The Indiana State sentinel., 1889-01-16
GUILDEROY
4tOUIDE4% X
Author OF "Under Two Flags" 1.-TWO Lit
tie Wooden Shoes" ''Chandos,"
Don Gesualdo," Etc.
tNou srst published Alrishts re,erved.l
CHAPTER XXXYII.

Youngest daughter with her; a girl not
yet in the world.
My dear" she said affectionately, Il
saw in the papers that my brother has
gone out of England; il is objectionable
of him to hare left you alone at such
time, as young as you are and the world
80 unpleasant as it is. l have brought
constance to stay with you, and ! will
stay myself as long as l can. suppose
Evelyn will not be many weeks away.
Where has he gone?
Gladys answered her with what COM
posure and apparent carelessness she
could.
The presence OF her sister-in-law was
very painful to her. She could not forget
that what Hilda Sunbury had told her in
the elm-wall1 on the day of her fathers
death had brought about the scene with
Guilderoy which had separated them
more hopelessly than they had ever been
separated before.
Lady Sunbury was at this moment
moved by the most excellent motives, and
actuated by a sense of self-blame which
was almost renorse. 1t would have been
remorse in a character less certain OF its
own perlsctions than was hers. She
knew that she had panied and distressed
John Vernon needlessly in the last hours
of ms life, and she heard often in memory
those farewell words of his, "Be kind TO
her" She was conscious that she had not
been kind to her brothers wife. She
knew that she had worried, annoyed and
wounded her MANY a time, and that in
what she had revealed to her concerning
the Duchess SOria, she had been mainly
instrumental in bringing about what her
own penetration suspected to be the cause
of Guilderoy's sudden departure from
England.
She was an admirably conscientious
woman, though like so many conscientious
persons she was wholly ignorant that she
was often intensely disagreeable, and even
at times very dangerous, from the unwise
and irritating things which her conscienc
impelled her to say and do.
In coming to Ladysrood she was sin
cerely desirous to put the sgis of her own
presence there, and that of her young
daughter, between GLADYS and the evil
comments of the world 1t had been in
convenient to her to leave her own great
house OF Ellington at that mament, and to
sacrifice many important social engage
ments; but she had made the sacrifice
with the most admirable intentions, and
with that great regard for the reputation
of the head of her family which Guilderoy
had so often and so hardly tried. But all
the purity and integrity of her inten
tions could not make her presence other
vriSa than infapaa irrifatiCr, arI o,,-
preston to her brothers wife.
All wounded animals long to be alone;
snd solitude would have been the only
possible balm 10 the wounds Of GLADYS,
stung TO the quick as she was by pain, and
missing, as she did every hour of her life,
the sense of the near presence of her
fathers wise and gentle influence. The
constant sound OF Lady Sunbury's voice,
reiterating as it did all maxims of worldly
wisdom, and shrewd, cold, common sense,
became to her positive torture which in
tensi6ed all other suffering in her. The
presence even Of the young girl, who was
impatient OF the dullness OF Ladysrood.
and full OF all those artificial and worldly
longings which ill the breasts of de-
butantes, was an additional trial to her.
Sorrow is bad enough at any time to bear;
but its bitterness Is tenfold when we can
not shut ourselves up with it in peace,
but must at every moment listen to a
never-ending stream OF commonplace re-
marks. and affect sympathy with common
place desires and regrets. The curiosity
0f Lady Sunbury, moreover, was keen;
md without descending absolutely to the
soarseness of questioning, she endeavored,
oy every indirect means in her power, to
discover what had passed between
Iuilderoy and his wife on the subject of
Beatrice Soria
But Gladys told her nothing; and the
ong, quiet days of the fading summer
passed in infinite enn,a to the guests, and
n intolerable WEAKNESS OF soul to the
mistress OF Ladysrood. The only peace
ful moments which she knew were when
she sat alone by the grave OF her father
on the thyme-grown cliffs above the sea
at Christlea-
She felt so utterly alone. Whilst he
had lived she had thought herself wretched
indeed; but now it seemed to her that no
hopeless sorrow could ever have touched
her so long as his noble intelligence and
wise affection had been there to shield
her from her own passions, and console
her for their disappointment.
She had not answered the letter which
Guilderoy had left for her on the evening
OF his departure.
At least she had sent no answer. She
had written scores OF sheets 70 him. but
had burned them all, dissatisfied with
their utter inadequacy TO describe her
own emotions.
And after all what was there to say
He had married her believing that he
would care for her; and he had found
himself unable to do so; either from his
fault or hers, or neither, or both What
matter which? What words could alter
that? What reproach could change. or
what entreaty could regain, his heart =?
la truth 1t had never been hers.
She suffered all the tortures which
wiring the inmost soul of woman who
loves what has been hers, and knows that
al its charm, its senses, its time, its emo
tions, are given to others. and can never
be recalled 10 her. Men can so easily
console themselves for lost passions
even where their hearts ache,
their physical pleasures can 30
easily be gratified by those who do not
ouch their hearts, that they cannot un-
5erstand the wholly irreparable loss that
he desertion OF her lover is to a woman
who can only receive happiness through
one alone. Messalina can vary her ca
prices at will, but the woman who loves
With all her seRs1s and her soul can never
ind any means 70 fill up the blank made
in her whole life by abandonment.
To the mind of Lady Sunbury the lot of
- -rf~ L. ofs