The Way Of The Mysterial Woman Upgrading How You

Live Love And Lead Suzanne Anderson Susan Cannon

download

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-way-of-the-mysterial-woman-
upgrading-how-you-live-love-and-lead-suzanne-anderson-susan-
cannon-48736950

Explore and download more ebooks at ebookbell.com

Here are some recommended products that we believe you will be
interested in. You can click the link to download.

Scientific American Special Online Issue No 15 Mysteries Of The Milky

Way Several Authors

https://ebookbell.com/product/scientific-american-special-online-
issue-no-15-mysteries-of-the-milky-way-several-authors-2437040

Milky Way Mysteries Class Test Halls Of Records And The Jesus Codes
Azurtanya Ahdetupah

https://ebookbell.com/product/milky-way-mysteries-class-test-halls-of-
records-and-the-jesus-codes-azurtanya-ahdetupah-52391544

The Way Of The Househusband Vol 1 Kousuke Oono

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-way-of-the-househusband-
vol-1-kousuke-oono-45166368

The Way Of The Househusband Vol 2 Kousuke Oono

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-way-of-the-househusband-
vol-2-kousuke-oono-45166436
The Way Of The Househusband Vol 3 Kousuke Oono

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-way-of-the-househusband-
vol-3-kousuke-oono-45166440

The Way Of The Househusband Vol 4 Kousuke Oono

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-way-of-the-househusband-
vol-4-kousuke-oono-45166444

The Way Of The Househusband Vol 5 Kousuke Oono

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-way-of-the-househusband-
vol-5-kousuke-oono-45166448

The Way Of The Househusband Vol 6 Kousuke Oono

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-way-of-the-househusband-
vol-6-kousuke-oono-45166450

