CHAPTER I.

RENUNCIATION.

Two men, side by side, were slowly pacing the deck of the _Empress of India_ on her outward voyage to Japan. A week had almost passed since the boat had sailed from Vancouver, and the extremely bad weather encountered until this afternoon had prevented all but the most hardened good sailors from penetrating from below. Now, however, the wind and sea had somewhat abated, the first ray of sun had brought the storm-tossed and sea-sick from their berths, and the broad decks were soon swarming with passengers of both sexes, whose faces and general demeanour expressed entire satisfaction at their restored liberty.

Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, the newly-appointed Swedish Minister to Japan, though an experienced and enterprising traveller, was watching this motley crew through his eye-glass with an amused and somewhat quizzical expression. He had seen many such scenes, and yet to his observant mind they were ever new and always entertaining. He was at the present moment occupied in gazing at a French priest, a German commercial traveller, and a cadaverous-looking Englishman discussing with varied gesticulations some point in the political situation, on which question each appeared as ignorant as he was positive, and he was vaguely wondering what means they would ultimately find to unravel the tangled skein, when he felt his companion, a tall dark man with a black moustache and a distinguished nose, grip him by the arm.

"By Jove, de Güldenfeldt!" exclaimed the latter excitedly, while an unusual air of animation lit up his somewhat sleepy eyes, "Isn't that Mrs. Norrywood? That woman about whom there has been all that fuss, you know. Or am I dreaming?"

Monsieur de Güldenfeldt glanced along the deck and fixed his eyes on a lady who, all unconscious of the notice she was attracting, slowly came towards them.

"Not much doubt on that point, I fancy," he replied, as the tall, graceful figure passed near them. "I've known her for years. As one knows people about Town, you know. Dined with her, and that sort of thing. There's no mistaking her. Sapristi! what a beautiful woman she is! I wonder if Martinworth is on board: if they are together, you know."

Sir Ralph Nicholson pensively stroked his moustache, but did not reply.

"It would give me intense satisfaction to be acquainted with the rights of that story," continued de Güldenfeldt. "It was an uncommonly mixed up affair. Doubtless, Nicholson, you will put me down as a fool, but I believe that I am one of the few people who, after having followed the evidence from the beginning to the end, still believe in her and Martinworth's innocence. Why! you can't look into that woman's eyes, and not feel convinced that she is all right. I defy you to do so."

"My dear fellow, it is just because she looks so uncommonly innocent and pure, and all that sort of thing, that she's probably as bad as they make 'em," replied Sir Ralph sententiously. "You are such a devilishly indulgent fellow, de Güldenfeldt. All the many years that I have known you, and all the time you were posted in London, I hardly ever heard you utter a word against a soul: especially if the individual discussed happened to be a woman. Yet heaven knows, in the course of a long and successful career you must have had plenty of knowledge of the fair sex and their peculiar little ways."

"Believe me, my dear boy," replied de Güldenfeldt somewhat gravely, "women are far more sinned against than sinning. But it's no earthly use arguing with a juvenile cynic, such as no doubt you consider yourself, on this much disputed point. At present, you have all the censoriousness and hard-heartedness of youth on your side. Only wait ten or fifteen years--till you are my mature age--and then tell me what you think about the matter. But," he added, "to return to our friend Mrs. Norrywood. You have no notion what a brute was Norrywood. It was only after years of neglect and infidelity, even downright cruelty on his part, that his wife took up at last with that nice fellow Martinworth. One only wonders she didn't console herself ages before."

"But surely it was _she_ who started the divorce proceedings?"

"Yes. You see one day things came to a climax when she--oh! Well, don't let's go over the whole sordid history. Suffice it to say, that no woman with a particle of self-respect could, knowing what she knew, put up a day longer with such a blackguard. Then he--Norrywood--you know, brought the counter charge against her, poor soul, and Lord Martinworth; and at one time things were made to look uncommonly black against them. However, nothing was proved, for the excellent reason, in my opinion, that there was absolutely nothing to prove. And in the end she got her divorce right enough."

"Yes, and everyone said she would marry Martinworth within the year."

"Well, the year is almost past. We shall see whether everyone was right, and whether Martinworth is on board; and if so, in what capacity. Here she comes again. I shall stop and speak to her this time, I think," and Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, hat in hand, went towards the lady.

"How do you do, Mrs. Norrywood," he said; "how extremely pleasant it is for me to think that we are fated to be travelling companions."

