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Updated: May 29, 2025
The Duke of Osmonde sate in his own box that night and in the course of the play went to his kinsman's for a few moments and paid his respects to her ladyship, who received him graciously. This his Grace of Marlborough beheld but did not mark her soft quick aside to him. "May I ask your Grace's aid?" she said. "Look at my lord. His kindness to me will not let him own that he is ailing.
"My dear lord," her ladyship was saying, as if to the prostrate man's ear alone, knowing that her tender voice must reach him if aught would as indeed was truth. "Edward! My dear dear lord!" Osmonde held his hand steadily over the heart. The guests shrunk back, stricken with terror. There was that in this corner of the splendid room which turned faces pale.
The guests heard, and drew still farther back, a woman or two faintly whimpering; a hurrying lacquey parted the crowd, and so, way being made for him, the physician came quickly forward. Anne put her shaking hands up to cover her gaze. Osmonde stood still, looking down. My Lady Dunstanwolde knelt by the couch and hid her beautiful face upon the dead man's breast.
The picture was to be sent forthwith to Osmonde House, and these directions given, the two gentlemen turned to go. But at the door the Marquess paused and spoke again. "If any should come here before it is sent to me," he said, "remember that 'tis already purchased and not on exhibition." The artist bowed low a dozen times. "On my sacred honour, your lordship," he replied, "none shall see it."
But it was not Osmonde who felt this, he saw only that she changed colour, and having heard the story of her girlhood, a little chill of doubt would fall upon his noble heart.
Or is it that when you are absent one sees gentlemen of proportions so much more modest that when you return we must get used to your looks again. Your sunburn is as becoming as your laurels." His own worn look had passed. Osmonde had never seen him so well and vigorous, being indeed amazed by his air of freshness and renewed youth.
'for so, she says, 'from this night all men shall kneel all men on whom I deign to cast my eyes." His Grace the Duke of Osmonde had listened silently, and throughout with an impenetrable face, but at this moment he put up his hand and slightly swept his brow with his fingers, as if he felt it damp. "And now what does it mean?" my Lord Twemlow asked them, with an anxious face.
As for himself, Osmonde thought, all his days he had striven to be master of himself, and felt he must remain so or die; but he could have worshipped her upon his knees in gratitude that no woman's vanity tempted her to use her powers and loveliness to shake him in his hard won calmness and lure him to her feet. He was but man and human, and vaunted himself upon being no more.
"As his Grace of Osmonde will when I tell him my story," he answered. "He is not one to brook that such things can be told of the mother of his heirs." She would have shrieked aloud but that she clutched her throat in time. "Tell him!" she cried, "tell him, and see if he will hear you. Your word against mine!"
This was the strange truth though 'twas not so strange if the world feared not to admit such things that through her Gerald, who was but noble and high-souled man, she was led to bow before God's throne as the humblest and holiest saint bows, though she had not learned belief and only had learned love. "But life lasts so short a while," she said to Osmonde.
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