaw, was visible over
her slim shoulder.
But at the sight of Madame de Vigny, her old
enemy and rival, all the merriment and infantile
innocence in Fenella's lovely audacious face faded
suddenly ; her tawny eyes flashed with the tigerish
gleam Frank remembered so well, her soft .red
mouth grew hard and set.
" I perceive," she said icily, " that I am de trop.
I was not aware that you were well enough to
376
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
receive a visitor, Lord Francis. Mr. Jacynth,
will you please take me away ?"
"Fenella!" cried Frank in an agony, "let me
explain. This—this she-fiend, this mocking devil,
has come to try and persuade me that it was I
—/ who stabbed Count de Miirger with my own
hand! Tell me, for pity's sake, that you at least
do not believe it! "
In spite of herself, Fenella's first and very
natural resentment was somewhat appeased by
the evident sincerity in her husband's manner,
and it was with a pitying reluctance that she
answered.
" Frank," she said, " I would spare you this if
I could, but the time for silence has gone by.
Since you appeal to me, I am bound to tell you
that I do believe it. I have no alternative, for—
although it comes from the lips of Madame de
Vigny—it is the simple truth. Remember, I was
there, I saw it all with my own eyes. It was
your hand, and no other's, that sent the Count
de Miirger to his doom!"
The unhappy Frank staggered at these terrible
words.
" My own wife ! She says she saw me do this
thing! How you must loathe me, Fenella! How
you must loathe me ! "
" But I dont, Frank," she assured him,
earnestly. " I don't loathe you in the least, you
" WHOM THE GODS HATE DIE HARD." 377
poor unhappy boy! Because—oh! listen, Frank
—when you killed him, I knew from your ex¬
pression that you were in a hypnotic trance, and,
therefore, neither morally nor legally responsible
for your actions. Had it been otherwise, do you
think I should have screened you as I did ? "
Frank wiped his brow; an immense load was
lifted from his soul.
''That accounts tor it," he said, slowly. "I
felt sure I could not have committed such an
act in an ordinary state without retaining some
recollection of the circumstance. And yet," he
added, moodily, " if I am accused, who can prove
that I did it in this unconscious state? Not you,
Fenella—according to Madame de Vigny, at
least."
"Just so," said Lucille, speaking for the first
time. "You are his wife, Lady Francis, and
the law will not accept you as a witness. There
is no one who can prove it, and, therefore—the
deduction I leave to you."
" Pardon me," said Jacynth, stepping calmly
forward, " there is somebody—Lord Castleton,
who was, like us, rescued from the wreck. He
has lately told me so. It appears, my dear
Onslow, that he saw you subsequently, when you
were suffering from a precisely similar attack.
You stabbed madly, blindly, without being in the
least aware of your actions."
378
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
" Another murder! " cried the horrified Frank.
" Oh, the horror, the black, hopeless horror of it!
To be doomed to these deeds of blood, and never
to suspect it till too late! Jacynth, I think I
shall go mad."
" There is no necessity, my dear boy," said
the barrister kindly. " Fortunately, on this par¬
ticular occasion you were armed with no more
formidable weapon than a roll of paper, or else,
had there been a victim at hand, which provi¬
dentially there was not, the consequences might
indeed have been disastrous."
Frank's countenance cleared once more. He
could embrace his wife now with a clear con¬
science, and he turned to her accordingly with
extended arms. " Fenella ! " he cried. "Mrs.
Right! "
" Doggie, my own Doggie /" was the ringing
response, and the pair were folded in a long
embrace. Jacynth had turned away. Pardon
him, reader, if at that supreme moment of
reconciliation his own heart was too sore and
bitter to bear the sight of the happiness which
had been mainly his own work. Devoted friend,
self-contained, distinguished barrister as he was,
he was still many removes from an angel. But
the sound of the old pet names—the names she
remembered on the envelope returned to Chid-
dingford from the Dead Letter Office—seemed
"whom the gods hate die hard." 379
to exasperate Lucille de Vigny to a fury that
would not have disgraced a fiend. It must be
remembered, in justice to her, that she had loved
this man with all the ardour of a passionate,
undisciplined nature ; she had lost him, had been
on the verge of recapturing him, and now he had
escaped her once more, and something told her
that this time it was for ever !
"'bah!' she ejaculated" (p. 380).
" Very pretty, my taith ! " she said, with a bitter
laugh of mingled rage and dispair. " Quelle
innocence, mon Dieu ! You have defenders—is it
not ?—who combine military duties with a naval
footing? How do you call them, hein? I forget."
