The place was called the Wizard’s Cave. It was a gigantic grotto, near which flowed a waterfall of surpassing beauty. A wild extent of woodland stretched on one side of this romantic scene; on the other a broad moor spread wide before a range of hills, one of which was crowned by the ruins of an old Norman castle that had stood many a siege in days gone by.
It would have been difficult to select a spot better adapted for a pic~nic; and some of the gentlemen who had ridden over to inspect the scene were rapturous in their praises of its sylvan beauty. The cave lay within ten miles of Raynham. “Just the distance for a delightful drive,” said the ladies — and from the moment that Sir Oswald had proposed the entertainment, there had been perpetual discussion of the arrangements necessary, the probability of fine weather, and the date to be finally chosen. The baronet had proposed this rustic fête when his own heart had been light and happy; now he looked forward to the day with a sickening dread of its weariness. Others would be happy; but the sound of mirthful voices and light laughter would fall with a terrible discordance on the ear of the man whose mind was tortured by hidden doubts. Sir Oswald was too courteous a host to disappoint his visitors. All the preparations for the rustic festival were duly made: and on the appointed morning a train of horses and carriages drew up in a line in the quadrangle of the castle.
It would have been impossible to imagine a brighter picture of English life; and as the guests emerged in groups from the wide, arched doorway, and took their places in the carriages, or sprang lightly into their saddles, the spectacle grew more and more enlivening.
Lydia Graham had done her utmost to surpass all rivals on this important day. Wealthy country squires and rich young lordlings were to be present at the festival, and the husband-huntress might, perchance, find a victim among these eligible bachelors. Deeply as she was already in debt, Miss Graham had written to her French milliner, imploring her to send her a costume regardless of expense, and promising a speedy payment of at least half her long-standing account. The fair and false Lydia did not scruple to hint at the possibility of her making a brilliant matrimonial alliance ere many months were over, in order that this hope might beguile the long-suffering milliner into giving further credit.
The fashionable beauty was not disappointed. The milliner sent the costume ordered, but wrote to inform Miss Graham, with all due circumlocution and politeness, that, unless her long-standing account were quickly settled, legal proceedings must be taken. Lydia threw the letter aside with a frown, and proceeded to inspect her dress, which was perfect in its way.
But Miss Graham could scarcely repress a sigh of envy as she looked at Lady Eversleigh’s more simple toilet, and perceived that, with all its appearance of simplicity, it was twice as costly as her own more gorgeous attire. The jewels, too, were worth more than all the trinkets Lydia possessed; and she knew that the treasures of Lady Eversleigh’s jewel-cases were almost inexhaustible, with such a lavish hand had her husband heaped his gifts upon her.
“Perhaps he will not be so liberal with his presents in future,” thought the malicious and disappointed woman, as she looked at Honoria, and acknowledged to her own envious heart that never had she seen her look more beautiful, more elegant, or more fitted to adorn the position which Miss Graham would willingly have persuaded herself she disgraced. “If he thinks that her love is bestowed upon another, he will scarcely find such delight in future in offering her costly tributes of affection.”
There was a great deal of discussion as to who should occupy the different carriages; but at last all was arranged apparently to every one’s satisfaction. There were many who had chosen to ride; and among the equestrians was Sir Oswald himself.
For the first time in any excursion, the baronet deserted his accustomed place by the side of his wife. Honoria deeply felt the slight involved in this desertion; but she was too proud to entreat him to alter his arrangements. She saw his favourite horse brought round to the broad steps; she saw her husband mount the animal without a word of remonstrance, without so much as a reproachful glance, though her heart was swelling with passionate indignation. And then she took her place in the barouche, and allowed the gentlemen standing near to assist in the arrangement of the shawls and carriage-rugs, which were provided in case of change of weather.
Sir Oswald was not slow to remark that appearance of indifference. When once estrangement has arisen between those who truly love each other, everything tends to widen the breach. The jealous husband had chosen to separate himself from his wife in a sudden impulse of angry distrust; but he was still more angry, still more distrustful, when he saw her apparent carelessness of his desertion.