The Way Of The Househusband Vol 7 Kousuke Oono

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-way-of-the-househusband-
vol-7-kousuke-oono-45166454
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
 “It is—indeed it is! I can say nothing whatever to-night. You must
not interpret my behaviour at all.”
“We hunt together to-morrow. May I see you in the evening?”
“Yes, after the hunt. I will answer you then. May I, please, be left
to myself now?”
“Till to-morrow evening.”
Lord Winterset smiled, bowed to her with informal grace, and
passed to the nearest group.
In a few moments, Isabel too moved away. She had but to appear
in the centre of the room to attract half-a-dozen loiterers. Never had
her social instincts triumphed as they did now; never had she
governed herself with such perfection of skill. For five minutes she
was an enchantress. Then she drew aside, and presently had
disappeared.
At the appointed time and place, Kingcote saw the carriage pulling
up for him, Edgar Stratton having ridden his pony on before. It was
a dull morning, but perfect for hunting purposes, as Mr. Vissian
declared when Kingcote chatted with him for a moment in front of
the rectory. The two ladies seemed in excellent spirits; they wore
their habits, ready to mount the horses which would have reached
Salcot before them. Mrs. Clarendon pressed Kingcote’s hand warmly
when he had taken his seat opposite her, held it a moment longer
than was necessary, indeed, and looked with earnestness into his
face. The night had been sleepless for her, but whatever traces her
watching might have left had at once been carried away by the air
which breathed past the light-speeding vehicle. She talked and
laughed without ceasing; the prospect of a delightful day appeared
entirely to occupy her.
On Mrs. Stratton’s making some reference to an engagement for
the morrow, “Oh, I can’t look so far forward!” Isabel exclaimed. “To-
day is only beginning; what is the good of remembering that it will
ever come to an end?”
 “That reminds me,” said Kingcote, “of those stories of impious
huntsmen, who wished to ride on for ever, and had the wish terribly
granted.”
“I am not sure that I shouldn’t follow their example, whoever
offered me the choice,” Isabel said. “Ah, it is good to get rid of the
world! To forget everything but the delight of your headlong speed!”
“At all events,” said Kingcote, “it is a form of dissipation which
brings no headache on the morrow.”
“Now, you too talk of the morrow! Perish the word! I live in to-day.
Who knows what may happen before nightfall? I may be killed.”
Kingcote’s ear was struck with something singular in the note of
these last words. When he looked at Isabel she did not avert her
eyes, but smiled with a touching familiarity.
“Have you news from London?” she asked of him unexpectedly.
“Yes; things are still bad.”
“I am very sorry.”
He had never heard conventional politeness so sweetly expressed;
there was a real sorrow in her voice.
Arrived at the scene of the meet, at the end of the main street of
Salcot, the ladies at once mounted their hunters and mixed with
pink-coated men, who were present in considerable numbers.
Kingcote drew to a little distance from the crowd of villagers, and,
when a move was made to covert, he just kept the motley troup in
sight. The ladies from Knightswell were the only representatives of
their sex. When at length there was a find, and strange utterances
of man and beast proclaimed the start, he saw Isabel turn round in
her saddle, and, to the last moment, wave her hand to him. Then he
went back to find the carriage.
A heaviness weighed upon him during the drive home, and for
some hours afterwards. It was not the ordinary depression which he
had to struggle with day after day, but a feeling which would not
yield itself to analysis, which vanished when he questioned himself,
yet was back again as soon as he relapsed into vague musing. The
white face and waved hand of Isabel Clarendon, that last glimpse he
had had of her, would not go from before his mind’s eye; her speech
and her manner assailed his memory with indefinable suggestions. It
was as if he had lacked discernment at the time, as if he ought to
have gathered something which escaped him. He was impatient for
another opportunity of observing her, and when would that come?
For the first time he felt that it would be impossible to let day after
day go by without approaching her. Why had he not used more
liberally her invitation to give her his confidence? He had been too
reticent, had failed to say a hundred things which now rang in his
head. He could not put off the irrational fear that there might be no
other chance of speaking freely with her, that something would
interpose between her and himself, the something which already
cast this shadow upon his imagination.
It was nonsense! Had she not waved her hand to him as she could
only do to a friend whom she regarded very kindly? Was it not an
assurance of meeting again, and with strengthened friendship? Yet it
haunted him with good-bye.
About four o’clock he could bear his solitude no longer, and set out
to walk towards the rectory. He was near the door, when he saw the
figure of Mr. Vissian running towards him from the village street. His
surprise at the sight increased when the rector drew near enough to
show a face stricken with alarm.
“Have you heard anything, Kingcote?” the clergyman gasped forth.
“Are you coming to tell me something?”
“No; what should I tell you? What is the matter?”
“Great God! They say in the village that Mrs. Clarendon has been
brought home, dead—killed in a fall!”
They stared at each other.
“I daren’t go in and tell my wife,” went on Mr. Vissian, in a hoarse
whisper. “I must go up to the house at once.”
 “I must come with you.”
“Do, that’s a good fellow. Let me—let me lean on your arm. Pooh!
I must have more self-control than this. It came like a stunning blow
on the head; I all—all but dropped!”
Tears were streaming down his cheeks his voice choked. Kingcote
felt his arm quiver.
“I can’t believe it! I wont believe it!” the rector pursued, crying like
