A WORD TO THE READER.

In offering you this, the most singular romance that I have ever written, I feel constrained to say, that the most remarkable characters and incidents here exhibited, are drawn from well-known persons and events of real life. These circumstances are here presented with only such judicious change of times, places, and proper names, as is dictated by the prudence and delicacy which also withholds me from pointing out more definitely the sources whence they were derived.

CHAPTER I. AN INTERRUPTED WEDDING.

It was the first of May, the marriage day of the Viscount Montressor, of Montressor Castle, Dorsetshire, and Estelle, only daughter and heiress of Sir Parke Morelle, Hyde Hall, Devonshire.

A glorious morning! the cloudless, blue sky smiled down upon the green hills and dewy dales and deep woods of Devon; and the park around the Hall was all alive and musical with the joyous songs of birds, and the merry laughter of young men and maidens gathering to celebrate their May-day festival, and to do honor to the marriage of their landlord’s daughter.

30The elm-shaded, winding avenue that led from the highway to the house, was arched at each terminus by a mammoth wreath of flowers, and many were the carriages that passed under them, on their way to assist at the wedding; and these contained only the bridesmaids, and the nearest friends and relatives of the family, whose relationship or position gave them the right to attend the bride to church;—for a still more numerous party had been invited to meet her at the altar. The villagers and tenants, grouped about under the shade of the great old trees, or wandering over the greensward on either side of the grand avenue, watched these equipages as they rolled on, commenting—as usual—

“That is Sir William Welworth’s carriage—he is the bride’s uncle by her mother.”

“Who don’t know that?—Hush! my eyes! lend me a rumberrell, Joe, or I shall be dazed blind, along o’ looking at this turn out! Whose is it? since you know everything.”

“That?—that’s Lord Dazzleright’s—the great cove’s as made a fortin’ and riz by the law—(not at a rope’s end, though, as you’ll rise one of these days, Bill, my lad, if you don’t keep out o’ the squire’s preserves)—but by reading and pleading, and keeping on the right, do you see, of the powers that be; until he got himself made a Baron of;—which people do say he’ll get upon the woolsack yet,” replied the gamekeeper, Joe, as the splendid equipage of the new member of the house of peers dashed past them.

“Yes; but what does he he do here?” inquired the laborer, Bill.

“He’s the god-father of the bride, you know, besides being a bachelor without children, I mean sons-and-heirs.”

“Here comes somethin’ like a huss—my granny! how solemncolly! who’s comin’ to a funeral?”

31“Oh let me see!—that? why that’s the carriage of the old Duchess of Graveminster, the grand-aunt of Lady Morelle. She was expected at the hall yesterday; something must o’ stopped her,” said Joe, as a large, sombre, dark-colored traveling carriage lumbered heavily past.

“What o’clock is it, Mr. Joe? you’re a weatherwise, and you can tell,” inquired a young girl leaving a group of maidens and joining the two men.

“What o’clock, my dear?” replied the gamekeeper, looking up at the sun with an air of confidence. “Well, I should say it was just about a quarter to ten.”

“Oh—dear me! and the weddingers won’t pass till nearly twelve! and here we are to wait two mortal hours! and I want to be away at the Maypole so much.”

“Hush! my darling; look! here comes his lordship’s carriage, itself, just as sure as you’re the prettiest lass in the country,” whispered the gamekeeper, as a very plain but handsome traveling carriage of dark green, drawn by a pair of spirited grey horses, rolled on up the avenue toward the Hall.

“Whose Lordship’s? What are you thinking about, Mr. Joseph?” asked the little maiden, fretfully.

“Why, his Lordship’s! The Lorship’s—the only Lordship to be thought about now, my dear! Lord Montressor’s Lordship!”

“Now that’s impossible, Mr. Joseph! If you be gamekeeper, you sha’n’t make game of me, at that rate. Lord Montressor! Marry-come-up! What should he, of all men, be doing here at this, of all hours?”

“Come up to marry, I suppose. Anyhow it is he.”

“Nonsense! It can’t be, I tell you! It would be out of all manners! Don’t I know? He’s to bring all his groomsmen, and his friends and relations to the church, and wait there for Miss Morelle and her friends and relations! That’s manners.”

