Woman He Loved No Ve 01 Home

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THE WOMAN HE LOVED.


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THE WOMAN HE LOYED.

A. N. HOMER

She was his life,The ocean to the river of his thoughts,Which terminated all.Byron.

IN THREE VOLUMES.VOL. I.


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PKINTED BTKELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, W.C,

AND MIDDLE MILL, KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.


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i CONTENTSCHAP. PAGB9 I. In the Eden Gtardens .... 1; II. The Bungalow..... 17

in.His Vow ...... 49IV. Under the Cliffs of Devon ... 69V. An Unnatural Mother .... 102VI. No Man Shall Rob Me of You and Live 115

^ VII. Why not return ? . . . . . 140^ VIII.Warned in vain .... 157r IX.The Simoom . . . . .166-3:\^ X. From the Simoom's Deck . . . 1914 XI.The Breakwood Fete . . . .211


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THE WOMAN HE LOVED.


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THE WOMAN HE LOVED.CHAPTEE I.

IN THE EDEN GARDENS.

The Indian sun had set and night hadshrouded in sultry gloom the splendid capitalof the Bengal Presidency. The heavy-wingedadjutants were perched, like motionless sablespectres, on every convenient buttress andangle of the grand and stately buildings setapart for the home of the representatives ofEngland's greatness. But no sound issuedfrom the huge precincts of the Viceregalresidence : scarce a lio^ht illumined the lonoflines of windows which perforated its front-age. The Viceroy was away at Simla, andfor the time being Calcutta was compara-tively speaking empty ; most of the wealthy

VOL. I. 1


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2 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.inhabitants had gone to the hills in quest ofthe cooler, more bracing air, not caring toface the fiery glow of the summer sun in thecity on the plains. Yet to an unaccustomedeyeto one who did not know the townthe place seemed gay enough. Wanderingthrough the shady groves of the Edengardens, and listening to the strains of themilitary band, paced crowds of people, con-versing in many languages and dialects andclad in a multiplicity of long, loose-robed,white and parti-coloured Eastern garbs. Out-side the gardens, on the Esplanade, numerouswell-appointed carriages moved slowly upand down, followed closely by the Hinduservants busied in flicking from the horses'flanks those pests to Anglo-Indian life, theswarming myriads of mosquitoes. Many ahalf-stifled curse found vent in Hindoostaneeas a two-horsed gharry drove recklessly inand out amidst the long lines of vehicles,tenanted by three or four jolly-looking mid-shipmen, scorning music for that eveningat least, and bent upon going for a spree.


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IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 3Choked with laughter, and heedless of careas they were of life and limb, they went theirway regardless of the scowling visages ofthe red-turbaned chokedars, dressed in theirwhite uniforms and armed with truncheonslike European police.

Not a stone's-throw from the lively, fashion-able promenade were moored long lines ofmerchant vesselsclipper ships side by sidewith clumsy-looking wooden hulks of everyconceivable rig and possible nationality.Tall, taper spars, mazy networks of rigging,short, thick funnels of steamers from everyquarter of the globe, were reflected in thedeep, rapid current of the Hooghly. Underthe glare of the gas-lamps, on the closely-shaven turf, near the band-stand, a youngfellow stood unattended. To judge him byhis figurewhich was, if anything, over sixfeethe had reached manhood, for he wasfirmly set up and, though thin, his broad,square shoulders and deep chest showedsigns of great strength. But as he turned,and' peered anxiously at the moving mass of


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4 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.people, as if in quest of some one, the lightshone on an almost boyish face. The featuresmany would have considered as not strictlyhandsome. Yet, had they looked again, theywould have been forced to admit that truthand a brave, open-hearted, loving candourbeamed in his dark-blue eyes. That therewas no lack of decision to be traced in hiswell-cut mouth and strongly-moulded chin.They would have decided, had they beenphysiognomists, that the face before thembelonged to one capable of doing and daringmuch, of loving long and deeply, yet haughtyand passionate withal.

Confound him why there he is, afterhaving kept me waiting full half an hour,he muttered, as his scrutiny seemed to havebeen rewarded by a sight of the man hesought. Very nearly knocking over an old,bent-backed, wrinkled-visaged Parsee in hissudden effort to overtake his friend, he calledout

Geoffrey Carelesse Where the deuceare you off to ?


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IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 5 Oh, there you are. Just looking for you,

Clarencourt.Time you were, responded Clarencourt.

You can't keep an appointment, Geoffrey,my boy. Never could, and never will, eh ?No matter ; tell me all about yourself. Wehadn't a moment, you know, last night. Butwho would have thought of meeting you, andout here, too, in the ' City of Palaces 'thefirst man to tumble across to be GeoffreyCarelesse, my old chum and school com-panion Well, it is odd.

Those words, spoken lightly by GerariClarencourt, recalled much. He was an onlychild ; his father having died when he wasquite a boy. And his mind at that moment,as he recollected the face of Carelesse as hehad last seen it, by a rapid current of thoughtbrought back to him his past, remembrance ofhis mother, of his home in southern Devon,where she lived and where he had been bornthe home of his childhood. His eyes filledwith a soft, gentle light as he bent them uponhis friend of bygone years, and said


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6 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.Wliat news of yourself, Carelesse? Has

the world treated you well ? I recollectthe wish of your heart was to enter thearmy.

And it has been fulfilled. I contrived,I never quite knew how, to squeeze throughthe examinations ; not with any great credit,nevertheless sufficiently well to pass, but onlyat my last shot. What I should have donehad I failed I don't know : enlisted in theCape Mounted, or bought a couple offlannel shirts and a pickaxe and gone outto the diggings. But here I am, sound,wind, limb and eyesight, and better than all,gazetted to the 10th Ees^iment of the Line.You see, I am not like you, Gerard, withplenty of the needful. The coin my olduncle sees fit to send me is about enoughto keep me in cigars. But to inquisitivemammas I repeat the oft-told tale that I haveprospects ; and by good luck I hope to geton.

Geoffrey Carelesse, in height, build, appear-ance, in short, everything, was just the very


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IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 7reverse to Clarencourt, who was severaliiiclies the taller of the two. But thoughcertainly not good-looking, and possessed ofshort - cropped, decidedly carroty - colouredhair, and even a nose which could not becalled by any other name than a snub, helooked smart and soldierly in his undressuniform, and no one could have mistakenhim for anything but a gentleman. Butwhat told most in his favour was that, as arule, he was a general favourite with thewomen, and one must admit that sometimesthey are a trifle eccentric in their tastes.

By the way, Clarencourt, I must offeryou a score of apologies for not inquiringsooner ; but how is your mother, or ratherhow was she when you heard last ? A shade of annoyance passed overClarencourt's face, like a cloud, whichmelted next instant into something approach-ing an expression of sorrow. For a momenthe seemed as if about to confide somesecret trouble to his friend, but the lookfled and left him cold and calm, almost


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8 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.stern, as he drew himself up stiffly andsaid :

I thank you, Carelesse ; when last I heardfrom her she was well.He did not add what was the truth, that

he had received no communication from heras yet. And a mail had come in since hearrived.

But you ; why have I had no word forall these months ? continued Clarencourt.

Well, to tell you the truth, old boy, Iam the very deuce at writing. Can't bear it.Simply detestable. No end of people aredown on mesay I'm the worst correspon-dent living, and all that sort of thing.I suppose I am, but I can't help it.

Yes, I know it is one of your pet aver-sions, but had half hoped you would makean exception in my favour and drop me aline sometimes for the sake of past days.

And so I will, old boy; ; at least I willtry to.Oh, don't trouble, that is unless you

really care ; but friends, worthy of the


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IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 9name, are few and far between, addedClarencourt with a touch of sadness in therich mellow tones of his voice.

Now, Clarencourt, you are getting crusty.You don't mean to tell me that already youhave found the world hollow and heartless.

I won't say that ; perhaps it would betoo sweeping an assertion for one with sopoor an experience as myself to makebutcold, yes.

Well, there is one thing for which youcan thank your lucky stars, and that isthat you can afford to snap your fingers inthe face of what you term the world ingeneral. For you have that which it wor-ships. That which is potent and powerfulenough now-a days to bring it at your willgrovelling like a beaten cur, to your feet.You have gold.

And I would exchange the little Ipossess, gladly, forbut pshaw Why, Pat,what fools we are Just fancy you and Imoralizing. It is too absurd. Let us changethe subject.


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10 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.Well, you liave not told me yet wliat

has brought you out here.' The wish to travel, to see new sights

and scenesfresh faces. Nothing more.Why, Clarencourt, you speak as a man

might, were he a score of years your senior.Time enough for you to get grumpy whenanother half century has passed.

Ah, well, that is as it may be, but, Care-lesse, tell me, who is that ?

Where, man, whom do you mean ? Itis like looking for a needle in a hay-stack.

There, straight in front of us ; next tothat tall chap with the huge turban.