a child at last. “An accident, but not killed—great Heaven, no! I
never had such a ghastly shock in my life. One moment, Kingcote; I
am ashamed to pass the lodge like this. I never thought I should be
so weak. But if it were my own wife I scarcely could feel it more. I
pray to Almighty God that it may be a mistake!”
The lodge was vacant.
“They’re up at the house,” said Mr.. Vissian, under his breath. “Oh,
that looks bad! That dear, dear lady—it cannot be, Kingcote!”
Kingcote walked on in perfect silence, his looks on the ground, no
muscle of his face moving. He did not seem to hear his companion’s
talk. It was just beginning to rain; drops pattered on the dead leaves
which lay about the grass. Kingcote heard the sound; he could never
afterwards hear it without the return of this hour in terrible
vividness. The air seemed stifling; perspiration came out on him as
he walked. At length the rector had ceased to speak. The drive grew
moist, and rain splashed upon it; on the dead leaves the rain still
pattered.
As they were entering the garden they met the porter on his way
back to the lodge.
“What has happened?” Mr. Vissian asked, catching his arm and
waiting with dread for an answer. “An accident; a bad accident?”
“Yes, sir; a bad fall,” the man replied.
“She is alive?”
“Thank God, sir, it’s not so bad as that.”
 He went on to explain that the horse had breasted a fence and
rolled over, inflicting grave injuries upon its rider. The accident had
occurred not three miles away. Mrs. Clarendon had first been
removed to a cottage, then brought home by carriage as soon as
she recovered consciousness. Mrs. Stratton was with her. The doctor
had just arrived, and another from London had been telegraphed for.
“I think I’ll go in and hear the doctor’s report,” Mr. Vissian said.
“May I wait for you at the rectory?” asked Kingcote.
“Yes; but I beg of you, not a word to my wife; unless, of course,
some one has spread the news; not a word else, Kingcote. You don’t
know the effect it will have upon her. I beg you to be cautious.”
Kingcote retraced his steps through the rain. Overtaking the
porter, he got such further details as the man could furnish. Then he
went on to the rectory. Mrs. Vissian had heard nothing. He entered
the study and awaited the rector’s arrival.
The three sat together through the evening. Even in its modified
form, the news was bad enough. Mr. Vissian softened it a little in
telling his wife. She, good-hearted creature, shed many tears. Percy,
when he heard what had happened, said nothing; but his
imagination evidently became very busy; he sat on the hearth-rug
before the fire, till at length a question shaped itself.
“Has Mrs. Clarendon hurt her face?” he asked.
“I think not,” replied his father.
“It won’t be altered? It’ll be the same as it was before?”
“I hope so, my boy.”
Percy sighed, and returned quietly: “I’m glad of that.”
At ten o’clock Mr. Vissian walked over to the lodge to make
inquiries. The doctor, he heard, had just gone away, but would
return during the night. Mrs. Clarendon lay unconscious.
Shortly after hearing this, Kingcote took leave of his friends. He
found it raining hard, not a glimpse of light in heaven. Instead of
turning homewards, he went across to the gates of Knightswell. Just
as he reached them they were being thrown open, and he heard the
sound of a vehicle coming down the drive. It was a trap, with two
men; they drove away in the direction of Salcot.
“Who was that?” Kingcote asked of the porter, as the gates closed
again.
“Lord Winterset, sir,” was the reply.
 CHAPTER XIII.
The spreading of the news in private channels and by newspaper
paragraphs brought numbers of people on missions of inquiry to
Knightswell. For several days the life of little Winstoke had its central
point of interest at the lodge, where the humbler of Mrs. Clarendons
friends, the village people and the peasantry, who knew so much of
her kindness, incessantly sought information as to her progress. For
nearly a week it was all evil rumour, the sufferer could only be
reported “Very much the same.” During that week Lord Winterset
thrice made the journey from London to see Mrs. Stratton, and
receive the fullest details. The people from Dunsey Priors, the Bruce
Pages, and a procession of county families were, in one way or
another, represented daily. Not least anxious of those who presented
themselves was Robert Asquith, who came post haste from Paris,
where he was spending a few weeks in fault of anything better to
do. After remaining for a day at Knightswell, he presented himself at
Winstoke Rectory, and got Mr. Vissian to promise him a daily bulletin.
But the point of danger was passed, and Isabel’s natural strength
helped her through the suffering which preceded convalescence. The
special prayer which Mr. Vissian had read forth on two Sundays, was,
on the third, commenced with a phrase of thanksgiving. Robert
Asquith, opening his Winstoke letter every morning with fingers
which trembled in spite of all his efforts, smiled with satisfaction at
length, and, though he disliked travelling, set off to make another
call at Knightswell. Mrs. Stratton assured him that all was well, that
Isabel had begun to sleep soundly through the night without
artificial aids, and that she was capable of attending, for short
periods, whilst Miss Warren read to her. At the mention of Ada’s
name, Robert turned a sharp look on the lady.
“Ah, Miss Warren reads to her, does she?”
 “Yes. She has been admirable all the time.”
These two had made acquaintance for the first time on the
occasion of Asquith’s former visit, but already they met with an air of
mutual understanding.
“I suppose you have heard my name from Mrs. Clarendon?”
Robert had asked in the course of their first conversation; and the
lady had given an affirmative, with a smile which might or might not
have meaning.
“If Miss Warren has been admirable,” Robert remarked, “you, Mrs.
Stratton, have been indispensable. What on earth should we have
done without you?”
“Oh, I have done nothing, except keep guard. But I shall carry her
off as soon as I can.”
