"He is yours no doubt, Kenneth. He will only be mine when I am permitted to use him."
"Which shall be as soon as—" began Mr. Mountford, but his wife did not wait for the rest of the sentence. Without even resuming her seat or holding further conversation with her husband, she swept from the room. If she had given one look behind her, the sight of Mr. Mountford's face might have moved her. It was so full of sorrow, and all for herself. He might well have been angry, for he had spent a large sum to give her pleasure, and if he had bidden her stay her hand before taking possession of Prince, it was only to insure her safety, and she well knew this.
There was bitter disappointment, too, for the loving husband. The pair had been much more united of late, and consequently, far happier. Mrs. Mountford's old wilfulness had apparently softened down, and she had manifested greater confidence in her husband's judgment, and willingness to fall in with it.
Even in this moment of renewed trouble Mr. Mountford was chiefly anxious for his wife's pleasure.
It was the eve of the great meet at Hollingsby, and, as on the morning just described, the event of the season to which every one was looking eagerly forward. Mr. Mountford knew the keen delight with which his wife anticipated this gathering, and he had ever been proud to see her the centre of admiring eyes, as they rode to Hollingsby together.
How disappointed she would be that the new purchase had come too late for her to use! What could be done in the short time that remained? Anything rather than she should not take her usual place.
A few moments' thought, and Mr. Mountford went to his wife's room to tell her of his plan. She was not there, or in the nursery, and one of the servants said, "Mrs. Mountford is out, sir. I don't think she's off the place, for she wasn't dressed for a proper walk."
Mr. Mountford instinctively turned towards the stables, and met his wife on the threshold.
"I have been looking at your new horse, Kenneth," she said. "He really improves on acquaintance, so far as appearance goes," she added, with marked emphasis on the last words.
Mr. Mountford noticed this, but made no comment.
"I have been thinking, dear, that you might ride my hunter to-morrow, and I will take the other horse, which is as good in everything but looks."
"I shall do nothing of the kind, Kenneth. I may be selfish, but I am not so selfish as to deprive you of your usual mount. I shall not accompany you to Hollingsby. Still, I must not forget my manners. Thank you for offering me your animal."
Mrs. Mountford dropped a demure little curtsey, then turned towards the house, without heeding whether her husband followed or not. She had given him a fresh sting, she knew, but she was not in the mood to care for having hurt his feelings. As to the husband, how could he help being displeased?
"She must take her own wilful way," he decided. "For once she shall punish herself; and I know it will be no light punishment for her to stay away from the meet to-morrow."
Accordingly, Mr. Mountford made no further allusion to the subject; and when the time came he left the house after an affectionate farewell, to which his wife responded, as if she were perfectly contented to see him set out alone. He did not notice the look of determination in her face, or the mischievous light in her eyes. He was only glad that there were neither tears nor reproaches.
A few minutes after his departure, the new horse, saddled and ready for a lady's use, was led round by the groom, and Mrs. Mountford appeared in riding-dress ready to mount it.
"I beg your pardon, madam," said the groom, touching his hat, "but are you sure there's no mistake about taking this horse out? I hope I know my place, but the master spoke so particular to me, and said the new horse was on no account to be ridden by anybody without his orders."
"I am not anybody, James. I suppose you know that Prince has been bought specially for my use, and naturally Mr. Mountford would not wish it to be used by any one else. We talked about the animal last night, and I told him I should try Prince this morning."
"Of course, madam, you know best, and if you and my master settled it, no doubt it will be all right. He cannot blame me."
"Why should you be blamed for doing as I tell you?" asked Mrs. Mountford sharply. "Have you ever been found fault with for obeying me?"
"No, madam. I would not have said a word, only the master was so very particular in giving the order. He seemed anxious to make sure of Prince's temper by more than hearsay. And besides, I never knew him change his mind about any order he had given without letting me know, until now, and I've lived fifteen years with him."
