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diff --git a/41276.txt b/41276.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ed69c11..0000000 --- a/41276.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7734 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Miles Tremenhere, Vol 2 of 2, by Annette Marie Maillard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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/license - - -Title: Miles Tremenhere, Vol 2 of 2 - A Novel - -Author: Annette Marie Maillard - -Release Date: November 3, 2012 [EBook #41276] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILES TREMENHERE, VOL 2 OF 2 *** - - - - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - MILES TREMENHERE. - - "For such a love, O Rachel! years are few, - and life is short!"--LOPEZ DE VEGA. - - BY ANNETTE MARIE MAILLARD. - - AUTHORESS OF "THE COMPULSORY MARRIAGE," "ZINGRA THE GIPSY," ETC., ETC. - - - IN TWO VOLUMES. - VOL. II. - - LONDON: - G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET. - 1853. - - M'CORQUODALE AND CO., PRINTERS, LONDON. - WORKS--NEWTON. - - - - -[Illustration: Minnie parting with Lord Randolph] - - - - -MILES TREMENHERE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -Tremenhere did not return to dinner at six, as usual. He was not one of -those careless husbands, who dine out unexpectedly with a friend, and -leave their wives to wait in ignorance of their movements; so he sent a -messenger immediately after Lady Dora had quitted the villa, and Minnie -felt as if his absence _for the first time_ gave her pleasure. It -afforded her time to collect her resolution for meeting him with this -concealment in her heart. The long hours passed sadly enough, for every -thing around her seemed distasteful; the sunny noon of her heart was -growing into twilight. Tremenhere generally returned early from his -occasional parties. Ten o'clock came--a late hour for their quiet -cottage--then half-past. Minnie grew restless--her conscience was not at -rest; moreover, she was quite alone. The servant and the boy they -kept--all their household, had retired. Miles always had his key, when -late. Minnie watched a short time longer, and then, going up-stairs to -her dressing-room, partially undressed, enfolding herself in a long -loose wrapper, of pale pink cashmere, in which she looked even more -beautiful than when richly attired. Next, she unbound her long, fair -hair, and, unweaving it, flung the rich mantle over her shoulders, which -it completely covered; and thus, at perfect ease, she sat down in a -large chair before the fire. She had been unused to much deep thought of -late, and the events of the past two days had wearied her brain. -Gradually the head fell listlessly back, a little on one side--the -clasped hands, so perfect in form, supported it, an elbow resting on the -arm of the chair--the lips were slightly parted, and a warm glow, like a -sleeping infant's, ruddied her cheek, while the fair hair literally -swept the ground. So soundly she slept, that Tremenhere entered the room -unheard; he, too, had passed a day of deep meditation. Matter-of-fact -persons may laugh at the idea; but to sensitive minds, coming events -have often, as _avant courier_, presentiment. He had been thoroughly -wretched all day; so much so, that without knowing any tangible cause of -fear, he entered his home with a beating heart, as if he should find it -vacant! How can we account for such sensations? They are purely -spiritual. A deep sigh of joy trembled his lip, when he saw all he loved -so well, so exclusively in safety, and sleeping calm as an angel might, -rocked in a sailing cloud,--if angels ever sleep. He crept on tiptoe -nearer; involuntarily his hands clasped as in prayer, as he gazed upon -her, then, fearful lest that magnetic influence of an eye watching over -us, which makes us start up affrighted, with throbbing hearts, from our -sleep, should awake her rudely, he bent slowly downwards on his knee, -and looked upon her as on a saint, so pure, so unearthly was his love at -that moment. Some moments he knelt thus, then, unclasping his hands, he -raised the mass of sweeping hair gently, and pressed it to his lips; it -was slightly perfumed, like new-mown grass. Insensibly his hands -commenced turning fold over fold, tress over tress, till it grew to a -rope of brightness in his hands, which they could just clasp; smiling, -he twisted it, wondering at her prolonged sleep--suddenly a thought -flashed through his brain, a demon's thought--jealousy; his fears of the -day were parent to it. If she _ever_ should love another! if those -dreaming thoughts, which he then felt were his, should wander to -another! What temptation had she yet known?--none. What men had she ever -seen, to make her what so many were, even if only in idea--faithless? He -should care but little for actual virtue, if the soul of it were gone; -and as these maddening fancies crept through his mind, tighter and -tighter he twisted the fair hair in his grasp. - -"I could still her life with this," he muttered; "once round that small, -fair infant neck, and I should save her from ever having a sinful wish. -She is pure as one of those little things, whose faces are not veiled -even by their own wings, as they say other angels are in heaven. O -Minnie! so much I love you thus, that I could find in my heart almost -to kill you now, and bear the weight of that heavy sin, to save you from -even knowing remorse." And in the agony of that moment of demoniacal -temptation, he rose to his full height, while the livid face and brow -were studded by agonized sweat-drops, his temples throbbed, he felt his -mental power of reflection every moment becoming more condensed, and -almost lost in impulse--impulse to commit murder, and, damning himself, -save her! At that supreme moment a deep sigh struggled through her -parted lips, the brow knit in mental pain, and Minnie awoke. Like a tree -blasted at the roots, Tremenhere dropped on his knees, which gave way -beneath his weight, and, burying his face in the terrified girl's lap, -he sobbed convulsively--it was not weeping, but his heart's bursting, -coming sorrow. - -"Miles--dearest Miles--my own love!" cried she in terror, trying to -raise his head--"What has occurred? Are you ill? Speak to me, Miles." -She lifted up the face at last; it was pale as death, and on the fringes -of the closed eyes hung unfalling tears: they were as the heat drops -from the clouds before they burst asunder, sending forth sheet upon -sheet of flame. - -"Minnie!" he cried wildly, looking up at last, "I have dreamed a horrid -waking dream while you slept: I was mad; for I thought if a day should -ever come wherein you would not love me, but another----" - -"Miles--Miles!" cried the trembling girl. "Do not think of so fearful a -thing; 'tis tempting some demon to try you." - -"_Try_ me, Minnie! How so?" There was almost madness in his look. - -"By giving you _real_ trouble for this unchecked vision of impossible -things." - -"You are right, dearest," he said, rising more calmly, yet he shivered -with emotion. "Heaven keep me from _real_ doubt! I could not support it. -Come, let us leave this room; it chills my heart, Minnie;" and he placed -his arm around her--as he did so, and it came in contact with the living -rope he had so madly twisted, a cold shudder passed over him. - -"You are not well, dear Miles," she said, tenderly. "Let us leave this -room; it seems filled with fancies and spirits--I grow superstitious." -She tried to smile up in his face as usual, but the dimpling peace had -left her--she was tacitly deceiving him. - -The next day came with a bright sunshine, which imparted its light to -Tremenhere's heart. He looked back upon his mad thoughts of the past -night, half in laughter, half in horror, fully resolving for the future -to check those wild, jealous, unfounded fears. Minnie could not rally, -as he had done; she crept about that cottage like a troubled spirit, -from one room to another, restless and unhappy. She was counting the -moments until Lady Dora should arrive, and she could fling her arms -round Miles's neck, and, telling him all, make him promise to be as ever -towards Lord Randolph, who had in truth not insulted her in any way. The -more she reflected, the less cause could she see for this secresy; and -but for her hasty promise to her cousin, certainly would have told him -at once. - -"Minnie, dearest," cried her husband, laughing; "what are you creeping -about in that miserable manner for? Poor child! I startled you out of -your sleep last night--you are quite pale." - -She would have looked doubly so had she known his mad thoughts while she -slept; as it was, she blushed painfully when he noticed her. - -"I declare," he said, bending over her fondly, "you have been crying, -dear child. What is grieving you?--have I unintentionally pained you?" -And he kissed the bent brow. - -"No, dearest Miles," she answered with quivering lips--she felt so -nervous. "You are all kindness, all love. I----" and she was choking -with her efforts to subdue her tears. - -"My darling child--my own wife!" he said tenderly, raising her to his -bosom, "do not give way to nervous depression--you can have no cause--I -will not leave you so much alone; but you know, dearest, why it is--not -choice, as heaven hears me--but necessity. Where will be our -long-projected voyage to Gibraltar, for our good object, if I do not -work? Every hour away from you is one of regret; and, as I am painting -some grim portrait, I long to carry my model, easel, and all, to my -quiet painting-room here, with my Minnie to hang over my shoulder." - -She was silently weeping most bitter tears; they were standing near the -table in the centre of the room. "Come, come," he said, cheeringly, -"you shall not give way to this--come into my studio; I want you to mix -my colours. Silly child--silly child! to cry so much for nothing." - -She was on the point of telling him all, and imploring pardon, when he -turned his head aside, and the eye caught sight of a sheet of paper on -the table. "Since when has Minnie," he said laughingly, as he took it in -his hand, "turned copyist, and whose writing is this she has been -imitating? I have seen it somewhere before--where have I seen it?" She -was almost sinking to earth. It was a note which Lord Randolph had -commenced; yet, in her speechless agony, she clung to his arm. There -were only a few words--they ran thus:-- - -"Dear Tremenhere,--I am much annoyed at not finding you at home----" - -"What does it mean, Minnie?" he cried, still smiling, and yet a strange, -uncertain light bursting over him. "Surely this is not your writing? has -any one been here? I will ring, and ask Bruce." He had his hand on the -bell: she had slid from his arm unperceived to a seat. Before the bell -sounded, the servant boy entered the room with a letter, which he handed -to Tremenhere. - -"Has any one called during my----" - -Tremenhere said no more, his eye fell on the letter--one glance -sufficed; for in his other hand he held the slip of paper. - -"You may go," he said hastily to the boy. Without uttering another word -he tore open the letter, and read, (we have said Lord Randolph had not -much variety of thought; this note was a copy, in the past tense, of -the other one commenced.) - - "Dear Tremenhere,--I was much annoyed at not finding you at home - when I called to-day," (it had been posted the previous evening,) - "as I particularly wished to see you. I know, under the emergency of - the case, you will pardon my intrusion at your villa, the fair - inhabitant of which did me the great honour of mistaking me for you, - and, rushing in to meet you, brought me acquainted with the fairest - face and form I ever beheld. 'Pon my life, Tremenhere, you are a - lucky fellow, and a selfish one too, for possessing so fair an - original. Surely you might bestow the copy on a friend, to create - the loveliest Aurora ever seen! I am off to Uplands. As I _most_ - particularly wish to see you, come down without delay; I shall - expect you to-morrow night, and you must stop a few days. Make my - best compliments to your fair companion, and believe me to be, ever - yours truly, - - "RANDOLPH GRAY." - -Miles read the letter through without a word uttered; it was only on his -face his soul broke forth, and there it became, step by step, as he read -on--surprise, grief, cold desolation--a man waking from a dream of home -and love, to the rigid reality of a field of blood and battle. All these -emotions, one by one, passed like shadows over his face, which grew -paler with each. When he looked up, all had given place to a stern -resolution, which sat on his troubled brow as he turned towards his -wife. She, poor child, had covered her face with both hands, and was -weeping bitterly. He laid a cold unearthly hand on her arm--"You have -deceived me," he uttered; and, with that almost inarticulate sound, his -soul seemed to pass, so great was his agony. "Whom can we trust?" he -whispered almost, as though speaking to himself. "She has deceived me!" -and a sigh, almost a sob, burst from his bosom. - -Our readers must picture to themselves the jealous temperament of this -man--his intense, all-absorbing love for his wife--and then they may -form some idea of his present agony; for this it was. His heart-strings -seemed tightened as if a breath would snap them, like a lute too finely -strung, over which we pass the fingers in dread. - -"Miles!" she cried, clasping his arm, "hear me--hear all! I--I--I was -afraid to tell you!" and the tears gushed from her eyes anew. - -He released her grasp, and quietly reseating her, but as some one he -touched with repulsion, said, with his cold, stern eyes bent on her, -"Afraid to tell me! Am I then so much an object of terror to you? I -who----" The tone was unnatural, for his heart was bursting. "I," he -continued, gradually raising his voice till it trembled with various -emotions, "who have been gentle as a woman with you. I thought you so -loving, so timid in your love, I feared to startle you by a rough -tone--and you are afraid of me! All my love for you has only brought -forth this--fear! Oh! when I said my heart was too old for yours, I was -indeed right. I am not old--young still--but old at heart; and there, -where I have given all, I meet only fear!" He passed his hand over his -brow, as if his brain were burning within. "Only fear--only fear!" he -muttered; "and I, fool, thought she loved me!" - -"So I do, Miles, my own dear husband," she cried, dropping on her knees, -and holding her trembling hands up to him in supplication, while the -tears rolled heavily down her upturned face; "I do love you, Miles--on -my soul, I do, more than all the world beside; but I feared to tell you, -for Dora frightened me so much about this man's visit." - -"Lady Dora!" he cried--"when was she here?" - -"Yesterday, Miles," sobbed she. "In my trouble, I forgot to tell you;" -and, rising, she dropped on a seat. - -"There was a time, Minnie," he said bitterly, looking at the girl as he -stood with crossed arms before her, where she sat trembling, "you never -_forgot_ or _concealed_ any thing from me. Times are sadly changed; or, -perhaps, 'tis I who have been self-deceived all this long time, and read -you as I hoped, not as you really are. In good truth, we know no one -till we try them. 'Tis your nature, perhaps, child. You tried your young -wings at home, and now you are giving me the advantage of your perfected -flight. I have walked with you against others on this crooked road: I -deserve to meet with a path where you turn round upon--myself!" - -"Miles! for pity's sake," she articulated, almost suffocated by emotion, -"have mercy on me; you are unjust and cruel!" - -He strode the room with clenched hands, endeavouring to subdue the many -passions in his breast. She rose like a spirit so noiselessly, and, -gliding beside him, grasped his arm again. "Forgive me, Miles," she -whispered with quivering lips. Her touch roused all the indignation he -was endeavouring to subdue. - -"Forgive you!" he exclaimed, flinging her hand from him as if it burned -him with its contact. "Forgive you!" and he stood before her with a wild -look of passion. "You, who have so bitterly wounded and deceived me--and -for whom? A man--the stranger of a day! Yet how do I know this? Perhaps -you have met often; and now I think of it, he does not name in his note -having been presented to you by your cousin. Fools!" he laughed--"poor -fools! you have ill-managed your duplicity. I read you all--all--and so -you will discover." So saying, he rushed from the room; and in a few -minutes afterwards quitted the house. Poor Minnie could not stay -him--she had fainted. - -It would be difficult to say to what extremities he might not -have proceeded, but a gentler thought came over the Parque who -had raised this first sorrow. As Tremenhere strode onwards towards -town, not looking to the right or left, but in deep thought, -scarcely knowing whither to go, or what to do, a brougham passed -rapidly--stopped--turned, and Lady Dora's voice said, "Mr. Tremenhere, -may I speak one word to you?" Hers trembled--it ever did when addressing -him: there was much warring in that girl's mind. She would have given -worlds never to see his face again, as, by a concatenation of strange -circumstances, she was forced to seek, or meet him. Her voice burst on -his deep reverie, and startled him. - -We have shewn that he had quitted home without any actual explanation -from Minnie. As he bowed to Lady Dora, there was more than the ordinary -constraint which marked his manner towards her on all occasions, she at -once remarked it, and a gleam of truth passed through her mind. "May I -speak to you?" she said, opening the door; for in these visits to -Minnie, she only brought her groom with her, on whose discretion, as an -old servant, she knew she could rely--not that she would condescend to -ask silence of any one; but in this man she had confidence. - -"If not of immediate moment, Lady Dora," he said bluntly, "I will beg to -be excused the honour you propose to me, of a seat beside you. I have -business of the utmost importance in town--meeting you on this road, I -presume your drive will be extended to Chiswick; Mrs. Tremenhere is at -home." He was moving away, having coldly raised his hat. - -Lady Dora was sincerely pained at the trouble she read in those eyes, on -that brow. "I must speak to you!" she cried hastily; "and, if you will -not step in, permit me to accompany you in your walk a short -distance--'tis of poor Minnie I would speak." - -The "poor Minnie" touched a chord in his heart which was strung to -harmony; it had been vibrating to the desire of his soul, to prove her -innocent. He stopped:-- - -"I will not trouble your ladyship so much," he said, stepping in and -closing the door. "Where shall I bid the man drive?" "Any where," she -answered in some confusion, leaning back in the corner. "I will not -detain you very long--let it be slowly towards town; you were going -there." - -But he did not continue that route above half a mile. Lady Dora had a -good heart, she really loved Minnie, and once you could, by her better -sentiments, penetrate through her pride, she was a kind, gentle girl. -Unhesitatingly she told Miles how every thing had occurred, every word -his little wife had uttered, her horror at deceiving him, even tacitly; -and _the fear_ explained, was so kindly a one, lest he should fly into -trouble, that his heart expanded with joy, and, involuntarily seizing -Lady Dora's hand, he pressed it to his lips. "You are a messenger of -peace and joy," he cried, looking in her face, which was very pale. -Something like a tear dimmed his eye as the thought of his poor little -wife--it was half love, and half regret. - -How very slowly the horse, even at a good long trot, seemed to go, as -the brougham turned once more towards his home! Lady Dora told him, that -having vainly expected Lord Randolph the previous evening, that morning -she sent to his residence, and learned he had gone off to Uplands. What -she had to tell him about Minnie, she could not write, and when Miles -met her, she was coming down to see him, and consult on what had best be -done. It was decided in their short drive, that he should accept Lord -Randolph's invitation, and start for Uplands at once, and himself -explain all. Lady Dora stopped