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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Beatrice Boville and Other Stories + +Author: Ouida + +Release Date: October 6, 2010 [EBook #33942] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEATRICE BOVILLE AND OTHER STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="notebox"> +<p><b>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:</b> Punctuation has been normalized. All other +printer's errors have been retained.</p> +</div> +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + + +<h1>BEATRICE BOVILLE<br /> + +<small>AND</small><br /> + +OTHER STORIES.</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>"OUIDA."</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF<br /> +<small>"STRATHMORE," "GRANVILLE DE VIGNE," "CHANDOS,"<br /> +"IDALIA," "RANDOLPH GORDON," ETC., ETC.</small></h4> + +<h3>Third Series.</h3> + + +<h5>PHILADELPHIA:<br /> +J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.<br /> +1905</h5> + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg vii]</span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><a href="#BEATRICE_BOVILLE"><b>BEATRICE BOVILLE.</b></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>I.—<span class="smcap">Of Earlscourt's Fiancee.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>II.—<span class="smcap">The First Shadow.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>III.—<span class="smcap">How Pride Sowed and Reaped.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>IV.—<span class="smcap">Where I saw Beatrice Boville again.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>V.—<span class="smcap">How in Perfect Innocence I played the part of a Rival.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>VI.—<span class="smcap">How Pride Bowed and Fell.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><a href="#A_LINE_IN_THE_DAILY"><b>A LINE IN THE "DAILY."</b></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>WHO DID IT, AND WHO WAS DONE BY IT.</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><a href="#HOLLY_WREATHS_AND_ROSE"><b>HOLLY WREATHS AND ROSE CHAINS.</b></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>I.—<span class="smcap">The Colonel of the "White Favors" and Cecil St. Aubyn.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>II.—<span class="smcap">The Canadian's Cold Bath warms up the Colonel.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>III.—<span class="smcap">Showing that Love-making on Holy Ground doesn't Prosper.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>IV.—<span class="smcap">The Colonel kills his Fox, but loses his Head after other Game.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><a href="#SILVER_CHIMES_AND_GOLDEN_FETTERS"><b>SILVER CHIMES AND GOLDEN FETTERS.</b></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>I.—<span class="smcap">Waldemar Falkenstein and Valérie L'Estrange.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>II.—<span class="smcap">Falkenstein breaks Lances with "Longs Yeux Bleus.</span>"</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>III.—"<span class="smcap">Scarlet and White" makes a Hit, and Falkenstein feels the Weight of the Golden Fetters.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>IV.—<span class="smcap">The Golden Fetters are shaken off and Others are put on.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>V.—<span class="smcap">The Silver Chimes ring in a Happy New Year.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_215">215</a><span class='pagenum'>[Pg viii]</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><a href="#SLANDER_AND_SILLERY"><b>SLANDER AND SILLERY.</b></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>I.—<span class="smcap">The Lion of the Chaussée d'Antin.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>II.—<span class="smcap">Nina Gordon.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>III.—<span class="smcap">Le Lion Amoureux.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>IV.—<span class="smcap">Mischief.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>V.—<span class="smcap">More Mischief, and an End.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><a href="#SIR_GALAHADS_RAID"><b>SIR GALAHAD'S RAID.</b></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>AN ADVENTURE ON THE SWEET WATERS.</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><a href="#REDEEMED"><b>"REDEEMED."</b></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>AN EPISODE WITH THE CONFEDERATE HORSE.</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_307">307</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><a href="#OUR_WAGER"><b>OUR WAGER; OR, HOW THE MAJOR LOST AND WON.</b></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>I.—<span class="smcap">Introduces Major Telfer of the 50th Dashaway Hussars.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_333">333</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>II.—<span class="smcap">Violet Tressillian.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>III.—<span class="smcap">From which it would appear, that it is sometimes well to begin with a Little Aversion.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_346">346</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>IV.—<span class="smcap">In which the Major provokes a Quarrel in Behalf Of the Fair Tressillian.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>V.—<span class="smcap">The Duel, and its Consequences.</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td><a href="#OUR_COUNTRY_QUARTERS"><b>OUR COUNTRY QUARTERS.</b></a></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + + +<hr class="sep1" /> +<hr class="sep4" /> +<h2><a name="BEATRICE_BOVILLE" id="BEATRICE_BOVILLE"></a>BEATRICE BOVILLE.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3>OF EARLSCOURT'S FIANCEE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"To compass her with sweet observances,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To dress her beautifully and keep her true."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>That, according to Mr. Tennyson's lately-published opinion, is the +devoir of that deeply-to-be-pitied individual, l'homme marié. Possibly +in the times of which the Idyls treat, Launcelot and Gunevere <i>might</i> +have been the sole, exceptional mauvais sujets in the land, and woad, +being the chief ingredient in the toilet-dress, mightn't come quite so +expensive. But nowadays "sweet observances," rendered, I presume, by +gifts from Hunt and Roskell's and boxes in the grand tier, tell on a +cheque-book so severely; "keeping her true" is such an exceedingly +problematical performance, to judge by Sir C. C.'s breathless work, and +"dressing her beautifully" comes so awfully expensive, with crinoline +and cashmeres, pink pearls, and Mechlin, and the beau sexe's scornful +repudiation, not alone of a faded silk, like poor Enid's, but of the +handsomest dress going, if it's damned by being "seen twice," that I +have ever vowed that, plaise à Dieu, I will never marry, and with +heaven's help will keep the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> vow better than I might most probably keep +the matrimonial ones if I took them. Yet if ever I saw a woman for whom +I could have fancied a man's committing that semisuicidal act, that +woman was Beatrice Boville. Not for her beauty, for, except one of the +loveliest figures and a pair of the most glorious eyes, she did not +claim much; not for her money, for she had none; not for her birth, for +on one side that was somewhat obscure; but for <i>herself</i>; and had I ever +tried the herculean task of dressing anybody beautifully and keeping +anybody true, it should have been she, but for the fact that when I knew +her first she was engaged to my cousin Earlscourt. We had none of us +ever dreamt he would marry, for he had been sworn to political life so +long, given over so utterly to the battle-ground of St. Stephen's and +the intrigues of Downing Street, that the ladies of our house were +sorely wrathful when they heard that he had at last fallen in love and +proposed to Beatrice Boville, who, though she was Lady Mechlin's niece, +was the daughter of a West Indian who had married her mother, broken her +heart, spent her money, deserted her, and never been heard of since; the +more wrathful as they had no help for themselves, and were obliged to be +contented with distinguishing her with refreshing appellations of a +"very clever schemer," evidently a "perfect intrigante," and similar +epithets with which their sex is driven for consolation under such +trying circumstances. It's a certain amount of relief to us to call a +man who has cut us down in a race "a stupid owl; very little in him!" +but it is mild gratification to that enjoyed by ladies when they +retaliate for injury done them by that delightful bonbon of a sentence, +"No doubt a most artful person!" You see it conveys so much and proves +three things in one—their own artlessness, their enemy's worthlessness, +and their victim's folly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> Being with Earlscourt at the time of his +"singularly unwise, step," as they phrased it, I knew that he wasn't +trapped in any way, and that he was loved irrespectively of his social +rank; but where was the good of telling that to deeply-injured and +perforce silenced ladies? "They knew better;" and when a woman says +that, always bow to her superior judgment, my good fellow, even when she +knows better than you what you did with yourself last evening, and +informs you positively you were at that odious Mrs. Vanille's opera +supper, though, to the best of your belief, you never stirred from the +U. S. card-room; or you will be voted a Goth, and make an enemy for the +rest of your natural life.</p> + +<p>In opposition to the rest of the family, <i>I</i> thought (and you must know +by this time, amis lecteurs, that I hardly think marriage so enjoyable +an institution as some writers do, but perhaps a little like a pipe of +opium, of which the dreams are better than the awakening)—I thought +that he could hardly have done better, as far as his own happiness went, +as I saw her standing by him one evening in the window of Lady Mechlin's +rooms at Lemongenseidlitz, where we all were that August, a brilliant, +fascinating woman already, though then but nineteen, noble-hearted, +frank, impetuous, with something in the turn of her head and the proud +glance of her eyes, that told you, you might trust her; that she was of +the stuff to keep her word even to her own hinderance; that neither +would she tell a lie, nor brook one imputed to her; that she might err +on the side of pride, on the side of meanness never; that she might have +plenty of failings, but not anything petty, low, or ungenerous among +them. The evening sun fell on them as they stood, on her high, white +forehead, with its chestnut hair turned off it as you see it in old +pictures, which Earlscourt was touching caressingly with his hand as he +talked to her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +They seemed well suited, and yet—his fault was pride, +an unassailable, unyielding pride; hers was pride, too, pride in her own +truth and honor, which would send you to the deuce if you ever presumed +to doubt either; and I wondered idly as I looked at them, whether those +two prides would ever come in conflict, and if so, whether either of +them would give in in such a case—whether there would be submission on +one side or on both, or on neither? Such metaphysical and romantic +calculations are not often my line; but as they stood together, the sun +faded off, and a cold, stormy wind blew up in its stead, which, perhaps, +metaphorically suggested the problem to me. As one goes through life one +gets up to so many sunny, balmy, cloudless days, and so often before the +night is down gets wetted to the skin by a drenching shower, that one +contracts an uncomfortable habit when the sun <i>does</i> shine, of looking +out for squalls, a fear that, sans doute, considerably damps the +pleasures of the noon. But the fear is natural, isn't it, more's the +pity, when one has been often caught?</p> + +<p>I chanced to ask her that night what made her so fond of Earlscourt. She +turned her fearless, flashing eyes half laughingly, half haughtily on +me, the color brighter in her face:</p> + +<p>"I should have thought you would rather have asked how could I, or any +other woman whom he stooped to notice, fail to love him? There are few +hearts and intellects so noble: he is as superior to you ball-room +loungers, you butterfly flutterers, as the stars to that chandelier."</p> + +<p>"Bien obligé!" laughed I. "But that is just what I meant. Most young +ladies are afraid of him; you never were?"</p> + +<p>She laughed contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Afraid! You do not know much of me. It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> precisely his giant +intellect that first drew me to him, when I heard his speech on the +Austrian question. Do you remember how the Lords listened to him so +quietly that you could have heard a feather fall? I like that silence of +theirs when they hear what they admire, better than I do the cheers of +the other house. Afraid of him! What a ludicrous idea! Do you suppose I +should be afraid of any one? It is only those who are conceited or +cowardly, who are timid. If you have nothing to assume, or to conceal, +what cause have you to fear? I love, honor, reverence Lord Earlscourt, +God knows; but fear him—never!"</p> + +<p>"Not even his anger, if you ever incurred it?" I asked her, amused with +her haughty indignation.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. Did I merit it, I would come to him frankly, and ask his +pardon, and he would give it; if I did not deserve it, <i>he</i> would be the +one to repent."</p> + +<p>She looked far more attractive than many a handsomer woman, and +infinitely more noble than a more tractable one. She was admirably +fitted for Earlscourt, if he trusted her; but it was just possible he +might some day <i>mis</i>trust and <i>mis</i>understand her, and then there might +be the devil to pay!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>II.</h2> + +<h3>THE FIRST SHADOW.</h3> + + +<p>Lemongenseidlitz was a charming little Bad. Beatrice Boville and her +aunt Lady Mechlin, Earlscourt and I, had been there six weeks. His +brother peers—of whom there were scores at +Lemongenseidlitz—complimented Earlscourt on his fiancée.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So you're caught at last?" said an octogenarian minister, who was as +sprightly as a schoolboy. "Well, my dear fellow, you might have gone +higher, sans doute, but on my honor I don't think you could have done +better."</p> + +<p>It was the universal opinion. Beatrice was not the belle of the Bad, +because there were dozens of beautiful women, and beautiful she was not; +but she was more admired than any of them, and had Earlscourt wanted +voices to justify his choice he would have had them, but he didn't; he +was entirely independent of the opinions of others, and had he chosen to +set his coronet on the brows of a peasant girl, would have cared little +what any one thought or said. We all of us enjoyed that six weeks. Lady +Mechlin lost to her heart's content at roulette, and was as complacent +over her losses as any old dowager could be. Beatrice Boville shone +best, as nice natures ever do, in a sunny atmosphere; and if she had any +faults of impatient temper or pride, there was nothing to call them +forth. Earlscourt, cold politician though he'd been, gave himself up +entirely to the warmer, brighter existence, which he found in his new +passion; and I, not being in love with anybody, made the pleasantest +love possible wherever I liked. We all of us found a couleur de rose +tint in the air of little Lemongenseidlitz, and I'd quite forgotten my +presentiment, when, one night at the Kursaal, a cloud no bigger than a +man's hand came up on the sunny horizon, and put me in mind of it.</p> + +<p>Earlscourt came into the ball room rather late; he had been talking with +some French ministers on some international project which he was anxious +to effect, and asked Lady Mechlin where Beatrice was.</p> + +<p>"She was with me a moment ago; she is waltzing, I dare say," said the +old lady, whose soul was hankering after the ivory ball.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very likely," he answered, as he looked among the dancers for her; he +was restless without her, though he would have liked none to see the +weakness, for he was a man who felt more than he told. He could not see +her, and went through the rooms till he found her, which was in a small +anteroom alone. She started as he spoke to her, and a start being a +timorous and nervous thing of which Beatrice Boville was never guilty, +he drew her to him anxiously.</p> + +<p>"My darling, has anything annoyed you?"</p> + +<p>She answered him with her habitual candor:</p> + +<p>"Yes; but I cannot tell you what, just now."</p> + +<p>"Cannot tell me! and why?"</p> + +<p>"Because I cannot. I can give no other reason. It is nothing of import +to you, or you are sure I should not keep it from you."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but I am equally sure that anything that concerns you <i>is</i> of +import to me. To whom should you tell anything, if not to me? I do not +like concealment, Beatrice."</p> + +<p>His tone was grave; indeed, too much like reproof to a fractious child +to suit Beatrice's pride. She drew away from him.</p> + +<p>"Nor I. You must think but meanly of me if you can impute anything like +concealment to me."</p> + +<p>"How can I do otherwise? You tell me you have been annoyed, and refuse +to say how, and by whom. Is that anything but concealment? If any one +has offended or insulted you, I ought to be the first you came to. A +woman, Beatrice, should have nothing hidden from the man who is, or will +be, her husband."</p> + +<p>She threw her arms around him. Her moods were variable as a child's. +Perhaps this very variability Earlscourt hardly understood, for it was +utterly opposed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> his own character: you always found him the same; +<i>she</i> would be all storm one moment, all sunshine the next.</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose I would hide anything from you? Do you think for a +moment I would hold back anything you had a right to know? You might +look into my heart; there would be no thought or feeling there I should +wish to keep from you. But if you exact confidence, so do I. Would you +think of taking as your wife one you could not trust?"</p> + +<p>He answered her a little sternly:</p> + +<p>"No; if I once ceased to believe in your truth or honor, as I believe in +my own, I should part from you forever, though God knows what it would +cost me!"</p> + +<p>"God knows what it would cost <i>me!</i> But I give you free leave. The +instant you find a flaw in either, I am no longer worthy of your love; +withdraw it, and I will never complain. But trust me you must and will; +I merit your confidence, and I exact it. Look at me, Ernest. Do you +believe I could ever deceive you?"</p> + +<p>He looked into her eyes long and earnestly.</p> + +<p>"No. When you do, your eyes will droop before mine. I trust you, +Beatrice, fully, and I know you will never wrong it."</p> + +<p>She clung to him with caressant softness, softer in her than in a +meeker-spirited woman, as she whispered, 'Never!' and a man would need +have been obtuse and skeptical, indeed, who could then have doubted her. +And so that cloud blew over, for a time, at the least—trusted, Beatrice +Boville was soft and gentle as a lamb; mistrusted or misjudged, she was +fiery as a young lioness, and Earlscourt, I thought, though originally +won by her intellect, held her too much as a child to fully understand +her character, and to see that, though she was his darling and +plaything, she was also a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> passionate, ardent, proud-spirited woman, +stung by injustice and impatient of doubt. No two people could be more +fitted to make each other's happiness, yet it struck me that it was just +possible they might make each other's misery very completely, through +want of comprehension on the one side, through want of explanation on +the other.</p> + +<p>"Your marriage is fixed, isn't it, Earlscourt?" asked his sister, Lady +Clive Edghill, who had come to Lemongenseidlitz, and, though compelled +by him, as he compelled all the rest of the family, to show Beatrice +strict courtesy, disliked her, because she was not an advantageous +match, was much too young in their opinion, and had no money—the +gravest crimes a woman can have in the eyes of any man's relatives. "The +14th! Indeed! yours is a very short engagement!"</p> + +<p>"Is there any reason why it should be longer?"</p> + +<p>"O, dear, no! none that I am aware of. I wish, earnestly, my dear +Earlscourt, I could congratulate you more warmly; but I can never say +what I do not feel, and I had so much hoped—"</p> + +<p>"My dear Helena, as long as I have so much reason to congratulate +myself, it matters very little whether you do or do not," smiled +Earlscourt. He was too much of a lion to be stung by gnats.</p> + +<p>"I dare say. I sincerely trust you may ever have reason. But I heard +some very disagreeable things about that Mr. Boville, Beatrice's father. +Do you know that he was in a West India regiment, but was deprived of +his commission even there?—a perfect blackleg and sharper, I +understand. I suppose she has never mentioned him to you?"</p> + +<p>"You are very much mistaken; all that Beatrice knows of him, I know; +that is but little, for Lady Mechlin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> took her long ago, when her mother +died, from such unfit guardianship. Beatrice is as open as the day—"</p> + +<p>"Indeed! A little too frank, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"Too frank? That is a paradox. No one can have too much candor. It is +not a virtue of your sex, but it is one, thank God! which she possesses +in a rare degree, though possibly it gains her enemies where it should +gain her friends."</p> + +<p>"Still frankness <i>may</i> merge into indiscretion," said Helena, musingly.</p> + +<p>"I doubt it. An indiscreet woman is never frank, for she has always the +memory of silly things said and done which require concealment."</p> + +<p>"I was merely thinking," Helena went on, regardless of a speech which +she did not perhaps relish, pour cause, "merely from my deep interest in +you, and my knowledge of all you will wish your wife to be, that perhaps +Beatrice might be, in pure insouciance, a little too careless, a little +too candid for so prominent a position as she will occupy. Last night, +in passing a little anteroom in the Redoute, I saw her in such extremely +earnest conversation with a man, a handsome man, about your height and +age, and—"</p> + +<p>The anteroom! Earlscourt thought, with a pang, of the start she had +given when he entered it the previous night. But he was not of a jealous +temperament, nor a curious one; his mind was too constantly occupied +with great projects and ambitions to be capable of joining petty things +together into an elaborate mosaic; he had no petitesses himself, and +trifles passed unheeded. He interrupted her decidedly:</p> + +<p>"What is there in that to build a pyramid of censure from? Doubtless it +was one of her acquaintances—probably one of mine also. I should have +thought you knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> me better, Helena, than to attempt this gossiping +nonsense with me."</p> + +<p>"O, I say no more. I only thought you, of all men, would wish Cæsar's +wife to be above—"</p> + +<p>The gnat-strings had been too insignificant to rouse him before, but at +this one his eyebrows contracted, and he rose.</p> + +<p>"Silence! Never venture to make such a speech as that to me again. In +insulting Beatrice you insult me. Unless you can mention her in terms of +proper respect and reverence, never presume to speak her name to me +again. Her enemies are my enemies, and, whoever they may be, I will +treat them as such."</p> + +<p>Helena was sorely frightened; if she held anybody in veneration it was +Earlscourt, and she would never have ventured so far with him but for +the causeless hate she had taken to Beatrice, simply because Lady Clive +had decided long ago that her brother was too voué to public life ever +to marry, and that her son would succeed to his title. She was sorely +frightened, but she comforted herself—the little thorn she had thrust +in might rankle after a while; as pleasant a consolation under failure +as any lady could desire.</p> + +<p>Beatrice was coming along the corridor as Earlscourt left Helena's +rooms, which were in the same hotel as Lady Mechlin's. She was stopping +to look out of one of the windows at the sunset; she did not see him at +first, and he watched her unobserved, and smiled at the idea of +associating anything deceitful with her—smiled still more at the idea +when she came up to him, with her frank, bright, regard, lifting her +face for a caress, and patting both her hands through his arm. +Accustomed to chill and reserved women in his own family, her abandon +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +had a great charm for him; but perhaps it led him into his error in +holding her still as half a child.</p> + +<p>"You have been seeing my enemy?" she said, laughingly. "Your sister does +not like me, does she?"</p> + +<p>"Not like you! Why should you think so? She may not like my marrying, +perhaps, because she had decided for me that I should never do so; and +no woman can bear any prophecies she makes to prove wrong."</p> + +<p>"Very possibly that may be one reason; but she does not think me good +enough for you."</p> + +<p>Her tips curved disdainfully, and Earlscourt caught a glimpse of her in +her fiery mood. He laughed at her where, with her, he had better have +admitted the truth. Beatrice had too much pride to be wounded by it, and +far too much good sense to measure herself by money and station.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Beatrice; I should have thought you too proud to suppose such +a thing," he said, carelessly.</p> + +<p>"It is the truth, nevertheless."</p> + +<p>"More foolish she, then; but if you and I do not, what can it signify?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. As long as I am worthy of you in your +eyes, what others think or say is nothing to me. I honor +you too much to make the gauge between us a third +person's opinion; or measure you or myself by a few +stops higher or lower in the social ladder. Your sister +thinks me below you in rank, soit! She is right; I am +quite ready to admit it; but that I am your equal in all +that makes men and women equal in the sight of Heaven, +I know. When she finds me unworthy of you in thought +or deed, then she may call me beneath you—not till +then."</p> + +<p>Her cheeks were flushed; he could hear her quick +breathings, and in her vehemence and haughty indignation +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +she picked the petals of her bouquet de corsage to +pieces and flung them away. Another time he would have +thought how well her pride became her, and given her +some fond reply. Just now the thorn rankled as Lady +Clive had hoped, and he answered her gravely, in the tone +which it was as unwise to use to her as to prick a +thorough-bred colt with both spurs.</p> + +<p>"You are quite right. Were I a king, you would be +my equal as long as your heart was mine, your mind as +noble, and your character as unsullied as I hope them to +be now."</p> + +<p>She turned on him rapidly with the first indignant +look she had ever given to him.</p> + +<p>"<i>Hope!</i> You might say <i>know</i>, I think!"</p> + +<p>"I would have said 'know,' and meant it too, yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Yesterday? What do you mean? Why am I less +worthy your confidence to-day than yesterday?"</p> + +<p>She looked wonderingly at him, her eyes full of inquiry +and bewilderment. It was marvellous acting, if it +was acting; yet he thought she could scarcely have so +soon forgotten their scene in the anteroom the previous +night. They had now come into the salon; he left her +side and walked to the mantel-piece, leaning his arm on +it, and speaking coldly, as he had never done to her since +they first met.</p> + +<p>"Beatrice, do not attempt to act with me. You cannot +have forgotten what we said in the anteroom last +night. Nothing assumed ever deceives me, and you only +lower yourself in my estimation."</p> + +<p>She clinched her hands till the rings he had given her crushed together.</p> + +<p>"Act! assume! Great Heaven, how dare you speak such words to +me?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dare? You speak like an angry child, Beatrice. When you are reasonable +I will answer you."</p> + +<p>The tears welled into her eyes, but she would not let them fall.</p> + +<p>"Reasonable? Is there anything unreasonable in resenting +words utterly undeserved? Would you be calm +under them yourself, Lord Earlscourt? I remember +now what you mean by yesterday; I did not remember +when I asked you. Had I done so I should never have +simulated ignorance and surprise. Only last night you +promised to trust me. Is this your trust, to accuse me +of artifice, of acting, of falsehood? I would bear no such +imputation from any one, still less from you, who ought +to know me so well. What happiness can we have if +you—"</p> + +<p>She stopped, the tears choking her voice, but he did +not see them; he only saw her indignant attitude, her +flushed cheeks, her flashing eyes, and put them down to +her girlish passion.</p> + +<p>"Calm yourself, Beatrice, I beg. This sort of scene is +very distasteful to me; to figure in a lover's quarrel +hardly suits me. I am not young enough to find amusement +in disputation and reconciliation, sparring one +moment and caresses the next. My life is one of grave +pursuits and feverish ambitions; I am often harassed, +annoyed, worn out in body and mind. What I hoped +for from you was, to borrow the gayety and brightness +of your own youth, to find rest, and happiness, and distraction. +A life of disputes, reproaches, and misconstruction, +would be what I never would endure."</p> + +<p>Beatrice was silent; she leaned her forehead on her +arms and did not answer him. His tone stung her +pride, but his words touched her heart. Her passion +was always short-lived, and no evil spirit possessed her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +long. She rebelled against the first part of his speech +with all her might, but she softened to the last. She +came up to him with her hands out.</p> + +<p>"I had no right to speak so impatiently to you. God +knows, to make your life happy will be my only thought, +and care, and wish. If I spoke angrily, forgive me!"</p> + +<p>Earlscourt knew that the nature so quick to acknowledge +error was worth fifty unerring and unruffled ones; +still he sighed as he answered her,—</p> + +<p>"My dear child, I forgive you. But, Beatrice, there is +no foe to love so sure and deadly as dissension!" And +as he drew her to him and felt her soft warm lips on his, +he thought, half uneasily yet, "She has never told me +who annoyed her—never mentioned her companion in +the anteroom last night."</p> + +<p>Lady Clive had her wish; the thorn festered as promisingly +as she could have desired. Ce n'est que le premier +pas qui coûte in quarrels as in all else. Dispute +once, you are very sure to dispute again, whether with +the man you hate or the woman you love.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>III.</h2> + +<h3>HOW PRIDE SOWED AND REAPED.</h3> + + +<p>It only wanted three weeks to Beatrice Boville's marriage. +We were all to leave Lemongenseidlitz together +in a fortnight's time for old Lady Mechlin's house in +Berks, where the ceremony was to take place.</p> + +<p>"Earlscourt is quite infatuated," said Lady Clive to +me one evening. "Beatrice is very charming, of course, +but she is not at all suited to him, she is so fiery, so impetuous, so +self-reliant."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think you are mistaken," said I. I admired Beatrice +Boville—comme je vous ai dit—and I didn't like our +family's snaps and snarls at her. "She may be impetuous, +but, as her impulses are always generous, that +doesn't matter much. She is only fiery at injustice, and, +for myself, I prefer a woman who can stand up for her +own rights and her friends' to one who'll sit by in—you'll +call it meekness, I suppose? I call it cowardice and hypocrisy—to +hear herself or them abused."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, mon ami," said Beatrice's voice at my +elbow, as Lady Clive rose and crossed the room. "I am +much obliged for your defence; I couldn't help hearing it +as I stood in the balcony, and I wish very much I deserved +it. I am afraid, though, I cannot dispute Helena's +verdict of 'fiery,' 'impetuous,'—"</p> + +<p>"And self-reliant?" I asked her. She laughed softly, +and her eyes unconsciously sought Earlscourt, who was +talking to Lady Mechlin.</p> + +<p>"Well? Not quite, now! But, by the way, why should +people charge self-reliance on to one as something reprehensible +and undesirable? A proper self-reliance is an +indispensable ground-work to any success. If you cannot +rely upon yourself, upon your power to judge and to +act, you must rely upon some other person, possibly upon +many people, and you become, perforce, vacillating and +unstable.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">'To thine own self be true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it shall follow, as the day the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou canst not then be false to any man.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>As she spoke a servant brought a note to her, and I +noticed her cheeks grow pale as she saw the handwriting +upon it. She broke it open, and read it hastily, an oddly +troubled, worried look coming over her face, a look that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +Earlscourt could not help but notice as he stood beside +her.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything in that letter to annoy you, Beatrice?" +he asked, very naturally.</p> + +<p>She started—rather guiltily, I thought—and crushed +the note in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Whom is it from? It troubles you, I think. Tell me, +my darling, is it anything that vexes or offends you?" he +whispered, bending down to her.</p> + +<p>She laughed, a little nervously for her, and tore the +note into tiny pieces.</p> + +<p>"Why do you not tell me, Beatrice?" he said again, +with a shade of annoyance on his face.</p> + +<p>"Because I would rather not," she said, frankly enough, +letting the pieces float out of the window into the street +below. The shadow grew darker in his face; he bent +his head in acquiescence, and said no more, but I don't +think he forgot either the note or her destroyal of it.</p> + +<p>"I thought there was implicit confidence <i>before</i> marriage +whatever there is after," sneered his sister, as she passed +him. He answered her calmly:—</p> + +<p>"I should say, Helena, that neither before nor after +marriage would any man who respected his wife suffer +curiosity or suspicion to enter into him. If he do, he +has no right to expect happiness, and he will certainly +not go the way to get it."</p> + +<p>That was the only reply he gave Lady Clive, but her +thorn No. 2 festered in him, and when he bade Beatrice +good night, standing alone with her in the little drawing +room, he took both her hands in his, and looked straight +into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Beatrice, why would you not let me see that note this +evening?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him as fearlessly and clearly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If I tell you why, I must tell you whom the note was +from, and what it was about, and I would much rather +do neither as yet."</p> + +<p>"That is very strange. I dislike concealment of all +kinds, especially from you, who so soon will be my wife. +It is inconceivable to me why you should need or desire +any. I thought your life was a fair open book, every line +of which I might read if I desired."</p> + +<p>Beatrice looked at him in amazement.</p> + +<p>"So you may. Do you suppose, if I had any secret from you that I feared +you should know, I could have a moment's peace in your society, or look +at you for an instant as I do now? I give you my word of honor that +there was nothing either in the note that concerns you, or that you +would wish me to tell you. In a few days you shall know all that was in +it, but I ask you as a kindness not to press me now. Surely you do not +think me such a child but that you can trust me in so small a trifle. If +you say I am not worthy of your confidence, you imply that I am not +worthy of your love. You spoke nobly to your sister just now, Ernest; do +not act less nobly to me."</p> + +<p>He could not but admire her as she looked at him, with her fearless, +unshadowed regard, her head thrown a little back, and her attitude +half-commanding, half-entreating. He smiled in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>"You are a wayward, spoiled child, Beatrice. You must have your own +way?"</p> + +<p>She gave a little stamp of her foot. She hated being called a spoiled +child, specially by him, and in a serious moment.</p> + +<p>"If I have my own way, have I your full confidence too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but, my dear Beatrice, the only way to gain confidence is never to +excite suspicion." And Lady Clive's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> thorn rankled à ravir; for even as +he pressed his goodnight kisses on her lips, he thought, restlessly, +"Shall we make each other happy?—am I too grave for her?—and is she +too wilful for me? I want rest, not contention."</p> + +<p>The night after that there was a bal-masqué at the Redoute. I was just +coming out of my room as Beatrice came down the corridor; She had her +mask in her hand, her dress was something white starred with gold, and +round her hair she had a little band of pearls of Earlscourt's gift. I +never saw her look better, specially when her cheeks flushed and her +eyes brightened as Earlscourt opened his door next mine, and met her. He +did not see me, the corridor was empty, and he bent down to her with +fond words and caresses.</p> + +<p>"Do I look well?" she said, with child-like delight.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad, Ernest, I want to do you honor."</p> + +<p>In that mood he understood her well enough, and he pressed her against +his heart with the passion that was in him, whose strength he so rarely +let her see. Then he drew her hand through his arm, and led her down the +stairs; and, as I laughed to find to what lengths our cold statesman +could come at last, I thought Lady Clive's thorns would be innocuous, +however well planted.</p> + +<p>Earlscourt never danced; nothing but what was calm and stately could +possibly have suited him; but Beatrice did, and waltzed like a Willis, +(though she liked even better than that standing on his arm and talking +with his friends—diplomatic, military, and ministerial—on all sorts of +questions, most of which she could handle nearly as well as they;) and +about the middle of the evening, while she was waltzing with some man or +other who had begged to be introduced to her, Earlscourt left the +ball-room for ten minutes in earnest conversation with one of the French +ministers, who was leaving the next morning. As he came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> back again, I +asked him where Beatrice was, because Powell, of the Bays, was bothering +my life out to introduce him to her.</p> + +<p>"In the ball room, isn't she? She is with Lady Mechlin, of course, if, +the waltz is over."</p> + +<p>A familiar voice stopped him.</p> + +<p>"She is not in the ball room. Go where you found her the other night, +and see if Cæsar's promised wife be above suspicion!"</p> + +<p>I could have sworn the voice was Lady Clive's; a pink domino passed us +too fast for detention, but Earlscourt's lips turned white at the subtle +whisper, and he muttered a fierce oath—fiercer from him, because he's +never stirred into fiery expletives. "There is some vile plot against +her. I must sift it to the bottom;" and, pushing past me, he entered the +ball room. Beatrice was not there; and wending his way through the +crowd, he went in through several other apartments leading off to the +right, and involuntarily I followed him, to see what the malicious +whisper of the pink domino had meant. Earlscourt lifted the curtain that +parted the anteroom from the other chamber—lifted it to see Beatrice +Boville, as the pink domino had prophesied, and not alone! With her was +a man, masked, but about Earlscourt's height, and seemingly about his +age, who, as he saw us, let go her hand with a laugh, turned on to a +balcony, which was but a yard or so from the street, and dropped on to +the pave below. Beatrice started and colored, but I thought she must be +the most desperate actress going, for she came up to Earlscourt with a +smile, and was about to put her hand through his arm, but he signed her +away from him.</p> + +<p>"Your acting is quite useless with me. I am not to be blinded by it +again. I have believed in your truth as in my own—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So you may still. Listen to me, Ernest!"</p> + +<p>"Hush! Do not add falsehood to falsehood."</p> + +<p>He spoke sternly and coldly; his pride, which was as strong as his love +for her, would not gratify her by a sign of the torture within him, and +even in his bitterest anger Earlscourt would never have been ungentle to +a woman. That word acted like an incantation on her, the blood crimsoned +her temples, her eyes literally flashed fire, and she threw back her +head with the haughty, impatient gesture habitual to her.</p> + +<p>"Falsehood? Three times of late you have used that word to me."</p> + +<p>"And why? Because you merited it."</p> + +<p>She stood before him, the indignant flush hotter still upon her cheeks, +her lips curved into scornful anger. If she was an actress, she knew her +rôle to perfection.</p> + +<p>"Do you speak that seriously, Lord Earlscourt? Do you believe that I +have lied to you?"</p> + +<p>"God help me! What else can I believe?" he muttered, too low for her to +hear it.</p> + +<p>She asked him the question again, fiercely, and he answered her briefly +and sternly,—</p> + +<p>"I believe that all your life with me has been a lie. I trusted you +implicitly, and how do you return it? By carrying on clandestine +intercourse with another man, giving him interviews that you conceal +from me, having letters that you destroy, doubtless receiving caresses +that you take care are unwitnessed; while you dare to smile in my face, +and to dupe me with child-like tenderness, and to bid me 'trust' you and +believe in you! Love shared to me is worthless, and on my wife, +Beatrice, no stain must rest!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke, a dark shadow spread over her countenance, +her evil spirit rose up in her, and her bright,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +frank, fearless face grew almost as hard and cold as his, +while her teeth were set together, till her lips, usually soft +and laughing, were pressed into one straight haughty line.</p> + +<p>"Since you give me up so easily, far be it from me to +dispute your will. We part from this hour, if you desire +it. My honor is as dear to me as yours to you, and to +those who dare to suspect it I never stoop to defend it!"</p> + +<p>"But, my God! Beatrice, what <i>am</i> I to believe?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever you please!"</p> + +<p>"What I please! Child, you must be mad. What <i>can</i> I +believe, but that you are the most perfect of all actresses, +that your art is the greatest of all sins, the art that clothes +itself in innocence, and carries would-be truth upon its +lips. Prove to me that I wrong you!"</p> + +<p>She shook her head; the devil in her had still the victory; +her eyes glittered, and her little teeth were clinched +together.</p> + +<p>"What I exact is trust without proof. I am not your +prisoner, Lord Earlscourt, to be tried coldly, and acquitted +if you find legal evidence of innocence; convicted, if +there be a link wanting. If you choose to trust me, I have +told you often your trust will never be wronged; if you +choose to condemn me, do. I shall not stoop to show +you your injustice."</p> + +<p>Earlscourt's face grew dark and hard as hers, but it +was wonderful how well his pride chained down all evidence +of suffering; the only sign was in the hoarseness +of, and quiver in, his voice.</p> + +<p>"Say nothing more—prevarication is guilt! God forgive +you, Beatrice Boville! If you loved me, and knelt at +my feet, I would not make you my wife after the art and +the lies with which you have repaid my trust. Thank +God, you do not already bear my name and my honor in +your hands!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>With those words he left her. Beatrice stood still in +the same place, her lips set in one scornful line, her eyes +glittering, her brow crimson, her whole attitude defiant, +wronged, and unyielding. Earlscourt passed me, his face +white as death, and was out of sight in a second. I +waited a moment, then I followed my impulse, and went +up to her.</p> + +<p>"Beatrice, for Heaven's sake, what is all this?"</p> + +<p>She turned her large eyes on me haughtily.</p> + +<p>"Do <i>you</i> believe what your cousin does?"</p> + +<p>I answered her as briefly:—</p> + +<p>"No, I do not. There is some mistake here."</p> + +<p>She seized my arm, impetuously:—</p> + +<p>"Promise me, on your honor, never to tell what I tell +to you while I live. Promise me, on your faith as a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"On my honor, I promise. Well?"</p> + +<p>"The man whom you saw with me to-night is my +father. Lord Earlscourt chose to condemn me without +inquiry; so let him! But I tell you, that you may tell +him if I die before him, that he wronged me. You know +Mr. Boville's—my father's—character. I had not seen +him since I was a child, but when he heard of my engagement +to Lord Earlscourt he found me out, and wanted +to force himself on him, and borrow money of him, +and—" She stopped, her face was crimson, but she went +on, passionately. "All my efforts, of course, were to +keep them apart, to spare my father such degradation, +and your cousin such an application. I could not tell +Lord Earlscourt, for he is generous as the winds, and I +knew what he would have done. My note was from my +father; he wanted to frighten me into introducing him +to Lord Earlscourt, but he did not succeed. I would +not have your cousin disgraced or pained by—Arthur,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +that is all my crime! No very great one, is it?" And +she laughed a loud, bitter laugh, as unlike her own as +the stormy shadow on her face was like the usual sunshine.</p> + +<p>"But, great Heaven! why not have told this to Earlscourt?"</p> + +<p>She signed me to silence with a passionate gesture.</p> + +<p>"No! He dishonored me with suspicion; let him go. +I forbid you ever to breathe a word of what I have +told you to him. If he has pride, so have I. He would +hold no dishonor greater than for another man to charge +him with a lie. My truth is as untainted as his, and my +honor as dear to me. He accused me wrongly; let him +repent. I would have loved and reverenced him as never +any woman yet could do; but once suspected, I could +find no happiness with him. His bitter words are stamped +into my heart. I shall never forget—I doubt if I shall +ever forgive—them. I can bear anything but injustice +or misconception. If any doubt me, they are free to do +so; theirs is the sin, not mine. As he has sown so must +he reap, and so must I!" A low, gasping sob choked +her voice, but she stood like a little Pythoness, the pearl +gleaming above her brow, her eyes unnaturally bright, the +color burning in her face, her attitude what it was when +he left her, defiant, wronged, unyielding. She swept away +from me to a man who was coming through the other +room, and he stared at her set lips and her gleaming eyes +as she asked him, carelessly, "Count Avonyl, will you +have the kindness to take me to Lady Mechlin?"</p> + +<p>That was the last I saw of her. She left the Bad +with her aunt as soon as the day dawned, and when I +went to our hotel, I found that Earlscourt had ordered +post-horses immediately he quitted the ball room, and +gone—where he did not leave word. So my presentiment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +was verified; the pride of both had come in conflict, and +the pride of neither had succumbed. How long it would +sustain and satisfy them, I could not guess; but Lady +Clive smiled again, as sweetly as ladies ever do when +their thorns have thriven and brought forth abundant +fruit. Some other time I will tell you how I saw Beatrice +Boville again; but I often thought of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Pauline, by pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Angels have fallen ere thy time!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>when I recalled her with the pearls above her brow, and her passionate, +gleaming eyes, and her fearless, scornful, haughty anguish, as she had +stood before me that night when Pride <i>v</i>. Pride caused the wreck of +both their lives.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IV.</h2> + +<h3>WHERE I SAW BEATRICE BOVILLE AGAIN</h3> + + +<p>I don't belong to St. Stephen's myself, thank Heaven. Very likely they +would have returned me for the county when the governor departed this +life had I tried them; but as I generally cut the county, from not being +one of the grass countries, and as I couldn't put forward any patriotic +claims like Mr. Harper Twelvetrees, (who, as he's such a slayer of +vermin, thought, I suppose, that he'd try his hand at the dry-rot and +the red tapeworms, which, according to cotton grumblers, are sapping the +nation,) I haven't solicited its suffrages. The odds at Tattersall's +interest me more than the figures of the ways and means; and +Diophantus's and Kettledrum's legerdemain at Newmarket and Epsom is more +to my taste than our brilliant rhetorician's with the surplus. I don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +care a button about Lord Raynham and Sir C. Burrell's maids-of-all-work; +they are not an attractive class, I should say, and, if they like to +amuse their time tumbling out of windows, I can't see for the life of me +why peers and gentlemen should rush to the rescue like Don Quixote to +Dulcinea's. And as for that great question, Tea <i>v</i>. Paper, bohea +delights the souls of old ladies and washerwomen—who destroy crumpets +and character over its inebriating cups, and who will rush to crown Lord +Derby's and Mr. Disraeli's brows with laurels if they ever go to the +country with a teapot blazoned on their patriotic banners—more than it +does mine, which prefers Bass and Burgundy, seltzer and Sillery; and, +though I dare say Brown, Jones, and Robinson find the Divorce News +exciting, and paper collars very showy and economical, as I myself am +content with the <i>Times</i> and its compeers, and think, with poor Brummel, +that life without daily clean linen were worthless, <i>that</i> subject +doesn't absorb me as it does those gentlemen who find "the last tax of +knowledge" so grandiloquent and useful a finishing period. So I have +never stood for the county, nor essayed to stand for it, seeing that to +one Bernal Osborne there are fifty prosers in St. Stephen's, and to be +bored is, to a butterfly flutterer, as the young lady whose name heads +this paper once obligingly called me, torture unparalleled by anything +short of acid wine or the Chinese atrocities, though truly he who heads +our Lower House with his vernal heart and his matchless brain were +enough to make any man, coxcomb or hero, oppositionist or +ministerialist, proud to sit in the same chamber with him. But there are +nights now and then, of course, when I like to go to both Houses, to +hear Lord Derby's rich, intricate oratory, or Gladstone's rhetoric, +(which has so potent a spell even for his foes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> and is yet charged so +strangely against him as half a crime; possibly by the same spirit with +which plain women reproach a pretty one for her beauty: what business +has he to be more attractive than his compeers? of course it's a péché +mortel in their eyes!) and when Mrs. Breloques, who is a charming little +woman, to whom no man short of a Goth could possibly say "No" to any +petition, gave me a little blow with her fan, and told me, as I valued +her friendship, to get an order and take her and Gwen to hear the Lords' +debate on Tuesday, when my cousin Viscount Earlscourt, one of the best +orators in the Upper House, was certain to speak, of course I obliged +her. Her sister Gwen, who was a girl of seventeen, barely out, and whom +I wished at Jerico, (three is so odious a number, one of the triad must +ever be <i>de trop</i>,) was wrathful with the Upper House; it in no wise +realized her expectations; the peers should have worn their robes, she +thought, (as if the horrors of a chamber filled with Thames odors in +June wasn't enough without being bored with velvet and ermine) she would +have been further impressed by coronets also; they had no business to +lounge on their benches as if they were in a smoking-room; they should +have declaimed like Kean, not spoken colloquially; and—in fact, they +shouldn't have been ordinary men at all. I think a fine collection from +Madame Tussaud's, with a touch of the Roman antique, would have been +much more to Gwen's ideal, and she wasn't at all content till Earlscourt +rose; <i>he</i> reconciled her a little, for he had a grand-seigneur air, she +said, that made up for the incongruities of his dress. It was a measure +that he had much at heart; he had exerted for it all his influence in +the cabinet, and he was determined that the bill should pass the Lords, +though the majority inclined to throw it out. As he stood now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> against +the table, with his calm dignity of gesture, his unstrained flow of +words, and his rich and ringing voice, which could give majesty to +commonplace subjects, and sway even an apathetic audience as completely +as Sheridan's Begum speech, every one in the House listened attentively, +and each of his words fell with its due weight. I heard him with pride, +often as I had done so before, though I noticed with pain that the lines +in his forehead and his mouth were visibly deepened; that he seemed to +speak with effort, for him, and looked altogether, as somebody had said +to me at White's in the morning, as if he were wearing out, and would go +down in his prime, like Canning and Pitt.</p> + +<p>"Lord Earlscourt looks very ill—don't you think so?" said Lelia +Breloques.</p> + +<p>As I answered her, I heard a sharp-wrung sigh, and I looked for the +first time at the lady next me. I saw a delicate profile, lips +compressed and colorless, chestnut hair that I had last seen with his +pearls gleaming above it: I saw, en deux mots, Beatrice Boville for the +first time since that night eight months before, when she had stood +before me in her passion and her pride. She never took her eyes off +Earlscourt while he spoke, and I wondered if she regretted having lost +him for a point of honor. Had she grown indifferent to him, that she had +come to his own legislative chamber, or was her love so much stronger +than her pride that she had sought to see him thus rather than not see +him at all? When his speech was closed, and he had resumed his place on +the benches, she leaned back, covering her eyes with her hand for a +moment: and, as I said aloud (more for her benefit than Mrs. +Breloques's) my regret that Earlscourt would wear himself out, I was +afraid, in his devotion to public life, Beatrice started at the sound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +of my voice, turned her head hastily, and her face was colorless enough +to tell me she had not gratified her pride without some cost. Of course +I spoke to her; she had been a favorite of mine always, and I had often +wished to come across her again; but beyond learning that she was with +Lady Mechlin in Lowndes Square, and had been spending the winter at Pau +for her aunt's health, I had no time to hear more, for Lelia, having +only come for Earlscourt's speech, bade me take her to her carriage, +while Beatrice and her party remained for the rest of the debate; but +the rencontre struck me as so odd, that I believe it occupied my +thoughts more than Mrs. Breloques liked, who got into her carriage in +not the best of humors, and asked me if <i>I</i> was going in for public life +that I'd grown so particularly unamusing. We're +always unamusing to one woman if we're thinking at all about another.</p> + +<p>"Do you know who was at the House to-night, Earlscourt, to hear your +speech?" I asked him, as I met him, a couple of hours afterwards, in one +of the passages, as he was leaving the House. He had altered much in +eight months; he stooped a little from his waist; he looked worn, and +his lips were pale. Men said his stamina was not equal to his brain; +physicians, that he gave himself too much work and too little sleep. I +knew he was more wrapped in public life than ever; that in his place in +the government he worked unwearyingly, and that he found time in spare +moments for intellectual recreation that would have sufficed for their +life's study for most men. Still, I thought possibly there might be a +weakness still clinging round his heart, though he never alluded to it; +a passion which, though he appeared to have crushed it out, might be +sapping his health more than all his work for the nation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you mean any one in particular? Persigny said he should attend, but +I did not see him."</p> + +<p>"No, I meant among the ladies. Beatrice Boville was in the seat next +me." I had no earthly business to speak of her so abruptly, for when I +had seen him for the first time after he left the Bad when Parliament +met that February, he had forbidden me ever to mention her name to him, +and no allusion to her had ever passed his lips. The worn, stern +gravity, that had become his habitual expression, changed for a moment; +bullet-proof he might be, but my arrow had shot in through the chain +links of his armor; a look of unutterable pain, eagerness, anxiety, +passion, passed over his face; but, whatever he felt, he subdued it, +though his voice was broken as he answered me:—</p> + +<p>"Once for all, I bade you never speak that name to me. Without being +forbidden, I should have thought your own feeling, your own delicacy, +might—"</p> + +<p>"Have checked me? O, hang it, Earlscourt, listen one second without +shutting a fellow up. I never broached the subject before, by your +desire; but, now I have once broken the ice, I must ask you one +question: Are you sure you judged the girl justly? are you sure you were +not too quick to slan—"</p> + +<p>He pressed his hand on his chest and breathed heavily as I spoke, but he +wouldn't let me finish.</p> + +<p>"That is enough. Would any man sacrifice what he held dearest wantonly +and without proof? She is dear to me <i>now</i>. You are the only living +being so thoughtless or so merciless as to force her name upon me, and +rake up the one folly, the one madness, the one crowning sorrow of my +life. See that you never dare bring forward her name again."</p> + +<p>He went out before me into the soft night air. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> carriage was +waiting; he entered it, threw himself back on its cushions, and was +driven off before I had time to break my word of honor to Beatrice +Boville, which I felt sorely tempted to do just then. Who among the +thousands that heard his briliant speech that night, or read it the next +morning, who saw him pass in his carriage, and had him pointed out to +them as the finest orator of his day, or dined with him at his +ministerial dinners at his house in Park Lane, would have believed that, +with all his ambition, fame, honors, and attainments, the one cross, the +one shadow, the one dark thread, in the successful stateman's life, was +due to a woman's hand, and that underneath all his strength lay that +single weakness, sapping and undermining it?</p> + +<p>"<i>Did you</i> see that girl Boville at the House last night?" Lady Clive +(who had smiled most sweetly ever since her thorns had brought forth +their fruit—her son <i>would</i> be his heir—Earlscourt would never marry +now!) said to me, the next day, at one of the Musical Society concerts. +"Incredible effrontery, wasn't it, in her, to come and hear Earlscourt's +speech? One would have imagined that conscience and delicacy might have +made her reluctant to see him, instead of letting her voluntarily seek +his own legislative chamber, and listen coolly for an hour and a half to +the man whom she misled and deceived so disgracefully."</p> + +<p>I laughed to think how long a time a woman's malice <i>will</i> flourish, +n'importe how victorious it may have been in crushing its object, or how +harmless that object may have become.</p> + +<p>"You are very bitter about her still, Lady Clive. Is that quite fair? +You know you were so much obliged to her for throwing Earlscourt away. +You want Horace<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> to come in for the title, don't you?" Which truism +being unpalatable, Lady Clive averred that she had no wish on earth but +for Earlscourt's happiness; that of course she naturally grieved for his +betrayal by that little intrigante, but that had his marriage been a +well-advised one, nobody would have rejoiced more, etc., etc., and bade +me be silent and listen to Vieuxtemps, both of which commands I obeyed, +pondering in my own mind whether I should go and call in Lowndes Square +or not: if anybody heard of it, they would think it odd for me alone, of +all the family, to continue acquainted with a girl whom report +(circulated through Lady Clive) said had used Earlscourt so ill, and +wrong constructions might get put upon it; but, thank God! I never have +considered the qu'en dira-t-on. If constructions are wrong, to the deuce +with them! they matter nothing to sensible people; and the man who lives +in dread of "reports" will have to shift his conduct as the old man of +immortal fable shifted his donkey, and won't ever journey in any peace +at all. If anybody remarked my visiting Lowndes Square, I couldn't help +it: I wanted to see Beatrice Boville again, and to Lowndes Square, after +the concert, I drove my tilbury accordingly, which, as that turn-out is +known pretty tolerably in those parts, I should be wisest to leave +behind me when I don't want my calls noticed. By good fortune, I saw +Beatrice alone. They were going to drive in the Park, and she was in the +drawing room, dressed and waiting for her aunt. She was not altered: at +her age sorrow doesn't tell physically as it does at Earlscourt's. In +youth we have Hope; later on we know that of all the gifts of Pandora's +box none are so treacherous and delusive as the one that Pandora left at +the bottom. True, Beatrice had none of that insouciant, shadowless +brightness that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> had been her chief charm at Lemongenseidlitz, but she +was one of those women whose attractions, dependent on fascination, not +on beauty, grow more instead of less as time goes on. She met me with a +trace of embarrassment; but she was always self-possessed under any +amount of difficulties, and stood chatting, a trifle hurriedly, of all +the subjects of the year, of anything, I dare say, rather than of that +speech the night before, or of the secret of which I was her sole +confidant. But I was not going to let her off so easily. I had come +there for a definite purpose, and was not going away without +accomplishing it. I was afraid every second that Lady Mechlin might come +down, or some visitor enter, and as she sat in a low chair among the +flowers in the window, leant towards her, and plunged into it <i>in medias +res</i>.</p> + +<p>"Miss Boville, I want you to release me from my promise."</p> + +<p>She looked up, her face flushing slightly, but her lips and eyes +shadowed already with that determined pride and hauteur that they had +worn the last time I had seen her. She did not speak, but played with +the boughs of a coronella near her.</p> + +<p>"You remember" (I went on speaking as briefly as possible, lest the old +lady's toilet should be finished, and our tête-à-tête cut short) "I gave +you my word of honor never to speak again of what you told me in the +Kursaal last autumn until you gave me leave; that leave I ask you for +now. Silence lies in the way of your own happiness, I feel sure, and not +alone of yours. If you give me carte blanche, you may be certain I shall +use it discreetly and cautiously. You made the prohibition in a moment +of heat and passion; withdraw it now—believe me, you will never +repent."</p> + +<p>The flush died out of her cheeks as I spoke; but her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> little, white +teeth were set together as they had been that night, and she answered me +bitterly,—</p> + +<p>"You ask what is impossible; I cannot, in justice to myself, withdraw +it. I would never have told you, but that I deemed you a man of honor, +whom I could trust."</p> + +<p>"I do not think I have proved myself otherwise, Beatrice. I have kept my +word to you, when I have been greatly tempted to break it, when I have +doubted whether it were either right or wise to stand on such punctilio, +when greater stakes were involved by my silence. Surely, if you once had +elevated mind enough to comprehend and admire such a man as Earlscourt, +and be won by the greatness of his intellect to prefer him to younger +rivals, it is impossible you can have lowered your taste and found any +one to replace him. No woman who once loved Earlscourt could stoop to an +inferior man, and almost all men <i>are</i> his inferiors; it is impossible +you can have grown cold towards him."</p> + +<p>She turned her eyes upon me luminous with her old passion—the color hot +in her cheeks, and her attitude full of that fiery pride which became +her so infinitely well.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> changed!—<i>I</i> grown cold to him! I love him more than all the +world, and shall do to my grave. Do you think that any who heard him +last night could glory in him as I did? Did you think any physical +torture would not have been easier to bear than what I felt when I saw +his face once more, and thought of what we <i>should have been</i> to one +another, and of what we <i>are</i>? We women have to act, and smile, and wear +a calm semblance, while our hearts are bursting; and so you fancy that +we never feel."</p> + +<p>"But, great Heavens! Beatrice, if you love Earlscourt like this, why not +give me leave to tell him? Why<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> not write to him yourself? A word would +clear you, a word restore you to him. Your anger, your pride, he would +forgive in a moment."</p> + +<p>I'm a military man, not a diplomatist, or I shouldn't have added that +last sentence.</p> + +<p>She rose, and looked at me haughtily and amazedly.</p> + +<p>"It is I who have to forgive, not he. I wronged him in no way; he +wronged me bitterly. He dared to misjudge, to suspect, to insult me. I +shall never stoop to undeceive him. He gave me up without a trial. I +never will force myself upon him. He thanked God I was not his +wife—could I seek to be his wife after that? Love him passionately I +do, but forgive him I do <i>not</i>! I forbid you, on your faith as a +gentleman, ever to tell him what I told you that night. I trusted to +your honor; I shall hold you <i>dis</i>honored if you betray me."</p> + +<p>Just as she paused an open carriage rolled past. I looked down +mechanically; in it was Earlscourt lying back on his cushions, +returning, I believe, from a Cabinet Council. There, in the street, +stood my tilbury, with the piebald Cognac that everybody in Belgravia +knew. There, in the open window, stood Beatrice and I; and Earlscourt, +as he happened to glance upwards, saw us both! His carriage rolled on; +Beatrice grew as white as death, and her lips quivered as she looked +after him; but Lady Mechlin entered, and I took them down to their +barouche.</p> + +<p>"You are determined not to release me from my promise?" I asked +Beatrice, as I pulled up the tiger-skin over her flounces.</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not; and I should think you are too much of a gentleman not +to hold a promise sacred."</p> + +<p>Pride and determination were written in every line of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> her face, in the +very arch of her eyebrows, the very form of her brow, the very curve of +her lips—a soft, delicate face enough otherwise, but as expressive of +indomitable pride as any face could be. And yet, though I swore at her +as I drove Cognac out of the square, I couldn't help liking her all the +better for it, the little Pythoness! for, after all, it was natural and +very intelligible to me—she had been misjudged and wrongly suspected, +and the noblest spirits are always the quickest to rebel against +injustice and resent false accusation.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>V.</h2> + +<h3>HOW IN PERFECT INNOCENCE I PLAYED THE PART OF A RIVAL.</h3> + + +<p>The season whirled and spun along as usual. They were having stormy +debates in the Lower House, and throwing out bills in the Upper; stifled +by Thames odors one evening, and running down to Epsom the next morning; +blackguarding each other in parliamentary language—which, on my honor, +will soon want duels revived to keep it within decent breeding, if Lord +Robert Cecil and others don't learn better manners, and remember the +golden rule that "He alone resorts to vituperation whose argument is +illogical and weak." We, luckier dogs, who weren't slaves to St. +Stephen's, nor to anything at all except as parsons and moralists, with +whom the grapes sont verts et bons pour des goujats, said to our own +worldly vitiated tastes and evil leanings, spent our hours in the Ring +and the coulisses, White's and the United, crush balls and opera +suppers, and swore we were immeasurably bored, though we wouldn't have +led any other life for half a million. The season whirled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> along. +Earlscourt devoted himself more entirely than ever to public life; he +filled one of the most onerous and important posts in the ministry, and +appeared to occupy himself solely with home politics and foreign +politics. Lady Mechlin, only a baronet's widow, though she had very +tolerable society of her own, was not in <i>his</i> monde; and Beatrice +Boville and he, with only Hyde Park Corner between them, might as well, +for any chance of rapprochement, have been severally at Spitzbergen and +Cape Horn. Two or three times they passed each other in Pall-Mall and +the Ride; but Earlscourt only lifted his hat to Lady Mechlin, and +Beatrice set her little teeth together, and wouldn't have solicited a +glance from him to save her life. Earlscourt was excessively distant to +me after seeing my tilbury at her door; no doubt he thought it strange +for me to have continued my intimacy with a woman who had wronged him so +bitterly. He said nothing, but I could see he was exceedingly +displeased; and the more I tried to smooth it with him, the more +completely I seemed to set my foot in it. It was exceedingly difficult +to touch on any obnoxious subject with him; he was never harsh or +discourteous, but he could freeze the atmosphere about him gently, but +so completely, that no mortal could pierce through it; and, fettered by +my promise to her and his prohibition to me, I hardly knew how to bring +up her name. As the Fates would have it, I often met Beatrice myself, at +the Regent Park fêtes, at concerts, at a Handel Festival at Sydenham, at +one or two dinner parties; and, as she generally made way for me beside +her, and was one of those women who are invariably, though without +effort, admired and surrounded in any society, possibly people remarked +it—possibly our continued intimacy might have come round to Earlscourt, +specially as Lady Clive and Mrs Breloques abused<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> me roundly, each à sa +mode, for countenancing that "abominable intrigante." I couldn't help +it, even if Earlscourt took exception at me for it. I knew the girl was +not to blame, and I took her part, and tried my best to tame the little +Pythoness into releasing me from my promise. But Beatrice was firm; had +she erred, no one would have acknowledged and atoned for it quicker, but +innocent and wrongly accused, she kept silent, coûte que coûte, and in +my heart I sympathized with her. Nothing stings so sharply, nothing is +harder to forgive, than injustice; and, knowing herself to be frank, +honorable, and open as the day, his charge of falsehood and deception +rankled in her only more keenly as time went on. Men ran after her like +mad; she had more of them about her than many beauties or belles. There +was a style, a charm, a something in her that sent beauties into the +shade, and by which, had she chosen, she could soon have replaced +Earlscourt. Still, it needed to be no Lavater to see, by the passionate +gleam of her eyes and the haughty pride on her brow, that Beatrice +Boville was not happy.</p> + +<p>"Why <i>will</i> you let pride and punctilio wreck your own life, Beatrice?" +I asked her, in a low tone, as we stood before one of Ed. Warren's +delicious bits of woodland in the Water-Color Exhibition, where we had +chanced to meet one day. "That he should have judged you as he did was +not unnatural. Think! how was it possible for him to guess your father +was your companion? Remember how very much circumstances were against +you."</p> + +<p>"Had they been ten times more against me, a man who cared for me would +have believed in me, and stood by me, not condemned me on the first +suspicion. It was unchivalrous, ungenerous, unjust. I tell you, his +words<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> are stamped into my memory forever. I shall never forgive them."</p> + +<p>"Not even if you knew that he suffered as much and more than you do?"</p> + +<p>She clinched her hands on the rolled-up catalogue with a passionate +gesture.</p> + +<p>"No; because he <i>misjudged</i> me. Anything else I would have pardoned, +though I am no patient Griselda, to put up tamely with any wrong; but +<i>that</i> I never could—I never would!"</p> + +<p>"I regret it, then. I thought you too warm and noble-hearted a woman to +retain resentment so long. I never blamed you in the first instance, but +I must say I blame you now."</p> + +<p>She laughed, a little contemptuously, and glanced at me with her +haughtiest air; and on my life, much as it provoked one, nothing became +her better.</p> + +<p>"Blame me or not, as you please—your verdict will be quite bearable, +either way. I am the one sinned against. I can have nothing explained to +Lord Earlscourt. Had he cared for me, as he once vowed, he would have +been less quick then to suspect me, and quicker now to give me a chance +of clearing myself. But you remember he thanked God I had not his name +and his honor in my hands. I dare say he rejoices at his escape."</p> + +<p>She laughed again, turning over the catalogue feverishly and +unconsciously. <i>Those</i> were the words that rankled in her; and it was +not much wonder if, to a proud spirit like Beatrice Boville's, they +seemed unpardonable. As I handed her and Lady Mechlin into their +carriage when they left the exhibition, Earlscourt, as ill luck would +have it, passed us, walking on to White's, the fringe of Beatrice's +parasol brushed his arm, and a hot color flushed into her cheeks at the +sudden rencontre.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> By the instinct of courtesy he bowed to her and Lady +Mechlin, but passed up Pall-Mall without looking at Beatrice. How well +society drills us, that we meet with such calm impassiveness in its +routine those with whom we have sorrowed and joyed, loved and hated, in +such far different scenes!</p> + +<p>Their carriage drove on, and I overtook him as he went up Pall-Mall. He +was walking slowly, with his hand pressed on his chest, and his lips set +together, as if in bodily pain. He looked at me, as I joined him, with +an annoyed glance of unusual irritation for him, for he was always calm +and untroubled, punctiliously just, and though of a proud temper, never +quick to anger.</p> + +<p>"You passed that girl wonderfully coldly, Earlscourt," I began, plunging +recklessly into the thick of the subject.</p> + +<p>"Coldly!" he repeated, bitterly. "It is very strange that you will +pursue me with her name. I forbade you to intrude it upon me; was not +that sufficient?"</p> + +<p>"No; because I think you judged her too harshly."</p> + +<p>"Think so, if you please, but never renew the topic to me. If she gives +you her confidence, enjoy it. If you choose, knowing what you do, to be +misled by her, be so; but I beg of you to spare me your opinions and +intentions."</p> + +<p>"But why? I say you <i>do</i> misjudge her. She might err in impatience and +pride; but I would bet you any money you like that you would prove her +guilty of no indelicacy, no treachery, no underhand conduct, though +appearances might be against her."</p> + +<p>"<i>Might</i> be! You select your words strangely; you must have some deeper +motive for your unusual blindness. I desire, for the last time, that you +cease either<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> the subject to me, or your acquaintance with me, whichever +you prefer."</p> + +<p>With which, he went up the steps of White's, and I strolled on, amazed +at the fierce acrimony of his tone, utterly unlike anything I had ever +heard from him, wished their pride to the devil, called myself a fool +for meddling in the matter at all, and went to have a quiet weed in the +smoking-room of the U. S. to cool myself. I was heartily sick of the +whole affair. If they wanted it cleared, they must clear it +themselves—I should trouble myself no more about it. Yet I couldn't +altogether dismiss Beatrice's cause from my mind. I thought her, to say +the truth, rather harshly used. I liked her for her fearless, truthful, +impassioned character. I liked her for the very courage and pride with +which she preferred to relinquish any chance of regaining her forfeited +happiness, rather than stoop to solicit exculpation from charges of +which she knew she was innocent. Perhaps, at first, she did not consider +sufficiently Earlscourt's provocation, and perhaps, now, she was too +persisting in her resentment of it; still I liked her, and I was sorry +to see her, at an age when life should have been couleur de rose, to one +of her gay and insouciant nature, with a weary, passionate look on her +face that she should not have had for ten years to come—a look that was +rapidly hardening into stern and contemptuous sadness.</p> + +<p>"You tell me I am too bitter," she said to me one day, "how should I be +otherwise? I, who have wronged no one, and have never in my life done +anything of which I am ashamed, am called an intrigante by Lady Clive +Edghill, and get ill-will from strangers, and misconstructions from my +friends, merely because, thinking no harm myself, it never occurs to me +that circumstances may look against me; and, hating falsehood, I cannot +lie, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> smile, and give soft words where I feel contempt and +indignation. Mrs. Breloques yonder, with whom les présens ont toujours +raison, and les absens ont toujours tort, who has honeyed speeches for +her bitterest foes, and poisoned arrows (behind their back) for her most +trusting friends, who goes to early matins every morning, and pries out +for a second all over the top of her prayer-book, who kisses 'darling +Helena,' and says she 'never looked so sweetly,' whispering en petit +comité what a pity it is, when Helena is so passée, she <i>will</i> dress +like a girl just out—she is called the sweetest woman possible—so +amiable! and is praised for her high knowledge of religion. You tell me +I am too bitter. I think not. Honesty does <i>not</i> prosper, and truth is +at a miserable discount; straightforward frankness makes a myriad of +foes, and adroit diplomacy as many friends. If you make a +prettily-turned compliment, who cares if it is sincere? if you hold your +tongue where you cannot praise, because you will not tell a conventional +falsehood, the world thinks you very ill-natured, or odiously satirical. +Society is entirely built upon insincerity and conventionality, from the +wording of an acceptance of a dinner invitation, where we write 'with +much pleasure,' thinking to ourselves 'what a bore!' to the giant +hypocrisies daily spoken without a blush from pulpit and lecturn, and +legitimatized both as permissible and praiseworthy. To truth and +unconventionality society of course is adverse; and whoever dares to +uphold them must expect to be hissed, as Paul by the Ephesians, because +he shivered their silver shrines and destroyed the craft by which they +got their wealth."</p> + +<p>Beatrice was right; her truth and fearlessness were her enemies with +most people, even with the man who had loved her best. Had she been +ready with an adroit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> falsehood and a quick excuse, Earlscourt's +suspicions would never have been raised as they were by her frank +admission that there was something she would rather not tell him, and +her innocent request to be trusted. That must have been some very +innocent and unworldly village schoolmaster, I should say, who first set +going that venerable proverb, "Honesty is the best policy." He must have +known comically little of life. A diplomatist who took it as his motto +would soon come to grief, and ladies would soon stone out of their +circles any woman bête enough to try its truth among them. There is no +policy at greater discount in the world, and straightforward and candid +people stand at very unequal odds with the rest of humanity; they are +the one morsel of bread to a hogshead of sack, the handful of Spartans +against a swarm of Persians, and they get the brunt of the battle and +the worst of the fight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VI.</h2> + +<h3>HOW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL.</h3> + + +<p>Beyond meeting Earlscourt at White's, or, for an hour, at the réunion of +some fair leader of ton, I scarcely saw him that season, for he was more +and more devoted to public life. He looked wretchedly ill, and his +physicians said if he wished to live he must go to the south of France +in July, and winter at Corfu; but he paid them no heed; he occupied +himself constantly with political and literary work, and grudged the +three or four hours he gave to sleep that did him little good.</p> + +<p>"Will you get me admittance to the Lords to-morrow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> night?" Beatrice +asked me, one morning, when I met her in the Ride. I looked at her +surprised.</p> + +<p>"To the Lords? Of course, if you wish."</p> + +<p>"I do wish it." Her hands clinched on her bridle, and the color flushed +into her face, for Earlscourt just then passed us, riding with one of +his brother ministers. He looked at us both, and his face changed +strangely, though he rode on, continuing his conversation with the other +man, while I went round the turn with Beatrice and the other fellows who +were about her; le fruit défendu is always most attractive, and +Beatrice's profound negligence of them all made them more mad about her +than all the traps and witcheries, beguilements and attractions, that +coquettes and beauties set out for them. She rode beautifully; and a +woman who <i>does</i> sit well down on her saddle, and knows how to handle +her horse, never looks better than en Amazone. Earlscourt met her three +times at the turn of the Ride; and though you would not have told that +he was passing any other than an utter stranger, I think it must have +struck him that he had lost much in losing Beatrice Boville. I was +riding on her off-side each time when we passed him. As I say, I never, +thank God! have cared a straw for the qu'en dira-t-on? and if people +remarked on my intimacy with my cousin's cast off fiancée, so they +might, but to Earlscourt I wished to explain it more for Beatrice's sake +than my own; and as I rode out by Apsley House afterwards, I overtook +him, and went up to Piccadilly with him, though his manner was decidedly +distant and chill, so pointedly so that it would have been rude, had he +not been too entirely a disciple of Chesterfield to be ever otherwise +than courteous to his deadliest foe; but, disregarding his coldness, I +said what I intended to say, and began an explanation that I considered +only due to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Earlscourt, for intruding on you a topic you have +forbidden, but I shall be obliged to you to listen to me a moment. I +wish to tell you my reasons for what, I dare say, seems strange to you, +my continued intimacy with—"</p> + +<p>But I was not permitted to end my sentence; he divined what I was about +to say, and stopped me, with a cold, wearied air.</p> + +<p>"I understand; but I prefer not to hear them. I have no desire to +interfere with your actions, and less to be troubled with your motives. +Of course, you choose your friendships as you please. All I beg is, that +you obey the wish I expressed the other day, and intrude the subject no +more upon me."</p> + +<p>And he bade me good morning, urged his mare into a sharp canter, and +turned down St. James's Street. How little those in the crowd, who +looked at him as he rode by, pointing him out to the women with them as +Viscount Earlscourt, the most eloquent debater in the Lords, the +celebrated foreign minister, author, and diplomatist, guessed that a +woman's name could touch and sting him as nothing else could do, and +that under the calm and glittering upper-current of his life ran a dark, +slender, unnoticed thread that had power to poison all the rest! Those +women, mon ami!—if we <i>do</i> satirize them a little bit now and then, are +we doing any more than taking a very mild revenge? Don't they make fools +of the very best and wisest of us, play the deuce with Cæsar as with +Catullus, and make Achilles soft as Amphimachus?</p> + +<p>The next morning I met Beatrice at a concert at the Marchioness of +Pursang's. Lady Pursang would not have been, vous concevez, on the +visiting list of Lady Mechlin, as she was one of the crème de la crème, +but she had met Beatrice the winter before at Pau, had been very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +delighted with her, and now continued the acquaintance in town. I +happened to sit next our little Pythoness, who looked better, I think, +that morning, than ever I saw her, though her face was set into that +disdainful sadness which had become its habitual expression. She liked +my society, and sought it, no doubt, because I was the only link between +her and her lost past; and she was talking with me more animatedly than +usual, thanking me for having got her admittance to the Lords that +night, during a pause in the concert, when Earlscourt entered the room, +and took the seat reserved for him, which was not far from ours. Music +was one of his passions, the only délassement, indeed, he ever gave +himself now; but to-day, though ostensibly he listened to Alboni and +Arabella Goddard, Hallé and Vieuxtemps, and talked to the marchioness +and other women of her set, in reality he was watching Beatrice, who, +her pride roused by his presence, laughed and chatted with me and other +men with her old gay abandon, and, impervious to déréglement though he +was, I fancy even <i>he</i> felt it a severe trial of his composure when Lady +Pursang, who had been the last five years in India with her husband, and +who was ignorant of or had forgotten the name of the girl Earlscourt was +to have married the year before, asked him, when the concert was over, +to let her introduce him to her, yet Beatrice Boville, bringing him in +innocent cruelty up to that little Pythoness, with whom he had parted so +passionately and bitterly ten months before! Happy for them that they +had that armor which the Spartans called heroism, the stoics philosophy, +and we—simply style good breeding, or they would hardly have gone +through that ordeal as well as they did when she introduced them to each +other as strangers!—those two who had whispered such passionate love +words, given and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> received such fond caresses, vowed barely twelve +months before to pass their lifetime together! Happy for them they were +used to society, or they would hardly have bowed to each other as calmly +and admirably as they did, with the recollection of that night in which +they had parted so bitterly, so full as it was in the minds of both. +Beatrice was standing in one of the open windows of the little cabinet +de peinture almost empty, and when the marchioness moved away, satisfied +that she had introduced two people admirably fitted to entertain one +another, Earlscourt, with people flirting and talking within a few yards +of him, was virtually alone with Beatrice—for there is, after all, no +solitude like the solitude of a crowd—and <i>then</i>, for the first time in +his life, his self-possession forsook him. Beatrice was silent and very +pale, looking out of the window on to the Green Park, which the house +overlooked, and Earlscourt's pride had a hard struggle, but his passion +got the better of him, malgré lui, and he leaned towards her.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember the last night we were together?"</p> + +<p>She answered him bitterly. She had not forgiven him. She had sometimes, +I am half afraid, sworn to revenge herself.</p> + +<p>"I am hardly likely to forget it, Lord Earlscourt."</p> + +<p>He looked at her longingly and wistfully; his pride was softened, that +granite pride, hitherto so unassailable! and he bent nearer to her.</p> + +<p>"Beatrice! I would give much to be able to wash out the memories of that +night—to be proved mistaken—to be convicted of haste, of sternness—"</p> + +<p>The tears rushed into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You need only have given one little thing—all I asked of you—trust!"