“She is happier without me,” he thought, bitterly, as he drew his horse on one side, and watched all that took place around the barouche. “Unrestrained by my presence, she will be free to revel in the flatteries of her younger admirers. She will be perfectly happy, for she will forget for a while that she is chained for life to a husband whom she does not love.”
A silvery laugh from Honoria seemed to answer his thoughts, and to confirm his suspicions. He little dreamed that laugh was assumed, in order to deceive the malicious Lydia, who had just uttered a polite little speech, intended to wound the mistress of Raynham.
The baronet kept his horse a little way behind the carriage, and watched his wife with jealous and angry eyes.
Lydia Graham had taken her seat in the barouche, and there was now a slight discussion as to the gentlemen who should accompany the two ladies. Many were eager for the privilege, and the occasion was a fitting one for the display of feminine coquetry. Miss Graham did not neglect the opportunity; and after a little animated conversation between the lady and a young fop who was heir to a peerage, the lordling took his place opposite the fashionable beauty.
The second place still remained unoccupied. The baronet waited with painful eagerness to see who would take this place, for amongst the gentlemen grouped about the door of the carriage was Victor Carrington.
Sir Oswald had not to wait long. He ground his teeth in a sudden access of jealous fury as he saw the young surgeon step lightly into the vehicle, and seat himself opposite Lady Eversleigh. He took it for granted that it was on that lady’s invitation the young man occupied this place of honour. He did not for a moment imagine that it was at Lydia Graham’s entreaty the surgeon had taken his seat in the barouche. And yet it was so.
“Do come with us, Mr. Carrington,” Lydia had said. “I know that you are well versed in county history and archaeology, and will be able to tell us all manner of interesting facts connected with the villages and churches we pass on our road.”
Lydia Graham hated Honoria for having won the proud position she herself had tried so hard to attain; she hated Sir Oswald for having chosen another in preference to herself; and she was determined to be revenged on both. She knew that her hints had already had their effect on the baronet; and she now sought, by every base and treacherous trick, to render Honoria Eversleigh an object of suspicion in the eyes of her husband. She had a double game to play; for she sought at once to gratify her ambition and her thirst for revenge. On one hand she wished to captivate Lord Sumner Howden; on the other she wanted to widen the gulf between Sir Oswald and his wife.
She little knew that she was only playing into the hands of a deeper and more accomplished schemer than herself. She little thought that Victor Carrington’s searching glance had penetrated the secrets of her heart; and that he watched her malicious manoeuvres with a calm sense of amusement.
Though August had already given place to September, the weather was warm and balmy, as in the full glory of midsummer.
Sir Oswald rode behind Lady Eversleigh’s barouche, too remote to hear the words that were spoken by those who occupied the vehicle; but quite near enough to distinguish the tones and the laughter, and to perceive every gesture. He saw Victor bend forward to address Honoria. He saw that deferential and devoted manner which had so much offended him since he had first set himself to watch the surgeon. And Lady Eversleigh did not discourage her admirer; she let him talk; she seemed interested in his conversation; and as Lydia Graham and Lord Howden were entirely occupied with each other, the conversation between Honoria was a complete tête-à-tête. The young man’s handsome head bent lower and lower over the plumed hat of Lady Eversleigh; and with every step of that ten-mile journey, the cloud that overshadowed the baronet’s mind grew more profound in its fatal gloom. He no longer struggled against his doubts — he abandoned himself altogether to the passion that held possession of him.
But the eyes of the world were on Sir Oswald, and he was obliged to meet those unpitying eyes with a smile. The long line of equipages drew up at last on the margin of a wood; the pleasure-seekers alighted, and wandered about in twos and threes amongst the umbrageous pathways which led towards the Wizard’s Cave.
After alighting from the barouche, Lady Eversleigh waited to see if her husband would approach her, and offer his arm; she had a faint hope that he would do so, even in spite of his evident estrangement; but her hope was cruelly disappointed. Sir Oswald walked straight to a portly dowager, and offered to escort her to the cave.
“Do you remember a pic-nic here twenty years ago, at which you and I danced together by moon-light, Lady Hetherington?” he said. “We old folks have pleasant memories of the past, and are the fittest companions for each other. The young people can enjoy themselves much better without the restraint of our society.”
