The Doctor's Wife
"I'LL NOT BELIEVE BUT DESDEMONA'S HONEST."
"See that some and a are sent to Mr. Gilbert at Graybridge," Roland said to his on the after Isabel's visit. "I was sorry to of his from his wife last night."
Mr. Lansdell's valet, very with a hat-brush, to himself as his this speech. The master of Mordred Priory need have his by any phrases the Graybridge surgeon.
"I shouldn't mind a twelvemonth's that if her husband dies, he marries her six months," Roland's man-servant remarked, as he his second cup of coffee; "I did see such an man in all my life."
A came over the of Mr. Lansdell's dreams. The thought, the and thought, which had entered Isabel's mind, was not to be out of Roland's after that midnight in the library. Do what he would, against the as he might,—and he was not naturally wicked, he was not heartless,—he not help of what might happen—if—if Death, who in his hand so many orders for release, should cut the that Isabel Gilbert.
"God I am not to wish any to that at Graybridge," Mr. Lansdell; "but if—"
And then the Tempter's hand a dark curtain, and a picture of the life that might be, if George Gilbert would only be so as to under that low which had done so much in the about Graybridge. Roland Lansdell was not a hero; he was only a very imperfect, man, with for against the of his mind; a child of fortune, who had almost always had his own way until just now.
"I ought to go away," he thought; "I ought to go away all the more of this man's illness. There something in my stopping here and waiting for the result, when I should such an by George Gilbert's death."
But he lingered, nevertheless. A man may the of his sin, and yet go on shining. Mr. Lansdell did not go away from Mordred; he himself with sending the Graybridge a of the and a of the biggest to be in the Priory hothouses; and it may be that his some small from the performance of this courtesy.
Lord Ruysdale called upon his nephew in the of the that succeeded Isabel's visit to the Priory; and as the man to be his cigar in of the at the moment when the Earl's came along the carriage-drive, there was no possibility of the gentleman's visit. Roland his cigar, and himself to the of an hour's of in which he no of interest, no of pleasure. What was it to him that there was every of a dissolution, unless——? There almost always was every of a unless something or other took place; but nothing special to come of all the and clamour. The people were always poor, and at being to death; the rich people were always rich, and against the of an income-tax. Poor Roland the of his uncle's visit; and if he gave and asked questions now and then, Lord Ruysdale was too much by his own to out his nephew's delinquencies. Roland only got of him at last by promising to at Lowlands that evening.
"If there's a dissolution, our party must come in," the Earl said at parting; "and in that case you must for Wareham. The Wareham people look to you as their representative. I look to great things, my boy, if the present ministry go out. I've been nursing my little very for the last twelve months; and I shall take a house in town, and life again next year, if go well; and I to see you make a in the world yet, Roland."
And in all that Lord Ruysdale did not once the look in his nephew's face; that look which gave a to all the Lansdell portraits, and which the blasé of thirty older of than the country of sixty.
Roland to Lowlands in the evening. Why should he not do this to his uncle; as it so very little what he did, or where he went, in a where was weariness. He Lady Gwendoline in the drawing-room, looking something like Marie Antoinette in a demi-toilette of silk, with a black-lace upon her shoulders, and in a careless at the of her waist. Mr. Raymond was in a big chintz-covered easy-chair, over a box of books newly from London, and on their titles and contents.
"At last!" he exclaimed, as Mr. Lansdell's name was announced. "I've called at Mordred about half-a-dozen times the last two months; but as your people always said you were out, and as I always see by their that you were at home, I have up the in despair."