the brougham before arriving at the -villa; nothing could have induced her to be present at the meeting -between the husband and wife: it was a scene she felt it would have -pained her to witness, much as she desired their re-union. Miles did not -urge it upon her, and as the carriage, with its pale occupant, turned -away, he hastily entered his own home. Poor Minnie was lying on her -couch, scarcely recovered from her swoon; when she heard his step, she -started up in terror, and with eyes distended and trembling frame, -awaited his coming. - -The door opened, and, before she could articulate, his arms were about -her, and we are not quite certain the tears which fell were all from her -eyes, there is something so soothing, so heavenly in reconciliation--it -is indeed the halcyon from above, descending with peaceful, unfluttering -wings! - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -As Minnie lay nestled to his heart, and once more, as of yore, smiling -in his face, he told her of his intention of going to Uplands without -delay, resolved upon confiding all to Lord Randolph, to prevent further -mistakes. Minnie fully concurred in his opinion; and yet, she could not -name this latter without a painful blush. It was the recollection of -Miles's suspicion which called up this evidence against him. - -"I will not have you even blush at his name," he whispered fondly; -"though not in love, I shall be perhaps envious of the emotion which -creates it. I am a jealous wretch, darling; I would have every flutter -of your heart for myself alone." Much more he said in the sweet -half-hour he gave to reconciliation, and sincere regret for his cruelty; -and then, with a heart free from every cloud of doubt, he took an -affectionate leave of her; twice, indeed, he returned, as though it were -impossible to quit her, and at last, with a rude effort, tore himself -away, determining to remain as short a time as possible. His carpet-bag -was in a fly at the door--Minnie watching him step in from the window, -when a gentleman's cab drew hastily up, and Mr. Vellumy's voice -exclaimed "Hallo, Tremenhere!" - -Miles was leaning forward, to kiss his hand once more to his wife. The -appellation startled him not a little. He turned hastily round. A frown -crossed over his brow. - -"G_w_ay told me last night," said the other, in reply to his cool "How -d'ye do," "that you would be coming down to-day, and, as I am returning, -I thought we might go down together. I see you have your carpet-bag, so -of course you are off there--lucky I just caught you--here, step into my -cab, and send away your fellow; I'll spin you to the railroad in no -time." - -All this looked fair and above board. It was not written on Vellumy's -brow, that he had a correct list of all the trains in his pocket; he had -been for half an hour watching on the road, expecting what had happened, -namely--the departure from home of Tremenhere. - -"You're very good," answered he, still distantly; "but it is scarcely -worth while changing for so short a distance." - -"Pa_w_don me," lisped Vellumy. "'Tis a long way; come, do be sociable, I -hate t_w_a_w_elling alone." - -"He's a good-natured fool," thought Miles; "why refuse? conciliation is -my object, so here goes;" and, making some sort of apology for his -abruptness at first, he stepped out of the fly into the cab, and casting -a long look at the curtain, behind which he saw Minnie's face, they -drove away, and arrived without accident at London bridge station--just -caught the train--and started for Uplands. We should mention that -Vellumy stopped for an instant at his club--threw the reins to -Tremenhere--and in less than five minutes was again by his side. - -Tremenhere was in unusually good spirits; he felt almost mirthful. He -was going to place his beloved wife on a pedestal whence no slander -could shake her; henceforth he was resolved openly to speak of her; he -had learned the evil attending concealment. His heart was full of sweet -thoughts of her; he determined, however, to speak first to Lord -Randolph, and then let him present him, in his new character of -Benedick, to his friends. - -"Do you know," he asked, starting from a reverie, "why Lord Randolph -desires my company so especially at Uplands?" - -"Cannot say," answered Vellumy, smiling, "unless it be to call your -palette into requisition, to pourt_w_ay the beauties of his ladye-love." - -"Lady Dora Vaughan?" asked the other in surprise. "I thought she had -quitted Up--. Indeed, I _know_ she has," he added hastily; "I saw her -to-day." - -"Not Lady Do_w_a," answered Vellumy, with a knowing smile. "Some one else -he is ve_w_y much in love with, a----" Up to the present moment he had -been talking at random, just to divert Tremenhere's ideas from any thing -singular in the summons the other had received. Some thread from the -Parque's weaving surely, tangled round his shallow mind at this -juncture, and drew him on, without thinking on his part, to add, by way -of "fun:" "I don't know that I ought to tell you"--this was said -confidentially--"but G_w_ay is deucedly in love with some married woman, -q_w_ite a beauty, I hear." - -"Indeed!" was the thoughtful, half painful reply, yet he could not tell -where this information galled him. - -"Oh yes!" continued the confidential Vellumy; "it is a recent -affair--G_w_ay is te_w_ibly in love," he glanced smilingly at the -thoughtful Tremenhere. - -"Do you know her?" asked he. - -"No, he's ne_w_er let me see her; it is quite a romantic affair, of -_w_ecent date." - -"Married, you say?" inquired Tremenhere, trembling he scarcely knew why. -"Then of course the passion is a hopeless one?" - -"What an innocent you would make me think you!" laughed Vellumy. "Her -husband, I hear, is a jealous cu_w_mudgeon; she's af_w_aid of her life -of him, but, f_w_om all I hear, I should certainly say she loved G_w_ay, -and not a little." - -A cold chill passed through the other's frame, then suddenly recalling -his cruel suspicions of Minnie, which had been so completely obliterated -from his mind, he shook off the incubus hanging round his heart, and -said mentally, "I am again playing the madman! There are thousands of -married women with whom Lord Randolph is acquainted." And, resolved to -banish these thoughts, he started a totally different subject, and -conversing indifferently they arrived at the end of their journey. They -found their host absent, however; he and some friends were out shooting, -so a servant said, but would of course return for dinner. Tremenhere -took possession of the room awarded him, and afterwards he and Vellumy -amused themselves with billiards for an hour or two. Lord Randolph was -one of the most oblivious personages in the world; he totally forgot, in -the turmoil of other thoughts, that Marmaduke Burton had on a previous -occasion declined meeting Tremenhere; great, then, was the unpleasing -surprise of both, when Lord Randolph entered in shooting trim, -accompanied by the latter. Tremenhere's brow flushed with pride as Lord -Randolph said, slightly presenting them, "I suppose you two have met -before?" - -Burton looked pale and uncomfortable; Tremenhere said boldly, "We have -met often." - -Their host looked up at the tone, and, bursting into a reckless, -good-tempered laugh, said, turning round on one heel, "Egad, now I -recollect! Burton, you fought shy of Tremenhere last time he was here, -and shirked a meeting. Come, I'll be sworn you've quarrelled about some -woman; you must oblige _me_, and make it up: this I intend to be a day -of peace-making;" and he gave a peculiar look at Vellumy, who responded -to it in an equally significant manner. All this by-play was unnoticed -by Miles, who, in answer to Lord Randolph, said, "Your lordship is quite -right; that gentleman and I have quarrelled about a woman, yet not quite -as you suppose, possibly." - -"'Pon my life," answered their host more seriously, "I'm a thoughtless, -forgetful fellow, or I ought to have called to mind, Burton, that when -you and Tremenhere were down here together the other day, you quitted to -avoid him. This should convince you, Tremenhere, that Burton bears no -animosity towards you; come, oblige me: be friends, forget old -grievances." - -"Animosity! and forgetfulness!" cried Tremenhere. Then, lowering his -tone, he added coldly, "Lord Randolph, there are persons with whom -estrangement is more consonant to our feelings than friendship; but his -presence--I mean the presence of my worthy cousin----" - -"Cousin!" exclaimed their host and Vellumy in a breath. - -"I disclaim it!" cried Burton, trying to appear calm; "that is, except -indirectly--left-handed." - -"Man!" said Tremenhere, energetically making an involuntary step towards -him. The other two made a movement to prevent any collision; but -Tremenhere stopped as Burton shrunk back. "I am a fool," he said, "to -forget my noble part--patience. Pardon me, Lord Randolph; whilst I am in -your house as guest, I will no more so offend--I will conduct myself as -if such a person as that man had never existed. When I proclaim our -relationship again, he shall tremble more than he does even now--look at -him!" And, turning contemptuously away, he quietly interrupted an -awkward apology which their host was commencing, by--"Has your lordship -had good sport to-day? We artists lose these more wholesome pleasures, -amidst our palettes and pencils." - -Lord Randolph was well pleased at the turn affairs had taken: he had -not brains enough to carry out two things at once. All his ideas were -now fixed upon one great achievement, foreign to this. Burton seemed so -awkwardly ill at ease, that Tremenhere could almost have found it in his -heart to pity him. After the first feeling of annoyance occasioned by -his presence, he felt gratified, as he would be a witness of the public -justice he purposed doing Minnie; and, in this mood, he quickly -recovered his equanimity of temper; and, when he took his place at the -dinner-table, Lord Randolph was fain to admit, even with the then -prejudice against him, that certainly honest uprightness sat upon his -brow, and lightness of conscience in his easy gaiety; whereas Burton -looked pale, discontented, and gloomy. Tremenhere took not the slightest -notice of him; there was no sneer, no avoidance, but a quiet -obliviousness of his existence, especially annoying. Their host was in -high spirits, and, with the well-bred ease of a perfect gentleman, put -all his guests, as far as he could, on that pleasant footing. Several -peculiar looks passed between Vellumy and himself, more especially after -the former's return to table, whence he had been summoned by Lord -Randolph's valet. - -"Vellumy," he cried, laughing, "you look as if you had seen a ghost; -'pon my life you're pale." - -"Am I?" responded the other in the same tone; "I have, howe_w_er, seen -no ghost, but a spi_w_it of g_w_ace and beauty." - -"Where?" asked the others, in a breath. - -"Ask Randolph," said Vellumy; "I ne_w_er tell tales out of school." - -"Pshaw!" answered the host, giving a half-frowning look at his friend, -"there's not a living woman here, that I ever see, now the women folk -and their maids have departed." - -"Talking of that," said Burton, "when do you become one apart from us--a -respectable married man?" - -"Probably never," was the decided reply. "Lady Dora frowns upon my suit; -and----" - -"You have little pressed it of late," hazarded some one. - -"I never saw two less like lovers than you were, down here the other -day." - -"By George, no!" cried Burton; "you were always running up to -town--there must be some magnet there, I fear. Lady Dora should look to -it." - -Vellumy laughed aloud. - -"Oh, Vel is in the secret!" exclaimed the first speaker. "Tell us, is -she dark or fair?--fair for a guinea! for this morning at breakfast he -was raving about golden hair, and cheeks blushing like the inside of a -sea-shell, which the amorous sea bathes in tears." - -"Poetically described," said Lord Randolph, colouring slightly; and -almost inadvertently his eye rested on Tremenhere, who was pale and -silent. "I shall, probably, _never_ marry," continued he; "that is, not -till I grow a cranky old bachelor." - -"You have changed," said Tremenhere in rather a low tone, feeling it -necessary to say something; "and not for the better, I think. If people -must marry, why, let them do it in youth--that is, not extreme youth, -but not with too much disparity--a year or two on the man's side." - -"Only _that_!" exclaimed Burton sarcastically, half addressing -Tremenhere, who looked him full in the face, but made no reply; the -blood, however, painfully rose to his brow. The remark was not lost -where he intended it to tell. - -"The misfortune is," said one of the guests, "that we men do not gain -wisdom with age--our wise teeth are the first to decay and desert us. We -forget how many years have gone over our heads; and at sixty expect some -lovely girl of twenty to love us for ourselves alone." - -"A grave error," answered Tremenhere, laughing. He was resolved, if -possible, to chase painful thought, and the cold, unfounded suspicions -gathering round his heart. "For an old man, marrying a young girl, -generally becomes like a hoop in a child's hands; which it trundles -before it whither it will, giving it hard knocks at every step!" - -"Bravo!" cried several. - -"It is not always thus," said their host, laughing. "Some old fellows -weary their young wives to death; these always remind me of a punishment -I have read of somewhere, where a living person was chained to a corpse -till death came--some old men are brutes." - -"I'd poison such a one!" exclaimed one man, laughing. - -"I know such a being now," responded Lord Randolph, "with his hair dyed -a purple black, idem whiskers, and one of our celebrated dentists is -guilty of affording him the means of mastication, and life." - -"If I were his wife," said Tremenhere, "I'd take away his teeth, and -starve him! 'Twould be a decay of nature, nothing to affect the -conscience!" - -Some more jests were passed on this subject; and when silence was a -little restored, Burton asked, "But Vellumy has not yet accounted for -the fair spirit he spoke of--where is she?" - -"In the picture gallery," answered Lord Randolph, hastily. "Tremenhere, -you are such a deucedly lazy fellow, that, till you send me your -'Aurora,' I have gladdened my eyes with a Venus; you must give me your -opinion of her by candle-light. Vellumy loses himself in ecstasy before -her." - -"By whom is she?" asked Tremenhere. - -"Gad I forget! some young aspirant. I have a fancy of my own, to bring -forward unknown genius and beauty." - -Here again he looked at Vellumy, and again a cloud passed over -Tremenhere's heart. Much more was said on various subjects. The cloth -was removed--the wine circulated freely. Vellumy whispered Tremenhere, -"Come along; leave those fellows drinking; let's go and have a quiet hit -at billiards." - -Both rose. "Where are you off to?" exclaimed Lord Randolph; "I'll have -no shirking, Vel. You and Tremenhere remain--we'll all go shortly." - -"You can join us," answered Vellumy; "we're going to see the Venus -first," and he moved to the door. - -"I'll be shot if you do!" cried their host springing towards, and -locking it. - -"That's right!" cried several; "keep them in! That's not fair to leave -so soon." - -"Done, my boy!" exclaimed Vellumy, rushing to another--a side one. "Come -along, Tremenhere; we can find our way through this passage." - -"Try, try!" shouted Lord Randolph after them; "the doors are locked that -way, you must come back." - -"This way, Tremenhere," called Vellumy, running on before; "up this side -passage, and the private stair, to G_w_ay's own rooms; I know the way, -come along!" - -They had both been drinking rather freely, and in the cup Tremenhere had -forgotten all annoyance. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -Up the narrow stair they hurried laughing, then down a passage, at the -further end of which was a door. - -"G_w_ay forgot this," laughed the conductor; "this leads to the -g_w_allery." - -Apparently Gray had not forgotten it; for, for some unexplained purpose, -it was fastened. - -"Confound it!" exclaimed the speaker; "what can he have locked up all -these doors for? Try that one on your left; that leads to his own -apa_w_tments." - -"Locked, too," said Tremenhere, after trying it. - -"I won't be b_w_eaten!" cried Vellumy; "st_w_op a moment. I'll run down -the p_w_assage, and g_w_et the keys out of the other doors; they'll most -likely op_w_en this;" and back he ran. Tremenhere stood looking after -him. - -"Here," he called out, though under his breath, from the end of the -passage; "here's a key--t_w_y it;" and he flung it down the carpeted -corridor. "I'll go look for m_w_ore." - -Tremenhere raised the key and applied it to the lock, which yielded at -once; he entered unhesitatingly, with that freedom natural to a -bachelor-house, and found himself in a small antechamber leading to Lord -Randolph's own rooms; for an instant he stood irresolute. Which way -turn? the picture-gallery was the object of his search. There were two -doors in this room--one opposite the one by which he had entered; -towards this he moved, and, gently turning the handle, found himself at -the entrance of a small, but elegantly-furnished sitting-room. There -were no lights, except from the fire, which threw a wide, cheerful blaze -over all. A sofa was drawn close to it, and on this sat a lady, leaning -half over the arm of it; her back was turned to the door, which had -opened noiselessly. The light was not uncertain, and it threw its -fullest blaze on that fair form--and that fair form was Minnie's! - -Tremenhere stood still--a statue-like stillness. Life seemed fading away -in horror. He felt drunk for a moment with suffering; then vision, -thought--all cleared away into perfect sobriety, and he strode silently -towards her. She started, and, dropping her book, uttered a cry of -surprise, and, by an involuntary feeling of sudden alarm, shrunk back; -then, seeing who it was, exclaimed in joy, if he could so have read -it,-- - -"Oh, Miles, is that you? but you startled me, indeed, standing like a -ghost, there. You look as if you did not expect me!" - -"You here--you here!" he muttered with cold lips. "In these rooms! and -why here at all?" And he held his hands before him to keep her back. - -"Miles," she cried, still advancing; and though the face grew pale with -some sudden fear of untimely birth, for it was so unexpected, yet the -brow was clear and pure to all but a jealous man. "You know wherefore I -am here; think--you must be mad!" - -"Mad!" he echoed, staring wildly; "I must be mad, or dreaming!