</p> + +<p>"Would to God I dare believe you now! Tell me,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> answer me, did I judge +you too harshly? Love at my age never changes, however wronged; it is +the latest, and it only expires with life itself. I confess to you, you +are dearer to me still than anything ever was, than anything ever will +be. Prove to me, for God's sake, that I misjudged you! Only prove it to +me; explain away what appeared against you, and we may yet—"</p> + +<p>He stopped; his voice trembled, his hand touched hers, he breathed short +and fast. The Pythoness was very nearly tamed; her eyes grew soft and +melting, her lips trembled; but pride was still strong in her. At the +touch of his hand it very nearly gave way, but not wholly; it was there +still, tenacious of its reign. She set her little teeth obstinately +together, and looked up at him with her old hauteur.</p> + +<p>"No, as I told you then, you must believe in me <i>without</i> proof. I have +not forgotten your bitter words, nor yet forgiven them. I doubt if I +ever shall. You roused an evil spirit in me that night, Lord Earlscourt, +which you cannot exorcise at a moment's notice. Remember what was your +own motto, 'An indiscreet woman is never frank,'—yet from my very +frankness you accused me of indiscretion, and of far worse than +indiscretion—"</p> + +<p>"My God! if I accused you falsely, Beatrice, forgive me!"</p> + +<p>He must have loved her very much to bow his pride so far as that. <i>He</i> +was at <i>her</i> feet—at <i>her</i> mercy now; he, whom she had vainly sued, +sued her; but a perverse, fiery devil in her urged her to take her own +revenge, compelled her to throw away her own peace.</p> + +<p>"You should have asked me that ten months ago; it is too late now."</p> + +<p>His face dyed white, his eyes filled with passionate anguish. He crushed +her hand in his.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Too late! Great Heavens! Answer me, child, I entreat you—I beseech +you—is it 'too late' because report is true that you have replaced me +with your cousin—that you are engaged to Hervey? Tell me truth now, for +pity's sake. I will be trifled with no longer."</p> + +<p>Beatrice threw back her haughty little head contemptuously, though +ladies <i>don't</i> sneer at the idea of being liées with me generally, I can +assure you. Her heart throbbed triumphantly and joyously. She had +conquered him at last. The man of giant intellect and haughty will had +bowed to her. She held him by a thread, he who ruled the fate of +nations!—and she loved him so dearly! But the Pythoness was not wholly +tamed, and she could not even yet forget her wrongs.</p> + +<p>"You told me before I spoke falsehoods to you, Lord Earlscourt; my word +would find no more credence now."</p> + +<p>He looked at her, dropped her hand, and turned away, before Beatrice +could detain him. Five minutes after he left the house. Little as I +guessed it, he was jealous of me—I! who never in my own life rivalled +any man who wished to <i>marry</i>! Beatrice had fully revenged herself. I +wonder if she enjoyed it quite as much as she had anticipated, as she +stood where he had left her looking out on the Green Park?</p> + +<p>I went with Beatrice and her party to the Lords that night; it was the +tug of war for the bill which Earlscourt was so determined should pass, +and a great speech was expected from him. We were not disappointed. When +he rose he spoke with effort, and his oratory suffered from the slight +hoarseness of his voice, for half the beauty of his rhetoric lay in the +flexibility and music of his tones; still, it was emphatically a great +speech, and Beatrice Boville listened to it breathlessly, with her eyes +fixed on the face—weary, worn, but grandly intellectual—of the man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +whom Europe reverenced, and she—a girl of twenty!—ruled. Perhaps her +heart smote her for the lines she had added there; perhaps she felt her +pride misplaced to him, great as he was, with his stainless honor and +unequalled genius; perhaps she thought of how, with all his strength, +his hand had trembled as it touched hers; and how, with all her love, +she had been wilful and naughty to him a second time. His voice grew +weaker as he ended, and he spoke with visible effort; still it was one +of his greatest political triumphs: his bill passed by a large majority, +and the papers, the morning after, filled their leading articles with +admiration of Viscount Earlscourt's speech. But before those journals +were out, Earlscourt was too ill almost to notice the success of his +measures: as he left the House, the presiding devil of beloved Albion, +that plays the deuce with English statesmen as with Italian +cantatrices,—the confounded east wind,—had caught him, finished what +over-exertion had begun, and knocked him over, prostrated with severe +bronchitis. What pity it is that the body <i>will</i> levy such cruel black +mail upon the mind; that a gust of wind, a horse's plunge, the effluvia +of a sewer, the carelessness of a pointsman, can destroy the grandest +intellect, sweep off the men whose genius lights the world, as +ruthlessly as a storm of rain a cloud of gnats, and strike Peel and +Canning, Macaulay and Donaldson, in the prime of their power, as +heedlessly as peasants little higher than the brutes, dull as the clods +of their own valley, who stake their ambitions on a surfeit of fat +bacon, and can barely scrawl their names upon a slate!</p> + +<p>Unconscious that Earlscourt's jealousy had fastened so wrongly upon me, +I was calling upon Beatrice late the next morning, ignorant myself of +his illness, when his physician, who was Lady Mechlin's too, while +paying her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> a complimentary visit, regretted to me my cousin's sudden +attack.</p> + +<p>"Lord Earlscourt would speak last night," he began. "I entreated him +not; but those public men are so obstinate; to-day he is very ill—very +ill indeed, though prompt measures stopped the worst. He has risen to +dictate something of importance to his secretary; he would work his +brain if he were dying; but it has taken a severe hold on him, I fear. I +shall send him somewhere south as soon as he can leave the house, which +will not be for some weeks. He would be a great loss to the country. We +have not such another foreign minister. But I admit to you, Major +Hervey—though of course I do not wish it to go further—that I <i>do</i> +think very seriously of Lord Earlscourt's state of health."</p> + +<p>Beatrice heard him as she sat at her Davenport; her face grew white, and +her eyes filled with great anguish. She thought of his words to her only +the day before, and of how her pride had repelled him a second time. I +saw her hand clinch on the pen she was playing with, and her teeth set +tight together, her habitual action under any strong emotion, thinking +to herself, no doubt, "And my last words to him were bitter ones!"</p> + +<p>When the physician had left, I went up to her.—</p> + +<p>"Beatrice, you must let me tell him <i>now</i>!"</p> + +<p>She did not answer, but her hand clinched tighter on the pen-handle.</p> + +<p>"His life is in your hands; for God's sake relinquish your pride."</p> + +<p>But her pride was strong in her, and dear to her still, strong and dear +as her love; and the two struggled together. Earlscourt had bowed <i>his</i> +pride to her; but she had not yielded up her own, and it cost her much +to yield it even now. All the Pythoness in her was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> tamed yet. She +was silent—she wavered—then her great love for him vanquished all +else. She rose, white as death, her passionate eyes full of unshed +tears, the bitterest, yet the softest, Beatrice Boville had ever known.</p> + +<p>"Take me to him. No one shall tell him but myself."</p> + +<p>Earlscourt was lying on a couch in his library; he had been unable to +dictate or to write himself, for severe remedies had prostrated him +utterly, and he could not speak above his breath, though he was loath to +give up, and acknowledge himself as ill as he was. His eyes were closed, +his forehead knitted together in pain, and his labored breathing told +plainly enough how fiercely his foe had attacked him, and that it was by +no means conquered yet. He had not slept all night, and had fallen into +a short slumber now, desiring his attendants to leave him. I bade the +groom of the chambers let us enter unannounced, and, opening the door +myself, signed to Beatrice to go in, while her aunt and I waited in the +anteroom. She stopped a moment at the entrance; her pride had its last +struggle; but he turned restlessly, with a weary sigh, and by that sigh +the Pythoness was conquered. Beatrice went forward and fell on her knees +beside his sofa, bending down till her lips touched his brow, and her +hot tears fell on his hands.</p> + +<p>"I was too proud last night to tell you you misjudged me. I have no +pride now. I am your own—wholly your own. I never loved, I never should +love, any but you. I forgive you now. O, how could you ever doubt me? +Lord Earlscourt—Ernest—may we not yet be all we once were to one +another?"</p> + +<p>Awakened by her kisses on his brow, bewildered by her sudden appearance, +he tried to rise, but sank back exhausted. He did not disbelieve her +now. He had no voice to speak to her, no strength to answer her; but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +drew her down closer and closer to him, as she knelt by him, and, as her +heart beat once more against his, the little Pythoness, tamed at last, +threw her arms round him and sobbed like a child on his breast. And +so—Beatrice Boville took her best <span class="smcap">Revenge</span>!—while I shut the library +door, invited Lady Mechlin to inspect Earlscourt's collection of French +pictures, and asked what she thought of <i>Punch</i> this week.</p> + +<p>I don't know what his physicians would have said of the treatment, as +they'd recommended him "perfect quiet;" all I do know is, that though +Earlscourt went to the south of Europe as soon as he could leave the +house, Beatrice Boville went with him; and he took his place on the +benches and in the cabinet this season, without any trace of bronchia, +or any sign of wearing out.</p> + +<p>Lady Clive, I regret to say, "does not know" Lady Earlscourt: anything +for her beloved brother she <i>would</i> do, were it possible; but she hopes +we understand that, for her daughters' sakes, she feels it quite +impossible to countenance that "shocking little intrigante."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + + +<hr class="sep1" /> +<hr class="sep2" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> +<h1>A LINE IN THE "DAILY."</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> +<hr class="sep3" /> +<hr class="sep4" /> + + + +<h2><a name="A_LINE_IN_THE_DAILY" id="A_LINE_IN_THE_DAILY"></a>A LINE IN THE "DAILY."</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>WHO DID IT, AND WHO WAS DONE BY IT.</h2> + + +<p>"Lieutenant-Colonel Fairlie's troop of Horse Artillery +is ordered to Norwich to replace the 12th Lancers, +en route to Bombay."—Those three lines in the papers +spread dismay into the souls of Norfolk young ladies, and +no less horror into ours, for we were very jolly at Woolwich, +could run up to the Clubs and down to Epsom, and +were far too material not to prefer ball-room belles to bluebells, +strawberry-ice to fresh hautboys, the sparkle of champagne-cups +to all the murmurs of the brooks, and the flutter +of ballet-girls' wings to all the rustle of forest-leaves. +But, unhappily, the Ordnance Office is no more given to +considering the feelings of their Royal Gunners than the +Horse Guards the individual desires of the two other +Arms; and off we went to Norwich, repining bitterly, or, +in modern English, swearing hard at our destinies, creating +an immense sensation with our 6-pounders, as we +flatter ourselves the Royals always contrive to do, whether +on fair friends or fierce foes, and were looked upon spitefully +by the one or two young ladies whose hearts were +gone eastwards with the Twelfth, smilingly by the one or +two hundred who, having fruitlessly laid out a great deal +of tackle on the Twelfth, proceeded to manufacture fresh +flies to catch us.</p> + +<p>We soon made up, I think, to the Norwich girls for the +loss of the Twelfth. They set dead upon Fairlie, our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +captain, a Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel, and a C. B. for "services +in India," where he had rivalled Norman Ramsay +at Fuentes d'Onor, had had a ball put in his hip, and had +come home again to be worshipped by the women for his +romantic reputation. They made an immense deal, too, +of Levison Courtenay, the beauty of the troop, and called +Belle in consequence; who did not want any flummery or +flirtation to increase his opinion of himself, being as vain +of his almond eyes as any girl just entered as the favorite +for the season. There were Tom Gower, too, a capital +fellow, with no nonsense about him, who made no end of +chaff of Belle Courtenay; and Little Nell, otherwise Harcourt +Poulteney Nelson, who had by some miracle escaped +expulsion both from Carshalton and the College; and <i>votre +humble serviteur</i> Phil Hardinge, first lieutenant; and one +or two other fellows, who having cut dashing figures at our +Woolwich reviews, cantering across Blackheath Common, +or waltzing with dainty beauties down our mess-room, made +the Artillery welcome in that city of shawls and oratorios, +where according to the Gazetteer, no virtuous person ought +to dwell, that volume, with characteristic lucidity, pronouncing +its streets "ill-disposed."</p> + +<p>The Clergy asked us to their rectories—a temptation +we were often proof against, there being three noticeable +facts in rectories, that the talk is always slow, "the Church" +being present, and having much the same chilling effect as +the presence of a chaperone at a tête-à-tête; the daughters +generally ugly, and, from leading the choir at morning +services, perfectly convinced that they sing like Clara +Novello, and that the harmonium is a most delightful +instrument; and, last and worst, the wines are almost +always poor, except the port which the reverend host +drinks himself, but which, Dieu merci! we rarely or never +touch.</p> + +<p>The County asked us, too; and there we went for good +hock, tolerable-looking women, and first-rate billiard-tables.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +For the first month we were in Norfolk we voted it unanimously +the most infernally slow and hideous county +going; and I dare say we made ourselves uncommonly +disagreeable, as people, if they are not pleased, be they +ever so well bred, have a knack of doing.</p> + +<p>Things were thus quiescent and stagnant, when Fairlie +one night at mess told us a bit of news.</p> + +<p>"Old fellows, whom do you think I met to-day?"</p> + +<p>"How should we know? Cut along."</p> + +<p>"The Swan and her Cygnets."</p> + +<p>"The Vanes? Oh, bravo!" was shouted at a chorus, +for the dame and demoiselles in question we had known +in town that winter, and a nicer, pleasanter, faster set of +women I never came across. "What's bringing them +down here, and how's Geraldine?"</p> + +<p>"Vane's come into his baronetcy, and his place is close +by Norwich," said Fairlie; "his wife's health has been +bad, and so they left town early; and Geraldine is quite +well, and counting on haymaking, she informed me."</p> + +<p>"Come, that is good news," said Belle, yawning. +"There'll be one pretty woman in the county, thank +Heaven! Poor little Geraldine! I must go and call on +her to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"She has existed without your calls, Belle," said Fairlie, +dryly, "and don't look as if she'd pined after you."</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, how should you know?" said Belle, +in no wise disconcerted. "A little rogue soon makes 'em +look well, and as for smiles, they'll smile while they're +dying for you. Little Vane and I were always good +friends, and shall be again—if I care."</p> + +<p>"Conceited owl!" said Fairlie, under his moustaches. +"I'm sorry to hurt your feelings, then, but your pretty +'friend' never asked after you."</p> + +<p>"I dare say not," said Belle, complacently. "Where +a woman's most interested she's always quietest, and +Geraldine——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lady Vane begged me to tell you you will always be +welcome over there, old fellows," said Fairlie, remorselessly +cutting him short. "Perhaps we shall find something +to amuse us better than these stiltified Chapter +dinners."</p> + +<p>The Vanes of whom we talked were an uncommonly +pleasant set of people whom we had known at Lee, where +Vane, a Q. C., then resided, his prospective baronetcy +being at that time held by a third or fourth cousin. Fairlie +had known the family since his boyhood; there were +four daughters, tall graceful women, who had gained +themselves the nickname of The Swan and her Cygnets; +and then there were twins, a boy of eighteen, who'd just +left Eton; and the girl Geraldine, a charming young lady, +whom Belle admired more warmly than that dandy often +admired anybody besides himself, and whom Fairlie liked +cordially, having had many a familiar bit of fun with +her, as he had known her ever since he was a dashing +cadet, and she made her <i>début</i> in life in the first column +of the <i>Times</i>. Her sisters were handsome women; but +Geraldine was bewitching. A very pleasant family they +were, and a vast acquisition to us. Miss Geraldine flirted +to a certain extent with us all, but chiefly with the Colonel, +whenever he was to be had, those two having a very +free-and-easy, familiar, pleasant style of intercourse, owing +to old acquaintance; and Belle spent two hours every +evening on his toilette when we were going to dine there, +and vowed she was a "deuced pretty little puss. Perhaps +she might—he wasn't sure, but perhaps (it would be a +horrid sacrifice), if he were with her much longer, he +wasn't sure she mightn't persuade him to take compassion +upon her, he <i>was</i> so weak where women were concerned!"</p> + +<p>"What a conceit!" said Fairlie thereat, with a contemptuous +twist of his moustaches and a shrug of his +shoulders to me. "I must say, if I were a woman, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +shouldn't feel over-flattered by a lover who admired his +own beauty first, and mine afterwards. Not that I pretend +to understand women."</p> + +<p>By which speech I argued that his old playmate Geraldine +hadn't thrown hay over the Colonel, and been taught +billiards by him, and ridden his bay mare over the park +in her evening dress, without interesting him slightly; +and that—though I don't think he knew it—he was +deigning to be a trifle jealous of his Second Captain, the +all-mighty conqueror Belle.</p> + +<p>"What fools they must be that put in these things!" +yawned Belle one morning, reading over his breakfast +coffee in the <i>Daily Pryer</i> one of those "advertisements +for a wife" that one comes across sometimes in the papers, +and that make us, like a good many other things, agree +with Goldsmith:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Reason, they say, belongs to man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let them prove it if they can;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wise Aristotle and Smiglicious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By ratiocinations specious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have strove to prove with great precision,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With definition and division,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Homo est ratione præditum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for my soul I cannot credit 'em.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"What fools they must be!" yawned Belle, wrapping his +dressing-gown round him, and coaxing his perfumy +whiskers under his velvet smoking-cap. Belle was always +inundated by smoking-caps in cloth and velvet, silk and +beads, with blue tassels, and red tassels, and gold tassels, +embroidered and filigreed, rounded and pointed; he had +them sent to him by the dozen, and pretty good chaff he +made of the donors. "Awful fools! The idea of advertising +for a wife, when the only difficulty a man has is to +keep from being tricked into taking one. I bet you, if I +did like this owl here, I should have a hundred answers; +and if it was known it was I——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Little Geraldine's self for a candidate, eh?" asked +Tom Gower.</p> + +<p>"Very possibly," said Belle, with a self-complacent +smile. "She's a fast little thing, don't check at much, +and she's deucedly in love with me, poor little dear—almost +as much trouble to me as Julia Sedley was last +season. That girl all but proposed to me; she did, indeed. +Never was nearer coming to grief in my life. +What will you bet me that, if I advertise for a wife, I +don't hoax lots of women?"</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you ten pounds," said I, "that you don't hoax +one!"</p> + +<p>"Done!" said Belle, stretching out his hand for a +dainty memorandum-book, gift of the identical Julia +Sedley aforesaid, and entering the bet in it—"done! +If I'm not asked to walk in the Close at noon and look +out for a pink bonnet and a black lace cloak, and to +loiter up the market-place till I come across a black hat +and blue muslin dress; if I'm not requested to call at +No. 20, and to grant an interview at No. 84; if I'm not +written to by Agatha A. with hazel, and Belinda B. with +black, eyes—all coming after me like flies after a sugar-cask, +why you shall have your ten guineas, my boy, and +my colt into the bargain. Come, write out the advertisement, +Tom—I can't, it's too much trouble; draw it +mild, that's all, or the letters we shall get will necessitate +an additional Norwich postman. By George, what fun +it will be to do the girls! Cut along, Tom, can't you?"</p> + +<p>"All right," said Gower, pushing away his coffee-cup, +and drawing the ink to him. "Head it '<span class="smcap">Marriage</span>,' of +course?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. That word's as attractive to a woman as +the belt to a prize-fighter, or a pipe of port to a college +fellow."</p> + +<p>"'<span class="smcap">Marriage.</span>—A Bachelor——'"</p> + +<p>"Tell 'em a military man; all girls have the scarlet +fever."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well—'an Officer in the Queen's, of considerable +personal attractions——'"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, pray don't!" expostulated Belle, in +extreme alarm; "we shall have such swarms of 'em!"</p> + +<p>"No, no! we must say that," persisted Gower—"'personal +attractions, aged eight-and-twenty——'"</p> + +<p>"Can't you put it, 'in the flower of his age,' or his +'sixth lustre'? It's so much more poetic."</p> + +<p>"'—the flower of his age,' then (that'll leave 'em a +wide range from twenty to fifty, according to their taste), +'is desirous of meeting a young lady of beauty, talent, +and good family,'—eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. All women think themselves beauties, if they're +as ugly as sin. Milliners and confectioner girls talk +Anglo-French, and rattle a tin-kettle piano after a fashion, +and anybody buys a 'family' for half-a-crown at the +Heralds' Office—so fire away."</p> + +<p>"'—who, feeling as he does the want of a kindred +heart and sympathetic soul, will accord him the favor of +a letter or an interview, as a preliminary to the greatest +step in life.'"</p> + +<p>"A step—like one on thin ice—very sure to bring a +man to grief," interpolated Belle. "Say something about +property; those soul-and-spirit young ladies generally +keep a look-out for tin, and only feel an elective affinity +for a lot of debentures and consols."</p> + +<p>"'The advertiser being a man of some present and +still more prospective wealth, requires no fortune, +the sole objects of his search being love and domestic +felicity.' Domestic felicity—how horrible! Don't it +sound exactly like the end of a lady's novel, where the +unlucky hero is always brought to an untimely end in a +'sweet cottage on the banks of the lovely Severn.'"</p> + +<p>"'Domestic felicity'—bah! What are you writing +about?" yawned Belle. "I'd as soon take to teetotalism: +however, it'll tell in the advertisement. Bravo,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +Tom, that will do. Address it to 'L. C., care of Mrs. +Greene, confectioner, St. Giles Street, Norwich.' Miss +Patty'll take the letters in for me, though not if she +knew their errand. Tip seven-and-sixpence with it, and +send it to the <i>Daily Pryer</i>."</p> + +<p>We did send it to the <i>Daily</i>, and in that broadsheet we +all of us read it two mornings after.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>MARRIAGE.—A Bachelor, an Officer of the Queen's, of considerable +personal attractions, and in the flower of his age, +is desirous of meeting a young lady of beauty, accomplishments, +and good family, who, feeling as he does the want of a kindred +heart and sympathetic soul, will accord him the favor either of a +letter or an interview, as a preliminary to the greatest step in +life. The advertiser being a man of some present and still more +prospective wealth, requires no fortune, the sole objects of his +search being love and domestic felicity. Address, L. C., care of +Mrs. Greene, confectioner, St. Giles Street, Norwich.</p></div> + +<p>"Whose advertisement do you imagine that is?" said +Fairlie, showing the <i>Daily</i> to Geraldine, as he sat with +her and her sisters under some lilac and larch trees in +one of the meadows of Fern Chase, which had had the +civility, Geraldine said, to yield a second crop of hay expressly +for her to have the pleasure of making it. She +leaned down towards him as he lay on the grass, and read +the advertisement, looking uncommonly pretty in her +dainty muslin dress, with its fluttering mauve ribbons, +and a wreath she had just twisted up, of bluebells and +pinks and white heaths which Fairlie had gathered as he +lay, put on her bright hair. We called her a little flirt, +but I think she was an unintentional one; at least, her +agaceries were, all as unconscious as they were—her +worst enemies (<i>i. e.</i> plain young ladies) had to allow—unaffected.</p> + +<p>"How exquisitely sentimental! Is it yours?" she +asked, with demure mischief.</p> + +<p>"Mine!" echoed Fairlie, with supreme scorn.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's some one's here, because the address is at Mrs. +Greene's. Come, tell me at once, monsieur."</p> + +<p>"The only fool in the Artillery," said Fairlie, curtly: +"Belle Courtenay."</p> + +<p>"Captain Courtenay!" echoed Geraldine, with a little +flush on her cheeks, caused, perhaps, by the quick glance +the Colonel shot at her as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Captain Courtenay!" said Katherine Vane. "Why, +what can he want with a wife? I thought he had <i>l'embarras +de choix</i> offered him in that line; at least, so he +makes out himself."</p> + +<p>"I dare say," said Fairlie, dryly, "it's for a bet he's +made, to see how many women he can hoax, I believe."</p> + +<p>"How can you tell it is a hoax?" said Geraldine, +throwing cowslips at her greyhound. "It may be some +medium of intercourse with some one he really cares for, +and who may understand his meaning."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you are in his confidence, Geraldine, or perhaps +you are thinking of answering it yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said the young lady, waywardly, making +the cowslips into a ball, "there might be worse investments. +Your <i>bête noire</i> is strikingly handsome; he is the +perfection of style; he is going to be Equerry to the +Prince; his mother is just married again to Lord Chevenix; +he did not name half his attractions in that line in +the <i>Daily</i>."</p> + +<p>With which Geraldine rushed across the meadow after +the greyhound and the cowslip ball, and Fairlie lay quiet +plucking up the heaths by the roots. He lay there still, +when the cowslip ball struck him a soft fragrant blow +against his lips, and knocked the Cuba from between his +teeth.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you speak?" asked Geraldine, plaintively. +"You are not half so pleasant to play with as you were +before you went to India and I was seven or eight, and +you had La Grace, and battledoor and shuttlecock, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +cricket, and all sorts of games with me in the old garden +at Charlton."</p> + +<p>He might have told her she was much less dangerous +then than now; he was not disposed to flatter her, however. +So he answered her quietly,</p> + +<p>"I preferred you as you were then."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Geraldine, with a hot color in her cheeks +"I do not think there are many who would indorse your +complimentary opinion."</p> + +<p>"Possibly," said Fairlie, coldly.</p> + +<p>She took up her cowslips, and hit him hard with them +several times.</p> + +<p>"Don't speak in that tone. If you dislike me, you can +say so in warmer words, surely."</p> + +<p>Fairlie smiled <i>malgré lui</i>.</p> + +<p>"What a child you are, Geraldine! but a child that is +a very mischievous coquette, and has learned a hundred +tricks and <i>agaceries</i> of which my little friend of seven or +eight knew nothing. I grant you were not a quarter so +charming, but you were, I am afraid—more true."</p> + +<p>Geraldine was ready to cry, but she was in a passion, +nevertheless; such a hot and short-lived passion as all +women of any spirit can go into on occasion, when they +are unjustly suspected.</p> + +<p>"If you choose to think so of me you may," she said, +with immeasurable hauteur, sweeping away from him, her +mauve ribbons fluttering disdainfully. "I, for one, shall +not try to undeceive you."</p> + +<p>The next night we all went up to a ball at the Vanes', +to drink Rhenish, eat ices, quiz the women, flirt with the +pretty ones in corners, lounge against doorways, criticise +the feet in the waltzing as they passed us, and do, in fact, +anything but what we went to do—dance,—according to +our custom in such scenes.</p> + +<p>The Swan and her Cygnets looked very stunning; they +"made up well," as ladies say when they cannot deny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +that another is good-looking, but qualify your admiration +by an assurance that she is shockingly plain in the morning, +and owes all to her milliner and maids. Geraldine, +who, by the greatest stretch of scepticism, could not be +supposed "made up," was bewitching, with her sunshiny +enjoyment of everything, and her untiring waltzing, going +for all the world like a spinning-top, only a top tires, and +she did not. Belle, who made a principle of never dancing +except under extreme coercion by a very pretty hostess, +could not resist her, and Tom Gower, and Little Nell, +and all the rest, not to mention half Norfolk, crowded +round her; all except Fairlie, who leaned against the +doorway, seeming to talk to her father or the members, or +anybody near, but watching the young lady for all that, +who flirted not a little, having in her mind the scene in +the paddock of yesterday, and wishing, perhaps, to show +him that if he did not admire her more than when she +was eight, other men had better taste.</p> + +<p>She managed to come near him towards the end of the +evening, sending Belle to get her an ice.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, with a comical <i>pitié d'elle-même</i>, "do +you dislike me so much that you don't mean to dance +with me at all? Not a single waltz all night?"</p> + +<p>"What time have you had to give me?" said Fairlie, +coldly. "You have been surrounded all the evening."</p> + +<p>"Of course I have. I am not so disagreeable to other +gentlemen as I am to you. But I could have made time +for you if you had only asked for it. At your own ball +last week you engaged me beforehand for six waltzes."</p> + +<p>Fairlie relented towards her. Despite her flirting, he +thought she did not care for Belle after all.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, smiling, "will you give me one after +supper?"</p> + +<p>"You told me you shouldn't dance, Colonel Fairlie," +said Katherine Vane, smiling.</p> + +<p>"One can't tell what one mayn't do under temptation,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +said Fairlie, smiling too. "A man may change his mind, +you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," cried Geraldine; "a man may change his +mind, and we are expected to be eminently grateful to him +for his condescension; but if <i>we</i> change our minds, how +severely we are condemned for vacillation: 'So weak!' +'Just like women!' 'Never like the same thing two minutes, +poor things!'"</p> + +<p>"You don't like the same thing two minutes, Geraldine," +laughed Fairlie; "so I dare say you speak feelingly."</p> + +<p>"I changeable! I am constancy itself!"</p> + +<p>"Are you? You know what the Italians say of 'ocche +azzure'?"</p> + +<p>"But I don't believe it, monsieur!" cried Geraldine:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Blue eyes beat black fifty to seven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For black's of hell, but blue's of heaven!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, mademoiselle," laughed Fairlie:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Done, by the odds, it is not true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One devil's black, but scores are blue!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He whirled her off into the circle in the midst of our +laughter at their ready wit. Soon after he bid her good +night, but he found time to whisper as he did so.</p> + +<p>"You are more like <i>my</i> little Geraldine to-night!"</p> + +<p>The look he got made him determine to make her his +little Geraldine before much more time had passed. At +least he drove us back to Norwich in what seemed very +contented silence, for he smoked tranquilly, and let the +horses go their own pace—two certain indications that a +man has pleasant thoughts to accompany him.</p> + +<p>I do not think he listened to Belle's, and Gower's, and +my conversation, not even when Belle took his weed out +of his mouth and announced the important fact: "Hardinge! +my ten guineas, if you please. I've had a letter!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What! an answer? By Jove!"</p> + +<p>"Of course, an answer. I tell you all the pretty women +in the city will know my initials, and send after me. I +only hope they <i>will</i> be pretty, and then one may have a +good deal of fun. I was in at Greene's this morning having +mock-turtle, and talking to Patty (she's not bad-looking, +that little girl, only she drops her 'h's' so. I'm like +that fellow—what's his name?—in the 'Peau de Chagrin:' +I don't admire my loves in cotton prints), when she gave +me the letter. I left it on my dressing-table, but you can +see it to-morrow. It's a horrid red daubed-looking seal, +and no crest; but that she mightn't use for fear of being +found out, and the writing is disguised, but that it would +be. She <i>says</i> she has the three requisites; but where's the +woman that don't think herself Sappho and Galatea combined? +And she was nineteen last March. Poor little +devil! she little thinks how she'll be done. I'm to meet +her on the Yarmouth road at two, and to look out for a +lady standing by the first milestone. Shall we go, Tom? +It may lead to something amusing, you know, though certainly +it won't lead to marriage."</p> + +<p>"Oh! we'll go, old fellow," said I. "Deuce take you, +Belle! what a lucky fellow you are with the women."</p> + +<p>"Luckier than I want to be," yawned Belle. "It's a +horrid bore to be so set upon. One may have too much +of a good thing, you know."</p> + +<p>At two the day after, having refreshed ourselves with a +light luncheon at Mrs. Greene's of lobster-salad and pale +ale, Belle, Gower, and I buttoned our gloves and rode +leisurely up the road.</p> + +<p>"How my heart palpitates!" said Belle, stroking his +moustaches with a bored air. "How can I tell, you know, +but what I may be going to see the arbiter of my destiny? +Men have been tricked into all sorts of tomfoolery by +their compassionate feelings. And then—if she should +squint or have a turn-up nose! Good Heavens, what a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +fearful idea! I've often wondered when I've seen men +with ugly wives how they could have been cheated into +taking 'em; they couldn't have done it in their senses, you +know, nor yet with their eyes open. You may depend +they took 'em to church in a state of coma from chloroform. +'Pon my word, I feel quite nervous. You don't +think the girl will have a parson and a register hid behind +the milestone, do you?"</p> + +<p>"If she should, it won't be legal without a license, +thanks to the fools who turn Hymen into a tax-gatherer, +and won't let a fellow make love without he asks leave +of the Archbishop of Canterbury," said Gower. "Hallo, +Belle, here's the milestone, but where's the lady?"</p> + +<p>"Virgin modesty makes her unpunctual," said Belle, +putting up his eye-glass.</p> + +<p>"Hang modesty!" swore Tom. "It's past two, and +we left a good quarter of that salad uneaten. Confound +her!"</p> + +<p>"There are no signs of her," said I. "Did she tell you +her dress, Belle?"</p> + +<p>"Not a syllable about it; only mentioned a milestone, +and one might have found a market-woman sitting on +that."</p> + +<p>"Hallo! here's something feminine. Oh, good gracious! +this can't be it, it's got a brown stuff dress on, and +a poke straw bonnet and a green veil. No, no, Belle. If +you married her, that <i>would</i> be a case of chloroform."</p> + +<p>But the horrible brown stuff came sidling along the +road with that peculiar step belonging to ladies of a certain +age, characterized by Patty Greene as "tipputting," +sweeping up the dust with its horrible folds, making +straight <i>en route</i> for Belle, who was standing a little in +advance of us. Nineteen! Good Heavens! she must +have been fifty if she was a day, and under her green veil +was a chestnut front—yes, decidedly a front—and a face +yellow as a Canadian's, and wrinkled as Madame<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +Pipelet's, made infinitely worse by that sweet maiden simper +and assumed juvenility common to <i>vieilles filles</i>. Up she +came towards poor Belle, who involuntarily retreated step +by step till he had backed against the milestone, and +could get no farther, while she smiled up in his handsome +face, and he stared down in her withered one, with the +most comical expression of surprise, dismay, and horror +that had ever appeared on our "beauty's" impassive +features.</p> + +<p>"Are you—the—the—L. C.?" demanded the maiden +of ten lustres, casting her eyes to the ground with virgin +modesty.</p> + +<p>"L. C. ar——My dear madam, I don't quite understand +you," faltered Belle, taken aback for once in his life.</p> + +<p>"Was it not you," faltered the fair one, shaking out a +pocket-handkerchief that sent a horrible odor of musk to +the olfactory nerves of poor Belle, most fastidious connoisseur +in perfume, "who advertised for a kindred heart +and sympathetic soul?"</p> + +<p>"Really, my good lady," began Belle, still too aghast +by the chestnut front to recover his self-possession.</p> + +<p>"Because," simpered his inamorata, too agitated by +her own feelings to hear his horrible appellative, keeping +him at bay there with the fatal milestone behind him and +the awful brown stuff in front of him—"because I, too, +have desired to meet with some elective affinity, some +spirit-tie that might give me all those more subtle sympathies +which can never be found in the din and bustle of +the heartless world; I, too, have pined for the objects of +your search—love and domestic happiness. Oh, blessed +words, surely we might—might we not?——"</p> + +<p>She paused, overcome with maidenly confusion, and +buried her face in the musk-scented handkerchief. Tom +and I, where we stood <i>perdus</i>, burst into uncontrollable +shouts of laughter. Poor Belle gave one blank look of +utter terror at the <i>tout ensemble</i> of brown stuff, straw poke,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +and chestnut front. He forgot courtesy, manners, and +everything else; his lips were parted, with his small white +teeth glancing under his silky moustaches, his sleepy eyes +were open wide, and as the maiden lady dropped her +handkerchief, and gave him what she meant to be the +softest and most tender glance, he turned straight round, +sprang on his bay, and rushed down the Yarmouth road +as if the whole of the dignitaries of the church and law +were tearing after him to force him <i>nolens volens</i> into carrying +out the horrible promise in his cursed line in the +<i>Daily</i>. What was Tom's and my amazement to see the +maiden lady seat herself astride on the milestone, and +join her cachinnatory shouts to ours, fling her green veil +into a hawthorn tree, jerk her bonnet into our faces, kick +off her brown stuff into the middle of the road, tear off +her chestnut front and yellow mask, and perform a frantic +war-dance on the roadside turf. No less a person than +that mischievous monkey and inimitable mimic Little +Nell!</p> + +<p>"You young demon!" shouted Gower, shrieking with +laughter till he cried. "A pretty fellow you are to go +tricking your senior officer like this. You little imp, +how can you tell but what I shall court-martial you to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, you won't!" cried Little Nell, pursuing his +frantic dance. "Wasn't it prime? wasn't it glorious? +wasn't it worth the Kohinoor to see? You won't go and +peach, when I've just given you a better farce than all +old Buckstone's? By Jove! Belle's face at my chestnut +front! This'll be one of his prime conquests, eh? I +say, old fellows, when Charles Mathews goes to glory, +don't you think I might take his place, and beat him +hollow, too?"</p> + +<p>When we got back to barracks, we found Belle prostrate +on his sofa, heated, injured, crestfallen, solacing +himself with Seltzer-and-water, and swearing away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +anything but mildly at that "wretched old woman." He +bound us over to secrecy, which, with Little Nell's confidence +in our minds, we naturally promised. Poor Belle! +to have been made a fool of before two was humiliation +more than sufficient for our all-conquering <i>blondin</i>. For +one who had so often refused to stir across a ball-room to +look at a Court beauty, to have ridden out three miles to +see an old maid of fifty with a chestnut front! The insult +sank deep into his soul, and threw him into an abject +melancholy, which hung over him all through mess, and +was not dissipated till a letter came to him from Mrs. +Greene's, when we were playing loo in Fairlie's room. +That night Fairlie was in gay spirits. He had called at +Fern Chase that morning, and though he had not been +able to see Geraldine alone, he had passed a pleasant +couple of hours there, playing pool with her and her +sisters, and had been as good friends as ever with his old +playmate.</p> + +<p>"Well, Belle," said he, feeling good-natured even with +him that night, "did you get any good out of your advertisement? +Did your lady turn out a very pretty one?"</p> + +<p>"No: deuced ugly, like the generality," yawned poor +Belle, giving me a kick to remind me of my promise. +Little Nell was happily about the city somewhere with +Pretty Face, or the boy would scarcely have kept his +countenance.</p> + +<p>"What amusement you can find in hoaxing silly +women," said Fairlie, "is incomprehensible to me. However, +men's tastes differ, happily. Here comes another +epistle for you, Belle; perhaps there's better luck for you +there."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I shall have no end of letters. I sha'n't answer +any more. I think it's such a deuced trouble. Diamonds +trumps, eh?" said Belle, laying the note down till he +should have leisure to attend to it. Poor old fellow! I +dare say he was afraid of another onslaught from maiden +ladies.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come, Belle," said Glenville; "come, Belle, open +your letter; we're all impatience. If you won't go, I +will in your place."</p> + +<p>"Do, my dear fellow. Take care you're not pounced +down upon by a respectable papa for intentions, or called +to account by a fierce brother with a stubby beard," said +Belle, lazily taking up the letter. As he did so, the melancholy +indolence on his face changed to eagerness.</p> + +<p>"The deuce! the Vane crest!"</p> + +<p>"A note of invitation, probably?" suggested Gower.</p> + +<p>"Would they send an invitation to Patty Greene's? I +tell you it's addressed to L. C.," said Belle, disdainfully, +opening the letter, leaving its giant deer couchant intact. +"I thought it very likely; I expected it, indeed—poor +little dear! I oughtn't to have let it out. Ain't you +jealous, old fellows? Little darling! Perhaps I may +be tricked into matrimony after all. I'd rather a presentiment +that advertisement would come to something. +There, you may all look at it, if you like."</p> + +<p>It was a dainty sheet of scented cream-laid, stamped +with the deer couchant, such as had brought us many an +invitation down from Fern Chase, and on it was written, +in delicate caligraphy:</p> + +<p>"G. V. understands the meaning of the advertisement, +and will meet L. C. at the entrance of Fern Wood, at +eleven o'clock to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>There was a dead silence as we read it; then a tremendous +buzz. Cheaply as we held women, I don't think +there was one of us who wasn't surprised at Geraldine's +doing any clandestine thing like this. He sat with a +look of indolent triumph, curling his perfumed moustaches, +and looking at the little autograph, which gave +us evidence of what he often boasted—Geraldine Vane's +regard.</p> + +<p>"Let me look at your note," said Fairlie, stretching out +his hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>He soon returned it, with a brief, "Very complimentary +indeed!"</p> + +<p>When the men left, I chanced to be last, having mislaid +my cigar-case. As I looked about for it, Fairlie +addressed me in the same brief, stern tone between his +teeth with which he spoke to Belle.</p> + +<p>"Hardinge, you made this absurd bet with Courtenay, +did you not? Is this note a hoax upon him?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I know of—it doesn't look like it. You +see there is the Vane crest, and the girl's own initials."</p> + +<p>"Very true." He turned round to the window again, +and leaned against it, looking out into the dawn, with a +look upon his face that I was very sorry to see.</p> + +<p>"But it is not like Geraldine," I began. "It may be +a trick. Somebody may have stolen their paper and crest—it's +possible. I tell you what I'll do to find out; I'll +follow Belle to-morrow, and see who does meet him in +Fern Wood."</p> + +<p>"Do," said Fairlie, eagerly. Then he checked himself, +and went on tapping an impatient tattoo on the shutter. +"You see, I have known the family for years—known +her when she was a little child. I should be sorry to +think that one of them could be capable of such——"</p> + +<p>Despite his self-command he could not finish his sentence. +Geraldine was a great deal too dear to him to be +treated in seeming carelessness, or spoken lightly of, however +unwisely she might act. I found my cigar-case. +His laconic "Good night!" told me he would rather be +alone, so I closed the door and left him.</p> + +<p>The morning was as sultry and as clear as a July day +could be when Belle lounged down the street, looking the +perfection of a gentleman, a trifle less bored and <i>blasé</i> +than ordinary, <i>en route</i> to his appointment at Fern Wood +(a sequestered part of the Vane estate), where trees and +lilies of the valley grew wild, and where the girls were +accustomed to go for picnics or sketching. As soon as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +he had turned a corner, Gower and I turned it too, and +with perseverance worthy a better cause, Tom and I followed +Belle in and out and down the road which led to +Fern Wood—a flat, dusty, stony two miles—on which, +in the blazing noon of a hot midsummer day, nothing +short of Satanic coercion, or love of Geraldine Vane, +would have induced our beauty to immolate himself, and +expose his delicate complexion.</p> + +<p>"I bet you anything, Tom," said I, confidently, "that +this is a hoax, like yesterday's. Geraldine will no more +meet Belle there than all the Ordnance Office."</p> + +<p>"Well, we shall see," responded Gower. "Somebody +might get the note-paper from the bookseller, and the +crest seal through the servants, but they'll hardly get +Geraldine there bodily against her will."</p> + +<p>We waited at the entrance of the wood, shrouded ourselves +in the wild hawthorn hedges, while we could still +see Belle—of course we did not mean to be near enough +to overhear him—who paced up and down the green +alleys under the firs and larches, rendered doubly dark +by the evergreens, brambles, and honeysuckles,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">which, ripened by the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forbade the sun to enter.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He paced up and down there a good ten minutes, prying +about with his eye-glass, but unable to see very far in the +tangled boughs, and heavy dusky light of the untrimmed +wood. Then there was the flutter of something azure +among the branches, and Gower gave vent to a low whistle +of surprise.</p> + +<p>"By George, Hardinge! there's Geraldine! Well! I +didn't think she'd have done it. You see they're all +alike if they get the opportunity."</p> + +<p>It <i>was</i> Geraldine herself—it was her fluttering muslin, +her abundant folds, her waving ribbons, her tiny sailor +hat, and her little veil, and under the veil her face, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +its delicate tinting, its pencilled eyebrows, and its undulating +bright-colored hair. There was no doubt about it: +it was Geraldine. I vow I was as sorry to have to tell it +to Fairlie as if I'd had to tell him she was dead, for I +knew how it would cut him to the heart to know not only +that she had given herself to his rival, but that his little +playmate, whom he had thought truth, and honesty, and +daylight itself, should have stooped to a clandestine interview +arranged through an advertisement! Their retreating +figures were soon lost in the dim woodland, and Tom +and I turned to retrace our steps.</p> + +<p>"No doubt about it now, old fellow?" quoth Gower.</p> + +<p>"No, confound her!" swore I.</p> + +<p>"Confound her? <i>Et pourquoi!</i> Hasn't she a right to +do what she likes?"</p> + +<p>"Of course she has, the cursed little flirt; but she'd +no earthly business to go making such love to Fairlie. +It's a rascally shame, and I don't care if I tell her so +myself."</p> + +<p>"She'll only say you're in love with her too," was +Gower's sensible response. "I'm not surprised myself. +I always said she was an out-and-out coquette."</p> + +<p>I met Fairlie coming out of his room as I went up to +mine. He looked as men will look when they have not +been in bed all night, and have watched the sun up with +painful thoughts for their companions.</p> + +<p>"You have been——" he began; then stopped short, +unwilling or unable to put the question into words.</p> + +<p>"After Belle? Yes. It is no hoax, Geraldine met +him herself."</p> + +<p>I did not relish telling him, and therefore told it, in all +probability, bluntly and blunderingly—tact, like talk, +having, they say, been given to women. A spasm passed +over his face. "<i>Herself!</i>" he echoed. Until then I do +not think he had realized it as even possible.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there was no doubt about it. What a wretched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +little coquette she must have been; she always seemed +to make such game of Belle——"</p> + +<p>But Fairlie, saying something about his gloves that he +had left behind, had gone back into his room again before +I had half done my sentence. When Belle came back, +about half an hour afterwards, with an affected air of +triumph, and for once in his life of languid sensations +really well contented, Gower and I poured questions upon +him, as, done up with the toil of his dusty walk, and horrified +to find himself so low-bred as to be hot, he kicked +off his varnished boots, imbibed Seltzer, and fanned himself +with a periodical before he could find breath to +answer us.</p> + +<p>"Was it Geraldine?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it was Geraldine," he said, yawning.</p> + +<p>"And will she marry you, Belle?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure she will. I should like to see the woman +that wouldn't," responded Belle, shutting his eyes and +nestling down among the cushions. "And what's more, +I've been fool enough to let her make me ask her. Give +me some more sherry, Phil; a man wants support under +such circumstances. The deuce if I'm not as hot as a +ploughboy! It was very cruel of her to call a fellow out +with the sun at the meridian; she might as well have +chosen twilight. But, I say, you fellows, keep the secret, +will you? she don't want her family to get wind of it, +because they're bothering her to marry that old cove, +Mount Trefoil, with his sixty years and his broad acres, +and wouldn't let her take anybody else if they knew it; +she's under age, you see."</p> + +<p>"But how did she know you were L. C.?"</p> + +<p>"Fairlie told her, and the dear little vain thing immediately +thought it was an indirect proposal to herself, +and answered it; of course I didn't undeceive her. She +<i>raffoles</i> of me—it'll be almost too much of a good thing, +I'm afraid. She's deuced prudish, too, much more than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +I should have thought <i>she</i>'d have been; but I vow she'd +only let me kiss her hand, and that was gloved."</p> + +<p>"I hate prudes," said Gower; "they've always much +more devilry than the open-hearted ones. Videlicet—here's +your young lady stiff enough only to give you her +hand to kiss, and yet she'll lower herself to a clandestine +correspondence and stolen interviews—a condescension I +don't think I should admire in <i>my</i> wife."</p> + +<p>"Love, my dear fellow, oversteps all—what d'ye call +'em?—boundaries," said Belle, languidly. "What a +bore! I shall never be able to wear this coat again, it's +so ingrained with dust; little puss, why didn't she wait +till it was cooler?"</p> + +<p>"Did you fix your marriage-day?" asked Tom, rather +contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was very weak!" sighed Belle; "but you see +she's uncommonly pretty, and there's Mount Trefoil and +lots of men, and, I fancy, that dangerous fellow Fairlie, +after her; so we hurried matters. We've been making +love to one another all these three months, you know, and +fixed it so soon as Thursday week. Of course she blushed, +and sighed, and put her handkerchief to her eyes, and all +the rest of it, <i>en règle</i>; but she consented, and I'm to be +sacrificed. But not a word about it, my dear fellows! +The Vanes are to be kept in profoundest darkness, and, +to lull suspicion, I'm not to go there scarcely at all until +then, and when I do, she'll let me know when she will be +out, and I'm to call on her mother then. She'll write to +me, and put the letters in a hollow tree in the wood, where +I'm to leave my answers, or, rather, send 'em; catch me +going over that road again! Don't give me joy, old boys. +I know I'm making a holocaust of myself, but deuce +take me if I can help it—she is so deuced pretty!"</p> + +<p>Fairlie was not at mess that night. Nobody knew +where he was. I learnt, long months afterwards, that as +soon as I had told him of Geraldine's identity, he, still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +thirsting to disbelieve, reluctant to condemn, catching at +straws to save his idol from being shattered as men in love +will do, had thrown himself across his horse and torn off +to Fern Dell to see whether or no Geraldine was at home.</p> + +<p>His heart beat faster and thicker as he entered the +drawing-room than it had done before the lines at Ferozeshah, +or in the giant semicircle at Sobraon; it stood +still as in the far end of the room, lying back on a low +chair, sat Geraldine, her gloves and sailor hat lying on +her lap. She sprang up to welcome him with her old gay +smile.</p> + +<p>"Good God! that a child like that can be such an accomplished +actress!" thought Fairlie, as he just touched +her hand.</p> + +<p>"Have you been out to-day?" he asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>"You see I have."</p> + +<p>"Prevarication is conviction," thought Fairlie, with a +deadly chill over him.</p> + +<p>"Where did you go, love?" asked mamma.</p> + +<p>"To see Adela Ferrers; she is not well, you know, and +I came home through part of the wood to gather some of +the anemones; I don't mean anemones, they are over—lilies +of the valley."</p> + +<p>She spoke hurriedly, glancing at Fairlie all the time, +who never took his iron gaze off her, though all the beauty +and glory was draining away from his life with every +succeeding proof that stared him in the face with its cruel +evidence.</p> + +<p>At that minute Lady Vane was called from the room +to give some directions to her head gardener about some +flowers, over which she was particularly choice, and Fairlie +and Geraldine were left in dead silence, with only the +ticking of the timepiece and the chirrup of the birds outside +the open windows to break its heavy monotony.</p> + +<p>Fairlie bent over a spaniel, rolling the dog backwards +and forwards on the rug.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>Geraldine stood on the rug, her head on one side in her +old pretty attitude of plaintiveness and defiance, the +bright sunshine falling round her and playing on her gay +dress and fair hair—a tableau lost upon the Colonel, who +though he had risen too, was playing sedulously with the +dog.</p> + +<p>"Colonel Fairlie, what is the matter with you? How +unkind you are to-day!"</p> + +<p>Fairlie was roused at last, disgusted that so young a +girl could be so accomplished a liar and actress, sick at +heart that he had been so deceived, mad with jealousy, +and that devil in him sent courtesy flying to the winds.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Miss Vane, you waste your coquetteries +on me. Unhappily, I know their value, and am not likely +to be duped by them."</p> + +<p>Geraldine's face flushed as deep a rose hue as the +geraniums nodding their heads in at the windows.</p> + +<p>"Coquetteries?—duped? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"You know well enough what. All I warn you is, +never try them again on me—never come near me any +more with your innocent smiles and your lying lips, or, +by Heaven, Geraldine Vane, I may say what I think of +you in plainer words than suit the delicacy of a lady's +ears!"</p> + +<p>Geraldine's eyes flashed fire; from rose-hued as the +geraniums she changed to the dead white of the Guelder +roses beside them.</p> + +<p>"Colonel Fairlie, you are mad, I think! If you only +came here to insult me——"</p> + +<p>"I had better leave? I agree with you. Good morning."</p> + +<p>Wherewith Fairlie took his hat and whip, bowed himself +out, and, throwing himself across his horse, tore away +many miles beyond Norwich, I should say, and rode into +the stable-yard at twelve o'clock that night, his horse with +every hair wringing and limb trembling at the headlong<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +pace he had been ridden; such a midnight gallop as only +Mazeppa, or a Border rider, or Turpin racing for his life, +or a man vainly seeking to leave behind him some pursuing +ghost of memory or passion, ever took before.</p> + +<p>We saw little of him for the next few days. Luckily +for him, he was employed to purchase several strings of +Suffolk horses for the corps, and he rode about the country +a good deal, and went over to Newmarket, and to the +Bury horse fair, inspecting the cattle, glad, I dare say, of +an excuse to get away.</p> + +<p>"I feel nervous, terribly nervous; do give me the Seltzer +and hock, Tom. They wonder at the fellows asking for +beer before their execution. I don't; and if a fellow +wants it to keep his spirits up before he's hanged, he may +surely want it before he's married, for one's a swing and +a crash, and it's all over and done most likely before +you've time to know anything about it; but the other +you walk into so deliberately, superintend the sacrifice +of yourself, as it were, like that old cove Seneca; feel +yourself rolling down-hill like Regulus, with all the +horrid nails of the 'domesticities' pricking you in every +corner; see life ebbing away from you; all the sunshine +of life, as poets have it, fading, sweetly but surely, from +your grasp, and Death, <i>alias</i> the Matrimonial Black Cap, +coming down ruthlessly on your devoted heads. I feel +low—shockingly low. Pass me the Seltzer, Tom, do!"</p> + +<p>So spake Geraldine's <i>sposo</i> that was to be, on the evening +before his marriage-day, lying on his sofa in his Cashmere +dressing-gown, his gold embroidered slippers, and +his velvet smoking-cap, puffing largely at his meerschaum, +and unbosoming his private sentiments and emotions to +the (on this score) sufficiently sympathetic listeners, +Gower and I.</p> + +<p>"I don't pity you!" said Tom, contemptuously, who +had as much disdain for a man who married as for one +who bought gooseberry for champagne, or Cape for comet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +hock, and did not know the difference—"I don't pity +you one bit. You've put the curb on yourself; you can't +complain if you get driven where you don't like."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear fellow, <i>can</i> one help it?" expostulated +Belle, pathetically. "When a little winning, bewitching, +attractive little animal like that takes you in hand, and +traps you as you catch a pony, holding out a sieve of oats, +and coaxing you, and so-ho-ing you till she's fairly got +the bridle over your head, and the bit between your teeth, +what is a man to do?"</p> + +<p>"Remember that as soon as the bit is in your mouth, +she'll never trouble herself to give you any oats, or so-ho +you softly any more, but will take the whip hand of you, +and not let you have the faintest phantom of a will of +your own ever again," growled the misogamistic Tom.</p> + +<p>"Catch a man's remembering while it's any use," was +Belle's very true rejoinder. "After he's put his hand to +a little bill, he'll remember it's a very green thing to do, +but he don't often remember it before, I fancy. No, in +things like this, one can't help one's self; one's time is +come, and one goes down before fate. If anybody had +told me that I should go as spooney about any woman as +I have about that little girl Geraldine, I'd have given +'em the lie direct; I would, indeed! But then she made +such desperate love to me, took such a deuced fancy to me, +you see: else, after all, the women <i>I</i> might have chosen——By +George! I wonder what Lady Con, and the little Bosanquet, +and poor Honoria, and all the rest of 'em will say?"</p> + +<p>"What?" said Gower; "say 'Poor dear fellow!' to +you, and 'Poor girl, I pity her!' to your wife. So you're +going to elope with Miss Geraldine? A man's generally +too ready to marry his daughters, to force a fellow to +carry them off by stealth. Besides, as Bulwer says somewhere, +'<i>Gentlemen</i> don't run away with the daughters of +gentlemen.'"</p> + +<p>"Pooh, nonsense! all's fair in love or war," returned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +Belle, going into the hock and Seltzer to keep up his spirits. +"You see, she's afraid, her governor's mind being so set on +old Mount Trefoil and his baron's coronet; they might offer +some opposition, put it off till she was one-and-twenty, you +know—and she's so distractedly fond of me, poor little +thing, that she'd die under the probation, probably—and +I'm sure I couldn't keep faithful to her for two mortal +years. Besides, there's something amusing in eloping; the +excitement of it keeps up one's spirits; whereas, if I were +marched to church with so many mourners—I mean +groomsmen—I should feel I was rehearsing my own obsequies +like Charles V., and should funk it, ten to one I +should. No! I like eloping: it gives the certain flavor +of forbidden fruit, which many things, besides pure water, +want to 'give them a relish.'"</p> + +<p>"Let's see how's the thing to be managed?" asked Gower. "Beyond telling +me I was to go with you, consigned ignominiously to the rumble, to +witness the ceremony, I'm not very clear as to the programme."</p> + +<p>"Why, as soon as it's dawn," responded Belle, with +leisurely whiffs of his meerschaum, "I'm to take the +carriage up to the gate at Fern Wood—this is what she +tells me in her last note; she was coming to meet me, but +just as she was dressed her mother took her to call on +some people, and she had to resort to the old hollow tree. +The deuce is in it, I think, to prevent our meeting; if it +weren't for the letters and her maid, we should have been +horribly put to it for communication;—I'm to take the +carriage, as I say, and drive up there, where she and her +maid will be waiting. We drive away, of course, catch +the 8.15 train, and cut off to town, and get married at the +Regeneration, Piccadilly, where a fellow I know very well +will act the priestly Calcraft. The thing that bothers me +most of all is getting up so early. I used to hate it so +awfully when I was a young one at the college. I like to +have my bath, and my coffee, and my paper leisurely,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +and saunter through my dressing, and get up when the +day's <i>warmed</i> for me. Early parade's one of the crying +cruelties of the service; I always turn in again after it, +and regard it as a hideous nightmare. I vow I couldn't +give a greater test of my devotion than by getting up at +six o'clock to go after her—deuced horrible exertion! +I'm quite certain that my linen won't be aired, nor my +coffee fit to drink, nor Perkins with his eyes half open, nor +a quarter of his wits about him. Six o'clock! By George! +nothing should get me up at that unearthly hour except +my dear, divine, delicious little demon Geraldine! But +she's so deuced fond of me, one must make sacrifices for +such a little darling."</p> + +<p>With which sublimely unselfish and heroic sentiment +the bridegroom-elect drank the last of his hock and +Seltzer, took his pipe out of his lips, flung his smoking-cap +lazily on to his Skye's head, who did not relish the +attention, and rose languidly to get into his undress in +time for mess.</p> + +<p>As Belle had to get up so frightfully early in the morning, +he did not think it worth while to go to bed at all, +but asked us all to vingt-et-un in his room, where, with +the rattle of half-sovereigns and the flow of rum-punch, +kept up his courage before the impending doom of matrimony. +Belle was really in love with Geraldine, but in +love in his own particular way, and consoled himself for +his destiny and her absence by what I dare say seems to +mademoiselle, fresh from her perusal of "Aurora Leigh" +or "Lucille," very material comforters indeed. But, if +truth were told, I am afraid mademoiselle would find, save +that from one or two fellows here and there, who go in for +love as they go in for pig-sticking or tiger-hunting, with +all their might and main, wagering even their lives in the +sport, the Auroras and Lucilles are very apt to have their +charms supplanted by the points of a favorite, their +absence made endurable by the aroma of Turkish tobacco,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +and their last fond admonishing words, spoken with such +persuasive caresses under the moonlight and the limes, +against those "horrid cards, love," forgotten that very +night under the glare of gas, while the hands that lately +held their own so tenderly, clasp wellnigh with as much +affection the unprecedented luck "two honors and five +trumps!"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Man's love is of man's life a thing apart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Byron was right; and if we go no deeper, how can it well +be otherwise, when we have our stud, our pipe, our Pytchley, +our Newmarket, our club, our coulisses, our Mabille, +and our Epsom, and they—oh, Heaven help them!—have +no distraction but a needle or a novel! The Fates +forbid that our <i>agrémens</i> should be <i>less</i>, but I dare say, +if they had a vote in it, they'd try to get a trifle <i>more</i>. +So Belle put his "love apart," to keep (or to rust, whichever +you please) till six <span class="smcap">A. M.</span> that morning, when, having +by dint of extreme physical exertion got himself dressed, +saw his valet pack his things with the keenest anxiety +relative to the immaculate folding of his coats and the +safe repose of his shirts, and at last was ready to go and +fetch the bride his line in the <i>Daily</i> had procured him.</p> + +<p>As Belle went down the stairs with Gower, who should +come too, with his gun in his hand, his cap over his eyes, +and a pointer following close at his heels, but Fairlie, +going out to shoot over a friend's manor.</p> + +<p>Of course he knew that Belle had asked for and obtained +leave for a couple of months, but he had never +heard for what purpose; and possibly, as he saw him at +such an unusual hour, going out, not in his usual travelling +guise of a wide-awake and a Maude, but with a delicate +lavender tie and a toilet of the most unexceptionable +art, the purport of his journey flashed fully on his mind, +for his face grew as fixed and unreadable as if he had had +on the iron mask. Belle, guessing as he did that Fairlie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +would not have disliked to have been in his place that +morning, was too kind-hearted and infinitely too much of +a gentleman to hint at his own triumph. He laughed, +and nodded a good morning.</p> + +<p>"Off early, you see, Fairlie; going to make the most of +my leave. 'Tisn't very often we can get one; our corps +is deuced stiff and strict compared to the Guards and the +Cavalry."</p> + +<p>"At least our strictness keeps us from such disgraceful +scenes as some of the other regiments have shown up of +late," answered Fairlie between his teeth.</p> + +<p>"Ah! well, perhaps so; still, strictness ain't pleasant, +you know, when one's the victim."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"And, therefore, we should never be hard upon others."</p> + +<p>"I perfectly agree with you."</p> + +<p>"There's a good fellow. Well, I must be off; I've no +time for philosophizing. Good-bye, Colonel."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye—a safe journey."</p> + +<p>But I noticed that he held the dog's collar in one hand +and the gun in the other, so as to have an excuse for not +offering that <i>poignée de main</i> which ought to be as sure a +type of friendship, and as safe a guarantee for good faith, +as the Bedouin Arab's salt.</p> + +<p>Belle nodded him a farewell, and lounged down the +steps and into the carriage, just as Fairlie's man brought +his mare round.</p> + +<p>Fairlie turned on to me with unusual fierceness, for +generally he was very calm, and gentle, and impassive in +manner.</p> + +<p>"Where is he gone?"</p> + +<p>I could not help but tell him, reluctant though I was, +for I guessed pretty well what it would cost him to hear +it. He did not say one word while I told him, but bent +over Marquis, drawing the dog's leash tighter, so that I +might not see his face, and without a sign or a reply he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +was out of the barracks, across his mare's back, and rushing +away at a mad gallop, as if he would leave thought, +and memory, and the curse of love for a worthless woman +behind him for ever.</p> + +<p>His man stood looking at the gun Fairlie had thrown +to him with a puzzled expression.</p> + +<p>"Is the Colonel gone mad?" I heard him say to himself. +"The devil's in it, I think. He used to treat his +things a little carefuller than this. As I live, he's been +and gone and broke the trigger?"</p> + +<p>The devil wasn't in it, but a woman <i>was</i>, an individual +that causes as much mischief as any Asmodeus, Belphégor, +or Mephistopheles. Some fair unknown correspondents +assured me the other day, in a letter, that my satire +on women was "a monstrous libel." All I can say is, +that if it <i>be</i> a libel, it is like many a one for which one +pays the highest, and which sounds the blackest—a libel +that is <i>true</i>!</p> + +<p>While his rival rode away as recklessly as though he +was riding for his life, the gallant bridegroom—as the +<i>Court Circular</i> would have it—rolled on his way to Fern +Wood, while Gower, very amiably occupying the rumble, +smoked, and bore his position philosophically, comforted +by the recollection that Geraldine's French maid was an +uncommonly good-looking, coquettish little person.</p> + +<p>They rolled on, and speedily the postilion pulled up, +according to order, before the white five-bar gate, its +paint blistering in the hot summer dawn, and the great +fern-leaves and long grass clinging up round its posts, still +damp with the six o'clock dew. Five minutes passed—ten +minutes—a quarter of an hour. Poor Belle got +impatient. Twenty minutes—five-and-twenty—thirty. +Belle couldn't stand it. He began to pace up and down +the turf, soiling his boots frightfully with the long wet +grass, and rejecting all Tom's offers of consolation and a +cigar-case.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Confound it!" cried poor Belle, piteously, "I thought +women were always ready to marry. I know, when I +went to turn off Lacquers of the Rifles at St. George's, his +bride had been waiting for him half an hour, and was in +an awful state of mind, and all the other brides as well, +for you know they always marry first the girl that gets +there first, and all the other poor wretches were kept on +tenter-hooks too. Lacquers had lost the ring, and found +it in his waistcoat after all! I say, Tom, devil take it, +where can she be? It's forty minutes, as I live. We +shall lose the train, you know. She's never prevented +coming, surely. I think she'd let me hear, don't you? +She could send Justine to me if she couldn't come by any +wretched chance. Good Heavens, Tom, what shall I do?"</p> + +<p>"Wait, and don't worry," was Tom's laconic and common-sense +advice; about the most irritating probably to a +lover's feelings that could pretty well be imagined. Belle +swore at him in stronger terms than he generally exerted +himself to use, but was pulled up in the middle of them +by the sight of Geraldine and Justine, followed by a boy +bearing his bride's dainty trunks.</p> + +<p>On came Geraldine in a travelling-dress; Justine following +after her, with a brilliant smile, that showed all +her white teeth, at "Monsieur Torm," for whom she had +a very tender friendship, consolidated by certain half-sovereigns +and French phrases whispered by Gower after +his dinners at Fern Chase.</p> + +<p>Belle met Geraldine with all that tender <i>empressement</i> +which he knew well how to put into his slightest actions; +but the young lady seemed already almost to have begun +repenting her hasty step. She hung her head down, she +held a handkerchief to her bright eyes, and to Belle's tenderest +and most ecstatic whispers she only answered by a +convulsive pressure of the arm, into which he had drawn +her left hand, and a half-smothered sob from her heart's +depths.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>Belle thought it all natural enough under the circumstances. +He knew women always made a point of impressing +upon you that they are making a frightful sacrifice +for your good when they condescend to accept you, +and he whispered what tender consolation occurred to +him as best fitted for the occasion, thanked her, of course, +for all the rapture, &c. &c., assured her of his life-long +devotion—you know the style—and lifted her into the +carriage, Geraldine only responding with broken sighs +and stifled sobs.</p> + +<p>The boxes were soon beside Belle's valises, Justine soon +beside Gower, the postilion cracked his whip over his outsider, +Perkins refolded his arms, and the carriage rolled +down the lane.</p> + +<p>Gower was very well contented with his seat in the +rumble. Justine was a very dainty little Frenchwoman, +with the smoothest hair and the whitest teeth in the world, +and she and "Monsieur Torm" were eminently good +friends, as I have told you, though to-day she was very +coquettish and wilful, and laughed <i>à propos de bottes</i> at +Gower, say what Chaumière compliments he might.</p> + +<p>"Ma chère et charmante petite," expostulated Tom, +"tes moues mutines sont ravissantes, mais je t'avoue que +je préfère tes——"</p> + +<p>"Tais-toi, bécasse!" cried Justine, giving him a blow +with her parasol, and going off into what she would have +called <i>éclats de rire</i>.</p> + +<p>"Mais écoute-moi, Justine," whispered Tom, piqued by +her perversity; "je raffole de toi! je t'adore, sur ma +parole! je——Hallo! what the devil's the matter? Good +gracious! Deuce take it!"</p> + +<p>Well might Tom call on his Satanic Majesty to explain +what met his eyes as he gave vent to all three ejaculations +and maledictions. No less a sight than the carriage-door +flying violently open, Belle descending with a violent impetus, +his face crimson, and his hat in his hand, clearing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +the hedge at a bound, plunging up to his ankles in mud +on the other side of it, and starting across country at the +top of his speed, rushing frantically straight over the +heavy grass-land as if he had just escaped from Hanwell, +and the whole hue and cry of keepers and policemen was +let loose at his heels.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! By Jove! Belle, Belle, I say, stop! +Are you mad? What's happened? What's the row? I +say—the devil!"</p> + +<p>But to his coherent but very natural exclamations poor +Tom received no answer. Justine was screaming with +laughter, the postilion was staring, Perkins swearing, +Belle, flying across the country at express speed, rapidly +diminishing into a small black dot in the green landscape, +while from inside the carriage, from Geraldine, from the +deserted bride, peals of laughter, loud, long, and uproarious, +rang out in the summer stillness of the early morning.</p> + +<p>"By Jupiter! but this is most extraordinary. The +deuce is in it. Are they both gone stark staring mad?" +asked Tom of his Cuba, or the blackbirds, or the hedge-cutter +afar off, or anything or anybody that might turn +out so amiable as to solve his problem for him.</p> + +<p>No reply being given him, however, Tom could stand +it no longer. Down he sprang, jerked the door open +again, and put his head into the carriage.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, old boy, done green, eh? Pity 'tisn't the 1st +of April!" cried Geraldine, with renewed screams of +mirth from the interior.</p> + +<p>"Eh? What? What did you say, Miss Vane?" ejaculated +Gower, fairly staggered by this extraordinary answer +of a young girl, a lady, and a forsaken bride.</p> + +<p>"What did I say, my dear fellow? Why, that you're +done most preciously, and that I fancy it'll be a deuced +long time before your delectable friend tries his hand at +matrimony again, that's all. Done! oh, by George, he is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +done, and no mistake. Look at me, sir, ain't I a charming +bride?"</p> + +<p>With which elegant language Geraldine took off her +hat, pulled down some false braids, pushed her hair off her +forehead, shook her head like a water-dog after a bath, +and grinned in Gower's astonished eyes—<i>not</i> Geraldine, +but her twin-brother, Pretty Face!</p> + +<p>"Do you know me now, old boy?" asked the Etonian, +with demoniacal delight,—"do you know me now? +Haven't I chiselled him—haven't I tricked him—haven't +I done him as green as young gooseberries, and +as brown as that bag? Do you fancy he'll boast of his +conquests again, or advertise for another wife? So you +didn't know how I got Gary Clements, of the Ten Bells, +to write the letters for me? and Justine to dress me in +Geraldine's things? You know they always did say +they couldn't tell her from me; I've proved it now, eh?—rather! +Oh, by George, I never had a better luck! +and not a creature guesses it, not a soul, save Justine, +Nell, and I! By Jupiter, Gower, if you'd heard that +unlucky Belle go on swearing devotion interminable, and +enough love to stock all Mudie's novels! But I never +dare let him kiss me, though my beard is down, confound +it! Oh! what jolly fun it's been, Gower, no words can +tell. I always said he shouldn't marry her; he'll +hardly try to do it now, I fancy! What a lark it's been! +I couldn't have done it, you know, without that spicy +little French girl;—she did my hair, and got up my +crinoline, and stole Geraldine's dress, and tricked me up +altogether, and carried my notes to the hollow oak, and +took all my messages to Belle. Oh, Jupiter! what fun +it's been! If Belle isn't gone clean out of his senses, it's +very odd to me. When he was going to kiss me, and +whispered, 'My dearest, my darling, my wife!' I just +took off my hat and grinned in his face, and said, 'Ain't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +this a glorious go? Oh! by George, Gower, I think the +fun will kill me!"</p> + +<p>And the wicked little dog of an Etonian sank back +among the carriage cushions stifled with his laughter. +Gower staggered backwards against a roadside tree, and +stood there with his lips parted and his eyes wide open, +bewildered, more than that cool hand had ever been in all +his days, by the extraordinary finish of poor Belle's luckless +wooing; the postilion rolled off his saddle in cachinnatory +fits at the little monkey's narrative! Perkins, like +a soldier as he was, utterly impassive to all surrounding +circumstances, shouldered a valise and dashed at quick +march after his luckless master; Justine clapped her +plump French-gloved fingers with a million ma Fois! +and mon Dieus! and O Ciels! and far away in the gray +distance sped the retreating figure of poor Belle, with +the license in one pocket and the wedding-ring in the +other, flying, as if his life depended on it, from the shame, +and the misery, and the horror of that awful sell, drawn +on his luckless head by that ill-fated line in the <i>Daily</i>.</p> + +<p>While Belle drove to his hapless wooing, Fairlie +galloped on and on. Where he went he neither knew nor +cared. He had ridden heedlessly along, and the Grey, +left to her own devices, had taken the road to which her +head for the last four months had been so often turned—the +road leading to Fern Chase,—and about a mile from +the Vane estate lost her left hind-shoe, and came to a +dead stop of her own accord, after having been ridden +for a couple of hours as hard as if she had been at the +Grand Military. Fairlie threw himself off the saddle, +and, leaving the bridle loose on the mare's neck, who he +knew would not stray a foot away from him, he flung +himself on the grass, under the cool morning shadows of +the roadside trees, no sound in the quiet country round +him breaking in on his weary thoughts, till the musical +ring of a pony's hoofs came pattering down the lane.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +He never heard it, however, nor looked up, till the +quick trot slackened and then stopped beside him.</p> + +<p>"Colonel Fairlie!"</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! Geraldine!"</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, with tears in her eyes and petulant +anger in her voice, "so you have never had the grace to +come and apologize for insulting me as you did last +week?"</p> + +<p>"For mercy's sake do not trifle with me."</p> + +<p>"Trifle! No, indeed!" interrupted the young lady. +"Your behavior was no trifle, and it will be a very long +time before I forgive it, if ever I do."</p> + +<p>"Stay—wait a moment."</p> + +<p>"How can you ask me, when, five days ago, you bid +me never come near you with my cursed coquetries again?" +asked Geraldine, trying, and vainly, to get the bridle out +of his grasp.</p> + +<p>"God forgive me! I did not know what I said. What +I had heard was enough to madden a colder man than I. +Is it untrue?"</p> + +<p>"Is what untrue?"</p> + +<p>"You know well enough. Answer me, is it true or +not?"</p> + +<p>"How can I tell what you mean? You talk in enigmas. +Let me go."</p> + +<p>"I will never let you go till you have answered me."</p> + +<p>"How can I answer you if I don't know what you +mean?" retorted Geraldine, half laughing.</p> + +<p>"Do not jest. Tell me, yes or no, are you going to +marry that cursed fool?"</p> + +<p>"What 'cursed fool'? Your language is not elegant, +Colonel Fairlie!" said Geraldine, with demure mischief.</p> + +<p>"Belle! Would you have met him? Did you intend +to elope with him?"</p> + +<p>Geraldine's eyes, always large enough, grew larger and +a darker blue still, in extremest astonishment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Belle!—elope with him? What are you dreaming? +Are you mad?"</p> + +<p>"Almost," said Fairlie, recklessly. "Have you misled +him, then—tricked him? Do you care nothing for him? +Answer me, for Heaven's sake, Geraldine!"</p> + +<p>"I know nothing of what you are talking!" said Geraldine, +with her surprised eyes wide open still. "Oblige +me by leaving my pony's head. I shall be too late +home."</p> + +<p>"You never answered his advertisement, then?"</p> + +<p>"The very question insults me! Let my pony go."</p> + +<p>"You never met him in Fern Wood—never engaged +yourself to him—never corresponded with him?"</p> + +<p>"Colonel Fairlie, you have no earthly right to put +such questions to me," interrupted Geraldine, with her +hot geranium color in her cheeks and her eyes flashing +fire. "I honor the report, whoever circulated it, far more +than it deserves, by condescending to contradict it. +Have the kindness to unhand my pony, and allow me to +continue my ride."</p> + +<p>"You shall <i>not</i> go," said Fairlie, as passionately as she, +"till you have answered me one more question: Can you, +will you ever forgive me?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Geraldine, with an impatient shake of her +head, but a smile nevertheless under the shadow of her +hat.</p> + +<p>"Not if you know it was jealousy of him which maddened +me, love for you which made me speak such +unpardonable words to you?—not if I tell you how perfect +was the tale I was told, so that there was no link +wanting, no room for doubt or hope?—not if I tell you +what tortures I had endured in losing you—what bitter +punishment I have already borne in crediting the report +that you were secretly engaged to my rival—would you +not forgive me then?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," whispered the young lady perversely, but +smiling still, the geraniums brighter in her cheeks, and +her eyes fixed on the bridle.</p> + +<p>Fairlie dropped the reins, let go her hand, and left her +free to ride, if she would, away from him.</p> + +<p>"Will you leave me, Geraldine? Not for this morning +only, remember, nor for to-day, nor for this year, but—for +ever?"</p> + +<p>"No!" It was a very different "No" this time.</p> + +<p>"Will you forgive me, then, my darling?"</p> + +<p>Her fingers clasped his hand closely, and Geraldine +looked at him from under her hat; her eyes, so like an +April day, with their tears, and their tender and mischievous +smile, were so irresistibly provocative that Fairlie took +his pardon for granted, and thanked her in the way that +seemed to him at once most eloquent and most satisfactory.</p> + +<p>If you wish to know what became of Belle, he fled +across the country to the railway station, and spent his +leave Heaven knows where—in sackcloth and ashes, I +suppose—meditating on his frightful sell. <i>We</i> saw +nothing more of him; he could hardly show in Norwich +again with all his laurels tumbled in the dust, and his +trophies of conquest laughing-stocks for all the troop. +He exchanged into the Z Battery going out to India, and +I never saw or heard of him till a year or two ago, when +he landed at Portsmouth, a much wiser and pleasanter +man. The lesson, joined to the late campaign under Sir +Colin, had done him a vast amount of good; he had lost +his conceit, his vanity, his affectation, and was what +Nature meant him to be—a sensible, good-hearted fellow. +As luck would have it, Pretty Face, who had joined the +Eleventh, was there too, and Fairlie and his wife as well, +and Belle had the good sense to laugh it over with them, +assuring Geraldine, however, that no one had eclipsed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +the G. V. whom he had once hoped had answered his +memorable advertisement. He has grown wiser, and +makes a jest of it now; it may be a sore point still, I cannot +say—nobody sees it; but, whether or no, in the old +city of Norwich, and in our corps, from Cadets to +Colonels, nobody forgets <span class="smcap">The Line in the "Daily:" +who did it, and who was done by it</span>.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + + +<hr class="sep1" /> +<hr class="sep2" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> +<h1>HOLLY WREATHS AND ROSE<br /> +CHAINS.</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> +<hr class="sep3" /> +<hr class="sep4" /> + +<h2><a name="HOLLY_WREATHS_AND_ROSE" id="HOLLY_WREATHS_AND_ROSE"></a>HOLLY WREATHS AND ROSE CHAINS.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<h2>I.</h2> + +<h3>THE COLONEL OF THE "WHITE FAVORS" AND CECIL ST. AUBYN.</h3> + +<p>"What are you going to do with yourself this Christmas, +old fellow?" said Vivian, of the 60th Hussars: the +White Favors we call them, because, after Edgehill, Henriette +Maria gave their Colonel a white rosette off her +own dress to hang to his sword-knot, and all the 60th +have like ribbons to this day. "If you've nothing better +to do," continued their present Lieutenant-Colonel, +"Come down with me to Deerhurst. The governor'll be +charmed to see you; my mother has always some nice-looking +girls there; and, as we keep the hounds, I can +promise you some good hunting with the Harkaway."