“Whither?”
“First of all to my own home. I live at present at Chislehurst, and
have a house much too big for me. Colonel Stratton will probably be
home before Christmas, and we shall make a party. I wish you could
make it convenient to join us for a few days.”
“It’s very good of you,” Robert replied with deliberate gratitude. “If
all goes according to your expectation, I will come with pleasure.”
They parted the best of friends, looking mutual compliments.
“Now, why couldn’t Isabel be open with me?” mused Mrs.
Stratton, after he had gone. “Several things begin to be a little
clearer, I fancy.”
“A capital little woman,” meditated Robert, on his way to the
station. “I shouldn’t wonder if her friendship prove valuable.”
And all three weeks it rained, rained with scarcely a day’s
intermission. If the new road to Salcot was a mere mud-track, the
state of the old road can be conjectured; its deep ruts had become
watercourses, its erewhile grassy prominences were mere alluvial
wastes. The piece of sward before the cottage gradually turned to
swamp; the oak torso stood black with drenching moisture, its
clinging parasite stems hung limp, every one of its million bark
grainings was a channel for rain-drops. Behind, the copse was
represented by the shivering nakedness of lithe twigs, set in a dark,
oozy bed of decaying leaves and moss and fungi. Sometimes the
rain fell straight from a gray sky without a rack feature from end to
end, till all Nature seemed to grow of one colour, and the space
between morning and evening was but a wan twilight of
indistinguishable hours. Sometimes there glimmered at midday a
faint yellowness, a glimpse of free heaven athwart thinning vapour, a
smile too pale to hold forth promise. Sometimes there came towards
nightfall a calling from the south-west, the sky thickened with rolling
battalions overflashed at instants with an angry gleam, and blasts of
fury drove the rain level with the reeking earth. Then there would be
battle till dawn, followed, alas! by no glorious victory of the sun-god,
but with more weeping of the heavens and sighing of the worn-out
winds.
In spite of the fearful weather, Kingcote walked incessantly. The
solitude of his cottage was hideous. Every little familiar sound—the
rattling of a window or a door, the endless drip of rain, the wind
moaning in the chimney—became to him the voice of a tormenting
demon. He loathed the sight of every object around him; the damp
odour which hung about the place and greeted him whenever he
entered from the open air brought a feeling of sickness; he dreaded
the hour of going upstairs to the bare bed-chamber, where the cold
seized him as in a grip, and the darkness about his candle was full of
floating ghosts. The sound of the rain, as he lay longing for the sleep
that would not come, weighed upon his spirit to the point of tears;
he wept in his gulf of wretchedness. He could not read; the hours of
the day would have been interminable but for the regular walk,
which killed a portion of time. And occasionally he could spend an
evening at the rectory.
Only a man capable of settling at Wood End as Kingcote had done
would have been capable of living thus through these late weeks of
the year. It needed a peculiar nature to go through with such self-
torment—a nature strangely devoid of energy, and morbidly
contemplative. He would not admit to the Vissians that he suffered
in any way; he even visited them less often than he otherwise would
have done, that he might not appear to seek refuge in their house.
Bodily ill-health had much to do with his singular state—ill-health
induced by long mental suffering and the unwholesome conditions of
his life; it aggravated his moral disorder and made him physically
incapable of the step he would otherwise have been driven to. To
quit the cottage and return, if only for a time, to London, he had
persuaded himself was impossible; whilst Isabel Clarendon lay on
her sick-bed he could not go away. During the first two weeks, he
himself had fallen little short of grave illness; his nights were
feverish: once he found himself standing at the gates of Knightswell,
without being able to summon consciousness of his walk from home,
the hour being just before dawn. Upon this had followed lassitude;
he heard almost with indifference of Isabel’s improved condition, and
for a few days did not care to move from his fireside. The fever left
him, however, and mental disquietude took its place. A source of
misery and exasperation was the number of people he knew to be
calling at Knightswell; the multitude of her friends excited his
jealousy; he himself was of no account among them, the very least
of these people, who made their conventional visits and left their
respectable cards, was more to her than he. Even if a voice assured
him that it was not so, he refused to listen; the fascination of self-
torture will not brook a moment’s consoling. He called twice, at long
intervals, partly because it was not decent to neglect the duty, partly
because a longing to draw near to her anguished him; but each time
he came away maddened with jealous suspicions. The servant had
stood across the door, as if to bar his possible entrance, and had
replied to his question with supercilious negligence; the very
windows of the house had looked upon him with the
contemptuousness of a vacant stare. Of such nothings it was his fate
to make hours of suffering. The most absurd thoughts possessed
him. She would return to the world a changed woman; even if she
cared ever to receive him again, it would be with the cold politeness
of a slight acquaintance. She would associate him always with that
day’s meet, and the thought of him would be always something to
dismiss from her mind as painful. A thousand such fantastic webs
did he spin in his brain, each an hour’s distress. Yet nothing could
have taken him from the neighbourhood. To go now would be to
have seen her for the last time, to make her henceforth only a name
in his memory, and he felt that death would be preferable to that.
Time lost its reality. Sunday he knew, because of the church bells;