By Jove, deuced lucky you spotted her.It is easy to tell that you are a strangerhere. Not to know Ada Devereaux. Theprettiest woman in Calcutta. And, egad, ifthat isn't old Steele, our colonel, with her,too. He is always dancing attendance. Itis about time he left the women alone.You know her ? inquired Clarencourt,eagerly.

Eather, replied Carelesse gaily. And


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IX THE EDEN GARDENS. 11then in an undertone to liimself lie mut-tered, Pity I ever did, thougli. But whydo you ask ? he continued, addressingClarencourt.

Because I should like to know her too.Introduce me, will you ? The request wasspoken quietly enough, but in a low deter-mined tone which to Carelesse's ear soundedvery like a command. And there was ahaughty and imperious ring in Clarencourt'svoice as he made it, which fairly threw theother off his guard.

Oh, certainly, if you wish it, he replied,but lightly as he spoke, the words had barelyleft his lips before he repented of having saidthem.

Thanks.You shall talk to Steele too. Come

along. In another moment they hadthreaded their way tlirough the crush andthe magic words of introduction had beenspoken. Clarencourt never heard theminafter years never even remembered anythingthat he had said durin


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12 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.evening. For an instant, so long as he couldwithout appearing rude, he looked upon theface of the lady before him. He could seethat she was beautiful, even in that dim anduncertain light, for they stood in shadow. Butit was not her good looks which dazzledhim, and seemed to chain him spell-boundfor those brief seconds. It was the expressionin her eyes as they met his, and then droppedbefore his steady glance. He was only recalledto himself by hearing her address him

So glad to meet you, Mr. Clarencourt.You are a stranger here, I think, for I do notremember having seen you before.

Yes. I only landed three days ago.And you like Calcutta ? So far, immensely.Ah, wait till you know it as well as I do.

You will wish yourself back in the oldcountry.

Why? Do you?Yesat least, sometimes. But tell me,Mr. Clarencourt. Did you come straight outhere from England ?


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IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 13' Yes ; I left Southampton on the third of

last month.In what line ? By one of the P. & 0. steamers.Ah. I came by the British India. Colonel

Devereaux, my husband, preferred them toany other boats. Gerard Clarencourt gasped.The woman at his side married Could itbe possible ? Somehow the thought had notentered his head.

TI had no idea you were Married, you would say. Then you didnot catch my name.

No, pardon me, I failed to.Oh, it is of no consequence. I am sure I

seldom do know who I am talking to at firstBut yours is a striking one. Devereaux ismine.

And Colonel Devereauxhe is Dead, interrupted Mrs. Devereaux softly.

There was an awkward pause and Clarencourtfelt that he had unwittingly blundered, perhapsthrough his own clumsiness probed a hiddenwound. But somehow, for the life of him he


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14 THE AYOMAN HE LOVED.could not tell why, he felt relieved. And yet,had he vexed her ? was she offended ? Theyhad wandered away to some distance from theband and the groups of promenaders, andwere almost alone. The tiny miniature lake,round which grew clumps of cocoa-nut palms,tree ferns, and the long pointed leaves of thebanana, lay before them at their very feet. Andthe high ' pointed roof of a pretty Burmesepagoda rose amidst the masses of foliage. Hecould not speak first. The calm peacefulstillness soothed his overheated fancy. But inanother moment he knew that all his fears ofhaving given offence were wholly groundless.

Yes, she murmured gently ; I am allalone now. The rich full tones of her voicewere full of pathos ; at least so thought GerardClarencourt. i\o[ain he met her gaze and feltthat look thrill strangely through everynerve of his body. Ah look again, GerardClarencourt ; look again, and if you could readthrough and sift feminine arts and wiles, youwould learn that before you stands a womanof the world, a finished coquette ; heartless,


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IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 15

but a perfect actress and mistress of the gameshe knows best and has studied most : tobreak men's hearts. The next instant she hadturned and discovered that they were quitealone.

Why, where are Mr. Carelesse andColonel Steele ? They must have missed ussomehow. Let us return. It is late and theyare positively playing ' God KSave the Queen.'Those men handle their instruments ex-quisitely. Will you find my carriage, Mr.Clarencourt ?

Clarencourt expressed his willingness andpleasure to execute the task in well chosenlanguage. And in a few minutes more theywere before the entrance to the Esplanade.Mrs. Devereaux's open barouche was easilyfound. The liveried servants lowered the steps,and before he could well realize it, she hadseated herself.

Mr. Clarencourt, you will come and dinewith me ? Where are you living ?

At the Great Eastern.Ah, close to my house. I shall send you


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16 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.a card and Mr. Carelesse too. So delighted tosee you. Good-bye. In another instant thewell-gloved hand was withdrawn, and GerardClarencourt had raised his hat and watchedthe cloud of dust which hid from his sightthis woman in whom, spite of himself, he feltalready a strange interest.

^r-


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CHAPTEE II.THE BUNGALOW.

As Gerard Clarencourt had said, he had takenup his quarters at the Great Eastern Hotel,.and his rooms there were as comfortable asapartments in hotels generally are, and likethem in most respects. He did not occupy asitting-room as he preferred to breakfast inthe coffee-room and dine at the table-d'hote,so he merely occupied his own particularsanctum, near which his servant was accom-modated, for he had left England with hisvalet. At first he had been greatly averse tothis arrangement, as he thought it would be a,useless expense as well as a great nuisance^and for many reasons he would far ratherhave travelled alone. But Mrs. Clarencourthad expressed her wish on the subject inhaughty measured tones, and Gerard had

VOL. I. 2


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THE BUNGALOW. 19

the gloomy valley which lay between themnow, should he feel the caress of that hand,loving and gentle as a woman's, or the touchof those kindly lips which had pressed hisinfant brow with many a good-night kiss andwhispered blessing. And so he had lookedfor love from his mother and found a voicewhich chilled him. Still he had striven towin her affection, but in vain. And if he hadever needed proof that he had it not, he hadreceived it in that farewell kiss with which shehad brushed his forehead lightly as though hehad been leaving her but for a day. Andyet she could not tell when she gave it that itwas not the last. He had forced back thetears of love and wounded pride that shemight not see his weakness, and had left thehouse with the dull leaden feeling at his heart,the choking sensation in his throat whichwould come, because he knew now that noneloved him. Thus he had gone forth deter-mined to trouble her but little with hispresence who could treat him so lightly.The Great Eastern was tolerably full, and

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THE BUNGALOW. 21 Haven't troubled me much yet.Can that be so, sir ? They didn't bite

me much aboard ship ; but here they justsettles upon one with their nasty pings, andas persistent as if they meant to chawone up.

Sorry for that, Wilson, but you'll getused to them. Bring me some chocolate andsee about my breakfast ; you know what toorder, and tell them to have it ready at teno'clock sharp.

Wilson drew himself up as stiff as a poker.His regard for his young master approacheda sort of blind worship, but he never pre-sumed. If he chose to address him he wasgratified, but he knew his place.

Yes, sir, he said briefly, and left theroom. As Clarencourt awoke that morninghe became oddly impressed with the ideathat his life had undergone some changewithin the last forty-eight hours. Thethought had forced itself upon his fancy,and he had not tried to root it out, or toask himself the reason for its existence. He


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22 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.cared not, he only felt that it was there.Since he had arrived in Calcutta he knewhimself to be a different man. Before thenhe had taken all things as a matter ofcourse ; he had no trouble, save one, andthat was not ever present to him. Heforgot. To a certain extent he enjoyedhimself, and any excitement which camein his way he entered into with a fairamount of zest, but nothing had speciallycrossed the monotonous current of hisyoung life to divert it from its ordinarycourse, or the well-worn channels in which ithad run in his every day existence, far awayin his pleasant Devonshire home. N o placeon earth could have been like it to himthrough the innocent years of his life. Butit had lacked that which he had neededmost, love, and the charm had been broken.Eoused from his reverie by the entrance ofWilson carrying his chocolate and a coupleof letters, which had been brought up fromthe post-office where he had directed themto be sent on leaving England, he took


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THE BUNGALOW. 23them from his hands, emptied the contentsof the cup and then broke the seals. Bothbore the London post-mark. The first, hesaw at a glance, was from the familysolicitor, and was purely relating to busi-ness matters ; but the other attracted hisattention more closely, and was penned ina sho^ht thouo^h firm 2[irlish hand, and ranas follows :

''Dear Gerard, You see I am going to keep my

word, and write, though I feel sure younever expected me to do so. We havebeen in town for the the last few weeks,and I am lons^imy to return to Sidcombe.Mother tells me that I am quite different togirls of my own age, as above all things Iought to care for concerts and theatres andall the other amusements, which are certainlylegion in this great place. But I don't. Ilove fine music, but if I must barter all Ihave left behind in exchange for it, thengive me dear old aiorious Devon. You will


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24 THE W0:MAN HE LOVED.laugh at me, I know. How lonely youmust feel, so far away from home. Do tellme when you think of returning. Will itbe before Christmas ? What wonderful ac-counts I shall expect to hear about Indiawhen I do see you May you returnsafely is the wish of

Your true friend, Lilian Fabyn.