</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted," said I, who, being in the —— Lancers, +had been chained by the leg at Kensington the +whole year, and, of all the woes the most pitiable, had +not been able to get leave for either the 12th or the 1st; +but while my chums were shooting among the turnips, +or stalking royals in Blackmount Forest, I had been tied +to town, a solitary unit in Pall-Mall, standing on the forsaken +steps of the U. S., or pacing my hack through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +dreary desert of Hyde Park—like Macaulay's New Zealander +gazing on the ruins of London Bridge.</p> + +<p>"Very well," continued Vivian, "come down with me +next week, and you can send your horses with Steevens +and my stud. The governor could mount you well +enough, but I never hunt with so much pleasure as when +I'm on Qui Vive; so I dare say you, like me, prefer your +own horses. I only hope we shan't have a confounded +'black frost;' but we must take our chance of the +weather. I think you'll like my sisters; they're just +about half my age. Lots of children came in between, +but were providentially nipped in the bud."</p> + +<p>"Are they pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Can't say, really; I'm too used to them to judge. I +can't make love to them, so I never took the trouble to +criticise them; but we've always been a good-looking +race, I believe. I tell you who's staying there—that girl +we met in Toronto. Do you remember her—Cecil St. +Aubyn?"</p> + +<p>"I should say I did. How did she get here?"</p> + +<p>"She's come to live with her aunt, Mrs. Coverdale. You +know that over-dressed widow who lives in Hyde Park +gardens, and, when she can't afford Brighton, shuts the +front shutters, lives in the back drawing-room, and says, +'Not at home to callers?' St. Aubyn is as poor as a rat, +so I suppose he was glad to send Cecil here; and the +Coverdale likes to have somebody who'll draw men to +her parties, which I'm sure her champagne will never do. +It's the most unblushing gooseberry ever ticketed 'Veuve +Clicquot.'"</p> + +<p>"'Pon my life, I'm delighted to hear it," said I. "The +St. Aubyn's superb eyes will make the gooseberry go +down. Men in Canada would have swallowed cask-washings +to get a single waltz with her. All Toronto went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +mad on that score. You admired her, too, old fellow, +only you weren't with her long enough for such a stoic +as you are to boil up into anything warmer."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I thought her extremely pretty, but I thought +her a little flirt, nevertheless."</p> + +<p>"Stuff! An attractive girl can't make herself ugly or +disagreeable, or erect a brick wall round herself, with +iron spikes on the top, for fear, through looking at her, +any fellow might come to grief. The men followed her, +and she couldn't help that."</p> + +<p>"And she encouraged them, and she <i>could</i> help that. +However, I don't wish to speak against her; it's nothing +to me how she kills and slays, provided I'm not among +the bag. Take care you don't get shot yourself, Ned."</p> + +<p>"Keep your counsel for your own use, Syd. You put +me in mind of the philanthropist, who ran to warn his +neighbor of the dangers of soot while his own chimney +was on fire."</p> + +<p>"As how? I don't quite see the point of your parable," +said Vivian, with an expression of such innocent +impassiveness that one would have thought he had never +seen her fair face out of her furs in her sledge, or admired +her small ankles when she was skating on the Ontario.</p> + +<p>The winter before, a brother of mine, who was out +there in the Rifles, wrote and asked me to go and have +some buffalo-hunting, and Vivian went out with me for a +couple of months. We had some very good sport in the +western woods and plains, and his elk and bison horns +are still stuck up in Vivian's rooms at Uxbridge, with +many another trophy of both hemispheres. We had +sport of another kind, too, to the merry music of the +silvery sledge-bells, over the crisp snow and the gleaming +ice, while bright eyes shone on us under delicate lace +veils, and little feet peeped from under heaps of sable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +and bearskin, and gay voices rang out in would-be fear +when the horses shied at the shadow of themselves, or +at the moon shining on the ice. Who thinks of Canada +without in fancy hearing the ringing chimes of the gay +sledge bells swinging joyous measure into the clear sunshine +or the white moonlight, in tune with light laughter, +and soft whispers, and careless hearts?</p> + +<p>There we saw Cecil St. Aubyn, one of the prettiest girls +in Toronto, then about nineteen. My brother Harry was +mad about her, so were almost all the men in the Canada +Rifles, and Engineers, and, 61st that were quartered +there; and Vivian admired her too, though in a calmer +sort of way. Perhaps if he had been with her more than +a fortnight he might have gone further. As it was, he left +Toronto liking her long Canadian eyes no more than was +pleasant. It was as well so, perhaps, for it would not have +been a good match for him, St. Aubyn being a broken-down +gambler, who, having lost a princely fortune at +Crocky's, and the Bads, married at fifty a widow with a +little money, and migrated to Toronto, where he was a +torment to himself and to everybody else. Vivian, meanwhile, +was a great matrimonial <i>coup</i>. Coming of a high +county family, and being the only son, of course there +was priceless value set on his life, which, equally, of +course, he imperilled, after the manner of us all, in every +way he could—in charges and skirmishes, yachting, hunting, +and steeple-chasing—ever since some two-and-twenty +years ago he joined as a cornet of fifteen—a man already +in muscle and ideas, pleasures and pursuits.</p> + +<p>At the present time he had been tranquilly engaged in +the House, as he represented the borough of Cacklebury.</p> + +<p>He spoke seldom, but always well, and was thought +a very promising member, his speeches being in Bernal +Osborne's style; but he himself cared little about his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +senatorial laurels, and was fervently hoping that there +would be a row with Russia, and that we should be +allowed to go and stick Croats and make love to Bayadères, +to freshen us up and make us boys again.</p> + +<p>Next week, the first in December, he and I drove to +Paddington, put ourselves in the express, and whisked +through the snow-covered embankments, whitened fields, +and holly hedges on the line down to Deerhurst. If the +frost broke up we should have magnificent runs, and we +looked at the country with a longing eye. Ever since he +was six years old, he told me, he had gone out with the +Harkaway Hack on Christmas-eve. When the drag met +us, with the four bays steaming in the night air, and the +groom warming into a smile at the sight of the Colonel, +the sleet was coming down heavily, and the wind blew as +keen as a sabre's edge. The bays dashed along at a +furious gallop under Vivian's hand, the frosty road +cracked under the wheel, the leaders' breath was white +in the misty night; we soon flew through the park gate—though +he didn't forget to throw down a sovereign on +the snow for the old porteress—and up the leafless avenue, +and bright and cheery the old manor-house, with its +score of windows, like so many bright eyes, looked out +upon the winter's night.</p> + +<p>"By George! we did that four miles quick enough," +said Vivian, jumping down, and shaking the snow off his +hair and mustaches. "The old place looks cheery, +doesn't it? Ah! there are the girls; they're sure to +pounce on me."</p> + +<p>The two girls in question having warm hearts, not +spoilt by the fashionable world they live in, darted across +the hall, and, regardless of the snow, welcomed him +ardently. They were proud of him, for he is a handsome +dog, with haughty, aristocratic features, and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +grand air as stately as a noble about Versailles in the +polished "Age doré."</p> + +<p>He shook himself free, and went forward to meet his +mother, whom he is very fond of; while the governor, +a fine-looking, genial old fellow, bade me welcome to +Deerhurst. In the library door I caught sight of a figure +in white that I recognised as our belle of the sledge drives; +she was looking at Vivian as he bent down to his mother. +As soon as she saw me though, she disappeared, and he +and I went up to our rooms to thaw, and dress for dinner.</p> + +<p>By the fire, talking to Blanche Vivian, stood Cecil, +when we went down to the drawing-room. She always +makes me think of a Sèvres or Dresden figure, her coloring +is so delicate, and yet brilliant; and if you were to +see her Canadian eyes, her waving chestnut hair, and her +instantaneous, radiant, coquettish smiles, you would not +wonder at the Toronto men losing their heads about her.</p> + +<p>"Why, Cecil, you never told me you knew Sydney!" +cried Blanche, as Vivian shook hands with the St. Aubyn. +"Where did you meet him? how long have you been acquainted? +why did you never tell me?"</p> + +<p>"How could I tell Colonel Vivian was your brother?" +said Cecil, playing with a little silver Cupid driving a +barrowful of matches on the mantelpiece till she tumbled +all his matches into the fender.</p> + +<p>"You might have asked. Never mind the wax-lights," +said Blanche, who, not having been long out, had a habit +of saying anything that came into her head. "When +did you see him? Tell me, Sydney, if she won't."</p> + +<p>"Oh, in Canada, dear!" interrupted Cecil, quickly. +"But it was for so short a time I should have thought +Colonel Vivian would have forgotten my face, and name, +and existence."</p> + +<p>"Nay, Miss St. Aubyn," said Vivian, smiling. "Pardon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +me, but I think you must know your own power too +well to think that any man who has seen you once could +hope for his own peace to forget you."</p> + +<p>The words of course were flattering, but his quizzical +smile made them doubtful. Cecil evidently took them as +satire. "At least, you've forgotten anything we talked +about at Toronto," she said, rather impatiently, "for I +remember telling you I detested compliments."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have guessed it," murmured Vivian, +stroking his mustaches.</p> + +<p>"And you," Cecil went on, regardless of the interruption, +"told me you never complimented any woman +you respected; so that speech just now doesn't say much +for your opinion of me."</p> + +<p>"How dare I begin to like you?" laughed Vivian.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know Levinge and Castlereagh were great +friends of mine? Poor fellows! the sole object of their +desires now is six feet of Crimean sod, if we're lucky +enough to get out there." Cecil colored. Levinge's and +Castlereagh's hard drinking and gloomy aspect at mess +were popularly attributed to the witchery of the St. +Aubyn. Canada, while she was in it, was as fatal to the +Service as the Cape or the cholera.</p> + +<p>"If I talked so romantically, Colonel Vivian, with +what superb mockery you would curl your mustaches. +Surely the Iron Hand (wasn't that your sobriquet in +Caffreland?) does not believe in broken hearts?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not; but I <i>do</i> believe in some people's liking +to try and break them."</p> + +<p>"So do I. It is a favorite pastime with your sex," said +Cecil, beating the hearth-rug impatiently with her little +satin shoe.</p> + +<p>"I don't think we often attack," laughed Vivian. "We +sometimes yield out of amiability, and we sometimes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +take out the foils in self-defence, though we are no match +for those delicate hands that use their Damascus blades +so skilfully. We soon learn to cry quarter!"</p> + +<p>"To a dozen different conquerors in as many months, +then!" cried Cecil, with a defiant toss of her head.</p> + +<p>Vivian looked down on her as a Newfoundland might +look down on a small and impetuous-minded King +Charles, who is hoping to irritate him. Just then three +other people staying there came in. A fat old dowager +and a thin daughter, who had turquoise eyes, and from +whom, being a great pianist, we all fled in mortal terror +of a hailstorm of Thalberg and Hertz, and a cousin of +Syd's, Cossetting, a young chap, a blondin, with fair curls +parted down the centre, whose brains were small, hands +like a girl's, and thoughts centred on dew <i>bouquets</i> and +his own beauty, but who, having a baronetcy, with much +tin, was strongly set upon by the turquoise eyes, but appeared +himself to lean more towards the Canadian, as a +greater contrast to himself, I suppose.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Cos?" said Vivian, carelessly. The +Iron Hand very naturally scorned this effeminate <i>patte de +velours</i>.</p> + +<p>"You here!" lisped the baronet. "Delighted to see +you! thought you'd killed yourself over a fence, or something, +before this——"</p> + +<p>"Why, Horace," burst in energetic little Blanche, "I +have told you for the last month that he was coming down +for Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Did you, my dear child?" said Cos. "'Pon my life I +forgot it. Miss St. Aubyn, my man Cléante (he's the +handiest dog—he once belonged to the Duc d'Aumale) +has just discovered something quite new—there's no perfume +like it; he calls it 'Fleurs des Tilleuls,' and the best +of it is, nobody can have it. If you'll allow me——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Everybody seems to make it their duty to forget Sydney," +muttered Blanche, as the Baronet murmured the rest +of his speech inaudibly.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, petite; I can bear it," laughed Vivian, +leaning against the mantelpiece with that look of quiet +strength characteristic of both his mind and body.</p> + +<p>Cecil overheard the whisper, and flushed a quick look +at him; then turning to Cossetting, talked over the +"Fleurs des Tilleuls" as if her whole mind was absorbed +in <i>bouquet</i>.</p> + +<p>When dinner was announced, Vivian troubled himself, +however, to give his arm to Cecil, and, tossing his head +back in the direction of the turquoise eyes, said to the +discomfited Horace, "You sing, don't you, Cosset? Miss +Screechington will bore you less than she would me."</p> + +<p>"Is it, then, because I 'bore you less' that you do me +the honor?" asked Cecil, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Syd, calmly; "or, rather, to put it more +courteously, you amuse me more."</p> + +<p>"Monseigneur! je vous remercie," said Cecil, her long +almond eyes sparkling dangerously. "You promote me +to the same rank with an opera, a hookah, a rat-hunt, and +a French novel?"</p> + +<p>"And," Vivian went on tranquilly, "I dare say I shall +amuse <i>you</i> better than that poor little fool with his lisp +and his talk of the toilet, and his hands that never pulled +in a thorough-bred or aided a rowing match."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we're not in the Iliad and Odyssey days to deify +physical strength," said Cecil, who secretly adored it, as +all women do; "nor yet among the Pawnees to reverence +a man according to his scalps. Though Sir Horace may +not have followed your example and jeopardised his life +on every possible occasion, he is very handsome, and can +be very agreeable."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is it possible you can endure that fop?" said Vivian, +quickly.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Why not?"</p> + +<p>The Colonel stroked his moustache contemptuously. +"I should have fancied you more difficile, that is all; but +Cos is, as you say, good-looking, and very well off. I +wish——"</p> + +<p>"What? That you were 'less bored?'"</p> + +<p>"That I always wish; but I was thinking of Cos, there—milk-posset, +as little Eardley in the troop says they +called him at Eton—I was wishing he could see Levinge +and Castlereagh, just as <i>épouvantails</i>, to make him turn and +flee as the French noblesse did when they saw their cousins +and brothers strung up à la lanterne."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it very strange," Blanche was saying to me at +the same time, "that Cecil never mentioned Sydney? +I've so often spoken of him, told her his troop, and all +about him. (He has always been so kind to me, though +he is eighteen years older—just twice my age.) Besides, +I found her one day looking at his picture in the gallery, +so she must have known it was the same Colonel Vivian, +mustn't she Captain Thornton?"</p> + +<p>"I should say so. Have you known her long?"</p> + +<p>"No. We met her at Brighton this August with that +silly woman, Mrs. Coverdale. All her artifices and falsehoods +annoy Cecil so; Cecil doesn't mind saying she's not +rich, she knows it's no crime."</p> + +<p>"C'est pire qu'un crime, c'est une faute," said I.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk in that way," laughed Blanche. "That's +bitter and sarcastic, like Sydney in his grand moods, +when I'm half afraid of him. I am sure Cecil couldn't be +nicer, if she were ever such an heiress. Mamma asked +her for Christmas because she once knew Mr. St. Aubyn +well, and Cecil is not happy with Mrs. Coverdale. False +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +and true don't suit each other. I hope Sydney will like +her—do you think he does?"</p> + +<p>That was a question I could not answer. He admired +her, of course, because he could not well have helped it, +and had done so in Canada; and he was talking to her +now, I dare say, to force her to acknowledge that he <i>was</i> +more amusing than Horace Cos. But he seemed to me +to weigh her in a criticising balance, as if he expected to +find her wanting—as if it pleased him to provoke and correct +her, as one pricks and curbs a beautiful two-year old, +just to see its graceful impatience at the check and the +glance of its wild eye.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>II.</h2> + +<h3>THE CANADIAN'S COLD BATH WARMS UP THE COLONEL.</h3> + + +<p>Deerhurst was a capital house to spend a Christmas in. +It was the house of an English gentleman, with even the +dens called bachelors' rooms comfortable and luxurious +to the last extent: a first-rate stud, a capital billiard table, +a good sporting country, pretty girls to amuse one with +when tired of the pink, the best Chablis and Château +Margaux to be had anywhere, and a host who would have +liked a hundred people at his dinner-table the whole year +round. The snow, confound it! prevented our taking the +hounds out for the first few days; but we were not bored +as one might have expected, and our misery was the girls' +delight, who were fervently hoping that the ice might +come thick enough for them to skate. Cecil was invaluable +in a country-house; her resources were as unlimited +as Houdin's inexhaustible bottle. She played in French<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +vaudevilles and Sheridan Knowles's comedies, acted charades, +planned tableaux vivants, sang gay wild chansons +peculiar to herself, that made the Screechington bravuras +and themes more insupportable than ever; and, what was +more, managed to infuse into everybody else some of her +own energy and spirit. She made every one do as she +liked; but she tyrannised over us so charmingly that we +never chafed at the bit; and to the other girls she was so +good-natured in giving them the rôles they liked, in praising, +and in aiding them, that it was difficult for feminine +malice, though its limits are boundless, to find fault with +her. Vivian, though he did not relax his criticism of her, +was agreeable to her, as he had been in Canada, and as +he is always to women when he is not too lazy. He consented +to stand for Rienzi in a tableau, though he hates +doing all those things, and played in the Proverbs with +such a flashing fire of wit in answer to Cecil that we told +him he beat Mathews.</p> + +<p>"I'm inspired," he said, with a laughing bend of his +head to Cecil, when somebody complimented him.</p> + +<p>She gave an impatient movement—she was accustomed +to have such things whispered in earnest, not in jest. +She laughed, however. "Are you inspired, then, to take +<i>Huon's</i> part? All the characters are cast but that."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't play well enough."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense. You cannot think that. Say you would +rather not at once."</p> + +<p>Vivian stroked his mustaches thoughtfully. "Well, +you see, it bores me rather; and I'm not Christian enough +to suffer ennui cheerfully to please other people."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then, I will give the part to Sir Horace," +said Cecil, looking through the window at the church +spire, covered with the confounded snow.</p> + +<p>Vivian stroked away at his mustaches rather fiercely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +this time. "Cos! he'll ruin the play. Dress him up as +a lord in waiting, he'll be a dainty lay figure, but for +anything more he's not as fit as this setter! Fancy that +essenced, fair-haired young idiot taking <i>Huon</i>—his lisp +would be so effective!"</p> + +<p>She looked up in his face with one of her mischievous, +dangerous smiles, and put up her hands in an attitude +of petition. "He must have the part if you won't. Be +good, and don't spoil the play. I have set my mind +on its being perfect, and—I will have <i>such</i> a dress as the +<i>Countess</i> if you will only do as I tell you."</p> + +<p>Cecil, in her soft, childlike moods, could finish any +man. Of course Vivian rehearsed "Love" with her +that afternoon, a play that was to come off on the 23rd. +Cos sulked slightly at being commanded by her to dress +himself beautifully and play the <i>Prince of Milan</i>.</p> + +<p>"To be refused by you," lisped Horace. "Oh, I dare +say! No! 'pon my life——"</p> + +<p>"My dear Cos, you'll have plenty of fellow-sufferers," +whispered Syd, mischievously.</p> + +<p>"Do you dare to disobey me, Sir Horace?" cried +Cecil. "For shame! I should have thought you more +of a preux chevalier. If you don't order over from Boxwood +that suit of Milan armor you say one of your ancestors +wore at Flodden, and wear it on Tuesday, you shall +never waltz with me again. Now what do you say?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody can rethitht you," murmured Cos. "You +do anything with a fellow that you chooth."</p> + +<p>Vivian glanced down at him with superb scorn, and +turned to me. "What a confounded frost this is. The +weathercock sticks at the north, and old Ben says there's +not a chance of a change till the new moon. Qui Vive +might as well have kept at Hounslow. To waste all the +season like this would make a parson swear! If I'd foreseen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +it I would have gone to Paris with Lovell, as he +wanted me to do."</p> + +<p>I suppose the Colonel was piqued to find he was not +the only one persuaded into his rôle. He bent over +Laura Caldecott's chair, a pretty girl, but with nothing +to say for herself, admired her embroidery, and talked +with great empressement about it, till Laura, much flattered +at such unusual attention, after lisping a good deal +of nonsense, finally promised to embroider a note-case +for him, "if you'll be good and use it, and not throw it +away, as you naughty men always do the pretty things +we give you," simpered Miss Laura.</p> + +<p>"Hearts included," said Syd, smiling. "I assure you +if you give me yours, I will prize it with Turkish jealousy."</p> + +<p>The fair brodeuse gave a silly laugh; and Vivian, +whose especial detestation is this sort of love-making +nonsense, went on flirting with her, talking the persiflage +that one whispers leaning over the back of a phaeton +after a dinner at the Castle or a day at Ascot, but never +expects to be called to remember the next morning, when +one bows to the object thereof in the Ring, and the flavor +of the claret-cup and the scent of the cigar are both fled +with the moonbeams and forgotten.</p> + +<p>Cecil gave the Colonel and his flirtation a glance, and +let Cossetting lean over the back of her chair and deliver +himself of some lackadaisical sentiment (taken second-hand +out of "Isidora" or the "Amant de la Lune," and +diluted to be suitable for presentation to her), looking +up at him with her large velvet eyes, or flashing on him +her radiant smile, till Horace pulled up his little stiff +collar, coaxed his flaxen whiskers, looked at her with his +half-closed light eyes—and thought himself irresistible—and +Miss Screechington broke the string of the purse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +she was making, and scattered all the steel beads about +the floor in the futile hope of gaining his attention. +Blanche went down on her knees and spent twenty minutes +hunting them all up; but as I helped her I saw the +turquoise eyes looked anything but grateful for our +efforts, though if Blanche had done anything for me +with that ready kindness and those soft little white +hands, I should have repaid her very warmly. But oh, +these women! these women! Do they ever love one +another in their hearts? Does not Chloris always swear +that Lelia's gazelle eyes have a squint in them and Delia +hint that Daphne, who is innocent as a dove, is bad style, +and horridly bold?</p> + +<p>At last Cecil got tired of Cos's drawling platitudes, +and walked up to one of the windows. "How is the ice, +will anybody tell me? I am wild to try it, ain't you, +Blanche? If we are kept waiting much longer, we will +have the carpets up and skate on the oak floors."</p> + +<p>I told her I thought they might try it safely. "Then +let us go after luncheon, shall we?" said Cecil. "It is +quite sunny now. You skate, of course, Sir Horace?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! to be sure—certainly," murmured Cos. "We'd +a quadrille on the Serpentine last February, Talbot, and +I, and some other men—lots of people said they never +saw it better done. But it's rather cold—don't you think +so?"</p> + +<p>"Do you expect to find ice in warm weather?" said +Vivian, curtly, from the fire, where he was standing +watching the commencement of the note-case.</p> + +<p>"No. But I hate cold," said Horace, looking at his +snowy fingers. "One looks such a figure—blue, and +wet, and shivering; the house is much the best place in +a frost."</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow!" said Vivian, with a contemptuous twist<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +of his mustaches. "I fear, however fêté you may be +in every other quarter, the seasons won't change to accommodate +you."</p> + +<p>"Oh! you are a dreadful man," drawled Cos. "You +don't a bit mind tanning yourself, nor getting drenched +through, nor soiling your hands——"</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven, no!" responded Syd. "I'm neither +a school-girl, nor—a fop."</p> + +<p>"Would you believe it, Miss St. Aubyn?" said the baronet, +appealingly. "That man'll get up before daylight +and let himself be drenched to the skin for the chance of +playing a pike; and will turn out of a comfortable arm-chair +on a winter's night just to go after poachers and +knock a couple of men over, and think it the primest +fun in life. I don't understand it myself, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Cecil, fervently. "I delight in a man's +love for sport, for I idolise horses, and there is nothing +that can beat a canter on a fine fresh morning over a +grass country; and I believe that a man who has the +strength, and nerve, and energy to go thoroughly into +fishing, or shooting, or whatever it be, will carry the +same will and warmth into the rest of his life; and the +hand that is strong in the field and firm in righteous +wrath, will be the truer in friendship and the gentler in +pity."</p> + +<p>Cecil spoke with energetic enthusiasm. Horace stared, +the Screechington sneered, Laura gave an affected little +laugh. The Colonel swung round from his study of the +fire, his face lighting up. I've seen Syd on occasion +look as soft as a woman. However, he said nothing; he +only took her in to luncheon, and was exceedingly kind +to her and oblivious of Laura Caldecott's existence +throughout that meal, which, at Deerhurst, was of unusual +splendor and duration. And afterwards, when she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +had arrayed herself in a hat with soft curling feathers, +and looped up her dress in some inexplicable manner +that showed her dainty high heels artistically, he took +her little skates in his hand and walked down by her side +to the pond. It was some way to the pond—a good sized +piece of water, that snobs would have called the Lake, +by way of dignifying their possessions, with willows on +its banks (where in summer the sentimental Screechington +would have reclined, Tennyson <i>à la main</i>), and boats +and punts beside it, among which was a tub, in which +Blanche confessed to me she had paddled herself across +to the saturation of a darling blue muslin, and the agonised +feelings of her governess, only twelve months before.</p> + +<p>"A dreadful stiff old thing that governess was," said +Blanche, looking affectionately at the tub. "Do you +know, Captain Thornton, when she went away, and I +saw her boxes actually on the carriage-top, I waltzed +round the schoolroom seven times, and burnt 'Noel et +Chapsal' in the fire—I did, indeed!"</p> + +<p>The way, as I say, was long to the pond; and as Cecil's +dainty high heels and Syd's swinging cavalry strides kept +pace over the snow together, they had plenty of time for +conversation.</p> + +<p>"Miss Caldecott is looking for you," said Cecil, with +a contemptuous glance at the fair Laura, who, between +two young dandies, was picking her route over the snow +holding her things very high indeed, and casting back +looks at the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Is she? It is very kind of her."</p> + +<p>"If you feel the kindness so deeply, you had better +repay it by joining her."</p> + +<p>Vivian laughed. "Not just now, thank you. We are +close to the kennels—hark at their bay! Would you like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +to come and see them? By-the-by, how is your wolf-dog—Leatherstockings, +didn't you call him?"</p> + +<p>"Do you remember him?" said Cecil, her eyes beaming +and her lips quivering. "Dear old dog, I loved him +so much, and he loved me. He was bitten by an asp +just before I left, and papa would have him shot. Good +gracious! what is the matter?—she is actually frightened +at that setter!"</p> + +<p>The "she" of whom Cecil so disdainfully spoke was +Miss Caldecott, who, on seeing a large setter leap upon +her with muddy paws and much sudden affection, began +to scream, and rushed to Vivian with a beseeching cry +of "Save me, save me!" Cecil stood and laughed, and +called the setter to her.</p> + +<p>"Here, Don—Dash—what is your name? Come here, +good dog. That poor young lady has nerves, and you +must not try them, or you will cause her endless expenses +in sal volatile and ether; But I have no such interesting +weaknesses, and you may lavish any demonstrations +you please on me!"</p> + +<p>We all laughed as she thus talked confidentially to the +setter, holding his feathered paws against her waist; +while Vivian stood by her with admiration in his glance. +Poor Laura looked foolish, and began to caress a great +bull-dog, who snapped at her. She hadn't Cecil's ways +either with dogs or men.</p> + +<p>"What a delightful scene," whispered Cecil to the +Colonel, as we left the kennels. "You were not half so +touched by it as you were expected to be!"</p> + +<p>Vivian laughed. "Didn't you effectually destroy all +romantic effect? You can be very mischievous to your +enemies."</p> + +<p>Cecil colored. "She is no enemy of mine; I know +nothing of her, but I do detest that mock sentimentality,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +that would-be fine ladyism that thinks it looks interesting +when it pleads guilty to sal volatile, and screams +at an honest dog's bark. Did you see how shocked she +and Miss Screechington looked because I let the hounds +leap about me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course; but though you have not lived very long, +you must have learned that you are too dangerous to the +peace of our sex to expect much mercy from your own."</p> + +<p>A flush came into Cecil's cheeks <i>not</i> brought by the +wind. Her feathers gave a little dance as she shook her +head with her customary action of annoyance.</p> + +<p>"Ah, never compliment me, I am so tired of it."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could believe that," said Syd, in a low tone. +"Your feelings are warm, your impulses frank and true; +it were a pity to mar them by an undue love for the flattering +voices of empty-headed fools."</p> + +<p>Tears of pleasure started into her eyes, but she would +not let him see it. She had not forgotten the Caldecott +flirtation of the morning enough to resist revenging it. +She looked up with a merry laugh.</p> + +<p>"Je m'amuse—voilà tout. There is no great harm in +it."</p> + +<p>A shadow of disappointment passed over Syd's haughty +face.</p> + +<p>"No, if you do not do it once too often. I <i>have</i> known +men—and women too—who all their lives through have +been haunted by the memory of a slight word, a careless +look, with which, unwittingly or in obstinacy, they shut +the door of their own happiness. Have you ever heard +of the Deerhurst ghost?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Cecil, softly. "Tell it me."</p> + +<p>"It is a short story. Do you know that picture of +Muriel Vivian, the girl with the hawk on her wrist and +long hair of your color? She lived in Charles's time,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +and was a great beauty at the court. There were many +who would have lived and died for her, but the one who +loved her best was her cousin Guy. The story says that +she had plighted herself to him in these very woods; at +any rate, he followed her when she went to join the court, +and she kept him on, luring him with vague promises, +and flirting with Goring, and Francis Egerton, and all +the other gay gentlemen. One night his endurance +broke down: he asked her whether or no she cared for +him? He begged, as a sign, for the rosebud she had in +her dress. She laughed at him, and—gave the flower to +Harry Carrew, a young fellow in Lunsford's 'Babe-eaters.' +Guy said no more, and left her. Before dawn +he shot Carrew through the heart, took the rosebud from +the boy's doublet, put it in his own breast, and fell upon +his sword. They say Muriel lost her senses. I don't +believe it: no coquette ever had so much feeling; but if +you ask the old servants they will tell you, and firmly +credit the story too, that hers and Guy Vivian's ghosts +still are to be seen every midnight at Christmas-eve, the +day that he fought and killed little Harry Carrew."</p> + +<p>He laughed, but Cecil shuddered.</p> + +<p>"What a horrible story! But do you believe that any +woman ever possessed such power over a man?"</p> + +<p>"I believe it since I have seen it. One of my best +friends is now hopelessly insane because a woman as +worthless as this dead branch forsook him. Poor fellow! +they set it down to a coup de soleil, but it was the falsehood +of Emily Rushbrooke that did it. But, for myself, +I never should lose my head for any woman. I did once +when I was a boy, but I know better now."</p> + +<p>A wild, desperate idea came into Cecil's mind. She +contrasted the passionless calm of his face with the tender +gentleness of his tone a few moments ago, and she would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +have given her life to see him "lose his head for her" as +he had done for that other. How she hated her, whoever +she had been! Cecil had seen too many men not +to know that Syd's cool exterior covered a stormy heart, +and in the longing to rouse up the storm at her incantation +she resolved to play a dangerous game. The ghost +story did not warn her. As Mephistopheles to Faust +came Horace Cos to aid the impulse, and Cecil turned to +him with one of her radiant smiles. She never looked +prettier than in her black hat; the wind had only blown +a bright flush into her cheeks—though it had turned +Laura blue and the Screechington red—and the Colonel +looked up at her as he put her skates on with something +of the look Guy might have given Muriel Vivian flirting +gaily with the roistering cavaliers.</p> + +<p>"Now, Sir Horace, show us some of those wonderful +Serpentine figures," cried Cecil, balancing herself with +the grace of a curlew, and whirling here, there, and everywhere +at her will as easily as if she were on a chalked ball-room +floor. She hadn't skated and sledged on the Ontario +for nothing. More than one man had lost his own +balance looking after her. Cos wasn't started yet; one +pair of skates were too large, another pair too small; +if he'd thought of it he'd have had his own sent over. +He stood on the brink much as Winkle, of Pickwickian +memory, trembled in Weller's grasp. Cecil looked at +him with laughing eyes, a shrewd suspicion that he had +planted her adorer, and that the quadrille on the Serpentine +was an offspring of the Cossetting poetic fancy. +Thrice did the luckless baronet essay the ice, and thrice +did he come to grief with heels in the air, and his dainty +apparel disordered. At last, his Canadian sorceress took +compassion upon him, and declaring she was tired, asked +him to drive her across the pond. Cos, with an air of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +languid martyrdom and a heavy sigh as he glanced at +his Houbigants, torn and soiled, grasped the back of the +chair, and actually contrived to start it. Once started, +away went the chair and its Phaeton after it, whether he +would or no, its occupant looking up and laughing in the +dandy's heated, disconcerted, and anxious face. All at +once there was a crash, a plunge, and a shout from Vivian, +who was on the opposite bank. The chair had +broken the ice, flung Cecil out into the water with the +shock, while her charioteer, by a lucky jump backwards, +had saved himself, and stood on the brink of the chasm +unharmed. Cecil's crinoline kept her from sinking; she +stretched out her little hand with a cry—it sounded like +Vivian's name as it came to my ears on the keen north +wind—but before Vivian, who came across the ice like a +whirlwind, could get to her, Cos, valorously determining +to wet his wristbands, stooped down, and, holding by +the chair, which was firmly wedged in, put his arm +round her and dragged her out. Vivian came up two +seconds too late.</p> + +<p>"Are you hurt?" he said, bending towards her.</p> + +<p>"No," said Cecil, faintly, as her head drooped unconsciously +on Cos's shoulder. She had struck her forehead +on the ice, which had stunned her slightly. The Colonel +saw the chestnut hair resting against Cos's arm; he +dropped the hand he had taken, and turned to the shore.</p> + +<p>"Bring her to the bank," he said, briefly. "I will go +home and send a carriage. Good Heavens! that that +fool should have saved her!" I heard him mutter, as he +brushed past me.</p> + +<p>He drove the carriage down himself, and under pretext +of holding on the horses, did not descend from the box +while Horace wrapped rugs and cloaks round Cecil, who, +having more pluck than strength, declared she was quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +well now, but nearly fainted when Horace lifted her out, +and she was consigned by Mrs. Vivian to her bedroom +for the rest of the day.</p> + +<p>"It is astonishing how we miss Cecil," remarked +Blanche, at dinner. "Isn't it dull without her, Sydney?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't perceive it," said the Colonel, calmly; "but +I am very sorry for the cause of her absence."</p> + +<p>"Well, by Jove! it sounds unfeeling; but I can't say +I am," murmured Horace. "It's something to have +saved such a deuced pretty girl as that."</p> + +<p>"Curse that puppy," muttered Syd to his champagne +glass. "A fool that isn't fit for her to look at——"</p> + +<p>Syd's and my room, in the bachelors' wing, adjoin each +other; and as our windows both possess the convenience +of balconies, we generally smoke in them, and hold a +little chat before turning in. When I stepped out into +my balcony that night, Syd was already puffing away at +his pipe. Perhaps his Cavendish was unusually good, +for he did not seem greatly inclined to talk, but leant +over the balcony, looking out into the clear frosty night, +with the winter stars shining on the wide white uplands +and the leafless glittering trees.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" said he sharply, as the notes of a cornet +playing, and playing badly, Halévy's air, "Quand +de la Nuit," struck on the night air.</p> + +<p>"A serenade, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"A serenade in the snow. Who is romantic idiot +enough for that?" said Vivian contemptuously, nearly +pitching himself over to see where the cornet came +from. It came from under Cecil's windows, where a light +was still burning. The player looked uncommonly like +Cossetting wrapped up in a cloak with a wide-awake +on, under which the moonlight showed us some fair hair +peeping.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>Vivian drew back with an oath he did not mean me to +hear. He laughed scornfully. "Milk-posset, of course! +There is no other fool in the house. His passion must +be miraculously deep to drag him out of his bed into the +snow to play some false notes to his lady-love. It's +rather windy, don't you think, Ned. Good night, old +fellow—and, I say, don't turn little Blanche's head with +your pretty speeches. You and I are bound not to flirt, +since we're sworn never to marry; and I don't want the +child played with, though possibly (being a woman) she'd +very soon recover it."</p> + +<p>With which sarcasm on his sister and her sex, the +Colonel shut down the window with a clang; and I remained, +smoking four pipes and a half, meditating on his +last words, for I <i>had</i> been playing with the child, and +felt (inhuman brute! the ladies will say) that I should +be sorry if she <i>did</i> recover it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>III.</h2> + +<h3>SHOWING THAT LOVE-MAKING ON HOLY GROUND DOESN'T +PROSPER.</h3> + + +<p>Cecil came down the next morning looking very pretty +after her ducking. Vivian asked her how she was with +his general air of calm courtesy, helped her to some cold +pheasant, and applied himself to his breakfast and some +talk with a sporting man about the chances of the frost +breaking up.</p> + +<p>Horace, who looked upon himself as a preux chevalier, +had had his left arm put in a sling on the strength of a +bruise as big as a fourpenny-piece, and appeared to consider +himself entitled to Cecil's eternal gratitude and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +admiration for having gone the length of wetting his coat +sleeves for her.</p> + +<p>"Do you like music by starlight?" he whispered, with +a self-conscious smile, after a course of delicate attentions +throughout breakfast.</p> + +<p>Syd fixed his eyes on Cecil's, steadily but impassively. +The color rose into her face, and she turned to Cos +with a mischievous laugh.</p> + +<p>"Very much, if—I am not too sleepy to hear it; and +it isn't a cornet out of tune."</p> + +<p>"How cruel!" murmured Horace, as he passed her +coffee. "You shouldn't criticise so severely when a fellow +tries to please you."</p> + +<p>"That poor dear girl really thinks I turned out into +the snow last night to give her that serenade," observed +Cos, with a languid laugh, when we were alone in the +billiard-room. "Good, isn't it, the idea of <i>my</i> troubling +myself?"</p> + +<p>"Whose cracked cornet was it, then, that made that +confounded row last night?" I asked.</p> + +<p>Horace laughed again; it was rarely he was so highly +amused at anything: "It was Cléante's, to be sure. +He don't play badly when his hands are not numbed, +poor devil! Of course he made no end of a row about +going out into the snow, but I made him do it. I knew +Cecil would think it was I. Women are so vain, poor +things!"</p> + +<p>It was lucky I alone was the repository of his confidence, +for if Vivian had chanced to have been in the billiard-room, +it is highly probable he would then and there +have brained his cousin with one of the cues.</p> + +<p>Happily he was out of the reach of temptation, in the +stables, looking after Qui Vive, who had to "bide in +stall," as much to that gallant bay's disquiet as to her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +owner's; for I don't know which of the two best loves a +burst over a stiff country, or a fast twenty minutes up +wind alone with the hounds when they throw up their +heads.</p> + +<p>To the stables, by an odd coincidence, Cecil, putting +the irresistible black hat on the top of her chestnut braids, +prevailed on Blanche to escort her, vowing (which +was nearly, but not quite, the truth) that she loved the +sweet pets of horses better than anything on earth. +Where Cecil went, Laura made a point of going too, to +keep her enemy in sight, I suppose; though Cecil, liking +a fast walk on the frosty roads, a game of battledore and +shuttlecock with Blanche (when we were out of the +house), or anything, in short, better than working with +her feet on the fender, and the Caldecott inanities or +Screechington scandals in her ear, often led Laura many +an unwelcome dance, and brought that luckless young +lady to try at things which did not sit well upon her as +they did upon the St. Aubyn, who had a knack of doing, +and doing charmingly, a thousand things no other woman +could have attempted. So, as Vivian and I, and some +of the other men, stood in the stable-doors, smoking, and +talking over the studs accommodated in the spacious +stalls, a strong party of four young ladies came across +the yard.</p> + +<p>"I'm come to look at Qui Vive; will you show him to +me?" said Cecil, softly. Her gentle, childlike way was +the most telling of all her changing moods, but I must +do her the justice to say that it was perfectly natural, +she was no actress.</p> + +<p>"With great pleasure," said Syd, very courteously, if +not over-cordially; and to Qui Vive's stall Cecil went, +alone in her glory, for Laura was infinitely too terrified +at the sight of the bay's strong black hind legs to risk a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +kick from them, even to follow Syd. Helena Vivian +stayed with her, and Blanche came with me to visit my +hunters.</p> + +<p>Cecil is a tolerable judge of a horse; she praised Qui +Vive's lean head, full eye, and silky coat with discrimination, +and Qui Vive, though not the best-tempered of +thorough-breds, let her pat his smooth sides and kiss +his strong neck without any hostile demonstration.</p> + +<p>Vivian watched her as if she were a spoilt child who +bewitched him, but whom he knew to be naughty; he +could not resist the fascination of her ways, but he never +altered his calm, courteous tone to her—the tone Cecil +longed to hear change, were it even into invectives against +her, to testify some deeper interest.</p> + +<p>"Now show me the mount you will give me when the +frost breaks up and we take out the hounds," said Cecil, +with a farewell caress of Qui Vive.</p> + +<p>"You shall have the grey four-year-old; Billiard-ball, +and he will suit you exactly, for he is as light as a bird, +checks at nothing, and will take you safe over the stiffest +bullfinch. I know you may trust him, for he has carried +Blanche."</p> + +<p>Cecil threw back her head. "Oh, I would ride anything, +Qui Vive himself, if he would bear a habit. I am +not like Miss Caldecott, who, catching sight of his dear +brown legs, vanished as rapidly as if she had seen Muriel's +ghost on Christmas-eve."</p> + +<p>The Colonel smiled. "You are very unmerciful to +poor Miss Caldecott. What has she done to offend +you?"</p> + +<p>"Offend me! Nothing in the world. Though I heard +her lament with Miss Screechington in the music-room, +that I was 'so fast,' and 'such slang style;' I consider +that rather a compliment, for I never knew any lady pull<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +to pieces my bonnet, or my bouquet, or my hat, unless +it was a prettier one than their own. That sounds a +vain speech, but I don't mean it so."</p> + + +<p>The Colonel looked down into her velvet eyes; she +was most dangerous to him in this mood. "No," he +said, briefly, "no one would accuse you of vanity, though +they might, pardon me, of love of admiration."</p> + +<p>Cecil laughed merrily. "Yes, perhaps so; it is pleasant, +you know. Yet sometimes I am tired of it all, and +I want——"</p> + +<p>"A more difficult conquest? To find a diamond, +merely, like Cleopatra, to show your estimate of its value +by throwing it away."</p> + +<p>A flush of vexation came into her cheeks. "Do you +think me utterly heartless?" she said impetuously. "No. +I mean that I often tire of the fulsome compliments, the +flattery, the attention, the whirl of society! I do like +admiration. I tell you candidly what every other woman +acknowledges to herself but denies to the world; but +often it is nothing to me—mere Dead Sea fruit. I care +nothing for the voices that whisper it; the eyes that express +it wake no response in mine, and I would give it +all for one word of true interest, one glance of real——"</p> + +<p>Vivian looked down on her steadily with his searching +eagle eyes, out of which, when he chose, nothing could +be read. "If I dare believe you——" he said, half aloud.</p> + +<p>Gentle as his tone was, the mere doubt stung Cecil to +the quick. Something of the wild, desperate feeling of +the day previous rose in her heart. The same feeling +that makes men brave heaven and hell to win their desires +worked up in her. If she had been one of us, just +at that moment, she would have flinched at nothing; +being a young lady, her hands were tied. She could +only go to Cos's stalls with him (Cos knows as much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +about horseflesh as I do about the profound female mystery +they call "shopping"), and flirt with him to desperation, +while Horace got the steam up faster than he, +with his very languid motor powers, often did, being accustomed +to be spared the trouble and have all the love +made to him—an indolence in which the St. Aubyn, who +knows how to keep a man well up to hand, never indulged +him.</p> + +<p>"Do have some pity on me," I heard Cos murmuring, +as she stroked a great brute of his, with a head like a +fiddle-case, and no action at all. "I assure you, Miss St. +Aubyn, you make me wretched. I'd die for you to-morrow +if I only saw how, and yet you take no more notice +of me sometimes than if I were that colt."</p> + +<p>Cecil glanced at him with a smile that would have +driven Cos distracted if he'd been in for it as deep as he +pretended.</p> + +<p>"I don't see that you are much out of condition, Sir +Horace, but if you have any particular fancy to suicide, +the horse-pond will accommodate you at a moment's notice; +only don't do it till after our play, because I have +set my heart on that suit of Milan armor. Pray don't +look so plaintive. If it will make you any happier, I am +going for a walk, and you may come too. Blanche, dear, +which way is it to the plantations?"</p> + +<p>Now poor Horace hated a walk on a frosty morning +as cordially as anything, being altogether averse to any +natural exercise: but he was sworn to the St. Aubyn, +and Blanche and I, dropping behind them, he had a +good hour of her fascinations to himself. I do not know +whether he improved the occasion, but Cecil at luncheon +looked tired and teased. I should think, after Syd's +graphic epigrammatic talk, the baronet's lisped nonsense +must have been rather trying, especially as Cecil has a +strong leaning to intellect.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>Vivian didn't appear at luncheon; he was gone rabbit-shooting +with the other fellows, and I should have +been with them if I had not thought lounging in the +drawing-room, reading "Clytemnestra" to Blanche, with +many pauses, the greater fun of the two. I am keen +about sport, too; but ever since, at the age of ten, I conceived +a romantic passion for my mother's lady's-maid—a +tall and stately young lady, who eventually married a +retail tea-dealer—I have thought the beaux yeux the best +of all games.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Vivian, Blanche and Helena and I want to be +very useful, if you will let us," said Cecil, one morning. +She was always soft and playful with that gentlest of all +women, Syd's mother. "What do you smile in that incredulous +way for? We <i>can</i> be extraordinarily industrious: +the steam sewing-machine is nothing to us when +we choose! What do you think we are going to do? +We are going to decorate the church for Christmas. To +leave it to that poor little old clerk, who would only stick +two holly twigs in the pulpit candlesticks, and fancy he +had done a work of high art, would be madness. And, +besides, it will be such fun."</p> + +<p>"If you think it so, pray do it, dear," laughed Mrs. +Vivian. "I can't say I should, but your tastes and mine +are probably rather different. The servants will do as you +direct them."</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Cecil; "we mean to do it all ourselves. +The gentlemen may help us if they like—those, at least, +who prefer our society to that of smaller animals, with +lop-ears and little bushy tails, who have a fascination +superior sometimes to any of our attractions." She +flashed a glance at the Colonel, who was watching her +over the top of <i>Punch</i>, as, when I was a boy, I have +watched the sun, though it pained my eyes to do it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +"You're the grand seigneur of Deerhurst," said Cecil, +turning to him; "will you be good, and order cart-loads +of holly and evergreens (and plenty of the Portugal laurel, +please, because it's so pretty) down to the church; +and will you come and do all the hard work for me? +The rabbits would <i>so</i> enjoy a little peace to-day, poor +things!"</p> + +<p>He smiled in spite of himself, and did her bidding, +with a flush of pleasure on his face. I believe at that +moment, to please her, he would have cut down the best +timber on the estates—even the old oaks, in whose shadow +in the midsummer of centuries before Guy Vivian and +Muriel had plighted their troth.</p> + +<p>The way to the church was through a winding walk, +between high walls of yew, and the sanctuary itself was a +find old Norman place, whose <i>tout ensemble</i> I admired, +though I could not pick it to pieces architecturally.</p> + +<p>To the church we all went, of course, with more readiness +than we probably ever did in our lives, regardless of +the rose chains with which we were very likely to become +entangled, while white hands weaved the holly wreaths.</p> + +<p>Vivian had ordered evergreens enough to decorate fifty +churches, and had sent over to the neighboring town for +no end of ribbon emblazonments and illuminated scrolls, +on which Cecil looked with delight. She seemed to +know by instinct it was done for <i>her</i>, and not for his +sisters.</p> + +<p>"How kind that is of you," she said, softly. "That +is like what you were in Toronto. Why are you not +always the same?"</p> + +<p>For a moment she saw passion enough in his eye to +satisfy her, but he soon mastered it, and answered her +courteously:</p> + +<p>"I am very glad they please you. Shall we go to work<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +at once, for fear it grow dusk before we get through with +it?"</p> + +<p>"Can I do anything to help you?" murmured Cos in +her ear.</p> + +<p>She did not want him, and laughed mischievously. +"You can cut some holly if you like. Begin on those +large boughs."</p> + +<p>"Better not, Cos," said the Colonel. "You will certainly +soil your hands, and you might chance to scratch +them."</p> + +<p>"And if you did you would never forgive me, so I will +let you off duty. You may go back to the dormeuse and +the 'Lys de la Vallée' if you wish," laughed Cecil.</p> + +<p>Horace looked sulky, and curled his blond whiskers +in dudgeon, while Cecil, with half a dozen satellites +about her, proceeded to work with vigorous energy, +keeping Syd, however, as her head workman; and the +Colonel twisted pillars, nailed up crosses, hung wreaths, +and put up illuminated texts, as if he had been a carpenter +all his life, and his future subsistence entirely depended +on his adorning Deerhurst church in good taste. +It was amusing to me to see him, whom the highest London +society, the gayest Paris life bored—who pronounced +the most dashing opera supper and the most vigorous +debates alike slow—taking the deepest interest in decorating +a little village church! I question if Eros did not +lurk under the shiny leaves and the scarlet berries of +those holly boughs quite as dangerously as ever he did +under the rose petals consecrated to him.</p> + +<p>I had my own affairs to attend to, sitting on the pulpit +stairs at Blanche's feet, twisting the refractory evergreens +at her direction; but I kept an occasional look-out at +the Colonel and his dangerous Canadian for all that. +They found time (as we did) for plenty of conversation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +over the Christmas decorations, and Cecil talked softly +and earnestly for once without any "mischief." She +talked of her father's embarrassments, her mother's trials, +of Mrs. Coverdale, with honest detestation of that widow's +arts and artifices, and of her own tastes, and ideas, +and feelings, showing the Colonel (what she did not +show generally to her numerous worshippers) her heart +as well as her mind. As she knelt on the altar steps, +twisting green leaves round the communion rails, Syd +standing beside her, his pale bronze cheek flushed, and +his eyes never left their study of her face as she bent +over her work, looking up every minute to ask him for +another branch, or another strip of blue ribbon.</p> + +<p>When it had grown dusk, and the church was finished, +looking certainly very pretty, with the dark leaves against +its white pillars, and the scarlet berries kissing the stained +windows, Cecil went noiselessly up into the organ-loft, +and played the Christmas anthem. Vivian followed her, +and, leaning against the organ, watched her, shading his +eyes with his hand. She went on playing—first a Miserere, +then Mozart's Symphony in E, and then improvisations +of her own—the sort of music that, when one +stands calmly to listen to it, makes one feel it whether +one likes or not. As she played, tears rose to her lashes, +and she looked up at Vivian's face, bending over her in +the gloaming. Love was in her eyes, and Syd knew it, +but feared to trust to it. His pulses beat fast, he leaned +towards her, till his mustaches touched her soft perfumy +hair. Words hung on his lips. But the door of the +organ-loft opened.</p> + +<p>"'Pon my life, Miss St. Aubyn, that's divine, delicious!" +cried Cos. "We always thought that you were +divine, but we never knew till now that you brought the +angels' harmony with you to earth. For Heaven's sake, +play that last thing again!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I never play what I compose twice," said Cecil, hurriedly, +stooping down for her hat.</p> + +<p>Vivian cursed him inwardly for his untimely interruption, +but cooler thought made him doubt if he were not +well saved some words, dictates of hasty passion, that he +might have lived to repent. For Guy Vivian's fate +warned him, and he mistrusted the love of a flirt, if flirt, +as he feared—from her sudden caprices to him, her alternate +impatience with, and encouragement of, his cousin—Cecil +St. Aubyn would prove. He gave her his arm +down the yew-tree walk. Neither of them spoke all the +way, but he sent a servant on for another shawl, and +wrapped it round her very tenderly when it came; and +when he stood in the lighted hall, I saw by the stern, +worn look of his face—the look I have seen him wear +after a hard fight—that the fiery passions in him had +been having a fierce battle.</p> + +<p>That evening the St. Aubyn was off her fun, said she +was tired, and, disregarding the misery she caused to +Cos and four other men, who, figuratively speaking, <i>not</i> +literally, for they went into the "dry" and comestibles +fast enough, had lived on her smiles for the last month, +excused herself to Mrs. Vivian, and departed to her dormitory. +Syd gave her her candle, and held her little +hand two seconds in his as he bid her softly good night +at the foot of the staircase.</p> + +<p>I did not get much out of him in the balcony that +night, and long after I had turned in, I scented his Cavendish +as he smoked, Heaven knows how many pipes, in +the chill December air. The next day, the 23rd, was the +night of our theatricals, which went off as dashingly as if +Mr. Kean, with his eternal "R-r-r-richard," had been +there to superintend them.</p> + +<p>All the country came; dowagers and beauties, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +the odor of Belgravia still strong about them: people +not quite so high, who were not the rose, but living near +it, toadied that flower with much amusing and undue +worship; a detachment of Dragoons from the next town, +whom the girls wanted to draw, and the mammas to warn +off—Dragoons being ordinarily better waltzers than speculations; +all the magnates, custos rotulorum, sheriff, +members, and magistrates—the two latter portions of the +constitution being chiefly remarkable for keenness about +hunting and turnips, and an unchristian and deadly +enmity against all poachers and vagrants; rectors, who +tossed down the still Ai with Falstaff's keen relish; other +rectors, who came against their principles, but preferred +fashion to salvation, having daughters to marry and sons +to start; hunting men; girls who could waltz in a nutshell; +dandies of St. James's, and veterans of Pall-Mall, +down for the Christmas; belles renewing their London +acquaintance, and recalling that "pleasant day at Richmond." +But, by Jove! if I describe all the different +species presented to view in that ball-room, I might use +as many words as an old whip giving you the genealogy +of a killing pack in a flying county.</p> + +<p>Suffice it, there they all were to criticise us, and pretty +sharply I dare say they did it, when they were out of +our hearing, in their respective clarences, broughams, +dog-carts, drags, tilburies, and hansoms. Before our +faces, of course, they only clapped their snowy kid gloves, +and murmured "Bravissimo!" with an occasional "Go +it, Jack!" and "Get up the steam, old fellow!" from +the young bloods in the background; and a shower of +bouquets at Cecil and Blanche from their especial worshippers.</p> + +<p>Blanche made the dearest little <i>Catherine</i> that ever +dressed herself up in blue and silver, and when she drew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +her toy-rapier in the green-room, asked me if I could not +get her a cornetcy in ours. As for Cecil, she played <i>à +ravir</i> as Cos, in his Milan armor, whispered with some +difficulty, as the steel gorget pressed his throat uncomfortably. +Vestris herself never made a more brilliant or +impassioned <i>Countess</i>. She and Syd really acquitted +themselves in a style to qualify them for London boards, +and as she threw herself at his feet—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Huon—my husband—lord—canst thou forgive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scornful maid? for the devoted wife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had cleaved to thee, though ne'er she owned thee lord,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I thought the St. Aubyn must be as great an actress as +Rachel, if some of that fervor was not real.</p> + +<p>Cecil played in the afterpiece, "The wonderful Woman;" +the Colonel didn't; and Cos being <i>De Frontignac</i>, +Syd leaned against one of the scenes, and looked +on the whole thing with calm indifference externally, but +much disquietude and annoyance within him. He was +not jealous of the puppy; he would as soon have thought +of putting himself on a par with Blanche's little white +terrier, but he'd come to set a price on Cecil's winning +smiles, and to see them given pretty equally to him, and +to a young fool, her inferior in everything save position, +whom he knew in her inmost soul she must ridicule and +despise, galled his pride, and steeled his heart against +her. His experience in women made him know that it +was highly probable that Cecil was playing both at once, +and that though, as he guessed, she loved him, she +would, if Cos offered first, accept the title, and wealth, +and position his cousin, equally with himself, could give +her; and such love as that was far from the Colonel's +ideal.</p> + +<p>"By George! Vivian, that Canadian of yours is a perfect +angel," said a man in the Dragoons, who had played<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +<i>Ulric</i>. "She's such a deuced lot ove pluck, such eyes, +such hair, such a voice! 'Pon my life, I quite envy you. +I suppose you mean to act out the play in reality, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>Vivian lying back in an arm-chair in the green-room +crushed up one of the satin playbills in his hand, and +answered simply, "You do me too much honor, Calvert. +Miss St. Aubyn and I have no thought of each other."</p> + +<p>If any man had given Vivian the lie, he would have +had him out and shot him instanter; nevertheless, he +told this one with the most unhesitating defiance of +truth. He did not see Cecil, who had just come off the +stage, standing behind him. But she heard his words, +went as white as Muriel's phantom, and brushed past us +into her dressing room, whence she emerged, when her +name was called, her cheeks bright with their first +rouge, and her eyes unnaturally brilliant. <i>How</i> she flirted +with Horace that night, when the theatricals were over! +Young ladies who wanted to hook the pet baronet, whispered +over their bouquets, "How bold!" and dowagers, +seeing one of their best matrimonial speculations endangered +by the brilliant Canadian, murmured behind their +fans to each other their wonder that Mrs. Vivian should +allow any one so fast and so unblushing a coquette to associate +with her young daughters.</p> + +<p>Vivian watched her with intense earnestness. He had +given her a bouquet that day, and she had thanked him +for it with her soft, fond eyes, and told him she should +use it. Now, as she came into the ball-room, he looked +at the one in her hand; it was not his, but his cousin's.</p> + +<p>He set his teeth hard; and swore a bitter oath to himself. +As <i>Huon</i>, he was obliged to dance the first dance +with the <i>Countess</i>, but he spoke little to her, and indeed, +Cecil did not give him much opportunity, for she talked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +fast, and at random, on all sorts of indifferent subjects, +with more than even her usual vivacity, and quite unlike +the ordinary soft and winning way she had used of late +when with him. He danced no more with her, but, daring +the waltzes with which he was obliged to favor certain +county beauties, and all the time he was doing the +honors of Deerhurst, with his calm, stately, Bayard-like +courtesy, his eyes would fasten on the St. Aubyn, driving +the Dragoons to desperation, waltzing while Horace +whispered tender speeches in her ear, or sitting jesting +and laughing, half the men in the room gathered round +her—with a look of passion and hopelessness, tenderness +and determination, strangely combined.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IV.</h2> + +<h3>THE COLONEL KILLS HIS FOX, BUT LOSES HIS HEAD AFTER +OTHER GAME.</h3> + + +<p>The next day was Christmas-eve; and on the 24th of +December the hounds, from time immemorial, had been +taken out by a Vivian. For the last few days the frost +had been gradually breaking up, thank Heaven, and we +looked forward to a good day's sport The meet was at +Deerhurst, and it proved a strong muster for the Harkaway; +though not exactly up to the Northamptonshire +Leicestershire mark, are a clever, steady pack. Cecil +and Blanche were the only two women with us, for the +country is cramped and covered with blind fences, and +the fair sex seldom hunt with the Harkaway. But the +St. Aubyn is a first-rate seat, and Blanche has, she tells +me, ridden anything from the day she first stuck on to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +her Shetland, when she was three years old. They were +both down in time. Indeed, I question if they went +to bed at all, or did any more than change their ball +dresses for their habits. As I lifted Blanche on to her +pet chestnut, I heard Syd telling Cecil that Billiard-ball +was saddled.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the St. Aubyn, hurriedly. "I need +not trouble you. Sir Horace has promised to mount me."</p> + +<p>Vivian bent his head with a strange smile, and sprang +on Qui Vive, while Cecil mounted a showy roan, thorough-bred, +the only good horse Cos had in his stud, despite +the thousands he had paid into trainers' and breeders' +pockets.</p> + +<p>"Stole away—forward, forward!" screamed Vivian's +fellow-member for Cacklebury; and, holding Qui Vive +hard by the head, away went Syd after the couple or two +of hounds that were leading the way over some pasture +land, with an ox-rail at the bottom of it, all the field after +him. Cecil's roan flew over the grass land, and rose at +the ox-rail as steadily as Qui Vive. Blanche's chestnut +let himself be kicked along at no end of a pace, his mistress +sitting down in her stirrups as well as the gallant +M. F. H., her father. I never <i>do</i> think of anything but +the hounds flying along in front of me, but I could not +help turning my head over my shoulder to see if she was +all right; and I never admired her so much as when she +passed me with a merry laugh: "Five to one I beat you, +monsieur!" Away we went over the dark ploughed +lands, and the naked thorn hedges, the wide straggling +briar fences, and the fields covered with stones and belted +with black-looking plantations. Down went Cos with +his horse wallowing helplessly in a ditch, after considerately +throwing him unhurt on the bank. Syd set his +teeth as he lifted Qui Vive over the prostrate baronet, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +the imminent danger of that dandy field-sportsman's +life. "Take hold of his head, Miss St. Aubyn," shouted +the M. F. H.; but before the words had passed his lips, +Cecil had landed gallantly a little farther down. Another +ten minutes with the hounds streaming over the country—a +ten minutes of wild delight, worth all the monotonous +hours of every-day life—and Qui Vive was alone +with the hounds. We could see him speeding along a +quarter of a mile ahead of us, and Cecil's roan was but +half a field behind him. She was "riding jealous" of +one of the best riders in the Queen's; the M. F. H. just +in front of her turned his head once, in admiration of +her pluck, to see her lift her horse at a staken-bound +fence; but the Colonel never looked round. Away they +went—they disappeared over the brow of a hill. +Blanche shook her reins and struck her chestnut, and I +sawed my hunter's mouth mercilessly with the snaffle. +No use—we were too late by three minutes. Confound it! +they had just killed their fox after twenty minutes' burst +over a stiff country, one of the fastest things I ever saw.</p> + +<p>Cecil was pale with over-excitement, and upon my +word she looked more ready to cry than anything when +the M. F. H. complimented her with his genial smile, and +his cordial "Well done, my dear. I never saw anybody +ride better. I used to think my little Blanche the best +seat in the country, but she must give place to you—eh, +Syd?"</p> + +<p>"Miss St. Aubyn does everything well that she attempts," +answered the Colonel, in his calm, courteous +tone, looking, nevertheless, as stern as if he had just +slain his deadliest enemy, instead of having seen a fox +killed.</p> + +<p>Cecil flushed scarlet, and Cos coming up at that moment, +a sadly bespattered object for such an Adonis to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +present, his coat possessing more the appearance of a bricklayer's +than any one else's, after its bath of white mud, +she turned to him, and began to laugh and talk with +rather wild gaiety. It so chanced that the fox was killed +on Horace's land, and we, being not more than a mile +and a half off his house, the gallant Cos immediately +seized upon the idea of having the object of his idolatry +up there to luncheon; and his uncle, and Cecil, +and Blanche acquiescing in the arrangement, to his +house we went, with such of the field as had ridden up +after the finish. Cos trotted forward with the St. Aubyn +to show us the way by a short cut through the +park, and the echoes of Cecil's laughter rang to Vivian +in the rear discussing the run with his father.</p> + +<p>A very slap-up place was Cos's baronial hall, for the +Cossettings had combined blood and money far many generations; +its style and appointments were calculated to +back him powerfully in the matrimonial market, and that +Cecil might have it all was fully apparent, as he devoted +himself to her at the luncheon, which made its appearance +at a minute's notice, as if Aladdin had called it up. +Cecil seemed disposed to have it too. A deep flush had +come up in her cheeks; she smiled her brightest smiles +on Cos; she drank his Moët's, bending her graceful head +with a laughing pledge to her host; she talked so fast, +so gaily, such repartee, such sarcasms, such jeux de mots, +that it was well no women were at table to sit in judgment +on her afterwards. A deadly paleness came over +Vivian's face as he listened to her—but he sat at the bottom +of the board where Cecil could not see him. His +father, the gayest and best-tempered of mortals, laughed +and applauded her; the other men were charmed with a +style and a wit so new to them; and Cos, of course, was +in the seventh heaven.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>The horses were dead beat, and Cos's drag, with its +four bays very fresh, for they were so little worked, was +ordered to take us back to Deerhurst.</p> + +<p>"Who'll drive," said Horace. "Will you, Syd?"</p> + +<p>"No," said his cousin, more laconically than politely.</p> + +<p>"Let <i>me</i>," cried Cecil. "I can drive four in hand. +Nothing I like better."</p> + +<p>"Give me the ribbons," interposed the Colonel, changing +his mind, "if you can't drive them yourself, Cos, as +you ought to do."</p> + +<p>"No, no," murmured Cos. "Mith St. Aubyn shall do +everything she wishes in <i>my</i> house."</p> + +<p>"Let her drive them," laughed Vivian, senior. +"Blanche has tooled my drag often enough before now."</p> + +<p>Before he had finished, Cecil had sprung up on to the box +as lightly as a bird; her cheeks were flushed deeper still, +and her gazelle eyes flashed darker than ever. Cos +mounted beside her. Blanche and I in the back seat. +The M. F. H., Syd, and the two other men behind. The +bays shook their harness and started off at a rattling +pace, Cecil tooling them down the avenue with her little +gauntleted hands as well as if she had been Four-in-hand +Forester of the Queen's Bays, or any other crack +whip. How she flirted, and jested, and laughed, and +shook the ribbons till the bays tore along the stony road +in the dusky winter's afternoon—even Blanche, though a +game little lady herself, looked anxious.</p> + +<p>Cecil asked Horace for a cigar, and struck a fusee, and +puffed away into the frosty air like the wildest young +Cantab at Trinity. It didn't make her sick, for she and +Blanche had had two Queens out of Vivian's case, and +smoked them to the last ash for fun only the day before; +and she drove us at a mad gallop into Deerhurst Park, +past the dark trees and the gleaming water and the trooping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +deer, and pulled up before the hall door just as the +moon came out on Christmas-eve.</p> + +<p>We were all rather fast at Deerhurst, so Blanche got +no scolding from her mamma (who, like a sensible woman, +never put into their heads that things done in the +glad innocency of the heart were "wrong"); and Cecil, +as soon as she had sprung down, snatched her hand from +Cos, and went up to her own room.</p> + +<p>The Colonel's lips were pressed close together, and his +forehead had the dark frown that Guy wears in his portrait.</p> + +<p>It had been done with another, so it was all wrong; +but oh! Syd, my friend, if the "dry" that was drunk, +and the drag that was tooled, and the weed that was +smoked, had been <i>yours</i>, wouldn't it have been the most +charming caprice of the most charming woman!</p> + +<p>That night, at dinner, a letter by the afternoon's post +came to the Colonel. It was "On her Majesty's Service," +and his mother asked him anxiously what it was.</p> + +<p>"Only to tell me to join soon," said he, carelessly, giving +me a sign to keep the contents of a similar letter I had +just received to myself; which I should have done anyhow, +as I had reason to hope that the disclosure of them would +have quenched the light in some bright eyes beside me.</p> + +<p>"Ordered off at last, thank God!" said Syd, handing +his father the letter as soon as the ladies were gone. +"There's a train starts at 12.40, isn't there, for town? +You and I, Ned, had better go to-night. You don't look +so charmed, old fellow, as you did when you went out to +Scinde. I say, don't tell my sisters; there is no need to +make a row in the house. Governor, you'll prepare my +mother; I must bid <i>her</i> good-by."</p> + +<p>I <i>did not</i> view the Crimea with the unmingled, devil-me-care +delight with which I had gone out under "fighting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +Napier" nine years before, for Blanche's sunshiny +face had made life fairer to me; and to obey Syd, and go +without a farewell of her, was really too great a sacrifice +to friendship. But he and I went to the drawing-rooms, +chatted, and took coffee as if nothing had chanced, till +he could no longer stand seeing Cecil, still excited, singing +chansons to Cos, who was leaning enraptured over +the instrument, and he went off to his own room. The +other girls and men were busy playing the Race game; +Blanche and I were sitting in the back drawing-room beside +the fire, and the words that decided my destiny were +so few, that I cite them as a useful lesson to those novelists +who are in the habit of making their heroes, while +waiting breathless to hear their fate, recite off at a cool +canter four pages of the neatest-turned sentences without +a single break-down or a single pull-up, to see how the +lady takes it.</p> + +<p>"Blanche, I must bid you good-by to-night." Blanche +turned to me in bewildered anxiety. "I must join my +troop: perhaps I may be sent to the Crimea. I could +go happily if I thought you would regret me?"</p> + +<p>Brutally selfish that was to be sure, but she did not +take it so. She looked as if she was going to faint, and +for fear she should, trusting to the engrossing nature of +the Race game in the further apartment, I drew nearer +to her. "Will you promise to give yourself to nobody +else while I am away, my darling?" Blanche's eyes did +promise me through their tears, and this brief scene, +occupying the space of two minutes, twisted our fates +into one on that eventful Christmas-eve.</p> + +<p>While I was parting with my poor little Blanche in the +library, Vivian was bidding his mother farewell in her +dressing-room. His mother had the one soft place in his +heart, steeled and made skeptical to all others by that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +fatal first love of which he had spoken to Cecil. Possibly +some of her son's bitter grief was shown to her on that +sad Christmas-eve; at all events, when he left her dressing-room, +he had the tired, haggard look left by any conflict +of passion. As he came down the stairs to come to +the dog-cart that was to take us to the station, the door +of Blanche's boudoir stood open, and in it he saw Cecil. +The fierce tide of his love surged up, subduing all his +pride, and he paused to take his last sight of the face +that would haunt him in the long night watches and the +rapid rush of many a charge. She looked up and saw +him; that look overpowered all his calmness and resolve. +He turned, and bent towards her, every feature quivering +with the passion she had once longed to rouse. His hot +breath scorched her cheek, and he caught her fiercely +against his heart in an iron embrace, pressing his burning +lips on hers. "God forgive you! I have loved +you too well. Women have ever been fatal to my +race!"</p> + +<p>He almost threw her from him in the violence of feelings +roused after a long sleep. In another moment he +was driving the dog-cart at a mad gallop past the old +church in which we had spent such pleasant hours. Its +clock tolled out twelve strokes as we passed it, and on the +quiet village, and the weird-like trees, and the tall turrets +of Deerhurst, the Christmas morning dawned.</p> + +<p>Vivian continued so utterly enfeebled and prostrate +that there was but one chance for him—return homewards. +I was going to England with despatches, and +Syd, at his mother's entreaty, let himself be carried down +to a transport, and shipped for England. He was utterly +listless and strengthless, although the voyage did him a +little good. He did not care where he went, so he stayed +in town with me while I presented myself at the Horse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +Guards and war Office, and then we travelled down +together to Deerhurst.</p> + +<p>Oddly enough it was Christmas-eve again when we +drove up the old avenue. The snow was falling heavily, +and lay deep on the road and thick on the hedges and +trees. The meadows and woods were white against the +dark, hushed sky, and the old church, and its churchyard +cedars, were loaded too with the clouds' Christmas gift. +To me, at least, the English scene was very pleasant, after +the heat, and dirt, and minor worries of Gallipoli and +Constantinople. The wide stretching country, with its +pollards, and holly hedges, and homesteads, the cattle +safe housed, the yule fire burning cheerily on the hearths, +the cottages and farms nestling down among their orchards +and pasture-lands, all was so heartily and thoroughly +English. They seemed to bring back days when I was a +boy skating and sliding on the mere at home, or riding +out with the harriers light-hearted and devil-me-care as +a boy might be, coming back to hear the poor governor's +cheery voice tell me I was one of the old stock, and to +toss down a bumper of Rhenish with a time-honored +Christmas toast. The crackle of the crisp snow, the +snort of the horses as they plunged on into the darkening +night, and the red fire-light flickering on the lattice windows +of the cottages we passed, were so many welcomes +home, and I double-thonged the off-wheeler with a vengeance +as I thought of soft lips that would soon touch +mine, and a soft voice that would soon whisper my best +"Io triumphe!"</p> + +<p>The lodge-gates flew open. We passed the old oaks +and beeches, the deer trooping away over the snow as +we startled them out of their rest. We were not expected +that night, and my man rang such a peal at the bell as +might have been heard all over the quiet park. Another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +minute, and Blanche and I were together again, and +alone in the library where we had parted just twelve +months before. Of course, for the time being, we neither +knew nor cared what was going on in the other rooms of +the house. The Colonel had gone to rest himself on the +sofa in the dining-room. Half an hour had elapsed, perhaps, +when a wild cry rang through the house, startling +even us, absorbed though we were in our tête-à-tête. +Blanche's first thought was of her brother. She ran out +through the hall, and up the staircase, and I followed her. +At the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall, breathing +fast, and his face ashy white, stood Syd, and at his +feet, in a dead faint, lay Cecil St. Aubyn. I caught hold +of Blanche's arm and held her back as she was about to +spring forward. I thought their meeting had much best +be uninterrupted; for, if Cecil's had been mere flirtation +I fancied the Colonel's return could scarcely have moved +her like this.</p> + +<p>Vivian stood looking down on her, all the passion in +him breaking bounds. He could not stand calmly by the +woman he loved. He did not wait to know whether she +was his or another's—whether she was worthy or unworthy +of him—but he lifted her up and pressed her unconscious +form against his heart, covering her lips with +wild caresses. Waking from her trance, she opened her +eyes with a terrified stare, and gazed up in his face; then +tears came to her relief, and she sank down at his feet +again with a pitiful cry, "Forgive me—forgive me!" +Weak as Syd was, he found strength to raise her in his +arms, and whisper, as he bent over her, "If you love me, +I have nothing to forgive."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The snow fell softly without over the woods and fields +and the winds roared through the old oaks and whistled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +among the frozen ferns, but Christmas-eve passed brightly +enough to us at home within the strong walls of Deerhurst.</p> + +<p>I am sure that all Moore's pictures of Paradise seemed +to me tame compared to that drawing-room, with its +warmth, and coziness, and luxuries; with the waxlights +shining on the silver of the English tea equipage (pleasant +to eye and taste, let one love campaigning ever so +well, after the roast beans of the Commissariat), and the +fire-gleams dancing on the soft brow and shining hair of +the face beside me. I doubt if Vivian either ever spent a +happier Christmas-eve as he lay on the sofa in the back +drawing-room, with Cecil sitting on a low seat by him, +her hand in his, and the Canadian eyes telling him eloquently +of love and reconciliation. They had such volumes +to say! As soon as she knew that wild farewell of +his preceded his departure to the Crimea, Cecil, always +impulsive, had written to him on the instant, telling him +how she loved him, detailing what she had heard in the +green-room, confessing that, in desperation, she had done +everything she could to rouse his jealousy, assuring him +that that same evening she had refused Cos's proposals, +and beseeching him to forgive her and come back to her. +That letter Vivian had never had (six months from that +time, by the way, it turned up, after a journey to India +and Melbourne, following a cousin of his, colonel of a line +regiment, she in her haste having omitted to put his +troop on the address), and Cecil, whose feeling was too +deep to let her mention the subject to Blanche or Helena, +made up her mind that he would never forgive her, and +being an impressionable young lady, had, on the anniversary +of Christmas-eve, been comparing her fate with that +of Muriel in the ghost legend, and, on seeing the Colonel's +unexpected apparition, had fainted straight away in the +over-excitement and sudden joy of the moment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>Such was Cecil's story, and Vivian was content with it +and gladly took occasion to practise the Christmas duties +of peace, and love, and pardon. He had the best anodyne +for his wounds now, and there was no danger for him, +since Cecil had taken the place of the Scutari nurses. +No "Crimean heroes," as they call us in the papers, were +ever more fêted and petted than were the Colonel and I.</p> + +<p>Christmas morning dawned, the sun shining bright on +the snow-covered trees, and the Christmas bells chiming +merrily; and as we stood on the terrace to see the whole +village trooping up through the avenue to receive the +gifts left to them by some old Vivian long gone to his rest +with his forefathers under the churchyard cedars, Syd +looked down with a smile into Cecil's eyes as she hung +on his arm, and whispered,</p> + +<p>"I will double those alms, love, in memory of the priceless +gift this Christmas has given me. Ah! Thornton +and I little knew, when we came down for the hunting, +how fast you and Blanche would capture us with your—<span class="smcap">Holly +Wreaths and Rose Chains</span>."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + + +<hr class="sep1" /> +<hr class="sep2" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> +<h1>SILVER CHIMES AND GOLDEN<br /> +FETTERS.</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> +<hr class="sep3" /> +<hr class="sep4" /> + + +<h2><a name="SILVER_CHIMES_AND_GOLDEN_FETTERS" id="SILVER_CHIMES_AND_GOLDEN_FETTERS"></a>SILVER CHIMES AND GOLDEN +FETTERS.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2>I.</h2> + +<h3>WALDEMAR FALKENSTEIN AND VALÉRIE L'ESTRANGE.</h3> + + +<p>"A quarter to twelve! By Heaven if my luck don't change before the year +is out, I vow I'll never touch a card in the next!" exclaimed one of +several men playing lansquenet in Harry Godolphin's rooms at +Knightsbridge.</p> + +<p>There were seven or eight of them, some with long rent-rolls, others +within an ace of the Queen's Bench; the poor devils losing in the long +run much oftener and more recklessly than the rich fellows; all of them +playing high, as that <i>beau joueur</i> of the Guards, Godolphin, always +did.</p> + +<p>Luck had been dead against the man who spoke ever +since they had deserted the mess-room for the <i>cartes</i> in +the privacy of Harry's rooms. If Fortune is a woman, +he ought to have found favor in her eyes. His age was +between thirty and thirty-five, his figure with grace and +strength combined, his features nobly and delicately cut, +his head, like Canning's, one of great intellectual beauty, +and by the flash of his large dark eyes, and the additional +paleness of his cheek, it was easy to see he was +playing high once too often.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>Five minutes passed—he lost still; ten minutes' luck +was yet against him. A little French clock began the +Silver Chimes that rang out the Old Year; the twelfth +stroke sounded, the New Year was come, and Waldemar +Falkenstein rose and drank down some cognac—a ruined +man.