--you were -locked in, and in _these_ rooms." - -"Where am I?" she cried, looking hurriedly round. - -"Do you not know," he articulated beneath his breath, "or are you -deceiving me? These are Lord Randolph Gray's private apartments." - -"His!" she whispered, dropping on a seat; "I thought they were yours." -Poor girl! her limbs tottered beneath her weight. - -"You will drive me mad," he cried, seizing her trembling hands; "tell -me, in Heaven's name--tell me how you came here, and why?" - -"I came," she ejaculated half in surprise and half in fear, "because you -sent for me; but why am I in these rooms, why not in yours?" She did not -yet understand his suspicions; her fears arose from his strange -excitement; she began to fear for his reason, thinking that he had sent -for her. - -"Woman!" he cried in agony, wringing her cold hands, "I never called you -hither, and this you must know." She could not speak, but sat silently -staring at him, her eyes distended with terror. "Speak--speak truth, if -you _dare_--and tell me why you are here? and how? for I am nearly mad; -do you not see it, woman? I conjure you, speak." - -"Speak you!" she whispered, "and tell me your hidden meaning; you -affright me with these spirit thoughts. Embody them, Miles; for I dare -not believe my heart's fear." - -"Speak them!" he exclaimed, "do they need speech? No! your guilty soul -has uttered them to your terror-stricken frame; you have done, and now -you shudder at your own act. Woman, I am doubly deceived, deceived when -this day I took you to my loving heart, deceived when I was lured from -my home that you might come hither in secret, but I will have revenge, -where revenge may be taken." And casting her hands from him, which he -had held grasped in his, he sprung towards the door, but like lightning -she was before him, and placing her slight form, now nerved by -resolution against it, she said, "Miles, I bore much this day patiently, -for I had been guilty of concealment, though done for a worthy purpose; -but now, that my soul is clear of any wilful sin against you, in the -sight of Heaven, I _demand_ that you should hear me." - -"Speak," he said coldly folding his arms, "my revenge can wait." - -"When," she articulated faintly, for the nerve of a moment had passed -away--"when you left me to-day, an hour elapsed in thoughts of you, all -you Miles, and joy--that deep joy which reconciliation brings. I was -aroused from this dream of peace and rest, after my recent sorrow, by a -messenger who came, he said, with a letter from you, which you had given -him on starting, and this letter bade me at once come to Uplands to -rejoin you, placing myself under the care of this messenger; you had a -project in view for our mutual happiness, and my presence was necessary; -so, dear Miles, I did not delay a moment,"--here the long restrained -tears overflowed her eyes at the calling of that gentle word on her -lip--"but fearlessly quitted home, knowing your judgment must be best in -all things for my benefit, I could not err in following your guidance," -her full eye looked all its love on him as she spoke. - -"The letter," he said hoarsely, holding out a hand; he durst not take -her, as he longed to do, to his heart, without this proof. - -"Are _you_ mad, or am _I_?" exclaimed the affrighted girl--his calmness -awed her. "I have burned that letter, you know you bade me do so." - -"By heavens!" he laughed wildly, "your cold-hearted assurance proves you -the most consummate deceiver in the world. Girl--woman--demon! I _never_ -bade you come--I never wrote to you; and you _know_ I did not, but your -paramour knew me safe here; and in safety lodged you here also. By -heaven it was a bold, daring game, worthy a better cause!" How often, in -our bitterest or most serious moments, some passage either ludicrous, or -irreverent, will cross our minds; through his flitted the words of -Iago,-- - - "She did deceive her father, marrying you!" - -"Yes," he continued, following the thought, "she deceived them all, -cleverly and calmly; and what wonder I should follow?" - -"Oh!" cried Minnie, dropping on her knees and looking upwards; "if -spirits in pain may summon their kindred from heaven, oh! my own dear -mother, look on your orphan, and pity her; pray for her, mother -dear--pray for her!" and, covering her face with her hands, she wept -bitterly. There is not in the regions of darkness a blacker demon than -jealousy; it brands all--perverts all. There was a time when a tear from -Minnie would have torn his soul. Now he looked on, almost exultingly; he -thought she was sorrowing for another. - -"Tremenhere, Tremenhere, open the door!" exclaimed Lord Randolph -without, agitatedly--he heard a woman in tears. "For heaven's sake open -the door, I will explain all!" - -"Oh!" ejaculated Miles in a deep tone of satisfaction, yet it seemed as -a groan, "here is something tangible to deal with." And without casting -a look on his sobbing wife, who was bowed to earth, he hastily -unfastened the door, which she had locked to prevent Miles's egress. -"Come in, my lord," he said, perfectly calm, "and witness your day's -worthy occupation! Look up, woman; here is one for whom you have cast me -off! You, my lord, to-day, reign master of that fickle heart; and -another--and another--and another, to-morrow!" and he strode -contemptuously to the fireplace; but the hands were clenched in agony, -which he would let no one witness. - -"Come in, Vellumy!" cried Lord Randolph, whose voice trembled. He had -created a storm which was mastering him. - -"Let no one else in!" shouted Miles, turning round, all his forced calm -giving way to intense passion. "Or, yes," he added, springing to the -door and forcing it wide open from Vellumy's grasp, who strove to close -it. "Come in, one, all--all--Burton too--come, glory, triumph over the -proud man biting the bitter dust of betrayed trust." - -"Are you mad?" exclaimed his host, pale with agitation. "Hear me, -Tremenhere; I will explain all. Vellumy knows all--we will explain." - -As they entered Minnie crept to her feet, and silently dropping on the -sofa, sat watching all with a bewildered look of extreme terror; her -shaken mind could not comprehend it. - -"I am ready to hear all you may have to say, gentlemen," Miles said -coldly, and sarcastically; "you will, however, permit me to hold my own -opinions, and act upon them, as a man so much injured should." - -"Tell him, my lord," whispered Minnie, who had silently crept to Lord -Randolph's side, and grasped his arm--"tell him; for _you_ must know how -I came here, if, indeed, he is not mad, as I feared, but truly in -ignorance." - -Tremenhere stood as one doubtful whether to drag her from the arm she -energetically grasped, or else kill her as she stood there; assuredly -there was murder in the thought of that ungoverned, erring, but most -devoted heart. He passed his hand over his brow, and dashed aside the -cold drops of suspense and doubt. - -"Pray, calm yourself, madam," said Lord Randolph, gently laying his hand -on her trembling one; "I will explain all. Indeed, I never expected -matters to take so biased a turn as this." She shrunk back from the -touch of his hand. Her terror assumed so many forms, she scarcely knew -where to find the end of that tangled web to unravel it. Vellumy looked -even more alarmed than Lord Randolph; besides which, for the first time, -he looked upon Minnie, and perhaps she never had appeared more beautiful -than in that moment of anxiety and suffering. Instinctively he drew near -to the girl, who sat like one awakened from a fearful dream, gazing -wildly from one to the other, and incapable of the least exertion; her -very arms hung nerveless, yet essaying to grasp the sofa for support. - -Vellumy whispered gently, "Don't c_w_y; we will make it all -_w_ight--G_w_ay has brought you here for that purpose." But she stared -wildly at him, not hearing or understanding his meaning. Meanwhile, Lord -Randolph, who really had done all with a good intention, gained energy -from the uprightness of his conscience, and said calmly-- - -"Now hear me, Tremenhere; I may possibly offend you by my interference, -but my object in bringing that most unfortunate, most injured girl here, -has been----" - -"Stop, my lord!" cried Miles, recovering his dignity, and soothing down -his passion like a smouldering fire, more concentrated and intense in -that apparent calm. "Though lost to all shame--though lost to me and my -love, permit me still to claim a certain respect for the name she still -bears--you forget that _girl_ is my wife--Mrs. Tremenhere!" - -"Your _wife_!" exclaimed both the other men in a voice. "Your wife! Good -heavens! can this be?" - -"True!" answered Miles, coldly. "I forgot this was unknown to you--that -is, _through me_. I came hither to-day, to leave you no longer in -ignorance of my exact position, as you had done my wife the honour of a -visit." - -"Merciful heavens!" cried Lord Randolph, agitatedly. "If this be indeed -the case, I have been led into a grievous, but not irretrievable, error. -Is this lady truly your wife?" - -"As truly as a twice-told ceremony can make her," answered the other, -with a cold, doubting smile. "Is your lordship indeed in ignorance of -this fact? and does the responsibility of your crime alarm you? Fear -not--it is not by _law_ I shall seek redress when I demand it. There may -be honour--if you know that thing more than by name--but there will be -no laws to satisfy." - -Lord Randolph was pacing the room, uncertain how to explain -himself;--Vellumy looked thunderstruck. - -"What!" continued Miles, in the same tone of bitterness; "did you think -that was a frail creature, you were only making frailer still? that you -were only deceiving a deceiver? giving to the giver his own again? I -tell you, no; the creature was to me as the light of heaven--pure, -sunny, gladdening all!--a gift of God to cheer me on my pilgrimage! Do -you think I could look up to heaven, and bless it for its light, when I -had condemned a soul like hers to crime and darkness?--to walk with me -onward to the judgment-seat, and there kneel down and condemn me to -hell, for the wrong I had done her? I tell you no, my lord; she _was_ -my own loved, virtuous _wife--once_!" And the stern man's voice -trembled with emotion. - -"And, by heavens, Tremenhere! that _still_ for me, or any thought of -mine. Give me your hand: forgive me--I have been led to wrong you -deeply; I rejoice in being able once again to call you friend. I -respect--I pity you; for some, to me unknown, unhappy circumstances, -must have made you condemn a being like that to the shade of a -suspicion. Mrs. Tremenhere," he added, approaching her, as Miles drew -coldly back from the proffered hand, "forgive me the involuntary pain I -have caused you, but plead for me to Tremenhere; he cannot resist you!" - -Minnie stared like one idiotic; she was wounded too deeply; her native -delicacy was sullied by these cruel suspicions. - -"Tell Miles all," she articulated, in a low tone--"I cannot speak to -him; tell him all--pray, do!" And her voice was choked with tears. - -"You _must_ hear me, Tremenhere!" he cried. - -"_Must!_" laughed the other incredulously. "May I ask is this an -impromptu, or a part of a well-arranged whole? I ask a simple -question--favour me with a simple reply, my lord. How came Mrs. -Tremenhere in this apartment, where I by accident found her? Words will -not do--I ask proofs!" - -"Will not my pledged and sacred honour suffice?" - -"Some men deem it a duty, where a lady's reputation is concerned, to -clear her from suspicion at any price." - -"By heavens! you are blunt, sir," answered Lord Randolph haughtily; -"and but that a well-meant act of mine, has caused this scene--this -mistake--I should leave you to seek your remedy where and how you would; -but I am resolved to state all, and then leave you to be just, if just -you can be in your present state." - -He then proceeded to relate the scheme arranged between Vellumy and -himself, believing Minnie wronged by Tremenhere--a scheme to bring her -down, and call upon Miles's better feelings to do her justice. What she -had told her husband was perfectly true. When Vellumy entered the club, -on their way to the railroad, it was to despatch a trusty person, to -whom the letter had been confided, which lured Minnie unsuspecting from -home. We have seen how Vellumy's cab had been in waiting with its -master, to secure the positive departure of Miles. Vellumy had a great -talent--(for one it is, though dangerous in the extreme)--an -extraordinary power of copying handwriting. He wrote a letter so exactly -like Miles's, that even Minnie was deceived. It ran thus (they were -ignorant of her name, it will be remembered)-- - - "Dearest Love--I have just received a letter at my club, on my way - to the station, which contains something of so much importance to - our future welfare, that I earnestly desire you should follow me to - Uplands. Place yourself unfearing under the care of the trusty - bearer, and he will bring you safe to your - - "MILES. - -"Burn this; I will explain all when we meet." - -This letter might have misled a more experienced person than poor -Minnie; what could she suspect? Miles's word was law, unquestioned; -without hesitating one moment, she quitted home with the messenger, who -was none other than Lord Randolph's valet, one he could securely confide -in. The plan for Tremenhere to discover her, was all arranged -beforehand; but, most unfortunately, the well-intentioned plotters were -quite ignorant of Miles's jealous disposition, as also of the scene of -that morning on his lordship's account; and, to crown all, there was no -letter forthcoming in proof. Vellumy, by the latter's desire, quitted -the room to keep the guests below in good temper; he was, like his -friend, a well-meaning man, but not a gifted one, by wisdom. Of all the -persons below, he selected Burton for his confident, to whom he might -unburthen his overcharged bosom. Secrets were of leaden weight with him. -This man listened with avidity and delight to the strange tale, but made -no like confidence himself. What he knew about it, remained in his own -breast; but he, who before chid his fate for bringing him in contact -with his cousin, now rejoiced in it: these revelations raised a host of -ideas in his mind, which he promised himself not to lose sight of. - -All these circumstances, as we have related them, were laid before -Tremenhere, and though he allowed himself at last to be convinced of -Minnie's truth, yet there was a power within him stronger than his own -will. It was an offspring of nature--wild and ungovernable jealousy: it -ran like a muddy current through every vein, and though he took Minnie -once again in love and reconciliation to his heart, and shook Lord -Randolph's hand in sincerity of gratitude for the manly wish which -prompted this ill-advised act of kindness to Minnie, still the demon -shook his heart when he saw her, in the warmth of her generous, -guileless heart, shake Lord Randolph gratefully by the hand, and, -looking up in his face, bid "Heaven bless him;" for he felt no man could -forget that face, that look, and he dreaded lest what was not, might be -engendered by that beauty and grace of nature, which had driven even his -stern heart almost to madness; and the restless demon whispered, "I -would you had seen the letter," but letter, Vellumy, Burton, Lord -Randolph--all, were forgotten and forgiven, when he held his Minnie once -again to his heart, and their host descended to make some plausible -excuse for his non-appearance again. - -Early next morning he and Minnie returned to town, and Burton, too, -quitted Uplands. - -"That fool Dalby made a confounded mistake," said Lord Randolph to his -crony, Vellumy, next day; "but it has all turned out most fortunately. -What an exquisite creature Mrs. Tremenhere is! Ten thousand times -handsomer even than her cousin. Lady Dora," (for Miles had related all, -to leave no further doubt or suspicion about Minnie.) - -"B_w_ootiful!" responded Vellumy, "and such a sweet l_w_oving woman! I -hope T_w_emenhere will t_w_eat her well, he's so d_w_eucedly jealous!" - -And thus terminated a good intention. If it went where such too often -are said to go, it left its germ in earth to bud and blossom. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -If Lord Randolph had possessed as good sense as he had kindness of -heart, even yet all might have passed into oblivion; but he was that -_rara avis_ of fashionable life--a moral man; that is, one too much so, -to attempt the seduction of a friend's wife. Minnie became sacred to him -from the moment he shook Tremenhere's hand in reconciliation; him, he -liked, and still more, his fair little wife. It was, then, not to be -wondered at if he claimed the privilege of an old friend, and made -frequent calls at the villa near Chiswick. It would have been much more -wisely done to have remained away; but, in conscious rectitude, we often -are guilty of very compromising acts, viewed by prejudiced or evil -minds. Tremenhere's pride forbade any observations to Minnie, who -received him with pleasure, looking upon him in two lights--both as her -husband's friend, and Lady Dora's suitor, for such he still was; and as -she occasionally, but not very frequently called, they met at the villa. -Still there was--burned as it were into Miles's brain--the memory of all -Vellumy had said that fatal day about his friend's love for a married -woman--fair, too; in all, answering Minnie's description. And, worse -than all, there was that unfortunate letter which Vellumy had written, -and, for self-security, bade her burn immediately. All these things -combined were ever floating before Tremenhere's brain; and, to complete -the impression, Lord Randolph was constantly urging him to finish the -"Aurora," by giving her a worthy representative in the face of his fair, -young, sylph-like wife. - -In the most well-meaning manner, this man was ever doing something to -keep alive the other's suspicions. He was no longer in ignorance of -Tremenhere's position regarding Marmaduke Burton; and, as a sincere -friend and generous-hearted man, pressed his purse upon Miles, to -proceed at once to Gibraltar, and prosecute all possible research. It -need scarcely be said, that he had dropped all acquaintance with -Marmaduke, which created a double hatred and desire of revenge on his -part, towards his cousin and his young wife. - -When Lord Randolph made the generous offer of his purse, he concluded by -saying, naturally and without thought of harm-- - -"You could leave Mrs. Tremenhere with her aunt, Lady Ripley; I will -undertake to arrange that. Or, I know my own good, kind one, Lady -Lysson, would most gladly offer her a home during your absence." - -Tremenhere was painting at the moment the other said this; he flushed -deeply, then dropping a pencil, stooped to pick it up, and thus partly -covered his confusion. - -"I cannot be sufficiently grateful," he answered; "but--" there was an -almost imperceptible tone of sarcasm in his voice; "but I never have -been parted from my wife, Lord Randolph; and I do not think she would -desire or like it--that is, I hope not." And he fixed his eye for a -moment on the other's face, who saw nothing, and consequently more than -once urged the subject upon Miles, who grew at last almost rude, beyond -his power of control. - -"Tremenhere's out of temper to-day," said the visitor to himself. "I'm -sure it would be the best thing he could do, and a duty, to place that -sweet wife of his, in her proper sphere; I'll be at him again." - -All these groundless suspicions wore on his really noble nature, every -thing giving way before them; even the sacred hope which once had been -so dear to him, the re-establishing his mother's fame, became a blank. -He cared for nothing, except to watch and verify his doubts; he became -weary, feverish, ill, and an enigma to all! almost too--oh, worse than -all--a terror to poor Minnie, who was lost in wonder and perplexity. If -she quitted the room for a longer time than was pleasing to him, he -stole from his easel, and listened; if he saw her writing, he could not -rest till the letter was placed in his hands, even the book on which she -had written it was examined, to trace whether the blotting-paper had -kept the words confided to it; and, when all had been done with feverish -haste, the man sat down, and hated himself for his meanness, and seeking -out Minnie, drew her to his heart, as if he would keep her ever there, -and almost wept over her in penitence and love; for never a man loved -more madly or fatally for the peace of both. - -He would start from some mad dream of desertion, and, stilling his very -heart to listen, find her sleeping purely and calmly as an infant beside -him. Such a state could not last; Minnie, every one noticed it, but -few--or better said, none--guessed the cause, so well did he veil his -thoughts. - -We have spoken little of Minnie's late home, but there was little to -interest the reader in that tranquil abode,--tranquil, except when -Dorcas sought to recall Minnie there, and to their hearts; this might -have been accomplished long before the present time of which we write, -had there not been extraneous influence to keep alive the feeling -against her. Marmaduke Burton was not only a visiter, but a constant -correspondent, when absent, of Juvenal's; nothing was left undone which -could widen the breach, and it was with the "deepest regret," he said, -that he felt compelled, by a sacred duty, to inform Juvenal, as her -uncle, that the once pure Minnie was deceiving her husband, as she had -all of them. - -Alas! the girl who flies her home, leaves an unanswerable argument -against her, when the world afterwards adds sin, shame, or a levity to -her charge; however innocent she may be, the "once" is a precedent for -all. - -Dorcas, and even poor Mrs. Gillett, loudly exclaimed against this; the -former refused positively to meet or sit in company with Burton; Sylvia -shook her head, and looked more sinister than ever, as she said, "It -might very likely be; she never expected any thing better from her -marriage with such a man; she had indeed raised a barrier between them," -and chapters more to the same effect. Poor Dorcas cried bitterly, and -reproached herself for her supineness in the first instant, in not -vigorously opposing Minnie's incarceration. She knew the girl better -than any, and knew nothing would have tempted her honest nature to -duplicity, had she not been driven half frantic by wrong accusations, -and suspicion of her truth. In her trouble, Dorcas sought her only -comforter, Mr. Skaife, and urged him so anxiously to see her beloved -niece, that he quitted Yorkshire for town; before he arrived, sorrow was -gathering fast over both those he felt so much interested about. - -Our readers will recall to mind, that Mary Burns had obtained teaching, -by which she principally supported her mother; for she felt a delicacy -in receiving succour from Tremenhere, however generously offered. Of -late he seldom quitted home, never except when absolutely forced to do -so, and generally he so arranged it, to be driven in by Lord Randolph; -thus only could he feel secure. One thing we forgot to mention sooner, -that nothing was wanting to urge a jealous man to madness; he was in the -constant habit of receiving anonymous letters, those vile arms of coward -strength; these were written, so bearing upon acts of actual occurrence, -that, though he read and flung them into the fire, still they left an -unerring shaft behind, piercing his heart with doubt, for in every one -there was but the one name registered, which was eating into his -soul--Lord Randolph's. He was truly a man fighting with shadows; he -feared every thing, seeing nothing. It was a state of irritability -which could not last much longer. He was borne to earth with the -tortures of his mind; and Minnie crept, like the ghost of herself, -through those almost silent rooms--once all light and happiness. - -It must not be supposed that Marmaduke Burton, who was working -under-ground like some vermin, did it for mere revenge, or wanton -wickedness; no, he was impelled to it by fear; he knew in his heart that -Miles had _right_ on his side, and he saw that _might_, too, would -probably become his. Environed as he was by powerful friends, whom he -was daily gaining by his talents as an artist, he felt his only security -lay in driving Tremenhere to some act of desperation, which would make -him fly the country, either in despair or to conceal Minnie from all. He -had known his cousin's disposition from boyhood; he knew every turn of -his hasty, but noble heart; and all the harsher feelings of it had been -drawn forth, as stains by fire, in the wrongs of his mother and his own -Minnie. There are so many vile ones on earth, who know no law where -money is proffered in exchange for evil, that Burton found ready tools -to watch all--report all; even the household hearth was not sacred from -this pollution. - -Some weeks had passed; Minnie had not seen Mary Burns for a considerable -time, when, one day, a note reached her from her, brought by a messenger -who said it required immediate attention. Tremenhere had left home about -half an hour, on business which would occupy him nearly the whole day. -His manner had been feverish and excited all the morning, and Minnie -would not have wondered had she read the contents of another of those -vile missives which he had received an hour before leaving. After -reading it, by an involuntary movement of disgust, he pushed her from -him, as she stooped her head over him while he sat motionless at his -easel, the uplifted brush awaiting the command of genius to call life on -the lifeless canvass; but his thoughts were more of death, than any -existing, glowing creation. - -"Miles, dearest," and she bent down to embrace him, and her always -slight figure, looked now like a lithe graceful withey, so fragile its -outline; "what are you thinking of?" - -He pushed her from him, and then, as the girl stood, pale and alarmed at -his violence, his haggard eye forgot its troubled glance, to soften into -tenderness, as he drew her passionately to his heart. And the trembling -voice said-- - -"Forgive me, again, Minnie--forgive me; I am a very wretched man, loving -you as I love you, and----" He paused. - -"And what? my own husband." - -"Never mind, Minnie--never mind! You will not, will you? Oh! promise me -you will not." He was speaking to his thoughts. - -"Any thing, Miles!" she answered, old fears of his perfect sanity making -her shudder. "What is it you wish me to promise?" - -"Never to forsake me, come what may; be your feelings towards me what -they may, hide them, Minnie; let me be deceived if you will, but never -let me see it; and oh! do not forsake me, or I shall go mad!" - -She could not answer. Her tears were frozen by fear. She really thought -him deranged; and so he was--that worst madness--jealousy. For the -overwrought mind was not fighting with idle fancies, evanescent as vain; -but with a cold, tangible reality, built on many a doubt and distorted -act or word of hers, and still worse on the letters of his anonymous -correspondent, whose last letter, received that morning, ran thus-- - - "If you wish to verify all, leave home early, professedly for the - day, and watch your house; be in readiness to follow, and you will - need no further proof or admonition to enable you to convince - yourself. A hired brougham will be at the end of your lane. The - driver, ignorant of all, will place himself at your disposal, on - your giving the name of--'Gray,' as well as another--'twill keep him - in your memory. - - "Your sincere, but unsuspected FRIEND." - -And Miles was resolved at last to have proof, or else never again -suspect--never read another letter, but burn them unopened. - -"You do not speak," he said, again drawing her, shrinking from terror, -close to his heart, by the arm which clasped her. "Poor child--poor -Minnie! I have frightened you; forget it, my child, I am unfitting for -so frail a thing as you. I should have mated with my own kind, something -lion-born, and you--you with----Minnie," he cried, changing his tone -suddenly, and looking full in her face with his dark, gloomy eyes, "you -should have married such a man as Lord Randolph Gray, and have led a -life of luxury and peace. He would never have terrified you, as _I_ do; -I think you would have been very happy--I think he loves you, Minnie." - -The suddenness of the words, his change of manner, all combined to call -the warm blood to her cheek. - -"Miles," she said in agitation, "do not say things like these; even in -jest, Lord Randolph's name should never be mingled with mine in a breath -of doubt, after that one painful scene at Uplands--you forget, too, he -is Dora's----" - -"Oh!" laughed he hoarsely, "those things are soon broken off. Now, -Minnie, were you free, on your sacred soul, do you not think that man -would propose to marry you?" - -"On my sacred soul, Miles," she answered solemnly, shrinking from his -arms, almost with a feeling of dislike towards him at the manner of his -speech,--"I do not think so; and this I _know_, were I free, fifty times -over, I would refuse his lordship." - -"Forgive me, Minnie, forgive me--forget this!" and he once more folded -his arms around her, as he rose from his seat. "I am unworthy of you, -yet _indeed_ I love you." His smile was almost as of old, and once again -they were at peace; _he had forgotten the letter_, but it was only the -merciful oblivion of a moment; their peace was like a house built on a -blasted rock, through the caverns of which the wind whistles mournfully, -shewing the hollowness beneath. - -Shortly afterwards he quitted the house for "nearly the whole day," he -said. He was gone; and she sat silently thinking, as now was her wont -when alone; there was nothing to restrain her feelings having full play. -Before him, she often forced a gaiety she did not feel; now she sat in -sorrow, and the once laughing face looked pale and care-worn. - -"A letter, if you please, ma'am," said the footboy, presenting one. She -took it, the characters were familiar. "Poor Mary!" she said, refolding -it when read; "I have indeed much neglected you of late; and it was a -sacred duty to do otherwise, lest by that neglect your heart had once -again grown callous or reckless in the midst of troubles. We should -uphold a fallen sister who has risen, lest the weakened limbs totter -again, and sink, never to rise! I will go at once and see her; I am sure -my doing so must please Miles--poor Miles, my own dear husband! John," -she asked, as the boy obeyed her summons to the room again, "who brought -this note?" - -"I don't know, ma'am. A man; he said there was no answer required." - -"Go," she said, "round to the stables, and order me a fly immediately, -without delay." - -The letter said-- - - "Dear Mrs. Tremenhere--I am sure you will pardon my writing to ask - you, as a very great favour, to come here to-day. I am in much - trouble, and have only you to comfort and support me in it, by your - counsel and advice. Pray, forgive the trouble I am imposing upon - you; and pray be here if possible by two o'clock. - - "Humbly and sincerely yours, - - "MARY BURNS." - -The fly drove to the door in a quarter of an hour: it was one o'clock. - -"Drive quickly!" cried Minnie, as she stepped in and gave Mary's -address; "I am late." The man touched his hat, and obeyed. There was a -lane leading to the road from their house; at the corner of this a -brougham appeared, coming towards the villa. "It is Dora!" exclaimed she -to herself. "If I stop, she will delay me; moreover, she does not see -all as I do; dear Dora is more coldly calculating, and lectures me for -visiting poor Mary; I will not stop now, but write and tell her -to-morrow; she will call again, and for worlds I would not forsake Mary -in her trouble." As she thought all this, with one hand she hastily drew -down the blinds, and leaned back in the carriage. She did not see Dora, -neither did she see the occupant of another brougham, with the blinds -half down, who was watching all, with a pale, anxious face. - -"Follow that fly," he said, in a scarcely articulate voice, pointing -after Minnie's--"not too closely, but keep it in sight----She did not -even speak to her cousin," he whispered to his trembling heart, "but -drew down the blinds to avoid observation!" And he pressed his hands -over his strained and burning eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -It was scarcely two when Minnie stopped at the door of Mary Burns's -cottage; alighting, she rapped. The servant of whom Dalby made mention, -opened the door. But, let us hasten to say, of all this he was ignorant; -the game was too deep a one to be entrusted even to him. - -"Is Miss Burns at home?" asked Minnie. - -"No, ma'am; she has been out some time, but I expect her very shortly. -Will you walk up-stairs, in the drawing-room?" - -Minnie obeyed, desiring the fly to wait. Before going to this apartment, -however, she entered the parlour, and there found Mary's old mother -sitting, childish and insensible as ever to all around. She spoke a few -words to the deaf ear, and looked her sympathy in the unconscious face; -then turning, followed the servant up-stairs. Here she paced the room -impatiently some moments; then, sitting down, looked in the fire to seek -some associations for her thoughts in the "faces in the fire." She was -in deep meditation; she felt nervous, and full of thought. - -Thought! What are our thoughts? They are like dissolving views passing -over the soul. One fades imperceptibly into another, brighter and -totally different; then this one in its turn yields place to others, and -so on, until at last the curtain falls over the last--and where are we? -In an immensity of tangled imaginings, wide and spreading like eternity! - -A long time she sat thus, and then a rap at the street door startled -her; a step was on the stairs, light and bounding; it was not calm as -Mary's generally, nevertheless she rose to meet it; the door opened, and -she found herself face to face with Lord Randolph! She could not speak, -but shrunk silently back, gazing on him. - -"I shame to see it," he cried, advancing with extended hands, "that you, -my dear Mrs. Tremenhere, have arrived first." - -There was nothing libertine in his manner, nothing more than usual--glad -to see her, and most respectful. "You are annoyed," he continued, as she -involuntarily drew back; "but pray, pardon me: I was unavoidably -delayed, and prove your forgiveness by telling me how, in what manner, I -can serve or oblige you?" - -"There is some strange mistake in this, some incomprehensible mystery, -my lord," she whispered in terror, though scarcely knowing of what. "I -never expected to see you here; why are you in this house?" - -"Merciful heavens!" he cried in amazement, "did you not write, -requesting my presence here? Stay! I have the note about me: I came -unhesitatingly, knowing well that you were in the habit of calling here -occasionally." - -"I never wrote, Lord Randolph; there is some extraordinary meaning in -this, coupled with the absence of her I came to see," and she seated -herself tremblingly on the couch. - -"Here is the note," he cried, not less agitated; "is not this exactly -your handwriting?" - -"Sufficiently like it to deceive an inexperienced eye; but I never wrote -it, believe me." - -"I do, Mrs. Tremenhere, most truly; but believe also that I obeyed the -summons without one wronging thought of one I respect so sincerely as I -do yourself." - -"Alas! alas!" she said in a tone of despondency, "I have felt some time -past that there was a web weaving around me, I knew not where; my -husband is changed, and I--oh! I am so far from happy," and she burst -into tears, covering her face with her hands. - -"Do not weep thus; pray, do not weep," he said with much feeling, -leaning one hand on the back of the couch on which she sat. "I will sift -this to the bottom; there must be treachery somewhere--but where? and -why?" He read Mary Burns's letter to Minnie carefully over. "Where is -this girl?" he asked; "can she be false, for some demoniacal motive?" - -"I do not think so: I would she were returned. Pray, let me hear the -contents of the letter you received--I cannot read it." Lord Randolph -hastened to obey; it merely contained a few hurried lines, as if written -in trouble, imploring him to meet the writer at the place indicated, at -a friend of hers, as she had something of importance to communicate, and -begging secresy to all. It was signed "M. T., Chiswick," adding in a -N.B.--"Inquire for me; you know my name. Should I not have arrived, ask -to be shewn to the drawing-room, and wait." - -Minnie's tears fell thick and fast, her terror was so great. She felt -she must be surrounded by enemies, and the worst, hidden ones--he was -leaning forward, endeavouring to soothe, to guide, and counsel, where he -himself felt so much in the dark: as he sat beside the weeping woman, -the door opened quietly, and the servant looked in. "There was a -gentleman there," she said, "wanting to look at the apartments which -were to let, might she show them? Her mistress left orders for her to do -so, when she was out." As she spoke, with an apparently innocent manner -she flung open the door to the person, who stood behind her. A wolf -driven to despair for food dares all--so will a coward for revenge. - -Marmaduke Burton stepped into the room--Lord Randolph sprang from the -sofa, and Minnie in alarm, without reflection, lowered her veil. - -"I beg ten thousand pardons, Mrs. Tremenhere," he cried, starting back -as if in surprise. "I was little aware I should meet you here! I beg ten -thousand pardons," and he drew back. - -"Sir!" exclaimed Lord Randolph with _hauteur_, "your presence here -solves the enigma of the forged letters, which have brought Mrs. -Tremenhere and myself hither, but it is not here you must answer for -it." - -"I do not comprehend you, Lord Randolph," he answered, advancing; "we -mistake each other, doubtless. I have known the lady of this house from -childhood; and, being commissioned by a friend to seek apartments for -him, I deemed it an act of kindness to benefit her, if possible, knowing -how circumscribed her means are; and her troubles, I grieve to say, -occasioned by an unworthy relative of my own." - -He said this, not feeling positive that Minnie might not be shaken -enough to doubt her husband's veracity about his (Burton's) seduction of -the girl; it might do good any way, and materially change Lord -Randolph's opinion of, and consequent interest in, Tremenhere. - -"Oh, it is untrue!" cried Minnie, starting up, forgeting every thing but -the slander of her husband. "Do not believe that man, my lord--ask Mary -herself. Miles has been as a brother to her; and shame--oh! shame on the -base tongue which proclaims the wrongs of his victim!" - -"I see, madam," answered Burton, "that your old and natural prejudice -against me has nothing abated; and I make no doubt, even my truly good -motive in visiting this house will be misconstrued by you." - -"There can be no further occasion, then, for prolonging your stay here, -I presume," said Lord Randolph coldly; and here be it said, the -indifferent, or rather neutral portion of his lordship's character -appeared as the active and better had shone forth in his desire, however -awkwardly executed, of making Tremenhere from shame do Minnie justice, -when he supposed her an injured woman. Had he now taken up the intrusion -differently, and alarmed Burton's coward heart, by his resolution of -sifting the mystery thoroughly, and in the presence of Mary Burns, who -was momentarily expected, as the servant had told Minnie, Burton could -not have refused, under the accusation of a knowledge of the -mystification which had been practised upon the other two, to await -Mary's coming; and thus have exonerated himself, if possible. Under any -circumstances, fear of Lord Randolph would have silenced him elsewhere. -On this subject, as it was, the other's supineness and policy emboldened -him, and left a fearful arm in his hands to injure Minnie. Lord Randolph -said to himself, "I have a very great regard for Mrs. Tremenhere; I like -her husband, too; there is some mystery here; if I involve myself to -unravel it, or punish Burton, whom I firmly believe to be at the bottom, -I shall bring my name into question; and as Lady Dora, who, most -probably, some day will become my wife, is Mrs. Tremenhere's cousin, all -these unpleasant circumstances had better be left to die away; nothing -will come of it; I shall withdraw from the acquaintance." - -And so poor Minnie was sacrificed for the want of a resolute, sterling, -English heart, to bring the darkness of the affair to light. Poor woman! -all her strength of mind seemed to have deserted her, after those few -words uttered in defence of Miles; and she sat like one bewildered by -passing events, intoxicating from their combination. - -"I have no wish to intrude further," said Burton, as he turned round. "I -have only to apologize sincerely for the alarm my inopportune visit has -occasioned this lady and your lordship." - -"I trust, sir," exclaimed this latter, "that you do not mean to -insinuate aught against Mrs. Tremenhere? Our meeting here remains an -unsolved mystery, which we can only leave to time." - -"Far be it from me to wrong the purity of one so fair," answered the -other, bowing lowly, with as much sarcasm in his manner as he durst -shew. "Mrs. Tremenhere has a husband to judge her--I leave all to him." - -And with this last bitter phrase of doubtful meaning, he quitted the -room. Poor Minnie could not speak; she was thunderstruck, and crushed -with presentiment and fear. - -"This has been a most inexplicable affair," said Lord Randolph, as the -door closed. "Can you devise any means for discovering the authors, dear -Mrs. Tremenhere? I am, indeed, truly distressed at your annoyance; but, -believe me, there will be, there can be, no unpleasant results--it has -been some foolish jest." - -"Jest!" she exclaimed, looking up; she was very pale. "It is more than -that; there is some villainy in it, and that man is the author." - -There was a garden attached to the back of the house, through the door -of which, leading into a lane, Burton passed out as he had entered, -conducted by the servant, whose physiognomy had not