How o'ood and kind of her to rememberme With most, it is out of sight out ofmind, he added, remembering the completesilence on the part of his mother. Ibelieve Lilian is the only friend I have inthe world, he continued musingly. And Iwould wager anything that she is true.With those brief words he tossed the noteaside, but he little knew how near the truththey were when he spoke them so care-lessly. And now for my tub, and thento dress as quickly as possible. Confoundit, how late I am he said to himself as heheard a clock chiming^ the half-hour. Li


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THE BUNGALOW. 25a wonderfully short space of time lie hadcompleted his toilette, and having finishedbreakfast strolled out with the intentionof going through some of the bazaars. Thesun was insufierably hot, and before he hadgone far he turned into a tobacconist's store,ostensibly for the purpose of getting a goodcheroot, but in reality to escape the blind-ing glare. He bought and paid for two orthree boxes, ordering them to be sent tothe hotel. Then, as he was standing onthe steps, puffing away at a crooked look-ino^ little Burmah, a thous^ht struck him.He would do as he had done yesterday,and to-day he might be more successful.So summoning a gharry he ordered thedriver to go through the Circular Eoad,and on by the best way he could to FortWilliam. It was past Mrs. Devereaux'shouse that Gerard wished to drive. He hadnot seen her since she had pressed his hand,and bid him good-bye outside the Eden gar-dens. And he had gone there since, and hadwatched for her carriage midst the moving


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26 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.mass of others, and sought her face and formin vain. She had not been there. Then latein the night he had wandered aimlessly untilthe moon had risen high, and its pale coldrays had revealed to him a group of jackals,which scudded on only a few score yardsahead of him, scared by the sound of hisfootfall on the dried-up, sun-scorched herb-age as he took his way across the Madhaunback to his hotel in the still hot, sultry night,dejected and cast down, weary and dissatis-fied. As he was borne briskly along on thepresent occasion he puzzled his brains forreasons to account for her silence. Whyhad she not appeared again at the band ?And what was the reason for not writing ?She had said she would, and she had failed tokeep her word. Then again the thouglit oc-curred to him that perhaps there was the possi-bility that he had offended her by his bluntness.The fact was that he was altogether unreason-able. As the four-wheeled gharry bore himabreast of the bungalow which he had learnedby cautious inquiry was hers, he anxiously


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THE BUNGALOW.- 27scanned its white front. No, her figure was notto be seen at any of the many windows whichnestled under the verandah, half hidden by talltree ferns, Cape jasmine, clematis with whiteand purple flowers, creepers, and other tro-pical foliage. They had passed the buildingin a moment and he sank back, annoyed, andjust the least bit put oat with himself forevincing so much interest in one, almost a totalstranger to him.

Perhaps Carelesse can throw some lighton the matter ; she may have written tohim, he muttered, as he lounged back, andsuffered himself to be borne swiftly in thedirection of Fort William. At length theyturned down on to the Esplanade, anddrove along almost abreast of PrincepsGhaut. Before reaching the entrance to thehuge and massive piece of engineering skill,so vast in size as to be quite capable ofcontaining all the white population of Cal-cutta, Clarencourt got out, paid and dis-missed the conveyance, and then souglit theofficers' quarters.


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28 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. Can I see Lieutenant Carelesse ? he

inquired of the first man he saw. Yes, sir ; will you please follow me ?

returned he. '' He is in there, sir, he con-tinued as they arrived before the entranceto a room, which was closed, Who shall I

T 5 5say, sir ? Mr. Clarencourt, answered Gerard. Glad to see you, Clarencourt ; make

yourself comfortable, and try that chair. Ihad it made especially for myself, saidCarelesse, as he entered,

Thanks, but why did you not look meup as you promised yesterday ? I neverthought that you would fail to come.

No, neither did I, my dear fellow, butit was all owins^ to that old brute Steele. Hepiled on some extra duties which I had toattend to, replied Carelesse, who in reaUtywas framing a plausible excuse to accountfor his non-appearance. Awfully sorry, butcould not help it, you see.

Oh, no of course you couldn't ; but whyis he a brute ? Not a favourite of yours, eh ?


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THE BUNGALOW. 29 As I with him, so he with me, laughedCarelesse. Why ? Oh, he's a bully and a martinet combined,

arrogant, supercilious and overbearing inthe extreme, and except by men of hisown gradethe only way by which hejudges of an equal, I believethoroughlydisliked in the service.

Eather an unpleasant character to bebrought into close contact with.

By Jove, I should think he is answeredCarelesse, warming to the subject. Ofcourse this is entre nous, but fellows whohave had the ill-luck to have served underhim long, tell me that they have tried everypossible device to bring him up before acourt-martial ; but he has always been ableto hold his own and score against them sofar. He is too artful by a long chalk ;Garrick of ours simply hates him.

Who is he f Oh, a capital fellow ; did some plucky

things in the last campaign we had against


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30 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.the Afghans. Just got his companyasbrave as a lion, my boyI shall introduceyou some time. But now, about yourself ?What have you been doing since I saw you ?

Very little. I haven't even troubledmyself to present half-a-dozen letters ofintroduction to people here.

Ah, indeed said Carelesse, eyeing himjealously, but only for an instant, for hechanged his front, and Clarencourt had nochance of observing the look. What hewished to know he intended to discover byjudicious means, so as not to betray hisown interest in the subject. Fancy yourcoming down here on a deuced hot morninglike this mid-day too ; why most of us goin for a quiet siesta.

I drove, replied Clarencourt. Of course you did, but what a rude

beggar you must think me. Here have Ibeen jawing away, forgetting that you mustbe as thirsty as a lime-kiln. Help yourself;there's brandy and soda, some claret, andcheroots which I can swear by.


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TEE BUNGALOW. 31 Thanks, answered Gerard, pouring out

a bumper of soda, dashed with cognac,and taking a long deep pull. I did feeljust a shade done up ; this heat does tryone at first.

By-the-by, where the deuce did youtake 3'ourself off to after I introduced youto Mrs. Devereaux ? asked Geoffrey, cominground to what he was dying to know.

The very question I was going to ask3^ou. We strolled on, and Mrs. Devereauxhappened to glance back, and could discoveryou nowhere.

Why, Steele and I were buttonholed bysome men, and when we looked round youwere gone. Steele was as crusty as theymake 'em, and left me in an awful temper.Of course he said nothing, but I could seehe was riled at having had his tcte-a-teteinterrupted. What Carelesse did notremark was far more to the point ; that hehad been affected by the same blow, andthat a spirit of distrust had found its wayinto his heart towards his friend, and that


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32 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.had been the reason why he had not kepthis appointment and called upon him ashe had promised. It may seem odd, butit is nevertheless a fact, that generallyspeaking two people, more especially men,who are intimate, and who both chance tobe attracted by the same woman, seldomsucceed in altogether hiding their thoughtsfrom each other ; at least, not as a rule, orfor long, no matter how reticent they maybe. The same instinctive feeling of jealousywhich had entered Carelesse's mind hadalready established itself in Clarencourt's.

Have you seen her since ? inquiredCarelesse, as he singled out a fresh cheroot.

No, how should I, my dear fellow rHave you ? asked Gerard quietly.

No, nor heard from her either.Why, does she write to you ? Oh, only a card sometimes to ask me

up to tiffin if we don't happen to meet.Then he knows nothing, thought

Clarencourt, and there can be no goodin mv mentioning to him her remarks to


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THE BUNGALOW. 33

me about dining. The demon of envypossessed him, and so he quietly drew inhis horns and said nothing more on thesubject.

Where do you intend to go to afteryou leave here ? inquired Carelesse.Haven't the faintest idea. I may goup country, but am quite undecided asyet.

Well, you'll mess with us to-night, andthen I can introduce you to Garrick andall our fellows.

Thanks ; I rather dread your green-eyed monster of a colonel.

Oh, you need not mind him ; he'll verylikely not turn up.Thank you all the same, but I think Iwill hold myself excused, if you will permitme, answered Clarencourt rather stiffly. Ihave got no end of letters to write for nextmail, but another day I shall be most happy.

As you wish, of course, my dear fellow.Then when shall I see you again ?

Come and look me up to-night if youVOL. I. 3


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34 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.have nothing better to do, say nine-thirty.We can have a smoke and a chat over oldtimes.

Very good, I'm your man.Until then, au revoir,

Clarencourt turned on his heel, and half-an-hour later was back at his hotel, holdingin his hand a tiny scented billet-doux. Itwas brief and precise, so I venture to give it

Dear Mr. Clarencourt, If 3^ou can contrive to favour mewith the pleasure of your society at dinnerto-night (seven-thirty), upon so short a notice,I shall be delighted to see you. Need I addthat this is quite a friendly invitation.

Yours very truly, Ada Devereaux.

