CHAPTER XIV.

The affections of youth never die. They live sometimes to lift the

drooping head, and help to chase sorrow from the heart of the oppressed.

If fostered unduly they generally prove to be more closely interwoven

than if retained through honesty alone, and fight the battle of union

with cannon strength until gained for good or evil.

Awaking from the deep sleep she so much enjoyed after her troublesome

adventures in the past, Christmas Day seemed wreathed with flowers of

heavenly fragrance for the once fair bride of Dunfern Mansion. She now

felt free to act as she thought best without undergoing an examination

which demanded answers of evasive tact--free from the hovering cloud of

dislike under which she so solemnly moved since her marriage day--free

from the wild gaze of that detestable of mortals, Rachel Hyde, who

proved as false as she was foul--free from reposing on the suicidal

couch of distrust and distress--free from the surveillance of a

so-called philanthropist; and free from the traps of tyrannical power.

She had no longer to fear the opening door of creaking custody or

crushed hopes, and well might she now enjoy her Christmas dinner with

rural relish and savoury zest. She found in Audley Hall every simple and

inexpensive comfort, and rejoiced once more to be under the gentle rule

of him whom she would have died to serve. She seemed now to have reached

joy's greatest height, and never hoped that she should again be dashed

into the dam of denounced riches, where love was an absenter to its

silvery depth; since she had aspired to and achieved the greatest aim of

her ambition.

Oscar Otwell's happiness knew no bounds. The trusted tutor had at last

secured the only hope he ever wished realised, although gained with

daring enterprise and false advances. He believed that life at last

possessed some charms for him, viewing matters lightly. But behind the

silvery rock of fortune there lies a hollow filled with darkened traces

of fate.

The love dream of youth had hardly time to be told until the future

dream of wonder and dread was about to be prophesied. A couple of months

or so after Lady Dunfern took up her residence at Audley Hall found her

more a dependent than a patroness. She had recently fled from a dungeon,

still it was not one of either starvation or poverty. Whilst occupying

its darkened midst she never had any cause for complaint regarding food

or attendance, both of which could not possibly have been excelled. It

was only when staring her lover's scanty table fully that thoughts of

any nature, save cruelty, haunted her and caused a sad expression to

appear which before seemed invisible.

Oscar, who had no means whatever of a private nature, soon commenced to

feel the touch of want as well as Lady Dunfern. He had no situation,

neither had he the means to afford the homeliest fare, and although made

owner of his present habitation, yet it was only conditionally he

obtained it from his uncle. Must not the great love they naturally had

for each other have been of very superlative strength, since it bade

adieu to boundless wealth on the one hand and a comfortable allowance on

the other, to face the future with penniless pride!

Advertisements were often seen in the leading journals for a situation,

and once the name "Oscar Otwell" appeared below. It was treated with

muffled silence, so much so that after a month's daily appealing to a

praiseworthy public, the result proved a decided failure.

Did he imagine his conduct in robbing Sir John Dunfern of his youthful

wife would be appreciated by a public band of critics? Did he by his

various attempts to enter the minds of the needy ever think to solicit

their assistance or gain their confidence by tearing asunder the lawful

bond of superficial union and right, casting it upon the sieve of

shattered shelter to separate the corn of crowded comfort from the chaff

of crafty want?

Oscar Otwell, whose literary abilities were proved beyond doubt, and

which were the sole source of his existence, was, by his conduct and

craving desire, driven into the pit of trifling tenure and allowed to

lie dormant until again aroused in a clime to which he soon must wend

his wasted way.

It was now that the heated passion of youth's folly became abated as

Oscar was beginning to near his purse's wrinkled bottom, and failing in

his strenuous efforts to secure a tutorship, was smartly made to feel

that he must visit a land of strangers, where height of ability and

depth of character were alike unquestioned. It was at this stage, too,

that Lady Dunfern was made to taste of the dish of fanciful wish in

which she often dipped her slender fingers to sprinkle her body of

dishonesty. She got time now to brood over her actions of silly

execution and hatch them with heated hunger. The orphan, the pampered,

the honoured was at this period the deluded, the mocked, the hungered.

This was only the beginning of what must follow; and where did the blame

attachable rest? But on the shoulders of her who had edged the road of

unreasonable revenge, and stripped herself of the covering of coveted

cost to array herself in linen of loose lore and lengthy wear, and die,

it may be, on the wayside of want.

The shaft of poverty still kept striking the inmates of Audley Hall,

until forced to withdraw its clumsy blow. There was evidently now plenty

of scope for the talent of the learned Oscar to develop; he must plan

how to arrive at an idea that would bring to the occupants of his

temporary home the necessaries of which they stood immediately in need.

Failing in his efforts to gain one step towards relief, Lady Dunfern

advised the disposal of Audley Hall privately, which, she strongly

hinted to Oscar, was their only path of safety from the door of

starvation. To this suggestion she succeeded in gaining his consent.

He accordingly, acting upon her advice, wrote to Doctor O'Sullivan,

President of Chitworth College, intimating to him his present

circumstances and intention, and begged of him to use his best efforts

in sending him a purchaser, the sale to be kept strictly private for

reasons which, presently, he felt too delicate to explain.

In a week or so after, a gentleman was seen approach the door of Oscar's

home, and making the necessary inquiries regarding the price Oscar meant

to accept for it, offered the sum of one thousand pounds, which,

needless to say, was gladly accepted.