</p> + +<p>"A happy New Year to you, and better luck, Falkenstein," +cried Godolphin, drinking his toast with a ringing +laugh and a foaming bumper of Chambertin. "What +shall I wish you? The richest wife in the kingdom, a +cabal that will break all the banks, for Mistletoe to win +the Oaks, or for your eyes to be opened to your sinful +state, as the parson phrases it—which, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Harry," laughed Falkenstein. (Like the +old Spartans, we can laugh while the wolf gnaws our +vitals.) "You remind me of what my holy-minded +brother wrote to me when I broke my shoulder-bone +down at Melton last season: 'My dear Waldemar, I am +sorry to hear of your sad accident; but all things are +ordered for the best, and I trust that in your present +hours of solitude your thoughts may be mercifully turned +to higher and better things.' Queer style of sympathy, +wasn't it? I preferred yours, when you sent me 'Adélaïde +Méran,' and that splendid hock I wasn't allowed to +touch."</p> + +<p>"I should say so; but catch the Pharisees giving anybody +anything warmer than texts and counsels, that cost +them nothing," said Tom Bevan of the Blues. "Apropos +of Pharisees, have you heard that old Cash is going to +build a chapel-of-ease in Belgravia, to endow that young +owl Gus with as soon as he can pull himself through his +'greats?' It is thought that the dear Bella will be +painted as St. Catherine for the altar-piece."</p> + +<p>"She'll strychnine herself if we're all so hard-hearted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +as to leave her to St. Catharine's nightcap," laughed +Falkenstein.</p> + +<p>"Why don't <i>you</i> take up with her, old fellow?" said a +man in Godolphin's troop. "Not the sangue puro, you'd +say; rather sallied with XXX. But what does that signify? +you've quarterings enough for two."</p> + +<p>"Much good the quarterings do me. No, thank you," +said Falkenstein bitterly. "I'm not going to sell myself, +though my dear friends would insinuate that I was sold +already to a gentleman who never quits hold of his bargains. +I've fetters enough now too heavy by half to add +matrimonial handcuffs to them."</p> + +<p>"Right, old boy," said Harry. "The Cashranger hops +and vats, even done in the brightest parvenu <i>or</i>, would +scarcely look well blazoned on the royal <i>gules</i>. Come, sit +down. Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"He's going to Eulalie Brown's, I bet," said Bevan. +"Nonsense, Waldemar; throw her over, and stay and +take your revenge—it's so early."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," said Falkenstein briefly. "By the +way, I suppose you all go to Cashranger's to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Make a point of it, answered Godolphin. I feel I'm +sinning against my Order to visit him, but really his Lafitte's +so good——I'm sorry you <i>will</i> leave us, Waldemar, +but I know I might as well try to move the Marble Arch +as try to turn you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I never set up for a Roman, Harry. The deuce +take this pipe, it won't light. Good night to you all." +And leaving them drinking hard, laughing loud, and telling +<i>grivois</i> tales before they sat down to play in all its +delirious delight, he sprang into a hanson, and drove, +not to Eulalie Brown's <i>petit souper</i>, but to his own rooms +in Duke Street, St. James's.</p> + +<p>Falkenstein's governor, some two-score years before,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +had got in mauvaise odeur in Vienna for some youthful +escapade at court; powerful as his princely family was, +had been obliged to fly the country; and, coming over +here, entered himself at the Bar, and, setting himself to +work with characteristic energy, had, wonderful to relate, +made a fortune at it. A fine, gallant, courtly <i>ancien noble</i> +was the Count, haughty and passionate at times, after +the manner of the house; fond of his younger son Waldemar, +who at school had tanned boys twice his size; rode +his pony in at the finish; smoked, swam, and otherwise +conducted himself, till all the rest of the boys worshipped +him, though I believe the masters generally attributed to +him more <i>diablerie</i> than divinity. But of late, unluckily, +his father had been much dominated over by Waldemar's +three sisters, ladies of a chill and High Church turn of +mind, and by his brother, who in early life had been a +prize boy and a sap, and received severe buffetings from +his junior at football; and now, being much the more +conventional and unimpeachable of the two, took his revenge +by carrying many tales to the old Count of his +wilder son—tales to which Falkenstein gave strong foundation. +For he was restless and reckless, strikingly +original, and, above the common herd, too impatient to +take any meddling with his affairs, and too proud to explain +where he was misjudged; and, though he held a +crack government place, good pay, and all but a sinecure, +he often spent more than he had, for economy was a +dead-letter to him, and if any man asked him a loan, he +was too generous to say "No." Life in all its phases he +had seen from the time he left school, and you know, +mon ami, we cannot see life on a groat—at least, through +the bouquet of the wines at Véfours, and the brilliance +of the gas-light in Casinos and Redoutes. The fascinations +of play were over him—the iron hand of debt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +pressed upon him; altogether, as he sat through the first +hours of the New Year, smoking, and gazing on the +flickering fire gleams, there was not much light either in +his past or future!</p> + +<p>Keenly imaginative and susceptible, blasé and skeptical +though he was, the weight of the Old Year and of many +gone before it, weighed heavily on his thoughts. Scenes +and deeds of his life, that he would willingly have blotted +out, rose before him; vague regrets, unformed desires, +floated to him on the midnight chimes.</p> + +<p>The Old Year was drifting away on the dark clouds +floating on to the sea, the New Year was dawning on the +vast human life swarming in the costly palaces and +crowded dens around him. The past was past, ineffaceable, +and relentless; the future lay hid in the unborn days, +and Falkenstein, his pipe out, his fire cold and black, +took a sedative, and threw himself on his bed, to sleep +heavily and restlessly through the struggling morning +light of the New Year.</p> + +<p>James Cashranger, Esq., of 133, Lowndes Square, was +a millionnaire, and the million owed its being to the sale +of his entire, which was of high celebrity, being patronised +by all the messes and clubs, shipped to all the colonies, +blessed by all the H. E. I. C.s, shouted by all the +potmen as "Beer-r-r-how," and consumed by all England +generally. But Cashranger's soul soared above the snobisms +of malt and jack, and à la Jourdain, of bourgeois celebrity, +he would have let any Dorante of the beau monde +fleece him through thick and thin, and, <i>en effet</i>, gave +dinners and drums unnumbered to men and women, who, +like Godolphin, went there for the sake of his Lafitte, +and quizzed him mercilessly behind his back. The first +day Harry dined there with nine other spirits worse than +himself—Cashranger having begged him to bring some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +of his particular chums—he looked at the eleventh seat, +and asked, with consummate impudence, who it was +for?</p> + +<p>"Why, really, my dear Colonel, it is for—for myself," +faltered the luckless brewer.</p> + +<p>"Oh?—ah?—I see," drawled Harry; "you mistook +me; I said I'd dine <i>here</i>—I didn't say I'd dine with <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>That, however, was four or five years before; now, +Godolphin having proclaimed his cook and cellar worth +countenancing, and his wife, the relict of a lieutenant in +the navy, being an admirable adept in the snob's art of +"pushing," plenty of exclusive dandies and extensive +fine ladies crushed up the stairs on New Year's-night to +one of Cashranger's numerous "At homes." Among +them, late enough, came Falkenstein. These sort of +crushes bored him beyond measure, but he wanted to see +Godolphin about some intelligence he had had of an +intended illegitimate use of the twitch to Mistletoe, that +sweet little chestnut who stood favorite for the Oaks. +He soon paid his devoir to madame, who wasn't quite +accustomed even yet to all this grandeur after her early +struggles on half-pay, and to her eldest daughter, the +Bella aforesaid, a showy, flaunting girl with a peony +color, and went on through the rooms seeking Harry, +stopping, however, for a word to every pretty woman he +knew; for though he began to find his game grow stale, +he and the beau sexe have a mutual attraction. Little +those women guessed, as they smiled in his handsome +eyes, and laughed at his witty talk, and blushed at his +soft voice, how heartily sick he was of their frivolities, +and how often disappointment and sarcasm lurked in his +mocking words. To be blasé was no affectation with +Falkenstein; it was a very earnest reality, as with most +of us who have knocked about in the world, not only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +from the variety of his manifold experiences, but from the +trickery, and censure, and cold water with which the +world had treated him.</p> + +<p>"You here, old fellow?" said Bevan of the Blues, meeting +him in the music-room, where some artistes were +singing Traviata airs. "You don't care for this row, do +you? Come along with me, and I'll show you something +that will amuse you better."</p> + +<p>"Show me Godolphin, and I'll thank you. I didn't +come to stay—did you?"</p> + +<p>"No. Horrid bore, ain't it? But since you are here, +you may as well take a look at the dearest little actress I +ever saw since I was a boy, and bewitched by Léontine +Fay. Sit down." Bevan went on, as they entered a +room fitted up like a theatre, "There, it's that one with +blue eyes, got up like a Watteau's huntress; isn't she a +brilliant little thing?"</p> + +<p>"Very. She plays as well as Déjazet. Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know. Can you tell us, Forester?"</p> + +<p>"She's old Cash's niece," said Forester, not taking his +eyes off the stage. "Come as a sort of companion to the +beloved Bella; dangerous companion, I should say, for +there's no comparing the two."</p> + +<p>"What's her name?"</p> + +<p>"Viola—Violet—no, Valérie L'Estrange. L'Estrange, +of the 10th, ran away with Cash's sister. God knows +why. Horrid low connexion, and no money. She went +speedily to glory, and he drank himself to death two +years ago in Lahore. I remember him, a big fellow, fourteen +stone, pounded Bully Batson once at Moseley, and +there wasn't such another hard hitter among the fancy as +Bully. When he departed this life, of course his daughter +was left to her own devices, with scarcely a rap to +buy her bonnets. Clever little animal she is, too; she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +wrote those proverbs they're now playing; full of dash, +and spice, ain't they? especially when you think a girl +wrote 'em."</p> + +<p>"Introduce me as soon as they're over," said Falkenstein, +leaning back to study the young actress and author, +who was an engaging study enough, being full of grace +and vivacity, with animated features, mobile eyebrows, +dark-blue eyes, and chestnut hair. "Anything original +would be as great a wonder as to buy Cavendish in Regent-Street +that wasn't bird's-eye."</p> + +<p>"Valérie's original enough for anybody's money. Hark +how she's firing away at Egerton. Pretty little soft voice +she has. I do like a pretty voice for a woman," said Forester, +clapping softly, with many a murmured bravisima.</p> + +<p>"You're quite enthusiastic," smiled Falkenstein. "Pity +you haven't a bouquet to throw at her."</p> + +<p>"Don't you poke fun at me, you cynic," growled Forester. +"I've seen you throw bouquets at much plainer +women."</p> + +<p>"And the bouquets and the women were much alike +in morning light—faded and colorless on their artificial +stalks as soon as the gas glare was off them."</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue, Juvenal," laughed Forester, "or I +vow I won't introduce you. You'll begin satirising poor +little Val as soon as you've spoken to her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can be merciful to the weak; don't I let <i>you</i> +alone, Forester?" laughed Waldemar, as the curtain fell.</p> + +<p>The proverbs were over, and having put herself in ball-room +style, the author came among the audience. He +amused himself with watching how she took her numerous +compliments, and was astonished to detect neither +vanity nor shyness, and to hear her turn most of them +aside with a laugh. She was quite as attractive off as on +the stage, especially with the aroma of her sparkling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +proverbs hanging about her; and Falkenstein got his +introduction, and consigning Godolphin and Mistletoe to +futurity, waltzed with her, and found her dancing as full +of grace and lightness as an Andalusian's or Arlésienne's. +Falkenstein cared little enough for the saltatory art, but +this waltz did not bore him, and when it was over, regardless +of some dozen names written on her tablets, he +gave her his arm, and they strolled out of the ball-room +into a cooler atmosphere. He found plenty of fun in +her, as he had expected from her proverbs, and sat down +beside her in the conservatory to let himself be amused +for half an hour.</p> + +<p>"Do you know many of the people here?" she asked +him. "Is there anybody worth pointing out? There +ought to be, in four or five hundred dwellers in the aristocratic +west."</p> + +<p>"I know most of them personally or by report, but +they are all of the same stamp, like the petals of that +camellia, some larger and some smaller, but all cut in the +same pattern. Most of them apostles of fashion, martyrs +to debt, worshippers of the rising sun. All of them +created by art, from the young ladies who owe their +roses and lilies to Breidenbach, to the ci-devant jeunes +hommes, who buy their figures in Bond Street and their +faces from Isidore. All of them actors—and pretty good +actors, too—from that pretty woman yonder, who knows +her milliner may imprison her any day for the lace she +is now drawing round her with a laugh, to that sleek old +philanthropist playing whist through the doors there, +whose guinea points are paid by the swindle of half +England."</p> + +<p>She laughed.</p> + +<p>"Lend me your lorgnon. I should like to see around +me as you do."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wait twenty years, you will have it; there are two +glasses to it—experience and observation."</p> + +<p>"But your glasses are smoked, are they not?" said +Valérie, with a quick glance at him; "for you seem to +me to see everything en noir."</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p>"When I was a boy I had a Claude glass, but they +break very soon; or rather, as you say, grow dark and +dim with the smoke of society. But you ask me about +these people. You know them, do you not, as they are +your uncle's guests?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I have been here but a week or two. For the last +two years I have been vegetating among the fens, with a +maiden aunt of poor papa's."</p> + +<p>"And did you like the country?"</p> + +<p>"Like it!" cried Valérie, "I was buried alive. Everything +was so dreadfully punctual and severe in that house, +that I believe the very cat had forgotten how to purr. +Breakfast at eight, drive at two, dinner at five, prayers +at ten. Can't you fancy the dreary diurnal round, with a +pursy old rector or two, and three or four high-dried +county princesses as callers once a quarter? Luckily, I +can amuse myself, but oh, you cannot think how I +sickened of the monotony, how I longed to <i>live!</i> At +last, I grew so naughty, I was expelled."</p> + +<p>"May I inquire your sins?" asked Falkenstein, really +amused for once.</p> + +<p>She laughed at the remembrance.</p> + +<p>"I read 'Notre-Dame' against orders, and I rode the +fat old mare round the paddock without a saddle. I saw +no harm in it; as a child, I read and rode everything I +came near, but the rough-riding was condemned as unfeminine, +and any French book, were it even the 'Génie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +du Christianisme,' or the 'Petit Carême,' would be regarded +by Aunt Agatha, who doesn't know a word of the +language, as a powder magazine of immorality and infidelity."</p> + +<p>"C'est la profonde ignorance qui inspire le ton dogmatique," +laughed Falkenstein. "But surely you have +been accustomed to society."</p> + +<p>"No, never; but I am made for it, I fancy," said +Valérie, with an unconscious compliment to herself. +"When I was with the dear old Tenth, I used to enjoy +myself, but I was a child then. The officers were very +kind to me—gentlemen always are much more so than +ladies"—("Pour cause," thought Waldemar, as she +went on)—"but ever since then I have vegetated as I +tell you, in much the same still life as the anemones in +my vase."</p> + +<p>"Yet you could write those proverbs," said he, involuntarily.</p> + +<p>She laughed, and colored.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have written ever since I could make A B C, +and I have not forgotten all I saw with the old Tenth. +But come, tell me more of these people; I like to hear +your satire."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you do," said Falkenstein, with a smile; +"for only those who have no foibles to hit have a relish +for sarcasm. Do you think Messaline and Lélie had +much admiration for La Bruyère's periods, however well +turned or justly pointed? but those whom the caps did +not fit probably enjoyed them as you and I do. All +satirists, from Martial downwards, most likely gain an +enemy for each truth they utter, for in this bal masqué +of life it is not permitted to tear the masks off our companions."</p> + +<p>"Do you wear one?" asked Valérie, quickly. "I fancy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +like Monte Cristo, your pleasure is to 'usurper les vices +que vous n'avez pas, et de cacher les vertus que vous +avez.'"</p> + +<p>"Virtues? If you knew me better, you would know +that I never pretend to any. If you compare me to +Monte Cristo, say rather that I 'prêche loyalement +l'égoisme,'" laughed Falkenstein. "Upon my word, we +are talking very seriously for a ball-room. I ought to be +admiring your bouquet, Miss L'Estrange, or petitioning +for another waltz."</p> + +<p>"Don't trouble yourself. I like this best," said Valérie, +playing with the flowers round her. "And I ought to +have my own way, for this is my birthday."</p> + +<p>"New Year's-day? Indeed! Then I am sure I wish +you most sincerely the realisation of all your ideals and +desires, which, to the imaginative author of the proverbs, +will be as good as wishing her Aladdin's lamp," smiled +Falkenstein.</p> + +<p>She smiled too, and sighed.</p> + +<p>"And about as improbable as Aladdin's lamp. Did +you see the Old Year out last night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered, briefly; for the remembrance of +what he had lost watching it out was not agreeable to him.</p> + +<p>"There was a musical party here," continued Valérie, +"but I got away from it, for I like to be alone when the +past and the future meet—do not you?"</p> + +<p>"No; your past is pure, your future is bright. Mine +are not so; I don't want to be stopped to contemplate +them."</p> + +<p>"Nor are mine, indeed; but the death of an Old Year +is sad and solemn to me as the death of a friend, and I +like to be alone in its last hour. I wonder," she continued, +suddenly, "what this year will bring. I wonder +where you and I shall be next New Year's-night?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>Falkenstein laughed, not merrily.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> shall be in Kensal Green or the Queen's Bench, +very likely. Why do you look astonished Miss L'Estrange; +one is the destination of everybody in these +rooms, and the other probably of one-half of them."</p> + +<p>"Don't speak so bitterly—don't give me sad thoughts +on my birthday. Oh, how tiresome!" cried Valérie, interrupting +herself, "there comes Major D'Orwood."</p> + +<p>"To claim you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I'd forgotten him entirely. I promised to waltz +with him an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"What the devil brought you here to interrupt us?" +thought Falkenstein, as the Guardsman lisped a reproof +at Valérie's cruelty, and gave her his arm back to the +ball-room. Waldemar stopped her, however, engaged +her for the next, and sauntered through the room on her +other side. He waltzed a good deal with her, paying her +that sort of attention which Falkenstein knew how to +make the softest and subtlest homage a woman could +have. Amused himself, he amused her with his brilliant +and pointed wit, so well, that Valérie L'Estrange told +him, when he bid her good night, that she had never +enjoyed any birthday so much.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Bevan, as they drove away from 133, +Lowndes Square, "did you find that wonderful little +L'Estrange as charming a companion as actress? You +ought to know, for you've been after her all night, like a +ferret after a rabbit."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Falkenstein, taking out a little pet briarwood +pipe, "I was very pleased with her: she's worth no +more than the others, probably, au fond, but she's very +entertaining and frank: she'll tell you anything. Poor +child! she can't be over-comfortable in Cash's house. +She's a lady by instinct; that odious ostentation and snobbish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +toadying must disgust her. Besides, Bella is not +very likely to lead a girl a very nice life who is partially +dependent on her father, and infinitely better style than +herself."</p> + +<p>"The devil, no! That flaunting, flirting, over-dressed +Cashranger girl is my detestation. She'll soon find +means to worry littil Valérie. Women have a great spice +of the mosquito in 'em, and enjoy nothing more than +stinging each other to death."</p> + +<p>"Well, she must get Forester or D'Orwood—some +man who can afford it—to take compassion upon her. +All of them finish so when they can; the rich ones marry +for a title, and the poor ones for a home," said the Count, +stirring up his pipe. "Here's my number; thank you +for dropping me; and good night, old fellow."</p> + +<p>"Good night. Pleasant dreams of your author and +actress, <i>aux longs yeux bleus</i>."</p> + +<p>Waldemar laughed as he took out his latch-key. "I'm +afraid I couldn't get up so much romance. You and I +have done with all that, Tom. Confound it, I never saw +Godolphin, after all. Well, I must go and breakfast +with him to-morrow."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>II.</h2> + +<h3>FALKENSTEIN BREAKS LANCES WITH THE "LONGS YEUX BLEUS."</h3> + + +<p>He did breakfast with Godolphin, not, however, before +he had held a small but disagreeable levee to one or two +rather impatient callers whom he couldn't satisfy, and a +certain Amadeus Levi, who, having helped him to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +payment of those debts of honor incurred in Harry's +rooms, held him by Golden Fetters as hard to unclasp as +the chains that bound Prometheus. He shook himself +free of them at last, drove to Knightsbridge, and had a +chat with Godolphin, over coffee and chibouques, went +to his two or three hours' diplomatic work in the Deeds +and Chronicles Office, and when he came out, instead of +going to his club as usual, thought he might as well call +on the Cashrangers, and turned his steps to Lowndes +Square. Valérie L'Estrange was sitting at a Davenport, +done out of her Watteau costume into very becoming +English morning dress; he had only time to shake hands +with her before Bella and her mamma set upon him. +Miss Cashranger had a great admiration for him, and, +though his want of money was a drawback, the royal +gules of his blazonments, joined to his manifold attractions, +fairly dazzled her, and she held him tight, talking +over the palace concerts, till a dowager and her daughter, +and a couple of men from Hounslow, being ushered in, +he was at liberty, and sitting down by Valérie, gave her +a book she had said the night before she wished to read.</p> + +<p>"'Goethe's Autobiography!' Oh, thank you—how kind you are!"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," laughed Falkenstein. "To merit such +things I ought to have saved your life at least. What +are you doing here; writing some more proverbs, I hope, +to give me a part in one?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "Nothing half so agreeable. I +am writing dinner invitations, and answering Belle's +letters."</p> + +<p>"Why, can't she answer them herself?"</p> + +<p>"My motto here is 'Ich Dien,'" she answered, with a +flush on her cheeks.</p> + +<p>Bella turned languidly round, and verified her words:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +"Val, Puppet's scratching at the door; let him in, will +you?"</p> + +<p>Waldemar rose and opened the door for a little slate-colored +greyhound, and while Bella lisped out her regrets +for his trouble, smiled a smile that made Miss +Cashranger color, and looked searchingly at Valérie to +see how she took it. She turned a grateful, radiant look +on him, and whispered, "Je m'affranchirai un jour."</p> + +<p>"Et comment?"</p> + +<p>She raised her mobile eyebrows: "Dieu sait! Comme +actrice, comme feuilletonniste—j'ai mes rêves, monsieur—mais +pas comme institutrice: cela me tuerait bientôt."</p> + +<p>"Je le crois," said Falkenstein, briefly, as he took up +the autobiography, and began to talk on it.</p> + +<p>"I don't like Goethe for one thing," said Valérie; "he +loved a dozen women one after the other. That I would +pardon him; most men do so; but I don't believe he +really loved any one of them."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes he did; quite enough, at least, to please himself. +He wasn't so silly as to go in for a never-ending, +heart-burning, heart-breaking, absorbing passion. We +don't do those things."</p> + +<p>"Go in for it!" repeated Valérie, contemptuously, +"I suppose if he had been of the nature to feel such, he +couldn't have helped it."</p> + +<p>"I can help going near the fire, can't I, if I don't wish +to be burnt?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but a coal may fly out of the fire, and set you +in flames, when you are sitting far away from it."</p> + +<p>"Then I ought to wear asbestos," said Waldemar, with +a merry quizzical smile. "You authors, and poets, and +artists think 'the world well lost, and all for love!' but +we rational people, who know the world, find it quite +the contrary. Those are very pretty ideas for your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +proverbs, but they don't suit real life. <i>We</i>, when we're +boys, worship some parterre divinity, till we see her +some luckless day inebriate with eau-de-Cologne, or more +unpoetic porter, are cured and disenchanted, wait ten +years with Christines and Minna Herzliebs in the interim, +and wind up with a rich widow, who keeps us +straight and heads our table. <i>You</i>, fresh from the +school-room, fasten on some lachrymose curate, or flirting +dragoon, as the object of your early romances, walk +with him under the limes, work him a smoking-cap, and +write him tender little notes, till mamma whispers her +hope that Mr. A. or B. is serious, and you, balancing, like +a sensible girl, A. or B.'s tangible settlements with the +others' intangible love-speeches, forsake the limes, forswear +the notes, and announce yourself as 'sold.' That's +the love of our day, Miss L'Estrange, and very wise +and——"</p> + +<p>"Love!" cried Valérie, with supreme scorn. "You +don't know the common A B C of love. You might as +well call gilt leather-work pure gold."</p> + +<p>Falkenstein laughed heartily. "Well, there's a good +deal more leather-work than gold about in the world, +isn't there?"</p> + +<p>"A good deal more, granted; but there is some gold +to be found, I should hope."</p> + +<p>"Not without alloy; it can't be worked, you know."</p> + +<p>"It can't be worked for the base purposes of earth; but +it may be found still undefiled before men's touch has +soiled it. So I believe in some hearts, undefiled by the +breath of conventionality and cant, may lie the true love +of the poets, 'lasting, and knowing not change.'"</p> + +<p>"Ah! you're too ideal for me," cried Waldemar, smiling +at her impetuous earnestness. "You are all enthusiasm, +imagination, effervescence——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am not," she answered, impatiently. "I can be +very practical when I like; I made myself the loveliest +wreath yesterday; quite as pretty as Bella buys at +Mitchell's for five times the sum mine cost me. That +was very realistic, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"No. That exercised your fancy. You wouldn't do—what +do you call it?—plain work, with half the gusto; +now, would you?"</p> + +<p>Valérie made a <i>moue mutine</i>, expressive of entire repudiation +of such employment.</p> + +<p>"I thought so," laughed Falkenstein. "You idealists +are like the fire in the grate yonder; you flame up very +hot and bright for a moment, but 'the sparks fly upward +and expire,' and if they're not fed with some fresh fuel +they soon die out into lifeless cinders."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," said Valérie, quickly, "we are like +wood fires, and burn red down to the last ash."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Falkenstein, come and look at this little 'Ghirlandaio,'" +said Bella, turning round, with an angry light +in her eyes; "it is such a gem. Papa bought it the +other day."</p> + +<p>Waldemar rose reluctantly enough to inspect the +"Ghirlandaio," manufactured in a back slum, and +smoked into proper antiquity to pigeon, under the attractive +title of an "Old Master," the brewer and his +species, and found Miss Cashranger's ignorant dilettantism +very tame after Valérie's animated arguments and +gesticulation. But he was too old a hand at such game +not to know how to take advantage of even an enemy's +back-handed stroke, and he turned the discussion on art +to an inspection of Valérie's portfolio, over whose croquis +and pastels, and water-colors, he lingered as long as he +could, till the clock reminded him that it was time to +walk on into Eaton Square, where he was going to dine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +at his father's. The governor excepted, Falkenstein had +little rapport with his family. His brother was as chilly +disagreeable in private life as he was popularly considered +irreproachable in public, and as pragmatical and +uncharitable as your immaculate individuals ordinarily +are. His sisters were cold, conventional women, as +utterly incapable of appreciating him as of allowing the +odor of his Latakia in their drawing-room, and so it +chanced that Waldemar, a favorite in every other house +he entered, received but a chill welcome at home. A +prophet has no honor in his own country, and the hearth +where a man's own kin are seated is too often the one to +nurture the cockatrice's eggs of ill-nature and injustice +against him. Thank Heaven there are others where the +fire burns brighter, and the smiles are fonder for him. +It were hard for some of us if we were dependent on the +mercies of our "own family."</p> + +<p>The old Count gave him this night but a distant welcome, +for Maximilian was there to "damn" his brother +with "faint praise," and had been pouring into his +father's ear tales of "poor Waldemar's losses at play." +All that Falkenstein said, his sisters took up, contradicted, +and jarred upon, till he, fairly out of patience, +lapsed into silence, only broken by a sarcasm deftly flung +at Maximillian to floor him completely in his orthodoxy +or ethics. He was glad to bid the governor good night; +and leaving them to hold a congress over his skepticism, +radicalism, and other dangerous opinions, he walked +through the streets, and swore slightly, with his pipe between +his teeth, as he opened his own door.</p> + +<p>"Since my father prefers Max to me, let him have +him," thought Waldemar, smoking, and undressing himself. +"If people choose to dictate to me or misjudge me, +let them go; and if they have not penetration enough to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +judge what I am, I shall not take the trouble to show +them."</p> + +<p>But, nevertheless, as he thus resolved, Falkenstein +smoked hard and fast, for he was fond of the old Count, +and felt keenly his desertion; for, steel himself as he +might, egotist as he might call himself, Waldemar was +quick in his susceptibilities and tenacious in his attachments.</p> + +<p>Since Falkenstein had got intimate with Valérie +L'Estrange in one ball you are pretty sure that week +after week did not lessen their friendship. He was +amused, and past memories of women he had wooed, and +won, and left, certain passages in his life where such had +reproached him, not always deservedly, never presented +themselves to check him in his new pursuit. It is pleasant +to a naturalist to study a butterfly pinned to the wall; +the rememberance that the butterfly may die of the sport +does not occur to him, or, at least, never troubles him.</p> + +<p>So Falkenstein called to Lowndes Square, and lent +her books, and gave her a little Skye of his, and met her +occasionally by accident on purpose in Kensington Gardens, +where Valérie, according to Mrs. Cashranger's request, +sometimes took one of her cousins, a headstrong +young demon of six or seven, for an early walk, to which +early walks Valérie made no objection, preferring them +to the drawing-rooms of No. 133, and liking them, you +may guess, none the less after seeing somebody she knew +standing by the pond throwing in sticks for his retriever, +and Falkenstein had sat down with her under the bushes +by the water, and talked of all the things in heaven and +earth; while Julius Adolphus ran about and gobbled at +the China geese, and wetted his silk stockings unreproved. +He made no love to her, not a bit; he talked of +it theoretically, but never practically. But he liked to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +talk to her, to argue with her, to see her demonstrative +pleasure in his society, to watch her coming through the +trees, and find the <i>longs yeux bleus</i> gleam and darken +at his approach. All this amused him, pleased him as +something original and out of the beaten track. She +told him all she thought and felt; she pleased him, +and beguiled him from his darker thoughts, and she began +to reconcile him to human nature, which, with Faria, +he had learnt to class into "les tigres et les crocodiles à +deux pieds."</p> + +<p>It was well he had this amusement, for it was his only +one. He was going to the bad, as we say; debts and +entanglements imperceptibly gathered round him, held +him tight, and only in Valérie's lively society (lively, for +when with him she was as happy as a bird) could exercise +his dark spirit.</p> + +<p>You remember the vow he made when the Silver +Chimes rang in the New Year? So did not he. We +cannot be always Medes and Persians, madam, to resist +every temptation and keep unbroken every law, though +you, sitting in your cushioned chair, in unattacked tranquillity, +can tell us easily enough we should be. One +night, when he was dining with Bevan, Tom produced +those two little ivory fiends, whose rattle is in the ear of +watchful deans and proctors as the singing of the rattlesnake, +and whose witchery is more wily and irresistible +than the witchery of woman. No beaux yeux, whether +of the cassette or of one's first love, ever subjugate a man +so completely as the fascinations of play. Once yielded +to the charm, the Circe that clasps us will not let us go. +Falkenstein, though in much he had the strong will of +his race, had no power to resist the beguilements of his +Omphale; he played again and again, and five times out +of seven lost.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, Falkenstein," cried Godolphin, after five games +of écarté at a pony a side, three of which Falkenstein had +lost, "I heard Max lamenting to old Straitlace in the +lobby, the other night, that you were going to the devil, +only the irreproachable member phrased it in more delicate +periods."</p> + +<p>"Quite true," said Falkenstein, with a short laugh, +"if for devil you substitute Queen's Bench."</p> + +<p>"Well, we're en route together, old fellow," interrupted +Tom Bevan; "and, with all your sins, you're a fat lot +better than that brother of yours, who, I believe, don't +know Latakia from Maryland. Jesse Egerton told me +the other day that his wife has an awful life of it; but +who'd credit it of a man who patronises Exeter Hall, and +gave the shoeblacks only yesterday such unlimited supply +of weak tea, buns, and strong texts?"</p> + +<p>"Who indeed! Max is such a moral man," sneered +Falkenstein; "though he has done one or two things in +his life that I wouldn't have stooped to do. But you +may sin as much as you like as long as you sin under the +rose. John Bull takes his vices as a ten pound voter +takes a bribe; he stretches his hand out eagerly enough, +but he turns his eyes away and looks innocent, and is +the first to point at his neighbor and cry out against +moral corruption. Melville's quite right that there is an +eleventh commandment—'Thou shalt not be found out'—whose +transgression is the only one society visits with +impunity."</p> + +<p>"True enough," laughed Jimmy Fitzroy. "Thank +Heaven, nobody can accuse us of studying the law and +the prophets overmuch. By the way, old fellow, who's +that stunning little girl you were walking with by the +Serpentine yesterday morning, when I was waiting for +the Metcalfe, who promised to meet me at twelve, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +never came till half-past one—the most unpunctual +woman going. Any new game? She's a governess, +ain't she? She'd some sort of brat with her; but she's +deuced good style, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"That's little L'Estrange," laughed Godolphin: "the +beloved Bella's cousin. He's met her there every day +for the last three months. I don't know how much +further the affair may have gone, or if——"</p> + +<p>"My dear Harry, your imagination is running away +with you," said Falkenstein, impatiently. "I never made +an appointment with her in my life; she's not the same +style as Mrs. Metcalfe."</p> + +<p>Oh the jesuitism of the most candid men on occasion! +He never made an appointment with her, because it was +utterly unnecessary, he knowing perfectly that he should +find her feeding the ducks with Julius Adolphus any +morning he chose to look for her.</p> + +<p>"All friendship is it, then?" laughed Godolphin. +"Stick to it, my boy, if you can. Take care what you do, +though, for to carry her off to Duke Street would give +Max such a handle as he would not let go in a hurry; +And to marry (though that of course, will never enter +your wildest dreams) with anybody of the Cashranger's +race, were it the heiress instead of the companion, would +be such a come-down to the princely house, as would +infallibly strike you out of Count Ferdinand's will."</p> + +<p>Waldemar threw back his head like a thorough-bred +impatient of the punishing. "The 'princely house,' as +you call it, is not so extraordinarily stainless; but leave +Valérie alone, she and I have nothing to do with other, +and never shall have. I have enough on my hands, in +all conscience, without plunging into another love affair."</p> + +<p>"I did hear," continued Godolphin, "that Forester +proposed to her, but I don't suppose it's true; he'd +scarcely be such a fool."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>Falkenstein looked up quickly, but did not speak.</p> + +<p>"I think it is true," said Bevan; "and, moreover, I +fancy she refused him, for he used to cry her up to the +skies, and now he's always snapping and sneering at +her, which is beastly ungenerous, but after the manner +of many fellows."</p> + +<p>"One would think you were an old woman, Tom, believing +all the tales you hear," said Godolphin. "She'd +better know you disclaim her, Falkenstein, that she +mayn't waste her chances waiting for you."</p> + +<p>Waldemar cast a quick, annoyed, contemptuous glance +upon him. "You are wonderfully careful over her interests," +he said, sharply, "but I never heard that having +her on your lips, Harry, ever did a woman much good. +Pass me that whisky, Conrad, will you?"</p> + +<p>The next morning, however, though he "disclaimed" +her, Waldemar, about ten, took his stick, whistled his +dog, and walked down to Kensington Gardens. Under +the beeches just budding their first leaves, he saw what +he expected to see—Valérie L'Estrange. She turned—even +at that distance he thought he saw the <i>longs yeux +bleus</i> flash and sparkle—dropped the biscuits she was +giving the ducks to the tender mercies of Julius Adolphus, +and came to meet him. Spit, the little Skye he +had given her, welcoming him noisily.</p> + +<p>"Spit is as pleased to see you as I am," said Valérie, +laughing. "We have both been wondering whether you +would come this morning. I am so glad you have, for +I have been reading your 'Pollnitz Memoirs,' and want to +talk to you about them. You know I can talk to no one +as I can to you."</p> + +<p>"You do me much honor," said Falkenstein, rather +formally. He was wondering in his mind whether she +<i>had</i> refused Forester or not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What a cold, distant speech! It is very unkind of +you to answer me so. What is the matter with you, +Count Waldemar?"</p> + +<p>She always called him by the title he had dropped in +English society; she had a fervent reverence for his +historic <i>antécédens</i>; and besides, as she told him one day, +"she liked to call him something no one else did."</p> + +<p>"Matter with me? Nothing at all, I assure you," he +answered, still distantly.</p> + +<p>"You are not like yourself, at all events," persisted +Valérie. "You should be kind to me. I have so few +who are."</p> + +<p>The tone touched him; he smiled, but did not speak, +as he sat down by her poking up the turf with his stick.</p> + +<p>"Count Waldemar," said Valérie, suddenly, brushing +Spit's hair off his bright little eyes, "do tell me; hasn't +something vexed you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing new," answered Falkenstein, with a short +laugh. "The same entanglements and annoyances that +have been netting their toils round me for many years—that +is all. I am young enough, as time counts, yet I +give you my word I have as little hope in my future, and +I know as well what my life will be as if I were fourscore."</p> + +<p>"Hush, don't say so," said Valérie, with a gesture of +pain. "You are so worthy of happiness; your nature +was made to be happy; and if you are not, fate has misused +you cruelly."</p> + +<p>"Fate? there is no such thing. I have been a fool, +and my folly is now working itself out. I have made my +own life, and I have nobody but myself to thank for it."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that. Circumstances, temptation, education, +opportunity, association, often take the place of +the Parcæ, and gild or cut the threads of our destiny."</p> + +<p>"No. I don't accept that doctrine," said Falkenstein,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +always much sterner judge to himself than anybody +would have been to him. "What I have done has been +with my eyes open. I have known the price I should +pay for my pleasures, but I never paused to count it. I +never stopped for any obstacle, and for what I desired, I +would, like the men in the old legends, have sold myself +to the devil. Now, of course, I am hampered with ten +thousand embarrassments. You are young; you are a +woman; you cannot understand the reckless madness +which will drink the wine to-day, though one's life paid +for it to-morrow. Screened from opportunity, fenced in +by education, position, and society, you cannot know +how impossible it is to a man, whose very energies and +strength become his tempters, to put a check upon himself +in the vortex of pleasure round him——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," interrupted Valérie, "I can. Feeling for you, +I can sympathise in all things with you. Had I been a +man, I should have done as you have done, drunk the +ambrosia without heeding its cost. Go on—I love to +hear you speak of yourself; and I know your real nature, +Count Waldemar, into whatever errors or hasty acts repented +of in cooler moments the hot spirit of your race +may have led you."</p> + +<p>Falkenstein was pleased, despite himself, half amused, +half saddened. He turned it off with a laugh. "By +Heaven, I wish they had made a brewer of me—I might +now be as rich and free from care as your uncle."</p> + +<p>"You a brewer!" cried Valérie. Her father, a poor +gentleman, had left her his aristocratic leanings. "What +an absurd idea! All the old Falkensteins would come +out of their crypts, and chanceries, and cloisters, to see +the coronet surmounting the beer vats!"</p> + +<p>He smiled at her vehemence. "The coronet! I had +better have full pockets than empty titles."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"For shame!" cried Valérie. "Yes, bark at him, Spit +dear; he is telling stories. You do not mean it; you +know you are proud of your glorious name. Who would +not rather be a Falkenstein on a hundred a year, than a +Cashranger on a thousand?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't," said Waldemar, wilfully. "If I had +money, I could find oblivion for my past, and hope for +my future. If I had money, what loads of friends would +open their purses for me to borrow the money they'd +know I did not need. As it is, if I except poor Tom +Bevan, who's as hard up as I am, and who's a good-hearted, +single-minded fellow, and likes me, I believe I haven't a +friend. Godolphin welcomes me as a companion, a +bon vivant, a good card player; but if he heard I was +in the Queen's Bench, or had shot myself, he'd say, +'Poor devil! I am not surprised,' as he lighted his pipe +and forgot me a second after. So they would all. I +don't blame them."</p> + +<p>"But I do," cried Valérie, her cheeks burning; "they +are wicked and heartless, and I hate them all. Oh! +Count Waldemar, I would not do so. I would not desert +you if all the world did!"</p> + +<p>He smiled: he was accustomed to her passionate ebullitions. +"Poor child, I believe you would be truer than +the rest," he muttered, half aloud, as he rose hastily and +took out his watch. "I must be in Downing Street by +eleven, and it only wants ten minutes. If you will walk +with me to the gates, I have something to tell you about +your MS."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>III.</h2> + +<h3>"SCARLET AND WHITE" MAKES A HIT, AND FALKENSTEIN FEELS +THE WEIGHT OF THE GOLDEN FETTERS.</h3> + + +<p>"Tom, will you come to the theatre with me to-night?" +said Falkenstein as they lounged by the rails one afternoon +in May.</p> + +<p>"The theatre! What for? Who's that girl with a +scarlet tie, on that roan there? I don't know her face. +The ballet is the only thing worth stirring a step for in +town. Which theatre is it?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to see the new piece Pomps and Vanities +is bringing out, and I want you as a sort of claqueur."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I'll come," said Tom, who regarded +Falkenstein, who had been his school and formfellow, +still rather as a Highlandman his chief; "but, certainly, +the first night of a play is the very last I should select. +But if you wish it—— There's that roan coming round +again! Good action, hasn't it?"</p> + +<p>Obedient to his chiefs orders, Bevan brushed his +whiskers, settled his tie, or rather let his valet do it for +him, and accompanied Waldemar to one of the crack-up +theatres, where Pomps and Vanities, as the manager was +irreverently styled by the habitués of his green-room, +reigned in a state of scenic magnificence, very different +to the days when Garrick played Macbeth in wig and +gaiters.</p> + +<p>Bevan asked no questions; he was rather a silent man, +and probably knew by experience that he would most +likely get no answers, unless the information was volunteered. +So settling in his own mind that it was the +début of some protégée of Falkenstein's, he followed him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +to the door of a private box. Waldemar opened it, and +entered. In it sat two women: one, a middle-aged lady-like-looking +person; the other a young one, in whom, as +she turned round with a radiant smile, and gave Falkenstein +her hand, Bevan recognised Valérie L'Estrange. +"Keep up your courage," whispered Waldemar, as he +took the seat behind her, and leaned forward with a +smile. Tom stared at them both. It was high Dutch to +him; but being endowed with very little curiosity, and a +lion's share of British immovability, he waited without +any impatience for the elucidation of the mystery, and +seeing the Count and Valérie absorbed in earnest and +low-toned conversation, he first studied the house, and +finding not a single decent-looking woman, he dropped +his glass and studied the play-bill. The bill announced +the new piece as "Scarlet and White." "Queer title," +thought Bevan, a little consoled for his self-immolation +by seeing that Rosalie Rivers, a very pretty little brunette, +was to fill the soubrette rôle. The curtain drew +up. Tom, looking at Valérie instead of the stage, fancied +she looked very pale, and her eyes were fixed, not +on the actors, but on Falkenstein. The first act passed +off in ominous silence. An audience is often afraid to +compromise itself by applauding a new piece too quickly. +Then the story began to develop itself—wit and passion, +badinage and pathos, were well intermingled. It turned +on the love of a Catholic girl, a fille d'honneur to Catherine +de Médicis, for a Huguenot, Vicomte de Valère, a +friend of Condé and Coligny. The despairing love of +the woman, the fierce struggle of her lover between his +passion and his faith, the intrigues of the court, the +cruelty and weakness of Charles Neuf, were all strikingly +and forcibly written. The actors, being warmly applauded +as the plot thickened and the audience became<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +interested, played with energy and spirit; and when the +curtain fell the success of "Scarlet and White" was proclaimed +through the house.</p> + +<p>"Very good play—very good indeed," said Tom, approvingly. +"I hope you've been pleased, Miss L'Estrange." +Valérie did not hear him; she was trembling +and breathless, her blue eyes almost black with excitement, +while Falkenstein bent over her, his face more full +of animation and pleasure than Bevan had seen it for +many a day. "Well," thought Tom, "Forester <i>did</i> say +little Val was original. I should think that was a polite +term for insane. I suppose Falkenstein's keeper."</p> + +<p>At that minute the applause redoubled. Pomps and +Vanities had announced "Scarlet and White" for repetition, +and from the pit to the gods there was a cry for the +author. Falkenstein bent his head till his lips touched +her hair, and whispered a few words. She looked up in +his face. "Do you wish me?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>His word was law. She rose and went to the front of +the box, a burning color in her cheeks, smiles on her lips, +and tears lying under her lashes.</p> + +<p>"The devil, Waldemar! Do you mean that—that +little thing?" began Bevan.</p> + +<p>Falkenstein nodded, and Tom, for once in his life +astonished, forgot to finish his sentence in staring at the +author! Probably the audience also shared his surprise, +in seeing her young face and girlish form, in lieu of the +anticipated member of the Garrick or new Bourcicault, +with inspiration drawn from Cavendish and Cognac; for +there was a moment's silence, and then they received her +with such a welcome as had not sounded through the +house for years.</p> + +<p>She bowed two or three times to thank them; then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +Falkenstein, knowing that though she had no shyness, +she was extremely excitable, drew her gently back to her +seat behind the curtain. "Your success is too much for +you," he said, softly.</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Valérie, passionately, utterly forgetful +that any one else was near her; "but I am so glad that +I owe it all to you. It would be nothing to me, as you +know, unless it pleased you; and it came to me through +your hands."</p> + +<p>Falkenstein gave a short, quick sigh, and moved restlessly.</p> + +<p>"You would like to go home now, wouldn't you?" he +said after a pause.</p> + +<p>She assented, and he led her out of the box, poor victimised +Tom following with her duenna, who was the +daily governess at No. 133.</p> + +<p>As their cab drove away, Valérie leaned out of the +window, and watched Falkenstein as long as she could +see him. He waved his hand to her, and walked on into +Regent Street in silence.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Waldemar!" began Bevan, at length, "so +your protégée's turning out a star. Do you mean that +she really wrote that play?"</p> + +<p>Falkenstein nodded.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's more than I could do. But what the deuce +have you got to do with it? For a man who says he +won't entangle himself with another love affair, you seem +pretty tolerably <i>au mieux</i> with her. How did it all come +about?"</p> + +<p>"Simply enough," answered Falkenstein. "Of course +I haven't known her all these months without finding out +her talents. She has a passion for writing, and writes +well, as I saw at once by those New Year's Night's Proverbs. +She has no money, as you know; she wants to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +turn her talents to account, and didn't know how to set +about it. She'd several conversations with me on the +subject, so I took her play, looked it over, and gave it to +Pomps and Vanities. He read it to oblige me, and put +it on the stage to oblige himself, as he wanted something +new for the season, and was pretty sure it would make a +hit."</p> + +<p>"Do the Cashrangers know of it?"</p> + +<p>"No; that is why she asked the governess to come +with her to-night. That stingy old Pomps wouldn't pay +her much, but she thinks it an El Dorado, and I shall +take care she commands her own price next time. I +count on a treat on enlightening Miss Bella."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she'll cut up rough. By George! I quite envy +you your young genius."</p> + +<p>"She isn't <i>mine</i>," said Falkenstein, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"She might be if you chose."</p> + +<p>"Poor little thing!—yes. But love is too expensive a +luxury for a ruined man, even if—— The devil take this +key, why won't it unlock? You're off to half a dozen parties +I suppose, Tom?"</p> + +<p>"And where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Nowhere."</p> + +<p>"What! going to bed at half-past ten?"</p> + +<p>"There is no particular sin in going to bed at half-past +ten, is there?" said Waldemar, impatiently. "I haven't +the stuff in me for balls and such things. I'm sick of +them. Good-night, old fellow."</p> + +<p>He went up-stairs to his room, threw himself on his +bed, and, lighting his pipe, lay smoking and thinking +while the Abbey clock tolled the hours one after another. +The <i>longs yeux bleus</i> haunted him, for Waldemar had +already too many chains upon him not to shrink from +adding to them the Golden Fetters of a fresh passion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>, +and marriage, unless a rich one, was certain to bring +about him all his entanglements. He resolved to seek +her no more, to check the demonstrative affection which, +like Esmeralda, "à la fois naïve et passionnée," she had +no thought of concealing from him, and which, as Falkenstein's +conscience told him, he had done everything to +foster. "What is a man worth if he hasn't strength of +will?" he muttered, as he tossed on his bed. "And yet, +poor little Valérie—— Pshaw! all women learn quickly +enough to forget!"</p> + +<p>Some ten days after he was calling in Lowndes Square. +True as yet to his resolution, he had avoided the tête-à-tête +walks in the Gardens; and Valérie keenly felt the +change in his manner, though in what he did for her he +was as kind as ever. The successful run of "Scarlet and +White," the praises of its talents, its promises of future +triumphs—all the admiration which, despite Bella's efforts +to keep her back, the <i>yeux bleus</i> excited—all were valueless, +if, as she vaguely feared, she had lost "Count Waldemar." +The play had made a great sensation, and the +Cashrangers had taken a box the night before, as they +made a point of following the lead and seeing everything, +though they generally forswore theatres as not quite <i>ton</i>. +Pah! these people, "qui se couchent roturiers et se lèvent +nobles," they paint their lilies with such superabundant +coloring, that we see, at a glance, the flowers come not +out of a conservatory but out of an atelier.</p> + +<p>They were out, as it chanced, and Valérie was alone. +She received him joyously, for unhappy as she was in his +absence, the mere sight of his face recalled her old spirits, +and Falkenstein, in all probability, never guessed a tithe +she suffered, because she had always a smile for him.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Count Waldemar," she cried, "why have you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +never been to the Gardens this week? If you only knew +how I miss you——"</p> + +<p>"I have had no time," he answered, coldly.</p> + +<p>"You could make time if you wished," said Valérie, +passionately. "You are so cold, so unkind to me lately. +Have I vexed you at all?"</p> + +<p>"Vexed me, Miss L'Estrange? Certainly not."</p> + +<p>She was silent, chilled, despite herself.</p> + +<p>"Why do you call me Miss L'Estrange?" she said, suddenly. +"You know I cannot bear it from <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"What should I call you?"</p> + +<p>"Valérie," she answered, softly.</p> + +<p>He got up and walked to the hearth-rug, playing with +Spit and Puppet with his foot, and for once hailed, as a +relief, the entrance of Bella, in an extensive morning +toilet, fresh from "shopping." She looked rapidly and +angrily from him to Valérie, and attacked him at once. +Seeing her cousin's vivacity told, she went in for the +same stakes, with but slight success, being a young lady +of the heavy artillery stamp, with no light action about +her.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Mr. Falkenstein," she began, "that exquisite +play—you've seen it, of course? Captain Boville told +me I should be delighted with it, and so I was. Don't +you think it enchanting?"</p> + +<p>"It is very clever," answered Falkenstein, gravely.</p> + +<p>"Val missed a great treat," continued Bella; "nothing +would make her go last night; however, she never likes +anything I like. I should love to know who wrote it; +some people say a woman, but I would never believe it."</p> + +<p>"The witty raillery and unselfish devotion of the heroine +might be dictated by a woman's head and heart, but +the passion, and vigor, and knowledge of human nature +indicate a masculine genius," replied Waldemar.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<p>Valérie gave him such a grateful, rapturous glance, +that, had Bella been looking, might have disclosed the +secret; but she was studying her dainty gloves, and went +on:</p> + +<p>"Could it be Westland Marston—Sterling Coyne?"</p> + +<p>Falkenstein shook his head. "If it were, they would +put their name on the play-bills."</p> + +<p>"You naughty man! I do believe you could tell me +if you chose. <i>Are</i> you not, now, in the author's confidence?"</p> + +<p>The corner of Falkenstein's mouth went up in an +irresistible smile as he telegraphed a glance at "the author." +"Well, perhaps I am."</p> + +<p>Bella clapped her hands with enchanting gaiety. +"Then, tell me this moment; I am in agonies to know!"</p> + +<p>"It is no great mystery," smiled Falkenstein. "I +fancy you are acquainted with the unknown."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean it!" cried Bella, in a state of ecstasy. +"Have you written it, then?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't lay claim to the honor."</p> + +<p>"Who can it be? Oh, do tell me! How enchanting!" +cried Miss Cashranger; "I am wild to hear. Somebody +I know, you say? Is it—is it Captain Tweed?"</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't," laughed Falkenstein. Elliot Tweed—Idiot +Tweed, as they all call him—who was hanging after +Bella, abhorred all caligraphy, and wrote his own name +with one <i>e</i>.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Dashaway, then?"</p> + +<p>"Dash never scrawled anything but I. O. U.s."</p> + +<p>"Lord Flippertygibbett, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"Wrong again. Flip took up a pen once too often, +when he signed his marriage register, to have any leanings +to goose quills."</p> + +<p>"Charlie Montmorency, then?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Reads nothing but his betting-book and <i>Bell's Life</i>."</p> + +<p>"Dear me! how tiresome. Who can it be? Wait a +moment. Let me see. Is it Major Powell?"</p> + +<p>"Guess again. He wouldn't write, save in Indian +fashion, with his tomahawk on his enemies' scalps."</p> + +<p>"How provoking!" cried Bella, exasperated. "Stop: +is it Mr. Beauchamp?"</p> + +<p>"No; he scribbles for six-and-eightpences too perseveringly +to have time for anything, except ruining his +clients."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Montressor, then?"</p> + +<p>"Try once more. His prescriptions bring him too +many guineas for him to waste ink on any other purpose."</p> + +<p>"How stupid I am! Perhaps—perhaps—— Yet no, it +can't be, because he's at the Cape, and most likely killed, +poor fellow. Could it be Cecil Green?"</p> + +<p>Falkenstein laughed. "You needn't go so far as Kaffirland; +try a little nearer home. Think over the <i>ladies</i> +you know."</p> + +<p>"The ladies! Then it <i>is</i> a woman!" cried Bella. +"Well, I should never have believed it. Who can she be? +How I shall admire her, and envy her! A lady! Can +it be darling Flora?"</p> + +<p>"No. If your pet friend can get through an invitation-note +of four lines, the exertion costs her at least a +dram of sal volatile."</p> + +<p>"How wicked you are," murmured Miss Cashranger, +delighted, after the custom of women, to hear her friend +pulled to pieces. "Is it Mrs. Lushington, then?"</p> + +<p>"Wrong again. The Lushington has so much business +on hand, inditing rose-hued notes to twenty men at once, +and wording them differently, for fear they may ever be +compared, that she's no time for other composition."</p> + +<p>"Lady Mechlin, perhaps—she is a charming creature?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>Falkenstein shook his head. "Never could learn the +simplest rule of grammar. When she was engaged to +Mechlin, she wrote her love-letters out of 'Henrietta +Temple,' and flattered him immensely by their pathos."</p> + +<p>"Was there ever such a sarcastic creature!" cried Bella, +reprovingly; her interest rather flagged, since no man +was the incognito author. "Well, let me see: there is +Rosa Temple—she is immensely intellectual."</p> + +<p>"But immensely orthodox. Every minute of her life +is spent in working slippers and Bible markers for interesting +curates. It is to be hoped one of them may reward +her some day, though, I believe, till they <i>do</i> propose, +she is in the habit of advocating priestly celibacy, +by way of assertion of her disinterestedness. No! Miss +Cashranger, the talented writer of 'Scarlet and White,' +is not only of your acquaintance, but your family."</p> + +<p>"My family!" almost screamed Bella. "Good gracious, +Mr. Falkenstein, is it dear papa, or—or Augustus?"</p> + +<p>The idea of the brewer, fat, and round, and innocent +of literature as one of his own teams, or of his son just +plucked for his "smalls" at Cambridge, for spelling +Cæsar, Sesar, sitting down to indite the pathos and +poetry of "Scarlet and White," was so exquisitely absurd +that Waldemar, forgetting courtesy, lay back in his arm-chair +and laughed aloud. The contagion of his ringing +laugh was irresistible; Valérie followed his example, and +their united merriment rang in the astonished ears of +Miss Cashranger, who looked from one to the other in +wrathful surprise. As soon as he could control himself, +Falkenstein turned towards her with his most courteous +smile.</p> + +<p>"You will forgive our laughter, I am sure, when I tell +you what I am certain <i>must</i> give you great pleasure, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +the play you so warmly and justly admire was written by +your cousin."</p> + +<p>Bella stared at him, her face scarlet, all the envy and +reasonless spite within her flaming up at the idea of her +cousin's success.</p> + +<p>"Valérie—Valérie," she stammered, "is it true? I +had no idea she ever thought of——"</p> + +<p>"No," said Falkenstein, roused in his protégée's defence; +"I dare say you are astonished, as every one else +would be, that any one so young, and, comparatively +speaking, so inexperienced as your cousin, should have +developed such extraordinary talent and power."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course—to be sure—yes," said Bella, her lips +twitching nervously, "mamma will be astonished to hear +of these new laurels for the family. I congratulate you, +Valérie; I never knew you dreamt of writing, much less +of making so public a début."</p> + +<p>"Nor should I ever have been able to do so unless my +way had been pioneered for me," said Valérie, resting her +eyes fondly on Waldemar.</p> + +<p>He stayed ten minutes longer, chatting on indifferent +subjects, then left, making poor little Val happy with +a touch of his hand, and a smile as "kind" as of +old.</p> + +<p>"You horrid, deceitful little thing!" began Bella, bursting +with fury, as the door closed on him, "never to mention +what you were doing. I can't bear such sly people +I hate——"</p> + +<p>"My dear Bella, don't disturb yourself," said Valérie, +quietly; "if you had testified any interest in my doings, +you might have known them; as it was, I was glad to +find warmer and kinder friends."</p> + +<p>"In Waldemar Falkenstein, I suppose," sneered Bella, +white with rage. "A nice friend you have, certainly; a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +man whom everybody knows may go to prison for debt +any day."</p> + +<p>"Leave him alone," said Valérie haughtily; "unless +you speak well of him, in my presence, you shall not +speak at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed," laughed Bella, nervously; "how very +much interested you are in him! more than he is in you, +I'm afraid, dear. He's famed for loving and leaving. +Pray how long has this romantic affair been on the tapis?"</p> + +<p>"He's met her every day in the Gardens," cried Julius +Adolphus, just come in with that fatal apropos of "enfans +terribles," much oftener the result of méchanceté than of +innocence; "he's met her every day, Bella, while I fed +the ducks."</p> + +<p>Bella rose, inflated with fury, and summoning all her +dignity:</p> + +<p>"I suppose, Valérie, you know the sort of reputation +you will get through these morning assignations."</p> + +<p>Valérie bent over Spit with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Of course, it is nothing to <i>me</i>," continued Bella, +spitefully; "but I shall consider it my duty to inform +mamma."</p> + +<p>Valérie fairly laughed out.</p> + +<p>"Do your duty, by all means."</p> + +<p>"And," continued Bella, a third time, "I dare say she +will find some means to put a stop to this absurd friendship +with an unmarried and unprincipled man."</p> + +<p>Valérie was roused; she lifted her head like a little +Pythoness, and her blue eyes flashed angry scorn.</p> + +<p>"Tell your mamma what you please, but—listen to me, +Bella—if you venture to harm him in any way with your +pitiful venom, I, girl as I am, will never let you go till I +have revenged myself and him."</p> + +<p>Bella, like most bullies, was a terrible coward. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +was an earnestness in Valérie's words, and a dangerous +light in her eyes, that frightened her, and she left the +room in silence, while Valérie leaned her forehead on +Spit's silky back, and cried bitterly, tears that for her life +she wouldn't have shed while her cousin was there.</p> + +<p>The next time Falkenstein called at Lowndes Square, +the footman told him, "Not at home," and Waldemar +swore, mentally, as he turned from the door, for though +he could keep himself from seeking her, it was something +new not to find her when he wished.</p> + +<p>"She's like all the rest," he thought bitterly; "She's +used me, and now she's gone to newer friends. I was a +fool to suppose any woman would do otherwise. They'll +tell her I can't marry; of course she'll go over to D'Orwood, +or some of those confounded fools that are dangling +after her."</p> + +<p>So in his skeptical haste judged Falkenstein, on the +strength of a single "Not at home," due to Cashranger +malice, and the fierce throbs the mere suspicion gave +him showed him that he loved Valérie too much to be +able to deceive himself any longer with the assurance +that his feelings towards his protégée was simple "friendship." +He knew it, but he was loth to give way to it. +He had long held as a doctrine that a man could forget +if he chose. He had been wearied of so many, been disappointed +in so much, he had had idols of the hour, in +which, their first gloss off, he had found no beauty, he +could not tell; it might not be the same with Valérie. +Warm and passionate as a Southern, haughty and reserved +as a Northern, he held many a bitter conflict in +his solitary vigils at night over his pipe, after evenings +spent in society which no longer amused him, or excitement +with which he vainly sought to drown his cares. +When he did meet Valérie out, which was rarely, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +refused most invitations now, his struggle against his ill-timed +passion made his manner so cold and capricious, +that Valérie, who could not divine the workings of his +heart, began, despite her vehement faith in him, and conviction +that he was not wholly indifferent to her, to dread +that Bella might be right, and that as he had left others +so would he leave her. He gave her no opportunity of +questioning him as to his sudden change, for when he did +call in Lowndes Square, Bella and her aunt always stationed +themselves as a sort of detective police, and Falkenstein +now never sought a tête-à-tête.</p> + +<p>One evening she met him at a dinner-party. With undisguised +delight she watched his entrance, and Waldemar, +seeing her radiant face, thought in his haste, "She +is happy enough, what does she care for me?" If he had +looked at her after he had shaken hands carelessly with +her, and turned away to talk to another woman, he would +have discovered his mistake. But when do we ever discover +half our errors before it is too late? She signed +to him to come to her under pretext of looking at some +croquis, and whispered hurriedly,</p> + +<p>"Count Waldemar, what have I done—why do you +never come to see me? You are so changed, so altered——"</p> + +<p>"I was not aware of it."</p> + +<p>"But I never see you in the Gardens now. You never +talk to me, you never call on me."</p> + +<p>"I have other engagements."</p> + +<p>Valérie breathed hard between her set teeth.</p> + +<p>"That are more agreeable to you, I suppose. You +should not have accustomed me to what you intended to +withdraw when it ceased to amuse you. <i>I</i> am not so capricious. +Your kindness about my play——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It was no kindness; I would have done the same for +any one."</p> + +<p>She looked at him fixedly.</p> + +<p>"General kindness is no kindness," said Valérie, passionately. +"If you would do for a mere acquaintance +what you would do for your friend, what value attaches +to your friendship?"</p> + +<p>"I attach none to it," said the Count, coldly.</p> + +<p>Valérie's little hands clenched hard. She did not speak, +lest her self-possession should give way, and just then +D'Orwood came to give her his arm in to dinner; and at +dinner Valérie, demonstrative and candid as she was, was +gay and animated, for she could wear a mask in the bal +d'Opéra of life as well as he; and though she could not +believe the coldness he testified was really meant, she felt +bitterly the neglect of his manner before others, at sight +of which Bella's small eyes sparkled with malicious satisfaction.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IV.</h2> + +<h3>SOME GOLDEN FETTERS ARE SHAKEN OFF AND OTHERS ARE PUT +ON.</h3> + + +<p>"Mrs. Boville told me last night that Waldemar Falkenstein +is so dreadfully in debt, that she thinks he'll have +to go into court—don't they call it?" lisped Bella, the +next morning; "be arrested, or bankrupt, or something +dreadful. Should you think it is true?"</p> + +<p>"I know it's true," said Idiot Tweed, who was there,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +having a little music before luncheon. "He's confoundedly +hard up, poor devil."</p> + +<p>"But I thought he was in such a good position—so +well off?" said Bella, observing with secret delight that +her cousin's head was raised, and that the pen with which +she was writing had stopped in its rapid gallop.</p> + +<p>"Ah! so one thinks of a good many fellows," answered +the Guardsman; "or, at least, you ladies do, who don't +look at a man's ins and outs, and the fifty hundred things +there are to bother him. Lots of people—householders, +and all that sort of thing—that one would fancy worth +no end, go smash when nobody's expecting it."</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Falkenstein really is embarrassed?"</p> + +<p>The Guardsman laughed outright. "That is a mild +term, Miss Cashranger. I heard down at Windsor yesterday, +from a man that knows his family very well, that +if he don't pay his debts this week, Amadeus Levi will +arrest him. I dare say he will. Jews do when they can't +bleed you any longer, and think your family will come +down handsomely. But they say the old Count won't +give Falkenstein a rap, so most likely he'll cut the country."</p> + +<p>That afternoon, on his return from the Deeds and +Chronicles Office, whose slow red-tapeism ill suited his +impatient and vigorous intellect, Waldemar sat down deliberately +to investigate his affairs. It was true that +Amadeus Levi's patience was waning fast; his debts of +honor had put him deep in that worthy's books, and Falkenstein, +as he sat in his lodgings, with the August sun +streaming full on the relentless figures that showed him, +with cruel mathematical ruthlessness, that he was fast +chained in the Golden Fetters of debt, leaned his head +upon his arms with the bitter despair of a man whose own +hand has blotted his past and ruined his future.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>The turning of the handle of his door roused him from +his reverie. He looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>"A lady wants to speak to you, sir," said the servant +who waited on him.</p> + +<p>"What name?"</p> + +<p>"She'd rather not give it, sir."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Falkenstein, consigning all women to +the devil; "show her up."</p> + +<p>Resigning himself to his fate, he rose, leaning his hand +on the arm of the chair. He started involuntarily as the +door opened again.</p> + +<p>"Valérie!"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him half hesitatingly. "Count Waldemar, +don't be angry with me——"</p> + +<p>"Angry! no, Heaven knows; but——"</p> + +<p>Her face and her voice were fast thawing his chill +reserve, and he stopped abruptly.</p> + +<p>"You wonder why I have come here," Valérie went on +singularly shyly for her, "but—but I heard that you—you +have much to trouble you just now. Is it true?"</p> + +<p>"True enough, Heaven knows."</p> + +<p>"Then—then," said Valérie, with all her old impetuosity, +"let me do something for you—let me help you +in some way—you who have done everything for me, +who have been the only person kind to me on earth. Do +let me—do not refuse me. I would die to serve you."</p> + +<p>He breathed fast as he gazed on her expressive eyes. It +was a hard struggle to him to preserve his self-control.</p> + +<p>"No one can help me," he answered, hurriedly. "I +have made my own fate—leave me to it."</p> + +<p>"I will not!" cried Valérie, passionately. "Do not +send me away—do not refuse me. What happiness +would there be for me so great as serving you—you to +whom I owe all the pleasure I have known! Take them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +Count Waldemar—pray take them; they have often told +me they are worth a good deal, and I will thank Heaven +every hour for having enabled me to aid you ever so little." +She pressed into his hands a jewel-case.</p> + +<p>Falkenstein could not answer her. He stood looking +down at her, his lips white as death. She mistook his +silence for displeasure, and laid her hands on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Do not be offended—do not be annoyed with me. +They are my own—an old heirloom of the L'Estranges +that only came to me the other day. Take them, Count +Waldemar. Do, for Heaven's sake. I spoke passionately +to you last night; I have been unhappy ever since. If +you will not take them, I shall think you have not yet +forgiven me?"</p> + +<p>He seized her hands and drew her close to him: "Good +Heavens! do you love me like this?"</p> + +<p>She did not answer, but she looked up at him. That +look shivered to atoms Falkenstein's resolves, and cast +his pride and prudence to the winds. He pressed her +fiercely against his heart, he kissed her again and again, +bitter tears rushing to his burning eyes.</p> + +<p>"Valérie! Valérie!" he whispered, wildly, "my fate is +at its darkest. Will you share it?"</p> + +<p>She leaned her brow on his shoulder, trembling with +hysterical joy.</p> + +<p>"You do care for me, then?" she murmured, at last.</p> + +<p>"Oh! thank Heaven."</p> + +<p>In the delirium of his happiness, in the vehemence of +feelings touched to the core by sight of the intense love +he had awakened, Falkenstein poured out on her all the +passion of his impetuous and reserved nature, and in the +paradise of the moment forgot every cloud that hung on +his horizon.</p> + +<p>"Valérie!" he whispered, at length, "I have now nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +to offer you. I can give you none of the riches, and +power, and position that other men can——"</p> + +<p>She stopped him, putting her hands on his lips. +"Hush! I shall have everything that life can give me in +having your love."</p> + +<p>"My darling, Heaven bless you!" cried Falkenstein, +passionately; "but think twice, Valérie—pause before you +decide. I am a ruined man—embarrassments fetter me +on every side. To-morrow, for aught I know, I may be +arrested for debt. I would not lead you into what, in +older years, you may regret."</p> + +<p>"Regret!" cried Valérie, clinging to him. "How can +I ever regret that I have won the one heaven I crave. If +you love me, life will always be beautiful in my eyes; and, +Count Waldemar, I can work for you—I can help you, +be it ever so little. I cannot make much money now, +but you have said that I shall gain more year after year. +Only let me be with you; let me know your sorrows and +lighten them if I can, and I could ask no greater happiness——"</p> + +<p>Falkenstein bent over her, and covered with caresses +the lips that to him seemed so eloquent; he had no +words to thank her for a love that, to his warm and solitary +heart, came like water in the wilderness. The sound +of voices gay and laughing, on the stairs, startled him.</p> + +<p>"That is Bevan and Godolphin; I forgot they were +coming for me to go down to the Castle. Good Heavens! +they mustn't see you here, love, to jest about you over +their mess-tables. Stay," said Falkenstein, hastily, as the +men entered the front room, "wait here a moment; they +cannot see you in this window, and I will come to you +again. Hallo! old fellows!" said he, passing through the +folding-doors. "You're wonderfully punctual, Tom. I +always give you half an hour's grace; but I suppose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +Harry's such an awful martinet, that he kept you up to +time for once."</p> + +<p>"All the credit's due to my mare," laughed Godolphin. +"She did the distance from Knightsbridge in four minutes, +and I don't think Musjid himself could beat that. +Are you ready, I say? because we're to be at the Castle +by six, and Fitz don't like waiting for his turbot."</p> + +<p>"Give me a brace of seconds, and I shall be with you," +said Waldemar.</p> + +<p>"Make haste, there's a good fellow. By George!" said +Harry, catching sight of the jewel-case, "for a fellow +who's so deucedly hard up, you've been pretty extravagant +in getting those diamonds, Waldemar. Who are +they for—Rosalie Rivers, or the Deloraine; or that last +love of yours, that wonderful little L'Estrange?"</p> + +<p>Falkenstein's brow grew dark; he snatched the case +from the table, with a suppressed oath, and went back to +the inner room, slamming the folding-doors after him. +Godolphin lounged to the window looking on the street, +where he stood for five minutes, whistling A te, o cara. +"The devil! what's that fellow about?" he said, yawning. +"How impatient Bonbon's growing! Why don't +that fool Roberts drive her up and down? By Jove! +come here, Tom. Who's that girl Falkenstein's now +putting into a cab? That's what he wanted his brace of +seconds for! Confound that portico! I can't see her +face, and women dress so much alike now, there's no telling +one from another. What an infernal while he is bidding +her good-by. I shall know another time what his +two seconds mean. There, the cab's off at last, thank +Heaven!—Very pretty, Falkenstein," he began, as the +Count entered. "That's your game, is it? I think you +might have confided in your bosom friend. Who is the +fair one? Come, make a clean breast of it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>Falkenstein shook his head. "My dear Harry, spare +your words. Don't you know of old that you never get +anything out of me unless I choose?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, confound you, I know that pretty well. One +question, though—was she pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose I entertain plain women?"</p> + +<p>"No; never was such a man for the beaux yeux. It +looked uncommonly like little L'Estrange; but I don't +suppose she could get out of the durance vile of Lowndes +Square, to come and pay you a tête-à-tête call. Well, +are you ready now? because Bonbon's tired of waiting, +and so are we. A man in love makes an abominable +friend."</p> + +<p>"A man in love with himself makes a worse one," said +Waldemar; which hit Harry in a vulnerable spot, Godolphin +being generally chaffed about the affection he +bore his own person.</p> + +<p>"That <i>was</i> the little L'Estrange, wasn't it?" asked +Godolphin, as they leaned out of the window after dinner, +apart from the others.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Waldemar, curtly; "but I beg you to keep +silence on it to every one."</p> + +<p>"To be sure; I've kept plenty of your confidences. I +had no idea you'd push it so far. Of course you won't +be fool enough to marry her?"</p> + +<p>Falkenstein's dark eyes flashed fire. "I shall not be +fool enough to consult or confide in any man upon my +private affairs."</p> + +<p>Godolphin shrugged his shoulders with commiseration, +and left Waldemar alone in his window.</p> + +<p>Falkenstein called in Lowndes Square the morning after +and had an interview with old Cash in the library of +gaudy books that were never opened, and told him concisely +that he loved his niece, and—that ever I should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +live to record it!—that little snob, with not two ideas in +his head, who couldn't, if put to it, tell you who his own +grandfather was, and who owed his tolerance in society +to his banking account, refused an alliance with the +refined intellect and the blue blood of one of the proud, +courtly, historic Falkensteins! He'd been tutored by +his wife, and said his lesson properly, refusing to sanction +"any such connexion;" of course his niece must act +for herself.</p> + +<p>Waldemar bowed himself out with all his haughtiest +high-breeding; he knew Valérie <i>would</i> act for herself, but +the insult cut him to the quick. He threw himself into +the train, and went down to Fairlie, his governor's place +in Devonshire, determining to sacrifice his pride, and +ask his father to aid him in his effort for freedom. In +the drawing-room he found his sister Virginia, a cold, +proud woman of the world. She scarcely let him sit +down and inquire for the governor, before she pounced +on him.</p> + +<p>"Waldemar, I have heard the most absurd report +about you."</p> + +<p>"Most reports are absurd."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course; but this is too ridiculous. What do +you think it is?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure I can't say."</p> + +<p>"That you are going to marry."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well! You take it very quietly. If you were going +to make a good match I should be the first to rejoice; +but they say that you are engaged to some niece of that +odious, vulgar parvenu, Cashranger, the brewer; that +little bold thing who wrote that play that made a noise a +little while ago. Pray set me at rest at once, and say it +is not true."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I should be very sorry if it were not."</p> + +<p>His sister looked at him in haughty horror. "Waldemar! +you must be mad. If you were rich, it would be +intolerable to stoop to such a connexion; but, laden with +debts as you are, to disgrace the family with such——"</p> + +<p>"Disgrace?" repeated Falkenstein, scornfully. "She +would honor any family she entered."</p> + +<p>"You talk like a boy of twenty," said Virginia, impatiently. +"To load yourself with a penniless wife when +you are on the brink of ruin—to introduce to <i>us</i> the niece +of a low-bred, pushing plebeian—to give your name to a +bold manœuvring girl, who has the impudence to take +her stand before a crowded theatre——"</p> + +<p>"Hold!" broke out Waldemar, fiercely: "you might +thank Heaven, Virginia, if you were as frank-hearted and +as free from guile as she is. She thinks no ill, and therefore +she is not, like you fine ladies, on the constant qui +vive lest it should be attributed to her. I have found at +last a woman too generous to be mistrustful, too fond to +wait for the world's advantages, and, moreover, untainted +by the breath of your conventionalities, and pride, and +cant."</p> + +<p>Virginia threw back her head with a curl on her lip. +"You are mad, as I said before. I suppose you do not +expect me to countenance your infatuation?"</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulder. "Really, whether you do +or not is perfectly immaterial to me."</p> + +<p>Virginia was silent, pale with anger, for they were all +(pardonably enough) proud. She turned with a sneer to +Josephine, a younger and less decided woman, just entering. +"Josephine, you are come in time to be congratulated +on your sister-in-law."</p> + +<p>"Is it true?" murmured Josephine, aghast. "Oh! +my dear Waldemar, pause; consider how dreadful for us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>—a +person who is so horribly connected; the man's beer +wagon is now standing at the door. Oh, do reflect—a +girl, whose name is before the public——"</p> + +<p>"By talent that would grace a queen!" interrupted +Waldemar, rising impatiently. "You waste your words; +you might know that I am not so weak as to give up my +sole chance of happiness to please your pitiful prejudices."</p> + +<p>"Very well. <i>I</i> shall never speak to her," said Virginia, +between her teeth.</p> + +<p>"That you will do as you please; you will be the +loser."</p> + +<p>"But, Waldemar, do consider," began Josephine.</p> + +<p>"Your women's tongues would drive a man mad," +muttered Falkenstein. "Tell me where my father is."</p> + +<p>"In his study," answered Virginia briefly. And in his +study Falkenstein found him. He saw at once that something +was wrong by his reception; but he plunged at once +into his affairs, showing him plainly his position, and +asking him frankly for help to discharge his debts.</p> + +<p>Count Ferdinand heard him in silence. "Waldemar," +he answered, after a long pause, "you shall have all +you wish. I will sign you a check for the amount this +instant if you give me your word to break off this miserable +affair."</p> + +<p>Falkenstein's cheek flushed with annoyance; he had +expected sympathy from his father, or at least toleration. +"That is impossible. You ask me to give up the one +thing that binds me to life—the one love I have given me—the +one chance of redeeming the future, that lies in +my grasp. I am not a boy led away by a passing caprice. +I have known and tried everything, and I can +judge what will make my happiness. What unfortunate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +prejudice have you all formed against my poor little Valérie——"</p> + +<p>"Enough" said his father, sternly. "I address you as a +man of the world, and a man of sense; you answer me +with infatuated folly. I give you your choice: my aid and +esteem, in everything you can desire, or the madman's +gratification of the ill-placed caprice of the hour."</p> + +<p>Falkenstein rose as haughtily as the Count.</p> + +<p>"Virtually, then, you give me no choice. I am sorry I +troubled you with my concerns. I know whose interference +I have to thank for it, and am only astonished you +are so easily influenced," said Falkenstein, setting his +teeth hard as he closed the door; for his father's easy +desertion of him hit him hard, and he attributed it, +rightly enough, to Maximilian, who, industriously gathering +every grain of evil report against his brother, had +taken such a character of Valérie—whom, unluckily, he +had seen coming out of Duke street—down to Fairlee, +that his father vowed to disinherit him, and his sisters +never to speak to him. The doors both of his own home +and Lowndes Square were closed to him; and in his adversity +the only one that clung to him was Valérie.