The person addressed stopped a moment in her walk, raising her clear grey eyes, in which lurked a look of annoyance and of slight surprise, to Monsieur de Güldenfeldt's face.

"I think," she said very slowly but very clearly and incisively, "you have made a mistake. I am no long--I am not Mrs. Norrywood. My name is Nugent," and with a slight bow she swept past him.

With a look of stupefaction on his expressive face, Monsieur de Güldenfeldt's outstretched hand fell slowly to his side as he stared after the retreating form.

He turned slowly round to Sir Ralph, who had been watching the whole incident with interest and considerable amusement.

"Tell me, Ralph," he exclaimed, "am I dreaming? Is it not Mrs. Norrywood? Is it her double? But what a fool I am," he added; "of course there is not a doubt of it. The fact is, my dear boy, that I--I, Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, have been deliberately cut by one of the prettiest and smartest women in Town. A by no means pleasant experience, I can tell you!" and Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, with a twinkle in his blue eyes, gave a little shake to his shoulders that was distinctly foreign and decidedly expressive.

"Yes," smiled Nicholson, "if she had snubbed a nobody like me, now, there would have been nothing to be surprised at. Precious glad, though, I didn't give her the chance," he added, with a cheery laugh. "I should never have survived it, whereas a diplomat like you can of course, get even with her any day. Forgive my laughing, de Güldenfeldt, but really it was rather a comic spectacle for an onlooker, you know."

"Laugh away, laugh away, my dear boy. Perhaps, however, when your hilarity has spent itself, you will kindly help me to unravel this mystery. What the dickens does it mean, eh?"

"Oh! I don't think we need go very far for an explanation. Probably she is going out to the Antipodes to try and start afresh. Of course, the first step towards that operation is to wipe out the past. So she begins by cutting her old friends, you see. 'Pon my word, I admire her pluck. But I shall take warning from your adventure, and before making a move shall wait with resignation until Mrs. Norrywood--I beg her pardon--Mrs. Nugent, condescends to recognise in me a former acquaintance. It's a beastly bore being snubbed by a pretty woman, isn't it old fellow? Come, don't eat me, but let's go below and see if Martinworth's name is among the list of passengers."

Meanwhile the subject of the above conversation was standing in her cabin, and with flushed cheeks and a beating heart was thinking deeply. This meeting with two members of the set in which she had originally moved had come upon her as a most unpleasant shock, a shock for which she was totally unprepared. Indeed, she had been so taken by surprise that she had behaved, as she told herself now, in a most unwarrantably tactless manner. Both de Güldenfeldt and Nicholson she had known fairly well in the old days, and in calmly thinking over the circumstances of the meeting, it struck her what a false step she had made in this crude attempt of ignoring persons whom, indeed, it was impossible to ignore. She remembered now having read in a paper before leaving England, that de Güldenfeldt had been named Swedish Minister to the Court of Japan, in which case she knew that sooner or later she was bound to come across him again, and as for Nicholson, it did not take her long to recall that his relations with Lord Martinworth had been in former years of the most friendly nature.

The meeting with these two men brought back vividly to Pearl all the wretchedness of her past life, and it was only now that she realised to the full the intense relief and sense of freedom that filled her soul, as she stepped aboard the Atlantic Liner at Southampton, and had watched the coast-line of England fade--as she then had sincerely hoped--for ever from her eyes.

Sir Ralph Nicholson had judged the situation rightly. Pearl Norrywood, or Nugent, had left England with the firm intention of forgetting everything connected with her unhappy past. She was determined, as far as it was possible, to wipe out all the despair, the hatred, the humiliation of the last ten years of her life. But in doing this, she felt there could be no half measures. That in company with the misery must also be obliterated all the joy and happiness she had experienced in the one love of her existence. She told herself that with this blotting out of the past, Dick Martinworth must be sacrificed with the rest. There was a decision of character, a certain sternness in her nature which she knew would help her to carry out that determination, and from the day that she and Lord Martinworth left the Divorce Court a suspected, but in spite of all, an unconvicted couple, Pearl Nugent had never again seen the man who for a series of years had exercised so great an influence over her life.

