The Martyrdom of Estella by Lucy Maud
Estella was waiting under the poplars at the gate for Spencer Morgan.
She was engaged to him, and he always came to see her on Saturday and
Wednesday evenings. It was after sunset, and the air was mellow and
warm-hued. The willow trees along the walk and the tall birches in the
background stood out darkly distinct against the lemon-tinted sky. The
breath of mint floated out from the garden, and the dew was falling
Estella leaned against the gate, listening for the sound of wheels and
dreamily watching the light shining out from the window of Vivienne
LeMar's room. The blind was up and she could see Miss LeMar writing at
her table. Her profile was clear and distinct against the lamplight.
Estella reflected without the least envy that Miss LeMar was very
beautiful. She had never seen anyone who was really beautiful
before—beautiful with the loveliness of the heroines in the novels
she sometimes read or the pictures she had seen.
Estella Bowes was not pretty. She was a nice-looking girl, with clear
eyes, rosy cheeks, and a pervading air of the content and happiness
her life had always known. She was an orphan and lived with her uncle
and aunt. In the summer they sometimes took a boarder for a month or
two, and this summer Miss LeMar had come. She had been with them about
a week. She was an actress from the city and had around her all the
glamour of a strange, unknown life. Nothing was known about her. The
Boweses liked her well enough as a boarder. Estella admired and held
her in awe. She wondered what Spencer would think of this beautiful
woman. He had not yet seen her.
It was quite dark when he came. Estella opened the gate for him, but
he got out of his buggy and walked up the lane beside her with his arm
about her. Miss LeMar's light had removed to the parlour where she was
singing, accompanying herself on the cottage organ. Estella felt
annoyed. The parlour was considered her private domain on Wednesday
and Saturday night, but Miss LeMar did not know that.
"Who is singing?" asked Spencer. "What a voice she has!"
"That's our new boarder, Miss LeMar," answered Estella. "She's an
actress and sings and does everything. She is awfully pretty,
"Yes?" said the young man indifferently.
He was not in the least interested in the Boweses' new boarder.
Indeed, he considered her advent a nuisance. He pressed Estella closer
to him, and when they reached the garden gate he kissed her. Estella
always remembered that moment afterwards. She was so supremely happy.
Spencer went off to put up his horse, and Estella waited for him on
the porch steps, wondering if any other girl in the world could be
quite so happy as she was, or love anyone as much as she loved
Spencer. She did not see how it could be possible, because there was
only one Spencer.
When Spencer came back she took him into the parlour, half shyly, half
proudly. He was a handsome fellow, with a magnificent physique. Miss
LeMar stopped singing and turned around on the organ stool as they
entered. The little room was flooded with a mellow light from the
pink-globed lamp on the table, and in the soft, shadowy radiance she
was as beautiful as a dream. She wore a dress of crepe, cut low in the
neck. Estella had never seen anyone dressed so before. To her it
She introduced Spencer. He bowed awkwardly and sat stiffly down by the
window with his eyes riveted on Miss LeMar's face. Estella, catching a
glimpse of herself in the old-fashioned mirror above the mantel,
suddenly felt a cold chill of dissatisfaction. Her figure had never
seemed to her so stout and stiff, her brown hair so dull and prim, her
complexion so muddy, her features so commonplace. She wished Miss
LeMar would go out of the room.
Vivienne LeMar watched the two faces before her; a hard gleam, half
mockery, half malice, flashed into her eyes and a smile crept about
her lips. She looked straight in Spencer Morgan's honest blue eyes and
read there the young man's dazzled admiration. There was contempt in
the look she turned on Estella.
"You were singing when we came in," said Spencer. "Won't you go on,
please? I am very fond of music."
Miss LeMar turned again to the organ. The gleaming curves of her neck
and shoulders rose out of their filmy sheathings of lace. Spencer,
sitting where he could see her face with its rose-leaf bloom and the
ringlets of golden hair clustering about it, gazed at her, unheeding
of aught else. Estella saw his look. She suddenly began to hate the
black-eyed witch at the organ—and to fear her as well. Why did
Spencer look at her like that? She wished she had not brought him in
at all. She felt commonplace and angry, and wanted to cry.
