A Mad Love by Charlotte Mary Brame (online e book reading TXT) 📖

side, clasping her hands, the folds of her dress, crying out to her to pardon him; that he had no excuse to offer her; he had been guilty beyond all guilt; that neither in heaven nor on earth could there be any pardon for him; that he would have died a hundred deaths rather than have lost her.

For some five minutes it was a mad whirl of passion, love and regret. She was the first to recollect herself, to say to him:

"Lord Chandos, you must not kneel there; remember you have a wife at home."

The words struck him like a sharp sword. He arose and, drawing a chair for her, stood by her side.

"I am beside myself," he said, "with the pleasure of seeing you again. Forgive me, Leone; I will not offend. Oh, what can I say to you? How can I look upon your face and live?"

"You were very cruel to me and very treacherous," she said; "your treachery has spoiled my life. Oh, Lance, how could you be so cruel to me when I loved you so--how could you?"

Tears that she had repressed for years rained down her face; all the bitter grief that she had held in as with an iron hand, all the pride so long triumphant, all the pain and anguish, and the desolation, that had been in check, rushed over her, as the tempestuous waves of the sea rush over the rocks and sands.

"How could you, Lance?" she cried, wringing her hands; "how could you? You were cruel and treacherous to me, though I trusted you so. Ah, my love, my love, how could you?"

The beautiful head fell forward in the very abandonment of sorrow; great sobs shook the beautiful figure.

"Oh, Lance, I loved you so, I believed in you as I believed in Heaven. I loved you and trusted you, you forsook me and deceived me. Oh, my love, my love!"

His face grew white and his strong figure trembled under the pain of her reproaches.

"Leone," he said, gently, "every word of yours is a sword in my heart. Why did I do it? Ah me, why? I have no word of excuse for myself, not one. I might say that I was under woman's influence, but that would not excuse me. I take the whole blame, the whole sin upon myself. Can you ever forgive me?"

She raised her face to his, all wet with tears.

"I ought not to forgive you," she said; "I ought to drive you from my presence; I ought to curse you with my ruined life, but I cannot. Oh, Lance, if I only lay under the waters of the mill-stream, dead."

The passion of her grief was terrible to see. He forgot all and everything but her--the wife at home, the plighted vows, honor, truth, loyalty--all and everything except the girl whom he had loved with a mad love, and her grief. He drew her to his breast, he kissed away the shining tears; he kissed the trembling lips.

"Leone, you will drive me mad. Great God, what have I done? I realize it now; I had better have died," and then the strength of the strong man gave way, and he wept like a child. "It is no excuse," he said, "to plead that I was young, foolish, and easily led. Oh, Leone, my only love, what was I doing when I gave you up--when I left you?"

The violence of his grief somewhat restrained hers; she was half frightened at it.

"We are making matters worse," she said. "Lance, we must not forget that you are married now in earnest."

"Will you ever forgive me?" he asked. "I have no excuse to offer. I own that my sin was the most disloyal and the most traitorous a man could commit, but forgive me, Leone. I have repented of it in sackcloth and ashes. Say you forgive me."

The beautiful, colorless face did not soften at the words.

"I cannot," she said; "I cannot forgive that treachery, Lance; it has wounded me even unto death. How can I forgive it?"

"My darling--Leone--say you will pardon me. I will do anything to atone for it."

She laid one white hand on his arm.

"You see, Lance," she said, earnestly, "it is one of those things for which you can never atone--one that can never be undone--but one which will brand me forever. What am I? Did you stop to think of that when your new love tempted you? What am I? not your wife--not your widow. Oh God, what am I?"

He drew her to him again, but this time she resisted his warm kisses.

"Leone," he said sadly, "I deserve to be shot. I hate myself--I loathe myself. I cannot imagine how I failed in my duty and loyalty to you. I can only say that I was young and thoughtless--easily led. Heaven help me, I had no mind of my own, but I have suffered so cruelly and so have you, my darling--so have you."

"I?" she replied. "When you can count the leaves in the forest, or the sands on the seashore, you will know what I have suffered, not until then."

Her voice died away in a melancholy cadence that to him was like the last wailing breath of the summer wind in the trees.


CHAPTER XL.


"FORGIVE ME, LEONE."

