tiianone 8 5 ' * ^ Q <- I.- , . .. | .1 ^ . ** v/ Go;y right, tyof.ty HURST 6'Go. ~> o Thrown on the World BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME Author of "DORA THORNE," "THE DUKE'S SECRET," " THORN IN HER HEART." "A MAD LOVE," Etc., Etc. NEW YORK HURST AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS THROWN ON THE WORLD. CHAPTER I. "YOU ARE NOT MY WIFE!" Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times In this green valley, under this green hill, Even on this hand, sitting on this stone, Sealed it with kisses, watered it with tears f TENNYSON. AGAIN the door of the dining-room opened, and Silvia Rymer, looking up, saw the flushed face of Hannah, the maid. " It is after seven, and dinner was ordered for five. I cannot keep it any longer." Mrs. Rymer smiled, though a shade of uneasiness came over her beautiful young face. "Has not my husband returned yet, Hannah?" she said. " No ! " was the blunt reply. " I always did think that when a gentleman once leaves a house, he never knows the time to come back." Mrs. Rymer laughed. " Try to keep everything nice for one half hour longer. You can do it, Hannah, if you will try." " I can try," said the girl, " but between trying and doing there is a wide difference." She went back to the kitchen, and Silvia Rymer took up the book she had been reading; but it was in vain that she tried to fix her attention on it; there was a mist between her beautiful eyes and the page ; the sense of the words she was reading did not reach her mind. She looked at her pretty, jewelled watch, it was twenty min- 2134481 6 THROWN ON THE WORLD. utes past seven ; and when he kissed her that afternoon, he had said he should be back by five. She rose from her seat and went to the window. No fairer scene than that on which she gazed ever met human eye. The grand Scotch lakes in the distance, and the heather-crowned hills stretching down to them ; a large, old-fashioned garden led to the meadows, and the meadows sloped to the borders of the lake. It was in the month of June, and the sun shone upon the blue waters, the heather, and the flowers. The breath of the rose and the lily floated toward her ; among all the the flowers blooming in the garden, there was not one so fair as the young face gazing over them. "It is strange he does not come," she said. Just then, from among the roses, came a young girl, holding a lovely, princely baby in her arms. " Bring the baby to me," said Mrs. Rymer. She took the child in her arms, kissed the little velvet cheek, caressed the little golden head, talked to him in that sweet language only known to mothers and children. " Where is papa, baby ? " she said ; and the child raised his large, dark eyes to hers. Her heart grew warm within her as she looked at him. Ah ! please Heaven, what a grand, noble man he would be in the years to come, but never so noble as his father, Alric Rymer. Earth did not hold his equal. Then nurse and baby went away. Over the lake came the sound of the chimes half -past seven. There was Hannah, looking very cross, with an appearance of great meekness. "Would you be so kind as to tell me what I am to do with this dinner ? " she said. Mrs. Rymer went back into the room ; the scent of the roses and lilies followed her. The room was the very picture of comfort, prettily furnished with flowers and books, the dinner-table bright with its choice linen and delicate silver. There was her husband's chair ready for him; everything that he could desire or wish, prepared with loving hands and loving thought. He had left home at three, telling her he was going to Brae on some business. THROWN ON THE WORLD. 7 Brae was a small town only two miles away. She ]ooked round, noting every detail ; on a side-table she Baw a cigar-case and a kid glove, with a faded flower he had worn that morning. She raised the glove, and kissed it with passionate kisses. " My love ! my love ! " she murmured, " how was I worthy of you ? " As she stood with that half-divine light on her face, she looked fairer than any pictured dream. She was tall and slender, not more than eighteen, with a figure of perfect grace and symmetry ; fine little hands, and fine little feet ; a white neck, delicate and graceful ; a face so pure and lovely in its fresh, girlish beauty so sweet, so true, so eloquent a face such as Raphael \vould have given to angels, framed in soft, shining hair, brown in the shade and golden in the sun ; dark violet eyes, bright as stars. She was exquisitely, but simply, dressed. On her white neck shone a golden locket, worn with a golden chain, and on the fair, rounded arm was a brace- let of gold and precious stones. The sunlight fell over her, the perfume of the flowers floated round her ; but she was lost in a trance of happy love. " My love ! my love ! " she murmured again, " who in this wide world is so happy as I ? " Hannah again, but this time she held in her hands a letter, and her face looked less anxious. " A messenger has brought this from Brae," she said. " The master sent it." With a smile still on her lips, and a beautiful blush that overspread her face, as her eyes fell on the beloved, familiar writing, she took the letter. She kissed her own name because he had written it. " My love," she said again to herself ; " how thought- ful he is of me." Then she sat down in his chair near the window to read it Heaven help her! "With the sun shining above her, and the fair flowers around her, she read her death-warrant. She read the words that struck her from the list of honored living women, and blighted her whole life. One moment she was smiling, her heart warm with the thought of him ; the next, that tender, loving heart was. 8 THROWN ON THE WORLD. broken. Heaven help her and all who suffer from the heartless cruelty of men ! These were the words on which the sun shone, words that stabbed and slew the truest, the kindest, and most tender of God's creatures : "MY DEAREST SILVIA, It is better and kinder to speak plain- ly to you, and tell you all. You will blame me, but my excuse is I loved you so dearly, so madly, that I could nut live without you. Always remembir that, when you are disposed to judge me harshly. Always remember that I loved you first, dearest, and best; that no other woman can ever take your place in my heart; but Silvia, I have deceived you I was obliged to deceive you; all is fair in love, and if I have won you by strategcm, I am not the first who has forgotten what the world calls honor iu love. "Better for you to know the truth. I could not live without you, but, Silvia, you are not my wife! Do not hate me. I could not marry you, because for some years past I have been betrothed to a lady in my own rank of life, and I am now compelled to leave you and keep my promise to her. I have misled you as to myself. You have believed me to be Alric Eymer, a man of moderate and mediocre position ; it is not so. Prudence forbids me to reveal my real name and rank. "Now, believe me, Silvia, I am grieved to write this: if it had been possible, I would fain have kept all knowledge of this from you. The form of marriage we went through I knew was useless -it was merely to satisfy your delicate conscience it was a vain, idle ceremony. I repeat this because I hope, in course of time, to know that you have married some one worthy of you. "I hope common, sense will guide you, and that you will avoid all tragic nonsense. Hundreds of girls have been in a similar posi- tion, and have afterward settled comfortably in life. Eemember, if there be any blame, it is mine, not yours. You have believed your- self my wife, I knew you were not. It is hard to part from you we have been very happy but I dare not remain in Scotland for another day. I know you will grieve, but you mu=t make Hie best of it. You may be very comfortable. I have made ample pro- vision for you av\ the boy. If you will write to Messrs. King & Gresham, Thavies ~>n, London, to whom I have committed your interests, they will cell you the amount of your income, and what is set aside for the boy. It will be paid to you quarterly, on condi- tion that you never seek to find me, or anything about me. Your marrying will make no difference. Lake Cottage was taken for two years ; you had better remain until the time expires. "Now, good-by, my beautiful Silvia. My heart aches to write the word. You must try to forget me try to mako the best of it, and learn to be happy with some one else. The saddest hour of my life is this in which I leave you, but go I must. Though we shall never meet again, believe me always u Your lover and admirer, " Alric Kymer." THROWN ON THE WOULD. if From the thin folds of paper a bank-note fluttered to the ground, and lay unheeded where it fell. Heaven help her! There is no remedy either on earth or in heaven for such woe as hers. She read to the very end, and then sat still, staring, dumb, like one turned to stone. She did not scream, faint, or weep ; but the awful despair that came over her was terrible to see. The white lips were parted and open, but no sound came from them ; the violet eyes had a wild, lost, bewildered expression ; no trace, no outward expression of grief could have been so awful as this blank, silent, terrible despair. The wind blew the falling leaves of the roses into the room, and then idly stirred the letter which lay at her feet; that aroused her as though some living thing had moved beside her. She rose from her seat. "Alric!" she cried, with a terrible voice, then rose, like one blind and dizzy, and went into the garden. She thought he was there ; her brain reeled beneath