She had been but little past twenty when she put her future into the charge of a husband whom three months later she learned to utterly loathe and fear. From that time, every day, every hour, was a fiery ordeal from which, indeed, but few women could have hoped to escape unscathed. The inevitable arose ere long in the appearance on the scene of the Honourable Dick Pelham, as he was in those far-away days. Mr. Pelham had at once been struck by the refined beauty and grace of the girl with sad grey eyes. Then in getting to know her well he learnt to pity her, a feeling which ultimately culminated before many months passed into a deep and passionate love.

It did not indeed take Pelham long to learn that he worshipped the very ground on which Pearl trod, and no great interval passed before he told her so. The world never knew, never would know, whether Pearl Norrywood had listened to these protestations. All that it saw was that she behaved as if she had done so, for from the day that Dick Pelham commenced to haunt her side she became another person. She developed into an extremely beautiful woman. The grey eyes lost their sadness, the lovely lips learned to smile, and there was a radiance over the whole charming face that is only seen around those who love. The world put down this wonderful transformation to the presence of Dicky Pelham, and for once the world was right.

Society indeed at this period of their existence was more than indulgent to Pearl and Mr. Pelham. With the indifference and cynicism which characterises a certain class, not only did it condone, but it appeared on the contrary to encourage Pelham's devotion, to smile with approbation upon the marked and evident intimacy existing between this happy and good-looking couple. To invite one without the other would have indeed shown a total _manque de savoir faire_, and the same post that carried a letter begging Pearl's presence at a certain entertainment, or a certain house, as a matter of course conveyed another to Mr. Pelham containing the same request.

And yet, if the truth were known, this inseparableness, this constant daily companionship, was apt at times to prove to both more of a trial than a joy, more of a curse than a blessing. On Pelham's side it was a never-ending, feverish dream of unsatisfied desire, which Pearl was eternally resisting, eternally fighting against with all the weapons of her decidedly religious training, and a genuine and innate purity of heart.

And thus matters remained for the next five or six years. Dick Pelham succeeded in course of time to the title, and blossomed into Lord Martinworth, and his devotion to Pearl instead of cooling increased in intensity as time went on. One day, after years of waiting and imploring, he finally succeeded in persuading Mrs. Norrywood to take the decisive step of issuing divorce proceedings against her husband. This had long been his aim. But not only Pearl's hatred of open scandal and publicity, but her better judgment had prevented her hitherto from listening to his persuasions and from acceding to his unwearying entreaties. A severe, and what indeed might have proved a fatal injury from a blow bestowed in one of his ungovernable rages by the husband who had tortured her for so many years, finally however, decided Pearl to give ear to Martinworth's prayers, and at length to go to the extremity of sueing for a divorce.

She succeeded, after days of suspense, in obtaining her divorce. But whereas she had entered the court with the smiles and approbation of the world, she left it with a ruined reputation, a social outcast, and with hardly a friend to hold out a helping hand. The decree _nisi_ had indeed been dearly bought, and as Pearl drove away from the Divorce Court she was the first to realise and to acknowledge to herself that in obtaining her freedom she had, from a worldly point of view, brought about her own doom.

As the judgment was pronounced, Martinworth cast her one radiant glance, which expressed as plainly as words "At last you are mine. At last! at last! after all these years." But there was no answering look of triumph in Pearl's eyes, for at that moment she felt that never again could she raise them to the face of man. In after times she often wondered how she had lived through all those awful days, how she could have remained silent, drinking in that terrible evidence which her husband had raked up from the very gutters. Nevertheless she survived this truly distressing ordeal, and with a look of utter scorn on her face sat patiently listening to servants' lies, and to sordid details of innocent situations, which under the clever cross examination were transformed into all that seemed most guilty and most damaging to her cause.

She walked away that day with Martinworth, and as she passed into her carriage people whispered together and nudged each other. Nothing had been proved,--and yet, in the eyes of her world, she knew that 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 have honoured me with your entire confidence in this matter, and you must not think that I wish to take advantage of this fact if, before you finally decide to take this important step, I beg of you to reconsider. You love this man, and he loves you. His dearest wish--I know from his own lips--is to make you his wife. Think what you are giving up, Pearl, by flinging this all away, by flying from him. Love, happiness, honour. You--"

"Forgive me, my dear old friend," interrupted Pearl, "love and happiness I know, but not honour, no, not honour."