</p> + +<p>If he had been willing to ask them, none of his friends +could have helped him. Godolphin, with 20,000<i>l</i>. a year, +spent every shilling on himself; Tom Bevan, but that he +stood for a pocket borough of his governor's, would have +been in quod long ago; and for the others, men very willing +to take your money at écarté are not very willing to +lend you theirs when you can play écarté no longer. +Amadeus Levi grew more and more importunate; down +on him at once, as Falkenstein knew, would come the +Jew's <i>griffes</i> if he took any such unprofitable step as a +marriage for love; and with all the passion in the world,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +mesdemoiselles, a man thinks twice before he throws himself +into the Insolvent Court.</p> + +<p>One night, <i>nolens volens</i>, decision was forced on him. +He had seen Valérie that morning in the Pantheon, and +they had parted to meet again at a ball, one of the lingering +stragglers of the past season. About twelve he +dressed and walked down Duke Street, looking for a cab +to take him to Park Lane. Under a lamp at the corner, +standing reading, he saw a man whom he knew by sight, +and whose errand he guessed without hesitation. He +paused unnoticed close beside him; he stood a moment +and glanced over his shoulder; he saw a warrant for his +own apprehension at Levi's suit. The man looking, to +make sure of the dress, never raised his eyes. Falkenstein +walked on, hailed a hansom in Regent street, and +in a quarter of an hour was chatting with his hostess.</p> + +<p>"Where is Miss L'Estrange?" he asked, carelessly.</p> + +<p>"She was waltzing with Tom a moment ago," answered +Mrs. Eden. "If you run after her so, I shall believe +report. But is anything the matter, Falkenstein? How +ill you look!"</p> + +<p>"Too much champagne," laughed Waldemar. "I've +been dining with Gourmet, and all the Falkensteins inherit +the desire of obtaining that gentlemanlike curse, the +gout."</p> + +<p>"It's not the gout, mon ami," smiled Mrs. Eden.</p> + +<p>"Break your engagement and waltz with me," he whispered, +ten minutes after, to Valérie.</p> + +<p>"I have none. I kept them all free for you!"</p> + +<p>He put his arm round her and whirled her into the +circle.</p> + +<p>"Count Waldemar, you are not well. Has anything +fresh occurred?" she asked anxiously, as she felt the quick<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +throbs of his heart, and saw the dark circles of his eyes +and the deepened lines round his haughty mouth.</p> + +<p>"Not much, dearest. I will tell you in a moment."</p> + +<p>She was silent, and he led her through the different +rooms into Mrs. Eden's boudoir, which he knew was generally +deserted; and there, holding her close to him, but +not looking into her eyes lest his strength should fail +him, he told her that he must leave England, and asked +her if he should go alone.</p> + +<p>She caught both his hands and kissed them passionately. +"No, no; do not leave me—take me with you, +wherever it be. Oh, that I were rich for your sake! +I, who would die for you, can do nothing to help you—"</p> + +<p>He pressed her fiercely to him. "Oh, Valérie! Heaven +bless you for your love, that renders the darkest hour of +my life the brightest. But weigh well what you do, my +darling. I am utterly ruined. I cannot insure you from +privation in the future, perhaps not from absolute want; +if I make money, much must go in honor year by year to +the payment of my debts, by instalments. I shall take +you from all the luxuries and the society that you are +formed for; do not sacrifice yourself blindly——"</p> + +<p>"Sacrifice myself!" interrupted Valérie. "Oh! Waldemar, +if it is no sacrifice to <i>you</i>, let me be with you +wherever it be; and if you have cares, and toil, and sorrow, +let me share them. I will write for you, work for you, do +anything for you, only let me be with you——"</p> + +<p>He pressed his lips to hers, silent with the tumult of +passion, happiness, delirious joy, regret, remorse, that +arose in him at her words.</p> + +<p>"My guardian angel, be it as you will!" he said, at +length. "I must be out of England to-morrow, Valérie. +Will you come with me as my wife?"</p> + +<p>Early on Sunday morning Falkenstein was married,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +and out of his host of friends, and relatives, and acquaintance, +honest Tom Bevan was the only man who turned +him off, as Tom phrased it, and bid him good bye, with +few words but much regret, concealed, after the manner +of Britons, for the loss of his old chum. Tom's congratulations +were the only ones that fell on Valérie's ear +in the empty church that morning; but I question if +Valérie ever noticed the absence of the marriage paraphernalia, +so entirely were her heart, and eyes, and mind, +fixed on the one whom she followed into exile. They +were out of London before their part of it had begun to +lounge down to their late breakfasts; and as they crossed +the Channel, and the noon sun streamed on the white +line of cliffs, Falkenstein, holding her hands in his and +looking down into her eyes, forgot the follies of his +past, the insecurity of his future, the tale of his ruin and +his flight, that would be on the tongues of his friends on +the morrow, and only remembered the love that came to +him when all others forsook him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>V.</h2> + +<h3>THE SILVER CHIMES RING IN A HAPPY NEW YEAR.</h3> + + +<p>One December evening Falkenstein sat in his lodgings +in Vienna; the wood fire burnt brightly, and if its flames +lighted up a room whose <i>appanages</i> were rather different +to the palace his grandfather had owned in the imperial +city, they at least shone on waving hair and violet eyes +that were very dear to him, and helped to teach him to +forget much that he had forfeited. From England he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +had come to Vienna, where, as he had projected, his uncle, +one of the cabinet, had been able to help him to a +diplomatic situation, for which his keen judgment and +varied information fitted him; and in Austria his name +gave him at once a brevet of the highest nobility. Of +course the knowledge that he was virtually outlawed, and +that he was deep in the debt of such sharps as Amadeus +Levi, often galled his proud and sensitive nature; but +Valérie knew how to soften and to soothe him, and, +under her caressing affection or her ready vivacity, the +dark hours passed away.</p> + +<p>He was smoking his favorite briar-wood pipe, with Valérie +sitting at his feet, reading him some copy just going +to her publishers in England, and little Spit, not forgotten +in their flight, lying on the hearth, when a deep English +voice startled them, singing out, "Here you are at +last! I give you my word, I've been driving over this +blessed city two hours to find you!"</p> + +<p>"Tom!" cried Falkenstein.</p> + +<p>"Captain Bevan!" echoed Valérie, springing to her +feet, while Spit began barking furiously.</p> + +<p>Bevan shook hands with them; heartily glad to see his +friend again, though, of course he grumbled more about +the snow and the stupidity of the Viennese than anything +else. "Very jolly rooms you've got," said he at last; +"and, 'pon my life, you look better than I've seen you do +a long time, Waldemar. Madame has done wonders for +you."</p> + +<p>"Madame" laughed, and glanced up at Falkenstein, +who smiled half sadly.</p> + +<p>"She has taught me how to find happiness, Tom. I +wish you may get such a teacher."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, so do I, if my time ever comes; but geniuses +<i>aux longs yeux bleus</i> are rare in the world. But +you're wondering why I'm here, ain't you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I was flattering myself you were here to see us."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course and very glad to see you, too; but +I'm come in part as your governor's messenger."</p> + +<p>Valérie saw him look up quickly, a flush on his face. +"My father?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that rascal—(you know I always said he was +good for nothing, a fool that couldn't smoke a Queen +without being sick)—I mean, your brother Maximillian—was +at the bottom of the Count's row with you. Last +week I was dining at old Fitz's, and your father and sisters +were there, and when the women were gone I asked +him when he'd last heard of you; of course he looked +tempestuous, and said, 'Never.' Happily, I'm not easily +shut up, so I told him it was a pity, then, for if he did +he'd hear you were jollier than ever, and I said your wife +was—— Well, I won't say what, for fear we spoil this +young lady, and make her vain of herself. The old boy +turned pale, and said nothing; but two days after I got a +line from him, saying he wasn't quite well; would I go +down and speak to him. I found him chained with the +gout, and he began to talk about you. I like that old +man, Waldemar, I do, uncommonly. He said he'd been +too hasty, but that it was a family failing, and that Max +had brought him such—well, such confounded lies—about +Valérie, that he would have shot you rather than see you +give her your name; now he wants to have you back. I'd +nothing to do, so I said I'd come and ask you to forgive +the poor old boy, and come and see him, for he isn't well. +I know you will, Falkenstein, because you never <i>did</i> bear +malice."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, he will," murmured Valérie, tears in her eyes. +"I separated you, Waldemar; you will let me see you +reconciled?"</p> + +<p>"My darling, yes! Poor old governor!" And Falkenstein<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +stopped and smoked vigorously, for kindness always +touched him to the heart.</p> + +<p>Bevan looked at him and was silent. "I say," he +whispered, when he was a moment alone with Valérie. +"I didn't tell Waldemar, because I thought you'd break +it to him less blunderingly than I should, but the old +Count's breaking fast. I doubt if he'll live another +week."</p> + +<p>Bevan was right. In another week Falkenstein stood by +the death-bed of his father. He had a long interview +with him alone, in which the old Count detailed to him the +fabricated slanders with which his brother had blackened +Valérie's name. With all his old passion he disowned +the son capable of such baseness, and constituted Waldemar +his sole heir, save the legacies left his daughters. +He died in Waldemar's arms the night they arrived in +England, with his last word to him and Valérie, whom, +despite Virginia's opposition, he insisted on seeing. +Falkenstein's sorrow for his father was deep and unfeigned, +like his character; but his guardian angel, as he +used to call her, was there to console him, and, under the +light of her smile, sorrow could not long pursue him.</p> + +<p>On his brother, always his own enemy, and now the +traducer of the woman he loved, Waldemar's wrath fell +heavily, and would, to a certainty, have found some +means of wreaking itself, but for the last wishes of his +father. As it was, he took a nobler, yet a more complete +revenge. The day of the funeral, when they were assembled +for the reading of the will, Maximilian, unconscious +of his doom, came with his gentle face, and tender melancholy +air, to inherit, as he believed, Fairlie, and all the +personal property.</p> + +<p>Stunned as by a spent ball, horror-struck, disbelieving +his senses, he heard his younger brother proclaimed the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +heir. It was a serious thing to him, moreover, for—for +a man of large expenses and great ostentation—his own +means were small. To secure every shilling he had +schemed, and planned, and lied; and now every shilling +was taken from him. Like the dog of Æsopian memory, +trying to catch two pieces of meat, he had lost his own!</p> + +<p>After the last words were read, Waldemar stood a +moment irresolute; then he lifted his head, his dark eyes +bright and clear, his mouth fixed and firm, a proud calm +displacing his old look of passion and of care.</p> + +<p>He went up to his brother with a generous impulse, +and held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Maximilian, from our boyhood you never liked me, +and of late you have done me a great wrong; but I am +willing to believe that you did it from a mistaken motive, +and by me, at least, it shall never be recalled. My father, +in his wish to make amends for the one harsh act +of his life to me, has made a will which I know you consider +unjust. I cannot dispute his last desire that I +should inherit Fairlie, but I can do what I know he +would sanction—divide with you the wealth his energy +collected. Take the half of the property, as if he had +left it to you, and over his grave let us forget the past!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On the last day of the year, so eventful to them both, +Falkenstein and Valérie drove through the park at +Fairlie. The rôle of a country gentleman would have +been the last into which Waldemar, with his independent +opinions and fastidious intellect, would have sunk; but +he was fond of the place from early associations, and he +came down to take possession. The tenantry and servants +welcomed him heartily, for they had often used to +wish that the wild high-spirited child, who rode his +Shetland over the country at a headlong pace, and if he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +sometimes teased their lives out, always gave them a +kind word and merry laugh, had been the heir instead of +the one to whom they applied the old proverb "still and +ill."</p> + +<p>The tenantry had been dismissed, the dinner finished, +even the briarwood pipe smoked out, and in the wide +Elizabethan window of the library Falkenstein stood, +looking on the clear bright night, and watching the Old +Year out.</p> + +<p>"You sent the deed of gift to-day to Maximilian?" +said Valérie, clasping both her hands on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He does not take it very graciously; but perhaps +we can hardly expect that from a man who has +been disinherited. I question if I should accept it at +all."</p> + +<p>"But you could never have wronged another as he +wronged you," cried Valérie. "Oh, Waldemar! I think I +never realised fully, till the day you took your generous +revenge, how noble, how good, how above all others you +are."</p> + +<p>He smiled, and put his hand on her lips.</p> + +<p>"Good, noble, silly child! those words may do for +some spotless Gahlahad or Folko, not for me, who, a +month ago, was in debt to some of the greatest blackguards +in town, who have yielded to every temptation, +given way to every weakness; not with the excuse of a +boy new to life, but willfully and recklessly, knowing +both the pleasures and their price—I, who but for your +love and my father's, should now be a solitary exile, paying +for my past follies with——"</p> + +<p>"Be quiet," interrupted Valérie, with her passionate +vivacity. "As different as was 'Mirabeau jugé par sa +famille et Mirabeau jugé par le peuple,' are you judged +by your enemies, and judged by those who love you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +Granted you have had temptations, follies, errors; so +has every man of high spirit and generous temper, and I +value you far more coming out of a fiery furnace with so +much of pure gold that the flames could not destroy, +than if you were some ascetic Pharisee, who has never +succumbed because he has never been tempted, and, born +with no weaknesses, is born with no warmer virtues +either!"</p> + +<p>Falkenstein laughed, as he looked down at her.</p> + +<p>"You little goose! Well, at least you have eloquence, Valérie, if not +truth, on your side; and your sophistry is dear to me, as it springs out +of your love."</p> + +<p>"But it is not sophistry," she cried, with an energetic stamp of her +foot. "If you will not listen to philosophy, concede, at least, to fact. +Which is most worthy of my epithets—'noble and good'—Waldemar +Falkenstein, or Maximillian? And yet Maximillian has been quiet and +virtuous from his youth upwards, and always wins white balls from the +ballot of society."</p> + +<p>"Well, you shall have the privilege of your sex—the last word," smiled +Waldemar, "more especially as the last word is on my side."</p> + +<p>"Hark!" interrupted Valérie, quiet and subdued in a second, "the clock +is striking twelve."</p> + +<p>Silently, with her arms round his neck, they listened +to the parting knell of the Old Year, stealing quietly +away from its place among men. From the church +towers through England tolled the twelve strokes, with a +melancholy echo, telling a world that its dead past was +laid in a sealed grave, and the stone of Never More was +rolled to the door of the sepulchre. The Old Year was +gone, with all its sins and errors, its golden gleams and +midnight storms, its midsummer days of sunshine for +some, its winter nights of starless gloom for others. Its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +last knell echoed; and then, from the old grey belfries in +villages and towns, over the stirring cities and the sleeping +hamlets, over the quiet meadows and stretching +woodlands and grand old forest trees, rang the Silver +Chimes of the New Year.</p> + +<p>"It shall be a happy New Year to you, my darling, if +my love can make it so," whispered Waldemar, as the +musical bells clashed out in wild harmony under the winter +stars.</p> + +<p>She looked up into his eyes. "I <i>must</i> be happy, since +it will be passed with you. Do you remember, Waldemar, +the night I saw you first, my telling you New Year's-day +was my birthday, and wondering where you and I +should spend the next? I liked you strangely from the +first, but how little I foresaw that my whole life was to +hang on yours!"</p> + +<p>"As little as I foresaw when, after heavy losses at Godolphin's, +I watched the Old Year out in my chambers, a +tired, ruined, hopeless, aimless man, with not one on +whom I could rely for help or sympathy in my need, that +I should stand here now, free, clear from debt, with all +my old entanglements shaken off, my old scores wiped +out, my darker errors forgotten, my worst enemy humbled, +and my own future bright. Oh! Valérie! Heaven +bless you for the love that followed me into exile!"</p> + +<p>He drew her closer to him as he spoke, and as he felt +the beating of the heart that was always true to him, +and the soft caress of the lips that had always a smile for +him, Falkenstein looked out over the wide woodland +that called him master, glistening in the clear starlight, +and as he listened to the <span class="smcap">Silver Chimes</span>—joyous herald +of the New-born Year—he blessed in his inmost heart +the <span class="smcap">Golden Fetters of Love</span>.</p> + + + +<hr class="sep1" /> +<hr class="sep2" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> +<h1>SLANDER AND SILLERY.</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> +<hr class="sep3" /> +<hr class="sep4" /> +<h2><a name="SLANDER_AND_SILLERY" id="SLANDER_AND_SILLERY"></a>SLANDER AND SILLERY.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2>I.</h2> + +<h3>THE LION OF THE CHAUSSÉE D'ANTIN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Ma mère est à Paris,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mon père est à Versailles.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Et moi je suis ici.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pour chanter sur la paille,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">L'amour! L'amour!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">La nuit comme le jour.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Humming this popular if not over-recherché ditty, a +man sat sketching in pastels, one morning, in his rooms +at Numéro 10, Rue des Mauvais Sujets, Chaussée d' +Antin, +Paris.</p> + +<p>The band of the national guard, the marchands crying +"Coco!" the charlatans puffing everything from elixirs +to lead-pencils, the Empress and Mme. d'Alve passing in +their carriage, the tramp of some Zouaves just returned +from Algeria—nothing in the street below disturbed him; +he went sketching on as if his life depended on the completion +of the picture. He was a man about thirty-three, +middle height, and eminently graceful. He was half +Bohemian, half English, and the animation of the one +nation and the hauteur of the other were by turns expressed +on his chiselled features as his thoughts moved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +with his pencil. The stamp of his good blood was on +him; his face would have attracted and interested in +ever so large a crowd. He was very pale, and there was +a tired look on his wide, powerful forehead and in his +long dark eyes, and a weary line or two about his handsome +mouth, as if he had exhausted his youth very quickly; +and, indeed, to see life as he had seen it <i>is</i> somewhat +a fatiguing process, and apt to make one blasé before +one's time.</p> + +<p>The rooms in which he sat were intensely comfortable, +and very provocative to a quiet pipe and idleness. +To be sure, if one judged his tastes by them, they were +not probably, to use the popular jargon, "healthy," for +they had nothing very domestic or John Halifaxish about +them, and were certainly not calculated to gratify the +eyes of maiden aunts and spinster sisters.</p> + +<p>There were fencing-foils, pistols, tobacco-boxes of every +style and order, from ballet-girls to terriers' heads. +There were three or four cockatoos and parrots on stands +chattering bits of Quartier Latin songs, or imitating the +cries in the street below. There were cards, dice-boxes, +albums à rire, meerschaums, lorgnons, pink notes, no +end of De Kock's and Lebrun's books, and all the etcæteras +of chambres de garçon strewed about: and +there were things, too—pictures, statuettes, fauteuils, +and a breakfast-service of Sèvres and silver—that Du +Barry need not have scrupled to put in her "petite bon-bonnière" +at Luciennes.</p> + +<p>So busy was he sketching and singing</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Messieurs les étudiens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Montez á la Chaumière!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>that he never heard a knock at his door, and he looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +up with an impatient frown on his white, broad forehead +as a man entered <i>sans cérémonie</i>.</p> + +<p>"Mon Dieu! Ernest," cried his friend, "what the +devil are you doing here with your pipe and your pastels, +when I've been waiting at Tortoni's a good half-hour, +and at last, out of patience, drove here to see what +on earth had become of you?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, I beg you a thousand pardons," +said Vaughan, lazily. "I was sketching this, and you +and your horses went clean out of my head, I honestly +confess."</p> + +<p>"And your breakfast too, it seems," said De Concressault, +glancing at the table. "Is it Madame de Mélusine +or the little Bluette whose portrait absorbs you so much? +No, by Jove! it's a prettier woman than either of 'em. +If she's like that, take me to see her this instant. What +glorious gold hair! I adore your countrywomen when +they've hair that color. Where did you get that face? +Is she a duchess, or a danseuse, a little actress you're +going to patronise, or a millionnaire you're going to +marry?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you," laughed Vaughan. "I've not an +idea who she may be. I saw her last evening coming +out of the Français, and picked up her bouquet for her +as she was getting into her carriage. The face was +young, the smile very pretty and bright, and, as they +daguerreotyped themselves in my mind, I thought I +might as well transfer them to paper before newer beauties +chased them out of it."</p> + +<p>"Diable! and you don't know who she is? However, +we'll soon find out. That gold hair mustn't be lost. +But get your breakfast, pray, Ernest, and let us be off +to poor Armand's sale."</p> + +<p>"That's the way we mourn our dead friends," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +Vaughan, with a sneer, pouring out his coffee. "Armand +is jesting, laughing, and smoking with us one day, the +next he's pitched out of his carriage going down to Asnières, +and all we think of is—that his horses are for sale. +If I were found in the Morgue to-morrow, your first emotion, +Emile, would be, 'Vaughan's De l'Orme will be +sold. I must go and bid for it directly."</p> + +<p>De Concressault laughed as he looked up at a miniature +of Marion de l'Orme, once taken for the Marquis +of Gordon. "I fancy, mon garçon, there'll be too many +sharks after all your possessions for me to stand any +chance."</p> + +<p>"True enough," said Vaughan; "and I question if +they'll wait till my death before they come down on 'em. +But I don't look forward. I take life as it comes. Vogue +la galère! At least, I've <i>lived</i>, not vegetated." And +humming his refrain,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"L'amour! l'amour!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">La nuit comme le jour!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>he lounged down the stairs and drove to a sale in the +Faubourg St. Germain, where one of his Paris chums, a +virtuoso and connoisseur, had left endless <i>meubles</i> to be +sold by his duns and knocked down to his friends.</p> + +<p>Vaughan was quite right; he <i>had</i> lived, and at a pretty +good pace, too. When he came of age a tolerably +good fortune awaited him, but it had not been long in +his hands before he contrived to let it slip through +them. He'd been brought up at Sainte Barbe, after being +expelled from Rugby, knew all the best of the "jeunesse +dorée," and could not endure any place after Paris, +where his life was as sparkling and brilliant as the foam +off a glass of champagne. Wild and careless, high<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +spirited, and lavish in his Opera suppers, his <i>cabaret</i> dinners, +his Trois Frères banquets, his lansquenet parties, +his bouquets for baronnes, and his bracelets for ballerinas, +Ernest gained his reputation as a <i>Lion</i>, and—ruined +himself, too, poor old fellow!</p> + +<p>His place down in Surrey had mortgages thick on +every inch of its lands, and the money that kept him +going was borrowed from those modern Satans, money +lenders, at the usually ruinous interest. "But still," +Ernest was wont to say, with great philosophy, "I've had +ten years' swing of pleasure. Does every man get as +much as that? And should I have been any happier if +I'd been a good boy, and a country squire, sat on the +bench, amused my mind with turnips, and married some +bishop's daughter, who'd have marched me to church, +forbidden cigars, and buried me in family boots?"</p> + +<p>Certainly that would <i>not</i> have been his line, and so, in +natural horror at it, he dashed into a diametrically opposite +one, and after the favor he had shown him from +every handsome woman that drove through Longchamp, +wore diamonds at the Tuileries, and supped with dominos +noirs at bals d'Opéra, and the favor he showed to cards, +the <i>courses</i>, and the <i>coulisses</i>, few bishops would have +imperilled their daughters' souls by setting them to hunt +down this wicked <i>Lion</i>, especially as the poor <i>Lion</i> now +wasn't worth the trapping. If he had been, there would +have been hue and cry enough after him I don't doubt; +but the Gordon Cummings of the beau sexe rarely hunt +unless it's worth their while, and they can bring home +splendid spoils to make their bosom friends mad with +envy; and Ernest, despite his handsome face, his fashionable +reputation, and the aroma of conquest that hung +about him (they used to say he never wooed ever so +negligently but he won), was assuredly neither an "eligible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +speculation" nor a "marrying man," and was an +object rather of terror to English mammas steering budding +young ladies through the dangerous vortex of +French society with a fierce chevaux de frise of British +prejudices and a keen British eye to business. If Ernest +was of no other use, however, he was invaluable to his +uncles, aunts, and male cousins, as a sort of scapegoat +and <i>épouvantail</i>, to be held up on high to show the unwary +what they would come to if they followed his steps. +It was so pleasant to them to exult over his backslidings, +and, cutting him mercilessly up into little bits, hold condemnatory +sermons over every one of the pieces. "Dans +l'adversité de nos meilleurs amis, nous trouvons toujours +quelque chose qui ne nous déplait pas;" and Vaughan's +friends, like the rest of us pharisees, dearly loved to +glance at the publican (especially if he was handsomer, +cleverer, or any way better than themselves), and thank +God loudly that they were not such men as he. Ernest +was a hardened sinner, however; he laughed, put the +Channel between him and them, and went on his ways +without thinking or caring for their animadversions.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! Emile," said he as they sat dining together +at Leiter's, "I should like to find out my golden-haired +sylphide. She was English, by her fair skin, and though +I'm not very fond of my compatriotes, especially when +they're abroad (I think touring John Bull detestable +wrapped up in his treble plaid of reserve), still I should +like to find her out just for simple curiosity. I assure +you she'd the prettiest foot and ankle I ever saw, not +excepting even Bluette's."</p> + +<p>"Ma foi! that's a good deal from <i>you</i>. She must be +found, then. Voyons! shall we advertise in the <i>Moniteur</i>, +employ the secret police, or call at all the hotels in person +to say that you're quite ready to act out Soulié's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +'Lion Amoureux,' if you can only discover the petite +bourgeoise to play it with you?"</p> + +<p>Vaughan laughed as he drank his demi-tasse.</p> + +<p>"Lion amoureux! that's an anomaly; we're only in +love just enough pour nous amuser; and of us Albin +says, very rightly,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Si vous connaissiez quelques meilleurs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vous porteriez bientôt cette âme ailleurs."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Very well, then: if you don't know of anything better, +let's hunt up this incognita. If she went to the +Français, she's most likely at the Odéon to-night," said +De Concressault. "Shall we try?"</p> + +<p>"Allons!" said Vaughan, rising indolently, as he did +most things. "But it's rather silly, I think; there are +bright smiles and pretty feet enough in Paris without +one's setting off on a wild-goose chase after them."</p> + +<p>They were playing the last act of "La Calomnie," as +Vaughan and De Concressault took their places, put up +their lorgnons, and looked round the house. He swore +a few mental "Diables!" and "Sacrés!" as his gaze fell +on faces old or ugly, or too brunes or too blondes, or anything +but what he wanted. At last, without moving his +glass, he touched De Concressault's arm.</p> + +<p>"There she is, Emile, in the fourth from the centre, in +a white opera cloak, with pink flowers in her hair."</p> + +<p>"I see her, mon ami," said Emile. "I found her out +two seconds ago (see how well you sketch!) but I +wouldn't spoil your pleasure in discovering her. Mon +Dieu! Ernest, she's looking at you, and smiles as if she +recognised you. Was there ever so lucky a Lauzun?"</p> + +<p>Vaughan could have laughed outright to see by the +brightness of the girl's expression that she knew the +saviour of her bouquet again, for though he was accustomed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +to easy conquests, such naive interest in him at +such short notice was something new to him.</p> + +<p>He didn't take his lorgnon off her again, and she was +certainly worth the honor, with her soft, lustrous gold +hair, the eyes that defy definition—black in some lights, +violet in others—a wide-arched forehead, promising +plenty of brains, and a rayonnante, animated, joyous +expression, quite refreshing to anybody as bored and +blasé as Vaughan and De Concressault. As soon as the +last piece was over Vaughan slipped out of his loge, and +took up his station at the entrance.</p> + +<p>He didn't wait in vain: the golden hair soon came, on +the arm of a gentleman—middle aged, as Vaughan noticed +with a sensation of satisfaction. She glanced up at +him as she passed: he looked very handsome in the gas +glare. Vaughan perhaps was too sensible a fellow to +think of his pose, but even <i>we</i> have our weaknesses under +certain circumstances, as well as the crinolines. +Luckily for him, he chanced to have in his pocket a gold +serpent bracelet he had bought that morning for some +fair dame or demoiselle. He stopped her, and held it +out to her.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, mademoiselle," he said in French, +"but I think you dropped this?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with the sunniest of smiles as +she answered, in a pure accent, "No monsieur, thank +you, it does not belong to me."</p> + +<p>The middle-aged man glanced sideways at him with +true British suspicion—I dare say a pickpocket, a Rouge, +and Fieschi, were all mixed up in his mind as embodied +in the graceful figure and bold glance of the <i>Lion</i>. He +drew the girl on, looking much like a heavy cloud with a +bright sun ray after it; but she half turned her head over +her shoulder to give him a farewell smile, which Ernest +returned with ten per cent. interest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Anglais," said Emile, concisely.</p> + +<p>"Malheureusement," said Ernest as briefly, as he +pushed his way into the air, and saw the gold hair vanish +into her carriage. He went quickly up to the cocher.</p> + +<p>"Où demeurent-ils, mon ami?" he whispered, slipping +a five-franc piece into his hand.</p> + +<p>The man smiled. "A l'Hôtel de Londres, monsieur; +No. 6, au premier."</p> + +<p>"The devil! pourquoir ne allez pas?" said an unmistakably +English voice from the interior of the voiture. The +man set off at a trot; Ernest sprang into his own trap.</p> + +<p>"Au Chateau Rouge! May as well go there, eh, +Emile? What a deuced pity la chevelure dorée is English!"</p> + +<p>"I wish she were a danseuse, an actress, a fleuriste—anything +one could make his own introduction to. Confound +it there's the 'heavy father,' I'm afraid, in the case, and +some rigorous mamma, or vigilant <i>béguine</i> of a governess: +but, to judge by the young lady's smiles, she'll be easy +game unless she's tremendously fenced in."</p> + +<p>With which consolatory reflection Vaughan leaned +back and lighted a cheroot, <i>en route</i> to spend the night +as he had spent most of them for the last ten years, till +the fan had begun to be more bore than pleasure.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>II.</h2> + +<h3>NINA GORDON.</h3> + + +<p>"Have you been to the Hôtel de Londres, Ernest?" said +De Concressault, as Vaughan lounged into Tortoni's next +day, where Emile and three or four other men were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +drinking Seltzer and talking of how Cerisette had beaten +Vivandière by a neck at Chantilly, or (the sport to which +a Frenchman takes much more naturally) of how well +Rivière played in the "Prix d'un Bouquet;" what a <i>belle +taille</i> la De Servans had; and what a fool Senecterre had +made of himself in the duel about Madame Viardot.</p> + +<p>"Of course I have," said Vaughan. "The name is Gordon—general +name enough in England. They were gone +to the Expiatoire, the portière told me. There <i>is</i> the +heavy father, as I feared, and a quasi-governess acting +duenna; they're travelling with another family, whose +name I could not hear: the woman said 'C'était beaucoup +trop dur pour les lèvres.' I dare say they're some Brummagem +people—some Fudge family or other—on their +travels. Confound it!"</p> + +<p>"Poor Ernest," laughed De Concressault. "Some +gold hair has bewitched him, and instead of finding it +belongs to a danseuse, or a married woman, or a fleuriste +of the Palais Royal, or something attainable, he finds it +turn into an unapproachable English girl, with no end of +outlying sentries round her, who'll fire at the first familiar +approach."</p> + +<p>"It is a hard case," said De Kerroualle, a dashing fellow +in one of the "Régiments de famille." "Never +mind, mon ami; 'contre fortune bon cœur,' you know: +it'll be more fun to devastate one of our countrymen's +inviolate strongholds than to conquer where the white +flag's already held out. Halloa! here's a compatriot of +yours, I'd bet; look at his sanctified visage and stiff +choker—a Church of England man, eh?"</p> + +<p>"The devil!" muttered Vaughan, turning round; +"deuce take him, it's my cousin Ruskinstone! What in +the world does <i>he</i> do in Paris?"</p> + +<p>The man he spoke of was the Rev. Eusebius Ruskinstone,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +the Dean's Warden of the cathedral of Faithandgrace, +a tall, thin young clerical of eight or nine-and-twenty, +with goodness enough (it was generally supposed) +in his little finger to make up for all Ernest's sins, +scarlet though they were. He had just sat down and +taken up the carte to blunder through "Potage au Duc +de Malakoff," "Fricassée de volaille à la Princesse Mathilde," +and all the rest of it, when his eye lit on his +graceless cousin, and a vinegar asperity spread over his +bland visage. Vaughan rose with a lazy grace, immensely +bored within him: "My dear Ruskinstone, what an unanticipated +pleasure. I never hoped Vanity Fair would +have had power to lure <i>you</i> into its naughty peep-shows +and roundabouts."</p> + +<p>The Rev. Eusebius reddened slightly; he had once +stated strongly his opinion that poor Paris was Pandemonium. +"How do you do?" he said, giving his cousin +two fingers; "it is a long time since we saw you in England."</p> + +<p>"England doesn't want me," said Ernest, dryly. "I +don't fancy I should be very welcome at Faithandgrace, +should I? The dear Chapter would probably consign me +to starvation for my skeptical notions, as Calvin did Castellio. +But what <i>has</i> brought you to Paris? Are you +come to fight the Jesuits in a conference, or to abjure the +Wardenship and turn over to them?"</p> + +<p>Eusebius was shocked at the irreverent tone, but there +was a satirical smile on his cousin's lips that he didn't +care to provoke. "I am come," he said, stiffly, "partly +for health, partly to collect materials for a work on the +'Gurgoyles and Rose Mouldings of Mediæval Architecture,' +and partly to oblige some friends of mine. Pardon +me, here they come."</p> + +<p>Vaughan lifted his eyes, expecting nothing very delectable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +in Ruskinstone's friends; to his astonishment they +fell on his beauty of the Français! with the outlying sentries +of father, governess, and two other women, the +Warden's maiden sisters, stiff, maniérées, and prudish, +like too many Englishwomen. The young lady of the +Français was a curious contrast to them: she started a +little as she saw Vaughan, and smiled brilliantly. On the +spur of that smile Ernest greeted his cousins with a degree +of <i>empressement</i> that they certainly wouldn't have +been honored by without it. They were rather frightened +at coming in actual contact with such a monster of iniquity +as a Paris <i>Lion</i>, who, they'd heard, had out-Juan'd +Don Juan, and gave him but a frigid welcome. Mr. Gordon +had doubtless heard, too, of Vaughan's misdemeanors, +for he looked stoical and acidulated as he bowed. But +the young girl's eyes reconciled Ernest to all the rest, as +she frankly returned a look with which he was wont to +win his way through women's hearts, 'midst the hum of +ball rooms, in the soft tête-à-tête in boudoirs, and over +the sparkling Sillery of <i>petits soupers</i>. So, for the sake of +his new quarry, he disregarded the cold looks of the +others, and made himself so charming, that nobody could +withstand the fascination of his manner till their dinner +was served, and then, telling his cousins he would do himself +the pleasure of calling on them the next day, he left +the café to drive over to Gentilly, to inspect a grey colt +of De Kerroualle's.</p> + +<p>"La chevelure dorée is quite as pretty by daylight, +Ernest," said De Concressault. "Bon dieu! it is such +a relief to see eyes that are not tinted, and a skin whose +pink and white is not born from the mysterious rites of +the toilet."</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded, with his Manilla between his teeth.</p> + +<p>"That cousin of yours is queer style, mon garçon,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +said Kerroualle. "How some of those islanders contrive +to iron themselves into the stiffness and flatness they do, +is to me the profoundest enigma. But what Church of +England meaning lies hid in his coat-tails? They are, +for all the world, like our révérends pères! What is it +for?"</p> + +<p>"High Church. Next door shop to yours, you know. +Our ecclesiastics are given to balancing themselves on a +tight rope between their 'mother' and their 'sister,' till +they tumble over into their sister's open arms—the Catholics +say into salvation, the Protestants into damnation; +into neither, I myself opine, poor simpletons. Ruskinstone +is fearfully architectural. The sole things he'll see +here will be façades, gurgoyles, and clerestories, and his +soul knows no warmer loves than 'stone dolls,' as Newton +calls them. I say, Gaston, what do you think of <i>my</i> +love of the Français; isn't she <i>chic</i>, isn't she mignonne, +isn't she spirituelle?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented De Kerroualle, "prettier than either +Bluette or Madame de Mélusine would allow, or—relish."</p> + +<p>Ernest frowned. "I've done with Bluette; she's a +pretty face, but—ah, bah! one can't amuse oneself always +with a little paysanne, for she's nothing better, after all; +and I'm half afraid the Mélusine begins to bore me."</p> + +<p>"Better not tell her so, mon ami," said De Kerroualle; +"she'd be a nasty enemy."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! a woman like that loves and forgets."</p> + +<p>"Sans doute; but they also sometimes revenge. Poor +little Bluette you may safely turn over; but Madame la +Baronne won't so easily be jilted."</p> + +<p>Vaughan laughed. "Oh, I'm not going to break her +heart. Don't you know, Gaston, 'on a bien de la peine +à rompre, même quand on ne s'aime plus."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have said you found it so," smiled De<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +Concressault, "for you change your loves as you change +your gloves. La chevelure dorée will be the next, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Poor little thing!" said Ernest, bitterly. "I wish +her a better fate."</p> + +<p>He went to call on la chevelure dorée, nevertheless, +the morning after, and found her in the salon alone, +greatly to his surprise and pleasure. Nina Gordon <i>was</i> +pretty <i>even</i> in the morning—as Byron says—and she was +much more, she was fascinating, and as perfectly demonstrative +and natural as any peasant girl out of the meadows +of Arles, ignorant of the magic words toilette, cosmétique, +and crinoline.</p> + +<p>She received him with evident pleasure and perfect unreserve, +which even this daring and skeptical <i>Lion</i> could +not twist or contort into boldness, and began to talk fast +and gaily.</p> + +<p>"Do I like Paris?" she said, in answer to his question. +"Oh yes; or at least I should, if I could see it differently. +I detest sight-seeing, crowding one's brains with +pictures, statues, palaces, Holy Families jostling Polinchinelle, +races, mixing up with grand masses, Versailles, +clouding St. Cloud—the Trianon rattled through in five +minutes—all in inextricable muddle. <i>I</i> should like to +see Paris at leisure, with some one with whom I had a +'rapport,' my thoughts undisturbed, and my historical +associations fresh and fervent."</p> + +<p>"I wish I were honored with the office of your guide," +said Ernest, smiling. "Do you think you would have a +'rapport' with me?"</p> + +<p>She smiled in return. "Yes, I think I should. I +cannot tell why. But as it is, my warmest souvenir of +Condé is chilled by the offer of an ice, and my tenderest +thought of Louise de la Vallière is shivered with the +suggestion of dinner."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p>Vaughan laughed. "Bravo!" thought he. "Thank +God this is no tame English icicle. I would give much," +he said, "to be able to take my cousin's place, and show +you Paris. We would have no such vulgar gastronomical +interruptions; we would go through it all perfectly. +I would make you hear the very whispers with which La +Vallière, under the old oaks of St. Germain, unknowingly, +told her love to Louis. In the forest glades of St. Cloud +you should see Cinq-Mars and the Royal Hunt riding +out in the <i>chasse de nuit</i>; in the gloomy walls of the +prisons you should hear André Chénier reciting his last +verses, and see Egalité completing his last toilet. The +glittering 'Cotillons' on the terraces of Versailles, the +fierce canaille surging through the salons of the Tuileries, +the Templars dying in the green meadows at the back of +St. Antoine—they should all rise up for you under my +incantations."</p> + +<p>Positively Ernest, bored and blasé, accustomed to look +at Paris through the gas-lights of his <i>Lion's</i> life, warmed +into romance to please the eyes that now beamed upon +him.</p> + +<p>"Ah! that would be delightful," said the girl, her eyes +sparkling. "Mr. Ruskinstone, you know, is terrible to +me, for he goes about with 'Ruskin' in one hand, 'Murray' +in the other, and a Phrase-book or two in his pocket +(of course he wants it, as he's a 'classical scholar'), and +no matter whatever associations cling around a place, +only looks at it in regard to its architectural points. I +beg your pardon," she said, interrupting herself with a +blush, "I forgot he was your cousin; but really that constant +cold stone does tease me so."</p> + +<p>At that moment the heavy father, as Ernest irreverently +styled the tall, pompous head of one of the first banks +in London, who was worth a million if he was worth a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +sou, entered, and the Rev. Eusebius after him, who had +been spending a lively morning taking notes among the +catacombs. He was prepared to be as cold as a refrigerator, +and the banker to follow his example, at finding +this <i>bête noire</i> of the Chaussée d'Antin tête-à-tête with +Nina. But Ernest had a sort of haughty high breeding +and careless dignity which warned people off from any +liberties with him; and Gordon remembered that he +knew Paris and its <i>haute volée</i> so well that he might be a +useful acquaintance if kept at arm's length from Nina, +and afterwards dropped. Unlucky man! he actually +thought his weak muscles were strong enough to cope +with a <i>Lion's</i>!</p> + +<p>Vaughan took his leave, after offering his box at the +Opéra-Comique to Mr. Gordon, and drove to the Jockey +Club, pondering much on this new species of the <i>beau +sexe</i>. He was too used to women not to know at a glance +that she had nothing bold about her, and yet he was too +skeptical to credit that a girl could possibly exist who +was neither a coquette nor a prude. As soon as the door +closed on him his friends began to open their batteries of +scandal.</p> + +<p>"How sad it is to see life wasted as my cousin wastes +his," said the Warden, balancing a paper-knife thoughtfully, +with a depressed air; "frittered away on mere +trifles, as valuless and empty as soap-bubbles, but not, +alas! so innocent."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Nina asked, quickly.</p> + +<p>"What do I mean, Miss Gordon?" repeated Eusebius, +reproachfully; "what can I mean but the idle whirl of +gaiety, the vitiating pleasures, the debts and the vices +which are to be laid at poor Ernest's door. Ever since +we were boys together, and he was expelled from Rugby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +for going to Coventry fair and staying there all night, he +has been going rapidly down the road to ruin."</p> + +<p>"He looks very comfortable in his descent," smiled the +young lady. "Pray why, after all, shouldn't horses, +operas, and Manillas, be as legitimate objects to set one's +affections upon as Norman arches and Gregorian chants? +He has his dissipations, you have yours. Chacun à son +goût!"</p> + +<p>The Warden had his reasons for conciliating the young +heiress, so he made a feeble effort to smile. "You know +as well as I that you do not think what you say, Miss +Gordon. Were it merely Vaughan's tastes that were in +fault it would not be of such fearful consequence, but +unfortunately it is his principles."</p> + +<p>"He is utterly without any," said Miss Selina Ruskinstone, +who, ten years before, had been deeply and hopelessly +in love with Ernest, and never forgave him for +not reciprocating the passion.</p> + +<p>"He is a skeptic, a gambler, a spendthrift; and a more +heartlessless flirt never lived," averred Miss Augusta, +who hated the whole of Ernest's sex—even the Chapter—<i>pour +cause</i>.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen can't help seeming flirts sometimes, some +women pay such attention to them," said Nina, with a +mischievous laugh. "Poor Mr. Vaughn! I hope he's +not as black as he is painted. His physiognomy tells a +different tale; he is just my ideal of 'Ernest Maltravers.' +How kind his eyes are; have you ever looked into them, +Selina?"</p> + +<p>Miss Ruskinstone gave an angry sneer, vouchsafing no +other response.</p> + +<p>"My dear Nina, how foolishly you talk, about looking +into a young man's eyes," frowned her father. "I am +surprised to hear you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her own eyes opened in astonishment. "Why mayn't +I look at them? It is by the eyes that, like a dog, I +know whom to like and whom to avoid."</p> + +<p>"And pray does your prescience guide you to see a +saint in a ruined <i>Lion</i> of the Chaussée d'Antin?" sneered +Selina, with another contemptuous sniff.</p> + +<p>"Not a saint. I'm not good enough to appreciate the +race," laughed Nina. "But I do not believe your +cousin to be all you paint him; or, at least, if circumstances +have led him into extravagance, I have a conviction +that he has a warm heart and a noble character au +fond."</p> + +<p>"We will hope so," said the Warden, meekly, with an +expression which plainly said how vain a hope it was.</p> + +<p>"I think we have wasted a great deal too much conversation +on a thankless subject," said Selina, with asperity. +"Don't you think it time, Mr. Gordon, for us to go +to the Louvre?"</p> + +<p>That day, as they were driving along the Boulevards, +they passed Ernest with Bluette in his carriage going to +the Pré Catalan: they all knew her, from having seen +her play at the Odéon. Selina and Augusta turned down +their mouths, and turned up their eyes. Gordon pulled +up his collar, and looked a Brutus in spectacles. Nina +colored, and looked vexed. Triumph glittered in Eusebius's +meek eyes, but he sighed a pastor's sigh over a lost +soul.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>III.</h2> + +<h3>"LE LION AMOUREUX."</h3> + + +<p>The morning after, as they were going into the Exposition +des Beaux Arts, they met Vaughan; and no ghost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +would have been more unwelcome to the Warden than +the distingué figure of his fashionable cousin. Nina was +the only one who looked pleased to recognise him, and +she, as she returned his smile, forgot that the evening +before it had been given to Bluette.</p> + +<p>"Are you coming in too?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I was not, but I will with pleasure," said Ernest. +And into the Exhibition with them he went, to Ruskinstone's +wrath and Gordon's annoyance.</p> + +<p>Vaughan was a connoisseur in art. The Warden knew +no more than what he took verbatim from the god of his +idolatry, Mr. John Ruskin. It was very natural that +Nina should listen to the friend of Ingres and Vernet instead +of to the second-hand worshipper of Turner. +Vaughan, by instinct, dropped his customary tone of +compliment—compliment he never used to women he +delighted to honor—and talked so charmingly, that Nina +utterly forgot the luckless Eusebius, and started when a +low, sweet voice said, close beside her, "What, Ernest, +you here?"</p> + +<p>She turned, and saw a woman about eight-and-twenty, +dressed in perfection of taste, with an exquisite figure, +and a face of brunette beauty; the rouge most undiscoverable, +and the eyes artistically tinted to make them +look larger, which, Heaven knows, was needless. She +darted a quick look at Vaughan's companion, which Nina +gave back with a dash of hauteur. A shade came over +his face as he answered her greeting.</p> + +<p>"Will you not introduce me to your friend?" said the +new comer. "She is of your nation, I fancy, and you +know I am entêtée of everything English."</p> + +<p>Ernest looked rather gloomy at the compliment, but +turning to Nina, begged to introduce her to Madame de +Mélusine. The gay, handsome baronne, taking in all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +the English girl's points as rapidly as a groom at Tattersall's +does a two-year-old's, was chatting volubly to Nina, +when the others came up. Gordon, though wont to +boast that he belonged to the aristocracy of money, was +always ready to fall in the dust before the noblesse of +blood, and was gratified at the introduction, remembering +to have read in the <i>Moniteur</i> the name of De Mélusine +at the ball at the Tuileries. And the widow was very +charming even to the professedly stoical eyes of a Brutus +of sixty-two. She soon floated off, however, with her +party, giving Vaughan a gay "A ce soir!" and requesting +to be allowed the honor of calling on the Gordons.</p> + +<p>"Is she a great friend of yours?" asked Nina, when +she and he were a little in advance of the others.</p> + +<p>"I have known her some time."</p> + +<p>"And you are very intimate, I suppose, as she called +you by your Christian name?"</p> + +<p>He smiled a smile that puzzled Nina. "Oh! we soon +get familiar here!"</p> + +<p>"Where are you going to see her again this evening?" +she persevered, playing with her parasol fringe.</p> + +<p>"At her own house—a house that will charm you. By +the way, it once belonged to Bussy Rabutin, and it has +all Louis Quatorze furniture."</p> + +<p>"Is it a dinner?—a ball?"</p> + +<p>"No, an Opera supper—she is famed for her Sillery +and her mots. Ten to one I shall not go; what amuses +one once palls with repetition."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand that," said Nina, quickly; "what +I like, I like pour toujours."</p> + +<p>"Pauvre enfant! you little know life," muttered +Ernest. "Ah! Miss Gordon, you are at the happy age +when one can believe in the feelings and friendships, and +all the charming little romances of existence. But I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +have passed it, and so that I am amused for a moment, +so that something takes time off my hands, I look no +further, and expect no more. I know well enough the +champagne will cease to sparkle, but I drink it while it +foams, and don't trouble myself to lament over it. +Qu'importe? when one bottle's empty, there is another!"</p> + +<p>"Ah! it is such women as Madame de Mélusine who +have taught you that doctrine," cried Nina, with an energy +that rather startled Ernest, though his nerves were as +strong as any man's in Paris. "My romances, as you +term them, still I believe sleep in your heart, but the +world you live in has stifled them. Do you think amusement +will always be enough for you?—do you think you +will never want something better than your empty +champagne foam?"</p> + +<p>"I hope I shall not, mademoiselle," said Vaughan, +bitterly, "for I am certain I do not believe in it, and am +quite sure I should never get it. Leave me to the roses +of my Tritericæ; they are all I shall ever enjoy, and they, +at the best, are withered."</p> + +<p>"Nina, love," interrupted Selina, coming up with much +amiability, "I was <i>obliged</i> to come and tell you not to be +<i>quite</i> so energetic. All the people in the room are looking +at you."</p> + +<p>"I dare say they are," said Vaughan, calmly. "It is +not often the Parisians have the pleasure of seeing +beauty unaffected, and fascinations careless of their own +charms. Nature, Selina, is unhappily as rare one side +the Channel as the other, and we men appreciate it when +we do see it."</p> + +<p>When Vaughan parted from them soon after, he swore +at himself for three things. First, for having driven +Bluette, en plein jour, through the Boulevards, though +he had driven Bluette, and such as Bluette, a thousand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +times before; secondly, for having been so weak as to +introduce Madame de Mélusine to the Gordons; and, +thirdly, for having—he the thorough-paced <i>Lion</i>, whose +manual was Rochefoucauld, and tutor in love, De Kock—actually +talked romance as if he were Werter or Paul +Flemming, or some other sentimental simpleton.</p> + +<p>Vaughan, to his great disgust, felt a fit of blue devils +stealing on him, hurled one or two rose notes waiting for +him into the fire with an oath, smoked half a dozen Manillas +fiercely, and then, to get excitement, went to a dinner +at the Rocher de Cancale, played écarté with a beau +joueur, went to an Opera supper—<i>not</i> to the De Mélusine's—then +to Mabille and came home at seven in the +morning after a night such as would have raised every +hair off Brutus's head, given a triumphant glitter to the +Warden's small blue eyes, and possibly even staggered +the hot faith of his young champion. Pauline de Mélusine +was as good as her word—she did call on the Gordons—and +Brutus, stoic though he was, was well pleased; +for the baronne, though her nobility only dated from the +Restoration, and was not received by the exclusive Legitimists +of the old Faubourg St. Germain, had a very +pleasant set of her own, and figured among the nouvelle +noblesse and bourgeois décorés who fill the vacant places +of the De Rochefoucauld, the De Rohan, and the Montmorency, +in the "imperial" salons of the Tuileries, where +once the noblest blood in Europe was gathered.</p> + +<p>"It is painful to me to frequent Ernest's society," the +Warden was wont to say, "for every word he utters +impresses me but more sadly with the conviction of his +lost state. But we are commanded to be in the world +though not of it, and, if I shun him, how can I hope to +benefit him?"</p> + +<p>"True; and, as your cousin, it would scarcely be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +charitable to avoid him entirely, terrible as we know his +habits to be. But there is no necessity to be too intimate, +and I do not wish Nina to be too much with him," +the banker was accustomed to answer.</p> + +<p>"<i>Anglice</i>, Vaughan gets us good introductions, and +makes Paris pleasant to us; we'll use him while we want +him: when we don't, we will give him his congé."</p> + +<p>That's the reading of most of our dear friends' compliments +and caresses, isn't it?</p> + +<p>Vaughan knew perfectly well that they would like to +make a cat's-paw of him, and was the last man likely to +play that simple and certainly not agreeable rôle unless +it suited him. But he had reasons of his own for forcing +Gordon to be civil and obliged to him, despite the prejudices +of that English, and therefore, of course, opinionated +gentleman. It amused him to mortify Eusebius, +whom he saw at a glance was bewitched with the prospect +of Nina's <i>dot</i>, and it amused him very much to see +Nina's joyous laughter as he leaned over her chair at the +Opéra Comique, to hear her animated satire on Madame +de Mélusine, for whom, knowing nothing of her, the +young lady had conceived hot aversion, and to listen to +her enthusiasm when she poured out to him her vivid +imaginings.</p> + +<p>Gradually the cafés, and the Boulevards, and the boudoirs +missed Ernest while he accompanied Nina through +the glades of St. Cloud, or down the Seine to Asnières, +or up the slopes of Père la Chaise, in his new pursuit; +and often at night he would leave the coulisses, or a +lansquenet, or the gas-lights of the Maison Dorée, and +the Closerie des Lilas, to watch her thorough enjoyment +of a vaudeville, her fervent feeling in an opera, or to +waltz with her at a ball, and note her glad recognition of +him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> + +<p>To this girl, Ernest opened his heart and mind as he—being +a reserved, proud, and skeptical man—had never +done to any one; there was a sympathy and confidence +between them, and she learned much of his inner nature +as she talked to him soft and low under the forest trees +of Fontainebleau, such talk as could not be heard in +Bluette's boudoir, under the wax-lights of the Quartier +Bréda, or in the flow of the Sillery at la Mélusine's +soupers. All this was new to the tired <i>Lion</i>, and amused +him immensely. La chevelure dorée was twisting the +golden meshes of its net round him, as De Concressault +told him one day.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said Ernest; "have I not two loves already +on my hands more than I want?"</p> + +<p>"Dethrone them, and promote la petite."</p> + +<p>Vaughan turned on his friend with his eyes flashing.</p> + +<p>"Bon Dieu! do you take her for a ballet-girl or a +grisette?"</p> + +<p>"Well, if you don't like that, marry her then, mon +cher. You will satisfy your fancy, and get cinquante +mille francs de rente—at a sacrifice, of course; but, que +veux-tu? There is no medal without its reverse, though +a 'lion marié' is certainly an anomaly, an absurdity, and +an intense pity."</p> + +<p>"Tais-toi," said Ernest, impatiently; "tu es fou! +Caught in the toils of a wretched intrigante, in the power +of any tailor in the Rue Vivienne, any jeweller in the +Palais Royal, my money spent on follies, my life wasted +in play, the turf, and worthless women, I have much indeed +to offer to a young girl who has wealth, beauty, +genius, and heart!"</p> + +<p>"All the more reason why you should make a good +coup," said Emile, calmly, after listening with pitying +surprise to his friend in his new mood. "You have a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +handsome face, a fashionable reputation, and a good +name. Bah! you can do anything. As for your life, all +women like a mauvais sujet, and unless the De Mélusine +turn out a Brinvilliers, I don't see what you have to +fear."</p> + +<p>"When I want your counsel, Emile, I will ask it," said +Vaughan, shortly; "but, as I have no intention of going +in for the prize, there is no need for you to bet on the +chance of the throw."</p> + +<p>"Comme tu veux!" said the Parisian, shrugging his +shoulders. "That homme de paille, your priestly cousin, +will take her back to the English fogs, and make her a +much better husband than you'd ever be, mon garçon."</p> + +<p>Vaughan moved restlessly.</p> + +<p>"The idiot! if I thought so—— The devil take you, +Emile! why do you talk of such things?"</p> + +<p>At that minute Nina was sitting by one of the windows +of their hotel, watching for Ernest, with a bouquet he +had sent her on a table by her side; and the Rev. Eusebius +was talking in a very low tone to her father. She +caught a few words. "Last night—Vaughan at the +Frères Provençaux—a souper au cabinet—Mademoiselle +Céline, première danseuse—quite terrible," &c., &c.</p> + +<p>Nina flushed scarlet, and turned round. "If you +blame your cousin, Mr. Ruskinstone, why were you there +yourself?"</p> + +<p>The Warden colored too. With him, as with a good +many, foreign air relaxed the severity of the Decalogue, +and what was sin at home, where everybody knew it, was +none at all abroad—under the rose. Some dear pharisees +will not endanger their souls by a carpet-dance in +England, but if a little bird followed them in their holiday +across the Channel, it might chance to see them disporting +under a domino noir.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I had been," he stammered, "to see, as you know, a +beautiful specimen of the arcboutant in a ruined chapel +of the Carmélites, some miles down the Seine. It was +very late, and I was very tired, so turned into the Frères +Provençaux to take some little refreshment, and I there +saw my unhappy cousin in society which <i>ought</i>, Miss Gordon, +to disqualify him for yours. It is very painful to +me to mention such things to you. I never thought you +overheard——"</p> + +<p>"Then, if it is very painful to you," Nina burst in, impetuously, +her <i>bouche de rose</i>, as De Kerroualle called it, +curving haughtily, "why are you ceaselessly raking up +every possible bit of scandal that you can against your +cousin? His life does not clash with yours, his acts do +not matter to you, his extravagance does not rob you. I +used to fancy charity should cover a multitude of sins, +but it seems to me that, now-a-days, clergymen, like Dr. +Watt's naughty dogs, only delight to bark and bite."</p> + +<p>"You are cruelly unjust," answered the Warden, in +those smooth tones that irritate one much more than +"hard swearing." "I have no other wish than Christian +kindness to poor Ernest. If, in my place as pastor, I +justly condemn his errors and vices, it is only through a +loving desire to wean him from his downward course."</p> + +<p>"Your love is singularly vindictive," said his vehement +young opponent, her cheeks hot and her eyes bright. +"No good was ever yet done to a man by proclaiming +his faults right and left. <i>I</i> should like you much better, +Mr. Ruskinstone, if you said, candidly, I don't like my +cousin, and I have never forgiven him for thrashing me +at Rugby, and playing football better than I did."</p> + +<p>Eusebius winced at this little touch up of his bygone +years, but he smiled a benign, superior, pitying smile. +"Such petitesses, I thank Heaven, are utterly beneath<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +me, and I should have fancied Miss Gordon was too generous +to suppose them. God forbid that I should envy +poor Vaughan his dazzling qualities. I sorrow over him +as a relative and a precious human soul, but as a minister +of our holy Church I neither can, nor will, countenance +his gross violations of all her divinest laws." +With which peroration the Warden, with a sigh, took up +a work on "The Early English Piscini and Aspersoria," +and became immersed therein.</p> + +<p>"Poor Mr. Vaughan!" cried Nina, impatiently. "Probably +he is too wise to concern himself about what people +buzz in his absence, or else he need be cased in mail to +avoid being stung to death with the musquito bites of +scandal."</p> + +<p>Gordon came down on her with his heavy artillery. +"Silence, Nina! you do not know what you are defending. +I fear that no slander can darken Mr. Vaughan's +character more than he merits."</p> + +<p>"A gambler—a roué—a lover of married woman, of +dancing-girls," murmured Eusebius, in an aside, meant, +like those on the stage, to tell killingly with the audience.</p> + +<p>Nina flushed as scarlet as the camellias in her bouquet, +and put up her head with a haughty gesture. "Here +comes the subject of your vituperation, Mr. Ruskinstone, +so you can repeat your denunciations, and favor +him with a sermon in person—unless, indeed, the secular +recollections of Rugby intimidate the religious arm."</p> + +<p>I fear something as irreverent as "Little devil!" rose +to the Warden's pious lips as he flashed a fierce glance +at her from his pale-blue eyes, for he loved not her, but +the splendid <i>dot</i> which the banker was sure to pay down +if his son-in-law were to his taste. He caught his cousin's +glance as he came into the salons, and in the superb +scorn gleaming in Ernest's dark eyes, Eusebius saw that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +they were not merely enemies, but—rivals: a Warden +with Church principles, all the cardinal virtues, strict +morality, and money; and a <i>Lion</i> with Paris principles +(if any), great fascinations, debts, entanglements, and +an empty purse. Which will win, with Nina for the cup +and Gordon for the umpire?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IV.</h2> + +<h3>MISCHIEF.</h3> + + +<p>"Qui cherchez-vous, petite?"</p> + +<p>The speaker was la Mélusine, and the hearer was Nina +who considerably resented the half-patronising, half +mocking, yet intensely amiable manner the widow chose +to assume towards her. Gordon was stricken with warm +admiration of madame, and never inquired into <i>her</i> morality, +only too pleased when she condescended to talk to +or invite him. They had met at a soirée at some intimate +friends of Vaughan's in the Champs Elysées. +(Ernest was a favorite wherever he went, and the good-natured +French people at once took up his relatives to +please him.) He was not there himself, but the baronne's +quick eyes soon caught and construed her restless +glances through the crowded rooms.</p> + +<p>"Je ne cherche personne, madame," said Nina, haughtily. +Dressed simply in white tulle, with the most exquisite +flowers to be had out of the Palais Royal in the famous +golden hair, which gleamed in the gaslight like +sunshine, she aroused the serpent which lay hid in the +roses of madame's smiles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + +<p>Pauline laughed softly, and flirted her fan. "Nay, +nay, mignonne, those soft eyes are seeking some one. +Who is it? Ah! it is that méchant Monsieur Vaughan +n'est-ce pas? He is very handsome, certainly, but</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On dit an village<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Qu'Argire est volage."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Madame's own thoughts possibly suggest the supposition +of mine," said Nina, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Comme ces Anglaises sont impolies," thought the +baronne. "No, indeed," she said, laughing carelessly, +"I know Ernest too well to let my thoughts dwell on +him. He is charming to talk to, to waltz with, to flirt +with, but from anything further Dieu nous garde! Lauzun +himself were not more dangerous or more unstable."</p> + +<p>"You speak as bitterly, madame, as if you had suffered +from the fickleness," said Nina, with a contemptuous +curl of her soft lips. Sweet temper as she was, she +could thrust a spear in her enemy's side when she +liked.</p> + +<p>Madame's eyes glittered like a rattlesnake's. Nina's +chance ball shot home. But madame was a woman of +the world, and could mask her batteries with a skill of +which Nina, with her impetuous <i>abandon</i>, was incapable. +She smiled very sweetly, as she answered, "No, petite +I have unhappily seen too much of the world not to +know that we must never put our trust in those charming +mauvais sujets. At your age, I dare say I should +not have been proof against your countryman's fascinations, +but now, I know just how much his fondest vows +are worth, and I have been deaf to them all, for I would +not let my heart mislead me against my reason and my +conscience. Ah, petite! you little guess what the traitor +word 'love' means here, in Paris. We women grow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +accustomed to our fate, but the lesson is hard sometimes."</p> + +<p>"You have been reading 'Mes Confidences,' lately?" +asked Nina, with a sarcastic flash of her brilliant eyes.</p> + +<p>"How cruel! Do you suppose I can have no <i>émotions</i> +except I learn them second-hand through Lamartine or +Delphine Gay? You are very satirical, Miss Gordon——How +strange!" said the baronne, interrupting herself; +"your bouquet is the fac-simile of mine! Look! De +Kerroualle sent you that I fancy? You know he raffoles +of you. I was very silly to use mine, but Mr. Vaughan +sent me such a pretty note with it, that I had not the +resolution to disappoint him. Poor Ernest!" And +Madame sighed softly, as if bewailing in her tender heart +the woes her obduracy caused. The blood flamed up in +Nina's cheeks, and her hand clenched hard on Ernest's +flowers: they <i>were</i> the fac-similes of the widow's; delicate +pink blossoms, mixed with white azalias. "Is he +here to-night, do you know?" madame continued. "I +dare say not; he is behind the coulisses, most likely. +Céline, the new danseuse from the Fenice, makes her +début to-night. Here comes poor Gaston to petition for +a valse. Be kind to him, pray."</p> + +<p>She herself went off to the ball-room, and the effect of +her exordium was to make Nina very disagreeable to +poor De Kerroualle, whom she really liked, and who was +<i>entêté</i> about her. Not long afterwards, Nina saw in the +distance Vaughan's haughty head and powerful brow, +and her silly little heart beat as quick as a pigeon's just +caught in the trap: he was talking to the widow.</p> + +<p>"Look at our young English friend," Pauline was +saying, "how she is flirting with Gaston, and De Lafitolle, +and De Concressault. Certainly, when your Englishwomen +do coquet, they go further than any of us."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Est-ce possible?" said Ernest, raising his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Méchant!" cried madame, with a chastising blow of +her fan. "But, do you know, I admire the petite very +much. I believe all really beautiful women had that +rare golden hair of hers—Lucrezia Borgia (I could never +bear Grisi as <i>Lucrezia</i>, for that very reason). La Cenci, +the Duchess of Portsmouth, Ænone—and Helen, I am +sure, netted Paris with those gold threads. Don't you +think it is very lovely?"</p> + +<p>"I do, indeed," said Vaughan, with unconscious +warmth.</p> + +<p>Madame laughed gaily, but there was a disagreeable +glitter in her eye. "What, fickle already? Ah well, I +give you full leave."</p> + +<p>"And example, madame," said Ernest, as he bowed +and left her side, glad to have struck the first blow of +his freedom from this handsome tyrant, who was as +capricious and exacting as she was clever and captivating. +But fetters made of fairer roses were over Ernest +now, and he never bethought himself of the probable +vengeance of that bitterest foe, a woman who is piqued.</p> + +<p>"Tout beau!" thought Pauline, as she saw him waltzing +with Nina. "Mais je vous donnerai encore l'échec +et mat, mon brave joueur."</p> + +<p>"Did you give Madame de Mélusine the bouquet she +carries this evening?" asked Nina, as he whirled her +round.</p> + +<p>"No," said Ernest, astonished. "Why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Because she said you did," answered Nina, never +accustomed to conceal anything; "and, besides, it is +exactly like mine."</p> + +<p>"Infernal woman!" muttered Ernest. "How could +you for a moment believe that I would have so insulted +you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I didn't believe it," said Nina, lifting her frank eyes +to his. "But how very late you are; have you been at +the ballet?"</p> + +<p>His face grew stern. "Did she tell you that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But why did you go there, instead of coming +to dance with me? Do you like those danseuses better +than you do me? What was Céline's or anybody's début, +to you?"</p> + +<p>Ernest smiled at the native indignation of the question. +"Never think that I do not wish to be with you; +but—I wanted oblivion, and one cannot shake off old +habits. Did you miss me among all those other men +that you have always round you?"</p> + +<p>"How unkind that is!" whispered Nina, indignantly. +"You know I always do."</p> + +<p>He held her closer to him in the waltz, and she felt his +heart beat quicker, but she got no other answer.</p> + +<p>That night Nina stood before her toilette-table, putting +her flowers in water, and some hot tears fell on the +azalias.</p> + +<p>"I will have faith in him," she cried, passionately; +"though all the world be witness against him, I will +believe in him. Whatever his life may have been, his +heart is warm and true; they shall never make me doubt +it."</p> + +<p>Her last thoughts were of him, and when she slept his +face was in her dreams, while Ernest, with some of the +wildest men of his set, smoked hard and drank deep in +his chambers to drive away, if he could, the fiends of +Regret and Passion and the memory of a young, radiant, +impassioned face, which lured him to an unattainable +future.</p> + +<p>"Nina dearest," said Selina Ruskinstone, affectionately, +the morning after, "I hope you will not think me unkind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>—you +know I have no wish but for your good—but <i>don't</i> +you think it would be better to be a little more—more +reserved, a little less free, with Mr. Vaughan?"</p> + +<p>"Explain yourself more clearly," said Nina, tranquilly. +"Do you wish me to send to Turkey for a veil and a +guard of Bashi-Bazouks, or do you mean that Mr. Vaughan +is so attractive that he is better avoided, like a mantrap +or a Maëlstrom?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be ridiculous," retorted Augusta; "you know +well enough what we mean, and certainly you do run +after him a great deal too much."</p> + +<p>"You are so <i>very</i> demonstrative," sighed Selina, "and +it is so easily misconstrued. It is not feminine to court +any man so unblushingly."</p> + +<p>Nina's eyes flashed, and the blood colored her brow. +"I am not afraid of being misconstrued by Mr. Vaughan," +she said, haughtily; "gentlemen are kinder and +wiser judges in those things than our sex."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't advise you to trust to Ernest's tender +mercies," sneered Augusta.</p> + +<p>"My dear child, remember his principles," sighed +Selina; "his life—his reputation——"</p> + +<p>"Leave both him and me alone," retorted Nina, passionately. +"I will not stand calmly by to hear him +slandered with your vague calumnies. You preach religion +often enough; practice it now, and show more common +kindness to your cousin: I do not say charity, for I am +sick of the cant word, and he is above your pity. You +think me utterly lost because I dance, and laugh, and +enjoy my life, but, bad as <i>my</i> principles are, I should be +shocked—yes, Selina, and I should think I merited little +mercy myself, were I as harsh and bitter upon any one +as you are upon him. How can <i>you</i> judge him?—how +can you say what nobility, and truth, and affection—that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +will shame your own cold pharisaism—may lie in his +heart unrevealed?—how can you dare to censure <i>him</i>?"</p> + +<p>In the door of the salon, listening to the lecture his +young champion was giving these two blue, opinionated, +and strongly pious ladies, stood Ernest, his face even +paler than usual, and his eyes with a strange mixture of +joy and pain in them. Nina colored scarlet, but went +forward to meet him with undisguised pleasure, utterly +regardless of the sneering lips and averted eyes of the +Miss Ruskinstones. He had come to go with them to St. +Germain, and, with a dexterous manœuvre, took the very +seat in the carriage opposite Nina that Eusebius had +planned for himself. But the Warden was no match for +the <i>Lion</i> in such affairs, and, being exiled to the barouche +with Gordon and Augusta, took from under the seat a +folio of the "Stones of Venice," and read sulkily all the +way.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," said Vaughan, when they reached +St. Germain, "don't you think you would prefer to sit in +the carriage, and finish that delightful work, to coming +to see some simple woods and terraces? If you would, +pray don't hesitate to say so; I am sure Miss Gordon +will excuse your absence."</p> + +<p>The solicitous courtesy of Ernest's manner was boiling +oil to the fire raging in the Warden's gentle breast, and +Eusebius, besides, was not quick at retorts. "I am not +guilty of any such bad taste," he said, stiffly, "though I +do discover a charm in severe studies, which I believe +you never did."</p> + +<p>"No, never," said Ernest, laughing; "my genius does +not lie that way; and I've no vacant bishopric in my +mind's eye to make such studies profitable. Even you, +you know, light of the Church as you are, want recreation +sometimes. Confess now, the chansons à boire last night<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +sounded pleasant after long months of Faithandgrace +services!"</p> + +<p>Eusebius looked much as I have seen a sleek tom-cat, +who bears a respectable character generally, surprised in +surreptitiously licking out of the cream-jug. He had the +night before (when he was popularly supposed to be sitting +under Adolphe Monod) tasted rather too many +petits verres up at the Pré Catalan, utterly unconscious +of his cousin's proximity. The pure-minded soul thus +cruelly caught looked prayers of piteous entreaty to +Vaughan not to damage his milk-white reputation by +further revelation of this unlucky detour into the Broad +Road; and Ernest, who, always kind-hearted, never hit +a man when he was down, contented himself with saying:</p> + +<p>"Ah! well, we are none of us pure alabaster, though +some of the sepulchres <i>do</i> contrive to whiten themselves +up astonishingly. My father, poor man, once wished to +put me in the Church. Do you think I should have +graced it, Selina?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say I do," sneered Selina.</p> + +<p>"You think I should <i>disgrace</i> it? Very probably. I +am not good at 'canting.'" And giving Nina his arm, +the Warden being much too confused to forestall him, he +whispered: "when is that atrocious saint going to take +himself over the water? Couldn't we bribe his diocesan +to call him before the Arches Court? Surely those long +coats, so like the little wooden men in Noah's Ark, and +that straightened hair, so mathematically parted down +the centre, look 'perverted' enough to warrant it."</p> + +<p>Nina shook her head. "Unhappily, he is here for six +months for ill health!—the sick-leave of clergymen who +wish for a holiday, and are too holy to leave their flock +without an excuse to society."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> + +<p>Vaughan laughed, then sighed. "Six months—and +you have been here four already! Eusebius hates me +cordially—all my English relatives do, I believe; we do +not get on together. They are too cold and conventional +for me. I have some of the warm Bohemian blood, +though God knows I've seen enough to chill it to ice by +this time; but it is <i>not</i> chilled—so much the worse for +me," muttered Ernest "Tell me," he said, abruptly—"tell +me why you took the trouble to defend me so generously +this morning?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with her frank, beaming regard. +"Because they dare to misjudge you, and they know +nothing, and are not worthy to know anything of your +real self."</p> + +<p>He pressed his lips together as if in bodily pain. +"And what do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Have you not yourself said that you talk to me as +you talk to no one else?" answered Nina, impetuously; +"besides—I cannot tell why, but the first day I met you +I seemed to find some friend that I had lost before. I +was certain that you would never misconstrue anything I +said, and I felt that I saw further into your heart and +mind than any one else could do. Was it not very +strange?" She stopped, and looked up at him. Ernest +bent his eyes on the ground, and breathed fast.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he said at last; "yours is only an ideal of +me. If you knew me as I really am, you would cease to +feel the—the interest that you say——"</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly; facile as he was at pretty compliments, +and versed in tender scenes as he had been +from his school-days, the longing to make this girl love +him, and his struggle not to breathe love to her, deprived +him of his customary strength and nonchalance.</p> + +<p>"I do not fear to know you as you are," said Nina,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +gently. "I do not think you yourself allow all the better +things that there are in you. People have not judged you +rightly, and you have been too proud to prove their error +to them. You have found pleasure in running counter +to the prudish and illiberal bigots who presumed to judge +you; and to a world you have found heartless and false +you have not cared to lift the domino and mask you +wore."</p> + +<p>Vaughan sighed from the bottom of his heart, and +walked on in silence for a good five minutes. "Promise +me, Nina," he said at length with an effort, "that no +matter what you hear against me, you will not condemn +me unheard."</p> + +<p>"I promise," she answered, raising her eyes to his, +brighter still for the color in her checks. It was the first +time he had called her Nina.</p> + +<p>"Miss Gordon," said Eusebius, hurriedly overtaking +them, "pray come with me a moment: there is the most +exquisite specimen of the Flamboyant style in an archway——"</p> + +<p>"Thank you for your good intentions," said Nina, pettishly, +"but really, as you might know by this time, I +never can see any attractions in your prosaic and matter-of-fact-fact +study."</p> + +<p>"It might be more profitable than——"</p> + +<p>"Than thinking of La Vallière and poor Bragelonne, +and all the gay glories of the exiled Bourbons?" laughed +Nina. "Very likely; but romance is more to my taste +than granite. You would never have killed yourself, like +Bragelonne, for the beaux yeux of Louise de la Beaume-sur-Blanc, +would you?"</p> + +<p>"I trust," said Eusebius, stiffly, "that I should have +had a deeper sense of the important responsibilities of +the gift of life than to throw it away because a silly girl +preferred another."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are very impolitic," said Ernest, with a satirical +smile. "No lady could feel remorse at forsaking you, +if you could get over it so easily."</p> + +<p>"He <i>would</i> get over it easily," laughed Nina. "You +would call her Delilah, and all the Scripture bad names, +order Mr. Ruskin's new work, turn your desires to a +deanship, marry some bishop's daughter with high ecclesiastical +interest, and console yourself in the bosom of +your Mother Church—eh, Mr. Ruskinstone?"</p> + +<p>"You are cruelly unjust," sighed Eusebius. "You little know——"</p> + +<p>"The charms of architecture? No; and I never shall," +answered his tormentor, humming the "Queen of the +Roses," and waltzing down the forest glade, where they +were walking. "How severe you look!" she said as she +waltzed back. "Is <i>that</i> wrong, too? Miriam danced before +the ark and Jephtha's daughter."</p> + +<p>The Warden appeared not to hear. Certainly his mode +of courtship was singular.</p> + +<p>"Ernest," he said, turning to his cousin as the rest of +the party came up, "I had no idea your sister was in +Paris. I have not seen her since she was fourteen. I +should not have known her in the least."</p> + +<p>"Margaret is in India with her husband," answered +Vaughan. "What are you dreaming of? Where have +you seen her?"</p> + +<p>"I saw her in your chambers," answered the Warden, +slowly. "I passed three times yesterday, and she was +sitting in the centre window each time."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! You dreamt it in your sleep last night. +Margaret's in Vellore, I assure you."</p> + +<p>"I saw her," said the Warden, softly; "or, at least, I +saw some lady, whom I naturally presumed to be your +sister."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ernest, who had not colored for fifteen years, and +would have defied man or woman to confuse him, flushed +to his very temples.</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken," he said, decidedly. "There is no +woman in my rooms."</p> + +<p>Eusebius raised his eyebrows, bent his head, smiled +and sighed. More polite disbelief was never expressed. +The Miss Ruskinstones would have blushed if they +could; as they could not, they drew themselves bolt upright, +and put their parasols between them and the reprobate. +Nina, whose hand was still in Vaughan's arm, +turned white, and flashed a quick, upward look at him; +then, with a glance at Eusebius, as fiery as the eternal +wrath that that dear divine was accustomed to deal out +so largely to other people, she led Ernest up to her +father, who being providentially somewhat deaf, had not +heard this by-play, and said, to her cousin's horror, +"Papa, dear, Mr. Vaughan wants you to dine with him +at Tortoni's to-night, to meet M. de Vendanges. You +will be very happy, won't you?"</p> + +<p>Ernest pressed her little hand against his side, and +thanked her with his eyes.</p> + +<p>Gordon was propitiated for that day; he was not likely +to quarrel with a man who could introduce him to "Son +Altesse Monseigneur le Duc de Vendanges."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>V.</h2> + +<h3>MORE MISCHIEF—AND AN END.</h3> + + +<p>In a little cabinet de peinture, in a house in the Place +Vendôme, apart from all the other people, who having +come to a déjeûner were now dispersed in the music rooms, +boudoirs, and conservatories, sat Madame de Mélusine,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +talking to Gordon, flatteringly, beguilingly, bewitchingly, +as that accomplished widow could. The banker found +her charming, and really, under her blandishments, began +to believe, poor old fellow, that she was in love with him!</p> + +<p>"Ah! by-the-by, cher monsieur," began madame, when +she had soft-soaped him into a proper frame of mind, +"I want to speak to you about that mignonne Nina. +You cannot tell, you cannot imagine, what interest I take +in her."</p> + +<p>"You do her much honor, madame," replied her bourgeois +gentilhomme, always stiff, however enraptured he +might feel internally.</p> + +<p>"The honor is mine," smiled Pauline. "Yes, I do feel +much interest in her; there is a sympathy in our natures, +I am certain, and—and, Monsieur Gordon, I cannot see +that darling girl on the brink of a precipice without +stretching out a hand to snatch her from the abyss."</p> + +<p>"Precipice—abyss—Nina! Good Heavens! my dear +madame, what do you mean?" cried Gordon—a fire, an +elopement, and the small-pox, all presenting themselves +to his mind.</p> + +<p>"No, no," repeated madame, with increasing vehemence, +"I will not permit any private feelings, I will not +allow my own weakness to prevent me from saving her. +It would be a crime, a cruelty, to let your innocent child +be deceived, and rendered miserable for all time, because +I lack the moral courage to preserve her. Monsieur, I +speak to you, as I am sure I may, as one friend to another, +and I am perfectly certain that you will not misjudge me. +Answer me one thing; no impertinent curiosity dictates +the question. Do you wish your daughter married to +Mr. Vaughan?"