the shock ; there was nothing save the flowers and the trees, and she went back again, not knowing what she was about. CHAPTER II. A DE8KRTED HOME. * I pray thee, pass before my light of life, And shadow all rny soul, that I may die." "Dm you call me, Mrs. Rymer?" asked Hannah, who heard something of that terrible cry. She turned her ghastly face and said "No." Then the girl, looking down, saw the bank-note on the ground. She picked it up wonderingly. " Money is plentiful," she said, placing it on the table. " Shall I bring your dinner, or will you have some tea ? '' " I will ring when I want anything," was the reply. The girl wondered why her mistress's voice was so changed. She turned to look at her, but the white face was hidden from sight. She went away again, leaving the lady alone with her despair. Again she looked at the letter, and read it word for word. 10 THROWN ON THE WORLD. " It must be a jest," she said to herself ; " it cannot be true, i ain his wife before God and man." But those words were not jesting words ; they were terrible, strange ; but as she eat in horrified, bewildered silence, it dawned upon her for the first time that she might have been betrayed, duped, deceived, and deserted. Such things had been done before, but not surely by men like Alric. Alric, her handsome, gifted hero ! so gener- ous, so noble, so far above his fellow-men ! It was not possible to believe it all at once but supposing it should be true? She sat quite still and motionless there was not even a quiver on the white lips. " O Heaven ! " she cried. " Let me die before I know the truth." She bowed her head, unable to think or to speak, bearing in bitter, anguished silence this first shock of her unutterable woe. What shame, what grief, what outraged love, what wounded pride, what anguish passed like a tempest over her, who shall say ? Half an hour had passed before she raised her white face again, and then there was upon it such hopeless, helpless, settled despair, that no one could have recog- nized her. She rose slowly, and stood erect ; her limbs trembled, a mortal sickness was upon her; a mortal cold, that seemed to freeze the blood in her veins, and made her heart beat slowly. " I am no wife ! " she said. " I gave him my heart, my love, my life, my honor, and in return he has de- ceived me. I am no wife ! " She raised her face to the smiling summer heavens. She raised her white hand as though she would fain pierce with her wrongs the blue skies, and reach the great White Throne. " God of justice ! " she said, slowly ; " God of light ! I appeal to you against him. I am innocent, for I be- lieved that I was his wife ! " Did that wild prayer, that wild cry for justice, pierce the clouds and reach the merciful Father to whom no wrong cries in vain ? She had been silent, stunned, bewildered, until now. THROWN ON THE WOKLD. 11 The rose-leaves came floating slowly past her, the sun shone brightly over her, and a burning sense of outraged pride, of wounded love and wounded honor, began to burn her very heart away. " I gave him my love, and he has made an outcast of me. I gave him my life, and he has made me ashamed of it. I loved him, and he has left me." The silence and stupor of despair had died away ; the very frenzy and rage of sorrow was upon her. Her eyes flamed with anger, her face flushed hotly. She took up the bank-note that lay on the table, and laughed a sound terrible to hear. " This was to be the price of my love, my honor, my fair name, my soul ! " She tore it into shreds. " I will starve I will die ; but I will take nothing from him ! " she said. She went up to her room and brought down all the jewels, the ornaments, he had ever given her ; she tore the golden chain from her neck ; one by one she threw them under her feet, and trampled them into a thousand fragments. " I did not sell my soul for these ! " she cried, as she spurned the fragments. " I will have nothing that has ever belonged to him." Then the wild fury died away, and she stood lost, be- wildered. "I cannot live!" she said to herself, hoarsely; "I cannot live ! I was not proud ; but I hold my fair name and my honor dearer than my life. I have lost both, and I cannot live." Once again she went into the room, and put on a bonnet and shawl ; on the stairs she met the nurse and the baby. A low, bitter cry one that must have pierced the high heavens came from her lips. She did not look at her child ; she turned her face away as he was carried by. " Are yon going out, madame ? " inquired the nurse. " Yes," replied the hoarse voice. " Do the best you can for him. I am going out." She must die j the intolerable shame was not to be ^ THROWN ON THE WORLD. borne. Besides, in her fair, innocent life she had had but one love, and now that he was gone from her forever how was she