"Now wheel my writing-desk forward," said the countess, as she sipped
her wine.
The order was obeyed.
"And now," continued the lady, as she replaced the glass and opened her
desk, "pack up my wardrobe and jewels, and your own clothes. Order the
carriage to be at the door at eight o'clock, to take us to Baymouth. We
leave Baymouth for New York to-morrow morning, and New York for
Liverpool next Saturday."
"Now, glory be to Heaven for that, my lady; and I wish it had been years
ago instead of to-day!" joyfully exclaimed the girl, as she went about
her business.
"And so do I! And so do I, with all my heart and soul!" thought
Berenice, as she arranged her papers and took up a pen to write. In an
instant she laid it down again, and arose and walked restlessly up and
down the floor, wringing her hands, and muttering to herself: "And this is the man for whose sake I sacrificed home, friends, country,
and the most splendid prospects that ever dazzled the imagination of
woman! This is the man whom I have loved and watched and prayed for, all
these long years, hoping against hope, and believing against knowledge.
If he had ceased to love me, grown tired of me, and wished to be rid of
me, could he not have told me so, frankly, from the first? It would have
been less cruel than to have inflicted on me this long anguish of
suspense! less cowardly than to have attempted to justify his desertion
of me by a charge of crime! What crime--he knows no more than I do! Oh,
Herman! Herman! how could you fall so low? But I will not reproach you
even in my thoughts. But I must, I must forget you!"
She returned to her desk, sat down and took up her pen; but again she
dropped it, bowed her head upon her desk, and wept: "Oh, Herman! Herman! must I never hope to meet you again? never look
into your dark eyes, never clasp your hand, or hear your voice again?
never more? never more! Must mine be the hand that writes our sentence
of separation? I cannot! oh! I cannot do it, Herman! And yet!--it is you
who require it!"
After a few minutes she took up his letter and read it over for the
fourth time. Its ruthless implacability seemed to give her the strength
necessary to obey its behests. As if fearing another failure of her
resolution, she wrote at once: "Brudenell Hall, December 30, 18-"Mr. Brudenell: Your letter has relieved me from an embarrassing
position. I beg your pardon for having been for so long a period an
unconscious usurper of your premises. I had mistaken this place for
my husband's house and my proper home. My mistake, however, has not
extended to the appropriation of the revenues of the estate. You
will find every dollar of those placed to your credit in the
Planters' Bank of Baymouth. My mistake has been limited to the
occupancy of the house. For that wrong I shall make what reparation
remains in my power. I shall leave this place this Friday evening;
see your solicitors on Monday; place in their hands a sum
equivalent to the full value of Brudenell Hall, as a compensation
to you for my long use of the house; and then sign whatever
documents may be necessary to renounce all claim upon yourself and
your estate, and to free you forever from "Berenice, Countess of Hurstmonceux."