Dilnapoor, Calcutta.

What pleasure those few^ short lines gavehim, and how he studied the signature, thebold free hand in which it was written, andre read it again and again before finally con-


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THE BUNGALOW. 35signing it to his breast-pocket Yes, lieshould see her once more, and this time notmidst the dusk of evening, which had hidher face from him so that the one glimpsehe had had of it was due to the fitful un-certain gleam of the lamps, and with alleyes on him. No, now he should look uponher under more favourable circumstances andjudge for himself whether his sight had mis-led him or no. And yet it could not bethat he loved her. Their meeting had onlyextended over the space of, say half-an-hour,and in those few hurried moments, whenthey had talked on purely conventionalsubjects, it would have been impossible forhim to have formed the slightest estimationof her character. She might be opposed tohim in every way ; a thousand and oneidiosyncrasies of temperament might inter-pose between them to check the course oflove, to nip and shrivel up, before ever it hadtime to grow into a passion, the feeling, whichas yet could only be one of interest, alreadyawakened in him. Had he been ten years

y-2


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36 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.older, and become what is termed a man ofthe world, he would have experienced noneof the restless expectancy, and none of thealmost boyish desires which made him longfor the hands of the clock to move a thou-sand times more swiftly, and caused him toscan the face of his watch, and think thattime to him had never seemed so utterly andhopelessly long. No ; had he borne theunefiaceable stamp which marks the manwho has seen much, and the soft, gentleedges of whose nature have been graduallyrounded off by close and changeful contactwith life's human streama contact, more-over, from which it is impossible to escapewithout contamination, for though there may.be the good, there certainly is the bad, andfaith and trust in the mass of surging wrest-ling mortals is not to be brought about bya thorough knowledge of themhe wouldhave evinced nothing more than a listless,well-bred curiosity, prompted probably bythe desire to discover whether this werenot a new snare flung across his path, like


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THE BUNGALOW. 37the old ones so terribly fraught with evil,when he had believed them good and pure ;so cruelly unworthy when he had placedunhesitatingly his love and honour in theirhands, only to have it ruthlessly flung backupon him. It might have been betternay, it would have been had GerardClarencourt thus lived and learnt before hechanced to meet Ada Devereaux ; but nonecessity could have existed in that caseto write these lines. At length he threwhimself on a sofa and read, and so muchdid the book interest him that he forgotall, even Ada Devereaux. It was typical'of his quick, impulsive nature, easily ledby a kindly loving word, but as difficultto control or direct by force or brutality.Wilson roused him up at last by abruptlyentering to ask if there were any letters tobe posted.

Yes, four ; there they are on the table,answered Clarencourt, flinging the noveldown and yawning. Then he suddenly re-collected his enorao^ement with Carelesse.


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38 THE WOMAN HE LOVEDWhat could lie do? It would be impos-sible to see him. There was no likelihoodof his returning early enough to keep theappointment. He could not give up hischance of meeting Mrs. Devereaux thatwas out of the question. Eapidly the un-pleasant position in which he was placedpassed through his mind. Then he decidedCarelesse must go to the w^all. He wouldwrite him a polite note, expressing his regret, and explaining the matter so far ashe was able, but he would make no allusionas to where he was going. Wilson couldtake it down to the barracks. Seating him-self at a table, he wrote a few lines ofapology, and directed the envelope to Care-lesse. Then he ranof the bell, which waspromptly answered by his servant.

I want you to give this letter to Lieu-tenant Carelesse. He is quartered at FortWilliam. You know your w^ay ?

Not quite sure, sir, but I can in-quire.

Oh, vou cannot make a mistake, any one


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THE EUNGALOW. 39will tell you ; see that he gets it as soon aspossible.

Yes, sir.And, Wilson ; I may not be in until late ;

don't sit up for me.''Very good, sir, replied the man in soabsent a tone that Gerard looked up, and

caught a wistful, yearning expression on hiskindly, honest face.

Is there anything that you wished to say tome ? he asked. Wilson re-entered the room,and closed the door, which he had heldajar, advancing towards his young masterwitli the familiarity of a tried and trustedservant.

Beggin' your pardon, sir, but have youhad any word yet from Clifford's Wood ? Icouldn't keep longer from askin' you, Mr.Gerard.A shadow, which he could not concealfrom the piercing eyes of the other, crossedGerard's face. The inquiry had touched theweak nerve in his nature. Clifford's Wood wasthe name of his home ; but he recovered him-


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40 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.self almost immediately, and said, with aforced smile

No, not yet ; probably next mail willbring some news. Now leave me, Wilson,and mind, don't wait for me to-night.A look of deep gloom and disappointmentwas visible on the man's face, as he went his

way, his heart too full to make an intelligiblereply ; but, once out of his master's hearing,the pent-up words broke forth.

Next mail, poor lad; she'll not write,the heartless hussy That I should say suchwords of her But she'll be gaddin' aboutLondon, 111 be bound ; carin' for any one elsebut her own flesh and blood. Such womendon't deserve to be mothers. Her only child,too. And Mr. Gerard to be in the power ofone as treats him so

Alone with himself, Gerard dressed leisurely,and bestowed more than ordinary attentionupon his usually fastidious toilette. Histhick, short-cropped brown hair, shot withthe faintest tinge of chestnut, was brushedcarefully aside from off his low broad fore-


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THE BUNGALOW. 41head, and for the last time he peered in theglass, which reflected a face few women wouldhave considered aught but handsome, andmany an one would not have cared to scorn.Young it certainly w^as, and as yet thedepths of his dark blue eyes wore two ex-pressions good to look upon truth andhonesty. It was time to go, and he wentdownstairs, and entered the gharry whichwas in waiting for him, directing the manwhere to drive to with a smile on his frank,boyish features. The distance was soon ac-complished, and a black servant flung openthe drawing - room door, and announced Clarencourt Sahib, as he ushered him intoa large, lofty apartment, richly furnished,but, save for a few soft, bright coloured rugs,ohjets d'ari of Eastern manufacture, and theheavy waving folds of the pankah, like, in allother respects, an ordinary reception-room athome. Englishmen, wherever they go, seldomfail to carry their habits and their customswith them ; and an Anglo-Indian hugs andtreasures up his recollections of life in the old


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42 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.country, and endeavours, in most cases, tomake his foreign one resemble it as much asis in accordance with the change of cUmate.As Gerard stood and surveyed his surround-

ings, naturally enough expecting to find herwho had bee a in his thoughts so much of late,he was astonished to see no one, and wasabout to look for his conductor, to inquirewhere his mistress was, when his ears weregladdened by the rustle of a dress and thesound of a voice he knew. How do you do, Mr. Clarencourt ? Iwas about to despair of your coming, andadvancing towards him from behind someferns where she had remained hidden, AdaDevereaux extended a fair white hand, theshapely fingers of which sparkled with dia-monds, and Clarencourt, as he pressed it inhis, and looked upon her tall, voluptuous,but stately figure, from which every trace ofgirlhood and awkwardness had vanished andlost itself in the rounded outline and moresplendid magnificence of the woman, felt thathe had not deceived himself. She was a


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THE BUNGALOAY. 43blonde, with strikingly classical features, blueeyes of a turquoise hue, and bright, goldenhair coiled about her head in a way whichconcealed its masses, but enhanced thepiquant expression of her face. In the wholecourse of his short life Gerard, as he gazedat her, thought that never had he seen abeing so radiantly beautiful. She perceivedthe look and smiled in triumph as she readhim through, and saw her victory written inhis eyes. You could not think so ill of me, Mrs.Devereaux, he stammered in answer to herremark.

Not ill of you^ no but I feared that youmight have some other engagement. But doyou know, Mr. Clarencourt, I think it sostupid of people to disappoint one just at thelast moment. Colonel and Mrs. MontaguThomson were to have been here to-nightto meet you, and this afternoon, quite late, Ireceived a note requesting me to excuse them,on some slight pretext, I forget now what itwas, but you know I had no time to ask


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44 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.any one else. I thought of your friend Mr.Carelesse, but feared that he might beengaged too, so there is no one here. Shallyou mind so dreadfully dull an ordeal as atete-a-tete dinner with me ? As she askedhim, Ada Devereaux raised her head, and inher eyes, as they met his, there shone thelight and expression which she so well knewhow to assume. Before the w^itchery of thatglance older and more experienced men thanGerard Clarencourt had been forced to lowertheir colours and submit to an ignominioussurrender. She was fully aware of the potencyof its subtle charms, and she saw that in thiscase also she had not overrated its effect. Atinge of colour suffused Gerard's cheeks, andhis eyes sparkled, but in all other respects hewas calm outwardly.

Mrs. Devereaux, vou know that to be heregives me the greatest pleasure ; as for thesociety of others, if mine won't bore you Iwould far rather be without them. He spokehonestly, as he felt, and she did know it, butshe uttered a low rippling laugh.


