The Soldier's Wife — page 206: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE SCLDIER’S WIFE, that in the ordinary course weuld be allowed to elapse ere the execution of the sentence ?” “The proceedings of the court-martial,” re: sponded Captain Redburn, “ have to be sent up to the Horse Guards for approval. They were no doubt despatched by yesterday’s post: they will probably be returned by Friday morning— an ak case the execution would take place on Saturday ” “And w-day is Tuesday,” said the Baronet. «There is no time to lose. I shall take my departure for London within an hour. Hasten you back to Middleton, and see Colonel Wynd- ham at once. If l remember right, he is under obligations to you—you have lent him money he is still needy and necessitous Well then, offer to lend or give him a thousand— two thousand —three thousand pounds any sum, so that he will do what you demand.” “And what am I to ask of him ?” inquired Gerald. ** | “Can you not understand ? exclaimed the Ba- ronet, stamping his foot impatiently, “ Procure from him a recommendation te merey—and lose no time in despatching it by a mounted messen- ger to London. it will materially assist the endeavors which I also shall make. beware, Gerald, how you trifle or hesitate in this matter: for I fear me, that we have already too much to answer for in respect to the treat- ment which, from first to Jast, Frederick Lons- dale has experienced at our hands. And one word more, Gerald,” added the Baronet. “ Be you here—at the Manor—on Friday, to await my return—so that if 1 am fortunate enough to bring with me the pardon or reprieve whichever it may be, you can at once set off with it to Middleton, and give it with your own hands to Colonel Wyndham, It will bea matter of life or death ——and no ordinary messenger must be trusted in such a case. You understand me, Gerald! Away with you—away with you to Middleton at once !” Captain Redburn lost no time in mounting his horse to ride back to Middleton; and the traveling-carriage being speedily got in readi- ness, Sir Archibald set vif on his journey to London. Se CHAPTER XL. THE CONDEMNED SOLDIER. Ix a cell, at the extremity of a passage com- Municating from the guard house of the bar- racks at Middleton, Frederick Lonsdalé was seated The window—narrow and high up— was defended by massive iron bars: the door was of huge proportions: the walls were thick, aud of the most sulid masonry. In that pas- sage a sentinel walked to and fro; and the measured tread of his footsteps beat monoto- pously upon ihe ear of the condemned. There was uot the sligiitest possibility of e:Cape,— even if such a hope had been otherwise than an oceasional wild and transient thought whieh flit- ted through his brain—a thought to be rejected a3 soou as it sprang up, and to leave ‘the dark- wess Of despair behind | > But" 165 It was Wednesday afternoon—the day after that on which the preceding scences had taken place at the Manor House. Frederick Lonsdale, now usable to procure any artificial stimulant, was a prey to the deepest despondency. Re- morse was devouring his heart, as he thought of his conduct towards the most amiable of wives and the most affectionate of children. It would have been some little consolation were he able to refiect that his eonduct had been otherwise, and that he had continued a good husband and a kind father even until the las but the solace of such a reflection was denied him: and with the bitterest regret did he look back on all the sufferings he had made k's Lucy and his little Frederick endure. He was plunged into a mood of such sad and awful meditation, that in itself 1t was almost a sufficient punishment for whatsoever he might have done—when he heard the key turn in the lock—the huge bolts were drawn back— Lucy and the boy entered the cell. The door was closed behind them again: the key turned and the bolts were drawn once more. Then ensued a scene which defies all the power of language to depict—a scene in which a conscience-stricken husband, an anguished wife, and a wildly sob- bing child were the three actors. For the poor boy knew that something terrible was to hap- pen to his father, although he had not been suf- fered to learn the whole tremendous truth, Lonsdale strained his poor wife to his breast-— then be embraced bis son—all amidst convul- sions of grief: and then he turned aside to pour forth the agony of his heart in floods of tears and piteous lamentations. Lucy fell upon her knees—took his hand—pressed gt to her lips,— subbing and weeping araere and feeling as if her heart would break. After a while there was some little degree of composure on ihe part of those three unhappy beings; and Lonsdale asked, in a low whispers ing voice, whether his wife would forgive hin for all the sorrows he had caused her ¢ Forgive him Oh, yes! had his cruelty been ten thousand times greater than it was, she would have forgiven him! Indeed, there was no for- giveness to award: for she had never been an- pered against him. She had felt and she had suffered : but not the slightest sentiment of rans cor had ever penetrated into the noble heart of that generous woman. Forgive him ¢—Oh, if there were indeed any forgiveness to be be stowed, most cordially did she bestow it! But again and again did she beseech him not to ade dress her in that strain—not to sue for pardon, for she had made every allowance on his be- half at the time—she had pitied and she had loved him: her anger had never been excited | Then Lonsdale, im the most earnest manner, assured her how bitterly, bitterly he repented of the past--and how fully he appreciated the treasure he had possessed in the wife to whom these words were addressed. Oh! if he could but live the last two years of his existence over again—how different would his conduct be! Lucy conjured him to fix his thoughts upon the future: for she saw that it was agony for him to revert them upon the past. Jn a low whie- pering voice—so that the child might not ete 6)