</p> + +<p>"Married to Vaughan!" exclaimed the startled banker; +"I'd sooner see her married to a crossing sweeper. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +never thought of such a thing. Impossible! absurd! +she'll marry my friend Ruskinstone as soon as she comes +of age. Marry Vaughan! a fellow without a penny——"</p> + +<p>Pauline laid her soft, jewelled hand on his arm:</p> + +<p>"My dear friend, <i>he</i> thinks of it if you do not, and I +am much mistaken if dear Nina is not already dazzled by +his brilliant qualities. Your countryman is a charming +companion, no one can gainsay that; but, alas! he is a +roué, a gambler, an adventurer, who, while winning her +young girl's affections, has only in view the wealth which +he hopes he will gain with her. It is painful to me to +say this" (and tears stood in madame's long, velvet +eyes). "We were good friends before he wanted more +than friendship, while poor De Mélusine was still living, +and his true character was revealed to me. It would be +false delicacy to allow your darling Nina to become his +victim for want of a few words from me, though I know, +if he were aware of my interference, the inference he +would basely insinuate from it. But you," whispered +madame, brushing the tears from her eyes, and giving him +an angelic smile, "I need not fear that you would ever +misjudge me?"</p> + +<p>"Never, I swear, most generous of women!" said the +banker, kissing the snow-white hand, very clumsily, too. +"I'll tell the fellow my mind directly—an unprincipled, +gambling——"</p> + +<p>"Non, non, je vous en prie, monsieur!" cried the widow, +really frightened, for this would not have suited her +plans at all. "You would put me in the power of that +unscrupulous man. He would destroy my reputation at +once in his revenge."</p> + +<p>"But what am I to do?" said the poor gulled banker. +"Nina's a will of her own, and if she take a fancy to this +confounded——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Leave that to me," said la baronne, softly. "I have +proofs which will stagger her most obstinate faith in her +lover. Meanwhile give him no suspicion, go to his supper +on Tuesday, and—you are asked to Vauvenay, accept +the invitation—and conclude the fiançailles with Monsieur +le Ministre as soon as you can."</p> + +<p>"But—but, madame," stammered this new Jourdain +to his enchanting Dorimène, "Vauvenay is an exile. I +shall not see you there?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, silly man," laughed the widow, "I shall be only +two miles off. I am going to stay with the Salvador; +they leave Paris in three weeks. Listen—your daughter +is singing 'The Swallows.' Her voice is quite as good +as Ristori's."</p> + +<p>Three hours after, madame held another tête-à-tête in +that boudoir. This time the favored mortal was Vaughan. +They had had a pathetic interview, of which the pathos +hardly moved Ernest as much as the widow desired.</p> + +<p>"You love me no longer, Ernest," she murmured, the +tears falling down her cheeks—her rouge was the product +of high art, and never washed off—"I see it, I feel it; +your heart is given to that English girl. I have tried to +jest about it; I have tried to affect indifference, but I +cannot. The love you once won will be yours to the +grave."</p> + +<p>Ernest listened, a satirical smile on his lips.</p> + +<p>"I should feel more grateful," he said, calmly, "if the +gift had not been given to so many; it will be a great deal +of trouble to you to love us all to our graves. And your +new friend Gordon, do you intend cherishing his grey +hairs, too, till the gout puts them under the sod?"</p> + +<p>She fell back sobbing with exquisite <i>abandon</i>. No deserted +Calypso's <i>pose</i> was ever more effective.</p> + +<p>"Ernest, Ernest! that I should live to be so insulted, +and by you!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nay, madame, end this vaudeville," said he bitterly. +"I know well enough that you hate me, or why have +you troubled yourself to coin the untruths about me that +you whispered to Miss Gordon?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! have you no pity for the first mad vengeance +dictated by jealousy and despair?" murmured Pauline. +"Once there was attraction in this face for you, Ernest; +have some compassion, some sympathy——"</p> + +<p>Well as he knew the worth of madame's tears, Ernest, +chivalric and generous at heart, was touched.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he said, gently, "and let us part. You +know now, Pauline, that she has my deepest, my latest +love. It were disloyalty to both did we meet again save +in society."</p> + +<p>"Farewell, then," murmured Pauline. "Think gently +of me, Ernest, for I <i>have</i> loved you more than you will +ever know now."</p> + +<p>She rose, and, as he bent towards her, kissed his forehead. +Then, floating from the room, passed the Reverend +Eusebius, standing in the doorway, looking in on +this parting scene. The widow looked at herself in her +mirror that night with a smile of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"C'est bien en train," she said, half aloud. "Le fou! +de penser qu'il puisse me braver. Je ne l'aime plus, c'est +vrai, mais je ne veux pas qu'elle réussisse."</p> + +<p>Nina went to bed very happy. Ernest had sat next +her at the déjeûner; and afterwards at a ball had waltzed +often with her and with nobody else; and his eyes had +talked love in the waltzes though his tongue never had.</p> + +<p>Ernest went to his chambers, smoked hard, half mad +with the battle within him, and took three grains of opium, +which gave him forgetfulness and sleep. He woke, +tired and depressed, to hear the gay hum of life in the +street below, and to remember he had promised Nina to +meet them at Versailles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was Sunday morning. In England, of course, Gordon +would have gone up to the sanctuary, listened to Mr. +Bellew, frowned severely on the cheap trains, and, after +his claret, read edifying sermons to his household; but +in Paris there would be nobody to admire the piety, and +the "grandes eaux" only play once a week, you know—on +Sundays. So his Sabbath severity was relaxed, and +down to Versailles he journied. There must be something +peculiar in continental air, for it certainly stretches our +countrymen's morality and religion uncommonly: it is +only up at Jerusalem that our pharisees worship. Eusebius +dare not go—he'd be sure to meet a brother-clerical, +who might have reported the dereliction at home—so that +Vaughan, despite Gordon's cold looks, kept by Nina's +side though he wasn't alone with her, and when they +came back in the <i>wagon</i> the banker slept and the duenna +dozed, and he talked softly and low to her—not quite +love, but something very like it—and as they neared Paris +he took the little hand with its delicate Jouvin glove +in his, and whispered,</p> + +<p>"Remember your promise: I can brave, and have +braved most things, but I could not bear your scorn. +<i>That</i> would make me a worse man than I have been, if, as +some folks would tell you, such a thing be possible."</p> + +<p>It was dark, but I dare say the moonbeams shining +on the chevelure dorée showed him a pair of truthful, +trusting eyes that promised never to desert him.</p> + +<p>The day after he had, by dint of tact and strategy, +planned to spend entirely with Nina. He was going +with them to the races at Chantilly, then to the Gaité to +see the first representation of a vaudeville of a friend of +his, and afterwards he had persuaded Gordon to enter +the Lion's den, and let Nina grace a petit souper at No. +10, Rue des Mauvais Sujets, Chaussée d'Antin.</p> + +<p>The weather was delicious, the race-ground full, if not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +quite so crowded as the Downs on Derby Day. Ernest +cast away his depression, he gave himself up to the joy +of being loved, his wit had never rung finer nor his laugh +clearer than as he drove back to Paris opposite Nina. +He had never felt in higher spirits than, after having given +carte blanche to a cordon bleu for the entertainment, +he looked round his salons, luxurious as Eugène Sue's, +and perfumed with exotics from the Palais Royal, and +thought of one rather different in style to the women +that had been wont to drink his Sillery and grace his +symposia.</p> + +<p>He knew well enough she loved him, and his heart +beat high as he put a bouquet of white flowers into a +gold bouquetière to take to her.</p> + +<p>On his lover-like thoughts the voice of one of his parrots—Ernest +had almost as many pets as there are +in the Jardin des Plantes—broke in, screaming "Bluette! +Bluette! Sacre bleu, elle est jolie! Bluette! Bluette!"</p> + +<p>The recollection was unwelcome. Vaughan swore a +"sacre bleu!" too. "Diable! she mustn't hear that +François, put that bird out of the way. He makes a +such a confounded row."</p> + +<p>The parrot, fond of him, as all things were that knew +him, sidled up, arching its neck, and repeating what De +Concressault had taught it: "Fi donc, Ernest! Tu es +volage! Tu ne m'aimes plus! Tu aimes Pauline!"</p> + +<p>"Devil take the bird!" thought its master; "even he'll +be witness against me." And as he went down stairs +to his cab, a chorus of birds shouting "Tu aimes Pauline!" +followed him, and while he laughed, he sighed +to think that even these unconscious things could tell +her how little his love was worth. He forgot all but his +love, however, when he leaned over her chair in the Gaités +and saw that, strenuously as De Concressault and De +Kerroualle sought to distract her attention, and many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +as were the lorgnons levelled at the chevelure dorée, all +her thoughts and smiles were given to him.</p> + +<p>Ernest had never, even in his careless boyhood, felt +so happy as he did that night as he handed her into +Gordon's carriage, and drove to the Chaussée d'Antin; +and though Gordon sat there heavy and solemn, looming +like an iceberg on Ernest's golden future, Vaughan forgot +him utterly, and only looked at the sunshine beaming +on him from radiant eyes that, skeptic in her sex as +he was from experience, he felt would always be true to +him. The carriage stopped at No. 10, Rue des Mauvais +Sujets. He had given her one or two dinners with the +Senecterre, the De Salvador, and other fine ladies—grand +affairs at the Frères Provençaux that would have +satisfied Brillat-Savarin—but she had never been to his +rooms before, and she smiled joyously in his face as he +lifted her out—the smile that had first charmed him at +the Français. He gave her his arm, and led her across the +salle, bending his head down to whisper a welcome. +Gordon and Selina and several men followed. Selina +felt that it was perdition to enter the <i>Lion's</i> den, but a +fat old vicomte, on whom she'd fixed her eye, was going, +and the "femmes de trente ans" that Balzac champions +risk their souls rather than risk their chances when the +day is far spent, and good offers grow rare.</p> + +<p>Ernest's Abyssinian, mute, subordinate to that grand +gentleman, M. François, ushered them up the stairs, +making furtive signs to his master, which Vaughan was +too much absorbed to notice. François, in all his glory, +flung open the door of the salon. In the salon a sight +met Ernest's eyes which froze his blood more than if all +the dead had arisen out of their graves on the slopes of +Père la Chaise.</p> + +<p>The myriad of wax-lights shone on the rooms, fragrant +with the perfume of exotics, gleamed on the supper-table<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>, +gorgeous with its gold plate and its flowers, lighted up +the aviary with its brilliant hues of plumage, and showed +to full perfection the snowy shoulders, raven hair, and +rose-hued dress of a woman lying back in a fauteuil, +laughing, as De Cheffontaine, a man but slightly known +to Ernest, leaned over her, fanning her. On a sofa in an +alcove reclined another girl, young, fair, and pretty, the +amber mouthpiece of a hookah between her lips, and a +couple of young fellows at her feet.</p> + +<p>The brunette was Bluette, who played the soubrette +rôles at the Odéon; the blonde was Céline Gamelle, the +new première danseuse. Bluette rose from the depths of +her amber satin fauteuil, with her little <i>pétillant</i> eyes +laughing, and her small plump hands stretched out in +gesticulation. "Méchant! Comme tu es tard, Ernest. +Nous avons été ici si longtemps—dix minutes au moins! +And dis is you leetler new Ingleesh friend. How do you +do, my dear?"</p> + +<p>Nina, white as death, shrank from her, clinging with +both hands to Ernest's arms. As pale as she, Vaughan +stood staring at the actress, his lips pressed convulsively +together, the veins standing out on his broad, high forehead. +The bold <i>Lion</i> hunted into his lair, for once lost +all power, all strength.</p> + +<p>Gordon looked over Nina's shoulder into the room. +He recognized the women at a glance, and, with his heavy +brow dark as night, he glared on Ernest in a silence more +ominous than words or oaths, and snatching Nina's arm +from his, he drew her hand within his own, and dragged +her from the room.</p> + +<p>Ernest sprang after him. "Good God! you do not +suppose me capable of this. Stay one instant. Hear +me——"</p> + +<p>"Let us pass, sir," thundered Gordon, "or by Heaven +this insult shall not go unavenged."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nina, Nina!" cried Ernest, passionately, "do you at +least listen!—you at least will not condemn——"</p> + +<p>Nina wrenched her hands from her father, and turned +to him, a passion of tears falling down her face. "No, +no! have I not promised you?"</p> + +<p>With a violent oath Gordon carried her to her carriage. +It drove away, and Ernest, his lips set, his face white, and +a fierce glare in his dark eyes that made Bluette and +Céline tremble, entered his salons a second time, so bitter +an anguish, so deadly a wrath marked in his expressive +countenance, that even the Frenchmen hushed their jests, +and the women shrunk away, awed at a depth of feeling +they could not fathom or brave.</p> + +<p>The fierce anathemas of Gordon, the "Christian" lamentations +of Eusebius, the sneers of Selina, the triumphs +of Augusta, all these vials of wrath were poured +forth on Ernest, in poor little Nina's ears, the whole of +the next day. She had but one voice among many to +raise in his defence, and she had no armor but her faith +in him. Gordon vowed with the same breath that she +should never see Vaughan again, and that she should engage +herself to Ruskinstone forthwith. Eusebius poured +in at one ear his mild milk-and-water attachment, and, in +the other, details of Ernest's scene in the boudoir with +Madame de Mélusine, or, at least, what he had seen of it, +<i>i. e.</i> her parting caress. Selina rang the changes on her +immodesty in loving a man who had never proposed to +her; and Augusta drew lively pictures of the eternal +fires which were already being kept up below, ready for +the <i>Lion's</i> reception. Against all these furious batteries +Nina stood firm. All their sneers and arguments could +not shake her belief, all her father's commands—and, +when he was roused, the old banker was very fierce—could +not move her to promise not to see Ernest again, +or alter her firm repudiation of the warden's proposals.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +The thunder rolled, the lightning flamed, the winds +screamed all to no purpose, the little reed that one might +have fancied would break, stood steady.</p> + +<p>The day passed, and the next passed, and there were +no tidings of Ernest. Nina's little loyal heart, despite +its unhesitating faith, began to tremble lest it should have +wrecked itself: but then, she thought of his eyes, and +she felt that all the world would never make her mistrust +him.</p> + +<p>On the <i>surlendemain</i> the De Mélusine called. Gordon +and Eusebius were out, and Nina wished her to be shown +up. Ill as the girl felt, she rose haughtily and self-possessed +to greet madame, as, announced by her tall +chasseur, with his green plume, the widow glided into +the room.</p> + +<p>Pauline kissed her lightly (there are no end of Judases +among the dear sex), and, though something in Nina's +eye startled her, she sat down beside her, and began to +talk most kindly, most sympathisingly. She was <i>chagrinée, +désolée</i> that her <i>chère</i> Nina should have been so +insulted; every one knew M. Vaughan was quite <i>entêté</i> +with that little, horrid, coarse thing, Bluette; but it was +certainly very shocking; men were such <i>démons</i>. The +affair was already <i>répandue</i> in Paris; everybody was talking +of it. Ernest was unfortunately so well known; he +could not be in his senses; she almost wished he <i>was</i> +mad, it would be the only excuse for him; wild as he was, +she should scarcely have thought, &c., &c., &c. "Ah! +chère enfant," madame went on at the finish, "you do not +know these men—I do. I fear you have been dazzled by +this naughty fellow; he <i>is</i> very attractive, certainly: if +so, though it will be a sharp pang, it will be better to +know his real character at once. Voyez donc! he has +been persuading you that you were all the world to him, +while at the same time, he has been trying to make me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +believe the same. See, only two days ago he sent me +this."</p> + +<p>She held out a miniature. Nina, who hitherto had listened +in haughty silence, gave a sharp cry of pain as she +saw Vaughan's graceful figure, stately head, and statue-like +features. But, before the widow could pursue her +advantage, Nina rallied, threw back her head, and said, +her soft lips set sternly:</p> + +<p>"If you repulsed his love, why was he obliged to repulse +yours? Why did you tell him on Saturday night +that 'you had loved him more than he would ever know +now?'"</p> + +<p>The shot Eusebius had unconsciously provided, struck +home. Madame was baffled. Her eyes sank under +Nina's, and she colored through her rouge.</p> + +<p>"You have played two rôles, madame," said Nina, rising, +"and not played them with you usual skill. Excuse +my English ill-breeding, if I ask you to do me the favor +of ending this comedy."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, mademoiselle, if it is your wish," answered +the widow, now smiling blandly. "If it please you to +be blind, I have no desire to remove the bandage from +your eyes. Seulement, je vous prie de me pardonner +mon indiscrétion, et j'ai l'honneur, mademoiselle, de vous +dire adieu!"</p> + +<p>With the lowest of <i>révérences</i> madame glided from the +room, and, as the door closed, Nina bowed her head on +the miniature left behind in the <i>déroute</i>, and burst into +tears.</p> + +<p>Scarcely had la Mélusine's barouche rolled away, when +another visitor was shown in, and Nina, brushing the +tears from her cheeks, looked up hurriedly, and saw a +small woman, finely dressed, with a Shetland veil on, +through which her small black eyes roved listlessly.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle," she said, in very quick but very bad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +English, "I is come to warn you against dat ver +wrong man, Mr. Vaughan. I have like him, helas! I +have like him too vell, but I do not vish you to suffer too."</p> + +<p>Nina knew the voice in a moment, and rose like a little +empress, though she was flushed and trembling. "I +wish to hear nothing of Mr. Vaughan. If this is the sole +purport of your visit, I shall be obliged by your leaving +me."</p> + +<p>"But mademoiselle——"</p> + +<p>"I have told you I wish to hear nothing," interposed +Nina, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Ver vell, ma'amselle; den read dat. It is a copy, +and I got de original."</p> + +<p>She laid a letter on the sofa beside Nina. Two minutes +after, Bluette joined her friend Céline Gamelle in a +fiacre, and laughed heartily, clapping her little plump +hands. "Ah, mon Dieu! Céline, comme elle est fière, +la petite! Je ne lui ai pas dit un seul mot—elle m'a +arrêtée si vite, si vite! Mais la lettre fera notre affaire +n'est pas? Oui, oui!"</p> + +<p>The letter unfolded in Nina's hand. It was a promise +of marriage from Ernest Vaughan to Bluette Lemaire. +Voiceless and tearless, Nina sat gazing on the paper: first +she rose, gasping for breath; then she threw herself +down, sobbing convulsively, till she heard a step, caught +up the miniature and letter, dreading to see her father, +and, instead, saw Ernest, pale, worn, deep lines round +his mouth and eyes, standing in the doorway. Involuntarily +she sprang towards him. Ernest pressed her to +heart, and his hot tears fell on the chevelure dorée, as +he bent over her, murmuring, "<i>You</i> have not deserted +me. God bless you for your noble faith." At last he +put her gently from him, and, leaning against the mantelpiece, +said, with an effort, between his teeth, "Nina,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +I came to bid you farewell, and to ask your forgiveness +for the wrong I have done you."</p> + +<p>Nina caught hold of him, much as Malibran seized +hold of <i>Elvino</i>: "Leave me! leave me! No, no; you +cannot mean it!"</p> + +<p>"I have no strength for it now I see you," said Ernest, +looking down into her eyes; and the bold, reckless <i>Lion</i> +shivered under the clinging clasp of her little hands. "I +need not say I was not the cause of the insult you received +the other night. Pauline de Mélusine was the +agent, women willing to injure me the actors in it. But +there is still much for you to forgive. Tell me, at once, +what have you heard of me?"</p> + +<p>She silently put the miniature and letter in his hand. +The blood rushed to his very temples, and, sinking his +head on his arms, his chest rose and fell with uncontrollable +sobs. All the pent-up feelings of his vehement and +affectionate nature poured out at last.</p> + +<p>"And you have not condemned me even on these?" +he said at length, in a hoarse whisper.</p> + +<p>"Did I not promise?" she murmured.</p> + +<p>"But if I told you they were true?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him through her tears, and put her +hand in his. "Tell me nothing of your past; it can +make no difference to my love. Let the world judge you +as it may, it cannot alter me."</p> + +<p>Ernest strained her to him, kissing her wildly. "God +bless you for your trust! would to God I were more worthy +of it! I have nothing to give you but a love such as I +have never before known; but most would tell you all +<i>my</i> love is worthless, and my life has been one of reckless +dissipation and of darker errors still, until you awoke +me to a deeper love—to thoughts and aspirations that I +thought had died out for ever. Painful as it is to confess——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hush!" interrupted Nina, gently. "Confess nothing; +with your past life I can have nothing to do, and I +wish never to hear anything that it gives you pain to +tell. You say that you love me now, and will never love +another—that is enough for me."</p> + +<p>Ernest kissed the flushed cheeks and eloquent lips, +and thanked her with all the fiery passion that was in +him; and his heart throbbed fiercely as he put her promise +to the test.</p> + +<p>"No, my darling! Priceless as your love is to me I +will not buy it by concealment. I will not sully your +ears with the details of my life. God forbid I should! +but it is only due to you to know that I did give both +these women the love-tokens they brought you. Love! +It is desecration of the name, but I knew none better +then! Three years ago, Bluette Lemaire first appeared +at the Odéon. She is illiterate, coarse, heartless, but +she was handsome, and she drew me to the coulisses. I +was infatuated with her, though her ignorance and vulgarity +constantly grated against all my tastes. One night +at her petit souper I drank more Sillery than was wise. +I have a stronger head than most men: perhaps there +was some other stimulant in it; at any rate, she who +was then poor, and is always avaricious, got from me a +promise to marry her, or to pay twenty thousand francs. +Three months after I gave it I cared no more for her +than for my old glove. France is too wise to have Breach +of Promise cases, and give money to coarse and vengeful +women for their pretended broken hearts; but I had +no incentive to create a scene by breaking with her, and +so she kept the promise in her hands. What Pauline de +Mélusine is, you can judge. Twelve months ago I met +her at Vichy; the love she gave me, and the love I vowed +her, were of equal value—the love of Paris boudoirs. +That I sent her that picture only two days ago, is, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +course, false. On my word, as a man of honor, since the +moment I felt your influence upon me I have shunned +her. Now, my own love, you know the truth. Will you +send me from you, or will you still love and still forgive?"</p> + +<p>In an agony of suspense he bent his head to listen for +her answer. Tears rained down her cheeks as she put +her arms round his neck, and whispered:</p> + +<p>"Why ask? Are you not all the world to me? I +should love you little if I condemned you for any errors +of your past. I know your warm and noble heart, and I +trust to it without a fear. There is no doubt between +us now!"</p> + +<p>Oh, my prudent and conventional young ladies, standing +ready to accuse my poor little Nina, are you any +wiser in your generation? You who have had all nature +taken out of you by "finishing," whose heads are +crammed with "society's" laws, and whose affections are +measured out by rule, who would have been cold, and +dignified, and read Ernest a severe lesson, and sent him +back hopeless and hardened to go ten times worse than +he had gone before—believe me, that impulse points truer +than "the world," and that the dictates of the heart are +better than the regulations of society. Take my word +for it, that love will do more for a man than lectures; +and faith in him be more likely to keep him straight than +all your moralising; and before you judge him severely +for having drunk a little too deep of the Sillery of life, +remember that his temptations are not your temptations, +nor his ways your ways, and be gentle to dangers which +society and custom keep out of your own path. The +stern thorn crows you offer to us when we are inclined +to ask your absolution, are not the right means to win +us from the rose wreaths of our bacchanalia.</p> + +<p>Nina, as you see, loved her <i>Lion</i> too well to remember<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +dignity, or take her stand on principle; and gallantly did +the young lady stand the bombardment from all sides +that sought to break her resolutions and crush her "misplaced +affections." Gordon chanced to come in that +day and light upon Ernest, and the fury into which he +worked himself ill beseemed so respectable a pharisee. +Vaughan kept tranquilly haughty, and told the banker, +calmly, that he "thanked God he had his daughter's +love, and his money he would never have stooped to accept." +Gordon forbade him the house, and carried Nina +back to England; but before she went they had a parting +interview, in which Ernest offered to leave her free. +But such freedom would have been worse than death to +Nina, and, before they separated, she told him that in +three months more she should be of age, and then, come +what might, she would be his if he would take her without +wealth. Take her he would have done from the +arms of Satanus himself, but to disentangle himself from +all his difficulties was a task that beat the Augean stables +hollow. The three months of his probation he +worked hard; he sold off all his pictures, his stud, and +his <i>meubles</i>; he sold, what cost him a more bitter pang, +his encumbered estates in Surrey; he paid off all his +debts, Bluette's twenty thousand francs included; and +shaking himself free of the accumulated embarrassments +of fifteen years, he crossed the water to claim his last +love. No poor little Huguenot was ever persecuted for +her faith more than poor little Nina for her engagement. +Every relative she had thought it his duty to write admonitory +letters, plentifully interspersed with texts. +Eusebius and his 4000<i>l.</i> a year, and his perspective bishopric, +were held up before her from morning to night; +the banker, whose deception in the Mélusine had turned +him into sharper vinegar than before, told her with chill +stoicism that she must of course choose her own path in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +life, but that if that path led her into the Chaussée d'Antin, +she need never expect a sou from him, for all his +property would be divided between her two brothers. +But Nina was neither to be frightened nor bribed. She +kept true to her lover, and disinherited herself.</p> + +<p>They were married a week or two after Nina's majority; +and Gordon knew it, though he could not prevent +it. They did not miss the absence of bridesmaids, bishop, +déjeûner, and the usual fashionable crowd. It was a +marriage of the heart, you see, and did not want the +trappings with which they gild that bitter pill so often +swallowed now-a-days—a "mariage de convenance." +Nina, as she saw further still into the wealth of deep +feeling and strong affection which, at her touch, she had +awoke in his heart, felt that money, and friends, and the +world's smile were well lost since she had won him. And +Ernest—Ernest's sacrifice was greater; for it is not a little +thing, young ladies, for a man to give up his accustomed +freedom, and luxuries, and careless vie de garçon, +and to have to think and work for another, even +though dearer than himself. But he had long since seen +so much of life, had exhausted all its pleasures so rapidly, +that they palled upon him, and for some time he had +vaguely wanted something of deeper interest, of warmer +sympathy. Unknown to himself, he had felt the "besoin +d'être aimé"—a want the trash offered him by the +women of his acquaintance could never satisfy—and his +warm, passionate nature found rest in a love which, +though the strongest of his life, was still returned to him +fourfold.</p> + +<p>After some months of delicious <i>far niente</i> in the south +of France, they came back to Paris. Though anything +but rich, he was not absolutely poor, after he had paid +his debts, and the necessity to exertion rousing his dormant +talents, the <i>Lion</i> turned <i>littérateur</i>. He was too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +popular with men to be dropped because he had sold +his stud or given up his petits soupers. The romance +of their story charmed the Parisians, and, though (behind +his back) they sometimes jested about the "Lion +amoureux," there were not a few who envied him his +young love, and the sunshine that shone round them in +his inexpensive appartement garni.</p> + +<p>Ernest <i>was</i> singularly happy—and suddenly he became +the star of the literary, as he had been of the fashionable +world. His mots were repeated, his vaudevilles applauded, +his feuilletons adored. The world smiled on +Nina and her <i>Lion</i>; it made little difference to them—they +had been as contented when it frowned.</p> + +<p>But it made a good deal of difference across the Channel. +Gordon began to repent. Ernest's family was +high, his Austrian connexions very aristocratic: there +would be something after all in belonging to a man so +well known. (Be successful, ami lecteur, and all your +relatives will love you.) Besides, he had found out that +it is no use to put your faith in princes, or clergymen. +Eusebius had treated him very badly when he found he +could not get Nina and her money, and spoke against the +poor banker everywhere, calling him, with tender pastoral +regret, a "worldly Egyptian," a "Dives," a "whitened +sepulchre," and all the rest of it.</p> + +<p>Probably, too, stoic though he was, he missed the +chevelure dorée; at any rate, he wrote to her stiffly, but +kindly, and settled two thousand a year upon her. Vaughan +was very willing she should be friends with her father, +but nothing would make him draw a sou of the money. +So Nina—the only sly thing she ever did in her life—after +a while contrived to buy back the Surrey estate, +and gave it to him, with no end of prayers and caresses, +on the Jour de l'An.</p> + +<p>"And you do not regret, my darling," smiled Ernest,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +after wishing her the new year's wishes, "having forgiven +me for once drinking too much Sillery, and all the other +naughty things of my vie de garçon?"</p> + +<p>"Regret!" interrupted Nina, vehemently—"regret that +I have won your love, live your life, share your cares and +joys, regret that my existence is one long day of sunshine? +Oh, why ask! you know I can never repay you for the +happiness of my life."</p> + +<p>"Rather can I never repay you," said Vaughan, looking +down into her eyes, "for the faith that made you +brave calumny and opposition, and cling to my side +despite all. I was heart-sick of the world, and you called +me back to life. I was weary of the fools who misjudged +me, and I let them think me what they might."</p> + +<p>"Ah, how happy you make me!" cried Nina. "I +should have been little worthy of your love if I had suffered +slander to warp me against you, or if any revelations +you cared enough for me to make of your past life, +had parted us:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love is not love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That alters where it alteration finds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or bends with the remover to remove.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There, monsieur!" she said, throwing her arms round +him with a laugh, while happy tears stood in her eyes—"there +is a grand quotation for you. Mind and take +care, Ernest, that you never realise the Ruskinstone predictions, +and make me repent having caught and caged +such a terrible thing as a hunted <span class="smcap">Paris Lion</span>!"</p> + + + +<hr class="sep1" /> +<hr class="sep2" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> +<h1>SIR GALAHAD'S RAID.</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> +<hr class="sep3" /> +<hr class="sep4" /> + +<h2><a name="SIR_GALAHADS_RAID" id="SIR_GALAHADS_RAID"></a>SIR GALAHAD'S RAID.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>AN ADVENTURE ON THE SWEET WATERS.</h2> + + +<p>For the punishment of my sins may the gods never +again send me to Pera! That I might have plenty on +my shoulders I am frankly willing to concede; all I protest +is, that when one submissively acknowledges the justice +of ones future terminating in Tophet, it comes a little +hard to get purgatory in this world into the bargain. +Purgatory lies <i>perdu</i> for one all over the earth. I have +had fifty times more than my share already, and the gout +still remains an untried experience, a Gehenna grimly +waiting to avenge every morsel of white truffle and every +glass of comet claret with which I innocently solace my +frail mortality. Purgatory!—I have been chained in it +fifty times; <i>et vous</i>?</p> + +<p>When you rush to a Chancellérie, with the English +Arms gorgeous above its doorway, on the spur of a frightfully +mysterious and autocratic telegram, that makes it +life or death to catch the train for England in ten minutes, +and have time enough to smoke about two dozen very +big cheroots, cooling your heels in the bureau, and then +hear (when properly tortured into the due amount of +frantic agony for the intelligence to be fully appreciated) +that his Excellency is gone snipe-shooting to ——, and +that the First Secretary is in his bath, and has given +orders not to be disturbed; your informant languidly +pricking his cigar with his toothpick, and politely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +intimating, by his eyebrows, that you and your necessities +may go to the deuce—what's <i>that</i>? When you are doing +the sanitary at Weedon, by some hideous conjunction of +evil destinies, in the very Ducal week itself, and thinking +of the rush with which Tom Alcroft will land the filly, or +the close finish with which Fordham will get the cup, +while you are not there to see, are sorely tempted to +realize the Parisian vision of Anglo suicide, and load the +apple-trees with suspended human fruit;—what's <i>that</i>? +When, having got leave, and established yourself in cosy +hunting-quarters, with some cattle not to be beat in stay, +blood, and pace, close to a killing pack that never score +a blank day, there falls a bitter, black frost, locking the +country up in iron bonds, and making every bit of ridge +and furrow like a sheet of glass—what's <i>that</i>?</p> + +<p>Bah! I could go on ad infinitum, and cite "circles of +purgatory" in which mortal man is doomed to pass his +time, beside which Dante's Caïna, Antenora, and Ptolomea +sink into insignificance. But of all Purgatories, chiefest +in my memory, is——Pera. Pera in the old Crimean +time—Pera the "beautiful suburb" of fond "fiction"—Pera, +with the dirt, the fleas, the murders, the mosquitoes, +the crooked streets, the lying Greeks, the stench, the hubbub, +the dulness, and the everlasting "Bono Johnny."</p> + +<p>"Call a dog Hervey, and I shall love him," said Johnson, +so dear was his friend to him:—"call a dog Johnny, +and I shall kick him," so abominable grew that word in +the eternal Turkish jabber! Tell me, O prettiest, softest-voiced, +most beguiling, feminine Æothen, in as romantic +periods as you will, of bird-like feluccas darting over the +Bosphorus, of curled caïques gliding through fragrant +water-weeds; of Arabian Nights reproduced, when up +through the darkness peals the roll of the drums calling the +Faithful to prayers; of the nights of Ramadan, with the +starry clusters of light gleaming all down Stamboul, and +flashing, firefly-like, through the dark citron groves;—tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +me of it as you will, I don't care; you may think me +a Goth, <i>ce m'est bien égal</i>, and <i>you</i> were not in cavalry +quarters at Pera. I wasn't exacting; I did not mind +having ants in my jam, nor centipedes in my boots, nor a +shirt in six months, nor bacon for a luxury that strongly +resembled an old file rusted by sea-water, nor any little +trifle of that sort up in the front; all that is in the fortune +of war: but I confess that Pera put me fairly out of +patience, specially when a certain trusty friend of mine, +who has no earthly fault, that I wot of, except that of +perpetually looking at life through a Claude glass (which +is the most aggravating opticism to a dispassionate and +unblinded mind that the world holds), <i>would</i> poetize upon +it, or at least on the East in general, which came pretty +much to the same thing.</p> + +<p>The sun poured down on me till (conscience, probably) +I remembered the scriptural threat to the wicked, "their +brains shall boil in their skulls like pots;"—Sir Galahad, +as I will call him, would murmur to himself, with his +cheroot in his teeth, Manfred's <i>salut</i> to the sun, looking +as lovingly at it as any eagle. Mosquitoes reduced me to +the very borders of madness,—Sir Galahad would placidly +remark, how Buckland would revel here in all those +gorgeous beetles. A Greek told crackers till I had to +double-thong him like a puppy,—Sir Galahad would +shout to me to let the fellow alone, he looked so deuced +picturesque, he must have him for a study. I made +myself wretched in a ticklish caïque, the size of a cockle-shell, +where, when one was going full harness to the Great +Effendi's, it was a moral impossibility to be doubled without +one's sash swinging into the water, one's sword sticking +over the side, and the liveliest sensation of cramp +pervading one's body,—Sir Galahad, blandly indifferent, +would discourse, with superb Ruskin obscurity, of "tone," +and "coloring," and "harmonized light," while he looked +down the Golden Horn, for he was a little Art-mad, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +painted so well that if he had been a professional, the +hanging committee would have shut him out to a certainty.</p> + +<p>Now he was a good fellow, a <i>beau sabreur</i>, who had +fetched some superb back strokes in the battery at Balaclava, +who could send a line spinning, and land his horse +in a gentleman riders' race, and pot the big game, and +lead the first flight over Northamptonshire doubles at +home, as well as a man wants to do; but I put it to any +dispassionate person, whether this persistent poetism of +his, flying in the face of facts and of fleas, was not enough +to make anybody swear in that mosquito-purgatorio of +Pera?</p> + +<p>Sir Galahad was a capital fellow, and the men would +have gone after him to the death; the fair, frank, handsome +face, a little womanish perhaps, was very pleasant +to look at, and he got the Victoria not long ago for a +deed that would suit Arthur's Table; but in Pera, I avow, +he made me swear hard, and if he would just have set his +heel on his Claude glass, cursed the Turks, and growled +refreshingly, I should have loved him better. He was +philosophic and he was poetic; and the combination of +temperaments lifted him in a mortifying altitude above +ordinary humanity, that was baked, broiled, grumbling, +savage, bitten, fleeced, and holding its own against +miserable rats, Greeks, and Bono Johnnies, with an Aristides +thieving its last shirt, and a Pisistratus getting +drunk at its case-bottle! That sublime serenity of his +in Pera ended in making me unholy and ungenerous; if +he would but have sworn once at the confounded country, +I should have borne it, but he never did, and I longed to +see him out of temper, I pined and thirsted to get him +disenchanted. "<i>Tout vient a point, à qui sait attendre</i>," +they say; a motto, by the way, that might be written +over the Horse Guards for the comfort of gloomy souls, +when, in the words of the Psalmist, "Promotion cometh +neither from the south, nor from the east, nor from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +west"—by which lament one might conclude David of +Israel to have been a sufferer by the Purchase-system!</p> + +<p>"Delicious!" said Sir Galahad, sending a whiff of +Turkish tobacco into the air one morning after exercise, +when he and I, having ridden out a good many miles +along the Sweet Waters, turned the horses loose, bought +some grapes and figs of an old Turk, dispossessed him of +his bit of cocoa-matting, and flung ourselves under a plane-tree. +And the fellow looked round him through his race-glass +at the cypress woods, the mosques and minarets, the +almond thickets, the "soft creamy distance," as he called +it in his <i>argot d'atelier</i>, and the Greek fishermen near, +drawing up a net full of silvery prismatic fishes, with a +relish absolutely exasperating. Exasperating—when the +sun was broiling one's brain through the linen, and there +wasn't a drop of Bass or soda and B to be got for love or +money, and one thought thirstily of days at home in +England, with the birds whirring up from the stubble in +the cool morning, and the cold punch uncorked for luncheon, +under the home woods fringing the open.</p> + +<p>"One wants Hunt to catch that bit of color," murmured +Sir Galahad, luxuriously eying a mutilated Janissary's +tomb covered with scarlet creepers.</p> + +<p>"Hunt be hanged!" said I (meaning no disrespect to +that eminent Pre-Raphaelite, whose "Light of the World" +I took at first sight to be a policeman going his night +rounds, and come out in his shirt by mistake; by the way, +it is a droll idea to symbolize the "light of the world" by +a watchman with a dark lantern, <i>lux in tenebras</i> with a +vengeance!). "Give me the sweet shady side of Pall +Mall, and the devil may take the Sweet Waters. What's +the Feast of Bairam beside the Derby-day, or your confounded +coloring beside a well-done cutlet? What's +lemonade by Brighton Tipper, and a veiled bundle by a +pretty blonde, and an eternity of Stamboul by an hour of +Piccadilly?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sir Galahad smiled superior, and shied a date at me.</p> + +<p>"Goth! can't you be content to feed like the Patriarchs +and live an idyl?"</p> + +<p>"No! I'd rather feed like a Parisian and live an idler! +Eat grapes if you choose; I agree with Brillat-Savarin, +and don't like my wine in pills."</p> + +<p>"My good fellow, you're all prose."</p> + +<p>"And you're all poetry. You're as bad as that pretty +little commissariat girl who lisped me to death last night +at the Embassy with platitudes of bosh about the 'poetry +of marriage.'"</p> + +<p>"The deuce!" said Sir Galahad, with a whistle, "that +must be like most other poetry nowadays—uncommon +dull prose, sliced up in uneven lengths! Didn't you tell +her so?"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't; I should have pulled the string for a +shower-bath of sentiment! When a woman's bolted on +romance you only make the pace worse if you gall her +with the curb of common sense. When romance is in, +reason's out,—excuse the personality!"</p> + +<p>He didn't hear me; he was up like a retriever who +scents a wild duck or a water-rat among the sedges, for +sweeping near us with soft gliding motion, as pretty as a +toy and as graceful as a swan, came a caïque, with the +wife of a Pacha of at least a hundred tails in it, to judge +by the costliness of her exquisite attire. Now, women +were not rare, but then they were always veiled, which is +like giving a man a nugget he mustn't take out of the +quartz, a case of champagne he mustn't undo, a cover-side +he is never to beat, a trout stream in which he must +never fling a fly; and Sir Galahad, whose loves were not, +I admit, quite so saintly as Arthur's code exacted, lost +his head in a second as the caïque drifted past us, and, +raising herself on her cushions, the Leilah Duda, or Salya +within it, glanced toward the myrtle screen that half hid +us, with the divinest antelope eyes in the world, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +letting the silver gauze folds of her veil float half aside, +showed us the beautiful warm bloom, the proud lips, and +the chestnut tresses braided with pearls and threaded with +gold, of your genuine Circassian beauty. Shade of Don +Juan! what a face it was!</p> + +<p>A yataghan might have been at his throat, a bowstring +at his neck, eunuchs might have slaughtered, and +pachas have impaled him, Galahad would have seen more +of that loveliness: headlong he plunged down the slope, +crushing through the almond thickets and scattering the +green tree-frogs right and left; the caïque was just rounding +past as he reached the water's edge, and the beauty's +veil was drawn in terror of her guard. But as the little +cockle-shell, pretty and ticklish as a nautilus, was moored +to a broad flight of marble stairs, the Circassian turned +her head towards the place where the Unbeliever stood +in the sunlight—her eyes were left her, and with them +women speak in a universal tongue. Then the green +lattice gate shut, the white impenetrable walls hid her +from sight, and Sir Galahad stood looking down the +Sweet Waters in a sort of beatific vision, in love for the +1360th time in his life. And certainly he had never +been in love with better reason; for is there anything +on earth so divine as your antelope-eyed and gold-haired +Circassian?</p> + +<p>"I shall be inside those walls or know the reason why," +said he, whom two gazelle eyes had fired and captured, +there by the side of the sunny Sweet Waters, where the +lazy air was full of syringa and rose odors, and there was +no sound but the indolent beating of the tired oars on +the ripples.</p> + +<p>"Which reason you will rapidly find," I suggested, "in +a knock on the head from the Faithful!"</p> + +<p>"Well! a very picturesque way of coming to grief; to +go off the scene in the sick-wards, from raki and fruit, +would be commonplace and humiliating, but to die in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +serail, stabbed through and through by green-eyed jealousy, +would be piquant and refreshing to the last degree; +do you really think there's a chance of it?" said Galahad, +rather anxiously—the eager wistful anxiety of a man +who, athirst for the forest, hears of the rumored slot of an +outlying deer—while he shouted the Greek fishermen to +him, and learned after sore travail through a slough of +mixed Italian, Turkish, and Albanian, that the white +palace, with its green lattice and its hanging gardens, belonged +to a rich merchant of Constantinople, and that +this veiled angel was the favorite of his harem, Leilah +Derran, a recent purchase in Circassia, and the queen of +the Anderùn.</p> + +<p>"The old rascal!" swore Galahad, in his wrath, which +was not, however, I think, caused by any particular +Christian disgust at polygamy. "A fat old sinner, I'll +be bound, who sits on his divan puffing his chibouque and +stuffing his sweetmeats, as yellow as Beppo, and as round +as a ball. Bah! what pearls before swine! It's enough +to make a saint swear. Those heavenly eyes!..." And +Galahad went into a somewhat earthly reverie, colored +with a thirsty jealousy of the purchaser and the possessor +of this Circassian gazelle, as he rode reluctantly back +towards Pera.</p> + +<p>The Circassian was in his head, and did not get out +again. He let himself be bewitched by that lovely face +which had flashed on him for a second, and began to feel +himself as aggrieved by that innocent and unoffending +Turkish lord of hers, as if the unlucky gentleman had +stolen his own property! The antelope eyes had looked +softly and hauntingly sad, moreover: I demonstrated to +him that it was nothing more than the way that the eyelashes +drooped, but nobody in love (very few people out +of it) have any taste for logic; he was simply disgusted +with my realism, and saw an instant vision for himself of +this loveliest of slaves, captive in a bazaar and sold into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +the splendid bondage of the harem as into an inevitable +fate, mournful in her royalty as a nightingale in a cage +stifled with roses, and as little able to escape as the bird. +A vision which intoxicated and enraptured Sir Galahad, +who, in the teeth of every abomination of Pera, had been +content to see only what he wished to see, and had maintained +that the execrable East, to make it the East of +Hafiz and all the poets, only wanted—available Haidees!</p> + +<p>"Hang it! I think it's nothing <i>but</i> Hades," said an +Aide, overhearing that statement one night, as we stumbled +out of a half-café, half-gambling-booth pandemonium +into the crooked, narrow, pitch-dark street, where dogs +were snarling over offal, jackals screaming, Turkish bands +shrieking, cannon booming out the hour of prayer, women +yelling alarms of fire, a Zouave was spitting a Greek by +way of practice, and an Irishman had just potted a Dalmatian, +in as brawling, rowing, pestiferous, unodorous an +earthly Gehenna as men ever succeeded in making.</p> + +<p>Sir Galahad was the least vain of mortals; nevertheless, +being as well-beloved by the "maidens and young widows," +for his fair handsome face, as Harold the Gold-haired, he +would have been more than mortal if he had not been +tolerably confident of "killing," and luxuriously practised +in that pleasant pastime. That if he could once get the +antelope eyes to look at him, they would look lovingly +before long, he was in comfortable security; but how to +get into a presence, which it was death for an unbeliever +and a male creature to approach, was a knottier question, +and the difficulty absorbed him. There were several +rather telling Englishwomen out there, with whom he had +flirted <i>faute de mieux</i>, at the cavalry balls we managed to +get up in Pera, at the Embassy costume-ball, on board +yacht-decks in the harbor, and in picnics to Therapia or +the Monastery. But they became as flavorless as twice-told +tales, and twice-warmed entremets, beside the new +piquance, the delicious loveliness, the divine difficulty of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +this captive Circassian. That he had no more earthly +business to covet her than he had to covet the unlucky +Turkish trader's lumps of lapis-lazuli and agate, never +occurred to him; the stones didn't tempt him, you see, +but the beauty did. That those rich, soft, unrivalled +Eastern charms, "merely born to bloom and drop," +should be caged from the world and only rejoice the eyes +of a fat old opium-soddened Stamboul merchant, seemed +a downright reversal of all the laws of nature, a tampering +with the balance of just apportionment that clamored +for redress; but, like most other crying injustice, the +remedy was hard to compass.</p> + +<p>Day after day he rode down to the same place on the +Sweet Waters on the chance of the caïque's passing; +and, sure enough, the caïque did pass nine times out of +ten, and, when opportunity served for such a hideous +Oriental crime not to be too perilous, the silver gauze +floated aside unveiling a face as fair as the morning, or, +when that was impossible, the eyes turned on him shyly +and sadly in their lustrous appeal, as though mutely +bewailing such cruel captivity. Those eyes said as +plainly as language could speak that the lovely Favorite +plaintively resisted her bondage, and thought the Frank +with his long fair beard, and his six feet of height, little +short of an angel of light, though he might be an infidel.</p> + +<p>Given—hot languid days, nothing to do, sultry air +heavy with orange and rose odors, and those "silent +passages," repeating themselves every time that Leilah +Derran's caïque glided past the myrtle screen, where her +Giaour lay <i>perdu</i>, the result is conjectural: though they +had never spoken a word, they had both fallen in love. +Voiceless <i>amourettes</i> have their advantages:—when a +woman speaks, how often she snaps her spell! For +instance, when the lips are divine but the utterance is +slangy, when the mouth is adorably rosebud but what it +says is most horrible horsy!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> + +<p>A tender pity, too, gave its spur to his passion; he saw +that, all Queen of the Serail though she might be, this +fettered gazelle was not happy in her rose-chains, and to +Galahad, who had a wonderful twist of the knight-errant +and lived decidedly some eight centuries too late, no +wiliest temptation would have been so fatal as this.</p> + +<p>He swore to get inside those white inexorable walls, and +he kept his oath: one morning the latticed door stood +ajar, with the pomegranates and the citrons nodding +through the opening; he flung prudence to the winds and +peril to the devil, and entered the forbidden ground where +it was death for any man, save the fat Omar himself, to +be found. The fountains were falling into marble basins, +the sun was tempered by the screen of leaves, the lories +and humming-birds were flying among the trumpet-flowers, +altogether a most poetic and pleasant place for +an erratic adventure; more so still when, as he went +farther, he saw reclining alone by the mosaic edge of a +fountain his lovely Circassian unveiled. With a cry of +terror she sprang to her feet, graceful as a startled antelope, +and casting the silver shroud about her head, would +have fled; but the scream was not loud enough to give +the alarm—perhaps she attuned it so—and flight he prevented. +Such Turkish as he had he poured out in passionate +eloquence, his love declaration only made the more +piquant by the knowledge that in a trice the gardens +might swarm with the Mussulman's guards and a scimitar +smite his head into the fountain. But the danger he disdained, +<i>la belle</i> Leilah remembered; rebuke him she did +not, nor yet call her eunuchs to rid her of this terrible +Giaour, but the antelope eyes filled with piteous tears and +she prayed him begone—if he were seen here, in the +gardens of the women, it were his death, it were hers! +Her terror at the infidel was outweighed by her fear for +his peril; how handsome he was with his blue eyes and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +fair locks, after the bald, black-browed, yellow, obese little +Omar!</p> + +<p>"Let me see again the face that is the light of my soul +and I will obey thee; thou shalt do with thy slave as thou +wilt!" whispered Galahad in the most impassioned and +poetical Turkish he could muster, thinking the style of +Hafiz understood better here than the style of Belgravia, +while the almond-eyed Leilah trembled like a netted bird +under his look and his touch, conscious, pretty creature, +that were it once known that a Giaour had looked on her, +poison in her coffee, or a sullen plunge by night into the +Bosphorus, would expiate the insult to the honor of Omar, +a master whom she piteously hated. She let her veil float +aside, nevertheless, blushing like a sea-shell under the +shame of an unbeliever's gaze—a genuine blush that is +banished from Europe—his eyes rested on the lovely +youth of her face, his cheek brushed the</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Loose train of her amber dropping hair,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>his lips met her own; then, with a startled stifled cry, his +coy gazelle sprang away, lost in the aisles of the roses, and +Galahad quitted the dangerous precincts, in safety so far, +not quite clear whether he had been drinking or dreaming, +and of conviction that Pera had changed into Paradise. +For he was in love with two things at once, a +romance and a woman; and an anchorite would fairly +have lost his head after the divine dawn of beauty in +Leilah Derran.</p> + +<p>The morrow, of course, found him at the same place, at +the same hour, hoping for a similar fortune, but the lattice +door was shut, and defied all force; he was just about to +try scaling the high slippery walls by the fibres of a clinging +fig-tree, when a negress, the sole living thing in sight, +beckoned him, a hideous Abyssinian enough for a messenger +of Eros; a grinning good-natured black, who had +been bought in the same bazaar and of the same owner as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +the lovely Circassian, to whose service she was sworn. +She told him by scraps of Turkish, and signs, that Leilah +had bidden her watch for and warn him, that it were +as much as both their lives were worth for him to be +seen again in the women's gardens, or anywhere near +her presence; that the merchant Omar was a monster +of jealousy, and that the rest of the harem, jealous of her +supremacy and of the unusual liberty her ascendancy +procured her, would love nothing so well as to compass +her destruction. Further meeting with her infidel lover +she pronounced impossible, unless he would see her consigned +to the Bosphorus; an ice avalanche of intelligence, +which, falling on the tropical Eden of his passion, had +the effect, as it was probably meant that it should have, +of drowning the lingering remnant of prudence and sanity +that had remained to him after his lips had once touched +the exquisite Eastern's.</p> + +<p>Under the circumstances the negress was his sole hope +and chance; he pressed her into his service and made her +Mercury and mediatrix in one. She took his messages, +sent in the only alphabet the pretty gazelle could read, +i. e. flowers, plotted against her owner with true Eastern +finesse, wrought on the Circassian's tenderness for the +Giaour, and her terrified hatred of her grim lord Omar, +and threw herself into the intrigue with the avidity of all +womanhood, be it black or be it white, for anything on +the face of the earth that has the charm of being forbidden. +The affair was admirably <i>en train</i>, and Galahad +was profoundly happy; he was deliciously in love,—a +pleasant spice as difficult to find in its full flavor as it is +to bag a sand grouse;—and had an adventure to amuse +him that might very likely cost him his head, and might +fairly claim to rise into the poetic. The only reward he +received (or ever got, for that matter) for the Balaclava +brush, where he cut down three gunners, and had a ball +put in his hip, had been a cavil raised by a critic, not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +there, of doubt whether he had ever ridden inside the +lines at all; but his Circassian would have recompensed +him at once for a score of years of Chersonnesus campaigning, +and unprofessional chroniclers: he was perfectly +happy, and his soft, careless, <i>couleur de rose</i> enjoyment of +the paradise was aggravating to behold,—when one was +in Pera, and the heat broiled alive every mortal thing that +wasn't a negro, and Bass was limited, and there were no +Dailies, and one thought even lovingly and regretfully +of the old "beastly shells," that had at least this merit, +that they scattered bores when they burst!</p> + +<p>"Old fellow!—want something to do?" he asked me +one day. I nodded, being silent and savage from having +had to dance attendance on the Sultan at an Embassy reception. +Peace to his <i>manes</i> now! but I know I wished +him heartily in Eblis at that time.</p> + +<p>"Come with me to-night then, if you don't mind a probability +of being potted by a True Believer," went on +Leilah Derran's lover, going into some golden water +Soyer had sent me.</p> + +<p>"For the big game? Like it of all things; but you +know I'm tied by the leg here."</p> + +<p>Galahad laughed. "Oh, I only want you an hour or +two. I've got six days' leave for the pigs and the deer: +but the hills won't see much of me, I'm going to make a +raid in the rose-gardens. It may be hot work, so I +thought you would like it."</p> + +<p>Of course I did, and asked the programme which Sir +Galahad, as lucidly as a man utterly in love can tell +anything, unfolded to me. Fortune favored him; it was +the night of the Feast of Bairam, when all the world of +Turkey lights its lamps and turns out; he had got leave +under pretext of a shooting trip into Roumelia, but the +game he was intent on was the captive Circassian, who in +the confusion and <i>tintamarre</i> attendant on Bairam, was +to escape to him by the rose-gardens, and being carried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +off as swiftly as Syrian stallions could take them, would +be borne away by her infidel lover on board a yacht, belonging +to a man whom he knew who was cruising in the +Bosphorus, which would steam them away down the +Dardanelles before the Turk had a chance of getting in +chase. Nothing could be better planned for everybody +but the luckless Mussulman who was to be robbed,—and +the whole thing had a fine flavor about it of dash and +difficulty, of piquance and poetry, of Mediæval errantry +and Oriental coloring, that put Leilah's Giaour most +deliciously in his element, setting apart the treasure that +he would carry off in that rich, soft, antelope-eyed, bright-haired +Circassian loveliness which made all the dreams +in Lalla Rookh and Don Juan look pale.</p> + +<p>So his raid was planned, and I agreed to go with him +to cover the rear in case of pursuit, which was likely +enough to be hot and sharp, for the Moslems, for all their +apathy, lack the philosophic gratitude which your British +husband usually exhibits towards his despoiler—but then, +to be sure, an Englishman can't make a fresh purchase +unless he's first robbed of the old! Night came; and the +nights, I am forced to admit, have a witching charm of +their own in the East, that the West never knows. The +Commander of the Faithful went to prayer, with the roar +of cannon and the roll of drums pealing down the Golden +Horn, and along the cypress-clad valleys. The mosques +and minarets, starred and circled with a myriad of lamps, +gleamed through the dark foliage, and were mirrored in +the silvery sheet of the waves. The caïques, as they swept +along, left tracks of light in the phosphor-lit waves, and +while the chant of the Muezzin rang through the air, the +children of Allah, from one end of the Bosphorus to the +other, held festival on the most holy eve of Bairam. A +splendid night for a lyric of Swinburne's!—a superb +scene for an amorous adventure! And as we mingled +amongst the crowds of the Faithful, swarming with their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +painted lanterns, their wild music, their gorgeous colors, +their booming guns, in street and caïque, on land and sea, +Sir Galahad, though an infidel, had certainly entered the +Seventh Heaven. He had never been more intensely in +love in his life; and, if the fates should decree that the +dogs of Islam should slay him at her feet, in the sanctuary +of her rose-paradise, he was ready to say in his pet poet's +words, with the last breath of his lips,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was ordained to be so, sweet and best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes now beneath thine eyes and on thy breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still kiss me! Care not for the cowards! Care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only to put aside thy beauteous hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My blood will hurt!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In the night of the feast all the world was astir, Franks +and Moslems, believers and unbelievers, and we made our +way through the press unwatched to where Omar's house +was illumined, the cressets, and wreaths, and stars of light +sparkling through the black foliage. Under the walls, +hidden by a group of planes, we fastened the stallions in +readiness, and Galahad, at the latticed door, gave the +signal word, "Kef," low whispered. The door unclosed, +and, true to her tryst, in the silvery Bosphorus moonlight, +crouching in terror and shame, was the veiled and trembling +Circassian.</p> + +<p>But not in peace was her capture decreed to be made; +scarce had the door flown open, when the shrill yell of +"Allah hu! Allah hu!" rung through the air; and from +the dark aisles of the gardens poured Mussulmans, slaves, +and eunuchs, the Turk with a shoal at his back, giving +the alarm with hideous bellowings, while their drawn +scimitars flashed in the white starlight, and their cries +filled the air with their din. "Make off, while I hold the +gate!" I shouted to Galahad, who, catching Leilah Derran +in his arms before the Moslems could be nigh us, +held her close with one hand, while with his right he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +levelled his revolver, as I did, and backed—facing the +Turks. At sight of the lean shining barrels, the Moslems +paused in their rush for a second—only a second; the +next, shouting to Allah till the minarets gave back the +echo, they sprang at us, their curled naked yataghans +whirling above their heads, their jetty eyeballs flaming +like tigers' on the spring. Our days looked numbered;—I +gave them the contents of one barrel, and in the moment's +check we gained the outside of the gardens; the +swarm rushed after us, their shots flying wide, and whistling +with a shrill hiss harmlessly past; we reserved further +fire, not wishing to kill, if we could manage to cut +our way through without bloodshed, and backed to the +plane-trees, where the horses were waiting. There was a +moment's blind but breathless struggle, swift and indistinct +to remembrance, as a flash of lightning; the Turks +swarmed around us, while we beat them off, and hurled +them asunder somehow. Omar sprang like a rattlesnake +on to his spoiler, his yataghan circling viciously in the +air, to crash down upon Galahad's skull, who was encumbered +by the clinging embrace of his stolen Circassian. +I straightened my left arm with a remnant of "science" +that savored more of old Cambridge than of Crimean +custom; the Moslem went down like an ox, and keeping +the yelling pack at bay with the levelled death-dealer, I +threw myself into saddle just as Galahad flung himself on +his stallion, and the Syrians, fleet as Arab breeding could +make them, tore down the beach in the rich Eastern night, +while the balls shrieked through the air past our ears, +and the shouts of our laughter, with the salute of a ringing +English cheer in victorious farewell, answered the +howls of our distant and baffled pursuers.</p> + +<p>Sir Galahad's Raid was a triumph!</p> + +<p>On we went through the hot fragrant air, through the +silvery moonlight, through the deep shade of cypress and +pine woods; on we went through gorge, and ravine, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +defile, through stretches of sweet wild lavender, of shining +sands, of trampled rose-fields, with the phosphor-lit sea +gleaming beside us, and the Islam Feast of Bairam left +far distant behind. On and on—while the glorious night +itself was elixir, and one shouted to the starry silence +Robert Browning's grand challenge—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How good is man's life, the mere living! how fit to employ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the heart, and the soul, and the senses, for ever in joy!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That ride was superb!</p> + +<p>We never drew rein till some ten miles farther on, +where we saw against the clear skies the dark outline of +the yacht with a blue light burning at her mast-head, the +signal selected; then Galahad checked the good Syrian, +who had proved pace as fleet as the "wild pigeon blue" +is ever vouched in the desert, and bent over his prize who, +through that long ride, had been held close to his breast, +with her arms wound about him, and the beautiful veiled +face bowed on his heart. The moon was bright as day, +and he stooped his head to uplift the envious veil, and +see the radiant beauty that never again would be shrouded, +and to meet once more the lips which his own had +touched before but in one single caress; he bowed his +head, and I thought that my disinterested ungrudging +friendship made the friendships of antiquity look small; +when——an oath that chilled my blood rang through +the night and over the seas, startling the echoes from +rock and hill; the veiled captive reeled from the saddle +with a wailing scream, hurled to earth by the impetus +with which his arms loosed her from him; and away into +the night, without word or sign, plunging headlong down +the dark defile, riding as men may ride from a field that +reeks with death, far out of sight into the heart of the +black dank woods, his Syrian bore Sir Galahad. And +lo! in the white moonlight, against the luminous sea,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +slowly there rose before me, unveiled and confessed—<span class="smcap">The +Negress</span>!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The history of that night we never learnt. Whether +Leilah Derran herself played the cruel trick on her +Giaour lover (but this <i>he</i> always scouted), whether Omar +himself was a man of grim humor, whether the Abyssinian, +having betrayed her mistress, was used as a decoy-bird, +dressed like the Circassian, to lure the infidels into the +rose-gardens where the Faithful intended to dispatch +them hastily to Eblis—no one knows. We could never +find out. The negress escaped me before my surprise let +me stay her, and the fray made the place too hot for close +investigation. Nor do I know where Galahad tore in that +wild night-ride, whose spur was the first maddened pain +and rage of shame that his life had tasted. I never heard +where he spent the six days of his absence; but when he +joined us again, six weeks in the sick-wards would not +have altered him more; all he said to me was one piteous +phrase—"For God's sake don't tell the fellows!"—and +I never did; I liked him well enough not to make chaff of +him. Unholily had I thirsted to see him disenchanted, +ungenerously had I pined to see him goaded out of +temper: I had my wish, and I don't think I enjoyed it. +I saw him at last in passion that I had much to do to +tame down from a deadly vengeance that would have +rung through the Allied Armies; and I saw him loathe the +East, curse romance, burn all the poets with Hafiz at +their head, and shun a woman's beauty like the pestilence. +To this day I believe that the image of Leilah +Derran haunts his memory, and that a certain remorse +consumes him for his lost gazelle, whom <i>he</i> always thought +paid penalty for their love under the silent waves of the +Bosphorus, with those lost ones whose souls, according to +the faith of Stamboul, flit ceaselessly above its waters, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +the guise of its white-winged unrestful sea-gulls. He is +far enough away just now—in which of the death-pots +where we are simmering and fritting away in little +wretched driblets men and money that would have +sufficed Cæsar or Scipio to conquer an Empire, matters not +to his story. When he reads this, he will remember the +bitterest night of his life, and the fiasco that ended <span class="smcap">Sir +Galahad's Raid</span>!</p> + + + +<hr class="sep1" /> +<hr class="sep2" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> +<h1>'REDEEMED.'</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> +<hr class="sep3" /> +<hr class="sep4" /> +<h2><a name="REDEEMED" id="REDEEMED"></a>"REDEEMED."</h2> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2>AN EPISODE WITH THE CONFEDERATE HORSE.</h2> + + + +<p>Bertie Winton had got the Gold Vase.</p> + +<p>The Sovereign, one of the best horses that ever had a +dash of the Godolphin blood in him, had led the first +flight over the ridge-and-furrow, cleared the fences, trying +as the shire-thorn could make them, been lifted over the +stiffest doubles and croppers, passed the turning-flags, and +been landed at the straight run-in with the stay and pace +for which his breed was famous, enrapturing the fancy, +who had piled capfuls of money on him, and getting the +Soldiers' Blue Riband from the Guards, who had stood +crackers on little Benyon's mount—Ben, who is as pretty +as a girl, with his <i>petites mains blanches</i>, riding like any +professional.</p> + +<p>Now, I take it—and I suppose there are none who will +disagree with me—that there are few things pleasanter +in this life than to stand, in the crisp winter's morning, +winner of the Grand Military, having got the Gold Vase +for the old corps against the best mounts in the Service.</p> + +<p>Life must look worth having to you, when you have +come over those black, barren pastures and rugged +ploughed lands, where the field floundered helplessly in +grief, with Brixworth brook yawning gaunt and wide +beneath you, and the fresh cold north wind blowing full +in your teeth, and have ridden in at the distance alone, +while the air is rent by the echoing shouts of the surging<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +crowd, and the best riding-men are left "nowhere" behind. +Life must look pleasant to you, if it had been black as +thunder the night before. Nevertheless, where Bertie +Winton sat, having brought the Sovereign in, winner of +the G. M., with that superb bay's head a little drooped, +and his flanks steaming, but scarce a hair turned, while +the men who had won pots of money on him crowded +round in hot congratulation, and he drank down some +Curaçoa punch out of a pocket-pistol, with his habitual +soft, low, languid laugh, he had that in his thoughts +which took the flavor out of the Curaçoa, and made the +sunny, cheery winter's day look very dull and gray to +him. For Bertie, sitting there while the cheers reeled +round him like mad, with a singularly handsome, reckless +face, long tawny moustaches, tired blue eyes, and a +splendid length and strength of limb, knew that this was +the last day of the old times for him, and that he had +sailed terribly near the wind of—dishonor.</p> + +<p>He had been brought to <i>envisager</i> his position a little +of late, and had seen that it was very bad indeed—as +bad as it could be. He had run through all his own fortune +from his mother, a good one enough, and owed almost +as much again in bills and one way and another. He +had lost heavily on the turf, gamed deeply, travelled with +the most expensive adventuresses of their day, startled +town with all its worst crim. cons.; had every vice under +heaven, save that he drank not at all; and now, having +shot a Russian prince at Baden the August before, about +Lillah Lis, had received on the night just passed, from +the Horse Guards, a hint, which was a command, that his +absence was requested from her Majesty's Service—a +mandate which, politely though inexorably couched, +would have taken a more forcible and public form but +for the respect in which his father, old Lion Winton, as +he was called, was held by the Army and the authorities. +And Bertie, who for five-and-thirty years had never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +thought at all, except on things that pleasured him, and +such bagatelles as <i>barrière</i> duels abroad, delicately-spiced +intrigues, bills easily renewed, the <i>cru</i> of wines, and the +siege of women, found himself pulled up with a rush, and +face to face with nothing less than ruin.</p> + +<p>"I'm up a tree, Melcombe," he said to a man of his +own corps that day as he finished a great cheroot before +mounting.</p> + +<p>"Badly?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes. It'll be smash this time, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Bother! That's hard lines."</p> + +<p>"It's rather a bore," he answered, with a little yawn, +as he got into the saddle; and that was all he ever said +then or afterwards on the matter; but he rode the Sovereign +superbly over the barren wintry grass-land, and +landed him winner of the Blue Riband for all that, +though Black Care, for the first time in his life, rode behind +him and weighted the race.</p> + +<p>Poor Bertie! nobody would have believed him if he +had said so, but he had been honestly and truly thinking, +for some brief time past, whether it would not be possible +and worth while for him to shake himself free of this life, +of which he was growing heartily tired, and make a name +for himself in the world in some other fashion than by +winging Russians, importing new dancers, taking French +women to the Bads, scandalizing society, and beggaring +himself. He had begun to wonder whether it was not +yet, after all, too late, and whether if——when down had +come the request from the Horse Guards for him to sell +out, and the rush of all his creditors upon him, and away +forever went all his stray shapeless fancies of a possible +better future. And—consolation or aggravation, whichever +it be—he knew that he had no one, save himself, to +thank for it; for no man ever had a more brilliant start +in the race of life than he, and none need have made +better running over the course, had he only kept straight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +or put on the curb as he went down-hill. Poor Bertie! +you must have known many such lives, or I can't tell +where your own has been spent; lives which began so +brilliantly that none could rival them, and which ended—God +help them!—so miserably and so pitifully that you +do not think of them without a shudder still?</p> + +<p>Poor Bertie!—a man of a sweeter temper, a more generous +nature, a more lavish kindliness, never lived. He +had the most versatile talents and the gentlest manners +in the world; and yet here he was, having fairly come to +ruin, and very nearly to disgrace.</p> + +<p>It was little wonder that his father, looking at him and +thinking of all he might have been, and all he might have +done, was lashed into a terrible bitterness of passionate +grief, and hurled words at him of a deadly wrath, in the +morning that followed on the Grand Military. Fiery as +his comrades the Napiers, of a stern code as a soldier, and +a lofty honor as a man, haughty in pride and swift to +passion, old Sir Lionel was stung to the quick by his son's +fall, and would have sooner, by a thousand-fold, have followed +him to his grave, than have seen him live to endure +that tacit dismissal from the service of the country—the +deepest shame, in his sight, that could have touched his +race.</p> + +<p>"I knew you were lost to morality, but I did not know +till now that you were lost to honor!" said the old Lion, +with such a storm of passion in him that his words swept +out, acrid and unchosen, in a very whirlwind. "I knew +you had vices, I knew you had follies, I knew you wasted +your substance with debtors and gamblers like yourself, +on courtesans and gaming-tables, in Parisian enormities, +and vaunted libertinage, but I did not think that you +were so utterly a traitor to your blood as to bring disgrace +to a name that never was approached by shame until <i>you</i> +bore it!"</p> + +<p>Bertie's face flushed darkly, then he grew very pale.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +The indolence with which he lay back in an écarte-chair +did not alter, however, and he stroked his long moustaches +a little with his habitual gentle indifferentism.</p> + +<p>"It is all over. Pray do not give it that tremendous +earnestness," he said, quietly. "Nothing is ever worth +that; and I should prefer it if we kept to the language of +gentlemen!"</p> + +<p>"The language of gentlemen is <i>for</i> gentlemen," retorted +the old man, with fiery vehemence. His heart was cut to +the core, and all his soul was in revolt against the degradation +to his name that came in the train of his heir's +ruin. "When a man has forgot that he has been a gentleman, +one may be pardoned for forgetting it also! You +may have no honor left for your career to shame; <i>I</i> have—and, +by God, sir, from this hour you are no son of mine. +I disown you—I know you no longer! Go and drag out +all the rest of a disgraced life in any idleness that you +choose. If you were to lie dying at my feet, I would not +give you a crust!"</p> + +<p>Bertie raised his eyebrows slightly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Soit!</i> But would it not be possible to intimate this +quietly? A scene is such very bad style—always exhausting, +too!"</p> + +<p>The languid calmness, the soft nonchalance of the tone, +were like oil upon flame to the old Lion's heart, lashed to +fury and embittered with pain as it was. A heavier oath +than print will bear broke from him, with a deadly imprecation, +as he paced the library with swift, uneven steps.</p> + +<p>"It had been better if your 'style' had been less and +your decency and your honor greater! One word more is +all you will ever hear from my lips. The title must come +to you; that, unhappily, is not in my hands to prevent. +It must be yours when I die, if you have not been shot in +some gambling brawl or some bagnio abroad before then; +but you will remember, not a shilling of money, not a rood +of the land are entailed; and, by the heaven above us,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +every farthing, every acre shall be willed to the young +children. <i>You</i> are disinherited, sir—disowned for ever—if +you died at my feet! Now go, and never let me see +your face again."</p> + +<p>As he spoke, Bertie rose.</p> + +<p>The two men stood opposite to each other—singularly +alike in form and feature, in magnificence of stature, and +distinction of personal beauty, save that the tawny gold +of the old Lion's hair was flaked with white, and that his +blue eyes were bright as steel and flashing fire, while the +younger man's were very worn. His face, too, was deeply +flushed and his lips quivered, while his son's were perfectly +serene and impassive as he listened, without a +muscle twitching, or even a gleam of anxiety coming into +his eyes.</p> + +<p>They were of different schools.</p> + +<p>Bertie heard to the end; then bowed with a languid +grace. "It will be fortunate for Lady Winton's children! +Make her my compliments and congratulations. Good-day +to you."</p> + +<p>Their eyes met steadily once—that was all; then the +door of the library closed on him; Bertie knew the worst; +he was face to face with beggary. As he crossed the hall, +the entrance to the conservatories stood open; he looked +through, paused a moment, and then went in. On a low +chair, buried among the pyramids of blossom, sat a +woman reading, aristocrat to the core, and in the earliest +bloom of her youth, for she was scarcely eighteen, beautiful +as the morning, with a delicate thorough-bred beauty, +dark lustrous eyes, arched pencilled brows, a smile like +sunshine, and lips sweet as they were proud. She was Ida +Deloraine, a ward of Sir Lionel, and a cousin of his +young second wife's.</p> + +<p>Bertie went up to her and held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Lady Ida, I am come to wish you good-bye."</p> + +<p>She started a little and looked up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good-bye! Are you going to town?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—a little farther. Will you give me that camellia +by way of <i>bon voyage</i>?"</p> + +<p>A soft warmth flushed her face for a moment; she hesitated +slightly, toying with the snowy blossom; then she +gave it him. He had not asked it like a love gage.</p> + +<p>He took it, and bowed silently over her hand.</p> + +<p>"You will find it very cold," said Lady Ida, with a +trifle of embarrassment, nestling herself in her dormeuse +in her warm bright nest among the exotics.</p> + +<p>He smiled—a very gentle smile.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am frozen out. Adieu!"</p> + +<p>He paused a moment, looking at her—that brilliant +picture framed in flowers; then, without another word, he +bowed again and left her, the woman he had learned too +late to love, and had lost by his own folly for ever.</p> + +<p>"Frozen out? What could he mean?—there is no +frost," thought Lady Ida, left alone in her hot-house +warmth among the white and scarlet blossoms, a little +startled, a little disappointed, a little excited with some +vague apprehension, she could not have told why; while +Bertie Winton went on out into the cold gray winter's +morning from the old Northamptonshire Hall that would +know him no more, with no end so likely for him as that +which had just been prophesied—a shot in a gambling +hell.</p> + +<p><i>Facilis descensus Averni</i>—and he was at the bottom of +the pit. Well, the descent had been very pleasant. Bertie +set his teeth tight, and let the waters close over his head +and shut him out of sight. He knew that a man who is +down has nothing more to do with the world, save to +quietly accept—oblivion.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a hot summer night in Secessia.</p> + +<p>The air was very heavy, no wind stirring the dense +woods crowning the sides of the hills or the great fields of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> +trodden maize trampled by the hoofs of cavalry and the +tramp of divisions. The yellow corn waved above the +earth where the dead had fallen like wheat in harvest-time, +and the rice grew but the richer and the faster +because it was sown in soil where slaughtered thousands +rotted, unsepulchred and unrecorded. The shadows were +black from the reared mountain range that rose frowning +in the moonlight, and the stars were out in southern +brilliancy, shining as calmly and as luminously as though +their rays did not fall on graves crammed full with dead, +on flaming homesteads, crowded sick-wards, poisonous +waters that killed their thousands in deadly rivalry with +shot and shell, and vast battalions sleeping on their arms +in wheat-fields and by river-swamps, in opposing camps, +and before beleaguered cities, where brethren warred with +brethren, and Virginia was drenched with blood. There +was no sound, save now and then the challenge of some +distant picket or the faint note of a trumpet-call, the roar +of a torrent among the hills, or the monotonous rise and +fall from miles away in the interior, of the negroes' +funeral song, "Old Joe,"—more pathetic, somehow, when +you catch it at night from the far distance echoing on the +silence as you sit over a watch-fire, or ride alone through +a ravine, than many a grander requiem.</p> + +<p>It was close upon midnight, and all was very still; for +they were in the heart of the South, and on the eve of a +perilous enterprise, coined by a bold brain and to be +carried out by a bold hand.</p> + +<p>It was in the narrow neck of a valley, pent up between +rocky shelving ridges, anywhere you will between Maryland +and Georgia—for he who did this thing would not +care to have it too particularly drawn out from the million +other deeds of "derring-do" that the mighty story of +the Great War has known and buried. Eight hundred +Confederate Horse, some of Stuart's Cavalry, had got +driven and trapped and caged up in this miserable defile<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>, +misled and intercepted; with the dense mass of a Federal +army marching on their rear, within them by bare fifteen +miles, and the forward route through the crammed defile +between the hills, by which alone they could regain Lee's +forces, dammed up by a deep, rapid, though not broad +river; by a bridge strongly fortified and barricaded; and, +on the opposite bank, by some Federal corps a couple of +thousand strong, well under cover in rifle-pits and earthworks, +thrown up by keen woodsmen and untiring trench-diggers. +It was close peril, deadly as any that Secessia +had seen, here in the hot still midnight, with the columns +of the Federal divisions within them by eight hours' +march, stretching out and taking in all the land to the +rear in the sweep of their semicircular wings; while in +front rose, black and shapeless in the deep gloom of the +rocks above, the barricades upon the bridge, behind which +two thousand rifles were ready to open fire at the first +alarm from the Federal guard. And alone, without the +possibility of aid, caged in among the trampled corn and +maize that filled the valley, imprisoned between the two +Federal forces as in the iron jaws of a trap, the handful +of Southern troopers stood, resolute to sell their lives +singly one by one, and at a costly price, and perish to a +man, rather than fall alive into the hands of their foes.</p> + +<p>When the morning broke they would be cut to pieces, +as the chaff is cut by the whirl of the steam-wheels. They +knew that. Well, they looked at it steadily; it had no +terrors for them, the Cavaliers of Old Virginia, so that +they died with their face to the front. There was but +one chance left for escape; aid there could be none; and +that chance was so desperate, that even to them—reckless +in daring, living habitually between life and death, +and ever careless of the issue—it looked like madness to +attempt it. But one among them had urged it on their +consideration—urged it with passionate entreaty, pledging +his own life for its success; and they had given their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> +adhesion to it, for his name was famous through the +Confederacy.