Lord Ruysdale came in presently with the "Times" newspaper open in his hand, and on reading a leader, which he delivered with energy, and all the on the of the sentences. Dinner was the leader was finished, and Mr. Raymond Lady Gwendoline to the dining-room, while Roland to the Thunderer's by his uncle's elocution. The dinner off very quietly. The Earl talked politics, and Mr. Raymond very on the of natural as to the of the nation. There was a the animal of the two men who had passed the of life, and were on the of the lull, and the by the two people who sat to them. George Sand has that all the books are by the authors; might she not go farther, and say that the people are older than their seniors? We have got of our Springheeled Jacks and John Mittons, and Tom and Jerry are no more popular either on or off the stage; our no longer think it a thing to drive a to Epsom races, or to set of in the Haymarket; but in place of all this and a of the to have come upon the of our nation, a and of spirit, from which nothing less than a Crimean or an Indian can the worn-out in a world. The dinner was to a close, when Lord Ruysdale mentioned a name that all Mr. Lansdell's attention.
"I into Graybridge after you, Roland," he said, "and a call or two. I am sorry to that Mr. Gilmore—Gilson—Gilbert,—ah, yes, Gilbert,—that very doctor, we met at your house the other day—last year, by the bye—egad, how the time round!—I was sorry to that he is ill. Low fever—really in a very state, Saunders the told me. You'll be sorry to it, Gwendoline."
Lady Gwendoline's darkened, and she at Roland, she spoke.
"I am sorry to it," she said. "I am sorry for Mr. Gilbert, for more than one reason. I am sorry he has so very a wife."
Roland's crimson, and he to his as if about to speak; but Mr. Raymond was too quick for him.
"I think the less we say upon that the better," he exclaimed, eagerly; "I think, Lady Gwendoline, that is a that had much not be here."
"Why should it not be discussed?" Roland, looking—if people can look daggers—a perfect of and at his cousin. "Of course, we that of her own is a woman's privilege. Why should not Lady Gwendoline herself of her special right? Here is only a very subject, certainly—a little nobody; but she will for want of a better;—lay her on the table, by all means, and out your dissecting-tools, Lady Gwendoline. What have you to say against Mrs. Gilbert?" He waited, and angry, for his cousin's answer, looking at her with in his face.
"Perhaps Mr. Raymond is right, after all," Gwendoline said, quietly. She was very quiet, but very pale, and looked her as in the as if she had been a small-sword with him. "The is one that will here or elsewhere; but since you me of malice, I am to myself. I say that Mrs. Gilbert is a very wife and a very woman. A person who is to a with a stranger, not once, but times, with all of and mystery, while her husband life and death, must surely be one of the and of women."
Mr. Lansdell into a laugh.
"What a place this Midlandshire is!" he cried; "and what a power of the of our country towns! I any about your for scandal, my dear Gwendoline; for I see you are the in that art. The smallest knowledge would teach you to the that are and those that are not; their being true or false is not of the least consequence. Unfortunately, this Graybridge is one of the very of canards. A newspaper sending it in to the of a would be for incompetency, on the of his blunder. Tell your to be a little more in future, Gwendoline."
Lady Gwendoline did not to discuss the truth or of her story. She saw that her was to the lips, and she that her had gone home to the very centre of the bull's-eye. After this there was very little conversation. Lord Ruysdale started one or two of his topics; but he that there was something not at work his companions. Roland sat at his plate; and Charles Raymond him with an in his face; as a man who is of might watch the of a storm-cloud. The dinner to a close and silence, by the of and of glass. Ah, what funeral-bell can more upon the ear than those common every-day the that succeeds or a tempest! There is nothing very terrible in the of birds; yet how the voices of those in the of a storm!
Lady Gwendoline rose from the table when her father his second of Burgundy, and Mr. Raymond to open the door for her. But Roland's were from his empty plate; he was waiting for something; now and then a little movement of his lip that he was agitated; but that was all.
Lord Ruysdale by his daughter's departure. He had a idea that there had been some little passage-at-arms Roland and Gwendoline, and that would be by the lady's absence. He on with his upon the of the political atmosphere, as some stream, until the to in the of the low old-fashioned chamber. Then the Earl out a old hunter, and at the of the hour.
"I've some to that must go by to-night's post," he said. "Raymond, I know you'll me if I you for an hour or so. Roland, I you and Raymond to do to that Chambertin."
Charles Raymond some as the Earl left the room; but he his from Roland's face. He had the of the storm, and was prepared for a thunder-clap. Nor was he in his calculations.
