V.

ADVANCING from time past to time present, the Prologue leaves thedate last attained (the summer of eighteen hundred andfifty-five), and travels on through an interval of twelveyears--tells who lived, who died, who prospered, and who failedamong the persons concerned in the tragedy at the Hampsteadvilla--and, this done, leaves the reader at the opening of THESTORY in the spring of eighteen hundred and sixty-eight.

The record begins with a marriage--the marriage of Mr. Vanboroughand Lady Jane Parnell.

In three months from the memorable day when his solicitor hadinformed him that he was a free man, Mr. Vanborough possessed thewife he desired, to grace the head of his table and to push hisfortunes in the world--the Legislature of Great Britain being thehumble servant of his treachery, and the respectable accompliceof his crime.

He entered Parliament. He gave (thanks to his wife) six of thegrandest dinners, and two of the most crowded balls of theseason. He made a successful first speech in the House ofCommons. He endowed a church in a poor neighborhood. He wrote anarticle which attracted attention in a quarterly review. Hediscovered, denounced, and remedied a crying abuse in theadministration of a public charity. He r eceived (thanks oncemore to his wife) a member of the Royal family among the visitorsat his country house in the autumn recess. These were histriumphs, and this his rate of progress on the way to thepeerage, during the first year of his life as the husband of LadyJane.

There was but one more favor that Fortune could confer on herspoiled child--and Fortune bestowed it. There was a spot on Mr.Vanborough's past life as long as the woman lived whom he haddisowned and deserted. At the end of the first year Death tookher--and the spot was rubbed out.

She had met the merciless injury inflicted on her with a rarepatience, with an admirable courage. It is due to Mr. Vanboroughto admit that he broke her heart, with the strictest attention topropriety. He offered (through his lawyer ) a handsome provisionfor her and for her child. It was rejected, without an instant'shesitation. She repudiated his money--she repudiated his name. Bythe name which she had borne in her maiden days--the name whichshe had made illustrious in her Art--the mother and daughter wereknown to all who cared to inquire after them when they had sunkin the world.

There was no false pride in the resolute attitude which she thusassumed after her husband had forsaken her. Mrs. Silvester (asshe was now called) gratefully accepted for herself, and for MissSilvester, the assistance of the dear old friend who had foundher again in her affliction, and who remained faithful to her tothe end. They lived with Lady Lundie until the mother was strongenough to carry out the plan of life which she had arranged forthe future, and to earn her bread as a teacher of singing. To allappearance she rallied, and became herself again, in a fewmonths' time. She was making her way; she was winning sympathy,confidence, and respect every where--when she sank suddenly atthe opening of her new life. Nobody could account for it. Thedoctors themselves were divided in opinion. Scientificallyspeaking, there was no reason why she should die. It was a merefigure of speech--in no degree satisfactory to any reasonablemind--to say, as Lady Lundie said, that she had got herdeath-blow on the day when her husband deserted her. The onething certain was the fact--account for it as you might. In spiteof science (which meant little), in spite of her own courage(which meant much), the woman dropped at her post and died.

In the latter part of her illness her mind gave way. The friendof her old school-days, sitting at the bedside, heard her talkingas if she thought herself back again in the cabin of the ship.The poor soul found the tone, almost the look, that had been lostfor so many years--the tone of the past time when the two girlshad gone their different ways in the world. She said, "we willmeet, darling, with all the old love between us," just as she hadsaid almost a lifetime since. Before the end her mind rallied.She surprised the doctor and the nurse by begging them gently toleave the room. When they had gone she looked at Lady Lundie, andwoke, as it seemed, to consciousness from a dream.

"Blanche," she said, "you will take care of my child?"

"She shall be _my_ child, Anne, when you are gone."

The dying woman paused, and thought for a little. A suddentrembling seized her.

"Keep it a secret!" she said. "I am afraid for my child."

"Afraid? After what I have promised you?"

She solemnly repeated the words, "I am afraid for my child."

"Why?"

"My Anne is my second self--isn't she?"

"Yes."

"She is as fond of your child as I was of you?"

"Yes."

"She is not called by her father's name--she is called by mine.She is Anne Silvester as I was. Blanche! _Will she end like Me?_"

The question was put with the laboring breath, with the heavyaccents which tell that death is near. It chilled the livingwoman who heard it to the marrow of her bones.

"Don't think that!" she cried, horror-struck. "For God's sake,don't think that!"

