Chapter XXXVI: The Strange Letter

True to her promise, Miss McAllister sent a messenger early the next morning to inform Lady Elaine of Arley’s return; but to the great disappointment of the whole family, he brought back word that Lady Hamilton, accompanied by Lady Elaine, had gone to Hazelmere for a couple of days, to give directions regarding the refurnishing of the rooms.

But Sir Anthony was delighted to hear of her arrival, and sent a message, saying that he should come to see her as soon as he had finished his breakfast; and he was as good as his word, for in less than an hour he was in Miss McAllister’s parlor, and his face betrayed genuine pleasure as he greeted Arley, for she had been quite a favorite with him at Hazelmere.

“Well, well, Miss Arley--excuse me--Mrs. Paxton,” he said, shaking her warmly by the hand, “it really does me good to see you again. But how you have changed! For the better, if you will allow me to say it.”

And his eyes roved admiringly from her flushed, smiling face over her fine, graceful figure.

“And so you have concluded to let your husband come home and extend your travels--these husbands have to attend to business in order to make money for their wives to spend, eh?” he continued, jocosely. “Ah! you needn’t blush about it, child; it was all right enough for you to see more of the world, if you could stand it to be separated from that handsome chap. Philip told me all about it--said you had met some friends who were going to take you about more. He--Philip--was quite neighborly for a while after his return; he used to come down to spend an evening with us, and play chess with mother, but I haven’t seen him at all lately; some one told me, though, that he was overrun with business, so I suppose he hasn’t had time to visit. However, I suppose you know all about it, and he must be glad enough to have you at home once more.”

Arley was amazed.

She had grown hot and cold by turns as Sir Anthony rattled off this long speech, and she was thankful enough that he was inclined to do all the talking, for if he had asked her a direct question she could not have answered it to save her life.

Philip back in London and hard at work--overrun with business!

She could scarcely credit it. She did not know what it could mean.

He had been a visitor, too, it seemed, at the Langham, calling freely upon the Hamiltons and Lady Elaine, while, strangest of all, he had allowed them to believe--so she gathered from Sir Anthony’s words--that everything was all right between him and his wife--that he had merely returned on account of business, while she had remained abroad for the sake of seeing more of the world.

She was actually stricken dumb for the time, when, happening to glance at Miss McAllister, she saw she was as astonished as herself, for a perfectly blank expression had settled upon her face.

This warned her that she must make some effort to reply to Sir Anthony, or he would see that something was amiss, and be making uncomfortable inquiries, which would necessitate disagreeable explanations.

Giving her aunt a significant glance, she turned with a smile to her visitor, and said:

“Yes, Sir Anthony, I have done considerable traveling since I saw you last, and have seen a good deal of the Continent. I met Sir Charles Herbert and his mother when I was in Madrid, and they kindly offered to take care of me if I would travel with them for a few months longer.”

“Sir Charles Herbert! I know him--or at least I used to know his father well. Lady Herbert is a splendid woman, and her son, as I remember him--a fine lad--gave promise of being a noble man.”

Sir Anthony sighed heavily as he concluded, and his face grew very sad.

Arley knew that he was thinking of Wil, who would have compared favorably with any young man in the kingdom; but she was glad to have the subject changed, and returned:

“Yes, they are very pleasant people, and I enjoyed their society exceedingly; but tell me something about yourselves; Lady Hamilton is well, I trust.”

“Yes, she is in good health, but she is not like herself yet; our hearts have been almost broken since you went away,” and the bereaved father broke down entirely as he said this.

“I know,” Arley murmured, the tears starting quickly to her eyes; “Annie wrote me about your sad trouble. Dear Sir Anthony,” she added tremulously, “if Wil had been my own brother I could not have grieved more for him; and poor Elaine! what a blow it must be to her!”