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THE BUNGALOW. 45

Mr. Clarencourt, although I believe youare not an Irishman, that finished complimentcannot be meant, but am I to learn to treatyou as I do Mr. Carelesse? I have neverknown when he does mean what he says, so Istudiously doubt it all.Then, need I entreat you not to judge meso harshly, answered Gerard, as he offeredhis arm and felt a nervous thrill of pleasureas her hand rested within it, and he led her toa seat at the daintily laid table, resplendentwith silver, and decorated in a style of taste-ful elegance with rare and beautiful flowers.The dinner passed off with the usual chit-chat,and the servants were watchful and attentiveas only blacks can be; the secret of it isno doubt that they know their social positionand are not forced out of the sphere inwhich nature intended them to move. Theydon't ape their betters and have learnt thelesson of obedience. Once Gerard remarkedduring the meal

You like flowers, Mrs. Devereaux.I am intensely fond of them. I spend


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46 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.half my spare time in attempting to growtliem to perfection. You shall see my garden,and I think you will agree with me that itis lovely. Later in the evening, as Gerardhung over her at the piano and turned thepages of her music, she looked up andsaid :

Are you fond of singing, Mr. Clarencourt?for hitherto she had played nothing but in-strumental music, and Gerard had listened inadmiration as she had executed piece afterpiece, with a soft brilliancy of touch addedto a correctness of rendering and a pathoswhich held him spell-bound to her side, andhe had not thought of asking her whether shesang. I love it, he murmured simply. Then,without pausing save to strike a few boldchords, she burst into a low, sweet, passionaterefrain, and her clear soprano voice roseand fell in rich, mellow cadence, which echoedthrough the room and passed out into thenight, rousing the half-slumbering servants,as they lolled full length on their mats, under


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THE BUNGALOW. 47

the shadow of the verandah, and making themraise their listless bodies and hsten, drinkingin each sound as though it were the voice ofa houri, come to them from the visionar}^paradise of their dreams. Several songs shesang for him, and he had only stammered outhis thanks in simple phrases, for his very soulAvas enraptured by the music, and he longedto hear more of that gentle melody whichseemed to him to possess in it something ofthe supernatural.

You like to hear me sing, she said as sherose from the instrument.

I have never heard a voice I liked somuch, he answered gently. I suppose youwill think me guilty of flattery when I say so,Mrs. Devereaux, but I can assure you I meanevery word I say.

Then I will believe you, she said softlyand as he stood before her, and drank inthe subtle perfume of her golden tresses, andgazed into those eyes which seemed to him sogood and true and yet withal so lovely tolook upon, Gerard Clarencourt felt that


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48 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.

whether for good or evil, whether for weal orwoe, this woman could do with him as sheliked.


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CHAPTEE III.iiis vow.

As lie had bid her good-bye, and passed outinto the moonlit garden, he had heard herlast words as in a dream.

Come in and see me whenever you careto, Mr. Clarencourt ; we must not be strangers,you know. But so preoccupied was he thatwithout knowing it he had almost brushedwith his coat sleeve the arm of a man who

' was standing behind the trunk of a palm, andwho was regarding him with a face con-vulsed by passion and jealousy. He lookedas if he could have shot him dead, with aslittle compunction as he would have pouredthe contents of his double-barrelled breech-loader into the bodies of a brace of lucklesssnipe, to pick them up with a laugh and re-load again to continue the slaughter.

VOL. I. 4


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50 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.That man was Geoffrey Carelesso. So that was your little game, he mut-

tered, as he watched Gerard's retreatingfigure until it was hidden from him by aclump of shrubs. That was why youwanted to write letters, and refused to dinewith me. But to add insult to injury youmust try to throw me off the scent by askingme to meet you. That was your reason forsending me your infernal letter of apology,couched in friendly terms, and all so d dsuave. By heaven, I hate you Fortunate itwas that Gerard did not see or hear him, forCarelesse was half mad with temper, and mostassuredly had they met then there wouldhave been blood shed. But he was obliviousof it all. Exalted above the trivialities of hisevery day existence, into a heaven createdby his own bright unfettered imagination, heseemed to tread lightly as on air, whilewhirling through his brain in wild confusionwere her words and actions, as he strove toseparate and conjure them before him one byone, and echoing through the still night air,


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HIS VOW. 51

he seemed to hear again that glorious voice,and before him rose the form of the womanhe had left. He was happy, happier than hehad ever felt before. And yet, he couldscarce have told himself why. He had notpaused to reason or to think. He did notwant to do so. He only knew he feltstrangelo light-hearted, and it was enough.Had he been told that his joy had beenbrought about by a woman whom he scarcelyknew, and had not known, or even met, oneshort week ago, he would have laughedwith scorn. He was rich, well-clad, well-fed,well-cared for. In the middle of the road,only a few yards distant from him, moved asolitary figure. It was that of a man likehimself, but oh, how different In place ofthe wealth he was dependent upon thecharity of others, and he hungered now. Hisbody was covered by the thinnest covering ofmuslin rags, and he dragged his weary, pain-racked limbs along the dusty road, in misery.Light streamed from behind a cloud, and shoneupon his thin, worn, emaciated countenance.

42


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52 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.Great shapeless blotches of a dazzling white-ness marked his skin. This man was a lepershunned by his fellow-men, who fled from himas from a thing accursed. Because of theterrible nature of his loathsome disease, anoutcast. Doomed to a living death beforethe tomb had closed upon him. For everisolated from the world, and,dare we say it ?dare we even think it ?for a time at least, per-haps condemned and left alone by God. Howghastly, how awful What a life in deathAnd yet the same moon shone upon themboth. Dives and Lazarus were not a greatercontrast. Mes freres, think on it, and thankGod it was not your fate. Why should younot have been a leper, white as that manPBut to return to Carelesse. After Gerard haddisappeared he only waited in his hiding-place until he had been able to collect histhoughts and calm himself. Then withsteady and deliberate tread he walked up tothe door of the bungalow, and pulled the bell.

Better see her now, and hear from herown lips her perfidy, he muttered.


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HIS VOW. 61}

The wliite lady no see you, sar, replied theHindu, in answer to his request to see Mrs.Devereaux. He knew that the hour was late,and that his behaviour was anything but thatof an officer and a gentleman, yet he strodepast the servant and entered the drawing-room.Mrs. Devereaux was reclining negligently on asofa, with the mellow and subdued rays of ashaded lamp, which stood upon a low ebonytable at her side, throwing its pale radianceupon her rounded cheek. One hand sup-ported her head, the other held a novel, thecontents of which seemed to please her much,for as Carelesse entered the room, unnoticedby her, so intent was she upon her book, amellow peal of laughter broke from her lips. Well, it is irresistibly funny, she saidaloud to herself. The mirth and the sound ofher voice made Carelesse start as if bitten bya serpent, but by a powerful effort he con-trolled his feelings and crossed the roomtowards her. The noise of his footsteps wereheard by the occupant of the lounge. Atfirst she did not see him, her sight was dazzled


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54 THE WOMAN HE LO\^ED.by the sudden transition from the liglit bywhich she had read to the partial gloomwhich enveloped the rest of the apartment.Then she saw his face, and started to her feetwith surprise.

You here, Mr. Carelesse.Yes, it is I.And by what earthly right, may I ask, do

you venture here, and unannounced intrudeupon my privacy ?

Simply because I wished to see and speakwith you. I have no other excuse to offer.

Then the reason is not ample enough.Am I to be disturbed at your will and foryour pleasure ? You tamper with my patiencesorely if you think so.

Ada, listen to me for five minutes.Certainly, Mr. Carelesse ; but pray end this

absurd scene. She had sunk back into herformer seat upon the sofa, and the expressionof her face was one of splendid indifference,and well-assumed contempt. Her white teethwere clenched upon her full, red, pouting lips,as if to enable her to stifle the indignation


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HIS VOW. 5j

whicli caused her full and beautifully mouldedbosom to rise and fall under its covering oflace. Motionless she sat, her eyes flashingwith a dangerous steel-blue light, and her footbeating in quick spasmodic jerks against thepolished floor. Carelesse, as he looked, thoughtthat never had she seemed so lovely. How helonged to take her in his arms and press themouth he loved to look upon to his, in onelong passionate kiss, to know that she wastrue, and his for he cared for her better thanhis life. Then he burst forth :Why did you ask that boy Clarencourtto dine with you ? If Carelesse, as he put thequestion, thought for one moment that he waslikely to receive an answer he was very muchmistaken.

Mr. Carelesse, if you have any civil remarkto make, pray let me hear it. Have you leftall trace of the gentleman behind 3^ou at yourmess table ?

By heaven, you'll drive me mad Forw^hat good purpose did you invite him here,to dine with him alone? I suppose you are


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56 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.delighted with his graceful figure and char-mingly unsophisticated manner. Somethingnew, eh, and fancy yourself in love ?

