CHAPTER VII.

Distant shores have great attractions and large expectations. They

harbour around their beaches the exile and patriot, the king and

peasant, the lawyer and artisan, the rising swindler and ruined prince.

Spotted throughout the unclaimed area of bared soil may be seen the

roughly-constructed huts and lofty homes of honest industry. Yes, and

concealed therein are hearts yearning for the land of nativity and

national freedom; hearts which sorrow after bygone days, and sink low

when brooding over the future tide of fortune which already has stopped

its gentle flow.

The reception on the evening of Irene's marriage was glorious and

brilliant, as were all those given by Lord and Lady Dilworth, and,

although attended by society's cream alone, there appeared a visible and

unhidden vacancy in the absence of her who so often lent a glow of

gaiety to the high-toned throng.

There seemed to be no rival now of buried lineage to mar their desire,

or incur the jealousy of would-be opponents; no one to share

sympathetically with the afflicted sister of equality and worth; nor was

there any one present of such knightly and commanding dignity as he,

who, not many hours previous, had taken upon him the sad duty of

delivering up the keys of devotion to her who kept the door of ardent

adoration locked against his approach.

It would probably be a long time ere such a scene of silly jealousy and

ire would take place as that witnessed, in which the greater majority of

those present were then partakers! And, further, it would surely be a

much longer period before these guests would again share alike in the

generosity so often extended them by Lord and Lady Dilworth.

Next day after Irene's marriage was a busy one at Dilworth Castle; hasty

and numerous were the preparations for desolation and departure. Weeks

preceding the joyful event, or what should have been, were leisurely

devoted to the artistic arrangements in every room within the lordly

manor. But, alas! so sudden now was joy's termination, that hours alone

were the boundary of command.

It may be stated that Lord Dilworth owned three very extensive estates,

namely--Dilworth, Ayrtown, and Howden. The first-mentioned extended

around the castle of that name, encompassing a spacious tract of soil

indeed, and might have done justice to moderation in its most expensive

form. The Ayrtown Estate, which entirely covers the southern portion of

Cheshire, owns a magnificent Hall, the residence of the Earl of

Tukesham, and, although not considered so lucrative as Dilworth, may be

estimated a handsome dowry for the son of any rising nobleman in the

realm. The Howden Estate, on which are elegantly formed two buildings of

note--namely, Blandford Castle and Lauderdale Lodge, both exquisite

constructions of architecture and skilled workmanship, and occupied

respectively by Sir Sydney Hector and Admiral Charles Depew--lies

chiefly around the south-west of Yorkshire, and is not quite so

desirable or adapted for agriculture as the two first mentioned, being

mostly rented for grazing purposes by the numerous and varied owners of

its rugged plots. These estates became so heavily mortgaged that prompt

sale was indispensable, and, the matter being quietly arranged six

months beforehand, the sixth day of August was the day set apart for the

disposal of same.

Bidders were numerous and offers low. Eventually the purchasers were as

follow:--The Marquis of Orland bought Dilworth Estate; Lord Henry Headen

purchased Ayrtown Estate, whilst the lot of Howden fell upon Sir Rowland

Joyce, the famous historian and national bard.

Thus were wrested from Lord and Lady Dilworth their luxurious living.

They were driven from their nursery of rich and complicated comforts,

their castle of indolence and ease. They were now thrown upon the

shivering waters of want, without a word of sympathy in the dreadful

hour of their great affliction, without home or friend to extend shelter

or sustenance, and cast afloat upon the ocean of oscillating chance to

speed across it as best they could.

Was Lord Dilworth therefore to be pitied? Were the torrents of gold

which were bound to trickle from these enormous lands and dwellings,

manufactories and villages, too trifling for his use? Not a morsel of

pity was offered either him or Lady Dilworth as their circumstances

became known in the homes of their associates, who so often fed on the

fat of their folly and graced their well-lined tables always covered

with dainties of deserving censure.

Could human mind contemplate that she who reigned supreme amongst

society, she who gave the ball in honor of Irene Iddesleigh's marriage,

should ere four days be a penniless pauper? Yet such was fact, not

fiction.

The seventh day of August saw Lord and Lady Dilworth titled beggars,

steering their course along the blue and slippery waves of the Atlantic,

to be participators in the loathing poverty which always exists in homes

sought after destruction, degradation, and reckless extravagance.

So soon may the house of gladness and mirth be turned into deepest

grief! How the wealthiest, through sheer folly, are made to drink the

very essence of poverty and affliction in its purest form! How the

golden dust of luxury can be blown about with the wind of events, and is

afterwards found buried in the fields of industry and thrift! Their

names, which were as a household word, would now be heard no more, and

should sink into abject silence and drowned renown, leaving them to

battle against the raging war of ruin and hunger, and retire into

secluded remorse.