The wildness began to appear again in Anne Silvester's eyes. Shemade feebly impatient signs with her hands. Lady Lundie bent overher, and heard her whisper, "Lift me up."

She lay in her friend's arms; she looked up in her friend's face;she went back wildly to her fear for her child.

"Don't bring her up like Me! She must be a governess--she mustget her bread. Don't let her act! don't let her sing! don't lether go on the stage!" She stopped--her voice suddenly recoveredits sweetness of tone--she smiled faintly--she said the oldgirlish words once more, in the old girlish way, "Vow it,Blanche!" Lady Lundie kissed her, and answered, as she hadanswered when they parted in the ship, "I vow it, Anne!"

The head sank, never to be lifted more. The last look of lifeflickered in the filmy eyes and went out. For a moment afterwardher lips moved. Lady Lundie put her ear close to them, and heardthe dreadful question reiterated, in the same dreadful words:"She is Anne Silvester--as I was. _Will she end like Me?_"

VI.

Five years passed--and the lives of the three men who had sat atthe dinner-table in the Hampstead villa began, in their alteredaspects, to reveal the progress of time and change.

Mr. Kendrew; Mr. Delamayn; Mr. Vanborough. Let the order in whichthey are here named be the order in which their lives arereviewed, as seen once more after a lapse of five years.

How the husband's friend marked his sense of the husband'streachery has been told already. How he felt the death of thedeserted wife is still left to tell. Report, which sees theinmost hearts of men, and delights in turning them outward to thepublic view, had always declared that Mr. Kendrew's life had itssecret, and that the secret was a hopeless passion for thebeautiful woman who had married his friend. Not a hint everdropped to any living soul, not a word ever spoken to the womanherself, could be produced in proof of the assertion while thewoman lived. When she died Report started up again moreconfidently than ever, and appealed to the man's own conduct asproof against the man himself.

He attended the funeral--though he was no relation. He took a fewblades of grass from the turf with which they covered hergrave--when he thought that nobody was looking at him. Hedisappeared from his club. He traveled. He came back. He admittedthat he was weary of England. He applied for, and obtained, anappointment in one of the colonies. To what conclusion did allthis point? Was it not plain that his usual course of life hadlost its attraction for him, when the object of his infatuationhad ceased to exist? It might have been so--guesses less likelyhave been made at the truth, and have hit the mark. It is, at anyrate, certain that he left England, never to return again.Another man lost, Report said. Add to that, a man in tenthousand--and, for once, Report might claim to be right.

Mr. Delamayn comes next.

The rising solicitor was struck off the roll, at his ownrequest--and entered himself as a student at one of the Inns ofCourt. For three years nothing was known of him but that he wasreading hard and keeping his terms. He was called to the Bar. Hislate partners in the firm knew they could trust him, and putbusiness into his hands. In two years he made himself a positionin Court. At the end of the two years he made himself a positionout of Court. He appeared as "Junior" in "a famous case," inwhich the honor of a great family, and the title to a greatestate were concerned. His "Senior" fell ill on the eve of thetrial. He conducted the case for the defendant and won it. Thedefendant said, "What can I do for you?" Mr. Delamayn answered,"Put me into Parliament." Being a landed gentleman, the defendanthad only to issue the necessary orders--and behold, Mr. Delamaynwas in Parliament!

In the House of Commons the new member and Mr. Vanborough metagain.

They sat on the same bench, and sided with the same party. Mr.Delamayn noticed that Mr. Vanborough was looking old and worn andgray. He put a few questions to a well-informed person. Thewell-informed person shook his head. Mr. Vanborough was rich; Mr.Vanborough was well-connected (through his wife); Mr. Van boroughwas a sound man in every sense of the word; _but_--nobody likedhim. He had done very well the first year, and there it hadended. He was undeniably clever, but he produced a disagreeableimpression in the House. He gave splendid entertainments, but hewasn't popular in society. His party respected him, but when theyhad any thing to give they passed him over. He had a temper ofhis own, if the truth must be told; and with nothing againsthim--on the contrary, with every thing in his favor--he didn'tmake friends. A soured man. At home and abroad, a soured man.

VII.

Five years more passed, dating from the day when the desertedwife was laid in her grave. It was now the year eighteen hundredand sixty six.

On a certain day in that year two special items of news appearedin the papers--the news of an elevation to the peerage, and thenews of a suicide.

