University of Virginia Library

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE LAW OF DIVORCE.

The three gentlemen entered the small study, where the crackling
fire and the candles in the silver candlesticks gave a cheerful
light,—all the more agreeable from contrast with the steady fall of
the thick snow-flakes, seen through the window—and Judge Bland
drew up two chairs.

St. Leger seated himself at one corner of the fire-place; Harley
opposite the Judge; and that gentleman, leaning back in his arm-chair,
assumed an air of courteous attention.

“I have an appointment in an hour or two from this time, my
dear sir,” said Harley, “and shall therefore, with your permission,
proceed without delay to the object of my visit, which, briefly, is
to ascertain the law of divorce as it now exists in Virginia.”

“Of divorce?” said Judge Bland, with some surprise.

“I mean—to be more explicit, sir—what does the common law
regard as sufficient ground for an application, either on the part of
the husband or of the wife, for a divorce a vinculo matrimonii, which
I believe is wholly different from a divorce a mensa et thoro.”

“Wholly different,” said Judge Bland, gravely.

He looked attentively at Harley. What could be his object?
The rumors in reference to his visitor occurred to him. Could it be
possible that a secret marriage, such as Miss Clementina suspected—
but he suppressed his curiosity, and said, calmly,

“I understand you to desire a brief summary of the English law
on the subject of divorce?”

Harley inclined his head with grave courtesy.

“I will state briefly,” said Judge Bland, leaning back thoughtfully
in his chair, “the principles controlling the action both of the spiritual
and the common law courts on this—I may say—very painful
subject. Divorce is regarded by our law as the last and extreme
remedy for a state of things which no other remedy can touch; and
is decreed most cautiously—I might say with the utmost reluctance—
and only when no other course is possible. The explanation of this
fact may be given in few words. Marriage is both a sacrament and
a civil contract of the most binding force. The very foundations of
society rest upon it—it is not only the hearthstone of the family,
but the corner-stone of the social fabric. To dissolve this most

solemn and sacred of all human ties lightly, would be to turn society
into a band of wild beasts. It is not too much to say that such a
proceeding would result in a revel of brutality and every murderous
instinct—man would sink to the brute. Such, at least, is the view
of the English law, which decrees divorce only on clear proof of a
state of things utterly irreconcilable with continued cohabitation—
infidelity, for example, on the one side, and physical cruelty, such
as beating or striking, on the other;—and even in these cases, so
great is the objection of the courts, it is sought to make the separation
one a mensa et thoro rather than a vinculo matrimonii.”

Judge Bland then proceeded to present a lucid statement of the
main cases decided by the courts, mentioning especially Foliambe's
case in 3d Salkeld's Reports. The law had there been fully examined
and the controlling principles laid down. The Judge concluded
as he began, with a forcible exposition of the sanctity of the marriage
tie, and the noted aversion of the courts to disturb it, save in
cases where its longer continuance was impossible.

Harley had listened with close attention. It was impossible to
ascertain from the expression of his countenance, which was calm,
grave and impenetrable, what thoughts were passing in his mind;
and St. Leger, who had watched him closely, impelled thereto by
an overmastering curiosity, was wholly unable to decide whether
his friend had asked Judge Bland's advice for his own guidance or
not; or, if for his own, whether divorce was contemplated, or had
already taken place. The whole affair was a maze of perplexity to
the young Englishman. What was the meaning of this application
to the counsellor? Who had been, or was to be, divorced? For it
was plain that Harley, weary as he was after his long journey,
would never have taken this night-ride to Blandfield without an
express object. Was he, then, really married, and was he seeking
to relieve himself of the yoke of an unfortunate and hateful
union? With whom was that “appointment?” He looked with
fixed attention at Harley, as all this passed through his mind; but
always the same impenetrable face met his eyes—a face calm,
grave, untroubled, but not cheerful.

“I need scarcely add anything,” said Judge Bland, with great
gravity, “to the considerations I have already stated; and although
the ecclesiastical and common law lay down a large number of
grounds on which an application for divorce may be granted, I have
called your attention as clearly as possible to the two grounds, and
the only two, upon which the courts will grant such an application,
unless the circumstances are so very peculiar and unusual as to
induce them to make an exception to their ordinary course of proceeding.
These grounds, I repeat, are a breach of faith on the part

of the wife, which in all countries—among the veriest savages—is
regarded as a virtual termination of the relations of husband and
wife, and in some countries is punished with death—the law even
empowering the husband to inflict the penalty; and, on the man's
part, cruelty, the employment of his superior physical strength to
inflict personal violence upon the wife—which as justly necessitates
her removal from his control by the arm of the law. I have
here summed up accurately—if briefly—I think, sir, the spirit and
practice of the English law. Should you wish further suggestions
upon other points, it will afford me pleasure to aid you, to the best
of my ability to do so.”