Well, suppose I were ? Why, I would shoot him with as little

compunction as I would a cur. Each mo-ment, as Carelesse grew more and more in-furiated, and less able after every sentence tocontrol himself, Mrs,Devereaux became calmer;she saw her advantage and was too clever notto seize it. It is often so with a woman. How very heroic she murmured, asthough she were answering some trivial re-mark. Quite brave of you, she continued. The only drawback to the pleasure you medi-tate giving yourself would be the chance thathe might shoot you, unless you did it frombehind a tree.White with fury Carelesse thought it was

timxc to play his last card, but as he did itblind with wrath he robbed himself of anychance he had, or might ever have possessed ofruling Ada Devereaux's will.

See here ; do you know who I am ?


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HIS VOW. 57 Geoffrey Carelesse, I suppose, unless you

happen to be alias some one else.Shall I tell you who you are, or rather

were before you married Colonel Devereaux ? It was his turn now, and he watched every

vestige of colour desert her face, and saw herdraw her breath in quick short gasps, whileher fingers clutched the lace handkerchief sheheld, and nervously tore and crumpled it.She could scarcely articulate, so well had thearrow been directed, and so thoroughly hadits barbed point pierced the only vulnerablejoint in her armour, and forcing its way, spiteof her will, buried itself deep down in hervery heart's core. It was a cruel shot, forwhich she had been prepared in no way. Shehad been surprised and attacked from aquarter whence she least expected an assault.Against such odds, what wonder that evensheclever woman though she undoubtedlywassuccumbed for the instant ? You ; what do you know about me ? sheasked, with a sickly attempt at a smile, and afruitless effort to appear calm.


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5S THE W03IAN HE LOVED All, everything.The brief reply gave lier courage. How

sliould he know ? Here was no accusation.Terhaps he had thought by random words,based upon no foundation, to get her in hispower. He should see how miserably he hadfailed.

Everything means nothing, Mr. Carelesse.Of my past life I am not ashamed, and there isno incident in it which I would not lay barebefore the world. I do not fear its censure,and I am 'not likely to shrink before yours.But you have made a base insinuation, andbefore you quit this house to-night you shallexplain yourself.

She had recovered her nerve, and as shestared him full in the face she hissed fortheach word with withering scorn. Carelesse,as he stood before her, and saw the fury ofthe tempest he had raised, already began todoubt his power to soothe or subdue it. Thewords had scarce left his lips before he beganto regret ever having spoken. He loved her,and what if in his jealous anger he had roused


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HIS YOW. 59the storm which should recoil like the boome-rang, back upon himself, and wreck his life.What if she would not forgive him. Thethought brought great beads of perspirationto his forehead.

Ada Devereaux, he answered, and thetones of his voice were gentle ; '' there arethinofs which were better left unsaid. Don'tprobe too deep. I am passionate, I know,but let us forget what has passed, and sayno more on the subject. He could nothave made a more fatal error. To attemptto pacify, having once begun the fight,before he had taught a lesson, was absurd ;he was already crying peccavi. He hadwilfully stirred up a wasp's nest, and thenwas afraid to meet the sting. He hadlanded troops in an enemy's country, andthe first onslaught cooled his ardour andmade him long to withdraw his forces bythe best and safest roads. She saw heradvantage, and more than ever was im-pressed with the idea that she had beenalarmed without a cause. He had com-


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You wish to hear what I know ? I insist upon it.Do you remember Brunsmure Terrace,

South Kensington, and some people of thename of Dailey ?

Perfectly.Then, I am Geoffrey Dailey.How can you prove such an assertion ?

she asked in a tremulous voice and with aface from which every vestige of colourhad again fled.Very simply. I have merely assumedthe name of Carelesse at the request of myuncle, with whom I went to live soon afteryou left us. You are Ada Blanchard.Naturally enough you did not recognizeme out here and under another name ;besides, it is years since you saw me, andI was a mere boy at the time when you

II do not doubt you. And I do notdedeny your assertion. I am Ada Blan-chard. But I see no further use in prolong-ing this discussion ; if you wish to injureme


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62 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. / injure you why, Ada ; can you deemme guilty of such cowardice ? If you are not, what was your reason

for mentioning this painful subject ? Youmay have heard too, since you know somuch about me, that I was more sinnedagainst than sinning. Mr. Eagles

For heaven's sake, say no more. I knowwhat a brute he was to you, aud that hedeserted 3'ou like the black-hearted villainhe was. But, Ada, will you try to forgetall that my foolish words conveyed? Itwas jealousy which caused me to speak sohotly. She heard his voice and what hesaid distinctly, but she made no answer Itmight be better, perhaps, for her to be onthe safe side with this man. It would bea terrible expose if the whole facts of thecase were known publicly, as he had it inhis power to tell them. Society in Calcuttaw^ould not be disposed to view with a lenienteye the peccadilloes of her youth. She hadtoo many enemies, as a pretty woman,amongst those of her own sex, who envied


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her for her good looks, and who wouldgladl}^ seize and gloat over any piece ofscandal which would enable them to pickher to pieces. Besides, although she did notcare for the man the least bit in the world,it would be easy to make him think so.She well knew that he loved her, and whilethat was the case he would scarcely malignher to others. So long as she could keepup the farce she was safe from him. Finessewas clearly her game, she argued withinherself during the dead silence which hadensued between them. Carelesse was thefirst to break it.I am waiting for an answer; will you

give it me ? Can you pardon me for myharsh, unkind words ? You may judge howmuch I love you ; only the other day, bythe merest chance, I discovered who youwere. You had left your davenport open,and on it was lying a birthday book. Texamined it from pure curiosity, and I canswear to you, wdtli no wish to pry into anysecrets of yours ; on the fly-leaf I saw the


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64 THE WOMAN HE l.OVED.name of Ada Blanchard in a handwriting Irecognized only too well, for the lines werepenned by my dead sister, and the bookwas a gift from her to you. I turned tothe date of my own birthday, and thereI read my name, written in a crabbed,boyish hand, but nevertheless my own sig-nature, without doubt. The chain of evidencewas complete. Passion only caused me tospeak to you as I have done, for I sworeto keep my discovery a secret. Ada, Iloved you before I saw that book. I loveyou now. God only knows how dearly.One thing I swear, and rest assured I shallkeep this oath, whether you forgive me ornot ; whether you see fit to love me or no.Eemember my vow. No man shall rob meof you and live. There came a day whenboth recalled those words and their fatalmeaning but too vividly. Can you for-give me ? he asked in a low voice, brokenby emotion.

On one condition I will.And it is .^


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66 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.above all others, with the exception of oneor two of his own kith and kin, she wouldhave shunned, and fled from as from a pesti-lence ? Did he not knowwas he not pos-sessed of the knowledge of that one error oflier life, that had transformed herconfid-ing and trusting enough before, willing tohave staked her existence and all but herhonour rather than doubt his plighted wordinto a perfect woman of the world, unim-pressionable, cold, calculating, with a hearthard as adamant, and glorying in its posses-sion, because it enabled her to wreak hervengeance upon any of the sex whom shemight meet ? They had robbed her of her firstyoung love, had flung it back upon her as athing worthless, to be despised, to be rejected.She had never forgotten or forgiven thebrutal insult. Henceforth (she had told her-self), men should be her tools, and she hadkept faith with herself, and had uttered aringing laugh as she left them bowed downand stricken at her feet, because of the beautythey coveted passing them by unscathed. In


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HIS VOW. 67her case, the contaminating influence of earth^stouch was too plainly evident. The clay, asGod had sent it here, had been, as it ever is,pure^ but plastic, soft and yielding. Those bywhom it had been surrounded and broughtinto closest contact had fallen short in theirduties, had handled it roughly, had failed toengraft into it the good they should, but hadrather impregnated it with evil, harshness, inplace of kindness, and a wanton lack ofgoverning principle where the firm pressureof the curb should have been used. The fairsurface of that life had been dented, bruisedand cruelly battered, and it had grown up thething it was.

Well did Mrs. Devereaux know that theman at her side loved her with an adorationbeside which all other circumstances of hisbeing were as naught. Yet the knowledgedid not make her shrink from her task. Itmight endanger her own safety to release himfrom his bondage, to tell him openly andstraightforwardly that she never could beanything to him. If she trusted in his honour

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68 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.alone, and sent him away with the truthringing in his ears, he might change his roleof lover for that of her bitterest foe. No, shemust deceive him. Her line of conduct oncemarked out and decided upon, nothing wouldinduce her to alter her tactics. So shelistened to his whisperings, answering himwith honeyed sayings, and suffered his kiss,while from her very soul she loathed him.He left her that night, and sought his solitaryquarters more securely chained and manacled,if possible, than ever, her slave for life,while she retired to her chamber and unrobed,drawing the clinging folds of the mosquitocurtains about her to shield her dainty limbsfrom poisonous stings, without one prayerthat her sins might be forgiven her.

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CHAPTEE lY.UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVOX.