deceived the acute -Dalby. At the same moment Mary Burns rapped at the front; and our -readers will not fail to remember the occupant of the hired brougham who -had followed, and was witness to the arrival of all except Burton. - -Mary Burns went up immediately to the drawing-room, when her servant -told her Mrs. Tremenhere was there. In an instant this latter was at her -side--the presence of that girl seemed so great a protection--her -coming, the only means of elucidating this painful mystery. Lord -Randolph bowed rather uneasily as Minnie presented him. He wished much -that he had sooner quitted the house. Yet, when he looked at her, he -could not but feel deep commiseration for her, she was so agitated; in a -few brief words she explained all to Mary, it would be impossible to -describe her anxious state. Without the slightest hesitation she -pronounced that Marmaduke Burton was the author of it for some vile -purpose. It was not alone fear which agitated Minnie. There was a sense -of degraded delicacy in it, that she should be drawn into even a -fictitious intrigue with any man. She blushed deeply when this feeling -came over her in all its force; especially when Lord Randolph said, -meaning well, but certainly not advising wisely, "I should seriously -counsel Mrs. Tremenhere not to name this affair to her husband, he has -shewn himself so prone to jealousy; and _I_ will take means to silence -the servant who admitted us--thus the affair will die away quietly." - -"Not name it to Miles!" exclaimed Minnie. "Pardon me, my lord, he shall -instantly be made acquainted with it; and as one who, I trust, has too -much reliance on me to suspect me of wrong. Let him seek those who cast -so unworthy an imputation upon me." - -Poor Minnie, in her earnest defence of her husband, forgot the past -unhappy scene to which Lord Randolph had been a witness, but he -remembered it; and, fixing an eye of deep pity upon her, said, "Think -well, Mrs. Tremenhere, before you act; your future happiness may be -wrecked by one false step." - -"I think Mrs. Tremenhere is correct in her resolution," said Mary -timidly. "Candour is ever best; and if I may presume to suggest to your -lordship, I should assuredly beg that no bribe for secresy should be -given to my servant. Honest uprightness, like Mrs. Tremenhere's and your -own, needs no mask to hide its face." - -"Perhaps you are right," he said; and, taking up his hat and gloves from -the table, added--"And now I think it would be more advisable for me to -take my leave; that is, unless I can in any way serve you," he said, -addressing Minnie. - -"Not in any," she answered, offering her hand; "it is far better you -should leave. Most probably Miles will seek you to consult about -discovering this affair; may I tell him your lordship will willingly -lend any aid in your power?" - -"Assuredly," he answered, taking her proffered hand; "and now farewell, -dear Mrs. Tremenhere. I sincerely trust this effort of your enemy, -whosoever he may be, will prove abortive in any way to annoy you." - -"God grant it!" sighed she. - -"I earnestly pray so, too," responded Mary, as the door closed on Lord -Randolph, who reached the street, entered his cab and drove off, without -noticing the brougham, drawn up some doors off, through the window, at -the back of which Tremenhere's pale face was watching him. - -"It can only be the work of that wicked man, Mr. Burton," said the -agitated Mary; "and let me pray and entreat of you, dear Mrs. -Tremenhere, not to lose a moment in returning, and stating all to your -husband." - -"Assuredly he shall know all," answered she earnestly. "Poor Miles, it -will grieve him deeply I know; but he will at once devise the best plan -to frustrate our enemy: and now Mary, before I go, tell me, are you -prospering in your teaching?" - -Mary's face grew very pale; the corners of her mouth twinged, and vain -was the effort to repress her tears, she burst into sobs. "I have -learned a severe lesson of late," she said, "that though there may be -those in the world, in pure Christian charity, to take the fallen by the -hand, there are more who close their gates against her: may Heaven not -close the eternal ones to them!--I have had two shut against me since we -met; I have not dared tell you, dear madam; I knew how your kind heart -would suffer for me." - -"Good heavens!" cried Minnie, "how has it happened?" - -"Some enemy," answered the other with quivering lips, "or better said, -_my_ enemy--the one who seems to seek the misery of all, alone can have -done it. Past events have been by letter detailed; I was charged with -them, and would not deny that the accusation was true. I accepted the -shame as retribution." - -"And have you then lost your pupils in consequence?" - -"_All_," answered the unhappy woman; "for of the three families I -attended, two were acquainted. One lady spoke of 'regret,' but 'there -were worldly prejudices to be bowed down to.' I humbled myself, I -implored them, for my poor old mother's sake, but it mattered little. At -the other houses I was driven with insult from the place, and told that -my manners bespoke no contrition or humility. Oh! if they could but -witness the bowing down of my heart before Heaven for pardon, my -sincere, my earnest repentance, they would not have condemned me so -harshly." - -"I fear," said Minnie taking her hand kindly between her own trembling -ones, on which the tears of sympathy fell, "that the world in general -judges only from outward seeming; the hypocrite may be pardoned and -believed, but the lowly penitent woman, walking before her God, and -seeking his will in all things, to gain pardon and peace, is rejected by -man, because her tears are silent, and hidden, save to the one to whom -all her thoughts are directed; and let this be your consolation, Mary, -that there is a limit to man's power, and then the tears of contrition -will shine like stars to light you on your road to where they will all -be wiped away." - -"May a better than myself bless you!" cried the stricken woman -emphatically. "I did not intend saying so much to-day. May your -consolation to me descend upon your own head in peace and happiness; and -now, dear Mrs. Tremenhere, let me urge you to go, and tell your husband -all, for only openness and candour can defeat the demon warring against -us all." - -"I will go," answered Minnie, pressing her hand warmly. "You are right, -Mary; but do not you despond. I will see you again in a few days--now I -will go at once." - -And with a kind, gentle word to the sorrowing woman, she quitted the -cottage, and, entering the fly awaiting her, drove rapidly towards home; -and the brougham quitted its station too, and followed. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -Minnie arrived at home, and, hastily taking off her walking-dress, sat -down to think, as calmly as might be, of the events of that day. Despite -all her efforts, a pang shot through her heart at the idea of seeing -Miles. His temper had of late been so uncertain, that she trembled lest -any fault should be imputed to herself; the more narrowly she examined -her heart, the less could she find any thing to blame herself for in -this affair. While she sat thus, Miles appeared at the outer gate. As he -traversed the front garden, she thought she had never seen him look so -pale; and, when he raised his eyes towards the windows, there was an -intense look in them, which made their hazel darkness seem like blackest -night--this was probably owing to the excessive pallor of his cheek and -brow. When he entered the room where she sat, a choking sensation arose -in his throat--he had paused, too, outside the door, to still the -bounding of his heart. She rose to meet him; there was a smile on her -lip, but it was forced, constrained--fear kept it from expanding into -cheerfulness. - -"You are home earlier than you promised to be, dear Miles," she said. - -His eyes were riveted on her face. "Yes," he answered in a deep, hollow -tone, which he endeavoured to render tranquil; "but I hope not less -welcome for that?" - -"Ever welcome--ever the one to come too late, and leave too early," she -answered. "Where have you been, Miles?" - -"In several places, Minnie,"--and he stifled almost a groan. - -"Are you not well?" she inquired, delaying what she had to say in -terror, and really anxious too about him; his pallor struck her as so -unusual, but without one dawning thought of the truth. - -"Quite well, Minnie; but I am weary--very weary," and he sunk exhausted -in a chair--it was the mind which had lost all nerve. She drew a -footstool close to his feet, and, in kneeling upon it, took both his -hands in hers; but, in so doing, she did not feel the thrill which -passed over them; it was horror--the horror of doubt--no, she did not -feel it; but holding them tightly, and leaning on his knees, she looked -up in the face, whose rigid, intense gaze was fixed upon her uplifted -countenance. - -"Miles, I have something to tell you," she said at last; but her lip -quivered as she spoke. - -"Something to tell me!" he uttered, repeating her words; and a shadow of -hope crossed over his face. - -"Yes, dear Miles; but promise you will not fly in a passion: you do not -know how you terrify me in doing so. Hear all I have to say, and then -let us, as calmly as may be, consult what is to be done." He could not -speak; he was like one fluttering between life and death. She did not -wait, however, for him to do so, but hurriedly told him the events of -the morning; so anxious was she to say all, that she scarcely noticed -his extraordinary silence. When she paused, he quietly drew his hands -from hers, and still keeping his fixed gaze upon her, though the -countenance had changed with every word of hers, still the eye had not -one instant quitted her face. Withdrawing his hands, he placed them both -on her shoulders as she knelt before him, and said in a low, measured -tone, "Minnie, I know all you have told me; I followed you to-day. It -may seem mean, unmanly, my doing so; but I was resolved to prove you--I -knew all!" - -"Knew all!" she ejaculated, shrinking back from his touch, as if it -pained her. - -"Why do you shrink from me, Minnie?" - -"Because," she said, rising slowly to her feet, "you then have done it -yourself, doubting, to prove me!" - -"No, by heavens, I have not! Kneel down again, Minnie;" and he drew her -reluctantly before him again. "Look upon me, Minnie, for I am your judge -now, to hear, but not condemn. You have forced that character upon me; I -came, fully determined to say nothing, to close my heart to proof and -conviction, to bear all my wrongs, if such they were, and seek no -elucidation, leaving all to time to prove you whatever you might be!" - -"Oh, Miles--Miles!" she cried, looking up trembling in his face; "and -can you suspect me still? And could you live with me a day, believing -me so false to you?" - -"Listen--I have passed three hours of the bitterest anguish man ever -suffered--a thousand mad thoughts and resolutions passing through my -brain; and at last I came to the determination which you know, for I, -mere man, cannot fathom this affair. I would not for all the world -condemn you; for though not a man prone to superstitious thoughts, I -feel there must be some demoniacal power in all this, Minnie," and he -raised her face upwards in his hands. "You are either the falsest woman -that ever drew breath--and if so, the breath which gives you life must -be the vapour of hell, from whence you draw it; or else there is a power -around us which we cannot combat with, and 'tis best to still the -heart's beatings, to subdue ourselves to callousness, and wait for time! -I am resolved _to bear_ and wait. Now, sit beside me here," and he rose -and drew her to the ottoman calmly and composedly, "and shew me the -letter you received." - -She was so lost in terror at his extraordinary manner, that it was in -vain she essayed to utter a word; in cold silence she placed the letter -in his hand; he opened, and silently read it through, and over again. - -"One of three persons wrote this letter," he said--"I, or Mary Burns, or -Marmaduke Burton, for from childhood we had the same masters." - -"'Tis Marmaduke Burton!" she cried with energy, seeing at last a path -through this tangled forest of brushwood. "'Tis Marmaduke; for, as you -must have seen, he came to Mary's cottage whilst Lord Randolph and I -were there?" - -A cold shudder passed through Miles's heart, which had been awakening -from its stupor of sorrow and suspicion, to take his proved faithful -wife to it. This then, was the cause of her candour. Burton's most -unexpected arrival at Mary's had induced her, from fear of discovery, to -choose the wiser part, and tell him herself, lest another should! Oh, -what a demon jealousy is! how unsleeping, how grasping in intellect; -though all is perverted to harm! - -"Tell me all that passed," he uttered, without replying to her question; -and, while she related, his mind formed all into the well-connected -reality of a diseased brain. The same person who had so often warned -him, none other than Marmaduke, had discovered this intrigue, and -followed it up. The letter was probably written by Mary Burns, as an arm -in Minnie's favour, should any thing be discovered by him; her absence, -etc. Mary, who had once fallen, had doubly done so again, by pandering -to the meetings of Lord Randolph and Minnie; he was a target for the -scorn and contempt of all, and all these maddening thoughts passed -through his soul, leaving him in outward seeming calm. There is -_nothing_ more fearful than this concentrated, chained passion--'tis -this which leads the best man to cold, deliberate murder. Silently he -thought all this, and then, when the mind had compassed all his misery, -it paused to deliberate on revenge. Then it was that mercy crept in, -like the last ray of sunshine to the eyes dimmed by death, and he said -to himself, "If she should be innocent still?" - -And, lifting his eyes, they rested upon hers, troubled, but pure and -holy in their dove-like innocence of expression. - -"Minnie," he said, placing his arms around her, "I have many bitter -thoughts in my heart. I am a very wretched man _now_--so happy once! But -I feel my greatest sorrow would be your loss; as I before said to you, I -_wish_ to think you innocent. I would rather know we were compassed by -fiends, and be ever waging war with them in darkness, than know, or -believe you false to me; _that_ would be my moral death, and make me the -most reckless man on earth! I _will_ believe you innocent." - -"I am, Miles; believe me. I have not even a thought which has ever -wronged you." - -"I will believe you, Minnie, against all evidence but proof," and he -took the trembling woman to his heart, so shaken, but so true. - -It cannot be imagined, that with that pardon, or reconciliation, -Tremenhere became calm and happy; true it was, that Minnie never quitted -home without him, scarcely ever quitted his side, but the mad dream -which had been, left its trace on his every action; he was a -broken-spirited man. His profession was a toil of every instant--a -necessity, not a pleasure. He saw Minnie growing daily paler and sadder, -and, though his heart ached to see it, still he could not overcome his -sensations of doubt. - -"She is perhaps fretting about Lord Randolph," he thought to himself, -"and after all I said, in condemnation of her, poor child! she perhaps -deserves more pity; for I took her almost one, from her home. She had -seen no one to fancy herself in love with, till I came. Unjust coercion -drove her into my arms; it was probably more from indignation than from -love, yet, too, I think she loved me once," and here he pondered on many -an unmistakeable proof of affection; her watchings for his return, the -lighting up of the whole countenance, which no art could imitate. "Yes," -he continued, "she certainly loved me once, but then she is of a gentle, -loving nature; she knew not the vast difference between _affection_ and -_love_, until _he_, perhaps, taught her. Poor child--poor Minnie! what a -life of misery we have created for one another; but we must bear it, and -linger on!" - -And so completely did the thought take possession of his soul that these -ideas were well founded, that for a while his feelings towards her -assumed a tone of almost fatherly pity, so worn and old his heart felt. -He had vainly endeavoured to trace who sent the brougham, the -letters--in short, to _prove_ it Marmaduke; but all failed. - -The hire of the brougham, and order to send it to Chiswick, had been -brought to the stables by a boy, who was not known or detained; there -was nothing in the act to excite suspicion of wrong. He wrote to Lord -Randolph a calm, deliberate letter, requesting, but in all politeness, -that his visits might be discontinued. He was certain, he said, that -Lord Randolph would see the absolute necessity of such a thing, after -the many unaccountable circumstances which had taken place. And the -"Aurora" was taken, unfinished, from her easel, and placed aside, and -not a word on the subject passed between Minnie and her husband; it was -a state of coldness which could not last. The affair had been so painful -a one, that by mutual consent neither ever spoke of it, nor even named -it to Lady Dora, whose visits were not of very frequent occurrence. One -day, however, she called, having been absent a month at Brighton; she -was more excited than usually happened to her. After sitting some time -in evident uneasiness, she at last begged Minnie to let her speak with -her alone. Minnie rose to quit the drawing-room; she grew trembling; -every thing new, startled her. - -"I will not trouble your ladyship to leave the room," said Miles, rising -coldly from his seat. "I am going to my studio; I should have remembered -that husbands are often _de trop_." - -"Pray, stay, Miles!" exclaimed Minnie, seizing his arm, like the Minnie -of old. "There _can_ be nothing which you may not hear, that is, if it -only concerns me," and she looked at Dora inquiringly. - -"I should prefer speaking to you alone," answered the other coldly. "It -is something which distresses me much, yet almost too painful, I hope, -to be true." - -"May I ask," said he, pausing on the threshold of the door, "if it be -any thing relating to Lord Randolph Gray?" - -"It is!" answered she, with a look of surprise. - -"And--my wife?" he asked, after a moment's hesitation. - -"Then you are not in ignorance of it?" she inquired, with an amazed -look, mingled with one of contempt. "And you and Minnie are----" - -"Friends, as you see," he said, turning back and reseating himself, and -by a movement of generous feeling, taking his wife's trembling hand in -his. "Now, Lady Dora," he continued, "you may tell all you have heard, -and we may be able in a measure, to correct any inaccuracies." - -"How do you mean, Mr. Tremenhere?" she said haughtily. "Do you accuse me -of possible untruth?" - -"Not you, Lady Dora, but your informant, whoever he may be." - -"It was a lady," she replied. "The conversation turned one evening, in -Brighton, on paintings; your name was mentioned flatteringly as an -artist of genius," and then she paused. The remainder was embarrassing -to tell. - -"Go on, Lady Dora," he said, in outward seeming calm. - -"I had better tell you," she hastily rejoined; "for, if untrue, you may -find means of silencing the slander." - -"_If_," he uttered; "then your ladyship gives credit to the world's vile -attack upon this poor girl; for I guess all you would say." Whatever his -own fears at times might be in the warring of his spirit, he was -resolved to uphold Minnie before all. - -Lady Dora related all she had heard. In short, the whole affair of -Minnie's discovery at Uplands, and her subsequent meeting with Lord -Randolph at Mary's. It had been told with severe animadversions on the -meanness of Mr. Tremenhere, whose marriage had been kept a secret from -the world until this affair brought it to light, and who could receive -his wife again, and even Lord Randolph, knowing, to say the least, of -great imprudence on his wife's part. Much of this Lady Dora allowed to -escape her, as having been freely discussed at the club to which Miles -belonged. - -"Oh, Dora!" cried the agitated Minnie, "how could you, for one moment, -believe so wicked a thing against me!