32“I know it be!”

“That shows it can’t be Lord Montressor who drove past just now.”

“But I know it be him, also! Don’t I know his Lordship’s grey and crimson liveries? and his co’t arms—the lion couchant, and the lady sittin on’t? It’s him, now just as sure as you are just the sweetest creetur in the world; but what I be thinking of is—what’s to pay? It looks like somethin’ was onregular!”

“Onreglar? I believe you! Who ever heard of such a thing?—if it be Lord Montressor.”

It was Lord Montressor.

Early that morning a note from his affianced bride had been put in his hands, summoning him to a private conference with her at the Hall before they should proceed to the church. Surprised and filled with vague uneasiness, his lordship lost no time in obeying the behest.

And it was really his carriage and liveries that passed.

Within the most secluded of her suite of richly-furnished apartments at the old Hall, half buried in the depths of a cushioned chair, reclined the bride expectant, in bridal array.

On her right, a gorgeous cheval mirror reflected in profile her beautiful form.

On her left, through the rose-colored silk hangings of the half-open bay window, wafted by the breeze, came glimpses of the pure blue sky and tender green foliage of spring, scents of fragrant flowers, and sounds of singing birds and innocent laughter, from the park.

She was alone, her attendants having, by her own desire, withdrawn.

Estelle Morelle—or “La belle Estelle,” “Beautiful Stella,” “the Midnight Star”—as, for her resplendent dark beauty, she was poetically named—was at this time twenty-five years of age, and more lovely than a poet’s or an artist’s 33ideal. Her form was of medium height, and very slender, though well-rounded, with a graceful head, over which fell rich masses of jet-black, silken ringlets, shading a face of pure, pale olive complexion, with large, mournful, dark eyes, habitually vailed by the long, drooping lashes, and delicate, though full curved lips, ever patiently closed as in silent resignation. The prevailing expression of her dark, brilliant countenance was a profound melancholy.

The announcement of Miss Morelle’s approaching marriage with the Viscount Montressor had created a profound sensation in the fashionable and aristocratic circles. A peerless beauty, the only child and heiress of the oldest, wealthiest and haughtiest baronet in the West of England, her heart had been as much the object of aspiration to the youthful and ardent, as her hand and fortune had been the end of desire to the mercenary and ambitious.

At the early age of seven years, Estelle had been placed at one of the first-class female institutions of learning at Paris, then as now, considered among the very best of their kind in the world, and there had been left to remain until her sixteenth year, when the sudden and calamitous breaking up of the institution, and her own severe illness, had occasioned her removal. That illness had been attended with marked changes in the constitution and temperament of the young girl.

Estelle, previously the most careless, light-hearted and capricious of children, left her chamber of convalescence a subdued, thoughtful, melancholy woman! The laughing lips of girlhood closed in patient sadness; the sparkling eyes sheathed their beams under long, shadowy lashes, now seldom lifted; the silvery, elastic voice, sank into deep and thrilling tones; the free, glad motions were measured and controlled.

She never entered another school, but completed her education under the best masters, at home. To dissipate 34what was considered a transient melancholy, her parents traveled with her over Europe, pausing at each capital and chief town, to show her all that was interesting and instructive. But, though their daughter repaid their attentions with the sweetest gratitude, and obeyed them with the gentlest docility, she showed no interest in the passing scenes. And though everywhere her extreme beauty and sweetness of disposition, not less than her fortune and position, drew around her many friends and admirers, Estelle remained alone in her isolated thoughts and feelings. Every most distinguished physician in Europe had been consulted upon her case, and the result of their wisdom was a decision that this melancholy was not the effect of ill health, still less of secret sorrow, but that it was a constitutional phase that would probably pass away with maturing years.

They returned to England, presented their daughter at court, and introduced her into all the gayeties of fashionable life. But with no happy effect upon the spirits of Estelle, who remained profoundly unmoved amid the eclat that greeted her debut. Her picturesque beauty was the theme of all tongues—her mournful glance was fascinating—her deep tones thrilling—her touch magnetic; all felt her power, yet she who could move all others, remained unimpressed. She who sought no conquests, for that very reason perhaps, made many. A peer and two commoners, in succession, laid their fortunes at her feet, and were in turn kindly and firmly rejected.