The purchaser was rather an elderly gentleman, with chiselled features,

tall and straight, and seemed to have borne the melting heat of a

far-off clime to a large extent. He informed Oscar that being a retired

army pensioner, named Major Iddesleigh, he chose to leave the foreign

land in which he sojourned for upwards of thirty-five years and reside

in his native county, adding that he was a widower, having had two sons,

both of whom predeceased him, and preferred a home of his own rather

than take up quarters he could not solely claim.

He went on to say he had an only brother, a colonel, who formerly

resided at Flixton, a quaint little town on the east coast of Kent. He

had not heard from him for many years, and was resolved on arriving in

England to lose no time in finding out his whereabouts, and, much to his

grave disappointment and vexation, he was informed, whilst staying for a

few days with President O'Sullivan, that he and his wife had long since

been dead, leaving an only daughter, of whom he was now in earnest

pursuit. Oscar's deadly countenance during the latter part of Major

Iddesleigh's remarks filled the mind of the purchaser of Audley Hall

with thoughts of wonder, and on casting a sharp and penetrating stare at

her who passed as Oscar's wife, he was similarly struck with intense awe

at the sudden change that swept over her handsome face.

Her brain whirled with dire excitement on being at last informed of him

who for years previous she considered had been a member of the missing

majority.

"Great and Merciful Forgiver!" thought Lady Dunfern, "am I at last face

to face with Major Iddesleigh, whose name has been so often the subject

of conversation with both Lord and Lady Dilworth?" Gathering her

thoughts and submitting them to subjection, she tried to subdue her

shattered nerves and lock them under proper restraint, until her uncle

should safely be out of sight on his way back to the home of the

kind-hearted President of Chitworth College.

She had not, however, the slightest thought of making him cognisant of

the fact that she was the proud and lovely daughter of his brother, the

late Colonel Iddesleigh--the once-adored wife of the widely respected

and generous owner of Dunfern Estate, and now the tempted tool of

emigration.

She prayed in her bewilderment that she might escape unknown to him,

rather than make him aware of the disgrace into which her past conduct

had unmistakably plunged her. Bidding Oscar and her "Adieu," Major

Iddesleigh left what was to be his future home, and returned to Doctor

O'Sullivan to acquaint him of his purchase.

Before he had even reached the College on his way from Audley Hall,

Oscar Otwell, Lady Dunfern, and Marjory had booked for New York, on

board the "Delwyn," and when the worthy President was informed of the

purchase, the dashing waves of Atlantic waters were raising themselves

to a considerable height before the eyes of the fugitives, who nervously

paced the deck of danger in despair and deepest thought of their foul

transaction and Major Iddesleigh, lest before they reached their destiny

he would be made possessor of his niece's conduct, and, with the warlike

will of a soldier of strength, follow her, and bring her back to Audley

Hall to administer to his many wants and comforts, and bequeath to her

all he possessed.

Nor did Oscar Otwell, whose nerves were reaching their shaky height,

feel free until safely ensconsed in a trim little cottage on the

outskirts of Dobbs Ferry, some miles distant from the suburbs of New

York. Oscar's first thought, after being quietly settled in his new

home, was to bind himself for life to be the husband of her who had

risked so much to bring him the joy he long sought after; and within one

month after their safe arrival in New York borders, the pretty little

church, situated at the east end of Dobbs Ferry, was the scene of a

charming group of wealthy sight-seers and warm admirers of the handsome

bride of Oscar Otwell, who had lately regained some of her former

spirits, which enlivened her to a pleasing extent, and manifested signs

of joy where lines of sorrow so lately lived.

It was for this celebration that Lady Dunfern arrayed herself in the

gorgeous gown of purest duchesse satin, which bore such a train of past

remembrances. Why its puffs of pearly wealth surrounded her well-formed

figure on the celebration of her marriage with him who long ago should

have claimed its shining folds, may be considered mysterious. But in

this, as well as in many other instances, the busy brain of Marjory

Mason was prime mover.

During Lady Dunfern's confinement in the mansion over which she unjustly

was appointed mistress, Sir John Dunfern, never suspecting the maid of

her on whom he was driven to lavish correction, appointed Marjory

mistress of her ladyship's wardrobe, and it was during her term of

office that she stole from its midst the box containing the beautiful

Parisian outfit which failed to put in an appearance on Lady Dunfern's

previous wedding-day. This Marjory kept, until safe in the shady cot of

comfort which encompassed within its wooden walls the trio of adventure.

Lady Dunfern resolved that this gown should be kept a prisoner until

either worn with a face of happiness and prided ambition or never worn

at all.

On entering the church on the morning of her marriage with Oscar, how

every eye was turned towards the beautiful woman whose radiant smile

gained the hearts of each and all of its occupants. There she stood

before the holy altar with calm resolution and undaunted fear, and her

elegant bearing and manner throughout the trying ceremony were

thoroughly appreciated by the assembly.

Oscar bore slight traces of nervousness throughout the oratorical

ordeal, and was rejoiced indeed as he turned to leave the scene of such

outbursts of praise, taking with him her who was to be his coveted

partner for life; her, whose footsteps he so often worshipped in days

gone by; her, who entered into treaty legally with a man she never could

learn to love; her, whom he now claimed as his own, and for whom he

stumbled over many an awkward and winding stile, until at last his

footsteps had reached the path of level tread, on which he hoped to

travel until his journey would be ended to that distant land where

strife is a stranger.