The Soldier's Wife — page 209: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

188 ever understood, more than ever appreciated by . Frederick Lonsdale ! He sank upon his knees before his wife—he pressed her Land to his lips--he gazed up into her countenance—and he said to her in a deep touching voice, “ Dearest Lucy, donot interrupt me for a few minutes while | address you. | will not again ask you to forgive me for the past, because I do indeed comprehend that your anver was never excited avainst me. It was my Intention ere you came Just now, to entreat that solemm assurance of pardoo from’your lips: but I feel that it would) be almost au insult to ‘your generous heart to do so. Yet let me as- sure you, my own beloved wife, that the greatest pang which now tortures my heart is caused by the reflection of how cruelly I lave used vou. No, dearest—do not interrupt me! Permit me to say all that I wish: it is a relief thus to assure you of my contrition, For now that we are about to part——for ever, beloved Lucy——I feel how dear you are to me—I comprehend all your virtues—all your excel- lencles——My God! my Ged! that I should ever have lost sight of them !’—and the unfor- tunate man’s fortitude breaking down in ap In- stant, he was convulsed with anguish. Lucy threw herself upon his neck, and sobbed and wept with the bitterest affliction. Her courage had vanished likewise,—vanished as a dream ; and she experienced all the excruciat ing poignancy of the beart’s acutest woe. It was a long time ere they could so far compose themselves as to enter upon deliberate discourse again; and then, once more seated side by side, they gazed on each other for several minutes ere the silence was broken. But Lonsdale with a superhuman effort gathered together the wrecks of his fortitude, and began to speak upon those other topics which he had been solicitous to touch upon. Lucey saw that it would be a solace to his mind if she reas: sured him with regard to herself; and there- fore she yielded to the turn which he sought to give to their discourse. She said that for the sake of their child she would cling te existence—that they were not altogether with- out friends—and that they even had a home offered them: for Mrs. Selwyn had been witn Lucy on the previous evening—she had sought the unhappy woman for the purpose of min- istering to whatsoever wants she might have, and giving her the assurance that both her- self and little Frederick would be welcomed beneath her roof. This assurance, too, she had been fully empowered to give by her husband —Mr. Selwyn ;—and all these circumstances did Luey now explain to Lonsdale. {t was in- deed a relief and a solace to the unhappy man to receive such intelligence: but in the most earnest manner did he again and again conjure his wife to live on for litthe Frederick’s sake. At length the moment of separation came, How can we describe it? We cannot. We are lost in the presence of the immensity of that anyuish—the illimitable extent of that despair ing sorrow. Words are ineffectual: the might- jest power of language sinks into insignificance when viewed in comparison with the fearful eloquence of woe expressed in the louks, the THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. tears, the parting words, and the passionate kisses which took place then, Again and again did Luey, after tearing berself away, rush back Into her husband’s arms: again and again did they press each other in an embrace which they thought must be the last. But at length that /ast embrace was taken. They both felt (hat it was cruelty to one another to prolong the scene, They separated; and the closing door suddenly became as it were an adaman- ‘ine wall—a barrier immense, insuperable=- between the wildly distracted wife who went forth from the dungeon, and the despair- stricken husband who remained within its walle, CHAPTER XLI. CLIVE HALL, Moret than eighteen months had elapsed since the visit which the Countess of Burton and ber daughter Lady Adela Clive paid to the Manor House. During she whole of this interval they had remained at Clive Hall, Lady Adela had become of age, and was en- titled to her fortune, amounting to twenty- hive thousand pounds, The Countess had not suggested to her daughter to accept the suit of any new aspirant to her hand, since the sud- den oreaking-off of the contemplated matcb with Gerald Redburn. The Countess knew that Adela’s heart was enyaved to Mr. Regi- nald Herbert, the nephew of Lord and Lady Stansfield; and ber opinion was altogether changed in respect to that gentleman since he had become the presumptive heir to his uncle’s ile and estates In consequence of the death of the Hon, Ferdimand Stanstield, Mr, Reginald Herbert, as the future Lord Stansfield, was a very different person in the Countess of Bur- (on’s eyes from Mr. Reginald Herbert with a Government situation of only five hundred a-veur and no other prospects. Therefore her ludyship was quite prepared to bestow her daughter upon Mr. Herbert if he presented him- self to claim the young lady’s hand. And that he would do so the Countess fully expected ; and therefore, after her return with Adela from the Manor House *to Clive Hall, she rose every morning, saying’ to herself, “Surely he will come to-day # mouths passed by—and Mr. Reginald Herbert tuade not his appearance at the Hall. | And Adela—did not she also hope and expect that Reginald would come? She did: for her heart was entirely his own—her virgin affections were centred in him. But he was not different in her esimation, as the heir presumptive to a peerage and an estate, than when he was the mere Government official with a comparative small income and no prospeets, She loved him then, and she loved him now: she loved him not better now than she loved bim then—be- cause she had all along loved with the utmost ‘apacity of woman’s heart for the tender senti- ment. But she had hoped that when a decent period of mourning had expired for his deceased cousin, Mr, Herbert would endeavour to see her But days, and weeks, and. 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