of other days he kept no count, one was even as another. But it
befel at length that the rain ceased, and the first sunlight which
awoke him at his bedroom windows was like the touch of a soft,
kind hand. It brought to his mind all pleasant and beautiful things:
the sound of her voice, the clear vision of her countenance, the
white waving of her’ hand as she rode away, the promise that was in
one and all of these. Upon sunlight followed frost; at night-time a
dark blue heaven with burnished stars, and the gleaming rime of
early hours. The spirit of the healthful air breathed upon him, and
gave his blood fresh impulse. He heard that she had left her bed,
was all but able to sit up through the day. Might he not before long
hope to see her?
One Sunday morning as he sat at breakfast—it was a strange-
looking meal, laid out upon a bare deal table, much the kind of
breakfast that the labouring men in other cottages sat down to—a
shadow passed before the window, and there followed two sharp
blows with a stick at his door. It was the postman’s knock; Kingcote
started up eagerly to answer. There were only two probable
correspondents, his sister and Gabriel, and it was some time since
he had heard from either. But the letter which the man put into his
hand had travelled a shorter distance; it bore only the Winstoke
mark. The handwriting he did not know, but it was a woman’s, and,
it seemed to him, written under some infirmity. In his agitation, he
made scant reply to the postman’s remark about the weather; yet he
noticed that it had just begun to snow, and that the light flakes were
silver in sunlight. It was not a letter—a mere note of one side, but it
ended with the name of Isabel Clarendon.
 “Dear Mr. Kingcote,
“Why have you not been to see me? Several people who brought
me nothing but their dulness have found their way here the last few
days. Will you come to-morrow at eleven—if you can miss Mr.
Vissian’s sermon for once?”
The snow fell, but from a rift of glory up above streamed one
broad beam, which made the earth shimmer. Presently began the
Winstoke bells; their music was carried off to the south by a shrewd
wind, whose task it was to bake the ground that the snow might lie.
Wind and snow had their way; the sun drew back and veiled itself;
the white downfall thickened, chased and whirled into frenzy by the
shrilling north. The turmoil made Kingcote laugh with pleasure.
When he quitted the cottage, he had to leap over a high ridge of
driven snow. The oak-stump had a white cloak on its back; the road
was a smooth white surface, not a little treacherous whilst still
unhardened. But there was life in the keen air, and the delight of
change in the new face of each familiar thing.
It cost some stamping of the feet and shaking of upper garments
before he could pass from the threshold of Knightswell into the hall.
The footman seemed prepared for his arrival, and bade him follow
him up the stairs. The chief rooms of the house were all on the
ground floor; Kingcote had never yet ascended. The room into which
he was ushered was Isabel’s boudoir, small, with only one window,
daintily furnished. It caught his senses with a faint pervading
perfume, a soft harmony of clear colours, a witchery of light broken
by curtains and tinged with hues from gleaming surfaces; his foot
was flattered by the yielding carpet. He did not at first see where
she sat, for her chair was in a dim corner; besides, the fireplace
intervened with its great blaze.
“I never thought you would face this terrible weather!”
“The weather? What of that? Was I not to see you at eleven?”
She might not stand yet, but both her hands were held out to him.
There was a low chair not far from her; he drew it nearer and sat
looking into her face. It was of an exquisite pallor, just touched on
either cheek with present emotion; thinner, but only—at all events to
his eyes—the more beautiful. There was an indescribable freshness
in her appearance—her white neck caressed by soft lace, the lines
which her hair made on the purity of her brow, her bright, just-
moistened eye, the graceful repose of her still feeble frame.
“You find me changed?” she asked, in a voice which trembled in
trying to be merely mirthful.
“I see no change. You are pale, but your face is what it always
was.”
“You are growing stronger?” he asked, when she kept silence.
“Danger is past?”
“Oh, long past!”
He hesitated for the next words.
“Wasn’t it strange?” Isabel went on, regarding him with wide-eyed
intimacy, which thrilled his nerves. “You remember the things I said
that morning? What did you think when you heard of the accident?”
“They told me you were dead—that was the first news.”
Her eyes fell before his steady look.
“I half wished it,” she said. “In the moment when I knew what
was coming, I had a strange hope that my words might have
brought it in reality; I closed my eyes, and tried to think it would be
like sleep.”
“Why should you have such thoughts? What has life ever brought
you but joy?”
“A few things not quite joyful, and which most women would find
rather hard to bear. You know nothing of my story? No? Not by
chance in talking about me of late? I suppose there has been much
talk about me?”
“Will you not tell me what it is you speak of? Remember that I talk
to no one.”
 “To be sure. You are so unlike all other men. You are apart in my
thoughts—you seem to be in a wholly different world from that I
know. Your judgment of me will be sterner than that of mere men of
the world, who take self-seeking and dishonour for granted. Yes, it
will, it will!”
Her breath was caught, and nervous agitation so gained upon her
weakness as almost to make her hysterical. Kingcote bent forward
and imprisoned one of her hands.
“Speak calmly,” he urged, in a voice just above a whisper. “Why do
you agitate yourself so? Why should you tell me anything that it is
painful to speak of?”
His own emotion all but overcame his power of utterance. She did
not try to draw away her hand; holding it in one of his, with the
other he caressed it soothingly. Isabel smiled at him.