"When your master comes back you can ask him whether I told him or not, that I should ride Prince this morning, and see what he will say to you. Long service will hardly excuse your impertinence even in his eyes. When I join him at the appointed place, I will prepare him for your question."
"I've done it," said James, to a stable-boy who had listened open-mouthed to the conversation, wondering the while how anybody dared cross the mistress.
"She'll do you no harm. Everybody says that she just flies up for a minute, and then it's all over."
"I didn't mean that I was afraid of the mistress. I'm only afraid that, after all, I've done wrong in letting her have the new horse. I wish I'd locked the stable door and set my back against it, and shouted the master's orders straight at her, instead of doing as she told me. I should be almost glad if she were to get a bit of a tumble, only it would hurt him worse than her."
In the meanwhile Mrs. Mountford was taking a roundabout route to Hollingsby, so as to approach the meeting-place by another entrance, and not to arrive until after her husband. She had some qualms of conscience, but Prince was so easy to ride, and looked such a perfect animal, that the enjoyment was worth risking something for.
"Kenneth would feel angry at first, but—" and then a laugh followed the thought, as Mrs. Mountford looked back on the many occasions when the witchery of her ways, joined to his deep affection, had driven the cloud from his brow, and in place of fault-finding, she had met with loving words and caresses. At the worst he would only preach a little, and she was used to that. He was the dearest, best of men, only anxious about her, and graver of speech and ways, as was natural to one about twenty years her senior.
Mr. Mountford was answering inquiries about his wife, and listening to regrets on account of her absence, when a neighbour exclaimed, "Why, Mountford, you said your wife was not coming. She is here, and what an animal she is riding! A beauty to look at, but somehow I think I have seen him before, and—"
The speaker hesitated, and Mr. Mountford, hiding the surprise and indignation which agitated him, replied hastily, "She has changed her mind and followed me. I hardly thought she would have trusted herself on her new horse, and she refused to take mine, and let me ride another." In an anxious whisper he added, "I hope you know nothing against the animal. I had the best of characters with him, but he is untried, so far as my ownership goes."
"I really am not sure that I know the horse," was the somewhat hesitating reply. "In any case, if I ever saw him before, he had a lady on his back, and with Mrs. Mountford's perfect horsemanship you can hardly be anxious. She can ride anything."
Mr. Mountford thanked the speaker, and set out to join his wife. He was justly displeased, but displeasure was overborne by anxiety, and all he could think of was his wife's safety. She saw him coming, and, impelled by a spirit of mischief, evaded him again and again, showing off her horse and turning laughing glances at her friends, as if to invite them to share in her amusement.
It would be useless to tell the thoughts which occupied Mr. Mountford's mind. He felt powerless. He would not say a word which would betray the real state of the case. He would watch over his wilful darling, and hope for the best.
Later in the day that gay company saw a pitiful sight. A horse, with the bit between his teeth, and a lady on his back, was tearing at breakneck speed towards one of the most dangerous spots at which a leap could be made.
An agonised husband was following as best he might, with the sense that only a miracle could save his wife from death.
A little later still, and Mrs. Mountford lay a senseless heap on the other side of a barrier from which the most daring riders had thought it no shame to turn aside, and the horse was careering madly onward at his will.
Mrs. Mountford was not killed, but beside several lesser injuries, there was one to the spine, which rendered it improbable that she would ever walk again. And what seemed almost more terrible to herself, her eyes had come in contact with an outstretching bough, and all the skill that could be brought to bear upon them would neither preserve nor restore her sight.
Mr. Mountford's distress and self-reproach were sad to witness. It might have been thought that he had little cause to blame himself, seeing that he had striven to hedge his beautiful wife round from harm in every possible way. But true love makes, if it cannot find, excuses for the faults of its object, and is willing to share the blame, though itself guiltless, and to endure the suffering which is the result of them.
Whilst Mrs. Mountford's life was in danger her husband harassed himself with undeserved reproaches.