“Ah! yes; but she is a pure-hearted saint, if there ever was one,” Sir Anthony returned, patiently, wiping the tears which would roll down his furrowed cheeks. “I’m sure I don’t know what we ever should have done without her--she has been almost son and daughter both to us. Lady Hamilton feels as if she cannot bear to have her out of sight, though sometimes I’m afraid we are selfish and trespass upon her goodness more than we ought. She will be delighted to learn of your return, I expect,” he added, forcing a smile to his still trembling lips; “when we hear the wonderful secret which she has been keeping for you, we shall all be greatly astonished.”

“Do you know anything about it?” questioned Arley, eagerly.

“Not a word more than the fact that she has succeeded in establishing your identity beyond dispute; she affirms that no one shall know anything about it until after she has told you.”

“I must confess that I am very impatient,” said Arley, with a long-drawn sigh.

“Well, your patience won’t be taxed so very long; they will return to-morrow, and then we must all make up our minds to be astonished. We know this much,” Sir Anthony added, with a twinkle in his eyes, “that you are a ‘lady born’--who knows but what you may prove to be a princess?”

“Now, Sir Anthony, you are laughing at me! that is an absurd idea,” Arley retorted, with something like an old-time pout.

“Well, whoever you are, I hope you will not be beyond the reach of your old friends, for we all have been very fond of you,” he answered, kindly.

“Never fear that; my old friends have proved themselves too true for me to ever wish to get beyond them; there are not many who would have been so steadfast as you all have been in my adversity,” she returned, feelingly.

“Tut, tut, my child; your friends were very proud of you, after the noble renunciation which you made. I know of no one of whom I am so fond, after my own two dear girls, as I am of you, my fair ‘Rose of Wentworth.’”

Arley smiled and blushed, then sighed at the sound of that old familiar name.

“You forget,” she said, “that I am not entitled to that name any more.”

“Yes, I did forget,” Sir Anthony replied, “but no matter; doubtless you have not forgotten that old couplet, which, by the way, fits in exactly here:

‘What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.’

But I must go,” he added, rising. “I have an appointment in Piccadilly at twelve, and it is half-past eleven now. I shall send Lady Elaine around just as soon as she returns, and you must tell Philip to bring you up to the Langham as often as possible. We do not go down to Hazelmere for another month yet; when we do we shall want you to come for a long visit.”

“Thanks,” Arley said, with rising color at the mention of Philip’s name; “you may be sure that I shall come to see Lady Hamilton very soon; give my love to her, and come again yourself, Sir Anthony, to see me.”

She had hard work not to look guilty, while her heart was beating like a trip hammer in her bosom.

But Sir Anthony did not appear to mistrust that anything was wrong, and, after shaking hands all around, and inviting both Miss McAllister and Ina to visit them, he took his leave.

“Auntie, what does it all mean?” Arley exclaimed, losing all her brilliant color and sinking weakly into a chair the moment the door closed after him. “Philip back in London and at work! while no one mistrusts the truth regarding us; but, according to Sir Anthony’s account, every one believes that I have been traveling merely for my own pleasure, and with his knowledge and consent.”

“It is pretty evident to me what it means,” Miss McAllister replied, severely. “He has probably managed to learn what the rest of us know--that the mystery of your birth has been solved, and that you are a ‘lady born,’ as your friend has chosen to put it. Perhaps he hopes that you will come into an independent fortune with your new position, and expects that you will forgive him and allow him to share it.”

“I don’t know,” Arley answered, musingly.

“I hope, however,” her aunt resumed, with an uneasy glance at the grave, thoughtful face, “that you will not be so foolish as to do anything of the kind. You have suffered enough already at his hands.”

“Auntie, I must confess that I don’t feel very much like forgiving him,” and she shivered slightly; “but I don’t imagine that I am going to be very much of an heiress,” she added, with a smile. “I fear I shall be ‘Poor Arley’ still; but if you will let me stay with you--that is, if no peremptory duties call me elsewhere--I shall feel very grateful and content.”

“Child!” and Miss McAllister choked over the word, and winked hard to keep the tears back; “you ought not to talk to me like that. Do you not know that I love you dearly, and nothing could make me happier than to keep you with us?--eh, Ina?” and she turned almost sharply to the young girl, to hide her emotion.