</p> + +<p>He had won his spurs at Manasses, at Antietam, at +Chancellorsville; he had been in every headlong charge +with Stuart; he had been renowned for the most dashing +Border raids and conspicuous staff service of any soldier +in Secessia; he had galloped through a tempest of the +enemy's balls, and swept along their lines to reconnoitre, +riding back through the storm of shot to Lee, as coolly as +though he rode through a summer shower at a review; +and his words had weight with men who would have gone +after him to the death. He stood now, the only man +dismounted, in true Virginia uniform; a rough riding-coat, +crossed by an undressed chamois belt, into which +his sabre and a brace of revolvers were thrust, a broad +Spanish sombrero shading his face, great Hessians reaching +above his knee, and a long silken golden-colored +beard sweeping to his waist,—a keen reconnoitrer, a +daring raider, a superb horseman, and a soldier heart and +soul.</p> + +<p>When he had laid before them the solitary chance of +the perilous enterprise that he had planned, each man of +the eight hundred had sought the post of danger for himself; +but there he was, inexorable—what he had proposed +he alone would execute. The Federals were ignorant +of their close vicinity, for their near approach had +been unheard, the trodden maize and rice, and the angry +foaming of the torrent above, deadening the sound of +their horses' hoofs; and the Union-men, satisfied that the +"rebels" were entrapped beyond escape, were sleeping +securely behind their earth-works, the passage of the +river blockaded by their barricade, while the Southerners +were drawn up close to the head of the bridge in sections +of threes, screened by the intense shadow of the overhanging +rocks; shadow darker from the brilliance of the +full summer moon that, shining on the enemy's encampment,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> +and on the black boiling waters thundering through +the ravine, was shut out from the defile by the leaning +pine-covered walls of granite. It was terribly still, that +awful silence, only filled with the splashing of the water +and the audible beat of the Federal sentinel's measured +tramp, as they were drawn up there by the bridge-head; +and though they had cast themselves into the desperate +effort with the recklessness of men for whom death waited +surely on the morrow, it looked a madman's thought, a +madman's exploit, to them, as their leader laid aside his +sword and pistols, and took up a small barrel of powder, +part of some ammunition carried off from some sappers +and miners' stores in the raid of the past day, the sight +of which had brought to remembrance a stray, half-forgotten +story told him in boyhood of one of Soult's Army—the +story on which he was about to act now.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, take care!" whispered the man nearest +him; and though he was a veteran who had gone through +the hottest of the campaign since Bull's Run, his voice +shook, and was husky as he spoke.</p> + +<p>The other laughed a little—a slight, soft, languid laugh.</p> + +<p>"All right, my dear fellow," he whispered back. +"There's nothing in it to be alarmed at; a Frenchman +did it in the Peninsula, you know. Only if I get shot, or +blown up, and the alarm be given, do you take care to bolt +over and cut your way through in the first of the rush, +that's all."</p> + +<p>Then, without more words, he laid himself down at full +length with a cord tied round his ankle, that they might +know his progress, and the cask of gunpowder, swathed in +green cloth, that it should roll without noise along the +ground; and, creeping slowly on his way, propelling the +barrel with his head, and guiding it by his hands, was +lost to their sight in the darkness. By the string, as it +uncoiled through their hands, they could tell he was +advancing; that was all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> + +<p>The chances were as a million to one that his life would +pay the forfeit for that perilous and daring venture; a +single shot and he would be blown into the air a charred +and shapeless corpse; one spark on that rolling mass that +he pushed before him, and the explosion would hurl him +upward in the silent night, mangled, dismembered, blackened, +lifeless. But his nerve was not the less cool, nor did +his heart beat one throb the quicker, as he crept noiselessly +along in the black shade cast by the parapet of the +bridge, with the tramp of the guard close above on his +ear, and rifles ready to be levelled on him from the covered +earthworks if the faintest sound of his approach or +the dimmest streak of moonlight on his moving body told +the Federals of his presence. He had looked death in +the teeth most days through the last five years; it had no +power to quicken or slacken a single beat of his pulse as +he propelled himself slowly forward along the black, +rugged, uneven ground, and on to the passage of the +bridge, as coolly, as fearlessly, as he would have crept +through the heather and bracken after the slot of a deer +on the moor-side at home.</p> + +<p>He heard the challenge and the tramp of the sentinel +on the opposite bank; he saw the white starlight shine on +the barrels of their breech-loaders as they paced to and +fro in the stillness, filled with the surge and rush of the +rapid waters beneath him. Shrouded in the gloom, he +dragged himself onward with slow and painful movement, +stretched out on the ground, urging himself forward by +the action of his limbs so cautiously that, even had the +light been on him, he could scarcely have been seen to +move, or been distinguished from the earth on which he +lay. Eight hundred lives hung on the coolness of his +own; if he were discovered, they were lost. And, without +haste, without excitation, he drew himself along under +the parapet until he came to the centre of the bridge, +placed the barrel close against the barricades, uncovered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> +the head of the cask, and took his way back by the same +laborious, tedious way, until he reached the Virginian +Troopers gathered together under the shelving rocks.</p> + +<p>A deep hoarse murmur rolling down the ranks, the repressed +cheer they dared not give aloud, welcomed him +and the dauntless daring of his act; man after man pressed +forward entreating to take his place, to share his peril; he +gave it up to none, and three times more went back again +on that deadly journey, until sufficient powder for his purpose +was lodged under the Federal fortifications on the +bridge. Two hours went by in that slow and terrible passage; +then, for the last time, he wound a saucisson round +his body serpent-wise, and, with that coil of powder curled +around him, took his way once more in the same manner +through the hot, dark, heavy night.</p> + +<p>And those left behind in the impenetrable gloom, ignorant +of his fate, knowing that with every instant the crack +of the rifles might roll out on the stillness, and the ball +pierce that death-snake twisted round his limbs, and the +rocks echo with the roar of the exploding powder, blasting +him in the rush of its sheet of fire and stones, sat mute +and motionless in their saddles, with a colder chill in +their bold blood, and a tighter fear at their proud hearts, +than the Cavaliers of the South would have known for +their own peril, or than he knew for his.</p> + +<p>Another half-hour went by—an eternity in its long +drawn-out suspense—then in the darkness under the rocks +his form rose up amongst them.</p> + +<p>"Ready?"—"Ready."</p> + +<p>The low whisper passed all but inaudible from man to +man. He took back his sabre and pistols and thrust them +into his belt, then stooped, struck a slow match, and laid +it to the end of the saucisson, whose mouth he had fastened +to the barrels on the bridge, and rapidly as the lightning, +flung himself across the horse held for him, and fell +into line at the head of the troop.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a moment of intense silence while the fire +crept up the long stick of the match; then the shrill, hissing, +snake-like sound, that none who have once heard ever +forget, rushed through the quiet of the night, and with a +roar that startled all the sleeping echoes of the hills, the +explosion followed; the columns of flame shooting upward +to the starlit sky, and casting their crimson lurid light +on the black brawling waters, on the rugged towering +rocks, on the gnarled trunks of the lofty pines, and on the +wild, picturesque forms and the bold, swarthy, Spanish-like +faces of the Confederate raiders. With a shock that +shook the earth till it rocked and trembled under them, +the pillar of smoke and fire towered aloft in the hush of +the midnight, blasting and hurling upward, in thunder +that pealed back from rock to rock, lifeless bodies, mangled +limbs, smouldering timbers, loosened stones, dead +men flung heavenward like leaves whirled by the wind, +and iron torn up and bent like saplings in a storm, as the +mass of the barricades quivered, oscillated, and fell with +a mighty crash, while the night was red with the hot glare +of the flame, and filled with the deafening din.</p> + +<p>The Federals, sleeping under cover of their intrenchments, +woke by that concussion as though heaven and +earth were meeting, poured out from pit and trench, from +salient and parallel, to see their fortifications and their +guard blown up, while the skies were lurid with the glow +of the burning barricades, and the ravine was filled with +the yellow mist of the dense and rolling smoke. Confused, +startled, demoralized, they ran together like sheep, +vainly rallied by their officers, some few hundred opening +an aimless desultory fire from behind their works, the rest +rushing hither and thither, in that inextricable intricacy, +and nameless panic, which doom the best regiments that +were ever under arms, when once they seize them.</p> + +<p>"Charge!" shouted the Confederate leader, his voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> +ringing out clear and sonorous above the infernal tempest +of hissing, roaring, shrieking, booming sound.</p> + +<p>With that resistless impetus with which they had, over +and over again, broken through the granite mass of packed +squares and bristling bayonets, the Southerners, raising +their wild war-whoop, thundered on to the bridge, which, +strongly framed of stone and iron, had withstood the +shock, as they had foreseen; and while the fiery glare +shone, and the seething flame hissed, on the boiling +waters below, swept, full gallop, over the torn limbs, the +blackened bodies, the charred wood, the falling timbers, +the exploding powder, with which the passage of the +bridge was strewn, and charged through the hellish din, +the lurid fire, the heavy smoke, at a headlong pace, down +into the Federal camp.</p> + +<p>A thousand shots fell like hail amongst them, but not +a saddle was emptied, not even a trooper was touched; +and with their line unbroken, and the challenge of their +war-shout pealing out upon the uproar, they rode through +the confusion worse confounded, and cutting their way +through shot and sabre, through levelled rifles, and +through piled earthworks, with their horses breathing +fire, and the roar of the opening musketry pealing out +upon their rear, dashed on, never drawing rein, down into +the darkness of the front defile, and into the freshness of +the starry summer night, saved by the leader that they +loved, and—<span class="smcap">FREE</span>!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Tarnation cheeky thing to do. Guess they ain't wise +to rile us that way," said a Federal general from Vermont, +as they discussed this exploit of the Eight Hundred +at the Federal head-quarters.</p> + +<p>"A splendid thing!" said an English visitor to the +Northern camp, who had come for a six months' tour to +see the war for himself, having been in his own time the +friend of Paget and Vivian and Londonderry, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> +comrade of Picton, of Mackinnon, and of Arthur Wellesley. +"A magnificent thing! I remember Bouchard did something +the same sort of thing at Amarante, but not half so +pluckily, nor against any such odds. Who's the fellow +that led the charge? I'd give anything to see him and +tell him what I think of it. How Will Napier would +have loved him, by George!"</p> + +<p>"Who's the d——d rebel, Jed?" said the General, taking +his gin-sling.</p> + +<p>"Think he's an Englishman. We'd give ten thousand +dollars for him, alive or dead: he's fifty devils in one, +that <i>I</i> know," responded the Colonel of Artillery, thus +appealed to, a gentlemanlike, quiet man, educated at +West Point.</p> + +<p>"God bless the fellow! I'm glad he's English!" said +the English visitor, heartily, forgetting his Federal situation +and companions. "Who is he? Perhaps I know +the name."</p> + +<p>"Should say you would. It's the same as your own—Winton. +Bertie Winton, they call him. Maybe he's +a relative of yours!"</p> + +<p>The blood flushed the Englishman's face hotly for a +second; then a stern dark shadow came on it, and his +lips set tight.</p> + +<p>"I have no knowledge of him," he said, curtly.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you now? That's curious. Some said he +was a son of yours," pursued the Colonel.</p> + +<p>The old Lion flung back his silvery mane with his +haughtiest imperiousness.</p> + +<p>"No, sir; he's no son of mine."</p> + +<p>Lion Winton sat silent, the dark shadow still upon his +face. For five years no rumor even had reached him of +the man he had disowned and disinherited; he had believed +him dead—shot, as he had predicted, after some +fray in a gaming-room abroad; and now he heard of him +thus in the war-news of the American camp! His denial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> +of him was not less stern, nor his refusal to acknowledge +even his name less peremptory, because, with all his +wrath, his bitterness, his inexorable passion, and his fierce +repudiation of him as his son, a thrill of pleasure stirred +in him that the man still lived—a proud triumph swept +over him, through all his darker thoughts, at the magnificent +dash and daring of a deed wholly akin to him.</p> + +<p>Bertie, a listless man about town, a dilettante in pictures, +wines, and women, spending every moment that he +could in Paris, gentle as any young beauty, always bored, +and never roused out of that habitual languid indolent +indifferentism which the old man, fiery and impassioned +himself as the Napiers, held the most damnable effeminacy +with which the present generation emasculates itself, +had been incomprehensible, antagonistic, abhorrent to +him. Bertie, the Leader of the Eight Hundred, the reckless +trooper of the Virginian Horse, the head of a hundred +wild night raids, the hero of a score of brilliant charges, +the chief in the most daring secret expeditions and the +most intrepid cavalry skirmishes of the South, was far +nearer to the old Lion, who had in him all the hot fire of +Crawford's school, with the severe simplicity of Wellington's +stern creeds. "He is true to his blood at last," he +muttered, as he tossed back his silky white hair, while +his blue flashing eyes ranged over the far distance where +the Southern lines lay, with something of eager restlessness; +"he is true to his blood at last!"</p> + +<p>There was fighting some days later in the Shenandoah +Valley.</p> + +<p>Longstreet's corps, with two regiments of cavalry, had +attacked Sheridan's divisions, and the struggle was hot and +fierce. The day was warm, and a brilliant sun poured +down into the green cornland and woodland wealth of the +valley as the Southern divisions came up to the attack in +beautiful precision, and hurled themselves with tremendous +<i>élan</i> on the right front of the Federals, who, covered by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> +their hastily thrown-up breastworks, opened a deadly fire +that raked the whole Confederate line as they advanced. +Men fell by the score under the murderous mitraille, but +the ranks closed up shoulder to shoulder, without pause +or wavering, only maddened by the furious storm of shot, +as the engagement became general and the white rolling +clouds of smoke poured down the valley, and hid conflict +and combatants from sight, the thunder of the musketry +pealing from height to height; while in many places men +were fighting literally face to face and hand to hand in a +death-struggle—rare in these days, when the duello of +artillery and the rivalry of breech-loaders begins, decides, +and ends most battles.</p> + +<p>On Longstreet's left, two squadrons of Virginian Cavalry +were drawn up, waiting the order to advance, and passionately +impatient of delay as regiment after regiment were +sent up to the attack and were lost in the whirling cloud +of dust and smoke, and they were kept motionless, in reserve. +At their head was Bertie Winton, unconscious +that, on a hill to the right, with a group of Federal commanders, +his father was looking down on that struggle in +the Shenandoah. Bertie was little altered, save that on +his face there was a sterner look, and in his eyes a keener +and less listless glance; but the old languid grace, the +old lazy gentleness, were there still. They were part of +his nature, and nothing could kill them in him. In the +five years that had gone by, none whom he had known in +Europe had ever heard a word of him or from him; he +had cut away all the moorings that bound him to his old +life, and had sought to build up his ruined fortunes, like +the penniless soldier that he was, by his sword alone. So +far he had succeeded: he had made his name famous +throughout the States as a bold and unerring cavalry +leader, and had won the personal friendship and esteem +of the Chiefs of the Southern Confederacy. The five +years had been filled with incessant adventures, with ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> +present peril, with the din of falling citadels, with the +rush of headlong charges, with daring raids in starless +autumn nights, with bivouacs in trackless Western forests, +with desert-thirst in parching summer heats, with winters +of such frozen roofless misery as he had never even +dreamed—five years of ceaseless danger, of frequent suffering, +of habitual renunciation; but five years of <i>life</i>—real, +vivid, unselfish—and Bertie was a better man for +them. What he had done at the head of Eight Hundred +was but a sample of whatever he did whenever duty called, +or opportunity offered, in the service of the South; and +no man was better known or better trusted in all Lee's +divisions than Bertie Winton, who sat now at the head of +his regiment, waiting Longstreet's orders. An aide galloped +up before long.</p> + +<p>"The General desires you to charge and break the +enemy's square to the left, Colonel."</p> + +<p>Bertie bowed with the old Pall Mall grace, turned, and +gave the word to advance. Like greyhounds loosed from +leash, the squadrons thundered down the slope, and swept +across the plain in magnificent order, charging full gallop, +riding straight down on the bristling steel and levelled +rifles of the enemy's kneeling square. They advanced in +superb condition, in matchless order, coming on with the +force of a whirlwind across the plain; midway they were +met by a tremendous volley poured direct upon them; +half their saddles were emptied; the riderless chargers +tore, snorting, bleeding, terrified, out of the ranks; the +line was broken; the Virginians wavered, halted, all but +recoiled; it was one of those critical moments when hesitation +is destruction. Bertie saw the danger, and, with a +shout to the men to come on, he spurred his horse through +the raking volley of shot, while a shot struck his sombrero, +leaving his head bare, and urging the animal straight at +the Federal front, lifted him in the air as he would have +done before a fence, and landed him in the midst of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> +square, down on the points of the levelled bayonets. With +their fierce war-cheer ringing out above the sullen uproar +of the firing, his troopers followed him to a man, charged +the enemy's line, broke through the packed mass opposed +to them, cut their way through into the centre, and hewed +their enemies down as mowers hew the grass. Longstreet's +work was done for him; the Federal square was broken, +never again to rally.</p> + +<p>But the victory was bought with a price; as his horse +fell, pierced and transfixed by the crossed steel of the +bayonets, a dozen rifles covered the Confederate leader; +their shots rang out, and Bertie Winton reeled from his +saddle and sank down beneath the press as his own Southerners +charged above him in the rush of the onward attack. +On an eminence to the right, through his race-glass, his +father watched the engagement, his eyes seldom withdrawn +from the Virginian cavalry, where, for aught he +knew, one of his own blood and name might be—memories +of Salamanca and Quatre Bras, of Moodkee +and Ferozeshah, stirring in him, while the fire of his dead +youth thrilled through his veins with the tramp of the +opposing divisions, and he roused like a war-horse at +the scent of the battle as the white shroud of the smoke +rolled up to his feet, and the thunder of the musketry +echoed through the valley. Through his glass, he saw the +order given to the troopers held in reserve; he saw the +magnificent advance of that charge in the morning light; +he saw the volley poured in upon them; and he saw them +under that shock reel, stagger, waver, and recoil. The old +soldier knew well the critical danger of that ominous moment +of panic and of confusion; then, as the Confederate +Colonel rode out alone and put his horse at that leap on to +the line of steel, into the bristling square, a cry loud as the +Virginian battle-shout broke from him. For when the +charger rose in the air, and the sun shone full on the +uncovered head of the Southern leader, he knew the fair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> +English features that no skies could bronze, and the fair +English hair that blew in the hot wind. He looked once +more upon the man he had denied and had disowned; and, +as Bertie Winton reeled and fell, his father, all unarmed +and non-combatant as he was, drove the spurs into his +horse's flanks, and dashing down the steep hill-side, rode +over the heaps of slain, and through the pools of gore, +into the thick of the strife.</p> + +<p>With his charger dead under him, beaten down upon +one knee, his sword-arm shivered by a bullet, while the +blood poured from his side where another shot had lodged, +Bertie knew that his last hour had come, as the impetus +of the charge broke above him—as a great wave may sweep +over the head of a drowning man—and left him in the +centre of the foe. Kneeling there, while the air was red +before his sight that was fast growing blind from the loss +of blood, and the earth seemed to reel and rock under +him, he still fought to desperation, his sabre in his left +hand; he knew he could not hold out more than a second +longer, but while he had strength he kept at bay.</p> + +<p>His life was not worth a moment's purchase,—when, +with a shout that rang over the field, the old Lion rode +down through the carnage to his rescue, his white hair +floating in the wind, his azure eyes flashing with war-fire, +his holster-pistol levelled; spurred his horse through the +struggle, trampled aside all that opposed him, dashed +untouched through the cross-fire of the bullets, shot +through the brain the man whose rifle covered his son +who had reeled down insensible, and stooping, raised the +senseless body, lifted him up by sheer manual strength to +the level of his saddle-bow, laid him across his holsters, +holding him up with his right hand, and, while the +Federals fell asunder in sheer amazement at the sudden +onslaught, and admiration of the old man's daring, +plunged the rowels into his horse, and, breaking through +the reeking slaughter of the battle-field, rode back, thus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +laden with his prisoner, through the incessant fire of the +cannonade up the heights to the Federal lines.</p> + +<p>"If you were to lie dying at my feet!"—his father +remembered those words, that had been spoken five years +before in the fury of a deadly passion, as Bertie lay +stretched before him in his tent, the blood flowing from +the deep shot-wound in his side, his eyes closed, his face +livid, and about his lips a faint and ghastly foam.</p> + +<p>Had he saved him too late? had he too late repented?</p> + +<p>His heart had yearned to him when, in the morning +light, he had looked once more upon the face of his son, +as the Virginian Horse had swept on to the shock of the +charge; and all of wrath, of bitterness, of hatred, of dark, +implacable, unforgiving vengeance, were quenched and +gone for ever from his soul as he stooped over him where +he lay at his feet, stricken and senseless in all the glory +of his manhood. He only knew that he loved the man—he +only knew that he would have died for him, or died +with him.</p> + +<p>Bertie stirred faintly, with a heavy sigh, and his left +hand moved towards his breast. Old Sir Lion bent over +him, while his voice shook terribly, like a woman's.</p> + +<p>"Bertie! My God! don't you know <i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>He opened his eyes and looked wearily and dreamily +around; he did not know what had passed, nor where he +was; but a faint light of wonder, of pleasure, of recognition, +came into his eyes, and he smiled—a smile that +was very gentle and very wistful.</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that—before I die! Let us part friends—<i>now</i>. +They will tell you I have—redeemed—the +name."</p> + +<p>The words died slowly and with difficulty on his lips, +and as his father's hand closed upon his in a strong +grasp of tenderness and reconciliation, his lids closed, his +head fell back, and a deep-drawn, labored sigh quivered +through all his frame; and Lion Winton, bowing down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> +his grand white crest, wept with the passion of a woman. +For he knew not whether the son he loved was living or +dead—he knew not whether he was not at the last too +late.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Three months further on, Lady Ida Deloraine sat in +her warm bright nest among the exotics, gazing out +upon the sunny lawns and the green woodlands of +Northamptonshire. Highest names and proudest titles +had been pressed on her through the five years that +had gone, but her loveliness had been unwon, and +was but something more thoughtful, more brilliant, more +exquisite still than of old. The beautiful warmth that +had never come there through all these years was in +her cheeks now, and the nameless lustre was in her +eyes, which all those who had wooed her had never +wakened in their antelope brilliancy, as she sat looking +outward at the sunlight; for in her hands lay a camellia, +withered, colorless, and yellow, and eyes gazed down +upon the marvellous beauty of her face which had remembered +it in the hush of Virginian forests, in the +rush of headlong charges, in the glare of bivouac fires, in +the silence of night-pickets, and in the din of falling +cities.</p> + +<p>And Bertie's voice, as he bent over her, was on her ear.</p> + +<p>"That flower has been on my heart night and day; and +since we parted I have never done that which would have +been insult to your memory. I have tried to lead a better +and a purer life; I have striven to redeem my name and +my honor; I have done all I could to wash out the vice +and the vileness of my past. Through all the years we +have been severed I have had no thought, no hope, +except to die more worthy of you; but now—oh, my +God!—if you knew how I love you, if you knew how my +love alone saved me——"</p> + +<p>His words broke down in the great passion that had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> +been his redemption; and as she lifted her eyes upward +to his own, soft with tears that had gathered but did not +fall, and lustrous with the light that had never come there +save for him, he bowed his head over her, and, as his lips +met hers, he knew that the redeemed life he laid at her +feet was dearer to her than lives, more stainless, but less +nobly won.</p> + + + +<hr class="sep1" /> +<hr class="sep2" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p> +<h1>OUR WAGER.</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> +<hr class="sep3" /> +<hr class="sep4" /> + + +<h2><a name="OUR_WAGER" id="OUR_WAGER"></a>OUR WAGER;<br /> +<small>OR,</small><br /> +HOW THE MAJOR LOST AND WON.</h2> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2>I</h2> + +<h3>INTRODUCES MAJOR TELFER OF THE 50TH DASHAWAY +HUSSARS.</h3> + + +<p>The softest of lounging-chairs, an unexceptionable hubble-bubble +bought at Benares, the last <i>Bell's Life</i>, the +morning papers, chocolate milled to a T, and a breakfast +worthy of Francatelli,—what sensible man can ask more +to make him comfortable? All these was my chum, +Hamilton Telfer, Major (50th Dashaway Hussars), +enjoying, and yet he was in a frame of mind anything but +mild and genial.</p> + +<p>"The deuce take the whole sex!" said he, stroking his +moustache savagely. "They're at the bottom of all the +mischief going. The idea of my father at seventy-five, +with hair as white as that poodle's, making such a fool of +himself, when here am I, at six-and-thirty, unmarried; it's +abominable, it's disgusting. A girl of twenty, taking in +an old man of his age, for the sake of his money——"</p> + +<p>"But are you sure, Telfer," said I, "that the affair's +really on the tapis?"</p> + +<p>"Sure! Yes," said the Major, with immeasurable disgust. +"I never saw her till last night, but the governor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> +wrote no end of rhapsodies about her, and as I came +upon them he was taking leave of her, holding her hand +in his, and saying, 'I may write to you, may I not?' and +the young hypocrite lifted her eyes so bewitchingly, 'Oh +yes, I shall long so much to hear from you!' She colored +when she saw me—well she might! If she thinks she'll +make a fool of my father, and reign paramount at Torwood, +give me a mother-in-law sixteen years younger than +myself, and fill the house and cumber the estates with a +lot of wretched little brats, she'll find herself mistaken, +for I'll prevent it, if I live."</p> + +<p>"Don't be too sure of that," said I. "From what I +know of Violet Tressillian, she's not the sort of girl to +lure her quarry in vain."</p> + +<p>"Of course she'll try hard," answered Telfer. "She +comes of a race that always were poor and proud; she's +an orphan, and hasn't a sou, and to catch a man like my +father worth 15,000<i>l.</i> a year, with the surety of a good +dower and jointure house whenever he die, is one of the +best things that could chance to her; but I'll be shot if +she ever shall manage it."</p> + +<p>"<i>Nous verrons.</i> I bet you my roan filly Calceolaria +against your colt Jockeyclub that before Christmas is out +Violet Tressillian will be Violet Telfer."</p> + +<p>"Done!" cried the Major, stirring his chocolate fiercely. +"You'll lose, Vane; Calceolaria will come to my stables +as sure as this mouthpiece is made of amber. Whenever +this scheming little actress changes her name, it sha'n't be +to the same cognomen as mine. I say, it's getting +deuced warm—one must begin to go somewhere. What +do you say to going abroad till the 12th? I've got three +months' leave—that will give me one away, and two on +the moor. Will you go?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you like; town's emptying gradually, and it is +confoundedly hot. Where shall it be?—Naples—Paris——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Paris in July! Heaven forbid! Why, it would be +worse than London in November. By Jove! I'll tell +you where: let's go to Essellau."</p> + +<p>"And where may that be? Somewhere in the Arctic +regions, I hope, for I've spent half my worldly possessions +already in sherry and seltzer and iced punch, and if I go +where it's warmer still, I shall be utterly beggared."</p> + +<p>"Essellau is in Swabia, as you ought to know by this, +you Goth. It's Marc von Edenburgh's place, and a very +jolly place, too, I can tell you; the sport's first-rate there, +and the pig-sticking really splendid. He's just written +to ask me to go, and take any fellows I like, as he's got +some English people—some friends of his mother's. (A +drawback that—I wonder who they are.) Will you +come, Vane? I can promise you some fun, if only at the +trente-et-quarante tables in Pipesandbeersbad."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I'll come," said I. "I hope the English +won't be some horrid snobs he's picked up at some of the +balls, who'll be scraping acquaintance with us when we +come back."</p> + +<p>"No fear," said Telfer; "Marc's as English as you or +I, and knows the good breed when he sees them. He'd +keep as clear of the Smith, Brown, and Robinson style as +we should. It's settled, then, you'll come. All right! +I wish I could settle that confounded Violet, too, first. I +hope nothing will happen while I'm in Essellau. I don't +think it can. The Tressillian leaves town to-day with +the Carterets, and the governor must stick here till +parliament closes, and it's sure to be late this year."</p> + +<p>With which consolatory reflection the Major rose, +stretched himself, yawned, sighed, stroked his moustache, +fitted on his lavender gloves, and rang to order his tilbury +round.</p> + +<p>Telfer was an only son, and when he heard it reported +that his father intended to give him a <i>belle-mère</i> in a +young lady as attractive as she was poor, who, if she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> +caught him, would probably make a fool of the old +gentleman in the widest sense of the word, he naturally +swore very heartily, and anything but relished the idea. +Hamilton Telfer, senior, had certainly been a good deal +with Violet that season, and Violet, a girl poor as a rat +and beautiful as Semele, talked to him, and sang to him, +and rode with him more than she did with any of us; so +people talked and talked, and said the old member would +get caught, and the Major, when he heard it, waxed +fiercely wroth at the folly his parent had fallen into while +he'd been off the scene down at Dover with his troop, +but, like a wise man, said nothing, knowing, both by +experience and observation, that opposition in such +affairs is like a patent Vesta among hayricks. Telfer +was a particular chum of mine: we'd lounged about +town, and shot on the moors, and campaigned in India +together, and I don't believe there was a better soldier, a +cooler head, a quicker eye, or a steadier hand in the +service than he was. He was six-and-thirty now, and +had seen life pretty well, I can tell you, for there was not +a get-at-able corner of the globe that he hadn't looked at +through his eye-glass. Tall and muscular, with a stern, +handsome face, with the prospect of Torwood (where +there's some of the best shooting in England, I give you +my word), and 15,000<i>l.</i> a year, Telfer was a great card in +the matrimonial line, but hadn't let himself be played as +yet, for the petty trickery the women used in trying to +get him dealt to them disgusted him, and small wonder. +Men liked him cordially, women thought him cold and +sarcastic; and he was much more genial, I admit, at mess, +or at lansquenet, or in the smoking-room of the U. S., than +he was in boudoirs and ball-rooms, as the mere knowledge +that mammas and their darlings were trying to hook him +made him get on his stilts at once.</p> + +<p>"I don't feel easy in my mind about the governor," +said he, as we drove along to the South-Eastern Station a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> +few days after on our way to Essellau. "As I was bidding +him good-bye this morning, Soames brought him a letter +in a woman's hand. Heaven knows he may have a score +of fair correspondents for anything I care, but if I thought +it was the Tressillian, devil take her——"</p> + +<p>"And the devil won't have had a prettier prize since +Proserpine was stolen," said I.</p> + +<p>"No, confound it, I saw she was handsome enough," +swore the Major, disgusted; "and a pretty face always +did make a fool of my father, according to his own telling. +Well, thank God, I don't take that weakness after him. +I never went mad about any woman. You've just as +much control over love, if you like, as over a quiet shooting +pony; and if it don't suit you to gallop, you can rein +up and give over the sport. Any man who's anything +of a philosopher needn't fall in love unless he likes."</p> + +<p>"Were you never in love, then, old boy?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course I have been. I've made love to no end of +women in my time; but when one love was died out I +took another, as I take a cigar, and never wept over the +quenched ashes. You need never fall in love unless it's +convenient, and as to caring for a girl who don't care for +you, that's a contemptible weakness, and one I don't sympathize +with at all. Come along, or the train will be off."</p> + +<p>He went up to the carriages, opened a door, shut it +hastily, and turned away, with the frigid bow with which +Telfer, in common with every other Briton, can say, "Go +to the devil," as plainly as if he spoke.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" said I, "what's that eccentric move? +Did you see the Medusa in that carriage, or a baby?"</p> + +<p>"Something quite as bad," said he, curtly. "I saw +the Tressillian and her aunt. For Heaven's sake, let's +get away from them. I'd rather have a special train, if +it cost me a fortune, than travel with that girl, boxed up +for four hours in the same compartment with such a little +intrigante."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Calm your mind, old fellow; if she's aiming at your +governor she won't hit you. She can't be your wife and +your mother-in-law both," laughed Fred Walsham, a +good-natured little chap in the Carabiniers, a friend of +Von Edenburgh, who was coming with us.</p> + +<p>"I'll see her shot before she's either," said Telfer, +fiercely stroking his moustache.</p> + +<p>"Hush! the deuce! hold your tongue," said Walsham, +giving him a push. For past us, so close that the curling +plumes in her hat touched the Major's shoulder, floated +the "little intrigante" in question, who'd come out of her +carriage to see where a pug of hers was put. She'd +heard all we said, confound it, for her head was up, her +color bright, and she looked at Telfer proudly and disdainfully, +with her dark eyes flashing. Telfer returned +it to the full as haughtily, for he never shirked the consequences +of his own actions ('pon my life, they looked like +a great stag and a little greyhound challenging each +other), and Violet swept away across the platform.</p> + +<p>"You've made an enemy for life, Telfer," said Walsham, +as we whisked along.</p> + +<p>"So much the better, if I'm a rock ahead to warn her +off a marriage with the governor," rejoined the Major, +smoking, as he always did, under the officials' very noses. +"I hope I sha'n't come across her again. If the Tressillian +and I meet, we shall be about as amicable as a rat +and a beagle. Take a weed, Fred. I do it on principle +to resist unjust regulations. Why shouldn't we take a +pipe if we like? A man whose olfactory nerves are so +badly organized as to dislike Cavendish is too great a +muff to be considered."</p> + +<p>As ill luck would have it, when we crossed to Dover, +who should cross, too, but the Tressillian and her party—aunt, +cousins, maid, courier, and pug. Telfer wouldn't +see them, but got on the poop, as far away as ever he +could from the spot where Violet sat nursing her dog and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> +reading a novel, provokingly calm and comfortable to +the envious eyes of all the <i>malades</i> around her.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens!" said he, "was anything ever so provoking? +Just because that girl's my particular aversion, +she must haunt me like this. If she'd been anybody I +wanted to meet, I should never have caught a glimpse of +her. For mercy's sake, Vane, if you see a black hat and +white feather anywhere again, tell me, and we'll change +the route immediately."</p> + +<p>Change the route we did, for, going on board the +steamer at Düsseldorf, there, on the deck, stood the Tressillian. +Telfer turned sharp on his heel, and went back +as he came. "I'll be shot if I go down the Rhine with +her. Let's cut across into France." Cut across we did, +but we stopped at Brussels on our way; and when at last +we caught sight of the tops of the fir-trees around Essellau, +Telfer took a long whiff at his pipe with an air of contentment. +"I should say we're safe now. She'll hardly +come pig-sticking into the middle of Swabia."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>II.</h2> + +<h3>VIOLET TRESSILLIAN.</h3> + + +<p>Essellau was a very jolly place, with thick woods +round it, and the river Beersbad running in sight; and +his pretty sister, the Comtesse Virginie, his good wines, +and good sport, made Von Edenburgh's a pleasant +house to visit at. Marc himself, who is in the Austrian +service (he was winged at Montebello the other day by +a rascally Zouave, but he paid him off for it, as I hope +his countrymen will eventually pay off all the Bonapartists +for their <i>galimatias</i>)—Marc himself was a jolly +fellow, a good host, a keen shot, and a capital écarté +player, and made us enjoy ourselves at Essellau as he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> +done before, hunting and shooting with Telfer down at +Torwood.</p> + +<p>"I've some countrywomen of yours here, Telfer," said +Marc, after we'd talked over his English loves, given +him tiding of duchesses and danseuses, and messages +from no end of pretty women that he'd flirted with the +Christmas before. "They're some friends of my mother's, +and when they were at Baden-Baden last year, Virginie +struck up a desperate young lady attachment with one of +them——"</p> + +<p>"Are they good-looking?—because, if they are, they +may be drysalters' daughters, and I shan't care," interrupted +Fred.</p> + +<p>Telfer stroked his moustache with a contemptuous +smile—<i>he</i> wouldn't have looked at a drysalter's daughter +if she'd had all the beauty of Amphitrite.</p> + +<p>"Come and see," said Marc. "Virginie will think +you're neglecting her atrociously."</p> + +<p>Horribly bored to be going to meet some Englishwomen +who might turn out to be Smiths or Joneses, and +would, to a dead certainty, spoil all his pleasure in pig-sticking, +shooting, and écarté, by flirting with him whether +he would or no, the Major strode along corridors and +galleries after Von Edenburgh. When at length we +reached the salon where Virginie and her mother and +friends were, Telfer lifted his eyes from the ground as the +door opened, started as if he'd been shot, and stepped +back a pace or two, with an audible, "If that isn't the +very devil!"</p> + +<p>There, in a low chair, sat the Tressillian, graceful as a +Sphakiote girl, with a toilet as perfect as her profile, dark +hair like waves of silk, and dark eyes full of liquid +light, that, when they looked irresistible, could do anything +with any man that they liked. Violet certainly +looked as unlike that unlucky ogre and scapegoat, the +devil, as a young lady ever could. But worse than a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> +score of demons was she in poor Telfer's eyes: to have +come out to Essellau only to be shut up in a country-house +for a whole month with his pet aversion!—certainly +it <i>was</i> a hard case, and the fierce lightning glance he +flashed on her was pardonable under the circumstances. +But nobody's more impassive than the Major: I've seen +him charge down into the Sikhs with just the same calm, +quiet expression as he'd wear smoking and reading a +novel at home; so he soon rallied, bowed to the Tressillian, +who gave him an inclination as cold as the North Pole, +shook hands with her aunt and cousins (three women I +hate: the mamma's the most dexterous of manœuvrers, +and the girls the arrantest of flirts), and then sat down to +a little quiet chat with Virginie von Edenburgh, who's +pretty, intelligent, and unaffected, though she's a belle at +the Viennese court. Telfer was pleasant with the little +comtesse; he'd known her from childhood, and she was +engaged to the colonel of Marc's troop, so that Telfer felt +quite sure she'd no designs upon him, and talked to her +<i>sans géne</i>, though to have wholly abstained from bitterness +and satire would have been an impossibility to him, +with the obnoxious Tressillian seated within sight. Once +he fixed her with his calm gray eyes, she met them with +a proud flashing glance; Telfer gave back the defiance, +and <i>guerre à outrance</i> was declared between them. It +was plain to see that they hated one another by instinct, +and I began to think Calceolaria wasn't so safe in my +stables after all, for if the Major set his face against anything, +his father, who pretty well worshipped him, would +never venture to do it in opposition; he'd as soon think +of leaving Torwood to the country, to be turned into an +infirmary or a museum.</p> + +<p>That whole day Telfer was agreeable to the Von Edenburgh, +distantly courteous to the Carterets, and utterly +oblivious of the very existence of the Tressillian. When<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> +we were smoking together, after dinner, he began to +unburden himself of his mighty wrath.</p> + +<p>"Where the deuce did you pick up that girl, Marc?" +asked he, as we stood looking at the sun setting over the +woods of Essellau, and crimsoning the western clouds.</p> + +<p>"What girl?" asked Marc.</p> + +<p>"That confounded Tressillian," answered the Major, +gloomily.</p> + +<p>"I told you the Carterets were friends of my mother's, +and last year, when the Tressillian came with them to +Baden, Virginie met her, and they were struck with a +great and sudden love for one another, after the insane +custom of women. But why on earth, Telfer, do you call +her such names? I think her divine; her eyes are something——"</p> + +<p>"I wish her eyes had been at the devil before she'd +bewitched my poor father with them," said Telfer, pulling +a rose to pieces fiercely. "I give you my word, Marc, +that if I didn't like you so well, I'd go straight off home +to-morrow. Here have I been turning out of my route +twenty times, on purpose to avoid her, and then she must +turn up at the very place I thought I was sure to be safe +from her. It's enough to make a man swear, I should +say, and not over-mildly either."</p> + +<p>"But what's she done?" cried Von Edenburgh, thinking, +I dare say, that Telfer had gone clean mad. "Refused +you—jilted you—what is it?"</p> + +<p>"Refused me! I should like to see myself giving her +the chance," said the Major, with intense scorn. "No +but she's done what I'd never forgive—tried to cozen +the poor old governor into marrying her. She's no money, +you know, and no home of her own; but, for all that, for +a girl of twenty to try and hook an old man of seventy-five, +to cheat him into the idea that he's made a conquest, +and chisel him into the belief that she's in love with him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>—faugh! +the very idea disgusts one. What sort of a +wife would a woman make who could act such a lie?"</p> + +<p>As he spoke, a form swept past him, and a beautiful +face full of scorn and passion gleamed on him through +the <i>demi-lumière</i>.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! you've done it now, Telfer," said Walsham. +"She was behind us, I bet you, gathering those roses; +her hands are full of them, and she took that means of +showing us she was within earshot. You <i>have</i> set your +foot in it nicely, certainly."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ce m'est bien égal</i>," said Telfer, haughtily. "If she +hear what I say of her, so much the better. It's the +truth, that a young girl who'd sell herself for money, as +soon as she's got what she wanted will desert the man +who's given it to her; and I like my father too well to +stand by and see him made a fool of. The Tressillian +and I are open foes now—we'll see which wins."</p> + +<p>"And a very fair foe you have, too," thought I, as I +looked at Violet that night as she stood in the window, a +wreath of lilies on her splendid hair, and her impassioned +eyes lighting into joyous laughter as she talked nonsense +with Von Edenburgh.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she first-rate style, in spite of your prejudice?" +I said to Telfer, who'd just finished a game at écarté with +De Tintiniac, one of the best players in Europe. If the +Major has any weakness, écarté is one of them. He just +glanced across with a sarcastic smile.</p> + +<p>"Well got up, of course; so are all actresses—on the +stage."</p> + +<p>Then he dropped his glass and went back to his cards, +and seemed to notice the splendid Tressillian not one +whit more than he did her pup.</p> + +<p>Whether his discourteous speeches had piqued Violet +into showing off her best paces, or whether it's a natural +weakness of her sex to shine in all times and places that +they can, certain it was that I never saw the Tressillian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> +more brilliant and bewitching than she was that night. +Waltzing with Von Edenburgh, singing with me, talking +fun with Fred, or merely lying back in her chair, playing +lazily with her bouquet, she was eminently dangerous +in whatever she did, and there wasn't a man in the castle +who didn't gather round her, except her sworn foe the +Major. Even De Tintiniac, that old campaigner at the +green tables, who has long ago given over any mistress +save hazard, glanced once or twice at the superb eyes +beaming with the <i>droit de conquête</i>, but Telfer never +looked up from his cards.</p> + +<p>Telfer and she parted with the chilliest of "good nights," +and met again in the morning with the most frigid of +"good mornings," and to that simple exchange of words +was their colloquy limited for an entire fortnight. Unless +I'd been witness of it, I wouldn't have credited that any +two people could live for that space of time in the same +country-house and keep so distant. Nobody noticed it, +for there were no end of guests at Essellau, and the Tressillian +had so many liege subjects ready to her slightest +bidding, that the Major's <i>lèse-majesté</i> wasn't of such +consequence. But when day after day came, and he +spent them all boar-hunting, shooting, fishing, or playing +rouge-et-noir and roulette at the gaming-tables in Pipesandbeersbad, +and when he was in the drawing-rooms at +Essellau she saw him amusing and agreeable, and unbending +to every one but herself, I don't know anything of +woman's nature if I didn't see Violet's delicate cheek +flush, and her eyes flash, whenever she caught the Major's +cool, contemptuous, depreciating glance, much harder to +her sex to bear than spoken ridicule or open war. Occasionally +he cast a sarcasm, quick, sharp, and relentless +as a Minié ball, at her, which she fired back with such +rifle-powder as she had in her flask; but the return shot +fell as harmlessly as it might have done on Achilles's +breast.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A man is very silly to marry," he was saying one +evening to Marc, "since, as Emerson says, from the beginning +of the world such as are in the institution want to +get out, and such as are out want to get in."</p> + +<p>Violet, sitting near at the piano, turned half round. +"If all others are of my opinion, Major Telfer, you will +never be tempted, for no one will be willing to enter it +with you."</p> + +<p>The shot fell short. Telfer neither smiled nor looked +annoyed, but answered, tranquilly,—</p> + +<p>"Possibly; but my time is to come. When I own +Torwood, ladies will be as kind to me as they are now to +my father; for it is wonderful what a charm to renew +youth, reform rakes, buy love, and make the Beast the +Beauty, is '<i>un peu de poudre d'or</i>,' in the eyes of the <i>beau +sexe</i>."</p> + +<p>The Tressillian flushed scarlet, but soon recovered +herself.</p> + +<p>"I have heard," she said, pulling her bouquet to pieces +with impatience, "that when people look through smoked +glass the very sun looks dusky, and so I suppose, through +your own moral perceptions, you view those of others. +You know what De la Fayette wrote to Madame de +Sablé: '<i>Quelle corruption il faut avoir dans l'esprit pour +être capable d'imaginer tout cela!</i>'"</p> + +<p>"It does not follow," answered Telfer, impassively. +"De la Fayette was quite wrong. Suard was nearer the +truth when he said that Rochefoucauld, '<i>a peint les +hommes comme il les à vus. Il n'appartenait qu'à un homme +d'une réputation bien pure et bien distinguée d'oser flétrir +ainsi le principe de toutes les actions humaines.</i>'"</p> + +<p>"And Major Telfer is so unassailable himself that he +can mount his pedestal and censure all weaker mortals," +said Violet, sarcastically. "Your judgments are, perhaps, +not always as infallible as the gods'."</p> + +<p>"You are gone very wide of the original subject, Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> +Tressillian," answered Telfer, coldly. "I was merely +speaking of that common social fraud and falsehood, a +<i>mariage de convenance</i>, which, as I shall never sin in that +manner myself, I am at liberty to censure with the scorn +I feel for it."</p> + +<p>He looked hard at her as he spoke. The Tressillian's +eyes answered the stare as haughtily.</p> + +<p>"Some may not be all <i>mariages de convenance</i> that you +choose to call such. It does not necessarily follow, +because a girl marries a rich man, that she marries him +for his money. There <i>may</i> be love in the case, but the +world never gives her the grace of the doubt."</p> + +<p>"What hardy hypocrisy," thought Telfer. "She'd +actually try to persuade me to my face that she was in +love with the poor old governor and his gout!"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," he said, with his most cynical smile. +"In attributing disinterested affection to ladies, I think +'<i>quelque disposition qu'ait le monde à mal juger, il fait +plus souvent grace au faux mérite qu'il ne fait injustice au +véritable</i>.'"</p> + +<p>The Tressillian's soft lips curved angrily; she turned +away, and began to sing again, at Walsham's entreaty. +Telfer got up and lounged over to Virginie, with whom +he laughed, talked, waltzed, and played chess for the rest +of the evening.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>III.</h2> + +<h3>FROM WHICH IT WOULD APPEAR, THAT IT IS SOMETIMES WELL TO BEGIN WITH A +LITTLE AVERSION.</h3> + + +<p>After this split, Telfer and the Tressillian were rather further off +each other than before; and whenever riding, and driving, at dinner, or +in lionizing, they came by chance together, he avoided her silently as +much as ever he could, without making a parade of it. Violet could see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> +very well how cordially he hated her, and, woman-like, I dare say mine, +and Edenburgh's, and Walsham's, and all her devoted friends' admiration +was valueless, as long as her vowed enemy treated her with such careless +contempt.</p> + +<p>One morning the two foes met by chance. Telfer and I, after a late night +over at Pipesandbeersbad, with lansquenet, cheroots, and cognac, had +betaken ourselves out to whip the Beersbad, whose fish, for all their +boiling by the hot springs, are first-rate, I can assure you. Telfer +tells you he likes fishing, but I never see that he does much more than +lie full length under the shadiest tree he can find, with his cap over +his eyes and his cigar in his mouth, doing the <i>dolce</i> lazily enough. A +three-pound trout had no power to rouse him; and he's lost a salmon +before now in the Tweed because it bored him to play it! Shade of old +Izaak! is <i>that</i> liking fishing? But few things ever did excite him, +except it was a charge, or a Kaffir scrimmage; and then he looked more +like a concentrated tempest than anything else, and woe to the turban +that his sabre came down upon.</p> + +<p>That part of the stream we'd tried first had been whipped before us, or +the fish wouldn't bite; and I, who haven't as much patience as I might +have, went up higher to try my luck. Telfer declined to come; he was +comfortable, he said, and out of the sun; he preferred "Indiana" and his +cheroot to catching all the fish in the Beersbad, so I bid him good-bye, +and left him smoking and reading at his leisure under the linden-trees. +I went further on than I had meant, up round a bend of the river, and +was too absorbed in filling my basket to notice a storm coming up from +the west, till I began to find myself getting wet to the skin, and the +lightning flying up and down the hills round Essellau. I looked for the +Major as I passed the lime-trees, but he wasn't there, and I made the +best of my way back to the castle, supposing he'd got there before me; +but I was mistaken.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've seen nothing of him," said Marc. "He's stalking about the woods, I +dare say, admiring the lightning. That's more than the poor Tressillian +does, I bet. She went out by herself, I believe, just before the storm, +to get a water-lily she wanted to paint, and hasn't appeared since. By +Jove! if Telfer should have to play knight-errant to his 'pet aversion,' +what fun it would be."</p> + +<p>Marc had his fun, for an hour afterwards, when the storm had blown over, +up the terrace steps came Violet and the Major. They weren't talking to +each other, but they were actually walking together; and the courtesy +with which he put a dripping rose-branch out of her path with his stick, +was something quite new.</p> + +<p>It seems that Telfer, disliking disagreeable sensations, and classing +getting wet among such, had arisen when the thunder began to growl, and +slowly wended his way homewards. But before he was halfway to Essellau +the rain began to drip off his moustache, and seeing a little marble +temple (the Parthenon turned into a summer-house!) close by, he thought +he might as well go in and have another weed till it grew finer. Go in +he did; and he'd just smoked half a cigar, and read the last chapter of +"Indiana," when he looked up, and saw the Tressillian's pug, looking a +bedraggled and miserable object, at his feet, and the Tressillian +herself standing within a few yards of him. If Telfer had abstained from +a few fierce mental oaths, he would have been of a much more pacific +nature than he ever pretended to be; and I don't doubt that he looked +hauteur concentrated as he rose at his enemy's entrance. Violet made a +movement of retreat, but then thought better of it. It would have seemed +too much like flying from the foe. So with a careless bow she sank on +one of the seats, took off her hat, shook the rain-drops off her hair, +and busied herself in sedulous attentions to the pug. The Major thought +it incumbent on him to speak a few sentences about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> thunder that was +cracking over their heads; Violet answered him as briefly; and Telfer +putting down his cigar with a sigh, sat watching the storm in silence, +not troubling himself to talk any more.</p> + +<p>As she bent down to pat the pug she caught his eyes on her with a cold, +critical glance. He was thinking how pure her profile was and how +exquisite her eyes, and—of how cordially he should hate her if his +father married her. Her color rose, but she met his look steadily, which +is a difficult thing to do if you've anything to conceal, for the +Major's eyes are very keen and clear. Her lips curved with a smile half +amused, half disdainful. "What a pity, Major Telfer," she said, with a +silvery laugh, "that you should be condemned to imprisonment with one +who is unfortunately such a <i>bête noire</i> to you as I am! I assure you, I +feel for you; if I were not coward enough to be a little afraid of that +lightning, I would really go away to relieve you from your sufferings. I +should feel quite honored by the distinction of your hatred if I didn't +know, you, on principle, dislike every woman living. Is your judgment +always infallible?"</p> + +<p>Beyond a little surprise in his eyes, Telfer's features were as +impassive as ever. "Far from it," he answered, quietly "I merely judge +people by their actions."</p> + +<p>The Tressillian's luminous eyes flashed proudly. "An unsafe guide, Major +Telfer; you cannot judge of actions until you know their motives. I know +perfectly well why you dislike and avoid me: you listened to a foolish +report, and you heard me giving your father permission to write to me. +Those are your grounds, are they not?"</p> + +<p>Telfer, for once in his life, <i>was</i> astonished, but he looked at her +fixedly. "And were they not just ones?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Violet, vehemently,—"no, they were most rankly unjust; and +it is hard, indeed, if a girl, who has no friends or advisers that she +can trust, may not accept the kindness and ask the counsels of a man +fifty-five years<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> older than herself without his being given to her as a +lover, and the world's whispering that she is trying to entrap him. You +pique yourself on your clear-sightedness, Major Telfer, but for once +your judgment failed you when you attributed such mean and mercenary +motives to me, and supposed, because, as you so generously stated, I had +'no money and no home,' I must necessarily have no heart or conscience, +but be ready to give myself at any moment to the highest bidder, and +take advantage of the kindness of your noble-minded, generous-hearted +father to trick him into marriage." She stopped, fairly out of breath +with excitement. Telfer was going to speak, but she silenced him with a +haughty gesture. "No; now we are started on the subject, hear me to the +end. You have done me gross injustice—an offence the Tressillians never +forgive—but, for my own sake, I wish to show you how mistaken you were +in your hasty condemnation. At the beginning of the season I was +introduced to your father. He knew my mother well in her girlhood, and +he said I reminded him of her. He was very kind to me, and I, who have +no real friend on earth, of course was grateful to him, for I was +thankful to have any one on whom I could rely. You know, probably as +well as I do, that there is little love lost between the Carterets and +myself, though, by my father's will, I must stay with them till I am of +age. I have one brother, a boy of eighteen; he is with his regiment +serving out in India, and the climate is killing him by inches, though +he is too brave to try and get sick leave. Your father has been doing +all he can to have him exchanged; the letters I have had from him have +been to tell me of his success, and to say that Arthur is gazetted to +the Buffs, and coming home overland. There is the head and front of my +offending, Major Telfer; a very simple explanation, is it not? Perhaps +another time you will be more cautious in your censure."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p> + +<p>A faint flush came over the Major's bronzed cheek; he looked out of the +portico, and was silent for a minute. The knowledge that he has wronged +another is a keen pang to a proud man of an honor almost fastidious in +his punctilio of right. He swung quickly round, and held out his hand to +her.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon; I have misjudged you, and I am thoroughly ashamed of +myself for it," he said, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>When the Major does come down from his hauteur, and let some of his +winning cordial nature come out, no woman living, unless she were some +animated Medusa, could find it in her heart to say him nay. His frank +self-condemnation touched Violet, despite herself, and, without +thinking, she laid her small fingers in his proffered hand. Then the +Tressillian pride flashed up again; she drew it hastily away, and walked +out into the air.</p> + +<p>"Pray do not distress yourself," she said, with an effort (not +successful) to seem perfectly calm and nonchalant. "It is not of the +slightest consequence; we understand each other's sentiments now, and +shall in future be courteous in our hate like two of the French +<i>noblesse</i>, complimenting one another before they draw their swords to +slay or to be slain. It has cleared now, so I will leave you to the +solitude I disturbed. Come, Floss." And calling the pug after her, +Violet very gracefully swept down the steps, but with a stride the Major +was at her side.</p> + +<p>"Nay, Miss Tressillian," he said, gently, "it is true I've given you +cause to think me as rude as Orson or Caliban, but I am not quite such a +bear as to let you walk home through these woods alone."</p> + +<p>Violet made an impatient movement. "Pray don't trouble yourself. We are +close to the castle, and—pardon me, but truth-telling seems the order +for the day—I much prefer you in your open enmity to your simulated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> +courtesy. We have been rude to each other for three weeks; in another +one you will be gone, so it is scarcely worth while to begin politeness +now."</p> + +<p>"As you please," said Telfer, coldly.</p> + +<p>He'd made great advances and concessions for him, and was far too +English when repulsed to go on making any more. But he was +astonished—extremely so—for he'd been courted and sought since he was +in jackets, and couldn't make out a young girl like the Tressillian +treating him so lightly. He walked along beside her in profound silence, +but though neither of them spoke a word, he didn't leave her side till +she was safe on the terrace at Essellau. The Major was very grave that +night at dinner, and occasionally he looked at Violet with a strange, +inquiring glance, as the young lady, in the most brilliant of spirits, +fired away French repartees with Von Edenburgh and De Tintiniac, her +face absolutely <i>rayonnant</i> in the gleam of the wax lights. I thought +the spirits were a little too high to be real. Late at night, as he and +I and Marc were smoking on the terrace, before turning in, Telfer +constrained himself to tell us of the scene in the summer-house. He'd +abused her to us. Common honor, he said, obliged him to tell us the +truth about her.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," said he, slowly, between the whiffs of his meerschaum. "If +there is one thing I hate, it is injustice. I was never guilty of +misjudging anybody before in my life, that I know of; and, I give you my +word, I experienced a new sensation—I absolutely felt humbled before +that girl's great, flashing, truthful eyes, to think that I'd been +listening to report and judging from prejudice like any silly, gossiping +woman."</p> + +<p>"It seems to have made a great impression on you, Telfer," laughed Marc. +"Has your detestation of Violet changed to something as warm, but more +gentle? Shall we have to say the love wherewith he loves her is greater +than the hate wherewith he hated her?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not exactly," answered the Major, calmly, with a supercilious twist of +his moustaches. "But I like pluck wherever I see it, and she's a true +Tressillian."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IV.</h2> + +<h3>IN WHICH THE MAJOR PROVOKES A QUARREL IN BEHALF OF THE FAIR TRESSILLIAN.</h3> + + +<p>"Well, Telfer," said I, two mornings after, "if you want to be at the +moor by the 12th, we must start soon; this is the 6th. It will be sharp +work to get there as it is."</p> + +<p>"What, do you think of not going at all?" said Telfer, laying down the +<i>Revue des deux Mondes</i> with a yawn. "We are very well here. Marc +bothers me tremendously to stay on another month, and the shooting's as +good as we shall get at Glenattock. What do you say, Vane?"</p> + +<p>"Just as you like," I answered. "The pigs are as good as the grouse, for +anything I know. They put me in mind of getting my first spear at +Burampootra. I only thought you wanted to be off out of sight of the +Tressillian."</p> + +<p>He laughed slightly. "Oh! the young lady's no particular eyesore to me +now I don't regard her in the light of a <i>belle-mère</i>. Well, shall we +stop here, then?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Comme vous voulez.</i> I don't care."</p> + +<p>"No philosopher ever moves when he's comfortable," said the Major, +laughing. "I'll write and tell Montague he can shoot over Glenattock if +he likes. I dare say he can find some men who'll keep him company and +fill the box. I say, old fellow, I've won Calceolaria, but I sha'n't +have her, because I consider the bet drawn. Our wager was laid on the +supposition that the Tressillian wished to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> marry the governor, but as +she never has had the desire, I've neither lost nor won."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll wait and see," said I. "Christmas isn't come yet. Here +comes Violet. She looks well, don't she? Confess now, prejudice apart, +that you admire her, <i>nolens volens</i>."</p> + +<p>Telfer looked at her steadily as she came into the billiard-room in her +hat and habit, as she'd been riding with Lucy Carteret, Marc, and De +Tintiniac. "Yes," he said, slowly, under his breath, "she is very good +style, I admit."</p> + +<p>Lucy Carteret challenged Telfer to a game; she has a tall, <i>svelte</i> +figure, and knows she looks well at billiards. He played lazily, and let +her win easily enough, paying as little attention to the <i>agaceries</i> and +glances she lavished upon him as if he'd been an automaton. When they'd +played it out, he went up to the Tressillian, who was talking to Marc in +the window, and, to my supreme astonishment, asked her to have a game.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, no," answered Violet, coldly; "it is too warm for +billiards."</p> + +<p>This was certainly the first time the Major had ever been refused in any +of his overtures to her sex, and I believe it surprised him exceedingly. +He bent his head, and soon after he went for a walk in the rosery with +Lucy Carteret, whom he hates. We always hate those manœuvring, +<i>maniéré</i> girls, who are everlastingly flinging bait after us, whether +or no we want to nibble; and just in proportion as they fixatrice, and +crinoline, and cosmetique to hook us, will leave us to die in the sun +when they've once trapped us into the basket.</p> + +<p>That night, when Telfer sat down to écarté, Violet was singing in +another room, out of which her voice came distinctly to us. I noticed he +didn't play quite as well as usual. I don't suppose he could be +listening, though,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> for he doesn't care for music, and still less for +the Tressillian.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle," said De Tintiniac, going up to her afterwards, "you can +boast of greater conquests than Orpheus. He only charmed rocks, but you +have distracted the two most inveterate <i>joueurs</i> in Europe."</p> + +<p>Telfer looked annoyed. Violet laughed. "Pardon me if I doubt your +compliment. If you were so kind as to listen to me, I have not enough +vanity to think that your opponent would yield to what <i>he</i> would think +such immeasurable weakness."</p> + +<p>"You are not magnanimous, Miss Tressillian," said Telfer, in a low tone, +leaning down over the piano. "You are ceaselessly reminding me of a +hasty prejudice, unjustly formed, of which I have told you I am heartily +ashamed."</p> + +<p>"A hasty prejudice!" repeated Violet. "I beg your pardon, Major Telfer; +I think ours is a very strong and lasting enmity, as mutual as it is +well founded. Don't contradict me; you know you could have shot me with +as little remorse as a partridge."</p> + +<p>"But can you never forget," continued Telfer, impatiently, "that my +enmity, as you please to term it, was grafted on erroneous opinions and +false reports, and will you never credit that when I see myself in the +wrong, I am too just to others to continue in it?"</p> + +<p>The Tressillian laughed—a mischievous, <i>provoquant</i> laugh. "No, I +believe neither in sudden conversions nor sudden friendships. Pray do +not trouble yourself to be 'just' to me; you see I did not droop and die +under the shadow of your wrath."</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Telfer, with a sardonic twist of his moustaches, "one +would not accuse you of too much softness, Miss Tressillian."</p> + +<p>She colored, and the pride of her family flashed out of her eyes. The +Tressillians are all deucedly proud, and would die sooner than yield an +inch. "If by softness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> you mean weakness, you are right," she said, +haughtily. "As I have told you, we never forgive injustice."</p> + +<p>Telfer frowned. If there was one thing he hated more than another, it +was a woman who had anything hard about her. He smiled his chilliest +smile. "Those are harsh words from a lady's lips—not so becoming to +them as something gentler. You remind me, Miss Tressillian, of a young +panther I once had, beautiful to look at, but eminently dangerous to +approach, much less to caress. Everybody admired my panther, but no one +dared to choose it for a pet."</p> + +<p>With this uncourteous allegory the Major turned away, leaving Violet to +make it out as best she might. It was good fun to watch the +Tressillian's face: I only, standing near, had caught what he said, for +he had spoken very low. First she looked haughty and annoyed, then a +little troubled and perplexed: she sat quiet a minute, playing +thoughtfully with her bracelets; then shook her head with a movement of +defiance, and began to sing a Venetian barcarole with more <i>élan</i> and +spirit than ever.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! Telfer," said I, as we sat in the smoking-room that night, +"your would-have-been mother-in-law has plenty of pluck. She'd have kept +you in good training, and made a better boy of you; it's quite a loss to +your morals that your father didn't marry her."</p> + +<p>Telfer didn't look best pleased. He stretched himself full length on one +of the divans, and answered not.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't be surprised if, with all her beauty, she hangs on hand," +said Walsham, "for she hasn't a rap, you know; her governor gamed it all +away, and she's certainly a bit of a flirt."</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," said Telfer, shortly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by George! don't you? but I do," cried Fred. "Why, she takes a turn +at us all, from old De Tintiniac, with his padded figure and coulisses +compliments, to Marc, young and beautiful, as the novels say,—but we'll +spare<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> his blushes—from Vane, there, with his long rent-roll, to poor +me, who she knows goes on tick for my weeds and gloves. She flirts with +us all, one after the other, except you, whom she don't dare to touch. +Tell me where you get your <i>noli me tangere</i> armor, Telfer, and I'll +adopt it to-morrow, for the girls make such desperate love to me I know +some of them will propose before long."</p> + +<p>Telfer smoked vigorously during Fred's peroration, and his brow +darkened. "I do not consider Miss Tressillian a flirt," he said, slowly. +"She's too careless in showing you her weak points to be trying to trap +you. What <i>I</i> call a coquette is a woman who is all things to all men, +whose every languishing glance is a bait, and whose every thought is a +conquest."</p> + +<p>"And pray how can you tell but what the Tressillian's naturalness and +carelessness may be only a superior bit of acting? The highest art, you +know, is to imitate nature so close that you can't tell which is which," +laughed Walsham.</p> + +<p>Telfer didn't seem to relish the suggestion, but went on smoking +fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Not that I want to speak against the girl," Fred went on; "she's very +amusing, and well enough, I dare say, if she weren't so devilish proud."</p> + +<p>"You seem rather inconsistent," said Telfer, impatiently. "First, you +accuse her of being too free, and then blame her for being too +reserved."</p> + +<p>Walsham laughed.</p> + +<p>"If I'm inconsistent, you're a perfect weathercock. A month ago you were +calling Violet every name you could think of, and now you snap us all +off short if we say a word against her."</p> + +<p>Telfer looked haughty enough to extinguish Fred upon the spot; Fred +being a small, lively little chap, with not the slightest dignity about +him.</p> + +<p>"I know little or nothing of Miss Tressillian, but as I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> was the first +to prejudice you all against her, it is only common honor to take her +part when I think her unjustly attacked."</p> + +<p>Fred gave me a wink of intense significance, but remonstrated no +further, for Telfer had something of the dark look upon him that our men +knew so well when he led them down to the slaughter at Alma and +Balaklava.</p> + +<p>"I tell you," continued the Major, after a little silence, "that I am +disgusted with myself for having listened to whispers and reports, and +believed in them just because they suited the bias of my prejudice. It +didn't matter to me whom my father married, as far as money went, for +beyond 10,000<i>l.</i> or so, it must all come in the entail; but I couldn't +endure the idea of his being chiselled by some Becky Sharp or Blanche +Armory, and I made up my mind that the Tressillian was of that genre. +I've changed my opinion now. I don't think she either is an actress or +an intrigante; and I should be a coward indeed if I hesitated to say so, +out of common justice to a young girl who has no one to defend her."</p> + +<p>"Bravo, my boy!" said Walsham; "I thought the Tressillian's bright eyes +wouldn't let you hate her long. You're quite right, though 'pon my life +it is really horrid how women contrive to damage each other. If there's +an unlucky girl who has made the best match of the season—she might be +an angel from heaven—her bosom-friends would manage gently to spread +abroad the interesting facts that she's a 'dreadful flirt,' 'has a snub +nose,' is an awful temper, had a ballet-girl for her mamma, or something +detrimental. An attractive woman is the target for all her sex to shoot +their sneers at, and if the poor thing isn't so riddled with arrows that +she's no beauty left, it isn't her sisters' fault."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said Telfer. "My gauge of a woman's fascinations is the +amount of hatred all the others bear her. It often amuses me to hear the +tone that ladies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> take in talking of some girl whom we admire. She's a +charming creature—a darling—their particular friend but ... there's +always a 'but' to neutralize the praise, and with their honeyed hatred +they contrive to damn the luckless object irretrievably. If another +man's a good shot, or whip, or billiard-player, we're not spiteful to +him for it. We think him a good fellow, and like him the better; but the +dear <i>beau sexe</i> cannot bear a rival, and never rest while one of their +acquaintance has diamonds a carat larger, dresses a trifle more costly, +has finer horses, or more conquests. The only style of friend I ever +heard women speak well of is some plain and timorous individual, +good-natured to foolery, and weak as water, who never comes in their +orbit, and whom we never look at; and then what a darling she is, and +how eloquently they will laud her to the skies, despising her miserably +all the while for not having been born pretty!"</p> + +<p>"True enough," Marc began. "Why do the Carterets treat the Tressillian +so disagreeably?—only because, though without their fortune, she makes +ten times their coups; and get themselves up how they may, they know +none of us care to waltz with them if she's in the room. Let's drink her +health in Marcobrunnen—she's magnificent eyes."</p> + +<p>"And first-rate style," said I.</p> + +<p>"And a deuced pretty foot," cried Fred.</p> + +<p>"<i>Et une taille superbe</i>," added de Tintiniac, just come in. "<i>En +vérité, elle est chouette cette Violette Anglaise.</i>"</p> + +<p>So we chanted the Tressillian's praises. Telfer drank the toast in +silence—<i>I</i> thought with a frown on his brow at the freedom with which +we discussed his fair foe.</p> + +<p>Little Countess Virginie's wedding was to come off in another month, and +Marc begged us so hard to stay on till then, that, Telfer seeming very +willing, I consented, though it would be the first September I had ever +spent out of the English open since I was old enough to know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> partridges +from pheasants. The Tressillian being Virginie's pet friend, after young +ladies' custom of contracting eternal alliances (which ordinarily +terminate in a quarrel about the shade of a ponceau ribbon, or a mauve +flower, or a cornet's eyes, some three months after the signing and +sealing thereof), was of course to be one of the <i>filles d'honneur</i>. So, +as I said to Telfer, he'd have time for a few more battles before the +two enemies parted to meet again—nobody could tell when.</p> + +<p>I began to think that the Major had really been wounded, and that his +opponent's bright eyes wouldn't let him come out of the fight wholly +scathless, as I saw him leaning against the wall at a ball in the +Redoute at Pipesandbeersbad, watching Violet with great earnestness as +she whirled round in a <i>deux temps</i>, bewitching as was her wont all the +frequenters of the Bad. Rich English dyspeptics, poverty-stricken +princes, Austrian diplomats, come to cure their hypochondria; French +<i>décorés</i>, to try their new cabals and martingales; British snobs, to +indulge the luxury of grumbling,—all of them found some strange +attraction in the "Violette Anglaise."</p> + +<p>Violet sank on a seat after her valse. Telfer quietly displaced a young +dragoon from Lucca, and sat down by her.</p> + +<p>"I am going to stay on another month, Miss Tressillian; are you not +sorry to hear it?" he said, with a smile, but I thought a little anxiety +in his eyes.</p> + +<p>The color flushed over her face, and she answered, with a laugh, not +quite a real one: "Of course I am very sorry. I would go away myself to +let you enjoy your last week in peace if I were not engaged to Virginie. +Cannot you get me leave of absence from her? I know you would throw your +whole heart into the petition."</p> + +<p>Telfer curled his moustaches impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Truth has come out of her well at last," he said, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> a dash of +bitterness, "and has disguised herself in Miss Tressillian's tulle +illusion."</p> + +<p>Violet colored brighter still.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, quickly, "was it not your decision that we should +never waste courtesy on one another? Was not your own desire <i>guerre à +outrance</i>?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered Telfer, his brow darkening; "that I certainly must deny. +I did you injustice, and I offered you an apology. No man could do more +than acknowledge he was in the wrong. I offered you the palm-branch +once; you were pleased to refuse it. I am not a man, Miss Tressillian, +to run the chance of another repulse. My friendship is not so cheap that +I shall intrude it where it is undesired." He spoke with a laugh, but +his eyes had a grave anger in them that Violet didn't quite relish.</p> + +<p>She looked a little bit frightened up at him. The proud, brilliant +Tressillian was as pale and quiet as a little child after a good +scolding. But she soon rallied, and flashed up haughtier than ever.</p> + +<p>"Major Telfer, you make one great error—one very common to your sex. +You drop us one day, and take us up the next, and then think that we +must be grateful to you for the supreme honor you do us. You are cold to +us, absolutely rude, as long as it pleases your lordly will, and then, +at the first word of courtesy and kindness, you expect us to rise and +make you a <i>révérence</i> in the utmost humiliation and thanksgiving. You +men"—and Violet began destroying her bouquet with immense +energy—"treat us exactly as a cat will treat a mouse. You yourself, for +instance, in a moment's hasty judgment, construed all my actions by the +light of your own unjust suspicions, and believing everything, no matter +how unfounded, spoke against me to all your acquaintance, and treated me +with, as you must admit, but scanty courtesy, for one whom I have heard +piques himself on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> his high breeding. And now, when you discover that +your suspicions had no foundation, and your hatred no grounds, you +wonder that I find it difficult to be as grateful as you seem to think I +should be for your having so kindly misjudged me."</p> + +<p>As the young lady gave all this forth with much vehemence and spirit, +Telfer's lips set, and the blood forced itself through the bronze of his +cheeks. He bent towards her till his moustache touched her hair.</p> + +<p>"You have no mercy, Violet Tressillian," he said, between his teeth. +"Take care that no one is as pitiless to you in return."</p> + +<p>She started, and her bouquet fell to the ground. Telfer gave it her back +without looking at her, and turned round to an Austrian with his usual +impassive air.</p> + +<p>"Do you know where De Tintiniac is, Staumgaurn? In the roulette room? +All right. I am going there now."</p> + +<p>He did go there, and I've a notion that the croupier of Pipesandbeersbad +made something that night out of the Major's preoccupation.</p> + +<p>Violet, meanwhile, was waltzing with Staumgaurn and a dozen others, but +looked rather white—not using any rouge but what nature had given +her—and by the end of the evening her bouquet had utterly come to +grief. Days went on till a fortnight of our last month had gone, and +Telfer, to my sorrow (not surprise, for I always thought the Tressillian +was a dangerous foe, and that, like Ringwood, he'd find himself unhorsed +by a woman), grew grave and stern, haunted with ten times more +recklessness than usual, and threw away his guineas at the Redoute in a +wild way, quite new with him, for though he liked play <i>pour s'amuser</i>, +he had too much control over his passions ever to let play get +ascendancy over him. I used to think he had the strongest passions and +the strongest will over them of any man I knew; but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> now a passion least +undesired and most hopeless of any that ever entered his soul, seemed to +have mastered him. Not that he showed it; with the Tressillian he was +simply distantly courteous; but I, who was on the <i>qui vive</i> for his +first sign of being conquered, saw his eyebrows contract when somebody +was paying her desperate court, and his glance lighten and flash when +she passed near him. They had never been alone since the night of the +ball, and Violet was too proud to try for a reconciliation, even if +she'd cared for one.</p> + +<p>One night we were at a ball at the Prince Humbugandschwerinn's. The +Tressillian had been waltzing with all her might, and had all the men in +the room, Humbugandschwerinn himself included, round her. Telfer leaned +against a console ten minutes, watching her, and then abruptly left the +ball-room, and did not return again. He came instead into the card-room, +and sat down to <i>écarté</i> with De Tintiniac, and lost two games at ten +Napoleons a side. Generally, he played very steadily, never giving his +attention to anything but the game; but now he was listening to what a +knot of men were saying, who were laughing, chatting, and sipping +coffee, while they talked about—the Tressillian.</p> + +<p>"I mark the king and play," said Telfer, his eyes fixed fiercely on a +young fellow who was discussing Violet much as he'd have discussed his +new Danish dog or English hunter. He was Jack Snobley, Lord +Featherweight's son, who was doing the grand, a confounded young +parvenu, vulgar as his cotton-spinning ancestry could make him, who +could appreciate the Tressillian about as much as he could Dannecker's +Ariadne, which work of art he pronounced, in my hearing, "a pretty girl, +but the dawg very badly done—too much like a cat." "I take your three +to two," continued Telfer, his brow lowering as he heard the young fool +praising and criticising Violet with small ceremony. The Major had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> the +haughtiest patrician principles, and to hear a snob like this +sandy-haired honorable, speaking of the woman <i>he</i> chose to champion as +he might have done of some ballerina or Chaumière belle, was rather too +much for Telfer's self-control.</p> + +<p>When the game was done, he rose, and walked quietly over to where +Snobley stood. He looked him down with that cold, haughty glance that +has cowed men bolder than Lord Featherweight's hopeful offspring, and +said a word or two to him in a low tone, which caused that gentleman to +flush up red and look fierce with all his might.</p> + +<p>"What's the girl to you, that I mayn't speak as I choose of her?" he +retorted; the Sillery, of which he'd taken a good deal too much, working +up in his weak brain. "I've heard that she jilted you, and that was why +you've been setting them all against her, and saying she wanted to hook +your old governor."</p> + +<p>The Sillery must have indeed obscured Jack's reason with a vengeance to +make him venture this very elegant and refined speech with the Major, +most fastidious in his ideas of good breeding, and most direful in his +wrath, of any man I ever knew. Telfer's cheek turned as white with +passion as the bronze would let it; his gray eyes grew almost black as +they stared at the young snob. He was so supremely astonished that this +ill-bred boy had actually dared thus to address him!