Vivienne LeMar went on singing, drifting from one sweet love song into
another. Once she looked up at Spencer Morgan. He rose quickly and
went to her side, looking down at her with a strange fire in his eyes.
Estella got up abruptly and left the room. She was angry and jealous,
but she thought Spencer would follow her. When he did not, she could
not believe it. She waited on the porch for him, not knowing whether
she were more angry or miserable. She would not go back into the room.
Vivienne LeMar had stopped singing. She could hear a low murmur of
voices. When she had waited there an hour, she went in and upstairs to
her room with ostentatious footsteps. She was too angry to cry or to
realize what had happened, and still kept hoping all sorts of
impossible things as she sat by her window.
It was ten o'clock when Spencer went away and Vivienne LeMar passed
up the hall to her room. Estella clenched her hands in an access of
helpless rage. She was very angry, but under her fury was a horrible
ache of pain. It could not be only three hours since she had been so
happy! It must be more than that! What had happened? Had she made a
fool of herself? Ought she to have behaved in any other way? Perhaps
Spencer had come out to look for her after she had gone upstairs and,
not finding her, had gone back to Miss LeMar to show her he was angry.
This poor hope was a small comfort. She wished she had not acted as
she had. It looked spiteful and jealous, and Spencer did not like
people who were spiteful and jealous. She would show him she was sorry
when he came back, and it would be all right.
She lay awake most of the night, thinking out plausible reasons and
excuses for Spencer's behaviour, and trying to convince herself that
she had exaggerated everything absurdly. Towards morning she fell
asleep and awoke hardly remembering what had happened. Then it rolled
back upon her crushingly.
But she rose and dressed in better spirits. It had been hardest to lie
there and do nothing. Now the day was before her and something
pleasant might happen. Spencer might come back in the evening. She
would be doubly nice to him to make up.
Mrs. Bowes looked sharply at her niece's dull eyes and pale cheeks at
the breakfast table. She had her own thoughts of things. She was a
large, handsome woman with a rather harsh face.
"Did you go upstairs last night and leave Spencer Morgan with Miss
LeMar?" she asked bluntly.
"Yes," muttered Estella.
"Did you have a quarrel with him?"
"What made you act so queer?"
"I couldn't help it," faltered the girl.
The food she was eating seemed to choke her. She wished she were a
hundred miles away from everyone she ever knew.
Mrs. Bowes gave a grunt of dissatisfaction.
"Well, I think it is a pretty queer piece of business. But if you are
satisfied, it isn't anyone else's concern, I suppose. He stayed with
her till ten o'clock and when he left she did everything but kiss
him—and she asked him to come back too. I heard."
"Aunt!" protested the girl.
She felt as if her aunt were striking her blow after blow on a
sensitive, quivering spot. It was bad enough to know it all, but to
hear it put into such cold, brutal words was more than she could
endure. It seemed to make everything so horribly sure.
"I guess I had a right to listen, hadn't I, with such goings on in my
own house? You're a little fool, Estella Bowes! I don't believe that
LeMar girl is a bit better than she ought to be. I wish I'd never
taken her to board, and if you say so, I'll send her packing right off
and not give her a chance to make mischief atween folks."
Estella's suffering found vent in a burst of anger.
"You needn't do anything of the sort!" she cried.
"It's all nonsense about Spencer—it was my fault—and anyhow, if he
is so easily led away as that, I am sure I don't want him! I wish to
goodness, Aunt, you'd leave me alone!"
"Oh, very well!" returned Mrs. Bowes in an offended tone. "It was for
your own good I spoke. You know best, I suppose. If you don't care, I
don't know that anyone else need."
Estella went about her work like one in a dream. A great hatred had
sprung up in her heart against Vivienne LeMar. The simple-hearted
country girl felt almost murderous. The whole day seemed like a
nightmare to her. When night came she dressed herself with feverish
care, for she could not quell the hope that Spencer would surely come
again. But he did not; and when she went up to bed, it did not seem as
if she could live through the night. She lay staring wide-eyed through
the darkness until dawn. She wished that she might cry, but no tears
came to her relief.
