East Lynne

M >> Mrs. Henry Wood >> East Lynne


In the afternoon the earl left East Lynne, and somewhat later Barbara
arrived at it. Wilson scarcely gave her mistress time to step into
the house before her, and she very nearly left the baby in the fly.
Curiously anxious was Wilson to hear all particulars as to whatever
could have took off that French governess. Mr. Carlyle was much
surprised at their arrival.

"How could I stay away, Archibald, even until Monday, after the news you
sent me?" said Barbara. "What did she die of? It must have been awfully
sudden."

"I suppose so," was his dreamy answer. He was debating a question with
himself, one he had thought over a good deal since Wednesday night.
Should he, or should he not, tell his wife? He would have preferred not
to tell her; and, were the secret confined to his own breast, he would
decidedly not have done so. But it was known to three others--to Miss
Carlyle, to lord Mount Severn, and to Joyce. All trustworthy and of good
intention; but it was impossible for Mr. Carlyle to make sure that not
one of them would ever, through any chance and unpremeditated word, let
the secret come to the knowledge of Mrs. Carlyle. That would not do, if
she must hear it at all, she must hear it from him, and at once. He took
his course.

"Are you ill, Archibald?" she asked, noting his face. It wore a pale,
worn sort of look.

"I have something to tell you, Barbara," he answered, drawing her hand
into his, as they stood together. They were in her dressing-room, where
she was taking off her things. "On the Wednesday evening when I got home
to dinner Joyce told me that she feared Madame Vine was dying, and I
thought it right to see her."

"Certainly," returned Barbara. "Quite right."

"I went into her room, and I found that she was dying. But I found
something else, Barbara. She was not Madame Vine."

"Not Madame Vine!" echoed Barbara, believing in good truth that her
husband could not know what he was saying.

"It was my former wife, Isabel Vane."

Barbara's face flushed crimson, and then grew white as marble; and she
drew her hand unconsciously from Mr. Carlyles's. He did not appear to
notice the movement, but stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece while
he talked, giving her a rapid summary of the interview and its details.

"She could not stay away from her children, she said, and came back as
Madame Vine. What with the effects of the railroad accident in France,
and those spectacles she wore, and her style of dress, and her gray
hair, she felt secure in not being recognized. I am astonished now that
she was not discovered. Were such a thing related to me I should give no
credence to it."

Barbara's heart felt faint with its utter sickness, and she turned her
face from the view of her husband. Her first confused thoughts were
as Mr. Carlyle's had been--that she had been living in his house with
another wife. "Did you suspect her?" she breathed, in a low tone.

"Barbara! Had I suspected it, should I have allowed it to go on? She
implored my forgiveness for the past, and for having returned here, and
I gave it to her fully. I then went to West Lynne, to telegraph to Mount
Severn, and when I came back she was dead."

There was a pause. Mr. Carlyle began to perceive that his wife's face
was hidden from him.

"She said her heart was broken. Barbara, we cannot wonder at it."

There was no reply. Mr. Carlyle took his arm from the mantelpiece, and
moved so that he could see her countenance: a wan countenance, telling
of pain.

He laid his hand upon her shoulder, and made her look at him. "My
dearest, what is this?"

"Oh, Archibald!" she uttered, clasping her hands together, all her pent
up feelings bursting forth, and the tears streaming from her eyes, "has
this taken your love from me?"

He took both her hands in one of his, he put the other round her waist
and held her there, before him, never speaking, only looking gravely
into her face. Who could look at its sincere truthfulness, at the sweet
expression of his lips, and doubt him? Not Barbara. She allowed the
moment's excitement to act upon her feelings, and carry her away.

"I had thought my wife possessed entire trust in me."

"Oh, I do, I do; you know I do. Forgive me, Archibald," she slowly
whispered.

"I deemed it better to impart this to you, Barbara. Had there been wrong
feeling on my part, I should have left you in ignorance. My darling, I
have told you it in love."

She was leaning on his breast, sobbing gently, her repentant face turned
towards him. He held her there in his strong protection, his enduring
tenderness.

"My wife! My darling! now and always."

"It was a foolish feeling to cross my heart, Archibald. It is done with
and gone."

"Never let it come back, Barbara. Neither need her name be mentioned
again between us. A barred name it has hitherto been; so let it
continue."

"Anything you will. My earnest wish is to please you; to be worthy
of your esteem and love, Archibald," she timidly added, her eye-lids
drooping, and her fair cheeks blushing, as she made the confession.
"There has been a feeling in my heart against your children, a sort of
jealous feeling, you can understand, because they were hers; because
she had once been your wife. I knew how wrong it was, and I have tried
earnestly to subdue it. I have, indeed, and I think it is nearly gone,"
her voice sunk. "I constantly pray to be helped to do it; to love them
and care for them as if they were my own. It will come with time."

"Every good thing will come with time that we may earnestly seek," said
Mr. Carlyle. "Oh, Barbara, never forget--never forget that the only
way to ensure peace in the end is to strive always to be doing right,
unselfishly under God."