He said this loud enough for his wife to hear. She did hear every word, and felt there was hidden significance in that careless speech. For a moment she was inclined to break down the icy barrier of reserve. The words which she wanted to speak were almost on her lips, “Let me go with you, Oswald.” But in the next instant she met her husband’s eyes, and their cold gaze chilled her heart.
At the same moment Victor Carrington offered her his arm, with his accustomed deferential manner. She accepted the proffered arm, scarcely knowing who offered it, so deeply did she feel her husband’s unkindness.
“What have I done to offend him?” she thought. “What is this cruel mystery which divides us, and which is almost breaking my heart?”
“Come, Lady Eversleigh,” cried several voices; “we want you to accompany us to the Wizard’s Cave.”
Nothing could be more successful than the pic-nic. Elegantly dressed women and aristocratic-looking men wandered here and there amidst the woodland, and by the margin of the waterfall; sometimes in gay little parties, whose talk and laughter rang out clearly on the balmy air; sometimes strolling tête-à-tête, and engaged in conversations of a more confidential character. Half-hidden by the foliage of a little thicket of pollard oaks, there was a military band, whose services Sir Oswald had obtained from a garrison-town some twenty miles from Raynham, and the stirring music added much to the charm of the festival.
Lydia Graham was as happy as it is possible for any evil-minded woman to be. Her envious feelings were lulled to temporary rest by the enjoyment of her own triumphs; for the young lordling seemed to be completely subjugated by her charms, and devoted himself exclusively to attendance upon her.
The scheming beauty’s heart thrilled with a sense of triumph. She thought that she had at last made a conquest that might be better worth the making than any of those past conquests, which had all ended in such bitter disappointments.
She looked at Lady Eversleigh with flashing eyes, as she remembered that by the subjugation of this empty-headed young nobleman she might attain a higher position and greater wealth than that enjoyed by Sir Oswald’s envied wife.
“As Lady Sumner Howden, I could look down upon the mistress of Raynham Castle,” she thought. “As Countess of Vandeluce, I should take precedence of nobler women than Lady Eversleigh.”
The day waned. The revellers lingered long over the splendid collation, served in a marquee which had been sent from York for the occasion. The banquet seemed a joyous one, enlivened by the sound of laughter, the popping of champagne corks, the joyous talk that emanated alike from the really light-hearted and those whose gaiety is only a mockery and a sham. The sun was sloping westward when Lady Eversleigh arose, absent and despondent, to give the signal for the withdrawal of the ladies.
As she did so, she looked to the other end of the marquee — to the table where her husband had been seated. To her surprise, his place was empty.
Throughout the whole day Honoria had been a prey to gloomy forebodings. The estrangement between herself and her husband was so unexpected, so inexplicable, that she was powerless to struggle against the sense of misery and bewilderment which it had occasioned in her mind.
Again and again she asked herself what had she done to offend him; again and again she pondered over the smallest and most insignificant actions — the lightest words — of the past few weeks, in order to discover some clue to the mystery of Sir Oswald’s altered conduct.
But the past afforded her no such clue. She had said nothing, she had done nothing, which could offend the most sensitive of men.
Then a new and terrible light began to dawn upon her. She remembered her wretched extraction — the pitiable condition in which the baronet had discovered her, and she began to think that he repented of his marriage. “He regrets his folly, and I am hateful in his eyes,” thought Honoria, “for he remembers my degraded position — the mystery of my past life. He has heard sneering words and cruel innuendoes fall from the lips of his fashionable friends, perhaps; and he is ashamed of his marriage. He little knows how gladly I would release him from the tie that binds us — if, indeed, it has grown hateful to him.” Thus musing and wandering alone, in one of the forest pathways — for she had outstripped her guests, and sought a little relief for her overwrought spirits, constrained to the courtesies of her position for the moment — she scarcely knew whither, she came presently upon a group of grooms, who were lounging before a rough canvas tent, which had been erected for the accommodation of the horses.
“Is ‘Orestes’ in that tent, Plummer?” she asked of the old groom who generally attended her in her rides and drives.
“No, my lady, Sir Oswald had him saddled a quarter of an hour ago, and rode him away.”
“Sir Oswald has gone away!&............