Getting on well at the Bar, Mr. Delamayn got on better still inParliament. He became one of the prominent men in the House.Spoke clearly, sensibly, and modestly, and was never too long.Held the House, where men of higher abilities "bored" it. Thechiefs of his party said openly, "We must do something forDelamayn," The opportunity offered, and the chiefs kept theirword. Their Solicitor-General was advanced a step, and they putDelamayn in his place. There was an outcry on the part of theolder members of the Bar. The Ministry answered, "We want a manwho is listened to in the House, and we have got him." The paperssupported the new nomination. A great debate came off, and thenew Solicitor-General justified the Ministry and the papers. Hisenemies said, derisively, "He will be Lord Chancellor in a yearor two!" His friends made genial jokes in his domestic circle,which pointed to the same conclusion. They warned his two sons,Julius and Geoffrey (then at college), to be careful whatacquaintances they made, as they might find themselves the sonsof a lord at a moment's notice. It really began to look likesomething of the sort. Always rising, Mr. Delamayn rose next tobe Attorney-General. About the same time--so true it is that"nothing succeeds like success"--a childless relative died andleft him a fortune. In the summer of 'sixty-six a Chief Judgeshipfell vacant. The Ministry had made a previous appointment whichhad been universally unpopular. They saw their way to supplyingthe place of their Attorney-General, and they offered thejudicial appointment to Mr. Delamayn. He preferred remaining inthe House of Commons, and refused to accept it. The Ministrydeclined to take No for an answer. They whispered confidentially," Will you take it with a peerage?" Mr. Delamayn consulted hiswife, and took it with a peerage. The London _ Gazette_ announcedhim to the world as Baron Holchester of Holchester. And thefriends of the family rubbed their hands and said, "What did wetell you? Here are our two young friends, Julius and Geoffrey,the sons of a lord!"

And where was Mr. Vanborough all this time? Exactly where we lefthim five years since.

He was as rich, or richer, than ever. He was as well-connected asever. He was as ambitious as ever. But there it ended. He stoodstill in the House; he stood still in society; nobody liked him;he made no friends. It was all the old story over again, withthis difference, that the soured man was sourer; the gray head,grayer; and the irritable temper more unendurable than ever. Hiswife had her rooms in the house and he had his, and theconfidential servants took care that they never met on thestairs. They had no children. They only saw each other at theirgrand dinners and balls. People ate at their table, and danced ontheir floor, and compared notes afterward, and said how dull itwas. Step by step the man who had once been Mr. Vanborough'slawyer rose, till the peerage received him, and he could rise nolonger; while Mr. Vanborough, on the lower round of the ladder,looked up, and noted it, with no more chance (rich as he was andwell-connected as he was) of climbing to the House of Lords thanyour chance or mine.

The man's career was ended; and on the day when the nomination ofthe new peer was announced, the man ended with it.

He laid the newspaper aside without making any remark, and wentout. His carriage set him down, where the green fields stillremain, on the northwest of London, near the foot-path whichleads to Hampstead. He walked alone to the villa where he hadonce lived with the woman whom he had so cruelly wronged. Newhouses had risen round it, part of the old garden had been soldand built on. After a moment's hesitation he went to the gate andrang the bell. He gave the servant his card. The servant's masterknew the name as the name of a man of great wealth, and of aMember of Parliament. He asked politely to what fortunatecircumstance he owed the honor of that visit. Mr. Vanboroughanswered, briefly and simply, "I once lived here; I haveassociations with the place with which it is not necessary for meto trouble you. Will you excuse what must seem to you a verystrange request? I should like to see the dining-room again, ifthere is no objection, and if I am disturbing nobody."

The "strange requests" of rich men are of the nature of"privileged communications," for this excellent reason, that theyare sure not to be requests for money. Mr. Vanborough was showninto the dining-room. The master of the house, secretlywondering, watched him.

He walked straight to a certain spot on the carpet, not far fromthe window that led into the garden, and nearly opposite thedoor. On that spot he stood silently, with his head on hisbreast--thinking. Was it _there_ he had seen her for the lasttime, on the day when he left the room forever? Yes; it wasthere. After a minute or so he roused himself, but in a dreamy,absent manner. He said it was a pretty place, and expressed histhanks, and looked back before the door closed, and then went hisway again. His carriage picked him up where it had set him down.He drove to the residence of the new Lord Holchester, and left acard for him. Then he went home. Arrived at his house, hissecretary reminded him that he had an appointment in ten minutes'time. He thanked the secretary in the same dreamy, absent mannerin which he had thanked the owner of the villa, and went into hisdressing-room. The person with whom he had made the appointmentcame, and the secretary sent the valet up stairs to knock at thedoor. There was no answer. On trying the lock it proved to beturned inside. They broke open the door, and saw him lying on thesofa. They went close to look--and found him dead by his ownhand.

