Democratic Sentinel, Volume 22, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 March 1898 — WOOED AND MARRIED [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WOOED AND MARRIED

BY CHARLOTTE M BRAEME

CHAPTER XXI. Lord Caraven had made two announcements to his household, whicn no one even thought of connecting. The first and most startling was, of'course, that Lady Hamilton had been shot accidentally—a chance shot —though why a ball cartridge had been used was a puzzle—supposed to have been fired by poachers in the wood; the second was that Lady Caraven had been suddenly summoned to her father's home in London. No one dreamed of connecting the two announcements, and in the disordered state of the household it never occurred to any of the guests to question the servants as to when the countess had gone. She had been sent for after dinner, and the apologies that the earl made were deemed quite sufficient. Some of the guests indeed said that it was as well Lady Caraven was out of the way, as she would probably have been greatly distressed. To this day the earl is uncertain what in his panic he said or did. The only idea quite clear to him was that he must shield the woman who bore, his name. It was not very long before the doctor arrived, and then all alarm was at an end. He found the ball at once; it had not gone very deep into the shoulder. It was extracted and the wound bound up. Then lovely Lady Hamilton raised her golden head and asked, languidly: “Shall I be very ill, doctor?’’ “No, I hope not. You will suffer a little pain—nothing much, I trust.” “Shall I be ill for a long time?” she asked. "Ah, me, how little I dreamed that I was coming to Raveusmere to be shot!” \ “It is very unfortunate,” said the doctor; “but I df> not think you will be ill very long, Lady Hamilton.” It was with a sense of relief that Lord Carnven went to his room that night. He wanted to be alone to think over the events of the day. He found himself dwelling less on the terrible fact that his wife had shot Lady Hamilton than on the wonderful fact that she loved him. He could not sleep or rest. Never had his pillow seemed so hard, his thoughts so troublesome. The excitement had been too much for him. Wherever he went, whatever he did, his thoughts were with Hildred. Had she reached Arley Ransome’s house? Had he acted wisely inletting her go alone? Would any clew to her guilt ever be found? These questions followed him. haunted him, pursued him. If he went to talk to any of his visitors, the conversation . was sure to turn upon the poachers and Lady Hamilton. Wearied of it all, he sought refuge with Sir Raoul in his room; and the old soldier noted with concern how worn and haggard the handsome earl looked.

CHAPTER XXII. “Let me stay with you, Raoul,” said the earl on entering his room; “my guests tease me to death. One hears of nothing but Lady Hamilton and the poachers. I have had to tell the story over and over again, until I am fairly tired of it. Let me find rest here.” Sir Raoul looked at the earl’s haggard face. “And to make matters worse,” remarked the earl, with a gesture of weary despair, “here comes the doctor.” Dr. Randall entered the room unannounced and in great haste. The earl sprang to his feet at the sound of his agitated voice, bis face growing pale and anxious.” “Surely,” he said, “Lady Hamilton is not worse?” “No, she seems better. It is not about Lady Hamilton that I want you, Lord Caraven. I was sent for the moment I left here in behalf of the man who used to act as your steward—John Blantyre.” “John Blantyre,” said the earl, vaguely. “Is he ill?” The subject did not interest him very much—indeed, he thought it trivial amidst the excitement of his own affairs. “No, not ill in the common acceptation of the term,” answered the doctor. “He is dying, I fear.” “Dying, yet not ill! You speak in riddles, doctor.” “It is all a riddle to me,” said the physician; “perhaps you can solve it. He has committed suicide—that is, he has made an attempt on his life, but he has not quite succeeded.” “He was very foolish,” remarked the enrl. Even the fact that his confidential steward had attempted to destroy his own life seemed to him a matter of less moment than the fact tnat hie wife loved him.