So passed her first season in London, at the close of which her parents took her down to their seat in Devonshire. Here, in her thoughtful, quiet, unostentatious manner, she engaged in works of benevolence among the villagers and the tenantry. And her father, hoping much from this employment, gave her full liberty of action, and smiled to see that she seemed less pensive than before.

35At the beginning of the parliamentary term, the family went up to London.

And it was here in her second season in town that Estelle formed the acquaintance of Lord Montressor, a young nobleman but lately acceded to his titles and estates, but already known as a man of the most high-toned moral and intellectual excellence, as a righteous as well as a rising statesman, and as one, who in the event of a change of ministry, would be likely to be called to fill a high official position in His Majesty’s new cabinet. Aside from the glare of rank and wealth and power, Charles Montressor was a glorious specimen of the Creator’s workmanship. Above the average standard of height among his countrymen, broad shouldered and deep-chested, with a noble head, and a face full of wisdom and goodness, his appearance truly indicated the warm benevolence, clear intelligence, and pure spirit of the man. His presence soon inspired Estelle with a faith which she had not been able to feel in any other that approached her. He drew nearer to her than any other had been permitted to come; he crossed the magic circle of her isolation and conversed with her as no other had

been allowed to do. The world looked and said that the beautiful Stella had at last met her master and was conquered.

At this stage of affairs, the parliamentary term being over, Sir Park Morelle and his family left London for Hyde Hall.

Lord Montressor asked and received permission to follow them, and in less than a month availed himself of the privilege to do so. Thus it was in the home of her ancestors, after having obtained the cordial sanction of her parents, and believing himself sure of the affections of their daughter, Lord Montressor offered his heart and hand to the lovely Estelle, and was, to his profound astonishment, instantly and firmly rejected! In thus rejecting his suit 36she wept long and bitterly, praying his forgiveness, that the happiness she had experienced and exhibited in his society should have betrayed him into making this declaration, and beseeching him never to renew his suit; but to leave and forget her. There was something in the tone of her refusal which confirmed and deepened his previous conviction that—even in rejecting—she loved him! But with his high-toned sentiments he would not in the least degree presume upon that knowledge. Taking her hand with deferential tenderness, he said—

“Stella!—a man never but once, in his whole existence, loves a woman as I love you! I will not inquire the cause of the rejection, which you have certainly a right to make without assigning any reason for the act. And after having received this repulse, I may not in honor distress you by a renewal of my suit. But this, in parting, I must say to you—that, though I go hence, I shall not go out of the reach of your friends; I shall never address another woman; so if ever in the course of future weeks, or months, or years, however long, you may think proper to review the decision of this evening, Stella, I implore you, do not hesitate to let me know! Write but one word, ‘Come,’ and I return to lay an unchanged heart at your feet!”

Estelle was weeping too bitterly to reply.

“Stella, will you promise to do this?”

“Lord Montressor, best and dearest friend! Do not seek to bind yourself to one who can give you nothing in return! Try to think of the melancholy girl that you have pitied and loved, only as a shadow that fell for a moment across the sunshine of your path, and then passed away forever!—and so forget her!”

“Stella, I have pledged my honor never to renew this suit, unless you reverse in my favor the sentence you have pronounced upon it; but, inspired by the deep and deathless love I bear you, and ‘hoping against hope,’ I feel 37impelled to implore before leaving you that, in the event of a favorable change of sentiment or purpose toward me, you will not hesitate to give me leave to return. Stella, will you promise me so much as that?”

“Noblest friend that I have in the world, how gladly would I promise, but I must not, Montressor. Were I to do so, you would feel bound to wait the changes of my mood, and so, for a most undeserving love, might miss, in some nobler woman’s affections, the happiness in store for you.”

“Stella, will you raise your sweet, mournful eyes to mine one moment, that you may read my soul while I speak?”

Estelle lifted her dark orbs to meet the clear, pure, blue eyes bent with so much love and candor upon hers, and read the deep, unchanging truth and constancy of his soul as he said:

“Stella, in the presence of the heart-searching God, who sees and hears me, I assure you that I shall never love another woman as I love you, and therefore, of course, can never wed another; so that, whether you give me this slightest of hopes or not, I am equally and forever bound! Now will you promise, Stella? Remember, it is only to let me know in case of a change in your sentiments.”