Next day she went to work with furious energy. When her usual tasks
were done, she ransacked the house for other employment. She was
afraid if she stopped work for a moment she would go mad. Mrs. Bowes
watched her with a grim pity.
At night she walked to prayer meeting in the schoolhouse a mile away.
She always went, and Spencer was generally on hand to see her home. He
was not there tonight. She wished she had not come. It was dreadful to
have to sit still and think. She did not hear a word the minister
She had to walk home with a crowd of girls and nerve herself to answer
their merry sallies that no one might suspect. She was tortured by the
fear that everyone knew her shame and humiliation and was pitying her.
She got hysterically gay, but underneath all she was constantly trying
to assign a satisfactory reason for Spencer's nonappearance. He was
often kept away, and of course he was a little cross at her yet, as
was natural. If he had come before her then, she could have gone down
in the very dust at his feet and implored his forgiveness.
When she reached home she went into the garden and sat down. The calm
of the night soothed her. She felt happier and more hopeful. She
thought over all that had passed between her and Spencer and all his
loving assurances, and the recollection comforted her. She was almost
happy when she went in.
Tomorrow is Sunday, she thought when she wakened in the morning. Her
step was lighter and her face brighter. Mrs. Bowes seemed to be in a
bad humour. Presently she said bluntly:
"Do you know that Spencer Morgan was here last night?"
Estella felt the cold tighten round her heart. Yet underneath it
sprang up a wild, sweet hope.
"Spencer here! I suppose he forgot it was prayer meeting night. What
did he say? Why didn't you tell him where I was?"
"I don't know that he forgot it was prayer meeting night," returned
Mrs. Bowes with measured emphasis. "'Tisn't likely his memory has
failed so all at once. He didn't ask where you was. He took good care
to go before you got home too. Miss LeMar entertained him. I guess she
was quite capable of it."
Estella bent over her dishes in silence. Her face was deadly white.
"I'll send her away," said Mrs. Bowes pityingly. "When she's gone,
Spencer will soon come back to you."
"No, you won't!" said Estella fiercely. "If you do, she'll only go
over to Barstows', and it would be worse than ever. I don't care—I'll
show them both I don't care! As for Spencer coming back to me, do you
think I want her leavings? He's welcome to go."
"He's only just fooled by her pretty face," persisted Mrs. Bowes in a
clumsy effort at consolation. "She's just turning his head, the hussy,
and he isn't really in his proper senses. You'll see, he'll be ashamed
of himself when he comes to them again. He knows very well in his
heart that you're worth ten girls like her."
Estella faced around.
"Aunt," she said desperately, "you mean well, I know, but you're
killing me! I can't stand it. For pity's sake, don't say another word
to me about this, no matter what happens. And don't keep looking at me
as if I were a martyr! She watches us and it would please her to think
I cared. I don't—and I mean she shall see I don't. I guess I'm well
rid of a fellow as fickle as he is, and I've sense enough to know it."
She went upstairs then, tearing off her turquoise engagement ring as
she climbed the steps. All sorts of wild ideas flashed through her
head. She would go down and confront Vivienne LeMar—she would rush
off and find Spencer and throw his ring at him, no matter where he
was—she would go away where no one would ever see her again. Why
couldn't she die? Was it possible people could suffer like this and
yet go on living?
"I don't care—I don't care!" she moaned, telling the lie aloud to
herself, as if she hoped that by this means she would come to believe
When twilight came she went out to the front steps and leaned her
aching head against the honeysuckle trellis. The sun had just set and
the whole world swam in dusky golden light. The wonderful beauty
frightened her. She felt like a blot on it.
While she stood there, a buggy came driving up the lane and wheeled
about at the steps. In it was Spencer Morgan.
Estella saw him and, in spite of the maddening throb of hope that
seemed suddenly to transfigure the world for her, her pride rose in
arms. Had Spencer come the night before, he would have found her
loving and humble. Even now, had she but been sure that he had come to
see her, she would have unbent. But was it the other? The torturing
doubt stung her to the quick.
