CHAPTER III.

Lucy was afflicted by his departure; yet his recent gloom had so increased her natural timidity, that she had never found courage to confide in him her hopes of becoming a mother; but left it for Lady Edgarmond to send these tidings after him. Nevil, unable to guess what passed in his wife's heart, had thought her farewell cold; compared her silent submission with the eloquence of Corinne, and hesitated not to believe that Lucy loved him but feebly; yet, during his absence, scarcely could even the birth of their daughter divert her mind from his perils. Another grief was added to all this. D'Erfeuil spent a year in Scotland, strongly persuaded that he had not revealed the secret of Corinne's sojourn there; but he said so much that implied it, and found such difficulty, when conversation flagged, in avoiding the theme most interesting to Lady Nevil, that she at last learned the whole truth. Innocent as she was, it required even less art than she possessed to draw d'Erfeuil out upon a favorite subject. Lady Edgarmond was too ill to be present at these conversations; but when she questioned her daughter on the melancholy she detected, Lucy told all. Her mother spoke very severely on Corinne's pursuit of Oswald. Lucy was alternately jealous of her sister, and indignant against her husband, for deserting one to whom he had been so dear. She could not help trembling for her own peace, with a man who had thus wrecked that of another. She had ever cherished a grateful recollection of her early instructress, which now blended with sympathy: far from feeling flattered by Oswald's sacrifice, she was tormented by the idea that he had chosen her merely because her position in the world was more advantageous than that of Corinne. She remembered his hesitation before marriage, his sadness so soon after, and everything confirmed the cruel belief that her husband loved her not. Lady Edgarmond might have been of great service to her daughter, had she striven to calm her; but she too intolerantly anathematized all sentiments that deviated from the line of duty; nor dreamed of tenderly leading a wanderer back, thinking that the only way to awake conscience was by just resentment. She was mortified that so lovely a woman should be so ill appreciated; and aggravated Lucy's fears, in order to excite her pride. Lady Nevil, more gentle and enlightened than her mother, could not rigorously follow such advice; yet her letters to Oswald were always far colder than her heart. Meanwhile he was distinguishing himself nobly, exposing his life, not merely in honorable enthusiasm, but in a positive love of peril. He appeared most gay when most actively employed, and would blush with pleasure when the tumult of battle commenced. At such moments a weight seemed lifted from his heart, and he could breathe with ease. The popularity he enjoyed among his fellow-soldiers animated the existence it could not render happy, and almost blinded him both to the past and the future. He grew accustomed to the lukewarm correspondence of his wife, whom he did not suppose offended with him. When he remembered her, it was as a being worthy of his protection, and whose mind he ought to spare from all deeply serious thoughts. But in those splendid tropic nights, that give so grand an idea of nature and its Author, the image of Corinne was often with him; yet, as both war and climate menaced his life each hour, he excused his lingering memory. At the approach of eternity, we forgive and hope to be forgiven. He thought but of the tears his death would cause her, not upon those his errors had extorted. It was natural he should think most of her; they had so often talked of immortality, and sounded every depth of solemn feeling: he fancied that he still conversed with her, while occupied by the great thoughts the spectacles of war invariably suggest. It was to Corinne he spoke in solitude, although he knew that she must sadly blame him. Despite absence, distance, time, and every change, they seemed to understand each other still.

At last his regiment was ordered home. The monotony of shipboard pleased him less than had the stir of arms. External excitement supplied some of the imaginative joys he owed to his intercourse with Corinne. He had not yet attempted to live calmly without her. The proofs of devotion his soldiers gave him somewhat beguiled the voyage; but even that interest failed on their landing in England.