" Possibly, madame," suggested Jacynth,
gravely, " you refer to the Marines ? "
(< The Marines—it is that, yes. Well, tell this
fine story to them—to your Marines. Or, better
38O
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
still—for I hear them, they are here at last—to
your detectives, and see what they will say to
you !"
Her fine instinct had not deceived her this
time; almost before she had finished speaking
a couple of men in plain clothes came into the
room. They had the sharp, roving eye of the
trained sleuthhound, and one of them carried a
pair of steel handcuffs.
" There is the man you seek!" cried Lucille,
pointing to Frank, who stood quietly awaiting
his captors in the centre of the room. " Ah,
my poor Doggie, you have had your day !"
" Begging your pardon, madame," said one
ot the men, not uncivilly slipping the handcuffs
over Lucille's slender wrists, " but you re the
party we're after. You have given us the slip
often enough, but I think we've got you safe
this time."
Madame de Vigny's face changed; for an
instant she seemed to contemplate resistance, and
then she submitted to the inevitable, and followed
her captors to the door. On the threshold she
paused, and looked back with a gaze of concen¬
trated hate upon the party. " Bah!" she
ejaculated, and then, with an indescribable
gesture of defiant contempt, she walked out ot
of the room, and out of the lives her baleful
influence had done so much to perturb.
" WHOM THE GODS HATE DIE HARD." 381
As soon as she was gone, Frank, with a sud¬
den recollection, inquired, " And the boy, our
Ronny, Fenella? He is not ill—not again ?
Tell me the worst. I—I can bear it!"
" Ronny," said Fenella, with one of her little
spasms of silent mirth, " Ronny is quite well;
only he insisted on driving up to the door in a
goat-chaise. What is the matter, Frank—you are
not unwell ? "
" No," said Frank, faintly—" no, only the
dread of some new disaster. We have gone
through so many ! "
" They are all over now," she said, sweetly
and confidently—" all over. Ronny will be here
soon, and then we three will live here happily
together, and poor Mr. Jacynth, whose time I
am afraid I have really monopolised quite shame¬
fully, can go back to his chambers and his clients
again."
"Yes," said Jacynth, dully, "I can go back.
I—I have neglected them too long."
It was the end, he realised ; she needed him
no longer. He should see her no more—he
would go. But before he could carry out his
intentions, he was startled by a sudden change
in Onslow's expression, and, shocked beyond
words, he saw him throw his arms above his
head, turn sharply round three times, and totter
fieavily against a wire flower-stand full of hyacinths
382
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
in bloom, which he brought down with him in his
fall. It was all over! The long-standing heart-
trouble, combined with the excitement of the
varied events of the past months, and especially
of the last hour, had brought poor Frank Onslow's
chequered career to a sudden and tragic close,
and the form that lay there amongst the bared
bulbs, crushed bells, scattered earth, and broken
pots was already itself nothing but lifeless clay.
Fenella felt too much for tears; she stood
there in a kind of stupor; wondering what had
happened to her, and how it would affect her
when she was able to think of it. It was Jacynth
who, with his never-failing tact and consideration,
came to her relief.
" This is no place for you now," he said, in his
grave, gentle tones. " Let me lead you away,
Fenella."
Fenella allowed herself to be guided by him;
she had got so much into the habit of depending
entirely upon him lately that somehow it seemed
the natural thing to do. Only when they reached
the fresh air and sunshine outside she looked up
at him with childlike, appealing eyes. " Where
are we going ? " she inquired, dreamily.
"We are going," he said, " to meet Ronny
and the goat-chaise."
It was strange, perhaps, but this simple remark
gave Fenella a vague comfort. It would be some
44 WHOM THE GODS HATE DIE HARD." 383
time—weeks, or even months—she knew, before
happiness returned to her, and she was her own
" LET ME LEAD YOU AWAY, FENELLA " {p. 382).
wayward, light-hearted self again ; but that happi¬
ness was in store for her—that, in days to come,
she would look back on the heart-rending trials,
3§4
THE FATE OF FENELLA.
the conflicting emotions, the gloom, anxiety and
despair it had been her fate to endure, and see
in them only a confused nightmare, too wildly
improbable to excite even a reminiscent shudder
—she knew as surely as that she was walking
down the road, and leaning upon Clitheroe
Jacynth's strong right arm.
And so these two went down to meet the
goat-chaise.
TITE END.
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