Harley reflected.

“I am greatly obliged, sir,” he said, “by your lucid statement.
I believe there is no other point. One other question I should,
however, like to ask. Is the process of obtaining a divorce a
vinculo, where the full case is made out, a tedious one?”

“Is there to be—I should say, does your question contemplate—
opposition? That would, of course, render the proceeding more
complicated, and therefore make it more lengthy.”

“Let us say, sir, that there is no desire to oppose the process—an
agreement upon both sides that the marriage shall terminate.”

“Then the affair need not consume a great deal of time, sir.
The law looks for a party that denies as for a party that asserts.
If a defendant remains passive, and the law is for the plaintiff,
the courts consider that a decree for the plaintiff may be entered
at once.”

Harley rose, and said,

“I again offer you my thanks, sir, for your advice, and am truly
glad to have my own views upon this, as you say, very painful
subject, confirmed by an authority as high as your own. I am
aware that my visit and its object must appear singular to you,
and that you may regard it as somewhat strange that I do not
inform you of the particular case involving these questions, and the
course I propose to pursue. I regret that, at present, circumstances
prevent me from speaking more explicitly. I can only add that
my motive is good, and that an intelligent comprehension of the
law on the points mentioned was absolutely necessary for my
guidance in an affair of the first importance, which I have very
greatly at heart. At another time—”

Judge Bland did what he very seldom had done in all the course
of his life—he interrupted the person speaking to him. Raising his
hand suddenly, with his fingers extended, and the palm turned
outward toward Harley, he said, in a quick and rather formal
tone,

“No! I beg Mr. Harley! Pray do not regard the slight assistance
rendered you—if it be such—by myself as placing you under
the least obligation to explain the object of your interrogatories.”

Harley inclined his head with calm courtesy.

“I regard such an explanation when the moment comes,” he said,
“as due to the friend of my father, and I hope of myself too.”

“I am very sincerely your friend, sir.”

“And you shall always remain such, sir, if it is in my power to
preserve your respect and regard. Losing it, I should think worse
of myself, and justly. I repeat, therefore, that the time will come,
and is not distant, when all this disagreeable mystery will be made
clear.”

“I shall appreciate such a mark of personal regard, but do not
consider it incumbent upon you by any means,” the Judge formally
replied.

“Thanks, sir. We will now return.”

“Are you obliged to do so?”

“Absolutely.”

“Your ride will be a disagreeable one. The snow is falling faster
than ever.”

“My appointment, I am sorry to say, is imperative.”

“You cannot defer it? I can send a servant—”

“Thanks, sir, but it cannot be deferred.”

Judge Bland, who had risen, received this response with an expression
of courteous regret; and having been informed by St.
Leger that he too must return, begged his visitors to come again at
their early convenience; he himself was old and busy, and they
must not stand upon ceremony.

They then went down stairs, and Harley walked straight through
the hall to the front door without stopping. The door of the drawing-room
was closed, but from within came the sound of the harpsichord,
lightly touched in an absent and desultory manner by some
one, who seemed to be in that idle and unoccupied mood which
characterizes young ladies when, weary of reading, sewing, or
sleeping, they are not averse to receive visitors. Was it the young
lady who had twisted the pearls in her hair?

But neither Harley nor St. Leger stopped. The latter was absorbed
by the singular interview with Judge Bland, and had a
vague feeling that the “appointment” which his friend was going
back to keep at Huntsdon might put an end to this most mysterious
of mysteries. When Harley, therefore, went out, shaking hands at
parting, with Judge Bland, he followed; they mounted their horses,
and set out at a gallop, through the fast-falling snow, toward
Huntsdon.

As they mounted, the desultory notes of the harpsichord ceased,
a shadow crossed the apartment, and this shadow took up its position
behind the lace curtains, between which, where they opened
in the middle, the shadow peeped out.

Had the shadow got tired of the harpsichord and come to look
at the snow, with incidental surprise at the abrupt departure of the
horsemen?

The pearls had been interwoven uselessly in the pretty curls.
Evelyn had nobody to look at her. The visitors were returning at
full speed toward Huntsdon.