to live? She could not look in the baby's face she was never to see again, and she could not kiss the pure little lips she was going out to die! She stood in the sunlit garden, looking aronnd her with haggard eyes eyes that burned, but from which no tears flowed. This time last evening he had walked with her up and down the broad paths, his arm clasped round her, kur'i- ing as she told him pretty marvels of the baby, laughing at her inquiries, her earnest, tender words. Just then*, close to that great sheaf of white lilies, he had stoopod to kiss her, and said he was jealous because she loved tho baby most. Yes, at that very moment, he knew that he had de- ceived her ; that she was not his wife ; that in twenty- four hours he would have left her forever. A cry for vengeance, for justice the cry of a broken heart came from the white lips. Oh, for death ! for death ! She could not bear the shame of life ; she could not bear the horrible pain that tortured her. Was there ever a sadder sight under the summer sun than this? This girl, so young, so beautiful, eo loving, looking around her for the means of death. And yet such a sight was but another record o^ the sin and the selfishness of men. " How am I to die ? " she said. There lay the lake, shining clear and bright in the sun, bearing white water-lilies on its calm breast; bright- winged birds skimmed over it ; gentle wavelets washed the green banks. Should she seek her rest there ? "No, I could not die," she thought; "I have been with him so often over that clear water. I should see his face in the depths, and I could not die. I must have a quick death, in which I shall not be tortured by any memory of him." Then she started, for she heard a sound of laughter wild, unearthly laughter it was herself. "Am I going mad ? " she thought. " Let me die ! let ine die ! not live mad ! " She was laughing, for the idea had just occurred to her THROWN ON THE WORLD. 13 that it was a jest a poor one, a sorry one, but still a jest ; he had written that letter to try her, only to try her, and he would come presently from among the trees, laughing too, holding out his arms to her, and then and then she should press to him 'vajjli a long, low, shuddering sigh, and he would kiss her tears away. " It could not be true," she said to herself, now she stood out in the sunlight ; " no man dare so wantonly and wickedly ruin an innocent girl; no man dare so outrage the laws of God and of man. She would go to Brae and know if it were indeed true. " Dare he, dare any man win a girl's pure heart and break it ? Dare he have won her love, have taken her from home, have made a mockery of that solemn mar- riage rite, and so have betrayed her? No, it was not possible, even to the selfishness and wickedness of men," she said to herself, " there were limits." She had, indeed, poor child, much, to learn. She would go to Brae. See, the sunlight lay low on the fields ; the birds were all singing in the fields ; the wind stirred the fragrant heather ; the blue bells and primroses laughed among the long grass; the smile of summer's beauty lay over the fair earth ; could there be such desolation, such anguish, such darkness and sorrow in store for her ? No, it was not possible. Earth would not mock her with its beauty or heaven with its smiles, if nothing but anguish and cfrefath lay before her. She turned from the lake-side ; a short path through the woods led to Brae. The great boughs of the spread- ing trees stretched out on either side : the beautiful sun- shine came filtered through the green leaves; the merry brown hares ran leaping through the woods; quiet, \;d beauty, and fragrance were all around her. Could d: 'k- ness and desolation be waiting for her on the other side ? She reached Brae ; no one who had known her a few hours ago fresh, fair and radiant could have recogniz- ed her now haggard, with a ghastly face and despairing eyes. Some recollection must have come to her, for, as she left the woods and slaw the little town of Brae h ing before her, she pulled the veil over her face, and tried to look more rational, more like herself. The bells wera 14: THROWN ON THE WORLD. chiming from the old church tower chiming some sweet old melody to which she had often listened with Alric by her side. Where was she to go, now that she stood in the town from whence had come that cruel letter. CHAPTER III. " WHY DID YOU NOT LET ME DIE ? " '* I know that wheresoever I am, by night and day, All earth and air seem only burning tire." THERE was but one hotel in the little town. " The Brae Arms," and there Alric had gone at times to play at billiards. She remembered that, and perhaps even now he might be there, laughing at the jest such a cruel jest so unlike him. Could it be a jest, after all? One or two strangers who psssed her