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Updated: May 23, 2025
Every element of that impulsive, idealistic nature helped on the tragedy. Hugh Fernely understood Beatrice as perhaps no one else ever did. He idealized himself. To her at length he became a hero who had met with numberless adventures a hero who had traveled and fought, brave and generous.
He did not startle her by any further compliment, but when their walk was ended he told her that morning would live in his memory as the happiest time of his life. After a few days it seemed to become a settled thing that Beatrice should meet Hugh Fernely.
Hugh Fernely lay dead. The cottager's wife told Lionel how the children out at play had found a man lying in the dank grass near the pond, and how her husband, in his own strong arms, had brought him to their abode. He lay still for many hours, and then asked for pen and ink. He was writing, she said, nearly all night, and afterward prayed her husband to take the letter to Lord Earle.
Whose face is lying near your heart? Let me see. If it is that of any one who has outwitted me, I will throw it into the depths of the lake." "You shall not see it," she said, raising her hand, and clasping the little locket tightly. "I am not afraid, Hugh Fernely. You will never use violence to me."
The letter fell from her hands; cold drops of fear and shame stood upon her brow; hatred and disgust filled her heart. Oh, that she should ever have placed herself in the power of such a man! The blow had fallen at last. She stood face to face with her shame and fear. How could she meet Hugh Fernely? What should she say to him? How must such a meeting end? It would but anger him the more.
No man ever held your hand as I hold it now, no man ever kissed your face as I kissed it last night." As he spoke, a burning flush covered her face. She remembered Hugh Fernely. He loved her better for the blush, thinking how pure and guileless she was. "I fear I shall be a very jealous lover," he continued. "I shall envy everything those beautiful eyes rest upon.
With all her daring wit, her quick thought, her vivid fancy with all her resource of mind and intellect, she could do nothing. Day and night the one question was still there what could she do to get free from Hugh Fernely? A whole week passed, and the "something" Beatrice longed for had not happened. Life went on quietly and smoothly.
"You can not tell what I have suffered, Lily," she said, humbly. "See, my pride is all beaten down, only those who have had a secret, eating heart and life away, can tell what I have endured. A few more days of agony like this, and I shall be free forever from Hugh Fernely." Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they brought no comfort.
What should she do if, at the end of three weeks, Lord Airlie returned and Hugh Fernely came back to Earlescourt? Through the long sunny hours that question tortured her the suspense made her sick at heart. There were times when she thought it better to die at once than pass through this lingering agony of fear.
It had fallen at last the cruel blow that even in her dreams and thoughts she had considered impossible. Hugh Fernely had found her out, and claimed her as his own! This letter, which had stricken joy and beauty from the proud face and left it white and cold almost as the face of the dead was from him; and the words it contained were full of such passionate love that they terrified her.
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