Newspaper Page Text
t
3
Copyright, 1913, by the Star Co.
Published on the first Sunday of each month as a section of the N. Y. American, Boston American, Chicago fxaminer, Hearst's American. Atlanta, Ga., and thesecond Sunday of each month with the San Francisco hammer and los Angeles Examiner
Lover
Synopsis of Preceding Chapters—Guinevere, the young wife of the aged
and selfish General Bohun, in spite of her youth and beauty has led a lone
ly and narrow married life. Her little son, Algernon, is much like his father,
and both neglect her. They have just moved into the ancestral country
seat of the Bohuns when Guinevere’s elder sister, Letitia, arrives and tells
her about Sir Hugh Dremont, a neighbor, whom they soon meet. Guinevere
feels a powerful attraction for Sir Hugh which has developed into love on both
sides when Guinevere obtains permission from her crabbed husband to visit
her sister in London. Sir Hugh devotes himself to Guinevere as much as is
possible without causing comment. In this they are aided by Letitia
At last the short period of bliss is over and Guinevere is compelled
to return to her home.
Three Weeks
“Why
Chapter XVII
■ ND so we are at Redwood
Moat again, and Hum
phrey is on his way to
his far destination.
Algernon and I
waved to him from the station plat
form, and then my son went back
to Eton and I rejoined Letitia in
Norfolk Street; and the next day
came down here. It is the tenth
of February, 1906. Why do I
write the date, I wonder?—and
to-morrow, I shall see Hugh!
Petrov’s joy at my return is
sweet to see. He has moped
and grown quite thin during
my absence. The house seems
terribly damp and cold, and
Letitia shivers. She had intend
ed to have a rest cure here with
me, she said, before an unusually
busy London season; but to-night
she has spent the time since dinner
in writing a long epistle to Hugh.
He is at Minton Dremont, and to
morrow comes over to lunch with
us, so why she had to write to him
to-night I did not at first guess.
“Guinevere,” she said just now,
sniffing the air, “I am sure there is
something wrong with the water in the
moat; it is dreadfully unhealthy, and
the worst possible thing for you, still so
delicate as you are. I noticed it this
afternoon, and spoke to Hartington
about it, and he said it would be a perfect mercy now
to have the moat cleaned out all round, if only the
family could be away. He said ‘ Sir Hugh Dremont ’
had remarked it, too, the last time he was ox er with
‘the master,’ and he, Hartington, had ‘made so
bold ’ as to say to Sir Hugh that he thought it a pity
for the mistress to be here now, in the bad weather,
with it in this state, and Sir Hugh had agreed with
him. It would only take ‘a matter of three weeks
or so’ to do it, he said, if only ‘the mistress’ xvould
consent to go somewhere else; and that Sir Hugh
had said why should not ‘the family’—meaning you
and me, of course, Guinevere, go and stop for the
time at Minton Dremont? It was big enough, in
all conscience, and he would not be having visitors,
and they could be as quiet as they pleased. Harting
ton and I discussed the whole thing, and settled it
together, so now I have written to Hugh to say the
plan seems awfully good to me, and he had better
try and persuade you into it to-morrow at luncheon.
Wh at do you say?” I am going to have the letter
sent over in the morning.
There was the hunger and pain and agony of all these months to
be assuaged, clasped in each other’s arms.
I was simply overcome—it sounded as if an angel
from heaven had come down and asked me to go
and spend some time in Paradise.
Hugh came a little before luncheon. I was up in
my shrine, and I heard his and Letitia’s voices on
the stair; and she called to me, as once before she
had done, and, as once before, I heard footsteps and
knew the moment for reunion with my Beloved had
come. I trembled so, I had to hold on to the back
of the chair, as Hugh opened the door and strode
towards me, with arms outstretched. But his glad
cry xvas mixed with anguish when he looked into
my face.
“Oh, my darling, how white you look—and small! ”
And then we did not speak for a few minutes.
There was the hunger and pain and agony of all
these months to be assuaged, clasped in each other’s
arms.
Hugh left immediately after lunch, to make every
thing ready for us.
“I must have you in my own wing, Letitia,” he
said. “There are absolutely no draughts there, and
Guinevere can go up and down those private stairs
without getting cold. We shall dine in the small
breakfast-room that I use when I am alone, so as to
- be cosy—don’t you think so?”
And my sister agreed to all these things.
When the time to start arrived—four o’clock, and
just getting dusk—I felt quite sick with excitement.
What would it be like—at Minton Dremont!
Hugh came forward to meet us in the hall, his
eyes shining like stars, and everywhere there was
warmth and brightness and quantities of flowers; and
we had tea in the morning-room which opens into
that ante-chamber where the trophies of sport hang.
A shy joy and silence was upon me—and a per
fect sense of safety and peace. The superlative
happiness and rest, not to feel I must listen for com
ing interruptions and suffer that whole sense of
fear and unease which rules the atmosphere at Red
wood Moat!
My room was a most charming, rosy chintz place,
with nothing of state and darkness in it. It might