She waited, stubbornly resolved that she would not speak first. It was
not in her place. Spencer Morgan flicked his horse sharply with his
whip. He dared not look at Estella, but he felt her uncompromising
attitude. He was miserably ashamed of himself, and he felt angry at
Estella for his shame.
"Do you care to come for a drive?" he asked awkwardly, with a covert
glance at the parlour windows.
Estella caught the glance and her jealous perception instantly divined
its true significance. Her heart died within her. She did not care
what she said.
"Oh," she cried with a toss of her head, "it's not me you want—it's
Miss LeMar, isn't it? She's away at the shore. You'll find her there,
I dare say."
Still, in spite of all, she perversely hoped. If he would only make
any sign, the least in the world, that he was sorry—that he still
loved her—she could forgive him everything. When he drove away
without another word, she could not believe it again. Surely he would
not go—surely he knew she did not mean it—he would turn back before
he got to the gate.
But he did not. She saw him disappear around the turn of the road. She
could not see if he took the shore lane further on, but she was sure
he would. She was furious at herself for acting as she had done. It
was all her fault again! Oh, if he would only give her another chance!
She was in her room when she heard the buggy drive up again. She knew
it was Spencer and that he had brought Vivienne LeMar home. Acting on
a sudden wild impulse, the girl stepped out on the landing and
confronted her rival as she came up the stairs.
The latter paused at sight of the white face and anguished eyes. There
was a little mocking smile on her lovely face.
"Miss LeMar," said Estella in a quivering voice, "what do you mean by
all this? You know I'm engaged to Spencer Morgan!"
Miss LeMar laughed softly.
"Really? If you are engaged to the young man, my dear Miss Bowes, I
would advise you to look after him more sharply. He seems very willing
to flirt, I should say."
She passed on to her room with a malicious smile. Estella shrank back
against the wall, humiliated and baffled. When she found herself
alone, she crawled back to her room and threw herself face downward on
the bed, praying that she might die.
But she had to live through the horrible month that followed—a month
so full of agony that she seemed to draw every breath in pain. Spencer
never sought her again; he went everywhere with Miss LeMar. His
infatuation was the talk of the settlement. Estella knew that her
story was in everyone's mouth, and her pride smarted; but she carried
a brave front outwardly. No one should say she cared.
She believed that the actress was merely deluding Spencer for her own
amusement and would never dream of marrying him. But one day the idea
occurred to her that she might. Estella had always told herself that
even if Spencer wanted to come back to her she would never take him
back, but now, by the half-sick horror that came over her, she knew
how strong the hope had really been and despised herself more than
One evening she was alone in the parlour. She had lit the lamp and was
listlessly arranging the little room. She looked old and worn. Her
colour was gone and her eyes were dull. As she worked, the door opened
and Vivienne LeMar walked or, rather, reeled into the room.
Estella dropped the book she held and gazed at her as one in a dream.
The actress's face was flushed and her hair was wildly disordered. Her
eyes glittered with an unearthly light. She was talking incoherently.
The air was heavy with the fumes of brandy.
Estella laughed hysterically. Vivienne LeMar was grossly intoxicated.
This woman whom Spencer Morgan worshipped, for whom he had forsaken
her, was reeling about the room, laughing idiotically, talking wildly
in a thick voice. If he could but see her now!
Estella turned white with the passion of the wild idea that had come
to her. Spencer Morgan should see this woman in her true colours.
She lost no time. Swiftly she left the room and locked the door behind
her on the maudlin, babbling creature inside. Then she flung a shawl
over her head and ran from the house. It was not far to the Morgan
homestead. She ran all the way, hardly knowing what she was doing.
Mrs. Morgan answered her knock. She gazed in bewilderment at Estella's
"I want Spencer," said the girl through her white lips.
The elder woman stepped back in dumb amazement. She knew and rued her
son's folly. What could Estella want with him?
