Irene Iddesleigh
For fully five hours both sat talking confidentially to each other and
sympathising when necessary, and it was only during this conversation
that Sir John was first made acquaint either of his wife's marriage with
Oscar or her present abode, neither of which, in the President's
estimation, moved the husband of treachery in its most mischievous form
much.
The news of his wife being Mrs. Otwell, instead of the honourable name
her conduct ordered her to bury, only served to cast for ever the gentle
words of practical remembrance Sir John had in his last will and
testament concerning her into an unknown chasm. Until now the forgiving
husband, the meek adviser, the patient sufferer, the wounded knight,
the once attached partner, the loving father, and the son of justice,
gratitude, and chastity was ready to share a little of his ransom with
her whom he thought he may have probably wronged by too rigorous
punishment. But President O'Sullivan, whose well-guided words and
fatherly advice had on this evening so sealed the mind of forgiveness
with the wax of disinterested intent that Sir John, on his arrival home,
at once sent for his solicitors, Messrs. Hutchinson & Harper, and
ordering his will to be produced, demanded there and then that the pen
of persuasion be dipped into the ink of revenge and spread thickly along
the paragraph of blood-related charity to blank the intolerable words
that referred to the woman he was now convinced, beyond doubt, had
braved the bridge of bigamy. Some slight alterations, in consequence,
were necessary to be made, and these being righted, the will of Sir John
Dunfern remained a prisoner until released on the day of execution,
which as yet could not possibly be named.
CHAPTER XVI.
Hark! The bell tolled its death-like strains, faint as the far-off
fatherland, steady as the starlight, and sweet as the scent of the
blooming woodbine. The hour of departure is sure and settled, the loss
is sharply felt, the gain completed, and vigorous attempts to retain
both are oftentimes multiplying on the exertions of the benefitted.
During all these years of revolution the wheel of action rounded its
roads of revelling, riot, and separation. Shandon Cottage, the little
house of Oscar Otwell, where he took up residence when first a visitor
to the land of laudable ingenuity, was a pretty structure, and would
doubtless have proved a little palace of peace to two such lovers had
the means been forthcoming to keep the glare of poverty within its bed
of stillness, and prohibit its visitation where least desired.
Oscar, who, during his English career, never was possessor of aught but
a slight pittance derived from the sources of his mental labours, and
who courted the vain idea, on being made the recipient of L1,000, which
he pocketed under false pretences by the underhand sale of Audley Hall,
that he was a man of wealth for life, and when safely settled in his
trim little cottage, squandered his trifle in a very short time, leaving
himself and wife on the mercy of strangers' sympathy, which more or less
presents an icy aspect to the eye of the needy.
Marjory Mason, who just spent twelve months under Oscar's roof, was
fortunate in securing a husband, whose calling kept her during her short
lifetime aloof from the imaginative pinches of the uncertain future.
It was only when Oscar was forced to evade starvation that he deemed it
imperative to accept an appointment in a public school, at the yearly
income of one thousand dollars, an office he retained until compelled to
resign through courting too great love for the all-powerful monster of
mangled might--Intemperance. After a number of years the partaker of
maddened love was the imparter of maddened might.
With beastly force did Oscar Otwell enter Shandon Cottage on the night
of his open dismissal from Waketown Public School, and arousing from
sleep his wife, with monster oaths inflicted upon her strokes of abuse
which time could never efface.
Ah! it was now the actions of youthful frivolity stood before her
mountain high and baffled her sickly retort. It was now she pored over
her journal of events, which seemed a burthen unbearable for such a
fragile frame, and begged the credit side to be for ever closed to her
view, whilst she prayed that the debit be left open until she would
enter therein all her past debts to him whom she deceived, deluded,
denounced, and despised.
Next morning mended matters little for Oscar Otwell's wife. Still raging
with drunken horror, he lavished upon her torrents of insinuations,
which she found impossible to overlook, and which forced her to take
refuge in the house of the Reverend Bertram Edgar, near by. This man of
true piety, at whose church she had occasionally worshipped, extended
the refuge she presently implored, and proved instrumental in securing
for her the position of governess in a nobleman's family some miles
distant.
Disposing of all the household effects, Oscar pocketed their dainty
worth, and left Shandon Cottage in earnest pursuit of his wife,
intending to again return to their native county in England.
His various inquiries regarding her whereabouts proved vain as the
vanishing shadow of Venus, and finally, when completely overcome with
sober thoughts of his riotous conduct towards the loving and faithful
object of his choice, who had risked so much for him, he cursed his very
existence.
A few weeks found him in utter destitution, without either house or
chattels to illegally dispose of in case of emergency, and line his
pockets of pauperism with coin of dishonest stamp and flashing forgery.
Unsuccessful in his worthless attempts to further manifest a standing in
the literary world, and being driven almost crazy in his eager efforts
to ascertain whither his wife had bent her footsteps, he, in a moment of
madness, resolved to resign himself to that ever-anxious defender of
Satanic rights who prowls about in ambush until safely securing his prey
with the crooked claws of callous craft.