For an instant the light of an unutterable love and joy broke on her beautiful, dark face, and her smiling lips parted to speak; when, as if a sudden memory and warning had griped her very heart, she uttered a low, sharp cry, turned paler than before, and then said:

“No, no, my lord. Stella cannot even give you that. She is poorer than the poorest in gifts to you. She can only pray that you may forget her and be happy.”

He looked profoundly disappointed and troubled. But soon mastering his despondency, he said hopefully:

“Well, dearest Stella, although you reject me without apparent reason, and refuse to give me the slightest promise 38or the most distant hope, yet, I repeat, should you, in the long future, change your purpose, and write to me one word—‘Come’—I will hasten to lay at your feet an unchanged heart. Good-bye. God be with you!” and raising her hand, he bowed over it, pressed it to his lips, turned and left the room.

Some moments after, Lady Morelle, who came to seek and congratulate her daughter upon what she imagined to be the only possible result of the interview, found Estelle lying in a swoon upon the floor. It was followed by a long and terrible illness, terminating in a tediously protracted convalescence. The town season was at hand before Estelle was able to re-enter society.

They went up to London, and once more the “star of beauty” arose upon its world. And though the cloud upon her life settled darker and heavier, day by day—though she grew still more reserved, gloomy, and isolated—she was more followed, flattered, and courted than before.

Thus three years had passed away, when one morning, while the family, then occupying their town house in Berkely square, were seated at a late breakfast, and Sir Parke was engaged in reading aloud from the London Times an account of the saving of the French ship—Le Duc D’Anjou—wrecked off the coast of Algiers—Estelle uttered a low cry and sank fainting from her seat.

This attack was not, as the other had been, followed by illness; on the contrary, from that day, the cloud seemed lifted from her head, and even those who had most admired her face in its shadow, were enchanted to see how brilliant was her beauty in its sunshine! Her health and spirits daily improved, yet in the midst of all this flowing tide of new life Estelle astonished her friends by suddenly, in the height of the London season, retiring to her father’s country seat, where she remained in strict seclusion from the world for eighteen months.

39At the end of this period, Lord Montressor, who had never left England, or lost trace of his beloved Stella, and who was now staying at his castle in Dorsetshire, was one day seated at breakfast when the morning mail was brought him. Among a score of letters the first that attracted his attention was a dainty white envelope superscribed in a delicate handwriting. He took that up first and opened it—it contained but one word—“Come.”

The light of an ineffable joy broke over his face! Oh! he had waited, patiently, hopefully, years, for that word, and at last he had received it! Thanks to Heaven in the first instance! and then pushing all the other letters unopened aside he sprung up, rang for his valet, and ordered his valise packed and horses put to the carriage.

In twenty more minutes he had reached the railway station just as the cars were about to start, and in three hours he was at Hyde Hall and standing in the presence of Estelle!—she looking so beautiful and happy!

With the old chivalric enthusiasm of devotion, he dropped, at once, upon his knee, and raised her hand to his lips, saying—

“For four years I have hoped and waited for one word from you, and at last, beloved, you have written—‘Come,’ and I am at your feet, as I said, with an unchanged heart!”

“But I,” she said, deeply blushing, while she held both hands to raise him—“I, my Lord, have not an unchanged heart! for longer than four years I have loved you more than woman’s tongue may tell—and never more, than at the hour in which we bade farewell, as I thought, forever!”

“I know it, beloved! I knew it then! knew it always! I never doubted it! Could I be deceived in the dear heart of the woman I loved! No! and that was the secret of my patience!” he replied, taking his seat on the sofa by her side.

“And yet you never inquired, and do not even now 40inquire, why, without explanation and without hope, I sent you from my presence, and why now, without apparent reason, I summon you back!” she said, as a shade of the old sadness fell upon her beautiful face.

“Your motives, dearest, were, and are your own. Not until your spirit move you to do so, shall you give them to me! I have full confidence in you, beautiful Stella!”