Ethelyn's Mistake - Page 124/218

The bell in the tower of St. John's pealed forth its summons to the

house of prayer, and one by one, singly or in groups, the worshipers

went up to keep this first solemn day of Lent--true, sincere worshipers,

many of them, who came to weep, and pray, and acknowledge their past

misdeeds; while others came from habit, and because it was the fashion,

their pale, haggard faces and heavy eyes telling plainly of the last

night's dissipation, which had continued till the first hour of the

morning. Mrs. Howard was there, and Mrs. Miller, too, both glancing

inquiringly at Judge Markham's pew and then wonderingly at each other.

Ethelyn was not there. She had breakfast in her room after Richard left,

and when that was over had gone mechanically to her closet and drawers

and commenced sorting her clothes--hanging away the gayest, most

expensive dresses, and laying across chairs and upon the bed the more

serviceable ones, such as might properly be worn on ordinary occasions.

Why she did this she had not yet clearly defined, and when, after her

wardrobe was divided, and she brought out the heavy traveling trunk,

made for her in Boston, she was not quite certain what she meant to do.

She had been sorely wounded, and, as she thought, without just cause.

She knew she was to blame for not having told Richard of Frank before

she became his wife, but of the things with which he had so severely

charged her she was guiltless, and every nerve quivered and throbbed

with passion and resentment as she recalled the scene of the previous

night, going over again with the cruel words Richard had uttered in his

jealous anger, and then burning with shame and indignation as she

thought of being locked in her room, and kept from attending the

masquerade, where her absence must have excited so much wonder.

"What did they say, and what can I tell them when we meet?" she thought,

just as Mrs. Howard's voice was heard in the upper hall.

Church was out, and several of the more intimate of Ethie's friends had

stopped at the Stafford House to inquire into so strange a proceeding.

"Come to see if you were sick, or what, that you disappointed me so. I

was vexed enough, I assure you," Mrs. Miller said, looking curiously

enough at Ethelyn, whose face was white as ashes, save where a crimson

spot burned on her cheeks, and whose lips were firmly pressed together.

She did not know what to say, and when pressed to give a reason

stammered out: "Judge Markham wished me to stay with him, and as an obedient wife I

stayed."

With ready tact the ladies saw that something was wrong, and kindly

forbore further remarks, except to tell what a grand affair it was, and

how much she was missed. But Ethie detected in their manner an unspoken

sympathy or pity, which exasperated and humiliated her more than open

words would have done. Heretofore she had been the envy of the entire

set, and it wounded her deeply to fall from that pedestal to the level

of ordinary people. She was no longer the young wife, whose husband

petted and humored her so much, but the wife whose husband was jealous

and tyrannical, and even abusive, where language was concerned, and she

could not rid herself of the suspicion that her lady friends knew more

than they professed to know, and was heartily glad when they took their

departure and left her again alone.