It Happened in Japan. Baroness Albert d' Anethan
everything had been proved.
"But, of course, she will marry Martinworth now," it said. "He is only too willing to make the position a regular one. That is why she put Norrywood into the Divorce Court, though evidently she never dreamt the old fox would succeed thus thoroughly in turning the tables on her. She has really been somewhat of a fool for her pains. Why didn't she let things go on as they were? Why did she want to put old Norry's back up? She had just as much liberty before as she will have now, and if she had left him alone we should never have heard all these abominable things about her. Of course, before this scandalous case it was easy enough to feign ignorance of all their goings on. Now she has put herself outside the pale altogether, and in spite of that ridiculous verdict one really cannot continue the acquaintance. No doubt, once she is Martinworth's wife,--though of course she won't go to Court--their country neighbours will call on her, and she is just the sort of woman to be adored by the poor people. Pity we can't see her any more. Such a sweet woman, you know," etc., etc., etc.
Pearl knew her world. She heard words such as these ringing in her ears, and as on the doorstep of her house she said good-bye to Lord Martinworth, she vowed to herself never would she see him again. She was an innocent woman, whatever the world might call her. Her first desire had been to have a certain satisfaction in disappointing the cynics of their laughter, and by not marrying the man whose name had so long been coupled with hers, and whom everyone had without doubt expected her to marry, to prove indisputably her innocence. But that was only a momentary thought. Worthier reasons against this union soon took root in her mind. She loved Martinworth with all her soul. The knowledge flashed upon her, that only by not marrying him could she prove her devotion to the man who would willingly have sacrificed all--his position in society, his future, his life's ambitions--by bestowing on her the protection of his name.
That night all Pearl Norrywood's possessions were packed. When her arrangements were completed she sent away her maid, and set herself to the task of writing a letter. It took her a long, long time that letter, and tears were streaming down her cheeks as she penned these words:--
"I am leaving you, my darling; for I can never be your wife. Dick! you must not blame me for this, for it is just because of my great love for you that I can never take your name. The woman who shares that name must never have had the vile things said of her that have been said of me in that horrible Court, this last week. You, in your great love and generosity, had but one thought when my freedom was pronounced--I read it in your eyes, dear. But all during those dreadful hours it was gradually becoming clear to me, I was slowly realising, that for your sake alone, I must never give the world the right of confirming what the world has said. Had I only myself to think of I would, as you know, scorn what people may say, and now that I am free I would marry you, and at last taste what true happiness is. But, Dick, you are a public man. You have a great name and high position to maintain, and the woman who bears that name must be above suspicion. Dick! you are no child. You are a man of the world and of experience, and therefore I beg of you to look around among your acquaintances and friends and to ask yourself if there is a single one who, in spite of the verdict to-day, will believe in our innocence? Such being the case, how can I ruin your life by marrying you?
"I feel no bashfulness in writing this before you speak to me again, for by expressing my decision I thus make it impossible for you ever to speak. Yes, Dick, I am leaving you for ever--for ever. Do not attempt to find me. All your efforts will be fruitless, and oh! indeed, indeed! this separation will be far better for us both. Do not become hard against me, Dick, for you will know--you must believe, dearest, that it is only my love that induces me to leave you. One day you will marry some pure young girl, and you will then bless me for trying to rectify the evil that I have done you, and you will perhaps forgive me for the years that you have wasted with me. And yet, if having made a woman in her darkest hour happy, if having prevented a heart from becoming cold and callous and cruel, if having cast many glorious rays of sunshine around an existence which, without you, would have been one dark abyss, if having blessed me with your beautiful, strong, supporting love, if, having done and given all this, you think your years have been wasted, let me tell you, Dick, they have not--they have not! And now I bid you farewell. What it costs me to write that word, I alone can know. For with it I vanish from your life. If I were strong I should say 'Forget me,' but you know me as a poor weak woman, and knowing me thus you will understand that I can only say 'Forgive me.'
"Pearl."
For several months Pearl Nugent lived in an obscure Welsh village, buried like a hermit. She was awaiting an answer to a letter she had written to Japan, and in due course it arrived. It was a satisfactory letter, welcoming her to the Land of the Rising Sun. Immediately on obtaining her divorce she had written to her cousin, Mrs. Rawlinson, begging her to secure a house for her either in Yokohama or Tokyo, and to make other arrangements subject to her approaching arrival.
Mrs. Rawlinson, who was some years senior to the girl she loved as a younger sister, was the wife of an Englishman engaged by the Japanese Government. She was a clever and large-minded woman. Many a time had her kind heart ached for Pearl, and when the divorce proceedings commenced she had prayed but for one conclusion. The complication connected with Lord Martinworth had certainly proved somewhat of a shock to her well-ordered mind, but in spite of the compromising evidence, not for one instant did she allow herself to believe the worst, and the personal love and pity she felt for the poor, storm-tossed girl, coupled with Pearl's frank and affectionate letter, made her long for the day when she could fold and comfort her within her motherly arms.
Pearl had merely stated facts, and had asked for no advice. She knew her cousin well enough to be confident that none would be offered unasked.
There was only one other person to acquaint with her decision. Mr. Hall was her lawyer and trustee, an old and valued friend of her father's. Many a time when a child had he dandled her on his knee, and to him Pearl now opened her whole heart, for certain business formalities had to be transacted connected with her change of residence and of name, and with regard to her fortune, which though not large, would be amply sufficient for her needs. During all those dreary months Mr. Hall was the only friend she saw. He ran down from Town constantly, armed as a rule with documents to sign, and the appearance of this bright, cheery little man, with a face like a russet apple, was Pearl's one pleasure during that period of grief and solitude.
One day, when she had been in hiding a considerable time, he paid her one of his welcome visits. On this occasion, contrary to his habits, he appeared grave and preoccupied, and it was only after a certain time that, with a little preliminary cough, he seemed to make up his mind to speak.
He took Pearl's hand between his own.
"My dear," he said gravely, "I want to ask you something. May I?"
"Yes, Mr. Hall, of course you are privileged to say anything to me. What is it?"
"Pearl, has it never struck you that Lord Martinworth would hardly be likely to rest satisfied with the request contained in your letter?"
"He has been looking for me?" exclaimed Pearl, flushing.
"Yes, he has been moving heaven and earth to find you. Necessarily, his first step was to come to me."
"And--you said--what?"
"What could I say, but that I was in your confidence, and that I declined to betray it?"
"And you told him nothing--nothing?"
"No, in spite of prayers and threats, I of course divulged nothing."
Was it a shade of disappointment that for a moment clouded Pearl's eyes Mr. Hall found himself wondering? At any rate, there was a pause before she continued in a low voice:
"You were quite--quite right, Mr. Hall. Thank you. Then you think he has got no trace?"
"Even with the aid of detectives whom, I hear, he has since been employing, I don't fancy he has so far discovered your whereabouts. But-- but----"
"But--you think there is danger that he may do so?"
"I should say there was every danger. For one thing, he could easily have me followed."
He hesitated, then continued: "My dear child, you