On the return of Sir John and Lady Dunfern from their honeymoon, after

four weeks sojourn, what was her ladyship's consternation on perceiving

Dilworth Castle in darkness as she and Sir John swept past its avenue on

their way to their own brilliantly-lighted mansion? She was rather more

taciturn on the night of her return than even during her stay in

Florence, and it was only on her approaching her former place of

temporary retreat and touchy remembrances that words began to fall from

her ruby lips in torrents.

"Tell me, I implore of you, Sir John and husband, why the once blithe

and cheerful spot of peace is now apparently a dismal dungeon on the

night of our home-coming, when all should have been a mass of dazzling

glow and splendour?

"Can it be that she who proffered such ecstacy for months before, on the

eve of our return, is now no more? or can it be possible that we have

crossed each other on the wide waters of tossing triumph or wanton woe?

"Speak at once, for pity's sake! and do not hide from me the answer of

truth and honest knowledge? Oh, merciful heavens!"

Here Lady Dunfern drooped her head before Sir John got time to even

answer a word, and drawing from his pocket a silver flask, proceeded to

open its contents, when the horses suddenly stopped, and a gentle hand

politely opened the carriage door to eagerly await the exit of his

master and future mistress from its cushioned corners of costly comfort

and ease.

"Tom," cried Sir John, in great and rending agony, "kindly wait for a

few minutes, as her ladyship has been frightfully overcome only a short

time ago by the blank appearance in and around Dilworth Castle. She

fears something dreadful must surely have happened Lady Dilworth in her

absence, since she has failed to make the occasion of our home-coming a

merry torchlight of rejoicing." Tom, who had been in Sir John's service

for the past twenty years, was about to testify to the truth of his

remarks, when he was joined by other members of the household, who

rushed to welcome their beloved master home once more, accompanied by

his beautiful bride, of whom they all had heard so much.

Sir John saw that delay was dangerous, and helping to remove his darling

Irene from the seat on which she unconsciously reclined, succeeded in

placing her on a low couch in the very room he so often silently prayed

for her presence. Bathing her highly-heated temples with a sprinkling of

cooling liquid concealed in his flask, Sir John lost no time in

summoning the village doctor, who, on arrival, pronounced Lady Dunfern

to have slightly recovered, and giving the necessary orders left the

room.

It was fully two hours ere she partly recovered from her ghastly swoon,

to find herself the object of numerous onlookers of the household of

which she was now future mistress.

Pale and death-like did she appear in the eyes of her husband, who was

utterly overcome with grief at the sudden collapse of his wife under

such a stroke of anticipated sorrow; and more grieved was he still when

he found on inquiry that the removal of Lord and Lady Dilworth from

their heightened haunt of highborn socialism must sooner or later be

revealed to her, who, as yet, had only tasted partly of the bitter cup

of divided intercourse and separated companionship.

Many, many were the questions asked by Lady Dunfern relative to Lady

Dilworth when Dr. Corbett arrived next morning to pronounce her almost

recovered, and, strange, yet true, that no one could possibly have

humoured her in such a manner to warrant recovery as the village doctor,

until she felt really strong enough to battle against the sorrowful tale

of woe with which Sir John should shortly make her cognisant.

On learning from his lips, so soon as her ability occasioned, the real

state of affairs concerning the emigrants who were now compelled to

wander on the track of trouble, she received the truth with awe and

smothered distress. The new sphere in which Lady Dunfern was about to

move seemed to her strange; the binding duty which tied her firmly to

honour and obedience was kept prominently in vague view; the staff of

menials would probably find the rules of her husband more in accordance

with their wishes than those which she was beginning to already arrange.

She commenced her married life with falsehood, and she was fully

determined to prove this feature more and more as the weeks and months

rolled along. She was not now afraid of the censure of one whose face

she may never more behold, and who was the sole instigation of plunging

her into a union she inwardly abhorred. Perhaps, had she never been

trained under the loving guidance of Oscar Otwell, her revered tutor,

she would only have been too eager to proclaim her ecstacy at her

present position more vigorously. But all fetters of power were visibly

broken which she wished should remain united, leaving her mother of her

future premeditated movements.

As time moved on, Sir John and Lady Dunfern seemed to differ daily in

many respects, which occasioned dislike in the breasts of both, and

caused the once handsome, cheerful face of the much-respected owner of

Dunfern to assume a look of seriousness.

These differences arose chiefly through his great disinclination to

attend the numerous social gatherings which awaited them after their

marriage. Sir John, finding it almost impossible to stare socialism in

the face, seemed inclined rather to stick to the old rule of domestic

enjoyment, never forgetting to share fully his cheerful conversation

with his wife, when so desired, which, sorrowful to relate, was too

seldom.

Now that Lady Dunfern was an acknowledged branch of society, her elegant

presence would have been courted by all those who so often favoured Lady

Dilworth with their distinguished patronage, but her social hopes being

nipped in the bud by her retiring husband, she dare not resent, and

determined, in consequence, to make herself an object of dislike in her

home, and cherish her imprisoned thoughts until released, for good or

evil.