VIII.

Drawing fast to its close, the Prologue reverts to the twogirls--and tells, in a few words, how the years passed with Anneand Blanche.

Lady Lundie more than redeemed the solemn pledge that she hadgiven to her friend. Preserved from every temptation which mightlure her into a longing to follow her mother's career; trainedfor a teacher's life, with all the arts and all the advantagesthat money could procure, Anne's first and only essays as agoverness were made, under Lady Lundie's own roof, on LadyLundie's own child. The difference in the ages of thegirls--seven years--the love between them, which seemed, as timewent on, to grow with their growth, favored the trial of theexperiment. In the double relation of teacher and friend tolittle Blanche, the girlhood of Anne Silvester the younger passedsafely, happily, uneventfully, in the modest sanctuary of home.Who could imagine a contrast more complete than the contrastbetween her early life and her mother's? Who could see any thingbut a death-bed delusion in the terrible question which hadtortured the mother's last moments: "Will she end like Me?"

But two events of importance occurred in the quiet family circleduring the lapse of years which is now under review. In eighteenhundred and fifty-eight the household was enlivened by thearrival of Sir Thomas Lundie. In eighteen hundred and sixty-fivethe household was broken up by the return of Sir Thomas to India,accompanied by his wife.

Lady Lundie's health had b een failing for some time previously.The medical men, consulted on the case, agreed that a sea-voyagewas the one change needful to restore their patient's wastedstrength--exactly at the time, as it happened, when Sir Thomaswas due again in India. For his wife's sake, he agreed to deferhis return, by taking the sea-voyage with her. The one difficultyto get over was the difficulty of leaving Blanche and Anne behindin England.

Appealed to on this point, the doctors had declared that atBlanche's critical time of life they could not sanction her goingto India with her mother. At the same time, near and dearrelatives came forward, who were ready and anxious to giveBlanche and her governess a home--Sir Thomas, on his side,engaging to bring his wife back in a year and a half, or, atmost, in two years' time. Assailed in all directions, LadyLundie's natural unwillingness to leave the girls was overruled.She consented to the parting--with a mind secretly depressed, andsecretly doubtful of the future.

At the last moment she drew Anne Silvester on one side, out ofhearing of the rest. Anne was then a young woman of twenty-two,and Blanche a girl of fifteen.

"My dear," she said, simply, "I must tell _you_ what I can nottell Sir Thomas, and what I am afraid to tell Blanche. I am goingaway, with a mind that misgives me. I am persuaded I shall notlive to return to England; and, when I am dead, I believe myhusband will marry again. Years ago your mother was uneasy, onher death-bed, about _your_ future. I am uneasy, now, aboutBlanche's future. I promised my dear dead friend that you shouldbe like my own child to me--and it quieted her mind. Quiet mymind, Anne, before I go. Whatever happens in years tocome--promise me to be always, what you are now, a sister toBlanche."

She held out her hand for the last time. With a full heart AnneSilvester kissed it, and gave the promise.

IX.

In two months from that time one of the forebodings which hadweighed on Lady Lundie's mind was fulfilled. She died on thevoyage, and was buried at sea.

In a year more the second misgiving was confirmed. Sir ThomasLundie married again. He brought his second wife to Englandtoward the close of eighteen hundred and sixty six.

Time, in the new household, promised to pass as quietly as in theold. Sir Thomas remembered and respected the trust which hisfirst wife had placed in Anne. The second Lady Lundie, wiselyguiding her conduct in this matter by the conduct of her husband,left things as she found them in the new house. At the opening ofeighteen hundred and sixty-seven the relations between Anne andBlanche were relations of sisterly sympathy and sisterly love.The prospect in the future was as fair as a prospect could be.

At this date, of the persons concerned in the tragedy of twelveyears since at the Hampstead villa, three were dead; and one wasself-exiled in a foreign land. There now remained living Anne andBlanche, who had been children at the time; and the risingsolicitor who had discovered the flaw in the Irish marriage--onceMr. Delamayn: now Lord Holchester.