--To think I could love any one but -Miles! And I must be doubly base, to even listen to common flattery or -gallantry from Lord Randolph, to whom you are engaged!" - -"Pardon me, Minnie," answered her cousin decidedly. "I am _not_ engaged -to that gentleman, and never shall be; for, if you are innocent, as I -will believe even without knowing all, _he_ assuredly must have been -connected in some manner with the affair." - -Minnie then related all from the first, and though her cousin acquitted -her of all blame, except linking herself, as she termed it, "with an -improper woman--that Mary Burns," still she could not divest her mind of -the idea that Lord Randolph was quite innocent. She begged Tremenhere's -pardon for the wrong she had done him in her mind, and, whatever her -feelings might be to Minnie, her heart rejoiced in not knowing him base, -who had once been more than a passing thought. Tremenhere received her -apologies with cold reserve, and, stifling feelings which were -distracting him, he inquired from whom all this information had -emanated. Lady Dora, however, could give no exact account. She had heard -it openly spoken of by those who were not aware that she was in any way -allied to either party. With some difficulty--for he was obliged to veil -his intentions from observation--Miles ascertained that the affair had -been spoken of at his club by more than one person. This satisfied him; -he knew then how to act; so he changed the subject, and affected a -cheerfulness he was far from feeling, which continued even after Lady -Dora had quitted the house. He did not allude to the reports; but there -was something so noble in the heart of that man, that he banished all -his own suffering from the surface, that evening, to soothe and cheer -Minnie, who was low and depressed, beyond her own power to control the -feeling. - -The following day Miles rose more cheerfully than he had done of late; -and, as soon as breakfast was over, he started for town. He really felt -lighter at heart, for he had something tangible--not a mere shadow--to -deal with. He had, without appearing anxious on the subject, elicited -from Lady Dora the names of one or two persons who had spoken of this -affair--and now it was to their houses he went. After a long research, -he found one of them was still in Brighton; so sitting down at a -friend's, for he avoided his club, he wrote a kind note to Minnie, -telling her not to alarm herself, but possibly he might not return that -evening. His manner had so completely thrown her off her guard, that -she did not dream of the possible business occupying him. - -He arrived in Brighton, and in perfect composure proceeded to the hotel -of the gentleman who had mentioned the affair. The meeting was at first -one of extreme frigidity on the part of both, especially the -gentleman's. Miles was determined and calm, having right on his side; -the other hem'd and haw'd, evading a direct answer, when the former -demanded from whom he had heard the reports in question. - -"It will only then, sir, remain for me to treat you as the author," said -Miles coldly, turning to quit the room. - -"What do you mean?" cried the other, advancing. - -"Simply what I say. If a gentleman propagates a vile, calumnious report -of a virtuous woman, and then refuses to state the author, that he may -be made publicly retract his slander, and re-establish the lady's fame, -there is but one path possible, and that is, through the only known -medium. I hold you, sir, responsible." - -His cool determination alarmed the other. It is not a very pleasant -thing to have a hole made through one's body, by either sword or bullet, -because one possesses a talkative friend. A parley ensued; and then at -last Miles went forth with another name--this was a lady's, rather more -difficult to deal with. The only way, then, is to find out the lady's -nearest household tie; and, in case of refusal on her part, appeal to -him. They say men have an easy time of it; but assuredly such would not -be the case, were some less pacific than they are in demanding reason -and authority from ladies for all they utter; and were their fathers, -husbands, brothers, etc., looked upon as responsible agents to act for -them. In such a case, were I a man, I would marry a woman who always -wore a respirator. She would talk but little, if compelled to whistle -her phrases through layers of wires. Assuredly, these things were -invented by some clever man with a Xantippe for wife. - -But to return to Tremenhere. The lady he waited upon was one of those -beings whose milk of human kindness had, at her birth, been turned to -vinegar and gall. She never said a kind thing, except from some motive, -and to those even she professed, or was bound to like; she delighted in -uttering the most galling innuendoes; and she looked her character. - -When Tremenhere was announced, she received him, though almost a -stranger, with an air of pity, perfectly dreadful--that kind of air -which inclines one to exclaim at once, "Don't pity me, for there's -nothing in my case to excite that feeling--I won't be pitied!" - -Here he had little difficulty at first, for no sooner did he name the -motive of his visit, than the old lady commenced a string of -well-arranged untruths, which amazed Tremenhere, and clearly showing how -wisely he had acted in sifting the affair thoroughly. When she -concluded--for the _historiette_ was delivered as crudely to his ears, -as if he were a perfectly indifferent personage in it--he could not but -bite his lip; but seeing at a glance the nature of his informant, he -deprived her by his coolness of half her satisfaction. Verily, dame -Nature has three tubs at hand, in which she dips her children when she -creates them, according to the caprice of the moment--one containing -honey and milk, one vinegar and gall, and the other an amalgamation of -spices. - -When this abluted thing in the second tub had told her tale, she -paused--this was not what Tremenhere intended, so he simply inquired her -informant's name. Oh! this she never could give! It had been related to -her under a promise never to divulge the name; she never could! - -"And so, madam," he said contemptuously, "though you feel bound in -honour to conceal the name, no such feeling prevents your blasting the -fame of a pure, innocent woman, by promulgating infamous falsehoods, -which I am resolved to silence; since, then, you decline giving me the -vile author's name, it is to your son I must apply!" - -This was a lesson the lady had never learned, and it would be well if it -were more frequently taught to those who only exist with satisfaction to -themselves, by ruining the fame of the innocent, whom they detest, and -cannot comprehend. A loud shriek burst from the terrified woman; for, if -she did love any thing but herself on earth, it was her tall rawbone -son, in the Grenadiers--but not all her entreaties could avail, -Tremenhere was resolute, he was on the track, one footprint lost, his -game might elude his grasp. With many sighs, and beatings of her chest, -for heart she had none, the name burst forth of Mr. Marmaduke Burton, -and with its utterance a deep groan struggled from Miles's bosom, but it -was one of satisfaction; for not only did he hold his bitter enemy, but -the union of events for the moment convinced him of Minnie's innocence, -and the other's authorship of the plot to destroy his peace. With a -lightened heart, he quitted the bewailing woman, who allowed it to -escape her, that it had been confided to her, on a solemn promise given -_not to name him_; and Burton, in doing so, imagined she would not, for -a fellowship of feeling and mind made him an especial favourite of hers, -and he well knew, in telling her, the facts would lose nothing, and -Miles be irretrievably lost in all respectable society; he did not -calculate upon its arriving so quickly at his ears, neither of his -determined conduct should it do so. He did not yet know his cousin. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -Tremenhere lost no time now in following up his intentions; he inquired -every where, and at last discovered that Burton was in town. Late that -same evening, he returned home, and great was his satisfaction to find -Skaife domiciled there. He, we have said, was the only man in the world, -perhaps, of whom he could not feel jealous; where lay the germ of -extraordinary confidence, 'tis impossible to say, but with open-hearted -confidence he wrung Skaife's hand, which cheered poor Minnie's heart, -for she was terrified at the fancies her mind had been conjuring up -about Miles's return; and when he said to the other, "I am delighted to -see you," there was no mistaking the truth of the feeling: Miles could -not feign a cordiality he did not feel. The union of these three gave -rise to one of the few happy evenings, or even tranquil ones, Minnie had -passed of late. Skaife came laden with letters and love from Dorcas, and -even poor Mrs. Gillett. Of the many painful things they had heard at -Gatestone, he said nothing before Minnie; he spoke cheeringly, and did -not even utter what he thought, of her being unhappy, when he gazed with -a stifled sigh on her altered face. It was in good truth Minnie -spiritualized; for she seemed scarcely mortal, so thin, pale, and -heavenly patient she looked. - -When she had retired, then Tremenhere, no longer under any restraint, -spoke of all his care, his wretchedness, which he strove to conceal from -her; but though he mentioned the reports which had reached him through -Lady Dora, he passed them over lightly. There was no man to whom he -would sooner have applied, as a friend in such a case, than to Skaife, -but his calling forbade it; he could not act with Tremenhere, and this -was what he now required in a friend; neither durst he confide in the -other all his plans; they might be betrayed in kindness to Minnie, or, -even more seriously, to authorities which would frustrate them. He spoke -painedly of them, but yet, rather to Skaife's surprise, also added, that -time alone must clear them up. - -"I am a wretched man!" he said. "There is a weight on my heart nothing, -I fear, can remove." - -"Surely," cried the other, "you cannot, for an instant, suspect your -wife? You must see, and know, that the deep villainy of one man alone, -has produced all these sad events? Let me conjure you, do not give him -the triumph of seeing that he has succeeded in estranging your heart -from one so good and pure." - -"Skaife, I never shall love any one as I love her; 'tis that love which -makes my existence one of torture, for my base nature is fighting -against my better judgment, and at times it gains the mastery. There are -moments," and his voice trembled as he uttered these last words, "that I -wish she were dead; for then I could alone, bear my crushing sorrow; -but the fear that she may ever love another, or even survive myself, is -worse than the bitterest death could be!" - -"Do not utter such things!" exclaimed Skaife, with a cold shudder. -"Place all your faith and reliance on her: _she_ will never deceive you, -but your own heart may, and prove your basest traitor." - -"Well, let us not speak more of it now. A day of retribution must come -for that villain, Burton; leave him to fate--she has long arms and -clutching hands." His apparent coolness disappointed the other; for he -felt, without thinking of a hostile meeting, that Tremenhere might, and -ought to seek means of silencing these slanders, and he resolved on a -future occasion to suggest as much to him. - -Before returning to Chiswick from Brighton, Tremenhere had sought a -friend on whom he could rely; and, placing the affair in his hands, -requested that no time might be lost in seeking Burton, to solicit the -name of a friend who would act for him, in a meeting with Tremenhere. No -apology would suffice, unless he consented to publish to the world, in -terms not to be misunderstood, the whole part he had taken in the -affair, from first to last; and this it was scarcely likely he would do. -Having arranged this, he returned, in the more tranquil mood in which we -have seen him, to his home. - -Early the following morning his friend came to the villa. He had called -upon Burton, who essayed with white lips to deny any participation in -the affair, from first to last. The evidence of the persons whom -Tremenhere had seen in Brighton, he treated with perfect contempt, as -inventions to screen some other person; and finally refused most -positively to meet his cousin. He had a prejudice against duelling, he -said, especially with one whom he had known from boyhood; he sincerely -pitied him for his turbulent, ungovernable temper, and great hatred -towards himself. In short, he summed up all by hypocritically drawling -forth, that could he serve him in any way, he too gladly would do so; -and assuredly, to injure him, was farthest from his thoughts; and -concluded with much deceitful, mawkish sentiment. - -When his friend related this, Tremenhere paced the room, at first in -indignant, contemptuous rage; then an unwonted calm came over him, and -he smiled as he said, stepping before his visiter--"This man has taught -me a talent I never might have possessed without him: that of watching, -unseen, the movements of others. I will return to town with you; I have -paved the way for doing so without exciting suspicion. I must act -decidedly and secretly, for that coward else, will seek the protection -of the law, and defeat my object. Let us be off." - -And, quitting the studio where they were, he entered the drawing-room -where sat Minnie and Skaife, she looking so much happier than of late -had been the case. Tremenhere, too, seemed light at heart. He was a man -so generous by nature, that the greater the sacrifice he made for a -person, the better he loved them. He was ready to offer up his life for -Minnie, for in his moments of energetic feeling he _knew_ her innocent. -'Twas only when the muscular power relaxed with thought and care, that -he doubted her; it had removed a load of suspicion from his heart, the -knowing who really, beyond mistake, was his enemy, he knew so well all -he was capable of. As he took his hat to quit the room, his full, deep -glance fell on his wife, who was looking timidly at him. Skaife saw the -look. It spoke so much wretchedness, that his heart ached bitterly for -her. Coming towards her, Miles stooped, and, unheeding the presence of -the other two, warmly embraced her. "Be a good girl, Minnie," he said -cheerfully, "and amuse our good friend, Skaife, and I'll bring you--a -fairing," he added laughing, "from town." His glance crossed his -friend's as he spoke. - -"Bring yourself soon," she said, smiling in his face; "'twill be my best -present." - -He pressed her hand warmly in reply. There was so much renewal of love, -that she felt her heart full of hope--long foreign to it. - -Tremenhere and his friend drove quickly to town; the former's object -was, to watch Burton to his club, whither he went about twelve every -day--and his, was Miles's. It is probable, that had this latter been in -the habit of going himself every day, Burton would have quitted the -field; as it was, Tremenhere had, by his absence, left him master of it; -and here, as Tremenhere had ascertained, was the spot where he -circulated his scandals freely to his own set. The two friends drove to -the top of the street where Burton's hotel was, and stopping the cab -where it would not attract notice, they resolved to watch for awhile, -before inquiring for him of the hall porter. Fortune favoured them this -time, for in less than half an hour, Burton came forth on foot; and -glancing carelessly up the street, walked on, and the cab followed. As -they hoped, he proceeded to his club, within a few doors of which the -others alighted, and walked quickly towards it. Burton entered the -reading-room, where sat some dozen or more men, poring over their -papers; thence he stepped into another, nor noticed his cousin, who -followed at a distance, keeping him in view. - -Tremenhere's aim was attained: in the reading-room he met several -friends,--acquaintances were better said; hastily addressing each, -without appearing to notice the chilling looks of some, he said, calling -each by name, "Leave your papers awhile, and follow me; I will give you -something better worth seeing than aught you may meet with there." - -And most did so, for curiosity is a spirit fluttering over the heads of -the many, few indeed are those eschewing her worship. On walked -Tremenhere, accompanied by his friend, and in his wake came the others. -At last he stood silently, surveying all in the room, where dozens were -collected, some in knots talking, others at breakfast, others reading. -In a glance Tremenhere took in all this, and the faces of friend and -foe. He advanced a step. Burton stood with his back towards him, -conversing with two or three persons. Was it instinct which made him -suddenly turn, and grow white as the snowiest cloth on those tables, -when he saw Tremenhere _erect_, smiling, and towering in height and -manly beauty, as lie gave him a glance of scorn? He stopped suddenly in -what he was uttering, and made a movement to quit the room by a -side-door. There is a power, an irresistible spell, in dignity and right -combined, (indeed the former cannot exist without the latter,) which -make the meaner mind bow down before them. - -"Stop, Marmaduke Burton!" cried Tremenhere with his full, rich voice of -command. Burton made an involuntary pause, and then, with a quick -shuffling gait, attempted to seem dignified as he moved towards the -door. "Stop him!" cried Tremenhere again, calmly waving his hand, "that -he may at least have the satisfaction of hearing me, face to face, -proclaim him slanderer, liar, and coward!" - -Burton was forced to turn. At these words a movement passed over the -whole room--no one, however, spoke. - -"Look at him!" said Tremenhere, contemptuously. "He dare not face what -he has done; were it not from inability to move--for no shame withholds -him--he would fly!" - -"These are harsh words," said an officer, advancing; "are you prepared -to prove them?" - -"That I am," answered the other; and in words as brief as possible he -told the tale, and his visit to Brighton--the evidence there--summing up -all with the refusal on Burton's part to meet him. - -"It pains me deeply," continued Tremenhere, with much emotion, "to drag -the name of my wife before this assembly; but her accusations have been -openly spoken, or whispered in every select circle where my humble name -is known. 'Tis true I might have sought my remedy by law; but I leave -such to colder hearts and heads than mine. I forgot," he added, looking -round upon all, "to present myself to many who may not know me. I -am Miles Tremenhere, now an humble artist, once heir of the -manor-house, ----, Yorkshire; that, my worthy cousin, who from childhood -had been my companion, has for a while--_only for a while_--deprived me -of----but let that rest. I came to-day to proclaim him what you have all -heard, and he _dare_ not deny it. Once I have horsewhipped him for his -base seduction of an innocent girl,--flogging is thrown away on callous -skins like his; so I brand him--liar and coward!" - -"Sir," said Burton, endeavouring to seem calm, "you shall answer for -this, and bitterly rue it." - -"Answer it!" laughed the other, "when and where you will; this is all I -ask at your hands." - -"Ah, T_w_emenhere!" exclaimed a voice, as the speaker just entered the -room, amazed at the _fracas_, but ignorant of the cause, "is that -you?