“You are deceived in me,” she pursued, becoming quieter by self-
yielding. “You see only appearances. This house and all it represents
is not mine; I am only allowed to use it and to make a show till the
owner claims it: everything belongs to Miss Warren.”
A minor emotion like surprise could not affect Kingcote in his
present mood.
“And I am to judge you sternly for not having told me that?” he
asked, his veins on fire from the touch of the hand he held.
“Listen to me. When she marries I lose everything, all but an
annuity of three hundred pounds. And that will be in a few weeks, as
soon as I am strong enough to go in search of a new home.”
“Yes? Does that call for my judgment?”
She trembled.
“I want to show you something, but I cannot rise to get it. Will
you go for me? You see the small writing-desk on the further table?”
Kingcote rose, but with her hand still in his. He could not release
it. She, with eyes turned upwards to regard him, her face flushed,
her throat quivering, was as loth to be severed from his grasp.
Instead of moving away, he bent and put his lips to her forehead.
Then the rose-hue clothed her with maidenhood, her head fell, and
he felt the pulse at her wrist leap like flame.
“Will you fetch me the desk?” she asked, without meeting his look.
He fetched it, and with a key from her pocket Isabel opened it.
Below other papers she found an envelope, and from this took a
photograph.
“Will you look at that?” she said, holding it to him.
Kingcote’s face expressed recognition.
“This,” he said, “is, I suppose, Miss Warren’s father? The
resemblance is very strong.”
“It is a portrait of Mr. Clarendon,” was her answer, given in a tone
of such cold self-command that Kingcote turned to look at her with a
movement of surprise.
“Mr. Clarendon?”
“I will put it away again, if you please.”
He let her do so, and removed the case. When he drew near her,
Isabel regarded him with a passionless face, and pointed to the chair
he had risen from.
“He knew me well,” she said, with a bitterness which made all her
words clear-cut and her voice unshaken. “He calculated my
weakness, and devised my punishment skilfully. That I should take
the child and rear it to inherit his property, or else lose everything at
once. With a woman of self-respect, such a scheme would have
been empty; she would have turned away in scorn. But he knew me
well; he knew I had not the courage to go back to poverty; that I
would rather suffer through years, be the talk and pity and contempt
of every one, face at last the confession to her,—all that rather than
be poor again!”
 Kingcote once more held her hand, and, when she paused, he
kissed it passionately.
“You were poor once?” he asked gently, tenderly.
“That is my only excuse. We were wretchedly poor, my mother, my
brother, and myself. I have been hungry often and often. We had to
keep up a respectable appearance; we starved ourselves to buy
clothing and to avoid being indebted to people. I have often gone to
bed—when I was a strong, growing girl—and cried because I was so
hungry; though I had just before been pretending I could eat no
more, as we all of us did, poor mother as well. I was to be a
governess; but then a lady took me to London, was wonderfully kind
to me, treated me as her daughter. She said”—Isabel half laughed,
half cried—“she said I was too good-looking to be a governess.”
“Wasn’t it true? Are you not now so beautiful that my heart faints
when I look at you?”
“If I were not so contemptible—if I deserved any recompense for
what I have suffered—it would be a priceless one to hear you say
so.”
“Tell me more.”
“I married at the end of my first season; made what was called a
wonderful marriage. I hadn’t a farthing, and became all at once
wealthy. I caught at the best that offered; the best in the world’s
sense. I was old enough; I understood what I was doing. No one
was to blame but myself. You saw that hard, strong, coarse face? He
often looked at me as if he were coldly calculating the risks of
murder; but as he got to know me better, he found better
punishments. I did not disobey him. I never gave him cause for
anger by word or deed; could I help it that I—that I hated him?”
The excitement was again overpowering her strength. She sobbed
tearlessly.
“You shall speak no more of that,” King-cote said; “leave it all in
the past; forget it, dearest.”
 “Am I dearest to you?” she asked, looking into his eyes with
yearning tenderness. “Oh, I have never felt till now what it would be
to lose wealth and the power of bestowing it!
“May I tell you, only to justify myself—to make myself better in
your sight? I might so often have married, and freed myself, men to
whom wealth was nothing, who would have taken me for myself:
but I could not, not even to gain an honourable position. I had
always the hope that I might know what love meant. I have gone
through the world and enjoyed it. I have had, I suppose, something
of what is called success; it left me cold. Only when you came into
my life then it began to be all different. I felt that you were come to
save me; you were so unlike others, you interested and attracted me
as no one else ever did. You remember our first meeting in Mr.
Vissian’s study? I went away and could think of nothing but you;
wondered what your story was, tried to understand what it was in
you that affected me so strangely.”
“My sovereign lady!”
“If you knew the foolish tricks I played myself! I would not face
the truth; I invented all sorts of explanations and excuses when I
longed to see you. It occurred to me that you might perhaps come
to care for Ada. I persuaded myself that it would make me happy if
you married her and became rich. And I can give you nothing!”
“You give me nothing, Isabel? Yesterday I was the poorest
creature in this world, without strength, without hope, sunk in
misery; now every pulse of my heart is happiness.” She sighed with
pleasure.
“Turn your face to me, Isabel; let me try to read it there, to
believe it, to make it part of my life. Let me hear you say those three
words—I do not know their sound—those three words I hunger for!”