by looked with "wonder at her. Through the thick veil one could see the "white face and the burning eyes. "I must speak calmly," she thought, "or they will think that I am mad." The landlord himself stood on the steps of the hotel. She clinched her hands so tightly while she spoke to him, that great red dents left their marks there for days after- ward. " Is Mr. Rymer here ? " she asked, and the man, who knew her, replied, " Ko, madam ; he left at four o'clock. He went to meet the train at Glenrock. I understood Mr. Rymer that he was going to Paris." The landlord, who knew that the lady before him was called Mrs. Rymer, looked at her in wonder. She saw the look. No need to laugh and sneer at her yet she would be dead soon. Before people knew that she had lost her honor and her fair name she would be lying dead and no one sneers at death. She clinched her hands more tightly, and the physical pain brought her to her senses. " Thank you," she replied j " I did not know that he had gone." THKOWN W THE WORLD. 1 Then she walked away, with no trace of the deadly despair that had mastered her in her manner. " That seems queer," said the landlord to himself. "Why should he go to Paris without telling his wife ? " Still, it did not concern him and he resumed his for- mer occupation of whistling " The Laird o ' Cockpen " How was she to die ? There was no mistake now no hope left ; it was no jest, but a grim, horrible truth a shame she would not face, a disgrace she could not endure but the difficulty remained, how was she to die ? Great flushes of crimson were in the sky, and the rosy light lay on the clean pavement. She passed happy homesteads, where the father M'atched with smiles the gambols of his children, while the mother sung at her work. She passed happy young lovers, whose shy glances told their secret ; and all the time pain and anguish were at her heart. She could not bear it. There was to be no more happy home for her, no more belief in a husband's love, nor delight in the smiles of a child. She must die soon die before that golden sun set, and before men knew the story of her shame. There before her was a druggist's shop. Plenty of means of death there. She entered. There was only a boy behind the counter ; the master was out. She went up to him. . " I want some laudanum," she said. " I am suffering intense pain, and I must have some at once." The boy looked up with something like a smile. " Is it toothache ? " he asked : and she, whose lips had never been sullied with a false word, bowed. " You had better take a bottle of this," he added, pointing to some patent medicine. " Yes," she replied, impatiently, " I will take that as well ; but I must have laudanum. Nothing but laudanum will deaden my pain." " I do not know," said the boy, " if I can sell poison. There is some law or other about it." " You can sell it," she replied, steadily, to trustworthy people. I have to sign my name in a book. You know my name I am Mrs. Kymer, of Lake Cottage." 36 THROWN ON THE WORLD. Then, before she had finished the words, she remem- bered that she had no claim to that name, it was not hers. The boy did not understand the crimson flush that came over her face, he thought the pain had caused it. lie placed the bottle of laudanum on the counter and served her with a small quantity. She was longing for death death, that should free her from shame. She sent the hoy to another part of the shop, and he, all unsuspicious, went. While he was gone she took the "bottle and filled the little vial that she had in her hand, then she paid him and hastened away. The door of the other world was opened to her now. She held the key in her hands. Slowly she walked down the quiet street. At the end stood the old church, from the tower of which came the pealing of the bells, the sweet old chimes. It was no longer a question of how should she die but where. Where should she take her last look at the fair, smiling earth. Before her lay the church-yard : there the dead slept in peace ; there was rest from shame, from disgrace, from misery. She would go there, and, sitting on one of those green graves, would drink the laudanum and die. " That is my death-knell," she said to herself, listening to the plaintive, sweet chimes. She sat down on a grave that had been made under the shade of a hawtho: n-tree, then looked round on earth and sky. Her farewell glance, and ah, me ! how fair that world was ; how grand the distant hills, covered with pine, covered witk heath- er; how beautiful the summer woods, with their shady calm and springing flowers, how beautiful the little town ;md the old church, with its ivy-clad towers, how beauti- ful those great flushes of crimson light in the western skies ; how sweet the song of the birds, and the chime of the bells. She was going to leave it all, because the selfish sin of one man had made her life intolerable to her. She was mad with shame and sorrow: no thought of ri^ht or wrong came to her. She never once remembered that her life was not her own to destroy when she would ; she remembered only the shame of her position and the blight of her life. She would not remember her past ; she would not THROWN ON THE WORLD. 