--what a st_w_anger you are," and he held out a hand. Tremenhere's -trembled as he warmly shook it: he was all woman in gentler emotions, -and never was there a more grateful heart than his; he felt Vellumy's -act deeply. This act seemed the signal which many had been awaiting, not -from wavering indifference, but for want of the electric spark, which -moves Englishmen more slowly than others, but surer, when its propelling -force comes, than all the very warm and sudden impulses in the world. -In an instant Tremenhere was surrounded. Those who a day before had -condemned him, perhaps too hastily, on the whispered calumnies of -Burton, now pressed forward to press his hand. Some few, whose -dislocated nerves can never be strengthened to any thing warmer than -zero, grumbled at the disturbance, and talked of secretaries, rules, -etc., etc.; but the majority rejoiced as over a lost brother restored, -for Miles had been a favourite with all. - -In the midst of this, Burton had slunk away; he could not bully, nor -defy; Tremenhere had proof in the evidence of his (Burton's) kindred -spirit, and betraying confidant, at Brighton. And certainly there was no -table so merry as the one at which Tremenhere sat, surrounded by his -friends, to repair a scarcely touched breakfast at home. He would have -preferred leaving at once, to return to Minnie and Skaife, especially to -remove from the latter's brow that not-to-be-mistaken cloud of -disappointment, which he had seen gathered there, at his own supposed -coolness and indifference about his wife's fame. But policy dictated -another course; there was much he had not explained, and he took this -opportunity of doing so. It is indeed to be regretted, that the finest -natures admit of passions dark and overwhelming, and the strongest minds -are, in some things, the weakest. To see Tremenhere amidst his friends, -glowing with joy at having restored Minnie to fame, who could imagine -that he ever again would be led down the bitter path of doubt and -suspicion, or that these two poisons were only awhile dormant in his -breast? - -When he entered his home, for some moments he could scarcely speak, -then, grasping Skaife's hand, he said-- - -"Give me a grasp from your heart, my friend--to-day you could not, I saw -that--now you may, for I have done what a man should." - -"You do not mean!" exclaimed the man of peace, with a feeling akin to -alarm, "that you----" - -"No, no," laughed Miles; "the coward would not fight; I tried him, but -he refused. 'Tis better, done as it is." - -Poor Minnie had crept tremblingly to his side. In her fear she almost -forgot he was safe before her. - -"I _do_ congratulate you," cried Skaife warmly; "for it was not a thing -to be passed quietly over." - -"Poor Minnie--poor child!" said her husband, placing his arms round her, -and bending his deep, loving eyes upon her; "how you tremble! Think, -darling, I have silenced all who calumniated you--justice, like truth, -will eventually win in any fight. The devil deserts his children in the -utmost need; we deal with brighter spirits, dear, and will triumph over -all!" - -"Heaven grant it, dearest Miles! You have indeed been good and kind to -me to-day--and always," she added hastily. "You have been tried -severely; we shall be _so_ happy now. Dear Mr. Skaife, you have been -indeed a messenger of peace. I feel as if all would turn to me now, -even my uncle Juvenal, and aunt Sylvia." - -It was a day of deep rejoicing--each heart was light and glad. - -The following one Mr. Skaife visited Mary Burns; but there he had little -joy to see--the unerring hand of deep malice had done its worst. She had -been dismissed from every house, some less coldly than others; but even -the kindest said, only in excuse, that, though they would gladly, _if -possible_, serve her, yet it would be a thing unexampled for them to fly -in the face of society's laws, as by the world laid down; quite -overlooking the fact, that there _will be_ a world where they might be -called to severe account for uncharitableness and harsh judgment of a -repentant sinner; but this is worldly wisdom, and worldly virtue, which -dictate all. Few are virtuous from truly religious motives--we speak of -the world _en masse_. It is either from a sense of innate delicacy, -morality, and fear of the public reprehension, should discovery take -place; few indeed, in comparison, place first on the list, the condemned -sin which makes the devils rejoice, and angels weep. So Mary was left to -starve, beg, or return to evil, that society might be kept untainted. -She had assuredly found forgiveness, where it is too joyfully given, and -with rejoicing; but with man--that is, on these cold, unforgetting -shores--to fallen woman, she found none with the mass; so Minnie and -Skaife both advised her to quit England. 'Tis sad, but true. Much as we -love our native land, we are obliged to own that our neighbours look -more to the present than past; and if a woman evince an earnest desire -to become honest, there will indeed be _few_ to point and say, "Avoid -her, she has sinned;" and _many_ to hold a hand forth to a tottering -mortal. It was with difficulty Mary could be persuaded to strive once -more. She felt sad enough to lie down and die; but when those two, whose -hearts were such sterling gold, upheld her, comforted, encouraged, and -commanded in her mother's name, she once more arose, and with her -knowledge of French quitted England for Paris, under the escort of -Skaife, who was empowered by Tremenhere to settle her in some suitable -business. - -"I would not have my poor mother look down and see I had neglected one -she loved almost as a child," he said; "and possibly we may all meet -soon on those shores. I hate England." - -And so strange is it, that great events of our lives are the offspring -of some momentary inspiration, or thoughtlessly uttered word, that, -until that instant, Tremenhere had not dreamed of quitting England; and, -from that hour, an insurmountable desire seized upon him to leave -London, the villa--all which had become hateful to him. His wishes were -laws to Minnie. She would gladly have seen her aunts again--have been -friends with her uncle before leaving; consequently she wrote, imploring -pardon of the two hearts in rebellion against her, and begging aunt -Dorcas to come and see her. But even this was denied her. Dorcas had -been made to suffer so severely by the other two on the occasion of the -former visit, that she deemed it better not to enrage them further by -coming; but to remain, and patiently work for Minnie's future pardon. -She wrote most affectionately, and completely repudiated every thought -of her niece's impropriety of conduct, which had been imparted to -Juvenal by his friend, Marmaduke Burton. On this subject, too, -Tremenhere wrote to Minnie's uncle, and detailed the whole affair as it -had occurred, not forgetting the last discomfiture of his enemy in the -exposure at the club. Whatever Juvenal's opinions might have been, had -he permitted them full play, is uncertain; for he was one of those -narrow-minded, prejudiced persons, who, having espoused an idea, find it -completely out of the pale of their governing law to divorce it from -their belief. Minnie was guilty--she must be guilty; Burton said she -was. She had been imprudent once, and consequently, assuredly, would be -again; in short, prejudice, with its narrow ideas and venomed breath, -stood between poor Minnie and her home. Juvenal might have forgiven, if -left to himself, for sometimes a memory would come over him of her -gentle tones, her loving, girlish heart; besides which, he could not -refuse to believe all Tremenhere wrote--there was evidence and proof; -though he left the letter unanswered, it influenced his mind in his -niece's favour. Gillett too spoke, and at last decidedly, in the -rejected one's favour; but to counteract these healthful influences, -came the soured heart, and acrid tongue, of one who hated Minnie for -entering that state without her permission, which, in the whole course -of her own life, no one had ever held open the door to, though but a -little ajar, for her to peep into--matrimony. Not a soul had once said a -civil, or even word of doubtful meaning, for her to build a hope or an -hour's dream upon, and she felt a double pleasure in stamping Minnie -with her reprehension and condemnation. So she, poor girl, bade adieu to -their pretty villa and England, to seek peace and happiness in a -stranger land, with the one whom she loved as freshly and well as on the -day she vowed to leave all for his sake. Skaife had returned, after a -few weeks' absence, to his duties, near Minnie's childhood's home; but -his heart was heavy. The man foresaw clouds in the horizon, over one he -now loved as a dear sister; for, with all Tremenhere's worth, no one -could be blind to his unconquered passion--jealousy, which only lay -still to gain strength, and rise, like a giant refreshed from slumber, -to overwhelm all. - -Marmaduke Burton was gone abroad, no one knew whither, "on a tour." -Dalby was a resident in town. Mary Burns was established in a small -business for fancy work; her poor mother no longer burthened her--she -slept in the quiet home, alike for rich and poor. And thus all stood on -the day Minnie and Tremenhere started for Paris, where he had many -friends to forward his views as an artist; moreover, he had orders from -friends at home, and all seemed to smile on them as they quitted their -native land. - -"And now, Minnie," he said, tenderly embracing her, "no more care. I -will banish all, and begin anew our life of love, and the labour of love -I have sadly neglected, though not forgotten. My poor mother--I must -toil for you both, darling, now, and for _our child_, my Minnie, for I -should indeed wish it to see the light in my lawful home; I will try so -to have it." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -Assuredly there is something very exhilarating in the air of Paris, when -compared with our heavier, smoky atmosphere; this, and a complete -removal from painful scenes, were all sufficient causes for the change -in Tremenhere and Minnie. They seemed indeed to have commenced a new -life; all annoyances had ceased, her colour had returned, the frown had -quitted his brow, the past seemed like a dream, as his confidence was -restored, and not unfrequently he laughed with her, over those -reasonless fears which had once agonized him so much. Many of their -mornings were passed in the Louvre together, he copying the old masters, -or the glowing sunset pictures in the Spanish gallery; whilst she sat -beside him, either talking, reading, or working, and thus two very happy -months passed, and Christmas drew nigh. They were residing in an -apartment, not far from the Louvre, in one of the principal streets, _Au -Troisieme_, where he found a room admirably adapted for him, having been -used as a studio. _Au Troisieme_ seems a frightful height to English -ears; nevertheless, to the many who are acquainted with Paris, it has -nothing extraordinary. - -All suspicion even seemed lulled to rest on his part; for frequently -Minnie went alone to visit Mary, who was, at all events, peaceful, if -not happy, in her present successful path. Tremenhere talked of being -obliged, very shortly, to revisit England, consequent on some paintings -he was completing to order. A shudder crept over Minnie at the thought; -she had almost hoped never to see it again, except perhaps some day to -revisit Gatestone, but certainly not London; however, the patient loving -wife said nothing, she was contented to go whither he went. They had not -received any communication from Lady Dora, in short from no one but -Dorcas and Skaife--all else was in quiet oblivion around them; and they, -not the less happy, though sometimes Minnie would sigh when she thought -of her cousin's unkindness. Marmaduke Burton, too, was lost to them, -almost in thought; the truth was, he had made a tour to Italy, and so -bitter had been his disgrace, consequent upon Miles's discovery of his -wickedness, that he resolved to leave them in peace, despairing of -success in separating them. In good, as unfortunately often in bad, when -all human power has failed, fate steps in, and accomplishes in an -instant that which years might else not have matured. Poor Minnie was -one of those kindly-disposed creatures, full of thoughtfulness to -surprise those she loved by some great joy--nothing had changed, or -could chill her heart; and frequently some little quiet secret of her's -to please Miles, tortured him once again into dormant, but not -eradicated suspicion, until the perfection of her plot enabled her to -give it to the light, and thus remove a weight from his mind, which had -oppressed it for days perhaps. She never saw this,--she was a very child -at heart, forgetting in her present happiness her past bitter suffering. -For some days she had been in a state of much excitement, and her visits -had been more frequent than usual to Mary's. Other friends she had in -Paris; but though there existed a certain constraint and distance -between herself and this unfortunate girl, still we often cling more -kindly to the person we have served, whatever their station, than to the -one who has obliged ourselves,--a noble nature loves better giving, than -receiving. Thus Minnie delighted in watching her _protegee's_ progress -towards honest prosperity, for Mary was so humble and grateful. Miles -noticed her frequent visits to Mary, her distraction of manner, followed -by sudden lightness of heart, as of hidden joy. Then, too, she often -made a plea of laziness to remain at home, and he went alone to the -Louvre. This worried him; nevertheless he said nothing, but he was not -at ease. Suspicions arose; but he chid them down--he _would_ be happy. -Sometimes Minnie looked sad and disappointed, still she said nothing; -and he forebore questioning, though not a glance of her's escaped him. -The cause of all this was as follows:--One day Mary Burns drew Minnie -into the little quiet back room adjoining the shop, and exclaimed, "Dear -Mrs. Tremenhere! I have been so anxiously looking for your arrival the -last two days; I did not like calling, or I should have done so." - -"Why not, Mary? we should have been glad to see you." - -"I know, dear madam, you are always so kind; but I wished to see you -alone--my motive is this. You must have heard from Mr. Tremenhere, of -his meeting me one night at his cousin's?" She looked down, and spoke -with difficulty and pain. "I am forced to allude to this, to explain how -I became possessed of what I now wish to speak of. Have you ever," she -cried, changing her tone, "heard Mr. Tremenhere mention any one named -d'Estrees?" - -"Never," answered Minnie, after a moment's pause. - -"On that evening in question," continued Mary, "there were several torn -papers scattered about the floor,--a sudden impulse induced me, unseen, -to secure one--and here it is. I found it only to-day; for I shame to -say, in my own selfish troubles, I had forgotten it sooner," and she -placed the torn piece of letter, which we have seen in the first volume, -in Minnie's hand. - -"Oh!" exclaimed she, after carefully perusing it, "this must have been -written by Miles's father, before his birth. Oh, Mary! how may we -discover this man? he must have been the person who married them," and -the delighted wife almost danced with joy, to think of Miles's -rejoicing. "Shall we tell him yet?" asked she after a pause, "or -wait--search every thing ourselves? Poor dear Miles will suffer so -keenly should he be disappointed; and then, too, he is seriously -occupied now with a painting which engages all his attention. Let us -work unknown to him, Mary; and, oh! think of our joy if we can, some -day, place the proof in his hands!" - -"I think your idea will be the better one to pursue," said Mary -quietly, after a moment's thought--she was less sanguine, and more -cautious than warm-hearted Minnie; "but we must not too soon reckon upon -success, we may not succeed--he may be dead. Oh! how I wish I had -secured the remainder of the letter! we might then have told Mr. -Tremenhere, and he could have directed us how to act, we are so -powerless alone." - -"Do not say that; we will inquire how we had better commence our -research. I do not like telling dear Miles yet; it would be so happy a -surprise!" - -And this it was which caused a mystery in Minnie's manner, which raised -the demon suspicion once more in Tremenhere. All her energies were -exerted in this anxious search, and in consequence she became thoughtful -and pre-occupied. Mary had some acquaintances, from whom she inquired -which would be the better way of discovering a lost address, and she was -told to search the passport-office at the _Prefecture_. - -The most timid woman will find energy and resolution for all, when the -happiness of one she loves is at stake. In the first instance, the two -women employed a man to go to the office for them; but this did not -satisfy Minnie when he proclaimed his want of success. - -"How can we be quite certain he went, or searched as we should have -done?" asked she. "I will go myself." - -"You cannot do so alone!" cried Mary, "and I am unable to leave my -shop." - -"Why not? Oh, but I can! Miles will be all day to-morrow at the Louvre; -I will not accompany him, and putting on a close bonnet and veil, lest -I should meet any one, take a _fiacre_ and go." - -Mary tried to dissuade her for some short time, and then she -relinquished the task herself, convinced that it would be the most -secure and satisfactory thing to do. Minnie had no one to advise or -assist her, and on Mary she almost looked as upon a sister, from the -circumstances of her childhood passed with Miles and his mother; then -again, they were mutually interested in this affair, and Mary was so -humble and contrite in manner, it would have been impossible for the -other not to love her. All this intimacy, however, did not pass without -censure on Miles's part, not that he doubted Mary then; but he deemed, -in worldly wisdom, that where Minnie's name had been in question, -however innocent she had proved, too much caution could not be observed; -then, too, the one dark spot in his happiness ever arose before him--her -imprudence in flying with himself, which would ever leave one place in -her fame open to animadversion; but he spoke to the least worldly woman -ever created, and then at this moment she had so strong a motive in -seeking Mary, that all his arguments terminated in a tacit consent on -his part, however unwillingly given, when Minnie's arms encircled his -neck, and her smiling cheek pressed itself like a child's to his, as she -coaxed him into good temper; then, too, there was a fonder hope in his -heart than any he had ever yet known, whatever he had once said of being -even jealous of his own child. - -Thus weeks crept on, and as disappointment followed disappointment in -their search, Minnie grew saddened and uneasy; still, every day she -rejoiced that she bore her trouble alone, and that Miles was exempt. -Poor creature! she did not perceive that her unexplained, altered -manner, was making him once again most unhappy. Doubts, fears, -suspicions of all, arose in his mind, and he began to ask himself, -"Could Burton be in Paris, and at some fiendish plot?" He resolved to -verify this doubt by inquiry. He went to several of the principal -hotels, without success. No such name was on their books; then, as a man -perfectly acquainted with Paris and its habits, he went to the passport -office, and searched; he was on the point of leaving, perfectly assured -no Burton was in Paris, consequently it must be something else preying -upon her mind and directing her actions, when a woman's figure flitted -through the office, closely enveloped and veiled. But it was Minnie, and -none other; for the second time, she had come to the prefecture to seek -d'Estrees. Miles stood transfixed with surprise. Whom could she be -seeking? Quietly he stole after her; without turning, she entered a -_fiacre_ and drove away. This was a day on which he was supposed to be -engaged at the Louvre. He stood irresolute a moment, then, walking -composedly back again, commenced a search after another passport and -name--the act was the offspring of a moment's thought. "Yes, monsieur," -answered the functionary, rather more civilly than these men generally -speak in all public offices in France; "the gentleman, _ce milord_, is -in Paris, I know--I remember the name--ah! here's the passport, and -address, _Rue Castiglione_ 7," and he gave the shuddering Tremenhere -_his own address_. - -This method of seeking persons is most common in France, where, within -twenty-four hours of your arrival, your passport and address have to be -left at the prefecture's, under the penalty of a fine, should it not be -done. It is needless to say that Minnie had not been inquiring for Lord -Randolph, but following up what she had hoped might prove a trace of her -all-absorbing thought, d'Estrees. Tremenhere said nothing; but, calmly -thanking the official, walked forth. There was no cloud on his -brow--nothing of anger or sorrow--but a cold, stern, desolation, far -more dreadful to behold. At last the blow had fallen; there could be no -longer any doubt, still less hope, of reclaiming her. She must be -wickedly, wilfully bad, and false as the falsest thing that ever -breathed. His brain, nevertheless, was in a chaos of perplexity. For -whom could she have been inquiring? No one, perhaps; but why there? The -residence of Lord Randolph, even in his own hotel, in nowise astonished -him after a moment's thought,--it was a part of her unparalleled -audacity. Those who have resided in France will know, how easily -families may live for months in the same hotel or house, and never meet. -Lord Randolph had come to Paris for a short time, and, disliking a -regular hotel, had taken an _entresol_ in this most popular and -fashionable street, without having an idea of meeting with the -Tremenheres in any way. And thus an event, the most likely and -commonplace, did more for Marmaduke Burton's revenge, than all his own -plotting and scheming. Tremenhere returned home--he stopped carelessly -in the _loge de concierge_, and inquired, "If Lord Randolph Gray resided -there?" - -"Yes," answered the man, "_milord_ has been here several days; but he -does not go out much--he is not in good health, I think." - -"Thank you," was the calm reply, and Tremenhere turned from his door, -and entered the gardens of the Tuileries. Here he proceeded to the -loneliest part, and, relaxing his quick pace, reviewed all the events of -this fatal day. Not for an instant did he doubt Minnie's perfect -knowledge of Lord Randolph's being in their hotel. Here was no -Burton--no Dalby to entangle their victims in a snare. How he laughed -aloud at his own folly and blindness, in having been so long deceived. -"In the very house with me!" he cried--"O, fool!