"Raymond, is this true?" Mr. Lansdell asked, as the door closed upon his uncle. He spoke as if there had been no or in the since Mrs. Gilbert's name had been mentioned.
"Is what true, Roland?"
"This against Isabel Gilbert. Is it true? Pshaw! I know that it is not. But I want to know if there is any of an for such a scandal. Don't with me, Raymond; I have no from you; and I have a right to that you will be with me."
"I do not think you have any right to question me upon the subject," Mr. Raymond answered, very gravely: "when last it was mentioned us, you rejected my advice, and against my in your affairs. I we with the then, Roland, at your request; and I do not to it now."
"But have since then," Mr. Lansdell said, eagerly. "It is only common to Mrs. Gilbert that I should tell you as much as that, Raymond. I was very confident, very presumptuous, I suppose, when I last this with you. It is only that you should know that the I had formed, when I came to England, have been by Mrs. Gilbert herself."
"I am very to it."
There was very little in Mr. Raymond's as he said this; and the with which he had Roland for the last hour was, if anything, now.
"Yes; I when I all those for a happy future. It is not so easy to a good woman to away from her husband, may be the that her to him. These accept the marriage-service in its sense. Mrs. Gilbert is a good woman. You can imagine, therefore, how I Gwendoline's against her. I these some of from one another's destruction. And now set my mind at rest: there is not one particle of truth—not so much as can as the for a lie—in this accusation, is there, Raymond?"
If the answer to this question had a of death, or a from the gallows, Roland Lansdell not have asked it more eagerly. He ought to have in Isabel so as to be by any village slander; but he loved her too much to be reasonable; Jealousy the demon—closely as a Siamese to Love the god—was already at his entrails. It not be, it not be, that she had and him; but if she had—ah, what baseness, what treachery!
"Is there any truth in it, Raymond?" he repeated, from his chair, and across the table at his kinsman.
"I to answer that question. I have nothing to do with Mrs. Gilbert, or with any reports that may be against her."
"But I upon your telling me all you know; or, if you to do so, I will go to Lady Gwendoline, and obtain the truth from her."
Mr. Raymond his shoulders, as if he would have said, "All is useless; this must go to his own way."
"You are a very man, Roland," he said aloud; "and I am very sorry you the of this Doctor's Wife, than there are of to be met with in any summer-day's walk; but I say there were than Helen, if it comes to that. However, as you upon the whole of this village scandal—which may or may not be true—you must have your own way; and I hope, when you have it, you will be to turn your for some time to come upon Midlandshire and Mrs. George Gilbert. I have something of the Lady Gwendoline told you at dinner; and from a source. I have heard——"
"What? That she—that Isabel has been with some stranger?"
"Yes."
"With whom? when? where?"
"There is a man at a little in Nessborough Hollow. You know what these country people are; Heaven I have put myself out of the way to learn other people's business; but these about in all manner of places."
Roland this digression.
"Tell your plainly, Raymond," he said. "There is a man in Nessborough Hollow—well; what then?"
"He is a handsome-looking fellow; dressed—a Londoner, evidently—and——"
"But what has all this to do with Mrs. Gilbert?"
"Only this much,—she has been walking alone with this man, after dark, in Nessborough Hollow."
"It must be a lie; a invention! or if—if she has been to meet this man, he is some relation. Yes, I have to think that she has some relation in this neighbourhood."
"But why, in that case, should she meet the man secretly, at such an hour, while her husband is ill?"
"There may be a hundred reasons."
Mr. Raymond his shoulders. "Can you one?" he asked.
Roland Lansdell's on his breast. No; he think of no why Isabel Gilbert should meet this secretly—unless there were some of in their association. Secrecy and go so together, that it is almost difficult for the mind to them.
"But has she been to meet him?" Roland, suddenly. "No; I will not it. Some woman has been walking with some man; and the Graybridge vultures, to upon my dove, must have it that the woman is Isabel Gilbert. No; I will not this story."