Dr. Randall looked uneasily at the unconscious face. “May I speak on a private matter?’’ he said. “Certainly,” was the quick reply. “I have no secrets from my relative, Sir Raoul.” "I cannot quite understand it,” continued the doctor. “They sent for me, and when I reached the house I found that Blantyre had attempted to take his life. I will not tell you how—there is uo need to add to a list of horrors. I Sound him dying, not dead; he is dying now. His only cry was for you, Lord Caraven; he wanted to see you.” “I do not in the least desire to see him,” said the earl, quickly. “Frankly speaking, doctor, repentant sinners and deathbeds are not much in my line. Fcould do him no good.” • “Perhaps not—yet he gave me no rest until I had promised to ask you to go and visit him—no rest at all. The strange part of the story has to come, Lord Caraven. It was not a poacher who fired the shot —it was himself. We have this time done the poachers an injustice.” The doctor was not prepared for the effect of his words. The earl sprang from his chair, rushed across the room and seized him by the arm. “Say that again!” he cried. “John Blantyre fired that shot?” “So he says,” replied the doctor. “He gasped the story out to mo in byoken words. ‘I always hated her,’ he said; ‘hated her; and last night I shot her by the edge of the lake. I shot her through the heart, and I saw her fall, and ’ ” “It is impossible!” cried the earl. “The man mast have been delirious! He never saw Lady Hamilton in his life—how could he hate her?” “That is the strangest part of the story,” said the doctor. “He persists in saying that he shot Lady Caraven. I cannot understand the matter.” “I do,” put in Sir Raoul, calmly. “Blantyre was dismissed at Lady Caraven’s desire. and be swore to be revenged upon

her. This is his revenge—he has shot Lady Hamilton, believing her to be the countess.” They were not long in reaching Blantyre’s house, and before long the earl stood by the death-bed of his late steward. The man’s dying face was turned toward him, bis dying eyes gleamed as they recognized him. “My lord,” he said, “you were always kind to me. Her ladyship ruined me—she turned me away—and I hated her. I would not harm one hair of your head; but I have killed her; and I am not sorry. I am glad.” “Thank heaven that you have not!” said the earl, hastily. “I am thankful to say that your murderous shot never reached my wife. The lady you have injured is a stranger to you—Lady Hamilton; she had thrown Lady Caraven's scarf over her shoulders —hence the (for me) fortunate mistake.” The look on the dying man’s face was terrible to see—the fiendish disappointment, tue bitter hatred. “Then I have not killed her after all,” be cried. “No; you have wounded an innocent lady, a stranger to you—that is all; my dear wife you have not injured.” “And I sent for you believing that she wns dead, dreading lest an innocent man should suffer for my deed, longing also that you should know I had taken my revenge.” "I can only thank heaven you have failed,” said the earl. John Blantyre raised himself; the hatred, the bad passions in the dying face were terrible to see. “aell her,” he cried, “I am sorry I did not kill her; tell her that she ruined me and that I hate her for it; tell her that I sent her my curse, and that after I had cursed her I never opened my lips again!” He fell back exhausted, and he kept his word. Never again were his lips opened in mortal speech. The earl tried, Sir Raoul left his sick room'to try to soften and persuade him, gentle, low-voiced women knelt by -his side, a grave minister pleaded with him—it was all in vain, after that one terrible curse his lips were mute and dumb, whether so stricken by heaven or whether the result of his anger and disappointment, no one ever knew; he died in obstinate, sullen silence.

CHAPTER XXIII. Lady Carnven had refused to see anyone; she had refused to quit her apartment. The horror of the charge made against her overpowered her. Could it be within the bounds of possibility that she, Hildred, Countess of Caraven, would ever be brought before a public tribunal and tried for a crime of which she was perfectly innocent? Her vivid imagination ran riot about it. She pictured herself in a dark cell. She wept until from sheer exhaustion she slept. A knocking at the door aroused her. “Hildred,” called Arley Ransome, “I wish to see you.” "Papa,” said the girl, “I am tired of the world—tired of my life. Let me die in peace.” Fearful of the attention of his servants, he went away, returning again and again with the same entreaty, but she would not see him. She refused all food, she never attempted to go to rest, and at last Arley Ransome grew alarmed about her. He would not force open the door—that would create a scandal, and the notion of scandal was as bitter as death to him. It was with a feeling of intense relief that he saw Lord Caraven arrive. "This is a terrible business,” he said. “My daughter must have been driven to great extremes before she did this.” “It is all a foolish mistake!” cried the earl. “Where is she? I want to see her.” “A mistake!” cried the lawyer, with dignity. "Most men would give your conduct another name. Lord Caraven. People should be careful before they make such mistakes.” "Where is Hildred?” cried the earl. “I want to see her at once.” “I am not at all sure that my daughter will see. you,” said Arley Ransome, must say that she has been cruelly treated. You are a peer of the realm, Lord Caraven, but have you behaved as a gentleman to my child? Have you treated her with courtesy or affection?” “Let me go to her at once,” said Lord Caraven. “Do not be hard on me, Mr. Ransome—l have had a great deal to suffer.” And these few words disarmed the lawyer. They went together to Hildred’s room. Arley Ransome spoke first. “Hildred, I have something very particular to say to you—open the.door.” There was not a sound, and Lord Caraven began to feel slightly alarmed. “Hildred,” said her father; “I have a message from your husband.” . Still there was no sound, and, unable to control himself, the earl cried out:

“Hildred, for heaven’s sake, speak to me! Let me in—l want to see you!” The sound of his voice seemed to have an electric effect upon her. The next moment she turned the key in the lock and opened wide the door. With a cry of fear and surprise he started buck when he saw her. He had seen her lately so beautiful, so radiant—now her long black hair hung in disorder over her shoulders; her fact was pale and stained with tears, her eyes were dim, her lips white. He hardly knew her. “Hildred!” he cried. She looked at him with dim, sad eyes. “You!” she said. “Is it you who thought me guilty of murder?” Lord Caraven turned to Arley Ransome. “Leave me alone with her,” he said. “I have much to say.” Mr. Ransome went away. The earl entered the room and closed the door. He went to his wife, holding out both his hands. “Will you forgive me?” he said. “I can never pardon myself.” But she shrank from him. “You believe that I committed murder,” she answered. “No, I cannot touch your hands.” » "Hildred, listen. It was almost all your own fault—you said you were guilty.” “Not of murder,” she rejoined. “I could not have supposed that you would think me capable of that, much as you dislike me.” “I do not dislike you, Hildred,” said the earl, in a voice full of emotion, “and I am indeed grieved at having offended you. Do not refuse to pardon me.” “There can be no pardon, my lord, for the wrong you have done me,” she replied. And then the earl knew that, if ever he won his wife’s pardon, it would be a work of patience and of time. He gazed anxiously nt her. She looked pale ana wan, with the stains of bitter weeping on her face. He saw, too, that ■she shivered like one seized with mortal cold.

“Mildred," he cried, “do forgive me—you do uot know how grieved I am to see you like this. I want to tell you how the misunderstanding happened. Will you listen?” “Yes,” she replied, mechanically; and she sat silent and motionless while he told her the story. She looked at him when it was ended with dull, dim eyes. “I am very sorry,” she said, “that Blantyre made the mistake. I almost wish that he had shot me through the heart. What have I to live for?” “I could not spare you, Hildred—you have been the good angel of my life!” he cried. “You would be better without me. Your estates are free and unincumbered now—you have roused yourself to a sense of your duties—you know how to perforin them. I am of no more use. I am sorry that John Blantyre missed his aim.” “That is not like you, Hildred. Where is your bright energy, your ►ope, your cheerful animation?” She clasped her bands with a jhudder. "I am sick,” she said, “sick with a terrible despair.” The earl was compelled to return to Ravensmere, and he did so almost despairingly. Lady Hamilton was fast improving; she would be able to go to her own home soon, the doctor said, and all anxiety about her was quite at an end. The truth of the story had come to light; all the papers had it; every one knew that Lady Hamilton had been shot by mistake, and that it was the young Countess of Caraven whom John Blantyre had intended to kill. The Vari confided the result of his mission to Sir Raoul, who was not much surprised. “You have tried her beyond her strength,” he said; /‘I should advise you without loss of time to return to London again.” . Lord Caraven did so, but his journey was fruitless. Hildred refused to see him; to all entreaties from her father she answered simply: “I have uot one word to add to have said;" and with that answer the earl was obliged to be content. In sheer despair he sent for Sir Raoul, who, though almost unfit to travel, hastened to him; he besought him to use his influence with the beautiful young wife who had no pity for him. Then he grew wildly jealous at the idea that she would listen to Sir Raoul when she refused absolutely to listen'to him. "Why should you have more influence over her than J have?” he asked, half angrily. “Because,” said Sir Raoul, “I understand the higher, better, nobler part of her nature, as you, I fear, will never understand it. I will try what I can do.” (To be continued.)