“Ah, Mr. Oldfield! My lord thinks only of me—but I—I think of _him_, and of what he will have to bear for my sake!” Then breaking into passionate sorrow, she exclaimed—“Once, and long before he ever had the misfortune to look upon this fatal face of mine—wherever he appeared, his presence spread a certain festive gladness, like the coming of a hero or the shining of the sun! ‘That is LORD MONTRESSOR,’ would cry one exulting voice! ‘Where?’ would question a dozen eager tones and glances! ‘There! there! that tall man, with the kingly brow and saintly smile! That is he! you cannot mistake him!’ would reply those who knew his person. For every one knew his _name_. And _then_ all eyes turned upon him in admiration and worship!—But _now!_ but _now!_ how different, oh my God! Listen what he may have to bear and I may have to hear! We go into public—into church, festive hall or mart,—it does not matter which!—some busybody, who knows his face whispers ‘That is Lord Montressor.’ ‘What! he who married that woman who was tried before the Assizes?’ asks one. ‘What! he who took away another man’s bride?’ inquires another. (For so many will view it! So soon are good deeds forgotten, so little it requires to distort facts, and take away an honorable man’s good name.) But no! no! no! no! they shall not have this thing to say of my lord!—of my dear, dear and honored lord! whose name shall shine unclouded among the stars!—for whose good and happiness I would willingly become——what would I _not_ become? The dust of the earth that all men trample—if that could raise _him_ higher, or make him happier! I will go away, far away, he shall not know whither! He shall never hear of me again! I shall be dead to him! An act of Parliament will set him free from the bond of our nominal union. Then the most that the bitterest caviller can say, will be—‘That is Lord Montressor who married Miss Morelle, that was tried at Exeter! Happily he divorced her, before the marriage was consummated.’ In time the caviller will forget to say even so much; as in time Lord Montressor will also forget his lost Estelle, and be happy!” “Happy? he! Lord Montressor! My child, from my own observations of the past month, I feel assured that Lord Montressor will never find happiness in forgetfulness of you!” “He must and shall! I will, in my retirement, besiege Heaven with prayers for his peace! Did ever a woman wear out her days and nights with prayers that the husband whom she loves, may cease to love and may forget her? So will I pray, and so shall my lord find peace! But we lose precious time! Say! will you aid me to leave this place secretly?” “Assuredly not, Lady Montressor.” “And is this your ultimatum?” “Absolutely, Lady Montressor.” “Mr. Oldfield! are you then a Christian minister, or are you only the incumbent of Bloomingdale?” asked the lady, in sorrowful bitterness of spirit. “I humbly trust that I am a Christian minister; but not therefore a fanatic, Lady Montressor.”