“Three? Have I not said them? Was it only in my thought? I love
you, dearest.”
“Four! And from your lips, whose music came to me from another
sphere, so far you seemed! You, the throned lady, the queen with
the crown of loveliness; so gracious, so good, so noble——”
“Hush! you may not praise me. Dear, you know those words do
not describe me, you know how unworthy I am.”
“I will praise you whilst I have breath for speech! What are our
paltry conventional judgments? In that I love you, you are to me a
peerless woman. Have you not stooped to me from the circle of your
glory? Are you not to me embodied goodness, purity, truth? What
am I that you should love me, my soul’s worship? Yet your eyes say
it, your smile says it, your lips make golden music of the words.”
She sighed again, drinking in his rapturous adoration with closed
eyes.
“And you?” she asked. “When did you first love me? Did I not
seem to you a very silly, empty, frivolous woman?”
“I loved your name long before I saw you. They talked to me at
the rectory, and called you the Lady of Knightswell. I pictured you,
and indeed not far unlike yourself; just so gracious, so bright, so
gloriously a woman. I looked over to Knightswell from my window,
and wondered if ever we should meet. What kindness of fate that
brought me that day past the cottage!”
She was still musing over the growth of this flower in her heart.
“I knew it when the pain was over, and I could lie and think. It
was all so clear to me then. I had escaped a terrible danger; but for
the fall”—her voice sank—“I might never have known this happiness.
I was in ceaseless fear lest you should have gone. I asked often if
you had called; if you had known how I longed for your name
among those who called! There was no need of occupation for me.
It was quite enough to lie and think of our talks together, to call
back your voice and your look. Oh, I longed to send a word to you;
you were so lonely, so unhappy. All that is over now, dearest? You
will never again be comfortless?”
“Dare I think that, Isabel?”
“When I love you?”
 “That again!” He covered his face with his hands. “Once more!”
“With my soul I love you!”
“If I could but hear that for ever! Shall I hear it when this hour
has become part of our memory, in days after this? Dare I think of it
as music that I may hear at will?”
“It shall never fail you, if your ear does not weary.”
“If my eyes weary of the light of heaven?”
There was silence before Isabel spoke.
“Ada’s marriage has been postponed on account of my illness; it
would have taken place before this. When it is over, and I have
discharged my duty to the end, then——”
She paused, not avoiding his gaze, but meeting it with simplest
truth, her lips trembling a little.
“I shall have my three hundred a year,” she added, almost
pleadingly. “Can we not make it enough? Do you know that the
Vissians live on less than that?”
Kingcote dropped his eyes, and spoke with embarrassment.
“To me it is wealth. For you, even alone, it would be miserable
poverty. How can I accept such a sacrifice?”
“A sacrifice? Is that your measure of my love?”
He kissed her hand, then asked laughingly: “What do you think
my own income is? You dare not guess. I am richer than Goldsmith’s
country parson; I have full sixty pounds.”
“Why, then, are we not wealthy? That is the rent of a delightful
house, somewhere far away. Might we not go abroad? Would you,”
she added anxiously, “go abroad with me?”
“Dear, can you so change your life?”
“It is changed. There is no effort asked of me. I live only for you.”
“Your friends?”
 “My friends? One, two, three at most; those I need not lose. My
acquaintances, three hundred at least; ah! let them go! It shall be a
new world. What need have I of friends? You are my friend, my one,
sole friend! I will have no other. Oh, you will not weary of me? I
bring you so little—my ignorance, my foolish habits of thought. You
will be patient with me, and help me to become more the kind of
woman suitable for—for your wife?”
The flush in her cheeks had become steadfast; her eyes gleamed
unnaturally. Each word she spoke heightened the fever which was
gaining upon her. He noticed this.
“I have been wrong to let you talk so much,” he said gravely. “You
are tired; you will suffer.”
“No, I shall sleep, and with such peace in my heart as I have
never known.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, and murmured words that he
did not hear.
“Is Mrs. Stratton still with you?” he asked.
“At church; it must be nearly time for her to return.”
“And Miss Warren?”
“She is reading, I suppose; she always prefers to be alone.”
“Dear, you are suffering.”
“No, indeed no. Is my face worn? Do I look—old?”
“What was that word? You are as beautiful as day.”
“You will come very soon again? I will write and tell you when.”
“I dare not let you speak more.”
“I am still weak,” she said with a smile. Her voice was failing.
He knelt by her side, and she, bending forward with modest grace,
gave him the sweetness of her lips.
 The storm still raged; nothing was to be seen beyond a few yards
through the white whirl. As Kingcote struggled against it with bent
head, a carriage passed him, moving, silently over the snow; it was
bringing Mrs.. Stratton from church. This made him fear lest he
should meet the Vissians near the rectory; he could speak with no
one now; there was a voice in his ears which for his life he would
not have silenced. He turned off into the trackless park, and walked
in a direction which would bring him out at a lonely part of the new
road. With a boy’s delight he leapt through the deep snow, and
fought his way against the whirlwind. He lost his bearing; the white
outlines of the country were irrecognisable; there was nothing for it
but to push on, and come out where, he might. It was two hours at
least before he at length got into a track that he knew, and which
led him homewards. He reached the cottage in complete exhaustion,
chilled, feeble with hunger. Unable even to cast off his wet clothing
before he had rested, he threw himself into a chair. He laughed; it
would be something to tell her when they met again.