Walking along in the moonlight in the direction of Afton Lake, which
sometimes offers its deep waters too freely to victims of sin and
suffering, Oscar Otwell resolved to bathe his body of perilous adventure
in its darkened waters of deepest death, never more to face the troubles
and trials of weak man and share them with weaker woman--never again to
approach the wife of his bosom with language of lowest type or lift to
her the hand which he so often had sworn should extend her the aid she
now must seek.
Arriving at the water's edge, Oscar Otwell divested himself of his
scanty attire, and in another moment was struggling in the freezing
element which soon should shroud his future with robe of blackest doubt.
Dunraven Hall was situated only a mile from Afton Lake, and was
inhabited by the Honourable Eric Eustace, a nobleman of unbounded
wealth, whose extension of charity was both wide and varied. It was in
this family that Mrs. Otwell was fortunate enough in securing the
position before referred to through the instrumentality of her spiritual
adviser.
On the night that Oscar Otwell resigned his worldly career, there beat
one heart in Dunraven Hall with wild emotion. Mrs. Otwell, retiring to
bed as usual, found sleep had altogether fled, and rising from her
springy structure of restlessness, dressed herself and paced the bedroom
floor enveloped in dread. She was convinced something was about to
happen, and struggling in her great efforts to baffle the fear that
haunted her night and day lately, she resolved, so soon as daybreak
peeped its cheerful face through her window, to take a walk along the
road in order to cast her fears upon the highway of forgetfulness.
Wrapping herself in her warmest cloak, she soon was found walking
rapidly along in silence on the road that swept round Afton Lake. She
had not gone far when people were seen to mount the fence that conducted
them to the nearest point of its watery expanse, which lay about fifty
perches from the main road.
Courting her curiosity with nervous fear, she walked along, wondering
what had happened to attract such crowds. And finding it rather
difficult to refrain from making inquiry from some of the gathering, who
by this time had hurriedly been retracing their flighty footsteps from
the imaginative scene of death, Mrs. Otwell, modestly approaching a
female who swiftly hopped over the fence in tears, asked what had
happened.
"Oh, madam," cried the woman, "the clothing of a gentleman was seen
early this morning as David Gillespie, a labourer, was engaged at a
drain hard by. It was neatly folded and deposited on the brink. Surely
some one must have been demented and drowned himself in Afton Lake.
The authorities are now on the spot and refuse to mention who the
gentleman is."
Thanking her for kindly informing her of what she had both seen and
heard, Mrs. Otwell hurried back to Dunraven Hall in nervous
astonishment, and hastily proceeded to her bedroom to prepare herself
for what soon must follow.
The breakfast being shortly afterwards announced, Mrs. Otwell, pale as
death, entered the room, and taking her accustomed seat to partake of
it, as best she could. She had scarcely got properly seated ere two
officers of the law were seen approach Dunraven Hall. Ringing furiously,
they demanded an interview with the Hon. Eric Eustace.
Satisfied as to the name of his present governess, they wished to be
allowed to see her, which request was willingly granted. Being told that
morning by the gardener at Dunraven Hall, who ran to the spot on hearing
the news, that a lady named Mrs. Otwell permanently resided at the Hall
as governess, the authorities immediately grasped the fact that she
might be the unfortunate widow, and on putting the usual questions to
her concerning her husband, they were still further convinced as to her
identity. Drawing from his pocket a parcel containing Oscar's card,
photo, and a letter addressed to Mrs. Oscar Otwell, the officer in
charge asked her to read it aloud, which she did in a rather trembling
voice, without betraying such signs of grief as anticipated. The letter
ran thus:--
"Dobbs' Ferry,
Friday Night,
11 p.m.
"Dearest Irene and Wife,--
"Should ever this reach your length, I trust you will pardon me
for the rash act I am about to commit.
"Since the morning you left me at Shandon Cottage my sorrow has
been greater than my present frame of mind can well support. I,
therefore, have decided on ending my days of starvation by hiding
for ever beneath the glassy surface of Alton Lake to shield my
wicked body from further inflicting upon you the wrongs I have
perpetrated in the past, and for which I am grievously tormented.
"Dearest Irene, I hope you, in your past great warmth of devotion
for me (your poor tutor and husband), will forgive my late
ungentlemanly conduct in striking you so cowardly on the eve of my
downfall, and thereby breaking the confidence you reposed in me
for such a lengthened period of our existence.
"From what I know of your noble character, I have every faith in
your forgiveness, and rest assured, I never mean to face death
without imploring you to rectify, if ever in your power, the wrong
you accomplished, partly at my request, in breaking the holy cord
of union which bound you during your natural existence to Sir John
Dunfern, and again uniting it under foul auspices.
"Had I been so fortunate as to secure you first of all, my
conscience, certainly, would at this moment be both clear and
unclouded. But feeling persuaded I have robbed that nobleman who
now possibly is pining for separation from a world of shame and