Richard Lambert turned back towards the village.
Sue—married to another man—had
passed out of his life forever.
ALL BECAUSE OF THE TINDER-BOX
How oft it is in life that Fate, leading a traveler
in easy gradients upwards along a road of triumph,
suddenly assumes a madcap mood and with wanton hand
throws a tiny obstacle in his way; an obstacle at times
infinitesimal, scarce visible on that way towards success,
yet powerful enough to trip the unwary traveler and
bring him down to earth with sudden and woeful vigor.
With Sir Marmaduke so far everything had prospered
according to his wish. He had inveigled the heiress
into a marriage which bound her to his will, yet left
him personally free; she had placed her fortune unreservedly
and unconditionally in his hands, and had, so far as
he knew, not even suspected the treachery practiced
upon her by her guardian.
Not a soul had pierced his disguise, and the identity
of Prince Amede d’Orleans was unknown even to
his girl-wife.
With the disappearance of that mysterious personage,
Sir Marmaduke having realized Lady Sue’s fortune,
could resume life as an independent gentleman, with
this difference, that henceforth he would be passing
rich, able to gratify his ambition, to cut a figure
in the world as he chose.
Fortune which had been his idol all his life, now
was indeed his slave. He had it, he possessed
it. It lay snug and safe in a leather wallet
inside the lining of his doublet.
Sue had gone out of his sight, desirous apparently
of turning her back on him forever. He was free
and rich. The game had been risky, daring beyond
belief, yet he had won in the end. He could afford
to laugh now at all the dangers, the subterfuges,
the machinations which had all gone to the making
of that tragic comedy in which he had been the principal
actor.
The last scene in the drama had been successfully
enacted. The curtain had been finally lowered;
and Sir Marmaduke swore that there should be no epilogue
to the play.
Then it was that Fate—so well-named the
wanton jade—shook herself from out the
torpor in which she had wandered for so long beside
this Kentish squire. A spirit of mischief seized
upon her and whispered that she had held this man
quite long enough by the hand and that it would be
far more amusing now to see him measure his length
on the ground.
And all that Fate did, in order to satisfy this spirit
of mischief, was to cause Sir Marmaduke to forget
his tinder-box in the front parlor of Mistress Martha
Lambert’s cottage.
A tinder-box is a small matter! an object of infinitesimal
importance when the broad light of day illumines the
interior of houses or the bosquets of a park, but
it becomes an object of paramount importance, when
the night is pitch dark, and when it is necessary to
effect an exchange of clothing within the four walls
of a pavilion.