She rose from her seat and stood by Mr. Hall's side. Her eyes were wet with tears. "No," she repeated in a low voice, "not honour. I should never gain honour by marrying Lord Martinworth, for in marrying him I should despise myself. Think of the ruin to him! Knowing this--feeling this all the time, should I not, as the years went on, learn to hate myself for being the cause of his sacrifice? And though he is so good, so generous, I know he would never show me he had repented of the step, my own intuition would be sufficient. No words would be necessary to tell me that I had been the destroyer of his life, the stumbling block in the realisation of his hopes and of his ambitions. Oh! Mr. Hall, my only friend, do not turn against me, do not tempt me. I have told you this before, many and many a time, and you listened and understood. Do not, I pray you, at the last moment, try to convince me that I am unwise, that I am wrong, when I know--I know I am doing the only thing that can possibly be right."

She paused, but Mr. Hall did not break the silence.

"If," she continued with a deeper note of appeal, "if there were only myself to consider in this matter, do you think there could be a moment's hesitation on my part? Do you think I should care what my world might say--what it would be sure to say if I married Lord Martinworth? Not I! No fear of the opinion of a few people who once called themselves my friend, would make me hesitate in realising that happiness for which I have so long pined, and which at one time I thought was so nearly mine.

"But now dear friend," she laid her hand upon his arm, "let us, I beg you, dismiss this subject, dismiss it for ever. You know my feelings on this matter, and once more I implore you not to try to persuade me against those feelings. Indeed," she continued, smiling through her tears, "it would be useless, for I received a letter two days ago from Mrs. Rawlinson, and have consequently taken my passage by the 'Paris,' sailing in a few weeks from Southampton for New York. So you see the die is cast."

Pearl Nugent's affairs occupied Mr. Hall's thoughts considerably as he travelled back to Town that afternoon. "Hum!" he said to himself, as he unfolded his newspaper and adjusted his spectacles to the right angle on his nose. "She thinks herself sincere, poor child, when she says it is all for Martinworth's sake she doesn't marry him, but Pearl Norrywood--or Nugent, as she insists on calling herself now--hasn't been a woman of society for ten years for nothing; and she has more consideration for the opinion of that world over which she reigned so long than she has any notion of. She is an innocent woman, but as proud as Lucifer. I know her, bless her soul! She'll be hanged if she lets society have the satisfaction of having the laugh on its side. Of course, she firmly believes she is sacrificing herself for Martinworth's sake, but it's confounded nonsense, all the same. I know my Pearl. Her beastly pride is at the bottom of everything. Damn it! Why can't she marry the man and have done with it?"

Which soliloquy of the worthy old lawyer's proves that even our best friends are apt to misjudge us sometimes.

Meanwhile we have left Pearl Nugent standing in her cabin debating with herself what she ought to do. She stood plunged in thought, realising more and more into what a false position her impulsiveness had led her. It went without saying she had mortally offended Monsieur de Güldenfeldt. She, who could not afford to make a single enemy, however humble his position, had doubtless by this rash action incurred the lasting aversion of one who by the holding up of his little finger might do her such irretrievable harm in this new life upon which she was about to enter. She saw it all clearly enough now, and poor Pearl laughed a little hollow laugh of wretchedness as she began to make the few alterations in her dress necessary for the shipboard dinner. If she had been somewhat vainer she would have been consoled by the remembrance that she belonged to a world where the fascination and charm and beauty of woman are still dominant features. But Pearl's self-esteem of late had suffered too severe a blow for her to put great store on either her beauty or her qualities of fascination; though if she had known not only her own powers, but Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, somewhat better, she need never have passed through that disagreeable period of regret and apprehension.

At dinner, considerably to her dismay, she found herself placed between her two quondam friends. She arrived rather late at table, and with flushed cheeks and a slight bow to each, sat down. Her soup went away untouched. Then finally taking her courage in both hands, she resolutely turned towards the Swedish Minister.

"Monsieur de Güldenfeldt," she said with a slightly tremulous voice, "I must ask your pardon for my rude, and what must indeed seem to you, inexplicable behaviour of this afternoon. Will you--will you believe that I was labouring under a misapprehension, and be generous enough to accept this as my only explanation?"

It was very simply said, and Monsieur de Güldenfeldt answered her request as simply. He looked at the beautiful and perplexed face with a mixture of admiration and amusement in his eyes.

"Let us forget the past, Mrs.--Mrs.--Nugent," he said, "and begin afresh. Shall we?"

And from that day commenced a friendship which was to prove an important factor in Pearl Nugent's life.