Across the warm, limpid waters of the Bayof Bengal, on and on, thousands of miles,away from the muddy current of theHooghly, we must wander, in thought,until before us tower the tall red cliffs ofsouthern Devon. Eide on the summit of oneof those rollers which chafe over a hiddenreef, brown and jagged, keen and merciless-as monster sharks' teeth to the tempest-tossed mariner, whose drowning agony theyhave silently witnessed, and of whose death-shriek, grim and awful, in its intensity ofanguish, their hard, tempest-covered masseshave been the cause. Pass on in safetyand land on the golden stretch of sand,where the mighty volume of foam-fleckedheaving water has hurled you, sound of


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 71from its head in terror. Some distance offa girl, with block and brush, was busysketching, and by her side lay strewn uponthe shingle odds and ends, brushes andpaints, a novel, and a mantle soft and warm,placed there, no doubt, to shield the punylimbs of the dog from harm, for amongstits folds peeped forth a silver collar, bearingthis simple inscription, Lilian Fabyn.The sun was sinking westward, and a floodof gorgeous rays streamed on the sparkling,limitless expansa which stretched away faras the eye could reach, a dim haze blendingboth sky and sea at length in one broad beltof misty colouring. Here and there the bril-liant shimmering light fell slant-wise on thebrown-sailed fishing trawler gone to itsnightly toil, and in further distance still,it lingered with its golden beams on square-rigged merchantmen outward bound to far-off climes. The cotton sails of an Americantrader looked white and glistening, clearlylimned against the horizon, as strugglingagainst a brisk head wind she beat her way


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72 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.with many a tack up channel. The scenewas one of striking beauty, and Lihan Fabyn'sface, for she it was, caught something ofthe painter's glow of enthusiasm as shestrove to transfer to her canvas, with broadbold touch, the ever-changing shadows andbright effects before her. Something of in-spiration, as she bent over her canvas, andher eyes bore that far-away expression,though sparkling with interest and enthu-siasm, that never comes save when one'sthoughts and feelings are concentrated inan art they love to follow, in a duty whereheart and soul are one, and lend their com-bined energies to aid each other in a grandeffort to complete the task begun. It waseasy to see that she was absorbed, nay,rather lost^ in her work ; added to this thewind was blowing from a direction whichcarried the sharp, snappish barks and howlsof the dog away from her, and these twocauses were sufficient to account for hismelancholy position as he wandered roundthe confined limits of his self-made prison.


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 73The spray had abeady begun to wet hisglossy coat, and piteous tears filled hisround, distended eyes, now protruding fear-fully from fright and nervous terror, whenhis young mistress stretched out her lefthand, more from habit, probably, than anyother reason, and without relinquishing herbrush, to caress her pet. It rested on thefolds of the cloak alone ; this made herlift her eyes from her drawing to look forhim. No, he was not there. Half upsettingher easel, in her anxiety and alarm at hissupposed loss, she rose to her feet, and witha hurried glance scanned the stretch of beachin front of her. He was nowhere to beseen. Turning hastil}^ with her hand raisedto shade her sight from the glinting sun-beams, she saw him.

Poor Eex, you stupid dog, how did youget there ? burst from her lips, as she tookin the whole situation at a glance.In another instant she ran fast as her lithe,graceful limbs could carry her, to the rescue,regardless of the risk to herself as she bounded,


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 75duced the dog to commit himself to thewater he so much dreaded, but then itwould have given him pain, and she woulda thousand times rather have borne it herselfthan cause any dumb animal in existence amoment's misery. So with cautious stepsshe picked her way, for the sharp, brokenedo^es of the shinorle made her clench herteeth and give vent to many an Oh oftorture, as splintered particles and roughbrown rock punctured her tender skin. Shehad sunk above her knees, and the Avaveshad splashed her dress and saturated theedges of it, but it gave her not an instant'sthought. She caught the dog in her armsand strained him to her as if he were thebest friend she had on earth. Perhaps hewas ; for while he had breath in his bodyhe would, true to his canine instincts, havefollowed her to the utmost limits of the earth,whether she were rich or poor, whethergood or bad befell her, so long as shesuffered him he would leave her for noother. A last crust he would have shared


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76 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.a morsel of, and when death overtook him,drawn his last gasp, and gazed into herface, and tried to show his delight at thetouch of the hand he loved by a last wagof his silky tail. And tell me, you whoknow life, you who have seen most of itsups and downs, where will you find suchfidelity? where will you find such an im-plicit trust ? where will you find such atrue love in a human being ? Then,assuredly, it is but seldom. It was a pleas-ing sight and fair to look upon, that gladyoung face, so hopeful, so blooming, soradiant with health and strengthtypicalof life as it sets out on its journey withthe tiny, long, soft-haired Blenheim fawn-ing about her, licking her hands, jumpingupon her lap, as she sought to arrange herdress, then wildly running around her, as ifmad with delight, and unable to testify withits gambols and short metallic barks ofpleasure, all it felt and would say if it couldhave spoken. Had some of her Londonfriends seen Lilian Fabyn just then, they


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 77might have gained an insight into hercharacter, and have understood in a measurewhy she cared for her country home, andtold them of her wish to return to it ; whyslie sickened and grew tired of the endlessround of gaiety of her first London seasonwhy she preferred a canter on her mare bythe lone sea shore, rather than a crowdedball-room or a fashionable crush. Her eyeshad not been blinded as yet ; she read itand estimated it at its worth. It was all toopainfully hollow, and its dazzling brilliancyhad altogether failed, in those few weeks ofher stay in town, to cast its glamour abouther. She had sighed, ere half of it hadpassed, for the breezy woods, and the end-less soothing sound of the waves, and hadteased her father, kind cheery-hearted SirGeorge, into returning, spite of himself andthe oft-repeated assertion which had escapedLady Fabyn's lips, that Lilian would neverbe married and that she was not to be soeasily coerced into going back to Sidcombe,when everybody was enjoying themselves


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78 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.The idea was ridiculous, and not to bethought of ; so said Lady Fabyn. If Lilianchose to ruin her prospects she must doso, but she would be no party to it. Shehad moped down at that wretched place formonths, and it would positively kill her ifshe were obliged to endure it again so soon.To the first remark, about Lilian's marriage.Sir George had replied in a thoroughlycharacteristic speech :

What matter, wife ? Time enough forthe girl yet. Think I want some muff, be-cause he has a handle to his name and plentyof rupees, but who can't ride a yard, anddoesn't know a good bit of horseflesh whenhe sees it, to come spooning my daughter ? Idon't want some white-faced boy, with a ban-dolined thing he calls a moustache, to makelove to Lilian because he is tired of sow^inghis wild oats, and his mother tells himthat really it is time he thought seriouslyof matrimony, and looked out for a niceyoung w^oman of good family with somemoney, and then puts him on to my girl


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 79SO there's an end of it. Now Lilian wouldstay up here like a shot because you wantto, but / don't ; I'm sick of it, and for onceI'm going to be a bit selfish and leave youto the tender mercies of Lady Bracebridge.I know she is dying to see youalways is,and you two hit it off together splendidly.So drop a line or, better still, keep on thehouse, if you won't find it dull, and Lilianand I will just get clear of all this dust andbother.

This little discussion had taken place aday or two after Lilian had written theletter to Gerard Clarencourt which hadfound him at the Great Eastern Hotel, Cal-cutta. Sir George had only been too de-lighted to discover some pretext for a removalback to Devonshire, and a chance word ortwo dropped by Lilian had laid the founda-tion for the excuse which they had actedupon. If some of Lilian Fabyn's admirershad chanced to have seen the little incidentof Eex's deliverance from begining to end, itstrikes me that they would have gone home.


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80 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.certainly, not less in love with her. For whatmen admire most in a woman, and I ventureto think that I am committing no blunderwhen I say so, is gentleness, tenderness, a capa-city for love, in one word womanliness, orwhat one has been taught to construe assuch.

It might be as well to look more closelyat Lilian Fabyn as she walked back alongthe beach, her brown and white coloured pethugged closely in her arms, as if she fearedto lose him again. She certainly was pretty;none could deny that ; even those whoenvied her good looks were forced to admitas much, and any unprejudiced person, whocould see straight, would probably have saidmore in her favour. Tall in figure, thoughwell-shaped, and not the least gawky.Her hair was brown, and, where the sunglinted on it, shot with golden. A neat,quiet straw hat, round which was a whiteribbon, did not conceal the fact that shehad small, straight-cut features. The mouthperhaps just a trifle large, but that blemish


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 81more than atoned for by even rows of teethof pearly hue, and firmly, though with akindly look, her full, pink lips closed overthem. Her eyes were brown as a ripe hazel-nut, and scarcely ever wore the same ex-pression long together. They danced withlaucrhter and merriment one moment, andthe next were dreamy and listless or melting,just as the thought seized her. A face whichseen once was not forgotten easily. As sheresumed her seat again before her easeland drew her colours near, her full, round,girlish figure showed to advantage, clad asshe was in a simple tight-fitting blue dress ofthin texture and clinging material. The doghad coiled himself up snugly on the cloak,,and she had strapped round his neck thesilver collar graven with her name, andresumed her brush, evidently with the in-tention of continuing her painting. Forsome few minutes she busied herself byscanning the landscape before her, but itseemed only too apparent that the beautyof the day had vanished with the sun as it

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82 THE WOIVIAN HE LOVED.sank behind the heights, which rose precipitously in some parts directly from thelevel of the beach, darkest Indian red intint, now that the shades of evening ap-proached, yet still left their summits bathedin brightest orange rays, as if loth to robthem of their borrowed beauty.Time you and I were thinking of going

homewards, Eex, she said, as she patted hisglossy coat. That little escapade of yourshas stolen the best part of the afternoon fromme, and now I shall have to make a pointof coming down here again before I canfinish this sketch. No matter, I forgive you,you old dear. Supposing some monster wavehad come, and carried you away with it,what should I have done ? I don't believeanything could console me for your loss.