"So be it, then," answered Mr. Raymond. "In that case we can the subject."
But Roland was not so easily to be satisfied. The had entered into his soul, and he must needs the and in the wound.
"Not till you have me the name of your authority," he said.
"Pshaw! my dear Roland, have I not already told you that my authority is the common Graybridge gossip?"
"I'll not that. You are the last man in the world to be by village scandal. You have for what you told me. Some one has Isabel and this man. Who was that person?"
"I against this cross-examination. I have been weak to with a attachment, so as to wish to you pain. You to be spared, and must take the of your own obstinacy. I was the person who saw Isabel Gilbert walking with a stranger—a showily-dressed disreputable-looking fellow—in Nessborough Hollow. I had been with Hardwick the lawyer at Graybridge, and home across country by the Briargate and Hurstonleigh Road, of going through Waverly. I the about Mrs. Gilbert at Graybridge,—heard her name with that of some at the Leicester Arms, Nessborough Hollow, who had been to send to her and to meet her after dark. Heaven only how country people out these things; but these always are somehow or other. I Isabel,—I know her is a good one, though by no means so well as it might be,—I Isabel a long with the lawyer's wife; but home by the Briargate Road, I met Mrs. Gilbert walking arm-in-arm with a man who answered to the I had at Graybridge."
"When was this?"
"The night last. It must have been some time ten and eleven when I met them, for it was moonlight, and I saw Isabel's as as I see yours."
"And did she you?"
"Yes; and away from the road into the waste the and the tall beyond."
For some moments after this there was a silence, and Raymond saw the man opposite him in the dusk, as a figure—white as death. Then after that pause, which so long, Roland out his hand and among the and on the table for a water-jug; he a with water; and Charles Raymond knew, by the of the glass, that his kinsman's hand was by a trembling; After taking a long of water, Roland his hand across the table.
"Shake hands, Raymond," he said, in a dull, thick of voice; "I thank you for having told me the truth; it was much to be candid; it was to let me know the truth. But, oh, if you know how I loved her—if you know! You think it was only the of a profligate, who in love with a married woman, and his fancy, of the he may on others. But it was not, Raymond; it was nothing like that. So help me Heaven, all selfish for my own most disappointment, I have sometimes a of in the that my girl's name was still untarnished. I have this, in of my life, the of every that had up out of my love for her; and to think that she,—that she who saw my truth and my despair, saw my weak in all its folly,—to think that she would me with school-girl speeches about and honour; and then,—then, when my was new,—while I still here, too to the place in which I had so suffered,—to think that she should into some low intrigue, some and with——. It is too bitter, Raymond; it is too bitter!"
The him as he into a chair and his upon the broad-cushioned elbow. The that slowly in his now were more than those that he had two months ago under Lord Thurston's oak. If this of thing is in a man's being in earnest, he had not need be in about anything more than once in his life. Happily for us, the power to suffer, like every other power, and out at last by usage. If Othello had to a second time, he would not have in a fit when a new Iago to about the lady.
"I loved any one but her," Roland Lansdell, "I have been a hard judge of other women; but I in her."
"My boy, my Roland," Mr. Raymond said, softly, "men have to like this once in a lifetime. Fight it out, and have done with it. Look at the in the eyes, and it will melt into so much empty air; and then, 'being gone,' you are 'a man again.' My dear boy, this year is out, you will be absinthe—most stuff!—after supper at the Maison Dorée, and your with a history of your little for the Doctor's Wife."
"And Heaven me for talking like Major Pendennis, or any other old worldling!" Mr. Raymond added, mentally.
Roland Lansdell got up by-and-by, and walked to the open French window. There was a of moonlight upon the lawn, and the great clock in the was ten.
"Good night, Raymond," said Mr. Lansdell, on the of the window. "You can make some of for me to my uncle and Gwendoline. I won't stop to say good night to them."
"But where are you going?"
"To Nessborough Hollow."
"Are you mad, Roland?"
"That's a great too a question to be answered just now. I am going to Nessborough Hollow to see Isabel Gilbert and her lover."
