CHAPTER XIX. - Irene Iddesleigh

Hope sinks a world of imagination. It in almost every instance never

fails to arm the opponents of justice with weapons of friendly defence,

and gains their final fight with peaceful submission. Life is too often

stripped of its pleasantness by the steps of false assumption, marring

the true path of life-long happiness which should be pebbled with

principle, piety, purity, and peace.

Next morning, after the trying adventure of the lonely outcast, was the

scene of wonder at Dilworth Castle. Henry Hawkes, the head gardener

under the Marquis of Orland, on approaching the little summer-house in

which Irene Iddesleigh so often sat in days of youth, was horrified to

find the dead body of a woman, apparently a widow, lying prostrate

inside its mossy walls. "Lord, protect me!" shouted poor Hawkes, half

distractedly, and hurried to Dilworth Castle to inform the inmates of

what he had just seen.

They all rushed towards the little rustic building to verify the

certainty of the gardener's remarks. There she lay, cold, stiff, and

lifeless as Nero, and must have been dead for hours. They advised the

authorities, who were soon on the spot.

What stinging looks of shame the Marquis cast upon her corpse on being

told that it was that of the once beautiful Lady Dunfern--mother of the

present heir to Dunfern estate!

Lying close at hand was an old and soiled card, with the words almost

beyond distinction, "Irene Iddesleigh." In an instant her whole history

flashed before the unforgiving mind of the Marquis, and being a sharer

in her devices, through his nephew Oscar Otwell, ordered her body to be

conveyed to the morgue, at the same time intimating to Sir Hugh Dunfern

her demise.

It transpired at the inquest, held next day, that she was admitted the

previous night to the grounds of Dilworth Castle by the porter at the

lodge, giving her name as "Irene Iddesleigh."

She must have taken refuge in the little construction planned under her

personal supervision whilst inhabiting Dilworth Castle during her

girlhood, and, haunted with the never-dying desire to visit once more

its lovely grounds, wandered there to die of starvation.

No notice whatever was taken of her death by her son, who obeyed to the

last letter his father's instructions, and carried them out with

tearless pride.

The little narrow bed at the lowest corner on the west side of Seaforde

graveyard was the spot chosen for her remains. Thus were laid to rest

the orphan of Colonel Iddesleigh, the adopted daughter and imagined

heiress of Lord and Lady Dilworth, what might have been the proud wife

of Sir John Dunfern, the unlawful wife of Oscar Otwell, the suicidal

outcast, and the despised and rejected mother.

She who might have swayed society's circle with the sceptre of

nobleness--she who might still have shared in the greatness of her

position and defied the crooked stream of poverty in which she so long

sailed--had she only been, first of all, true to self, then the

honourable name of Sir John Dunfern would have maintained its standard

of pure and noble distinction, without being spotted here and there with

heathenish remarks inflicted by a sarcastic public on the administerer

of proper punishment; then the dignified knight of proud and upright

ancestry would have been spared the pains of incessant insult, the

mockery of equals, the haunted diseases of mental trials, the erring eye

of harshness, and the throbbing twitch of constant criticism.

It was only the lapse of a few minutes after the widowed waif left

Dunfern Mansion until the arrival of her son from London, who, after

bidding his mother quit the grounds owned by him, blotted her name for

ever from his book of memory; and being strongly prejudiced by a father

of faultless bearing, resolved that the sharers of beauty, youth, and

false love should never have the slightest catch on his affections.

The End

* * * * *

* * * *

* * * * *

_Errors and Inconsistencies_

The printed book was typeset and proofread more carefully than most

books of similar literary quality. Changes listed in the author's Errata

slip (inserted at the beginning of the book) have been made in the

e-text. Unusual spellings, and inconsistent use of "American" and

"British" forms, are unchanged. Some words occur both with and without

hyphen.

_Errors Noted by Author_

PAGE

82 Read--"was extended him."

154 "senk" should read "_seek_."

156 "took" is unnecessary.

179 Read "which _calls_ it forth."

184 "ofthand" should be "offhand."

_Additional Errors_

The present owner is only son

[_text unchanged: missing "the"?_]

whose pretentions were so cleverly carried out [_spelling unchanged_]

the partakers in drawing-room _tete-a-tetes_

[_text unchanged: expected form is "tete-a-tetes" (circumflex

accent on first "e", no acute on second)_]

the impostury of position is petty [imposury]

"Just seven days and I shall be fettered [_open quote missing_]

tempted with her enhancing beauty

[_text unchanged: error for "entrancing"?_]

If my manner have changed in any way

[_text unchanged: "have" may be correct_]

every care and watchfulness was extended him

[_corrected by author from "were extended him"; "were" is

technically correct_]

This Rachel punctually obeyed.

[_text reads "Rachael": name occurs more than 50 times with

consistent spelling_]

he drew from that drawer" here Sir John pointed to the wardrobe,

"a weapon of warlike design

[_missing punctuation before "here"?_]

[_misplaced open quote: printed as_ wardrobe," a weapon]

she swiftly turned to the door [swifty]

who not alone committed the ruffianous act [ruffainous]

It was only when staring her lover's scanty table fully

[_text unchanged: missing word?_]

the house of the Reverend Bertram Edgar, near by. [near by,]

should extend her the aid she now must seek.

[_corrected by author from "senk"_]

entered the room, and taking her accustomed seat to partake of it,

as best she could.

[_corrected by author from "partake of it, took as best she could":

Author may have intended "... taking her accustomed seat,

partook of it as best she could"._]

which she did in a rather trembling voice,

without betraying such signs of grief as anticipated.

[_text transposes . and , at the end of consecutive lines_]

Being beforehand acquaint with [_text unchanged_]

Which calls it forth, no more to die.

[_corrected by author from "call"_]

Is heard to echo, far and wide, [wide;]

that he married her offhand

[_corrected by author from "ofthand": may have intended "out of

hand"_]

End of Project Gutenberg's Irene Iddesleigh, by Amanda McKittrick Ros