The young man appeared in the doorway. Estella caught him by the arm
and pulled him outside.
"Miss LeMar wants you at once," she said hoarsely. "At once—you are
to come at once!"
"Has anything happened to her?" cried Spencer savagely. "Is she
ill—is she—what is the matter?"
"No, she is not ill. But she wants you. Come at once."
He started off bareheaded. Estella followed him up the road
breathlessly. Surely it was the strangest walk ever a girl had, she
told herself with mirthless laughter. She pushed the key into his hand
at the porch.
"She's in the parlour," she said wildly. "Go in and look at her,
Spencer snatched the key and fitted it into the door. He was full of
fear. Had Estella gone out of her mind? Had she done anything to
Vivienne? Had she—
As he entered, the actress reeled to her feet and came to meet him. He
stood and gazed at her stupidly. This could not be Vivienne, this
creature reeking with brandy, uttering such foolish words! What fiend
was this in her likeness?
He grew sick at heart and brain; she had her arms about him. He tried
to push her away, but she clung closer, and her senseless laughter
echoed through the room. He flung her from him with an effort and
rushed out through the hall and down the road like a madman. Estella,
watching him, felt that she was avenged. She was glad with a joy more
pitiful than grief.
Vivienne LeMar left the cottage the next day. Mrs. Bowes, suspecting
some mystery, questioned Estella sharply, but could find out nothing.
The girl kept her own counsel stubbornly. The interest and curiosity
of the village centred around Spencer Morgan, and his case was well
discussed. Gossip said that the actress had jilted him and that he was
breaking his heart about it. Then came the rumour that he was going
Estella heard it apathetically. Life seemed ended for her. There was
nothing to look forward to. She could not even look back. All the past
was embittered. She had never met Spencer since the night she went
after him. She sometimes wondered what he must think of her for what
she had done. Did he think her unwomanly and revengeful? She did not
care. It was rather a relief to hear that he was going away. She would
not be tortured by the fear of meeting him then. She was sure he would
never come back to her. If he did, she would never forgive him.
One evening in early harvest Estella was lingering by the lane gate at
twilight. She had worked slavishly all day and was very tired, but she
was loath to go into the house, where her trouble always seemed to
weigh on her more heavily. The dusk, sweet night seemed to soothe her
as it always did.
She leaned her head against the poplar by the gate. How long Spencer
Morgan had been standing by her she did not know, but when she looked
up he was there. In the dim light she could see how haggard and
hollow-eyed he had grown. He had changed almost as much as herself.
The girl's first proud impulse was to turn coldly away and leave him.
But some strange tumult in her heart kept her still. What had he come
There was a moment's fateful silence. Then Spencer spoke in a muffled
"I couldn't go away without seeing you once more, Estella, to say
good-bye. Perhaps you won't speak to me. You must hate me. I deserve
He paused, but she said no word. She could not. After a space, he went
"I know you can never forgive me—no girl could. I've behaved like a
fool. There isn't any excuse to be made for me. I don't think I could
have been in my right senses, Estella. It all seems like some bad
dream now. When I saw her that night, I came to my right mind, and
I've been the most miserable man alive ever since. Not for her—but
because I'd lost you. I can't bear to live here any longer, so I am
going away. Will you say good-bye, Estella?"
Still she did not speak. There were a hundred things she wanted to say
but she could not say them. Did he mean that he loved her still? If
she were sure of that, she could forgive him anything, but her doubt
rendered her mute.
The young man turned away despairingly from her rigid attitude. So be
it—he had brought his fate on himself.
He had gone but a few steps when Estella suddenly found her voice with
"Spencer!" He came swiftly back. "Oh, Spencer—do—you—do you love me
He caught her hands in his.
"Love you—oh, Estella, yes, yes! I always have. That other wasn't
love—it was just madness. When it passed I hated life because I'd
lost you. I know you can't forgive me, but, oh—"
He broke down. Estella flung her arms around his neck and put her face
up to his. She felt as if her heart must break with its great
happiness. He understood her mute pardon. In their kiss the past was
put aside. Estella's martyrdom was ended.