</p> + +<p>"Mr. Snobley," he said, with his chilled and most ironical smile, and +his quietest, most courteous voice, "you must learn good manners before +you venture to parley with gentlemen. Allow me to give you your first +lesson." And stooping, as if to a very little boy—young Snobley was a +good foot shorter than he—the Major struck him on the lips with his +left-hand French kid glove. It was a very gentle blow—it would scarcely +have reddened the Tressillian's delicate skin—but on the Hon. Jack it +had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> electric effect. He was beginning to swear, to look big, to talk of +satisfaction, insult, and all the rest of it; but Telfer laughed, bent +his head, told him he was quite ready to satisfy him to any extent he +required; and, turning away, sat down to <i>écarté</i> calm and impassive as +ever, and pleased greatly with himself for having silenced this silly +youth. The affair was much less exciting to him than it was to any other +man in the room. "It's too great an honor for him, the young brute, for +me to be called out by him, as if he were one of us. I hate snobs; Lord +Featherweight's grandfather was butler to mine, and he himself was a +cotton-spinner in Lancashire, and then this little contemptible puppy +dares to——"</p> + +<p>Telfer finished his sentence with a puff of smoke from his meerschaum, +as he sat in his bedroom after the ball, into which sanctuary I had +followed him to talk a little before turning in.</p> + +<p>"To discuss the Tressillian," said I. "But that surprises me less, old +fellow, than that you should champion her. What's it for? Has hate +turned to the other thing? Have you come to think that, though she'd +make a very bad mother-in-law, she'd make a charming wife? 'Pon my life, +if you have——"</p> + +<p>"Hush! Don't jest!"</p> + +<p>I knew by the tone of those three little monosyllables that the Major +was done for—caught, conquered, and fettered by his dangerous foe.</p> + +<p>Telfer sat silent for some minutes, looking out of the window where the +dawn was rising over the hills, with a settled gloom upon his face. Then +he rose, and began swinging about the room with his firm cavalry tread, +his arms crossed on his chest, and his head bent down.</p> + +<p>"By Heaven! Vane," he said at length, in a tone low, but passionate and +bitter, "I have gone on like a baby or a fool, playing with tools till +they have cut me. Against my will, against my judgment, against reason, +hope,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> everything, I have lingered in that girl's fascinations till I am +bound by them hand and foot. I cannot deceive myself, I cannot shut the +truth out; it was not honor, nor chivalry, nor friendship that made me +to-night insult the man who spoke jestingly of her; it was love—love as +mad, as reckless, as misplaced, as ever cursed a man and drove him to +his ruin." He paused, breathing hard, with his teeth set, then broke out +again: "I, who held love in such disdain, who have so long kept my +passions in such strong control, who thought no woman had the power to +move me against my will—I love at last, despite myself, though I know +that she is pitiless, that nothing I have said has been able to touch +her into softer feeling, and that, mad as my passion is for her, if her +nature be as hard and haughty as I fear, I dare not, if I could, make +her my wife. No, Vane, no," he went on, hastily, as I interrupted. "She +does not love me, she has no gentler feeling in her; I thought she had, +but I was mistaken. I tried her several times, but she will never +forgive my first injustice to her; and to one with so little softness in +her nature I dare not trust my peace. It were a worse hell even than +that I now endure, to have her with me, loving her as I do, and feel +that her cold heart gave no response to mine; to possess her glorious +beauty, and yet know that her love and her soul were dead in their chill +pride to me——"</p> + +<p>He paused again, and leaned against the window, his chest heaving, and +hot tears standing in his haughty eyes, wrung from the very anguish of +his soul. The pride that had never before bent to any human thing, was +now cast in the dust before a woman who never did, and probably never +would, love him in return.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>V.</h2> + +<h3>THE DUEL, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.</h3> + + +<p>The contemptible young puppy, for whom Telfer considered the honor of a +ball from his pistol a great deal too good in the morning, sent +Heavysides, of the 40th, a chum of his found up at the Bad, to claim +"satisfaction," the valor produced in him by Sillery over night having +been kept up since by copious draughts of cognac and Seltzer. Having +signified to Heavysides that the Major would do Mr. Snobley the favor of +shooting him in the retired valley of Königshöhle at sunrise the next +day, I went to tell Telfer, who had a hearty laugh at the young fellow's +challenge.</p> + +<p>"I'd give him something to shoot me through the heart," said he, +bitterly, "but I don't suppose he will. He's practised at pigeons, not +at men, probably. I won't hurt him much, but a little lesson will do him +good. Mind nobody in the house gets wind of the affair. Though I make a +fool of myself in her defence, there is no need that she or others +should know it. But if the boy should do for me, tell her, Vane—tell +her," said the Major, shading his eyes with his hand, "that I have +learnt to love her as I never dreamt I should love any woman, and that I +do not blame her for the just lesson she has read me for the rudeness +and the unjust prejudice I indulged in so long towards her. She +retaliated fairly upon me, and God forbid that she should have one hour +of her life embittered through remorse for me."</p> + +<p>His voice sank into a whisper as he spoke; then, with an effort, he +forced himself into calmness, and went to play billiards with Marc. This +was the man who, three months before, had told me with such contemptuous +decision that "we need never fall in love unless it's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> convenient; and +as to caring for a girl who doesn't care for us, that was a weakness +with which he couldn't sympathize at all!"</p> + +<p>Late that night, Telfer and I, coming down the stairs, met the +Tressillian going up them to her room. The Major stopped her, and held +out his hand, with a softened light in his eyes. "Will you not bid me +good-bye? I may not see you again."</p> + +<p>There was a sadness in his smile bitterly significant to me, but very +likely she didn't see it, not having any key to it, as I had.</p> + +<p>Violet turned pale, and I fancied her lips twitched, but it might be the +flickering of the light of the staircase lamps on her face. At any rate, +being a young lady born and bred in good society, she put her hand in +his, with a simple "What! are you going away?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. At any rate, let us part in peace."</p> + +<p>The proud man laughed as he said it, though he was enduring tortures. +Violet heard the laugh, and didn't see the straining anxiety in his +gaze.</p> + +<p>She drew her hand rapidly away. "Certainly. <i>Bon voyage</i>, Major Telfer, +and good night," she answered, carelessly; and, with a graceful bend, +the Tressillian floated on up the stairs with the dignity of a young +empress.</p> + +<p>Telfer looked after the white gossamer dress and the beautiful head, +with its wreath of scarlet flowers, and an iron sternness settled on his +face. All hope was gone now. She could not have parted with him like +this if she had cared for him one straw more than for the flowers in her +hair. Yet, in the morning, he was going to risk his life for her. Ah, +well! I've always seen that in love there's one of the two who gives all +and gets nothing.</p> + +<p>In the morning, by five o'clock, in the valley of Königshöhle, a snug +bit of pasture land between two rocks, where no gendarme could pounce +upon us, young Snobley made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> his appearance to enjoy the honor of being +a target for one of the best shots in Europe. Snobley had a good deal of +swagger and would-be dash, and made a great show of pluck, which your +man of true pluck never does. Telfer stood talking to me up to the last +minute, took his pistol carelessly in his hand, and, without taking any +apparent aim, fired.</p> + +<p>If Telfer made up his mind to shoot off your fifth waistcoat-button, +your fifth waistcoat-button would be irrevocably doomed; and therefore, +having determined to himself to lodge a bullet in this young puppy's +left wrist, in the left wrist did the ball lodge. Snobley was +"satisfied," very amply satisfied, I fancy, by his looks. He'd fired, +and sent his shot right into the trunk of a chestnut growing some seven +yards off his opponent, to Heavyside's supreme scorn.</p> + +<p>"That'll teach him not to talk of young ladies in his Mabille slang," +said Telfer, lighting his cigar. "I hope the little snob may be the +better for my lesson. Now I am <i>en route</i>, I'll go over to +Pipesandbeersbad, breakfast at the Hôtel de France, and go and see +Humbugandschwerinn: he wants me to look at some English racers Brookes +has just sent him over. Make my excuses at Essellau; and I say, Vane, +see if you can't get us away in a day or two; have some call home, or +something, for I shall never stand this long."</p> + +<p>With which not over-clear speech the Major mounted his horse and +cantered off towards the Bad.</p> + +<p>I rode back; went to my own room, had some chocolate, read Pigault le +Brun, and about noon, seeing Virginie, the Tressillian, and several +others out on the terrace, went to join them. Marc slipped his arm +through mine and drew me aside.</p> + +<p>"I say, Vane, what's all this about Telfer striking some fellow for +talking about the Tressillian? Staurmgaurn was over here just now, and +told me there was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> row in the card-room at Humbugandschwerinn's +between Telfer and another Englishman. I knew nothing about it. Is it +true?"</p> + +<p>"So far true," I answered, "that Telfer put a ball in the youth's wrist +at seven o'clock this morning; and serve him right too—he's an impudent +young snob."</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" cried Marc, "what in the world made him take the +Tressillian's part? Have the <i>beaux yeux</i> really made an impression on +the most unimpressionable of men?"</p> + +<p>"The devil they have," said I, crossly; "but I wish she'd been at the +deuce first, for he's too good a fellow to waste his best years pining +after a pair of dark eyes."</p> + +<p>Marc shrugged his shoulders. "<i>C'est vrai</i>; but we're all fools some +time or other. The idea of Telfer's chivalry! I declare it's quite like +the old days of Froissart and Commines—fighting for my lady's favor." +And away he went, singing those two famous lines from Alcyonée:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pour mériter son cœur, pour plaire à ses beaux yeux,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">J'ai fait la guerre aux rois: je l'aurais faite aux dieux;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and I thought to myself that if the Tressillian proved a De Longueville, +I could find it in my soul to shoot her without remorse.</p> + +<p>But as I turned away from Marc, I came upon her, looking pale and ill +enough to satisfy anybody. The color flushed into her cheeks as she saw +me; we spoke of the weather, the chances of storm, Floss's new collar, +and other trifles; then she asked me, bending over her little dog,—</p> + +<p>"Is Captain Staurmgaurn's news true, that your friend has—has been +quarrelling with a young Englishman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered. "I wonder Staurmgaurn told you; it is scarcely a +topic to interest ladies. Telfer has given the young gentleman a +well-merited lesson."</p> + +<p>"Have they fought?" she asked, breathlessly, laying her hand on my arm, +and looking as white as a ghost.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, they have," said I; "and he fought, Miss Tressillian, for one who +gave him a very cold adieu last night."</p> + +<p>Her head drooped, she trembled perceptibly, and the color rushed back to +her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Is he safe?" she asked, in the lowest of whispers.</p> + +<p>"Quite," I answered, quickly, as De Tintiniac lounged up to us; and I +left my words, like a prudent diplomatist, to bear fruit as best they +might.</p> + +<p>I wondered if she cared for him, or if it was merely a girl's natural +feeling for a man who had let himself be shot at, rather than hear a +light word spoken of her. But they were both so deuced proud, Heaven's +special intervention alone seemed likely to bring them together.</p> + +<p>The Major didn't come home from Pipesandbeersbad till between two and +three that night, and he's told me since that being <i>un peu fou</i> with +his self-willed and vehement passion, never went to bed at all, but sat +and walked about his room smoking, unable to sleep, in a frame of mind +that, when sane, a few months before, he would have pronounced spoony +and contemptible in the lowest degree. At eight he strode forth into the +park, brushing off the dew with his impatient steps, glad of the fresh +morning air upon his brow, which was as burning as our first headache +from "that cursed punch of Jones's," the day after our "first wine," +which acute suffering any gentleman who ever tasted that delicious +<i>mélange</i> of rum and milk and lemons, will keenly recall among other +passed-away passages of his green youth.</p> + +<p>Telfer strode on and on, over the molehills and through the ferns, down +this slope and up that, under the oaks, and lindens, and fir-trees +gleaming red beneath the October sun, with very little notion of where +he was going or what he was doing, a great stag-hound of Marc's +following at his heels. The path he took, without thinking, led him to +the top of a rock overhanging the Beersbad, where that historic stream +was but a few yards in width; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span>and here Telfer, lying down with his head +against a plane-tree, struck a fusee and lighted a cigar—for a weed's a +pleasant companion in any stage of existence: if we're happy we smoke in +the fulness of our hearts, and build airy castles on each fragrant +cloud; and if we're unhappy, we smoke to console ourselves, and draw in +with each whiff philosophy and peace. So the Major smoked and thought, +till a bark from the staghound made him look up. On the top of the +cliffs on the other side of the stream, looking down into the valleys +below, with her head turned away from him, stood Violet Tressillian; and +at the sight of that graceful figure, with its indescribable high-bred +air, I don't doubt the Major's once unimpressive heart beat faster than +it had ever done in a charge or a skirmish. She was full twenty feet +above him, and the rocks on which she stood sloped precipitately down to +a ledge exactly opposite that on which he lay smoking—a ledge in +reality but a few inches wide, but to which the treacherous boughs and +ferns waving over it gave a semblance of a firm broad footing—a +semblance which (like a good many other things one meets with) it +utterly failed to carry out when you came to try it.</p> + +<p>Violet, not seeing Telfer lying <i>perdu</i> among the grass at the foot of +his plane-tree, walked along to the edge of the cliff, her eyes on the +ground, so deep in thought that she never noticed the river beneath, but +began to descend the slope, little Floss coming with exceeding +trepidation after her. Telfer sprang up to warn her. "Violet! Violet! go +back! go back! Oh! my God, do you not hear?"</p> + +<p>His passionate tones startled her. Never dreaming he was there, she +looked hurriedly up; her foot slipped; unable to stay her descent, she +came down the steep cliff with an impetus which, to a certainty, would +send her over the narrow ledge into the river below—a fall of full +thirty feet. To see her perish thus before his eyes—die<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> thus while he +stood calmly by! A whole age of torture was crowded into the misery of +that one brief moment. There was but one way to save her. He sprang +across the gulf that parted them, while the river in its straitened bed +hissed and foamed beneath him, and, standing on the narrow ledge, where +there seemed scarce footing for a dog, he caught her as she fell in his +iron grasp, as little swayed by the shock as the rock on which he stood. +Holding her tight to him with one arm, he swung himself down by the +other to a less dangerous position, on a flat plateau of cliff, and +leaning against one of the linden-trees on its summit, he bent over her; +his eyes dim, and his pulses beating with the emotions he had controlled +while he wanted cool thought and firm nerve to save her, but over which +he had no more power now. He pressed her to his heart, forgetting pride, +and doubt, and fear; and Violet, by way of answer, only burst into a +passion of tears. Who would have recognized the proud, brilliant +Tressillian, in the pale, trembling woman who sobbed on his breast with +the <i>abandon</i> of a child, and who, at his passionate kisses, only +blushed like a wild rose?</p> + +<p>Telfer evidently thought the transformation complete, for he forgot all +his reserve resolutions and hauteur, and poured out the tenderest love +for a girl who, three months before, he had wished at the devil! And the +Tressillian was conquered at last; she was pitiless no longer, and, +having vanquished him, was, woman-like, ready to be a slave to her +captive; and her eyes were never more dangerous than now, when, shy and +softened, they looked up through their tears into Telfer's.</p> + +<p>What old De Tintiniac said of her was true, that all her beauty wanted +to make it perfect was for her to be in love!</p> + +<p>So at least I thought, when, several hours afterwards, I met them coming +across the park, and I knew by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> gleam of the Major's eyes that he +had lost Calceolaria and won Violet.</p> + +<p>"How strange it is," laughed Telfer that evening, when they were alone +in the conservatory, "that you and I, who so hated each other, should +now be so dear to one another. Oh, Violet! how ashamed I have been since +of my unjustifiable prejudices, my abominable discourtesy——"</p> + +<p>"You <i>were</i> dreadfully rude," said the Tressillian, smiling; "and judged +me very cruelly by all the false reports that women chose to gossip of +me. But you are wrong. I never hated you. Your father had spoken of you +as so generous, so noble, so chivalrous a soldier, so kind a son, that I +was prepared to admire you immensely, and when you looked so sternly on +me at our first introduction, and I overheard your bitter words about me +at the station, I really was never more vexed and disappointed in my +life. And then a demon entered into me, and I thought—forgive me, +Hamilton—that I would try to make you repent your hasty judgment and +recant your prejudices. But I could not always fight you with the +coolness I wished; your indifference began to pique me more and more. +Wounds from you ranked as they did from no one else, and something +besides pride made me feel your neglect so keenly. I had meant—yes, I +must tell you all," and the Tressillian, in her soft repentance, looked, +Telfer thought, more bewitching than in her most brilliant moments—"I +had wished," she went on in a whisper, with her color bright, "to make +you regret your injustice, to conquer your stubborn pride, and to +revenge myself on you for all the wrong you had done me in thoughts and +words. But, you see, I wasn't so strong as I fancied; I thought I could +fence with the buttons on, but I was mistaken, and—and—when I heard +that you had fought for me, I knew then that——" And Violet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> stopped +with a smile and a sigh; the sigh for the past, I suppose, and the smile +for the present.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>nous sommes quittes</i>, dearest," smiled Telfer. "Thank Heaven! we +no longer need reproach each other. Too many elevate the one they love +into an ideal of such superhuman excellence, that at the first shadow of +mortality they see their poor idol is shivered from its pedestal. But we +have seen the worst side of each other's character, Violet, and +henceforth love shall cover all faults, and subdue all pride between +us."</p> + +<p>Telfer kept his word. They had had their last quarrel, and buried their +last suspicion before their marriage, and were not, like the generality, +doves first and tigers after. The governor, of course, was charmed that +a match on which he had secretly set his heart had brought itself about +so neatly without his interference. He had begun to despair of his son's +ever giving Torwood a mistress, and the diamonds he gave Violet, in the +excess of his pleasure, brought her no end of female enemies, for they +were some of the finest water in the kingdom. Seldom, indeed, has +slander been productive of such good fruits, for rarely, <i>very</i> rarely, +does that Upas-tree put forth any but Dead Sea apples.</p> + +<p>Violet Tressillian <i>was</i> Violet Telfer before the Christmas recess, but +I considered the bet drawn. So Telfer and I exchanged the roan filly and +the colt, and Calceolaria in the Torwood stables, and Jockey Club in my +stalls, stand witnesses to this day of <span class="smcap">Our Wager, and how the Major Lost +and Won</span>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span></p> + + +<hr class="sep1" /> +<hr class="sep2" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span></p> +<h1>OUR COUNTRY QUARTERS.</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p> +<hr class="sep3" /> +<hr class="sep4" /> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="OUR_COUNTRY_QUARTERS" id="OUR_COUNTRY_QUARTERS"></a>OUR COUNTRY QUARTERS.</h2> + + +<p>I remember well the day that we (that is the 110th Lancers) were ordered +down to Layton Rise. Savage enough we all were to quit P—— for that +detestable country place. Many and miserable were the tales we raked up +of the <i>ennui</i> we had experienced at other provincial quarters; sadly we +dressed for Lady Dashwood's ball, the last <i>soirée</i> before our +departure. And then the bills and the <i>billets-doux</i> that rained down +upon our devoted heads!</p> + +<p>However, by some miracle we escaped them all; and on a bright April +morning, 184-, we were <i>en route</i> for this Layton Rise, this <i>terra +incognita</i>, as grumpy and as seedy as ever any poor demons were. But +there was no help for it; so leaving, we flattered ourselves, a great +many hearts the heavier for this order from the Horse Guards, we, as I +said, set out for Layton Rise.</p> + +<p>The only bit of good news that provoking morning had brought was that my +particular chum, Drummond Fane, a captain of ours, who had been cutting +about on leave from Constantinople to Kamtchatka for the last six +months, would join us at Layton. Fane was really a good fellow, a +perfect gentleman (<i>ça va sans dire</i>, as he was one of <i>ours</i>), +intensely plucky, knew, I believe, every language under the sun, and, as +he had been tumbling about in the world ever since he went to Eton at +eight years old, had done everything, seen everything, and could talk on +every possible subject. He was a great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> favorite with ladies: I always +wonder they did not quite spoil him. I have seen a young lady actually +neglect a most eligible heir to a dukedom, that her mamma had been at +great pains to procure for her, if this "fascinating younger son" were +by. For Fane <i>was</i> the younger son of the Earl of Avanley, and would, of +course, every one said, one day retrieve his fortunes by marriage with +some heiress in want of rank.</p> + +<p>He has been my great friend ever since I, a small youth, spoiled by +having come into my property while in the nursery, became his fag at +Eton: and when I bought my commission in the 110th, of which he was a +captain, our intimacy increased.</p> + +<p>But <i>revenons à nos moutons</i>. On the road we naturally talked of Layton, +wondering if there was any one fit to visit, anybody that gave good +dinners, if there was a pack of hounds, a billiard-room, or any pretty +girls. Suddenly the Honorable Ennuyé L'Estrange threw a little light on +the matter, by recollecting, "now he thought of it, he believed that was +where an uncle of his lived; his name was Aspi—Aspinall—no! Aspeden." +"Had he any cousins?" was the inquiry. He "y'ally could not remember!" +So we were left to conjure up imaginary Miss Aspedens, more handsome +than their honorable cousin, who might relieve for us the monotony of +country quarters. The sun was very bright as we entered Layton Rise; the +clattering and clashing that we made soon brought out the inhabitants, +and, lying in the light of a spring day, it did not seem such a very +miserable little town after all. Our mess was established at the one +good inn of the one good street of the place, and I and two other young +subs fixed our residence at a grocer's, where a card of "Lodgings to let +furnished" was embordered in vine-leaves and roses.</p> + +<p>As I was leaning out of the window smoking my last cigar before mess, +with Sydney and Mounteagle stretched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> in equally elegant attitudes on +equally hard sofas, I heard our grocer, a sleek little Methodist, +addressing some party in the street with—"I fear me I have done evil in +admitting these young servants of Satan into mine habitation!" "Well, +Nathan," replied a Quaker, "thou didst it for the best, and verily these +officers seem quiet and gentlemanly youths." "Gentlemanlike," I should +say we were, <i>rather</i>—but "quiet!"—how we shouted over the innocent +"Friend's" mistake. Here the voices again resumed. "Doubtless, when the +Aspedens return, there will be dances and devices of the Evil One, and +Quelps will make a good time of it; however, the custom of ungodly men I +would not take were it offered!" So these Aspedens were out—confound +it! But the clock struck six; so, flinging the remains of my cigar on +the Quaker's broad-brimmed hat, adorned with which ornament he walked +unconsciously away, we strolled down to the mess-room.</p> + +<p>A few hours later some of them met in my room, and having sent out for +some cards, which the grocer kindly wrapped in a tract against gambling, +we had just sat down to loo, when the door was thrown open, and Captain +Fane announced. A welcome addition!</p> + +<p>"Fane, by all that's glorious!"—"Well, young one, how are you?" were +the only salutations that passed between two men who were as true +friends as any in England. Fane was soon seated among us, and telling us +many a joke and tale. "And so," said he, "we're sent down to ruralize? +(Mounteagle, you are 'loo'd.') Any one you know here?"</p> + +<p>"Not a creature! I am awfully afraid we shall be found dead of <i>ennui</i> +one fine morning. I'll thank you for a little more punch, Fitzspur," +said Sydney. "I suppose, as usual, Fane," he continued, "you left at the +very least twelve dozen German princesses, Italian marchesas, and French +countesses dying for you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," replied Fane, "you are considerably under the mark +(I'll take 'miss,' Paget!); but really, if women <i>will</i> fall in love +with you, how <i>can</i> you help it? And if you <i>will</i> flirt with them, how +can they help it?"</p> + +<p>"I see, Fane, <i>your</i> heart is as strong as ever," I added, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Of course," answered the gallant captain; "disinterested love is +reserved for men who are too rich or too poor to mind its attendant +evils. (The first, I must say, very rarely profit by the privilege!) No! +I steel myself against all bright eyes and dancing curls not backed by a +good dowry. Heiresses, though, somehow, are always plain; I never could +do my duty and propose to one, though, of course, whenever I <i>do</i> +surrender my liberty, which I have not the smallest intention of at +present, it will be to somebody with at least fifty thousand a year. +Hearts trumps, Mount?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—hurrah! Paget's loo'd at last.—Here, my dear, let us have lots +more punch!" said Mounteagle, addressing the female domestic, who was +standing open-mouthed at the glittering pool of half-sovereigns.</p> + +<p>I will spare the gentle reader—if I <i>may</i> flatter myself that I +entertain a <i>few</i> such—a recital of the conversation which followed, +and which was kept up until the very, very "small hours;" also I will +leave it to her imagination to picture how we spent the next few days, +how we found out a few families worth visiting, how we inspired the +Layton youths with a vehement passion for smoking, billiards, and the +cavalry branch of the service, and how we and our gay uniforms and our +prancing horses were the admiration of all the young damsels in the +place.</p> + +<p>One morning after parade, Fane and I, having nothing better to do, +lighted our cigars and strolled down one of those shady lanes which +almost reconcile one to the country—<i>out</i> of the London season. Seeing +the gate of a park standing invitingly open, we walked in and threw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> +ourselves down under the trees. "Now we are in for it," said Fane, "if +we are trespassing, and any adventurous-minded gamekeeper appears. Whose +park is this?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Aspeden's, Ennuyé told me. It's rather a nice place," I replied.</p> + +<p>"And that castle, of which mine eyes behold the turrets afar off?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Lord Linton's, I believe; the father of Jack Vernon, of the Rifles, you +know," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Indeed! I never saw the old gentleman, but I remember his daughter +Beatrice,—we had rather a desperate flirtation at Baden-Baden. She's a +showy-looking girl," said the captain, stretching himself on the grass.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not allow her the sublime felicity of becoming Lady +Beatrice Fane?" I asked, laughing.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, she had not a <i>sou</i>! That old marquis is as poor as a +church-mouse. You forget that I am only a younger son, with not much +besides my pay, and cannot afford to marry anywhere I like. I am not in +your happy position, able to espouse any pretty face I may chance to +take a fancy to. It would be utter madness in me. Do you think <i>I</i> was +made for a little house, one maid-servant, dinner at noon, and six small +children? <i>Very</i> much obliged to you, but love in a cottage is not <i>my</i> +style, Fred; besides <i>j'aime à vivre garçon</i>!" added Fane.</p> + +<p>"<i>Et moi aussi!</i>" said I. "Really the girls one meets seem all tarlatan +and coquetry. I have never seen one worth committing matrimony for."</p> + +<p>"Hear him!" cried Fane. "Here is the happy owner of Wilmot Park, at the +advanced age of twenty, despairing of ever finding anything more worthy +of his affection than his moustaches! Oh, what will the boys come to +next? But, eureka! here comes a pretty girl if you like. Who on earth is +she?" he exclaimed, raising his eye-glass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> to a party advancing up the +avenue who really seemed worthy the attention.</p> + +<p>Pulling at the bridle of a donkey, "what wouldn't go," with all her +might, was indeed a pretty girl. Her hat had fallen off and showed a +quantity of bright hair and a lovely face, with the largest and darkest +of eyes, and a mouth now wreathing with smiles. Unconscious of our +vicinity, on she came, laughing, and beseeching a little boy, seated on +the aforesaid donkey, and thumping thereupon with, a large stick, "not +to be so cruel and hurt poor Dapple." At this juncture the restive steed +gave a vigorous stride, and toppling its rider on the grass, trotted off +with a self-satisfied air; but Fane, intending to make the rebellious +charger a means of introduction, caught his bridle and led him back to +his discomfited master. The young lady, who was endeavoring to pacify +the child, looked prettier than ever as she smiled and thanked him. But +the gallant captain was not going to let the matter drop <i>here</i>, so, +turning to the youthful rider, he asked him to let him put him on "the +naughty donkey again." Master Tommy acquiesced, and, armed with his +terrible stick, allowed himself to be mounted. Certainly Fane was a most +unnecessary length of time settling that child, but then he was talking +to the young lady, whom he begged to allow him to lead the donkey home.</p> + +<p>"Oh! no, she was quite used to Dapple; she could manage him very well, +and they were going farther." So poor Fane had nothing for it but to +raise his hat and gaze at her through his eye-glass until some trees hid +her from sight.</p> + +<p>"'Pon my word, that's a pretty girl!" said he, at length. "I wonder who +she can be! However, I shall soon find out. Have another weed, Fred?"</p> + +<p>There was to be a ball that night at the Assembly Rooms, which we were +assured only the "<i>best</i> families" would attend for Layton was a very +exclusive little town<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> in its way. Some of us who were going were +standing about the mess-room, recalling the many good balls and pretty +girls of our late quarters, when Fane, who had declined to go, as he +said he had a horror of "bad dancing, bad perfumes, bad ventilation, and +bad champagne, and really could not stand the concentration of all of +them, which he foresaw that night," to our surprise declared his +intention of accompanying us.</p> + +<p>"I suppose, Fane, you hope to see your heroine of the donkey again?" +asked Sydney.</p> + +<p>"Precisely," was Fane's reply; "or if not, to find out who she is. But +here comes Ennuyé, got up no end to fascinate the belles of Layton!"</p> + +<p>"The Aspedens are home; I saw 'em to-day," were the words of the +honorable cornet, as he lounged into the room. "My uncle seems rather a +brick, and hopes to make the acquaintance of all of you. He will mess +with us to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Have you any <i>belles cousines</i>?"—"Are they going to-night?" we +inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yaas, I saw one; she's rather pretty," said L'Estrange.</p> + +<p>"Dark eyes—golden hair—about eighteen?" demanded Fane, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it," replied the cornet, curling his moustache, and +contemplating himself in the glass with very great satisfaction; "hair's +as dark as mine, and eyes—y'ally I forget. But, let's have loo or +whist, or something; we need not go for ages!" So down we sat, and soon +nothing was heard but "Two by honors and the trick!" "Game and game!" +&c., until about twelve, when we rose and adjourned to the ball-room.</p> + +<p>No sooner had we entered the room than Fane exclaimed, "There's my +houri, by all that's glorious! and looking lovelier than ever. By Jove! +that girl's too good for a country ball-room!" And there, in truth, +waltzing like a sylph, was, as Sydney called her, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> "heroine of the +donkey." The dance over, we saw her join a party at the top of the room, +consisting of a handsome but <i>passée</i> woman, a lovely Hebe-like girl +with dancing eyes, and a number of gentlemen, with whom they seemed to +be keeping up an animated conversation.</p> + +<p>"Ennuyé is with them—he will introduce me," said Fane, as he swept up +the room.</p> + +<p>I watched him bow, and, after talking a few minutes, lead off his +"houri" for a <i>valse</i>; and disengaging myself from a Cambridge friend +whom I had met with, I professed my intention of following his example.</p> + +<p>"What? Who did you say? That girl at the top there? Why, man, that's my +cousin Mary, and the other lady is my most revered aunt, Mrs. Aspeden. +Did you not know I and Ennuyé were related? Y'ally I forget how, +exactly," he continued, mimicking the cornet. "But do you want to be +introduced to her? Come along then."</p> + +<p>So, following my friend, who was a Trinity-man, of the name of +Cleaveland, I soon made acquaintance with Mrs. Aspeden and her daughter +Mary.</p> + +<p>"<i>Who</i> is he?" I heard Mrs. Aspeden ask, in a low tone, of Tom +Cleaveland, as I led off Mary to the <i>valse</i>.</p> + +<p>"A very good fellow," was the good-natured Cantab's reply, "with lots of +tin and a glorious place. The shooting at Wilmot is really——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Bien!</i>" said his aunt, as she took Lord Linton's arm to the +refreshment-room, satisfied, I suppose, on the strength of my "lots of +tin," that I was a safe companion for her child.</p> + +<p>I found Mary Aspeden a most agreeable partner for a <i>dance</i>; she was +lively, agreeable, and a coquette, I felt sure (women with those dancing +eyes always are), and I thought I could not do better than amuse myself +by getting up a flirtation with her. What an intensely good opinion I +had of myself then! So I condescended to dance, though it was not +Almack's, and actually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> permitted myself to be amused. Strolling through +the rooms with Mary Aspeden on my arm, we entered one in which was an +alcove fitted up with a <i>vis-à-vis</i> sofa (whoever planned that Layton +ball-room had a sympathy in the bottom of his heart for <i>tête-à-tête</i>), +and here Fane was seated, talking to his "houri" with the soft voice and +winning smiles which had gained the heart, or at least what portion of +that member they possessed, of so many London belles, and which would do +their work <i>here</i> most assuredly.</p> + +<p>"There is my cousin Florence—ah! she does not observe us. Who is the +gentleman with her?" said Miss Aspeden.</p> + +<p>"My friend, Captain Fane," I replied. "You have heard of their rencontre +this morning?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed! is he Tommy's champion, of whom he has done nothing but talk +all day, and of whom I could not make Florence say one word?" asked +Mary. "You must know our donkey is the most determined and resolute of +animals: if she 'will, she will,' you may depend upon it!" she +continued.</p> + +<p>"Do you honor those most untrue lines upon ladies by a quotation?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"I do not think they <i>are</i> so very untrue," laughed Mary, "except in +confining obstinacy to us poor women and exempting the 'lords of the +creation.' The Scotch adage knows better. 'A wilful <i>man</i>——' You know +the rest."</p> + +<p>"Quite well," I replied; "but another poet's lines on <i>you</i> are far more +true. 'Ye are stars of the——'" I commenced.</p> + +<p>"Mary, my love, let me introduce you to Lord Craigarven," said Mrs. +Aspeden, coming up with Lord Linton's heir-apparent.</p> + +<p>At the same time I was introduced to Mr. Aspeden, a hearty Englishman, +loving his horses, his dogs, and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> daughter; and as much the inferior +of his aristocratic-looking wife in <i>intellect</i> as he was her superior +in <i>heart</i>. When we parted that night he gave Fane and me a most +hospitable general invitation, and, what was more, an especial one for +the next night. As we walked home "i' the grey o' the morning," I asked +Fane who his "houri" was.</p> + +<p>"A niece of Mr. Aspeden's, and cousin to your friend Cleaveland," was +the reply. "Those Aspedens really seem to be uncle and aunt to every +one. She is staying there now."</p> + +<p>"So is Tom Cleaveland," said I. "But, pray, are your expectations quite +realized? Is she as charming as she looks, this Miss Florence——"</p> + +<p>"Aspeden?" added Fane. "Yes, quite. But here are my quarters; so good +night, old fellow."</p> + +<p>We had soon established ourselves as <i>amis de la maison</i> at Woodlands, +the Aspedens' place, and found him, as his nephew had stated, "rather a +brick," and her daughter and niece something more. All of us, especially +Fane and I, spent the best part of our time there, lounging away the +days between the shady lanes, the little lake, and the music or +billiard-rooms. Fane seemed entirely to appropriate Florence, and to +fascinate her as he had fascinated so many others. I really felt angry +with him; for, as Tom Cleaveland had candidly told me that poor Florie +had not a rap—her father had run through all his property and left her +an orphan, and a very poor one too—of course Fane could not marry her, +but would, I feared, "ride away" some day, like the "gay dragoon," +heartwhole <i>himself</i>—but would <i>she</i> come out as scatheless? Poor +Mounteagle, too, was getting quite spooney about Florence, and, owing to +Fane, she paid him no more heed than if he had been an old dried-up +Indianized major. <i>He</i>, poor fellow! followed her about everywhere, +asked her to dance in quite an insane manner, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> made the most +horrible revokes in whist and mistakes in pool that can be imagined.</p> + +<p>"By George! she is pretty, and no mistake!" said Sydney, as Florence +rode past us one day as we were sauntering down Layton, looking +charmingly <i>en amazone</i>.</p> + +<p>"Pretty! I should rather think so. She is more beautiful than any other +woman upon earth!" cried Mounteagle.</p> + +<p>"Y'ally! well, I can't see <i>that</i>," replied Ennuyé. "She has tolerably +good eyes, but she is too <i>petite</i> to please me."</p> + +<p>"Ah! the adjutant's girls have rendered L'Estrange <i>difficile</i>. He +cannot expect to meet <i>their</i> equals in a hurry!" said Fane, in a very +audible aside.</p> + +<p>Poor Ennuyé was silenced—nay, he even blushed. The adjutant's girls +recalled an episode in which the gallant cornet had shone in a rather +verdant light. Fane had effectually quieted him.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if Florence Aspeden will marry Mount?" I remarked to Fane, +when the others had left us. "She does not seem to pay him much heed +<i>yet</i>; but still——"</p> + +<p>"The devil, no!" cried Fane, in an unusually energetic manner. "I would +stake my life she would not have such a muff as that, if he owned half +the titles in the peerage!"</p> + +<p>"You seem rather excited about the matter," I observed. "It would not be +such a bad match for her, for you know she has no tin; but I am sure, +with your opinion on love-matches, you would not counsel Mount to such a +step."</p> + +<p>"Of course not!" replied Fane, in his ordinary cool tones. "A man has no +right to marry for love, except he is one of those fortunate individuals +who own half a county, or some country doctor or parson of whom the +world takes no notice. There may be a few exceptions. But yet," he +continued, with the air of a person trying to convince himself against +his will, "did you ever see a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> love match turn out happily? It is all +very well for the first week, but the roses won't bloom in winter, and +then the cottage walls look ugly. Then a fellow cannot live as he did +<i>en garçon</i>, and all his friends drop him, and altogether it is an act +no wise man would perpetrate. But I shall forget to give you a message I +was intrusted with. They are going to get up some theatricals at +Woodlands. I have promised to take <i>Sir Thomas Clifford</i> (the piece is +the 'Hunchback'). and they want you to play <i>Modus</i> to Mary Aspeden's +<i>Helen</i>. Do, old fellow. Acting is very good fun with a pretty girl——"</p> + +<p>"Like the <i>Julia</i> you will have, I suppose," I said. "Very well, I will +be amiable and take it. Mary will make a first-rate <i>Helen</i>. Come and +have a game of billiards, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Can't," replied the gallant captain. "I promised to go in half an hour +with—with the Aspedens to see some waterfall or ruin, or something, and +the time is up. So, <i>au revoir, monsieur</i>."</p> + +<p>Many of ours were pressed into the service for the coming theatricals, +and right willingly did we rehearse a most unnecessary number of times. +Many merry hours did we spend at Woodlands, and I sentimentalized away +desperately to Mary Aspeden; but, somehow or other, always had an +uncomfortable suspicion that she was laughing at me. She never seemed +the least impressed by all my gallantries and pretty speeches, which was +peculiarly mortifying to a moustached cornet of twenty, who thought +himself irresistible. I began, too, to get terribly jealous of Tom +Cleaveland, who, by right of his cousinship, arrived at a degree of +intimacy <i>I</i> could not attain.</p> + +<p>One morning Fane and I (who were going to dine there that evening), the +Miss Aspedens, and, of course, that Tom Cleaveland, were sitting in the +drawing-room at Woodlands. Fane and Florence were going it at some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> +opera airs (what passionate emphasis that wicked fellow gave the loving +Italian words as his rich voice rolled them out to her accompaniment!), +the detestable Trinity-man had been discoursing away to Mary on +boat-racing, outriggers, bumping, and Heaven knows what, and I was just +taking the shine out of him with the description of a shipwreck I had +had in the Mediterranean, when Mary, who sat working at her <i>broderie</i>, +and provokingly giving just as sweet smiles to the one as to the other, +interrupted me with—</p> + +<p>"Goodness, Florie, there is Mr. Mills coming up the avenue. He is my +cousin's admirer and admiration!" she added, mischievously, as the door +opened, and a little man about forty entered.</p> + +<p>There was all over him the essence of the country. You saw at once he +had never passed a season in London. His very boots proclaimed he had +never been presented; and we felt almost convulsed with laughter as he +shook hands with us all round, and attempted a most <i>empressé</i> manner +with Florence.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful weather we have now," remarked Mrs. Aspeden.</p> + +<p>"She is indeed!" answered the little squire, with a gaze of admiration +at Florence.</p> + +<p>Fane, who was leaning against the mantelpiece, looking most superbly +haughty and unapproachable, shot an annihilating glance at the small +man, which would have quite extinguished him had he seen it.</p> + +<p>"The country is very pretty in June," said Mrs. Aspeden, hazarding +another original remark.</p> + +<p>"Lovely—too lovely!" echoed Mr. Mills, with a profound sigh, at which +the country must have felt exceedingly flattered.</p> + +<p>"Glorious creature your new mare is, Mr. Mills," cried the Cantab; +"splendid style she took the fences in yesterday."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wilkins may well say she is the <i>belle</i> of the county!" continued Mr. +Mills, dreamily. "I beg your pardon, what did you say? my mother took +the fences well? No, she never hunts."</p> + +<p>"Pray tell Mrs. Mills I am very much obliged for the beautiful azalias +she sent me," interposed Florence, with her sweet smile.</p> + +<p>"I—I am sure anything we have <i>you</i> are welcome to. I—I—allow me——" +And the poor squire, stooping for Florence's thimble, upset a tiny +table, on which stood a vase with the azalias in question, on the back +of a little bull of a spaniel, who yelled, and barked, and flew at the +squire's legs, who, for his part, became speechless from fright, +reddened all over, and at last, stammering out that he wanted to see Mr. +Aspeden, and would go to him in the grounds, rushed from the room.</p> + +<p>We all burst out laughing at this climax of the poor little man's +misery.</p> + +<p>"I will not have you laugh at him so," said Florence, at length. "I know +him to be truly good and charitable, for all his peculiarities of +manner."</p> + +<p>"It is but right Miss Aspeden should defend a <i>soupirant</i> so charming in +every way," said the captain, his moustache curling contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Florie's made an out-and-out conquest, and no mistake!" cried Tom +Cleaveland.</p> + +<p>Florence did not heed her cousin, but looked up in Fane's face, utterly +astonished at his sarcastic tones. No man could have withstood that look +of those large, beautiful eyes, and Fane bent down and asked her to sing +"<i>Roberto, oh tu che adoro!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that will just do. Robert is his name; pity he is not here to hear +it. 'Robert Mills, <i>oh tu che adoro!</i>'" sang the inexorable Cantab, as +he walked across the room and asked Mary to have a game of billiards. +For once I had the pleasure of forestalling him, but he, nevertheless,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> +came and marked for us in a very amiable manner. "How well you play, +Mary," said he. "Really, stunningly for a woman. Do you know Beauchamp +of Kings won three whole pools the other day without losing a life!"</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Mary. "What good fun it is to see Mr. Mills play; he +holds his queue as if he were afraid of it."</p> + +<p>"I say, Mary," said Cleaveland, "you don't think that Florence will +marry that contemptible little wretch, do you? Hang it, I should be +savage if she had not better taste. There's a cannon."</p> + +<p>"She has better taste," replied Mary, in a low tone, as Mrs. Aspeden and +Fane entered the room.</p> + +<p>I never could like Mrs. Aspeden—peace be with her now, poor woman—but +there was such a want of delicacy and tact, and such open manœuvring +in all she did, which surprised me, clever woman as she was.</p> + +<p>No sooner had she approached the billiard-table that day, than she +began:</p> + +<p>"Florence was called away from her singing to a conference with her +uncle, and—with somebody else, I fancy." (Fane darted a keen look of +inquiry at her.) "Poor dear girl! being left so young an orphan, I have +always felt such a great interest and affection for her, and I shall +rejoice to see her happily settled as—as I trust there is a prospect of +now," she continued.</p> + +<p>Could she mean Florence Aspeden had engaged herself to Mr. Mills? A +roguish smile on Mary's face reassured me, but Fane walked hastily to +the window, and stood with folded arms looking out upon the sunny +landscape.</p> + +<p>Inveterate flirt that he was, his pride was hurt at the idea of a rival, +and <i>such</i> a rival, winning in a game in which <i>he</i> deigned to have +<i>ever</i> so small a stake, <i>ever</i> such a passing interest!</p> + +<p>The dinner passed off heavily—<i>very</i> heavily—for gay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> Woodlands, for +the gallant captain and Florence were both of them <i>distraits</i> and +<i>gênés</i>, and he hardly spoke to the poor girl. Oh, wicked Fane!</p> + +<p>We sat but little time after the ladies had retired, and Tom and Mr. +Aspeden going after some horse or other, Fane and I ascended to the +drawing-room alone. It was unoccupied, and we sat down to await them, I +amusing myself with teaching Master Tommy, the young heir of Woodlands, +some comic songs, wherewith to astonish his nurse pretty considerably, +and Fane leaning back in an arm-chair, with Florence's dog upon his knee +in <i>that</i>, for <i>him</i>, most extraordinary thing, a "brown study."</p> + +<p>Suddenly some voices were heard in the next room.</p> + +<p>"Florence, it is your duty, recollect."</p> + +<p>"Aunt, I can recollect nothing, save that it would be far, far worse +than death to me to marry Mr. Mills. I hold it dread sin to marry a man +for whom one can have nothing but contempt. Once for all, I cannot,—I +will not."</p> + +<p>Here the voice was broken with sobs. Fane had raised his head eagerly at +the commencement of the dialogue, but now, recollecting that we were +listeners, rose, and closed the door. I did not say a word on the +conversation we had just heard, for I felt out of patience with him for +his heartless flirtation; so, taking up a book on Italy, I looked over +the engravings for a little time, and then, Tommy having been conveyed +to the nursery in a state of rebellion, I reminded Fane of a promise he +had once made to accompany me to Rome the next winter, and asked him if +he intended to fulfil it.</p> + +<p>"Really, my dear fellow, I cannot tell what I may possibly do next +winter; I hate making plans for the future. We may none of us be alive +then," said he, in an unusually dull strain for him: "I half fancy I may +exchange into some regiment going on foreign service. But <i>l'homme<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> +propose</i>, you know. By the by, poor Castleton" (his elder brother) "is +very ill at Brussels."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I was extremely sorry to hear it, in a letter I had from Vivian +this morning," I replied. "He is at Brussels also, and mentions a +<i>belle</i> there, Lady Adeliza Fitzhowden, with whom, he says, the world is +associating <i>your</i> name. Is it true, Fane?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Les on dit font la gazette des fous!</i>" cried the captain, impatiently, +stroking Florence's little King Charles. "I saw Lady Adeliza at Paris +last January, but I would not marry her—no! not if there were no other +woman upon earth! I thought, Fred, really you were too sensible to +believe all the scandal raked up by that gossiping Vivian. I do hope you +have not been propagating his most unfounded report?" asked my gallant +friend, in quite an excited tone.</p> + +<p>At this moment the ladies entered. Florence with her dark eyes looking +very sad under their long lashes, but they soon brightened when Fane +seated himself by her side, and began talking in a lower tone, and with +even more <i>tendresse</i> than ever.</p> + +<p>I had the pleasure of quite eclipsing Tom Cleaveland, I thought, as I +turned over the leaves of Mary's music, and looked unutterable things, +which, however, I fear were all lost, as Mary <i>would</i> look only at the +notes of the piano, and I firmly believe never heard a word I said.</p> + +<p>How Florence blushed as Fane whispered his soft good night; she looked +so happy, poor girl, and he, heartless demon, talked of going into +foreign service! By the by, what put that into his head, I wonder?</p> + +<p>The night of our grand theatricals at length arrived, and we were all +assembled in the library, converted for the time into a green-room. +Mounteagle was repeating to himself, for the hundredth time, his part of +<i>Lord Tinsel</i>; I, in my <i>Modus</i> dress, which I had a disagreeable idea +was not becoming, was endeavoring to make an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> impression on the +not-to-be impressed Mary, and Florence was looking lovelier than ever in +her rich old-fashioned dress, when Fane entered, and bending, offered +her a bouquet of rare flowers. She blushed deeply as she took it. Oh! +Fane, Fane, what will you have to answer for?</p> + +<p>We were waiting the summons for the first scene, when, to Mary's horror, +I suddenly exclaimed that I could not play!</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! why not?" was the general inquiry.</p> + +<p>"Why!" I said. "I never thought of it until now, but certainly <i>Modus</i> +ought to appear without moustaches, and, hang it, I cannot cut mine +off."</p> + +<p>"Take my life, but spare my moustaches!" cried Mary, in tragic tones. +"Certainly though, Mr. Wilmot, you are right; <i>Modus</i> ought not to be +seen with the characteristic 'musk-toshes,' as nurse calls them; of an +English officer. What is to be done?"</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, will you come? Major Vaughan says the group is agoing to +be set for the first scene, and you are wanted, sir," was a flunkey's +admonition to Fane, who went off accordingly, after advising me to add a +dishevelled beard to my tenderly cared-for moustaches, which would seem +as if <i>Modus</i> had entirely neglected his toilette.</p> + +<p>There was a general rush for part books, a general cry for things that +were not forthcoming, and a general despair on the parts of the youngest +amateurs at forgetting their cues just when they were most wanted.</p> + +<p>Fane, when he came off the stage after the first scene, leant against a +pillar to watch the pretty one between <i>Julia</i> and <i>Helen</i>, so near that +he must have been seen by the audience, and presented a most handsome +and interesting spectacle, I dare say, for young ladies to gaze at. +Fixing his eyes on Florence, whose rendering of the part was really +perfect as she uttered these words, "Helen, I'm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> constancy!" he +unconsciously muttered aloud, "I believe it!"</p> + +<p>"So do I!" I could not help saying, "and therefore more shame to whoever +wins such a heart to throw it away. 'Beneath her feet, a duke—a duke +might lay his coronet!'" I quoted.</p> + +<p>"Are you in love yourself, Fred?" laughed the captain; then, stroking +his moustaches thoughtfully for some minutes, he said at last, as if +with an effort, "You are right, young one, and yet——"</p> + +<p>If I was right, what need was there for him to throw such passion into +his part—what need was there for him to say with such <i>empressement</i> +those words:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">A willing pupil kneels to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lays his title and his fortune at thy feet?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>If he intended to go into foreign service, why did he not go at once? +Though I confess it seemed strange to me why Fane—the courted, the +flattered, the admired Fane—should wish to leave England.</p> + +<p>Reader, mind, the gallant captain is a desperate flirt, and I do not +believe he will go into foreign service any more than I shall, but I +<i>am</i> afraid he will win that poor girl's heart with far less thought +than you buy your last "little darling French bonnet," and when he is +tired of it will throw it away with quite as little heed. But I was not +so much interested in his flirtation as to forget my own, still I was +obliged to confess that Mary Aspeden did not pay me as much attention as +I should have wished.</p> + +<p>I danced the first dance with her, after the play was over—(I forgot to +tell you we were very much applauded)—and Tom Cleaveland engaging her +for the next, I proposed a walk through the conservatories to a +sentimental young lady who was my peculiar aversion, but to whom I +became extremely <i>dévoué</i>, for I thought I would try and pique Mary if I +could.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span></p> + +<p>The light strains of dance music floated in from the distance, and the +air was laden with the scent of flowers, and many a <i>tête-à-tête</i> and +<i>partie carrée</i> was arranged in that commodious conservatory.</p> + +<p>Half hidden by an orange-tree, Florence Aspeden was leaning back in a +garden-chair, close to where we stood looking out upon the beautiful +night. Her fair face was flushed, and she was nervously picking some of +the blossoms to pieces; before her stood Mounteagle, speaking eagerly. I +was moving away to avoid being a hearer of his love-speech, as I doubted +not it was, but my companion, with many young-ladyish expressions of +adoration of the "sublime moonlight," begged me to stay "one moment, +that she might see the dear moon emerge like a swan from that dark, +beautiful cloud!" and in the pauses of her ecstatics I heard poor +Mount's voice in a tone of intense entreaty.</p> + +<p>At that moment Fane passed. He glanced at the group behind the +orange-trees, and his face grew stern and cold, and his lips closed with +that iron compression they always have when he is irritated. His eyes +met Florences, and he bowed haughtily and stiffly as he moved on, and +his upright figure, with its stately head, was seen in the room beyond, +high above any of those around him. A heavy sigh came through the orange +boughs, and her voice whispered, "I—I am very sorry, but——"</p> + +<p>"Oh! <i>do</i> look at the moonbeams falling on that darling little piece of +water, Mr. Wilmot!" exclaimed my decidedly <i>moonstruck</i> companion.</p> + +<p>"Is there no hope?" cried poor Mount.</p> + +<p>"None!" And the low-whispered knell of hope came sighing over the +flowers. I thought how little she guessed there was none for her. Poor +Florence!</p> + +<p>"Oh, this night! I could gaze on it forever, though it is saddening in +its sweetness, do not you think?" asked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> my romantic demoiselle. "Ah! +what a pretty <i>valse</i> they are playing!"</p> + +<p>"May I have the pleasure of dancing it with you?" I felt myself obliged +to ask, although intensely victimized thereby, as I hate dancing, and +wonder whatever idiot invented it.</p> + +<p>Miss Chesney, considering her devotion to the moon, consented very +joyfully to leave it for the pleasures (?) of a <i>valse à deux temps</i>.</p> + +<p>As we moved away, I saw that Florence was alone, and apparently occupied +with sad thoughts. She, I dare say, was grieving over Fane's cold bow, +and poor Mount had rushed away somewhere with his great sorrow. Fane +came into my room next morning while I was at breakfast, having been +obliged to get up at the unconscionable hour of ten, to be in time for a +review we were to have that day on Layton Common for the glorification +of the country around.</p> + +<p>The gallant captain flung himself on my sofa, and, after puffing away at +his cigar for some minutes, came out with, "Any commands for London? I +am going to apply for leave, and I think I shall start by the express +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"What's in the wind now?" I asked. "Is Lord Avanley unwell?"</p> + +<p>"No; the governor's all right, thank you. I am tired of rural felicity, +that is all," replied Fane. "I must stay for this review to-day, or the +colonel would make no end of a row. He is a testy old boy. I rather +think I shall set out, or exchange into the Heavies."</p> + +<p>"What in the world have you got into your head, Fane?" I asked, utterly +astonished to see him diligently smoking an extinguished cigar. "I am +sorry you are going to leave us. The 110th will miss you, old fellow; +and what <i>will</i> the Aspedens say to losing their <i>preux<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> chevalier</i>? By +the way, speaking of them, poor Mount received his <i>congé</i> last night, I +expect."</p> + +<p>"What! are you sure? What did you say?" demanded Fane, stooping to +relight his cigar.</p> + +<p>I told him what I had overheard in the conservatory.</p> + +<p>"Oh! well—ah! indeed—poor fellow!" ejaculated the captain. "But +there's the bugle-call! I must go and get into harness."</p> + +<p>And I followed his example, turning over in my mind, as I donned my +uniform, what might possibly have induced Fane to leave Layton Rise so +suddenly. Was it, at last, pity for Florence? And if it were, would not +the pity come too late?</p> + +<p>Layton Rise looked very pretty and bright under the combined influence +of beauty and valor (that is the correct style, is it not?). The +Aspedens came early, and drew up their carriages close to the +flag-staff. Fane's eye-glass soon spied them from our distant corner of +the field, and, as we passed before the flagstaff, he bent low to his +saddle with one of those fascinating smiles which have gone deep to so +many unfortunate young ladies' hearts. Again I felt angry with him, as I +rode along thinking of that girl, her whole future most likely clouded +for ever, and he going away to-morrow to enjoy himself about in the +world, quite reckless of the heart he had broken, and—— But in the +midst of my sentimentalism I was startled by hearing the sharp voice of +old Townsend, our colonel, who was a bit of a martinet, asking poor +Ennuyé "what he lifted his hand for?"</p> + +<p>"There was a bee upon my nose, colonel."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, and if there were a whole hive of bees upon your nose, what +right have you to raise your hand on parade?" stormed the colonel.</p> + +<p>There was a universal titter, and poor Ennuyé was glad to hide his +confusion in the "charge" which was sounded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span></p> + +<p>On we dashed our horses at a stretching gallop, our spurs jingling, our +plumes waving in the wind, and our lances gleaming in the sunlight. +Hurrah! there is no charge in the world like the resistless English +dragoons'! On we went, till suddenly there was a piercing cry, and one +of the carriages, in which the ponies had been most negligently left, +broke from the circle and tore headlong down the common, at the bottom +of which was a lake. One young lady alone was in it. It was impossible +for her to pull in the excited little grays, and, unless they <i>were</i> +stopped, down they would all go into it. But as soon as it was +perceived, Fane had rushed from the ranks, and, digging his spurs into +his horse, galloped after the carriage. Breathless we watched him. We +would not follow, for we knew that he would do it, if any man could, and +the sound of many in pursuit would only further exasperate the ponies. +Ha! he is nearing them now. Another moment and they will be down the +sloping bank into the lake. The girl gives a wild cry; Fane is straining +every nerve. Bravo! well done—-he has saved her! I rushed up, and +arrived to find Fane supporting a half-fainting young lady, in whose +soft face, as it rested on his shoulder, I recognized Florence Aspeden. +Her eyes unclosed as I drew near, and, blushing, she disengaged herself +from his arms. Fane bent his head over her, and murmured, "Thank God, I +have saved you!" But perhaps I did not hear distinctly.</p> + +<p>By this time all her friends had gathered round them, and Fane had +consigned her to her cousin's care, and she was endeavoring to thank +him, which her looks, and blushes, and smiles did most eloquently; Mr. +Aspeden was shaking Fane by the hand, and what further might have +happened I know not, if the colonel (very wrathful at such an unseemly +interruption to his cherished manœuvres) had not shouted out, "Fall +in, gentlemen—fall in! Captain Fane, fall in with your troop, sir!" We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> +did accordingly fall in, and the review proceeded; but my friend +actually made some mistakes in his evolutions, and kept his eye-glass +immovably fixed on the point in the circle, and behaved altogether in a +<i>distrait</i> manner—Fane, whom I used to accuse of having too much <i>sang +froid</i>—whom nothing could possibly disturb—whom I never saw agitated +before in the whole course of my acquaintance!</p> + +<p>What an inexplicable fellow he is!</p> + +<p>The review over, we joined the Aspedens, and many were the +congratulations Florence had heaped upon her; but she looked +<i>distraite</i>, too, until Fane came up, and leaning his hand on the +carriage, bent down and talked to her. Their conversation went on in a +low tone, and as I was busy laughing with Mary, I cannot report it, save +that from the bright blushes on the one hand, and the soft whispered +tones on the other, Fane was clearly at his old and favorite work of +winning hearts.</p> + +<p>"You seem quite <i>occupé</i> this morning, Mr. Wilmot," said Mary, in her +winning tones. "I trust you have had no bad news—no order from the +Horse Guards for the Lancers to leave off moustaches."</p> + +<p>"No, Miss Aspeden," said Sydney; "if such a calamity as that had +occurred, you would not see Wilmot here, he would never survive the loss +of his moustaches—they are his first and only love."</p> + +<p>"And a first affection is never forgotten," added that provoking Mary, +in a most melancholy voice.</p> + +<p>"It would be a pity if it were, as it seems such a fertile source of +amusement to you and Miss Aspeden," I said, angrily, to Sydney, too much +of a boy then to take a joke.</p> + +<p>"Captain Fane has an invitation for you and Mr. Sydney," said Mary, I +suppose by way of <i>amende</i>. "We are going on the river, to a picnic at +the old castle;—you will come?"</p> + +<p>The tones were irresistible, so I smoothed down my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> indignation and my +poor moustache, and replied that I would have that pleasure, as did +Sydney.</p> + +<p>"<i>Bien!</i> good-bye, then, for we must hasten home," said Mary, whipping +her ponies. And off bowled the carriage with its fair occupants.</p> + +<p>"You won't be here for this picnic, old fellow," I remarked to Fane, as +we rode off the ground.</p> + +<p>"Well! I don't know. I hardly think I shall go just yet. You see I had +six months' leave when I was in Germany, before I came down here, and I +hardly like to ask for another so soon, and——"</p> + +<p>"It is so easy to find a reason for what one <i>wishes</i>," I added, +smiling.</p> + +<p>"Come and look at my new chestnut, will you?" said Fane, not deigning to +reply to my insinuation. "I am going to run her against Stuckup of the +Guards' bay colt!"</p> + +<p>That beautiful morning in June! How well I remember it, as we dropped +down the sunlit river, under the shade of the branching trees, the +gentle plash of the oars mingling with the high tones and ringing +laughter of our merry party, on our way to the castle picnic.</p> + +<p>"How beautiful this is," I said to Mary Aspeden; "would that life could +glide on calmly and peacefully as we do this morning!"</p> + +<p>"How romantic you are becoming!" laughed Mary. "What a pity that I feel +much more in mood to fish than to sentimentalize!"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" I replied, "with the present companionship I could be content to +float on forever."</p> + +<p>"Hush! I beg your pardon, but <i>do</i> listen to that dear thrush," +interrupted Mary, not the least disturbed, or even interested, by my +pretty speeches.</p> + +<p>I was old enough to know I was not the least in love with Mary Aspeden, +but I was quite too much of a boy not to feel provoked I did not make +more impression. I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> a desperate puppy at that time, and she served +me perfectly right. However, feeling very injured, I turned my attention +to Fane, who sat talking of course to Florence, and left Mary to the +attentions of her Cantab cousin.</p> + +<p>"Miss Aspeden does not agree with you, Fred," said Fane. "She says life +was not intended to glide on like a peaceful river; she likes the waves +and storms," he added, looking down at her with very visible admiration.</p> + +<p>"No, not for myself," replied Florence, with a sweet, sad smile. "I did +not mean <i>that</i>. One storm will wreck a <i>woman's</i> happiness; but were I +a man I should glory in battling with the tempest-tossed waves of life. +If there be no combat there can be no fame, and the fiercer, the more +terrible it is, the more renown to be the victor in the struggle!"</p> + +<p>"You are right," answered Fane, with unusual earnestness. "That used to +be <i>my</i> dream once, and I think even now I have the stuff in me for it; +but then," he continued, sinking his voice, "I must have an end, an aim, +and, above all, some one who will sorrow in my sorrow, and glory in my +glory; who will be——"</p> + +<p>"Quite ready for luncheon, I should think; hope you've enjoyed your +boating!" cried Mr. Aspeden's hearty voice from the shore, where, having +come by land, he now stood to welcome us, surrounded by a crowd of +anxious mammas, wondering if the boating had achieved the desirable end +of a proposal from Captain A——; hoping Mr. B——, who had nothing but +his pay, had not been paying too much attention to Adelina; and that +Honoria had given sufficient encouragement to Mr. C——, who, on the +strength of 1000<i>l.</i> a year, and a coronet in prospect, was considered +an eligible <i>parti</i> (his being a consummate scamp and inveterate gambler +is nothing); and that D—— has too much "consideration for his family" +to have any "serious intentions" to Miss E——, whom he is assisting to +land. However,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> whatever proposals have been accepted or rejected, here +we all were ready for luncheon, which was laid out on the grass, and +Fane will be obliged to finish his speech another time, for little now +is heard but <i>bons mots</i>, laughter, and champagne corks. The captain is +more brilliant than ever, and I make Mary laugh if I cannot make her +sigh. Luncheon over, what was to be done? See the castle, of course, as +we were in duty bound, since it was what we came to do; and the +<i>tête-à-tête</i> of the boats are resumed, as ladies and gentlemen ascended +the grassy slopes on which the fine old ruins stood. I looked for Mary +Aspeden, feeling sure that I should conquer her in time (though I did +not <i>want</i> to in the least!), but she had gone off somewhere, I dare say +with Tom Cleaveland; so I offered my arm to that same sentimental Miss +Chesney who had bored me into a <i>valse à deux temps</i> the night of the +theatricals, and I have no doubt her mamma contemplated her as Mrs. +Wilmot, of Wilmot Park, with very great gratification and security. +Becoming rather tired of the young lady's hackneyed style of +conversation, which consisted, as usual, of large notes of exclamation +about "the <i>sweet</i> nightingales!" "the <i>dear</i> ruins!" "the <i>darling</i> +flowers!" &c. &c., I managed to exchange with another sub, and strolled +off by myself.</p> + +<p>As I was leaning against an old wall in no very amiable frame of mind, +consigning all young ladies to no very delightful place, and returning +to my old conclusion that they were all tarlatan and coquetry, soft +musical voices on the other side of the wall fell almost unconsciously +on my ear.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Florence, I am so unhappy!"</p> + +<p>"Are you, darling? I wish I could help you. Is it about Cyril Graham?"</p> + +<p>"Yes!" with a tremendous sigh. "I am afraid papa, and I am sure mamma, +will never consent. I know poor dear Cyril is not rich, but then he is +so clever, he will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> soon make himself known. But if that tiresome Fred +Wilmot should propose, I know they will want me to accept him." (There +is one thing, I never, <i>never will</i>!) "I do snub him as much as ever I +can, but he is such a puppy, I believe he thinks I am in love with +him—as if Cyril, were not worth twenty such as he, for all he is the +owner of Wilmot Park!"</p> + +<p>Very pleasant this was! What a fool I must have made of myself to Mary +Aspeden, and how nice it was to hear one's self called "a puppy!"</p> + +<p>"Of course, dear," resumed Florence, "as you love Cyril, it is +impossible for you to love any one ever again; but I do not think Mr. +Wilmot a puppy. He is conceited, to be sure, but I do not believe he +would be so much liked by—by those who are his friends, if he were not +rather nice. Come, dear, cheer up. I am sure uncle Aspeden is too kind +not to let you marry Cyril when he knows how much you love one another. +<i>I</i> will talk to him, Mary dear, and bring him round, see if I do not! +But—but—will you think me <i>very</i> selfish if I tell you"—(a long +pause)—"he has asked me—I mean—he wishes—he told me—he says he does +love me!"</p> + +<p>"Who, darling? Let me think—Lord Athum?—Mr. Grant?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mary—Drummond—that is, Captain Fane—he said——Oh, Mary, I am so +happy!"</p> + +<p>At this juncture it occurred suddenly to me that I was playing the part +of a listener. (But may not much be forgiven a man who has heard himself +called "a puppy"?) So I moved away, leaving the fair Florence to her +blushes and her happiness, unshared by any but her friend. Between my +astonishment at Fane and my indignation at Mary, I was fairly +bewildered. Fane actually had proposed! <i>He</i>, the Honorable Drummond +Fane, who had always declaimed against matrimony—who had been +proof-hardened against half the best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> matches in the country—that +desperate flirt who we thought would never fall in love, to have tumbled +in headlong like this!</p> + +<p>Well, there was some satisfaction, I would chaff him delightfully about +it; and I was really glad, for if Florence had given her heart to Fane, +she was not the sort of girl to forget, nor he the sort of man to be +forgotten, in a hurry. But in what an awfully foolish light I must have +appeared to Mary Aspeden! There was one thing, she would never know I +had overheard her. I would get leave, and go off somewhere—I would +marry the first pretty girl I met with—she should <i>not</i> think I cared +for <i>her</i>. No, I would go on flirting as if nothing had happened, and +then announce, in a natural manner, that I was going into the Highlands, +and then <i>she</i> would be the one to feel small, as she had made so <i>very</i> +sure of my proposal. And yet, if I went away, that was the thing to +please her. <i>Hang</i> it! I did not know <i>what</i> to do! My vanity was most +considerably touched, though my heart was not; but after cooling down a +little, I saw how foolishly I should look if I behaved otherwise than +quietly and naturally, and that after all <i>that</i> would be the best way +to make Mary reverse her judgment.</p> + +<p>So, when I met her again, which was not until we were going to return, I +offered her my arm to the boat where Fane and his <i>belle fiancée</i> were +sitting, looking most absurdly happy; and the idea of my adamantine +friend being actually caught seemed so ridiculous, that it almost +restored me to my good humor, which, sooth to say, the appellation of +"puppy" had somewhat disturbed.</p> + +<p>And so the moon rose and shed her silver light over the young lady who +had sentimentalized upon her, and a romantic cornet produced a +concertina, and sent forth dulcet strains into the evening air, and +Florence and her captain talked away in whispers, and Mary Aspeden sat +with tears in her eyes, thinking, I suppose, of "Cyril"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> and I mused on +my "puppyism;" and thus, wrapped each in our own little sphere, we +floated down the river to Woodlands, and, it being late, with many a +soft good night, and many a gentle "<i>Au revoir</i>," we parted, and Mr. +Aspeden's castle picnic was over!</p> + +<p>I did not see Fane the next day, except at parade, until I was dressing +for mess, when he stalked into my room, and stretching himself on a +sofa, said, after a pause,</p> + +<p>"Well, old boy, I've been and gone and done it."</p> + +<p>"Been and gone and done what?" I asked, for, by the laws of retaliation, +I was bound to tease him a little.</p> + +<p>"Confound you, what an idiot you are!" was the complimentary rejoinder. +"Why, my dear fellow, the truth is, that, like most of my unfortunate +sex, I have at last turned into that most tortuous path called love, and +surrendered myself to the machinations of beautiful woman. The long and +the short of it is—I am engaged to be married!"</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens! Fane!" I exclaimed, "what next? <i>You</i> married! Who on +earth is she? I know of no heiress down here!"</p> + +<p>"She is no heiress," said the captain; "but she is what is much +better—the sweetest, dearest, most lovable——"</p> + +<p>"Of <i>course</i>!" I said, "but no heiress! My dear Fane, you cannot mean +what you say?"</p> + +<p>"I should be sorry if I did not," was the cool reply; "and you must be +more of a fool, Fred, than I took you for, if you cannot see that +Florence Aspeden is worth all the heiresses upon earth, and is the +embodiment of all that is lovely and winning in woman——"</p> + +<p>"No doubt of it, <i>tout cela saute aux yeux</i>," I answered. "But reflect, +Fane; it would be utter madness in <i>you</i> to marry anything but an +heiress. Love in a cottage is not <i>your</i> style. <i>You</i> were not made for +a small house, one maid-servant, and dinner——"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" laughed Fane, "you are bringing my former<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> nonsense against me. +Some would say I was committing worse folly now, but believe me, Fred, +the folly even of the heart is better than the calculating wisdom of the +world. I do not hesitate to say that if Florence had fortune I should +prefer it, for such a <i>vaurien</i> as I was made to spend money; but as she +has not, I love her too dearly to think about it, and my father, I have +no doubt, will soon get me my majority, and we shall get on stunningly. +So marry for <i>love</i>, Fred, if you take my advice."</p> + +<p>"A <i>rather</i> different opinion to that which you inculcated so +strenuously a month ago," I observed, smiling; "but let me congratulate +you, old fellow, with all my heart. 'Pon my word, I am very glad, for I +always felt afraid you would, like Morvillier's <i>garçon</i>, resist all the +attractions of a woman until the '<i>cent mille écus</i>,' and then, without +hesitation, declare, '<i>J'épouse</i>.' But you were too good to be spoiled."</p> + +<p>"As for my goodness, there's not much of <i>that</i>," replied Fane; "I am +afraid I am much better off than I deserve. I wrote to the governor last +night: dear old boy! he will do anything <i>I</i> ask him. By the by, Mary +will be married soon too. I hope you are not <i>épris</i> in that quarter, +Fred?—pray do not faint if you are. <i>My</i> Florence, who can do anything +she likes with anybody (do you think any one <i>could</i> be angry with +<i>her</i>?) coaxed old Aspeden into consenting to Mary's marriage with a +fellow she really is in love with—Graham, a barrister. I think she +would have had more difficulty with the lady-mother, if a letter had not +most opportunely come from Graham this morning, announcing the agreeable +fact that he had lots of tin left him unexpectedly. I wish somebody +would do the same by me. And so this Graham will fly down on the wings +of love—represented in these days by the express train—to-morrow +evening."</p> + +<p>"And how about the foreign service, Fane?" I could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> not help asking. +"And do you intend going to London to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"I made those two resolutions under very different circumstances to the +<i>present</i>, my dear fellow," laughed Fane: "the first, when I determined +to cut away from Florence altogether, as the only chance of forgetting +her; sad the second, when I thought poor Mount was an accepted lover, +and I confess that I did not feel to have stoicism enough to witness his +happiness. But how absurd it seems that <i>I</i> should have fallen in love," +continued he; "<i>I</i>, that defied the charms of all the Venuses upon +earth—the last person any one would have taken for a marrying man. I am +considerably astonished myself! But I suppose love is like the +whooping-cough, one must have it some time or other." And with these +words the gallant captain raised himself from the sofa, lighted a cigar, +and, strolling out of the room, mounted his horse for Woodlands, where +he was engaged of course to dinner that evening.</p> + +<p>And now, gentle reader, what more is there to tell? I fear as it is I +have written too "much about nothing," and as thou hast, I doubt not, a +fine imagination, what need to tell how Lord Avanley and Mr. Aspeden +arranged matters, not like the cross papas in books and dramas, but +amicably, as gentlemen should; how merrily the bells pealed for the +double wedding; how I, as <i>garçon d'honneur</i>, flirted with the +bridesmaids to my heart's content; how Fane is my friend, <i>par +excellence</i>, still, and how his love is all the stronger for having +"come late," he says. How all the young ladies hated Florence, and all +the mammas and chaperones blessed her for having carried off the +"fascinating younger son," until his brother Lord Castleton dying at the +baths, Fane succeeded of course to the title; how she is, if possible, +even more charming as Lady Castleton than as Florence Aspeden, and how +they were <i>really</i> heart-happy until the Crimean campaign<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> separated +them; and how she turns her beautiful eyes ever to the East and heeds +not, save to repulse, the crowd of admirers who seek to render her +forgetful of her soldier-husband.</p> + +<p>True wife as she is, may he live to come back with laurels hardly won, +still to hold her his dearest treasure.</p> + +<p><i>May 1, 1856.</i>—Fane <i>has</i> come back all safe. I hope, dear reader, you +are as glad as I am. He has distinguished himself stunningly, and is now +lieutenant-colonel of the dear old 110th. You have gloried in the charge +of ours at Balaklava, but as I have not whispered to you my name, you +cannot possibly divine that a rascally Russian gave me a cut on the +sword-arm that very day in question, which laid me <i>hors de combat</i>, but +got me my majority.</p> + +<p>Well may I, as well as Fane, bless the remembrance of Layton Rise, for +if I had never made the acquaintance of Mary Aspeden—I mean Graham—I +might never have known her <i>belle-sœur</i> (who is now shaking her head +at me for writing about her), and whom, either through my interesting +appearance when I returned home on the sick-list, and my manifold +Crimean adventures, or through the usual perversity of women, who will +fall always in love with scamps who do not deserve half their +goodness—(Edith, you shall <i>not</i> look over my shoulder)—I prevailed on +to accept my noble self and Lancer uniform, with the "<i>puppyism</i>" shaken +pretty well out of it! And so here we are <i>very happy of course</i>.—"As +yet," suggests Edith.</p> + +<p>Ah! Fane and I little knew—poor unhappy wretches that we were—what our +fate was preparing for us when it led us discontented <i>blasés</i> and +<i>ennuyés</i> down to our Country Quarters!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + +<div class="bbox"> +<h3>THE CHALLONERS</h3> + +<p class="center">BY E. F. BENSON<br /> + +<i>12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</i></p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>The theme is a father's concern lest his children become contaminated by +what he considers an unwholesome social atmosphere. The book is filled +with Mr. Benson's clever observations on the English smart set, and the +love-story shows him at his best.</p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h3>MORGANATIC</h3> + +<p class="center">BY MAX NORDAU<br /> + +<i>12mo. Decorated cloth, $1.50.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>This new book by the author of "Degeneration," has many of the qualities +which gave its predecessor such a phenomenal sale. It is a study of +morganatic marriage, and full of strong situations.</p> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h3>OLIVE LATHAM</h3> + +<p class="center">By E. L. VOYNICH<br /> +Author of "Jack Raymond" and "The Gadfly." Cloth, $1.50</p> + +<div class="cblockquot"> +<p>"The author's knowledge of this matter has been painfully personal. Her +husband, a Polish political refugee, at the age of twenty-two, was +arrested and thrown into a vile Russian prison without trial, and spent +five years of his life thereafter in Siberian exile, escaping in 1890 +and fleeing to England. Throughout 'Olive Latham' you get the impression +that it is a veritable record of what one woman went through for +love.... This painful, poignant, powerfully-written story permits one +full insight into the cruel workings of Russian justice and its effects +upon the nature of a well-poised Englishwoman. Olive comes out of the +Russian hell alive, and lives to know what happiness is again, but the +horror of those days in St. Petersburg, the remembrance of the +inhumanity which killed her lover never leaves her.... It rings true. It +is a grewsome study of Russian treatment of political offenders. Its +theme is not objectionable—a criticism which has been brought against +other books of Mrs. Voynich's."—<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p> + +<p>"So vividly are the coming events made to cast their shadows before, +that long before the half-way point is reached the reader knows that +Volodya's doom is near at hand, and that the chief interest of the story +lies not with him, but with the girl, and more specifically with the +curious mental disorders which her long ordeal brings upon her. It is +seldom that an author has succeeded in depicting with such grim horror +the sufferings of a mind that feels itself slipping over the brink of +sanity, and clutches desperately at shadows in the effort to drag itself +back."—<i>New York Globe.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h3>BACCARAT</h3> + +<p class="center">BY FRANK DANBY<br /> +AUTHOR OF "PIGS IN CLOVER"<br /><br /> + +<i>12 mo. Six illustrations in color. Cloth, $1.50.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>The story of a young wife left by her husband at a Continental watering +place for a brief summer stay, who, before she is aware, has drifted +into the feverish current of a French Monte Carlo.</p> + +<p>A dramatic and intense book that stirs the pity. One cannot read +"Baccarat" unmoved.</p> +</div> + +<div class="cblockquot"> +<p>"The finished style and unforgettable story, the living characters, and +compact tale of the new book show it to be a work on which care and time +have been expended.</p> + +<p>"Much more dramatic than her first novel, it possesses in common with it +a story of deep and terrible human interest."—<i>Chicago Tribune.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h3>THE ISSUE</h3> + +<p class="center">By GEORGE MORGAN<br /> + +Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50</p> + +<div class="cblockquot"> +<p>"Will stand prominently forth as the strongest book that the season has +given us. The novel is a brilliant one, and will command wide +attention."—<i>Philadelphia Public Ledger.</i></p> + +<p>"The love story running through the book is very tender and +sweet."—<i>St. Paul Despatch.</i></p> + +<p>"Po, a sweet, lovable heroine."—<i>The Milwaukee Sentinel.</i></p> + +<p>"Such novels as 'The Issue' are rare upon any theme. It is a work that +must have cost tremendous toil, a masterpiece. It is superior to 'The +Crisis.'"—<i>Pittsburg Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"The best novel of the Civil War that we have had."—<i>Baltimore Sun.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h5>J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA.</h5> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Beatrice Boville and Other Stories, by Ouida + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEATRICE BOVILLE AND OTHER STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 33942-h.htm or 33942-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/9/4/33942/ + +Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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