"Lance," she said, suddenly, "or, as I ought to say, Lord Chandos--how can I forgive you? What you ask is more than any woman could grant. I cannot pardon the treachery which has ruined my life, which has stricken me, without blame or fault of mine, from the roll of honorable women--which has made me a by-word, a mark for the scorn and contempt of others, a woman to be contemned and despised. Of what use are all the gifts of Heaven to me, with the scarlet brand you have marked on my brow?"

He grew white, even to the lips, as the passionate words reached his ears.

"Leone," he cried, "for God's sake spare me. I have no defense--no excuse; spare me; your words kill me. They are not true, my darling; none of what happened was your fault--you were innocent and blameless as a child; you are the same now. Would to Heaven all women were pure and honorable as you. Say what you will to me, no punishment would be too great for me--but say nothing yourself; never one word, Leone. Could you forgive me? I have done you the most cruel wrong, and I have no excuse to offer--nothing but my foolish youth, my mad folly, my unmanly weakness. I have known it ever since I married. You are my only love; I have never had another. Ah, my darling, forgive me. If I have ruined your life, I have doubly ruined my own."

She raised her beautiful, colorless face to his.

"Lance," she said, gently, "what a prophecy that song held for us. And the running water--how true a foreboding it always murmured:


"'The vows are all forgotten,
The ring asunder broken.'


How true and how cruel. I hear the song and I hear the murmur of the water in my dreams."

"So do I," he replied, sadly. "My darling, I wish we never left the mill-stream. I would to Heaven we had died under the running water together."

"So do I," she said, "but we are living, not dead, and life holds duties just as death holds relief. We must remember much harm has been done--we need not do more."

"Say that you will forgive me, Leone, and then I do not care what happens. I will do anything you tell me. I will humble myself in every way. I will do anything you can desire if you will only forgive me. Do, for Heaven's sake. I am so utterly wretched that I believe if you refuse to say one word of pardon to me I shall go mad or kill myself."

There was a long struggle in her mind. Could she forgive the injury which seemed greater than man had ever inflicted on woman? She was very proud, and her pride was all in arms. How could she pardon a traitor? She had loved him better than her life, and with the first sight of his handsome, beloved face all the glamour of her love was over her again.

How could she forgive him? Yet the proud figure was bent so humbly before her, the proud head so low.

"What am I to say?" she cried. "I was a good and innocent girl--now it seems to me that the evil spirits of passion and unrest have taken possession of me. What am I to say or to do? Heaven help and teach me."

"Forgive me," he repeated. "Your refusal will send me away a madman, ready for any reckless action. Your consent will humble me, but it will make me happier. Oh, my darling, forgive me."

"Suppose that harm follows my forgiveness--we are better enemies than friends, Lord Chandos."

"We will never be enemies, and no harm can come except that I shall be happier for it. Say you will forgive me, Leone. See, I ask your pardon on my knees. For Heaven's sake, for my great love's sake, say you forgive me!"

He knelt before her humbly as a child, he bowed his handsome head until his face rested on her knees; he sobbed aloud in his sorrow and his deep regret. She stood for a few minutes quite uncertain; her clear reason and common sense told her that it would be better if she would refuse him pardon, and that they should part for all time; but love and pity pleaded, and of course love and pity won. She laid her hand on the dark head of the man whom she had once believed her husband; her beautiful face quivered with emotion.

"I forgive you," she said, "freely, frankly, fully, as I hope Heaven will forgive me all my sins. Nay, you must not kiss me, not even my hand. Your kisses belong to some one else now--not to me. I forgive you, but we must part again. Come what may--we must part, we must not meet again."

"I can never part with you," he said, in a hoarse voice. "You have been life of my life, heart of my heart too long for that."

She held up her hand with a superb gesture of warning and silence.

"Hush, Lord Chandos," she said; "if you speak to me in that strain, I shall never see you again. Remember you have a wife; you must not be false to two women--keep true to one. Neither your kisses nor your loving words belong to me now."

"I will not offend you," he said, sadly.

She leaned her beautiful arms on the table, her white hands under her chin, looking steadily at him.

"I have forgiven you," she said, musingly, "I, who have sworn such terrible oaths, such bitter revenge, I have ended by forgiving you, after the fashion of the most milk-and-water type of women. I have forgiven you, and Heaven knows how I tried to hate you, and have tried to take pleasure in the thoughts of my vengeance."

"You have had your vengeance on me, Leone, in the shape of the love that has never left me, and the memories which have haunted me. You swore vengeance against my mother, but you will forego that."

A slow smile came