17 dwell upon the innocent days of her girlhood, the days when he who had deserted her had taught her to love him. She would dwell upon nothing but her betrayal and her desertion. Suddenly, as she sat there with the poison in her hand, she thought of the little child; in the madness of her anguish she had almost forgotten it the child who, when she was dead, would be left alone and friendless in the wide world. "Better that better that," she moaned to herself, " than that it should know its mother's story." Then she raised the vial to her lips, and across the be- wildered mind and whirling brain came the thought that she had to meet her God. A few minutes more and she would be face to face with the Great Father whom she had never willfully offended. She fell on her knees, and a wild cry for pardon came from her lips. " He has driven me to death, O God ! " she said, " for I cannot hide the shame of my life. You are more merciful than men, take pity on me ! " Did that cry pierce those beautiful skies ? Could there be a deeper curse on any man, deeper condemnation, than that a woman should utter such a prayer. She closed her eyes, and placed the bottle to her lips. Several drops of the bitter, thick, dark liquid had been swallowed, when a strong hand dashed it from her, and it fell broken into a hundred fragments, the deadly poison staining the sweet, green grass. "What are you doing?" cried a clear, strong voice. " How dare you fly in the face of the living God ? You are seeking to kill yourself? " She raised her haggard eyes, and saw before her a stately old man, whose hair M 7 as white with age ; his face beautiful with goodness and benevolence. " You were going to kill yourself, child," he said, look- ing at her in horror. But she fell at his feet, crying wildly : " Why have you saved me ! Oh, why did you not let me die $ " 18 THROWN ON THE WOKLD. CHAPTER IV. THROWN ON THE WORLD. *' Life is mine. I who gave it , Alone can take away." THE rector stooped and raised the unhappy girl, in his arms ; he looked in wonder at the white, haggard face, with its terrible impress of suffering ; he wondered at her youth, her beauty, her sorrow. " What can have driven her to death ? " he thought. She had not fainted such misery as hers is rarely lost in unconsciousness. He placed her on the grave where she had been sitting, and again she moaned : " Why did you not let me die ? " He looked down on her not unkindly ; he had seen too much of human suffering for that. " If I saw you standing on the brink of a precipice," he said, " should I not draw you back ? If I saw you falling into a name of fire, should I not try to save you from it 3 " She looked up at him, and he shrunk from the pain and anguish in those sad eyes. " You do not know," she said ; " you do not under- stand. I cannot live." He took both her hands in his ; they were cold as death so cold that the touch startled him. " My poor child," he said, quietly, " do you know that your life is not your own s You cannot prolong it for one moment, nor can you dare to destroy it. God gave it to you ; God will take it back. You may not fling it in His face like an unwelcome gift." " You do not know," she moaned. "No I do not know, perhaps, your particular sorrow ; but I am an old man now, and all my life long I have been teaching the law of God ; I have seen suffering in every shape, in every form, and I know that nothing justifies suicide." She shrunk at the word. THROWN ON THE WOKLD. 19 " I have seen human desolation and misery that could not be exceeded," he continued ; the remedy is submis- sion to God, not willful destruction. Can you not trust me with the story of your sorrow ? " " No," she replied : " it is not to be told." " Poor child ! " he said, gently ; " you are young to endure so much. But whatever your sorrow may be, do not make bad worse. This life will soon be ended ; whether it has been happy or miserable will not matter to us at the hour of death. Do not make it worse by adding eternal ruin to it. You know though men of science may rave, and men of would-be wisdom may sneer you know that for the crime of suicide there is no pardon. "Would you like to be cut off forever from the Great God ? " " I had not thought of that," she replied. " I only thought that I could not bear the shame of my life." She sat silent for some minutes; he watching intently her beautiful, ghastly face. Suddenly she looked up