Ina arose, without a word, and, crossing the room, knelt by Arley’s side.

“How I wish that you were my sister!” she said, lifting her grave, sweet eyes to the troubled face. “Just think what my life has been--how few I have had to love me! I am so glad that you wish to stay with us! Let us imagine ourselves auntie’s girls, and forget, if we can, that you ever went away from the home that you loved so well.”

Arley bent down and kissed the fair, upturned forehead.

“One could not help loving you if one should try ever so hard,” she said, smiling through her tears. But before she could say more a servant entered, bearing a package, which she gave to Arley and then withdrew.

One glance at the address drove every particle of color from her face; for there, in Philip’s clear, bold hand, was written her full name, “Mrs. Philip Paxton.”

Her first thought was that it contained legal papers dissolving the bonds which united her to him. She thought that he had doubtless been employing his time since his return to England in securing the divorce which he failed to obtain in Madrid, and now, having heard of her arrival, had sent to notify her of the fact.

“Auntie! it is from him!” she gasped, lifting a frightened glance to Miss McAllister’s face, while the package slipped from her nerveless fingers into her lap, and she leaned weakly back in her chair.

“Throw it into the fire, child, if you do not wish to open it,” was her grim response.

That morning’s paper had given a list of the passengers who had crossed the Channel from Calais to Dover the day before, and he read the names of Sir Charles and Lady Herbert, and Mrs. Philip Paxton, among them.

He knew instantly that the time for his confession had come, and, with a very white, set face, he took that package from his safe, and, giving it into the hands of a trusty messenger, dispatched it to Miss McAllister’s residence, where he felt quite sure Arley would be found.

“I wonder what this is; it feels like a box,” Arley said, gathering courage to lift it from her lap, and fingering it curiously.

Miss McAllister, fearing that she might be betrayed into further indiscretions of speech, arose and left the room without making any reply.

“I am going, too, dear,” Ina said, rising to follow, “so take your own time to examine your package, and I will see that you are not disturbed.”

“What a dear she is--so kind and thoughtful for others, and yet so unassuming,” Arley murmured, as the door closed after the lovely girl.

With trembling fingers she removed the wrapper from her package and found a small box, with quite a bulky letter within.

She opened the letter first, and as she did so two bank-notes, one for a hundred, the other for twenty pounds, fluttered into her lap.

A startled cry broke from her at the sight of them, and all the blood in her body seemed for a moment to rush into her face, making her ears ring and her head dizzy.

Then a look of horror came into her eyes as Miss McAllister’s excited assertion: “He stole it--I know he did,” flashed into her mind.

With a wildly beating heart and panting breath she broke asunder the ribbon which bound the box, lifted the cover, and lo! her own lost jewels lay before her.

It was true, then--he had been the thief, after all; and, with a low, shuddering cry, she dashed them down, covered her face with her hands and broke into nervous weeping.

She would almost rather never have recovered those keepsakes, precious though they were, than to have learned this bitter, humiliating truth--to have discovered that the man to whom she had surrendered her fondest affections was no better than a common thief.

She then unfolded those closely-written sheets--her face as colorless as the paper itself, her lips set in a tight, livid line, a cold, steely glitter in her eyes--and commenced to read.

But by and by her brow began to relax its rigid lines; a softer light shone in her dark eyes, and--reading still further on--her inflexible lips seemed slightly less stern and even grew tremulous, and when at length she came to those last appealing lines, where Philip begged her to “let a little divine compassion into her heart and breathe one single prayer for him,” she broke down again and sobbed like a grieved and wounded child.

It was like a warm spring rain, after the frost, and ice, and snow of the dismal winter, mellowing and enriching her hardened heart, as the earth is mellowed and enriched, and made once again to yield forth the treasures so long hidden within its bosom.

“It is a strange, strange letter,” Arley sighed, as she folded and returned it to the envelope, “and it makes me feel very strangely--it arouses anew all my former bitterness, anger and scorn, while at the same time I am moved to the deepest pity.”