Talking thus to her dog she packed up allher artistic paraphernalia into as small aspace as possible, and then, with her com-panion under her arm, crossed the roughpebbles, and began to ascend a narrow,winding path, which was cut in the cliff.


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UNDER THE CLIFES OF DEVON. 83and seemed to be the only means of reachingthe top, any more circuitous route whichmight have existed along the shore appa-rently being cut off by the rapid influx ofthe tide. Patches of yellow gorse grew thickon either hand, blue and other gay-colouredbutterflies fluttered from bush to bush, andhigh in the azure vault of heaven soaredthe larks, filling the air with their sweetringing songs. The scene w^as one of infinitepeace. The face of nature seemed to reposein that sublime and solemn stillness whichis more noticeable towards the close of theday, when all work is laid aside, when theindustrious mechanics in the country village,the shrewd man of business in the thronoinof,densely-populated city, worn and fatiguedwith his struggle to obtain gold, and thebronzed and healthy-looking farm labourer,tired with his heavy toil, lay aside theirseveral implements of labour, to seek theirfiresides and the smiles of those they love,as the shadows of evening fall, and the briefrespite comes to strengthen and arm them

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84 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.witli fresh might for the morrow's trials.And to stand on the crest of the high pre-cipitous cliffs of Sidcombe, as Lilian did,from sheer love of the beauties so lavishlyscattered around her, could bring no otherfeeling to the heart than rest. Down, fardown, hundreds of feet below her, the seabeat upon the sand, with ceaseless monotony,as if never tired of chafing against itssmooth surface. Never tired of lashing it,in its resistless strength, yet powerless tooutstep by one foot its appointed limits. Shecould scarcely discern the foam-cappedbreakers which swept over the treacherousrocks, so far was she above them, and a scoreof cable-lengths from the shore the waterlooked calm as an inland lake ; seagulls, asthey fought and croaked their harsh discor-dant cries over the cast-up morsels of offal,and pounced upon the young, unwary fish,were only the smallest specks of white.Inland, the view that met her gaze was notone whit less beautiful, or less worthy ofnotice. Green, rolling uplands, cool depths


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 85of sliade, where the oak and ash grew sideby side with the straight-stemmed fir,covering many an acre of hill and dale.And faint wreaths of bluish smoke curledupwards, and showed where the thatchedroof of a homestead lurked. The silverwindings of a river could be traced as itunfolded its snaky coils, partly hidden inplaces by a dip in the land, or by thick over-hanging larches, and the distant horizon wasmarked by a range of cone-shaped tors, high,and of a purple tinge in the ambient light.The girl drew in a deep breath of the strongexhilarating air, which savoured of the peatyheights of Exmoor and the scent of woodfires, and then hastened on along a narrowsheep track, through thin, wiry herbage andpatches of wild thyme, until a slope of thehill brought her by a gradual descent to thebanks of the stream. The spaniel hadstruggled to the ground, and was trottingalong behind her, pausing at times to riaise itshead and utter a shrill chorus of barks as arabbit, scared by the sound of approaching


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86 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.footsteps, scudded off to seek its burrow.A rustic footbridge enabled her to cross tothe other side, and then before her stretcheda long vista of running water, bounding andsplashing, descending in miniature cascades,and falling into deep pools, which time hadhollowed in its rocky bed, where the red-spotted trout hid from their enemy the otter,or rose lazily to the surface in sport to suckin and gorge themselves with flies whichhappened to excite their fickle fancy. Shepaused for an instant to open a white-painted iron gate, which led her on to astretch of turf, dotted with giant yews, oldas the days when the archers used the pliantwood to make their bows. Ten minutesuphill walking and she had entered a quaintold-fashioned, terraced garden, gay with thecultured blooms of standard roses. An old,round-backed, aged man was bending overone of these, intent upon destroying theinsects collected on the branches ; he waseither pre-occupied with his work, or, morelikely still, deaf; as he failed to hear


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 87

.

the sounds made by Lilian as she drewnear.

Well, Budd, she said, addressing thegardener ; have you discovered another treeinjured by that nasty blight ?

Yes, miss. The insecks is all over itthere's no keeping of 'em off. I'm thinkingthat they'll not be so fine as they was lastyear. Miss Lilian, and it's put me about, 'causeSir George is set on getting the first prize, andhe don't take beatin' kindly.

Oh, never fear, Budd, you will be sure towin it. It is quite an institution ; they wouldnot think of giving it to any one else. Theman turned his face, which reminded one inhue and shape of a crushed, red-cheeked ciderapple, so full of knots and wrinkles was it, yethe looked the picture of health.

We don't want no favour, Miss Lilian,from any one ; we wants to stand on ourmerits. Those are the very words I mind yourgrandpa made use of when he took the short-horn prizes for seven years.

' Were they ? She had heard him make


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88 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.the same remark scores of times before. Well, Budd, you'll get the prize, I am sure.

' The Clarencourt man, the new chap asthey have, is doin' his best, so I've heerd.Lilian Fabyn made some suitable reply, butturned quickly, and hurried up a flight ofstone steps leading to a broad sweep of gravelwhich curved round in front of the house.The bare mention of the name, so unex-pectedly alluded to by the garrulous oldservant, brought a blush to her cheek she didnot care for him to see, and yet somehowcould not control. Had the question beenasked her, and answered frankly, she wouldhave been forced to admit that she thought ofGerard Clarencourt more than the demandsof simple friendship required.

Why was it so ? she would ask herself.He had never shown any decided preferencefor her more than the mere dictates of an oldacquaintanceship as near neighbours de-manded. And yet the germ had been plantedin her heart and had grown slowly, but nonethe less surely. When Gerard had bid her


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 89good-bye a day or two before he started onhis travels, it was then, as she saw himsaunter off with a careless lausfh and a waveof his hat, that she knew and felt how muchshe should miss his face. And as week afterweek had passed, each to her seeming longerthan the one preceding it, she had grownweary and dejected in spirit. She neverargued herself into believing that he lovedher ; his actions told her too plainly that suchwas not the case. In vain had she summonedpride to aid her in dismissing his image fromher memory ; the attempt had ended in amiserable failure, and she had fallen back, likemany another, on the oft-tried mainstay, hope.Hope that in the long years to come hewould love her.The grand old pile of masonry Avhich was

known to the country side as The Towers, andwhich had owned the sway of many succeedinggenerations of Fabyns long before a title hadbeen granted to one of them for success inarms, was perhaps, from an architectural pointof view, one of the queerest medleys to be


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90 THE WOMAN HE LOVED.met with in the southern counties. Theoriginal portion of the building had consistedof one strongly-built tower having walls manyfeet thick, and loop-holed for purposes ofdefence. There existed still a divided opinionas to its date, but that it was very ancientthere could be no doubt. As time wore on,and each fresh owner had grown in wealth, tothis solitary structure had been added, for thesake of convenience here, or appearance there,just as the fit had seized them, new wings,turrets and buttresses, protruding in one place,receding at another, full of sharp angles,rounded corners and sheltered nooks. Theoldest part of the edifice was covered to itsbattlements with ivy, the roots of which hadgrown to an enormous thickness ; the moremodern, which was especially occupied by thepresent family, overtwined by masses of thick,close-growing creepers, the bright-coloured,red-leaved American and others, japonicas,passion flowers and clematis. On the op-posite side to that on which Lilian had ap-proached was a garden laid out in a style


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UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 91long past, with box-edged borders, liolly treesclipped into a variety of odd representationsof animals and even birds. Sir George Fabynwould have no alteration here, and, save thatit was kept in perfect order, the dead, hadthey looked upon it, would have recognizedbut little change. The old sun-dial stood onthe same stone pedestal, and the carp andperch sported in the fish pond overhungwith limes, in the cool green shade of whichmany a whispered word of love had beenspoken by haughty, slippered dame and ar-moured knight, and the tale was still told ofhow a certain Geoffrey de Fabyne, in a torrentof passion, had flung his rival bodily into thedepths o

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