The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Law and the Lady, by Wilkie Collins
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Title: The Law and the Lady
Author: Wilkie Collins
Release Date: October 15, 2008 [EBook #1622]
Last Updated: May 16, 2010
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAW AND THE LADY ***
Produced by John Hamm, James Rusk, Janet Blenkinship and David Widger
THE LAW AND THE LADY
by Wilkie Collins
Contents
NOTE:
THE LAW AND THE LADY.
PART I. PARADISE LOST.
CHAPTER I. THE BRIDE'S MISTAKE.
CHAPTER II. THE BRIDE'S THOUGHTS.
CHAPTER III. RAMSGATE SANDS.
CHAPTER IV. ON THE WAY HOME.
CHAPTER V. THE LANDLADY'S DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER VI. MY OWN DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER VII. ON THE WAY TO THE MAJOR.
CHAPTER VIII. THE FRIEND OF THE WOMEN.
CHAPTER IX. THE DEFEAT OF THE MAJOR.
CHAPTER X. THE SEARCH.
CHAPTER XI. THE RETURN TO LIFE.
CHAPTER XII. THE SCOTCH VERDICT.
CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN'S DECISION.
CHAPTER XIV. THE WOMAN'S ANSWER.
PART II. PARADISE REGAINED.
CHAPTER XV. THE STORY OF THE TRIAL. THE PRELIMINARIES.
CHAPTER XVI. FIRST QUESTION—DID THE WOMAN DIE POISONED?
CHAPTER XVII. SECOND QUESTION—WHO POISONED HER?
CHAPTER XVIII. THIRD QUESTION—WHAT WAS HIS MOTIVE?
CHAPTER XIX. THE EVIDENCE FOR THE DEFENSE.
CHAPTER XX. THE END OF THE TRIAL.
CHAPTER XXI. I SEE MY WAY.
CHAPTER XXII. THE MAJOR MAKES DIFFICULTIES.
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV. MISERRIMUS DEXTER—FIRST VIEW.
CHAPTER XXV. MISERRIMUS DEXTER—SECOND VIEW
CHAPTER XXVI. MORE OF MY OBSTINACY.
CHAPTER XXVII. MR. DEXTER AT HOME.
CHAPTER XXVIII. IN THE DARK.
CHAPTER XXIX. IN THE LIGHT.
CHAPTER XXX. THE INDICTMENT OF MRS. BEAULY.
CHAPTER XXXI. THE DEFENSE OF MRS. BEAULY.
CHAPTER XXXII. A SPECIMEN OF MY WISDOM.
CHAPTER XXXIII. A SPECIMEN OF MY FOLLY.
CHAPTER XXXIV. GLENINCH.
CHAPTER XXXV. MR. PLAYMORE'S PROPHECY.
CHAPTER XXXVI. ARIEL.
CHAPTER XXXVII. AT THE BEDSIDE.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. ON THE JOURNEY BACK.
CHAPTER XXXIX. ON THE WAY TO DEXTER.
CHAPTER XL. NEMESIS AT LAST.
CHAPTER XLI. MR. PLAYMORE IN A NEW CHARACTER.
CHAPTER XLII. MORE SURPRISES.
CHAPTER XLIII. AT LAST!
CHAPTER XLIV. OUR NEW HONEYMOON.
CHAPTER XLV. THE DUST-HEAP DISTURBED.
CHAPTER XLVI. THE CRISIS DEFERRED.
CHAPTER XLVII. THE WIFE'S CONFESSION.
CHAPTER XLVIII. WHAT ELSE COULD I DO?
CHAPTER XLIX. PAST AND FUTURE.
CHAPTER L.
NOTE:
ADDRESSED TO THE READER.
IN offering this book to you, I have no Preface to write. I have only to request that you will bear in mind certain established truths, which occasionally escape your memory when you are reading a work of fiction. Be pleased, then, to remember (First): That the actions of human beings are not invariably governed by the laws of pure reason. (Secondly): That we are by no means always in the habit of bestowing our love on the objects which are the most deserving of it, in the opinions of our friends. (Thirdly and Lastly): That Characters which may not have appeared, and Events which may not have taken place, within the limits of our own individual experience, may nevertheless be perfectly natural Characters and perfectly probable Events, for all that. Having said these few words, I have said all that seems to be necessary at the present time, in presenting my new Story to your notice.
W. C.
LONDON, February 1, 1875.
THE LAW AND THE LADY.
PART I. PARADISE LOST.
CHAPTER I. THE BRIDE'S MISTAKE.
"FOR after this manner in the old time the holy women also who trusted in God adorned themselves, being in subjection unto their own husbands; even as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord; whose daughters ye are as long as ye do well, and are not afraid with any amazement."
Concluding the Marriage Service of the Church of England in those well-known words, my uncle Starkweather shut up his book, and looked at me across the altar rails with a hearty expression of interest on his broad, red face. At the same time my aunt, Mrs. Starkweather, standing by my side, tapped me smartly on the shoulder, and said,
"Valeria, you are married!"
Where were my thoughts? What had become of my attention? I was too bewildered to know. I started and looked at my new husband. He seemed to be almost as much bewildered as I was. The same thought had, as I believe, occurred to us both at the same moment. Was it really possible—in spite of his mother's opposition to our marriage—that we were Man and Wife? My aunt Starkweather settled the question by a second tap on my shoulder.
"Take his arm!" she whispered, in the tone of a woman who had lost all patience with me.
I took his arm.
"Follow your uncle."
Holding fast by my husband's arm, I followed my uncle and the curate who had assisted him at the marriage.
The two clergymen led us into the vestry. The church was in one of the dreary quarters of London, situated between the City and the West End; the day was dull; the atmosphere was heavy and damp. We were a melancholy little wedding party, worthy of the dreary neighborhood and the dull day. No relatives or friends of my husband's were present; his family, as I have already hinted, disapproved of his marriage. Except my uncle and my aunt, no other relations appeared on my side. I had lost both my parents, and I had but few friends. My dear father's faithful old clerk, Benjamin, attended the wedding to "give me away," as the phrase is. He had known me from a child, and, in my forlorn position, he was as good as a father to me.
The last ceremony left to be performed was, as usual, the signing of the marriage register. In the confusion of the moment (and in the absence of any information to guide me) I committed a mistake—ominous, in my aunt Starkweather's opinion, of evil to come. I signed my married instead of my maiden name.
"What!" cried my uncle, in his loudest and cheeriest tones, "you have forgotten your own name already? Well, well! let us hope you will never repent parting with it so readily. Try again, Valeria—try again."
With trembling fingers I struck the pen through my first effort, and wrote my maiden name, very badly indeed, as follows:
Valeria Brinton
When it came to my husband's turn I noticed, with surprise, that his hand trembled too, and that he produced a very poor specimen of his customary signature:
Eustace Woodville
My aunt, on being requested to sign, complied under protest. "A bad beginning!" she said, pointing to my first unfortunate signature with the feather end of her pen. "I hope, my dear, you may not live to regret it."