"Knowing her temperament as I did, I ought not to have left her. She is so young still, and what in the eyes of older people seems blamable, in hers was a girlish frolic to be laughed over and readily forgiven. I thought my orders to James were so positive that he would never dream of disobeying them, and that she would be unable to ride Prince, if she thought of doing so. But I forget that whilst I was head and master she was mistress, and that I had never brooked disobedience to her orders. If I had only stayed at home to watch over her, all would have been well. She might have been angry and pouted a little, but I could have borne these trifles, as I had often done before."
One thought brought an additional sting with it. Mr. Mountford had ascertained by what arguments his wife had induced the groom to bring out Prince for her use, and he knew that it was by an implied falsehood she had succeeded.
CHAPTER IV BLIND, YET SEEING
MANY a weary day and watchful night were passed by Mr. Mountford, before his wife was pronounced out of present danger. But the sentence of hopeless blindness, and a life, probably a short one and of comparative helplessness, hung over her, and no human skill could avert these.
At length the state of the invalid was so far improved that she could be wheeled into another room on a level with that in which she slept. It was a bright morning in early spring before she reached this stage, and the air was fresh without coldness.
"Wheel me close to the window," she whispered. "I want to feel the sunshine that I shall not see again." Tears streamed from the sightless eyes, still beautiful, for the injury had left them undisfigured, though the life was gone from them.
Mrs. Mountford's wish was carried out, and the couch placed in the deep bay-window. The sun shone straight in upon her, and made the tear-drops glisten on her wan face. She thanked the nurse and her maid with a smile which brought moisture to their eyes. She had been very gentle and patient through her illness, for pain, which in some cases causes irritation, had in hers been overmastered by remorse, and all the old petulant ways were gone.
"You can leave me now, and tell Mr. Mountford I am ready for him to come," she added.
"I am here, darling," replied her husband.
"I might have known," she whispered, as he bent over her, and drawing his head down, she kissed him tenderly again and again.
He seated himself so as to be on a level with her, but again she drew his head to her breast and held him in a close embrace. Hitherto, neither of them had spoken to the other of that terrible day, but now Mrs. Mountford whispered—
"Can you ever forgive me, Kenneth? I have been longing to ask you, ever since I knew what my wickedness had brought on you. I say you, darling husband, for though I know you will place my loss of sight and helplessness as worst of all, because I have to bear them through all my life, I am sure you have suffered even more than I have. Besides, bodily pain is not the worst part, though you have borne that along with me. I understand something about what sympathy means, when such love goes with it; for whenever our little one was ill, every pain she had was a double stab to me. And once when you were ill, my husband, it was the same or worse. To see those we love suffer is so hard. It would be bliss to bear the pain, if by doing this one could spare them. If such a poor, weak, wilful creature as I am can feel in this way, what must you have endured for my sake?"
Mrs. Mountford spoke softly and slowly, still holding her husband clasped closely to her.
He could not answer, and she knew why. She passed her slender fingers over his face, and felt the tears that he could not keep back, and knew, by the heaving of his breast, that he was too much overcome by emotion to utter a word in reply.
She waited patiently for a while, dried the tears as they fell, and kissed his hair, even, as his; head lay close to her. She could not, and never would, see how it had changed of late. Where only a few silver threads had been, it was now all grey.
"Kenneth," she whispered at length, "you must not grieve. I am not worth such love and tears, but I want you to tell me I am forgiven first, and then—"
"My darling, do not speak of forgiveness. I forgave you long, long ago," said Mr. Mountford.
"That is what I wanted. I should not have liked you to say that there was nothing to forgive, because even when I was planning to deceive you on that awful day, conscience was showing me my wickedness, and striving with me, only I would not listen. Do you know, Kenneth, I was worse than wilful, defiant, and disobedient? I was untruthful. I who had always been proud to say, that whatever were my faults, falsehood in any shape had never been one of them. It was so mean, Kenneth, to deceive James, by saying that I had told you I should ride Prince that morning, and not saying that you had forbidden me to mount him until you had made sure that he was fit for me to use with safety."