END OF VOL. I.
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISABEL
CLARENDON, VOL. 1 (OF 2) ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S.

copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in
these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it
in the United States without permission and without paying
copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of
Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything
for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is
very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as
creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research.
Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given
away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with
eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject
to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
 PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free

distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or
any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and

Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree
to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be
bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund
from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in
paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be

used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people
who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a
few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic
works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.
See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with
Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the
collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the
individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the
United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law
in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do
not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing,
performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the
work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of
course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™
mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely
sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated
with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this
agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached
full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge
with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also
govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most
countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the
United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the
terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying,
performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this
work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes
no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in
any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other

immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must
appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™
work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears,
or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is
accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
 This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the
United States and most other parts of the world at no
cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You
may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not
located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using
this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived

from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a
notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright
holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the
United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must
comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through
1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted

with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted
with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning
of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project

Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a
part of this work or any other work associated with Project
Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this

electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1
with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form,
including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you
provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work
in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in
the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or
expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or
a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original
“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must
include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in
paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,

performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing

access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive
from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the
method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The
fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark,
but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty
payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on
which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your
periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked
as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information
 about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation.”

• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who

notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt
that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project
Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg™ works.

• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of

any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in
the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90
days of receipt of the work.

• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™

electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend

considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe
and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating
the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may
be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to,
incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a
copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or
damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for

the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3,
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the
Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR
NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR
BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH
1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK
OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL
NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT,
CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF
YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you

discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving
it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by
sending a written explanation to the person you received the work
from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must
return the medium with your written explanation. The person or
entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide
a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work
electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to
give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in
lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may
demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the
problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF
MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied

warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted
by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation,

the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation,
anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with
the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or
any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission

of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.
It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and
donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the

assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a
secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help,
see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project

Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,

Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to

the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without
widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can
be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the
widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many
small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to
maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating

charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and
keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in
locations where we have not received written confirmation of
compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of
compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where

we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no
prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in
such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make

any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of
other ways including checks, online payments and credit card
donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About

Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,

including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how
to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
back
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

ebookbell.com