--mad, blind fool! And -O, woman!--falsest, basest! what a shrine, too, hath the devil chosen -for his abode! so much seeming candour and lovely purity--even in the -look. I could find it in my heart to shed tears of blood for this -perverted creature, on whom I have lavished my soul's love, for I can -never love again." - -People may laugh and say, "'Tis very well for fiction," but there are -many circumstances in everyday life far more extraordinary, far more -fatally organized by a genius of good or evil, than any things the mind -could conjure up. Are they sent as trials? as punishments? or the mighty -Hand directing all, though through pain and suffering, for our ultimate -benefit? or is it, that there are moments in every one's life, wherein -the spirit of evil has permitted sway? Who may divine this? - -As Tremenhere turned again through the gardens, near the centre alley, -half hidden by the trees, he saw two persons; they were shaking hands -and parting: these were Minnie and Lord Randolph! She had quitted her -_fiacre_ on the Quay, and was hastening home across the gardens, when -she most unexpectedly met this, to her, fatal man. Only a few words -passed, and they parted, he in indifference and calm, she in almost -terror at the meeting--but it was enough Tremenhere saw not hearts, but -acts. He turned back again; a cold bolt of iron entered his soul; no -anger was there, no passionate desire for revenge--nothing but calm -resolution, which only became more intense, when he reflected on -Minnie's position. At one instant he thought of returning to London, and -suing for a divorce; then a bitterer feeling crossed his heart. "No!" he -cried, "she has branded me for ever with infamy; _she_ shall never -become his wife, nor _their_ child legitimate; this shall be my -revenge--let her bear my name, blast it, degrade it, what care I? Name!" -he exclaimed after a moment's pause, "I have no name; what am I? the -castaway offspring of Helena Nunoz! All women are false; I believe in -none, I am the blasted child of an impure woman--Nunoz--Nunoz--only -this, and Marmaduke Burton has right, to carry him onward!" and the -wretched man laughed aloud--laughed in the bitterness of a holy thought -of childhood, and dream of manhood, desecrated--his mother. His last -hope was gone; he could believe none pure, proving Minnie false. He was -not a man to sit down, and pine, and regret over his fate; but one to -act vigorously, a resolution once taken. His heart had turned to stone, -there was no "if" in it--not for an instant did he pause to think, or -hope, but sped away to act. He was determined to inquire into nothing, -in this last hopeless affair; he felt some demoniacal artifice would be -employed to persuade him against all reason; he would not degrade his -reason farther by listening--guilty she must be. Her presence at the -prefecture had something in it in connection with Lord Randolph, he -scarcely cared to inquire how, for assuredly she must, before that day, -have been privy to his residence under the same roof with herself; Mary, -too, was a party to it! What a web had been, and was around him!--he -shuddered as he thought of his deceived heart, for so long a time. When -his mind had compassed all coolly and deliberately, he proceeded to the -apartment of a friend, a brother artist, unfortunately not a Skaife, to -breathe justice or patience to him, but a man to whom woman had ever -been a merely beautiful creation for art to copy, soulless, and unworthy -a higher place in man's thought. To him Tremenhere told all, coolly, -dispassionately from the first, not to seek counsel, but to act for, and -with him. His listener shrugged his shoulder and smiled. - -"Well," he said, "'tis better thus, perhaps; for with your genius, you -will rise to high things _alone_. Hampered with a wife and children, you -would possibly have remained stationary, a good father of a family, fit -only to paint a _bonne mere_ and her _bambins_!--leave such positions -to others--soar, _mon ami_--soar!" - -Alas! he overlooked the fact, that to every one possessing real heart -and soul--soaring is sorry work when there is no loving eye to mark our -flight. - -"Now, what can I do for you? command me," said his friend. - -"See her!" answered Tremenhere sternly. "I would not leave that woman -unprovided for; arrange how and where she will receive it; you will have -tears and prayers--_I_ have had them; disregard them, be firm, tell her -_we never meet again_; do not say where I am; remove all my -paintings--all--I will give you written authority to do so. Arrange -every thing; and then I have other work for you. Stay, I will write one -line to her; and that will be a warrant for all you may do." - -And with a calmness, amazing to himself, he sat down and wrote coldly, -dispassionately, to her; merely saying he knew all. He did not -condescend even to tell her his accusations, adding, "of course, what I -_know_, will reach you from another quarter. 'Tis vain to seek an -interview; nothing shall induce me to see you--throw off all disguise, -'twill suit you better than this audacious duplicity. Farewell." - -Minnie read this letter, and it did not kill her! yet her life seemed -awhile to stand still. There was but one idea in her mind, that by that -fatality which seemed to hang over her, Miles had witnessed her -accidental meeting with Lord Randolph. A more than mortal fear oppressed -her. There arose in her mind a belief in spiritual agency--spirits of -evil around her. She became almost lifeless with this strange fear. She -sat like a statue; and saw one after another, the paintings, depart, -which had been commenced beneath her eye, her caresses, her love. She -was totally speechless, thoughtless; all stood still, even to her very -blood, for she was cold as marble. At last the easel was taken past her; -then the man stood still, as if awaiting some questioning from her; but -though she had watched every action of his with intense gaze, idea of -what was passing--she had none. So he went forth, and closed the door of -the outer apartment, mentally ejaculating, "What a cold, heartless -creature! Evidently she is glad to be released from Tremenhere, for this -_freluquet de milord_! What a blessing for her husband to lose such a -woman!" And this man, so talented in portraying the human face, was -powerless _on it_ to read the breaking heart! When the door closed, -Minnie fell back on the ottoman, not fainting; but the lifeless blood -was insufficient to bid the heart beat above mere existence. She was -living, but lifeless to the touch, or memory--and thus she lay for hours -alone! - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -"She did not speak, or expostulate?" asked Tremenhere. - -"No," answered his friend; "she was too much taken by surprise, but I -never saw a woman look more confounded in her guilt." - -Miles did not speak for some time. Strange, how wrongs, supposed or -real, darken the heart to every gleam of pity! It was not his vanity -which was wounded--not any feeling of false pride, which urged him to so -much apparent heartlessness; it was a disgust pervading his noble -nature, at so much infamy in one so young and fair. Had he deemed her -reclaimable, he would have nobly, generously, endeavoured to do so; but, -believing what he did, he felt that any further contact with her would -irretrievably sully his own honour, and plunge her still deeper into -duplicity and sin. _If_ she ever could repent, their separation--his -utter contempt for her--might, through shame, open that channel to her. -There was uprightness and conscience in his every thought; he even felt -then, that, if he could be convinced she would be true and faithful to -his rival, he would seek by the law that release which should enable -him (Lord Randolph) to do her justice. With these thoughts in his mind, -after a calm survey of all remaining in the ruined temple of his heart, -he wrote to this latter, and despatched his friend with the missive, -which contained little of accusation, beyond a quiet, cool detail of -facts, as he believed them, and giving him a choice of two things, -either a solemn assurance to marry Minnie if he divorced her--he, -thereby, submitting to the reprehension of the world at large--wherein -many might blame him for the calmness of the act, so little in -consonance with his real feelings, in preference to the more manly one -of first demanding retribution at his hands in a struggle for life, or -to meet him muzzle to muzzle, where often the luckier aim carries it -above the more skilful. But we are wrong, for the luckier aim would -carry undying remorse with it, in any noble heart, however wronged. -"Live, and let live," and leave vengeance to Heaven. - -It would be vain to attempt portraying Lord Randolph's amazement on -receipt of this note; he was preparing to leave his apartment to dine -with some friends when it reached him. He read, and re-read it; and -then, with an air of wonder which would have convinced any unprejudiced -person, asked whether really Mr. Tremenhere resided in that hotel? - -"Apparently," was the laconic reply, sarcastically delivered. - -"He must be mad, then, and deserving only _le Bicetre_," answered Lord -Randolph; "where may he be found?" - -"By letter or message through me," was the reply. - -"You are abrupt, monsieur," said the other, sitting down to write; -"nevertheless, pray be seated." - -"I prefer standing, _milord_," and he folded his arms doggedly. - -It will be seen this was the last person who could successfully -conciliate persons in so painful a position. - -Lord Randolph wrote:--"You must be mad. I most solemnly assure you, -until this moment, I knew not you were in this hotel. True, I met Mrs. -Tremenhere to-day by accident; but she never named her address, nor I -mine. You are at liberty to appeal to law, if it so please you to cast -fresh ridicule on yourself; but though I most highly esteem Mrs. -Tremenhere, enough to deem myself a most fortunate man could I call her -lawfully mine; still, I have too much self-respect and vanity, under any -circumstances, to seek a certain refusal, by proposing to her. For the -rest, your good sense, and I hope, heart, will guide you aright, and -make you see the folly of your conduct." - -His lordship was ignorant of the manner in which Minnie had been -treated, or he would have written more forcibly in her favour. Thus he -dismissed his visiter, and departed to dinner. This letter almost shook -Tremenhere's calmness to an outburst of rage; he only saw in it cool -audacity, and that feeling of honour which makes a man oftentimes -perjure himself to redeem a wrong act, and save a woman's reputation. - -"Let us seek him," he said, moving towards the door. "I will await you -in the street; you can enter and inquire for him." And, with a -resolution he did not think himself capable of, well as he knew his own -stern nature in wrong, he stood almost on the threshold of his once -happy home, whilst his friend entered to inquire where Lord Randolph -might be found. This was easily ascertained, and thither the two men -followed; he was dining with some friends at the _restaurant_ of great -renown, "_Les Trois Freres_," and was in the act of detailing his most -extraordinary and unpleasant affair, when a card was handed to him, and -on it was "Miles Tremenhere!" - -"Show the gentleman into another room," said his lordship with perfect -composure, for not one spark of cowardice was in his composition. The -waiter obeyed, and in a few minutes he stood before Miles and his -companion. - -"Your lordship will pardon this unusual method of proceeding," said -Tremenhere, with dignity; "but the unsatisfactory nature of your reply -to my letter obliges me to call in person, and demand another." - -"_Demand!_" exclaimed the other. "What if I refuse?" - -"Then it will but remain with me to attach to your lordship's name, one -I should regret being forced to call into requisition." - -Lord Randolph bit his lip to restrain an angry retort. After a moment's -pause, to collect his coolness, he said, "Mr. Tremenhere, I do not deal -with you as I should with another, for I look upon you as a lunatic; but -for the sake of your most innocent, injured wife, I implore you consider -well what you are doing!" - -"My lord," answered his opponent, "I have not come to listen to idle -words, still less to be again a dupe. I come to demand, unless your -heart fail you too much to meet me, to give me the name of _your_ -friend, to whom _mine_ may apply; the rest will then regard them." - -"Think well, sir," said Lord Randolph again, as calmly as he could be -under so much aggravation. "You may some day rue this. I would, for an -innocent woman's sake, save you from remorse, and her from ruin." - -"By heavens!" exclaimed Miles, turning sarcastically towards his friend, -"this man would have me take his mistress to my arms again, and receive -him, perchance, as friend! My lord," and he turned wildly in rage upon -him, "if there be a coward here, 'tis not Miles Tremenhere, or his -friend." - -"Oh!" ejaculated Lord Randolph, drawing a long breath, then keeping -silence a moment to subdue himself, he replied, holding out a hand to -Miles's friend, "Your card, monsieur, and I will immediately place it in -the hands of my friend. I think now, sir," and he bowed to Tremenhere, -"our interview may terminate; and may you never regret the day's work -which will follow this." - -And, holding the card given by the other in his hand, he quietly quitted -the apartment. "After all," he said to himself as he moved to the room -where his friends were awaiting him, "this fellow requires a severe -lesson; it will cure his jealousy." And none was gayer that evening at -table than Lord Randolph Gray. Tremenhere was otherwise. There was a -monitor in his breast, not silent, for it was full of questionings. Yet -to all he replied, "It is justice and retribution,"--and then he sat -down with perfect composure, and drew a rough copy of his will, which he -purposed having legally executed on the morrow. "I will not leave her -unprovided for," he whispered to himself; "this shall be my revenge on -her." - -The next day but one, Lord Randolph and his adversary met; and -Tremenhere was carried from the spot severely, though not dangerously, -wounded--a bullet having traversed his side, without, however, touching -any vital part, though he became insensible from loss of blood. His -opponent, with the manly self-possession which had characterised him -throughout, remained until well assured there existed no danger from the -actual wound, and then quitted the Bois de Bologne, where they met, and -next day Paris, for Italy. Tremenhere was transported to the nearest -house, and there he lay unconscious for many days. - -Minnie recovered from her stupor, to find herself in the arms of her -attendant, who was too much terrified to quit her and summon assistance. -This woman had not entered the apartment where her mistress was for some -hours; and her absence at the moment of her master's friend's arrival, -prevented her knowing what had occurred. As Minnie returned to the -warmth of life, and something of its consciousness, she inquired whether -Mr. Tremenhere had returned. A reply in the negative being given, she -for a moment was lost in wonder; then thought after thought crowded -through her brain, and she found amidst them, one to lead her partially -to light. Tremenhere was gone--but where, or wherefore, she could not -remember for hours. She wandered hastily from room to room, touching -every thing there which had been his--her manner was flighty, half -idiotic; the suddenness of the blow found her unprepared. At last the -terrified servant beheld a cold, grey look steal over her face, the -hectic flush disappeared, memory had returned, and desolation sat -triumphant above all; and nothing could equal that desolation of -heart--she did not imagine, for an instant, that Miles believed her -guilty. It will be remembered that she was unconscious of Lord -Randolph's residence in their hotel; she had hurried home, trembling, it -is true, to inform Tremenhere of her meeting with him, and this was the -only clue she had to his cruel conduct and desertion. She read his -letter over and over; her first supernatural fears passed away, and she -felt convinced either that he was mad, or changed in heart, so changed -that the parting was pleasurably done by him. After viewing all his -recent conduct, she dismissed the idea of madness, his coldness, and -absence of manner for some time, since, in fact, her own mysterious -search after D'Estrees, which had given him fresh cause for suspicion, -arose before her, and her eyes seemed to open on the truth. She looked -back to many things; his meetings with Lady Dora, first in the holly -field at home, that had puzzled her, then at Uplands, so sedulously -concealed from her--all arose, and without jealousy of her cousin, she -felt, and more firmly in that it was an unworn, up-springing thought of -an instant, that Miles _had_ once loved Dora, and possibly marrying her -for pique, subsequent disgust had ensued. "Oh! if he really loved me, he -could not have sought to prove me false so often," she said, "neither -now have left me for so slight a cause, without even seeking an -explanation, as my accidental meeting with Lord Randolph. He never truly -loved me." And with this fixed thought, a cold desolation crept over her -soul. Minnie had yet to learn all the madness of jealousy, therefore she -was incompetent to judge him. She was not long left in any uncertainty -about her desertion; her servant informed her that Mr. Tremenhere's -friend had authorized the landlord to apply to him for all expenses, -when madame quitted the hotel, as some unfortunate differences had -occasioned a separation. This had been gratuitous pain inflicted in -total indifference to her feelings on this man's part. Tremenhere had -bid him say that he had quitted Paris. - -Minnie, in all her keen suffering, had but one friend, Mary; our good -deeds seldom are lost in the waves of life's ocean--they return again, -to break at our feet. Minnie felt all this girl's kindness, but she had -grown so cold at heart in a few days, that all failed to warm her to -life. Of the duel they heard nothing; those kind of things are of more -ordinary occurrence in France than among ourselves, and from whom could -they hear it? Mary had written several letters to Miles's friend, their -only clue, to beseech Tremenhere to listen to reason. After some days -deep anxiety, they were returned, with a request in his name, that none -more might be sent; he was leaving France, search after him would be -useless. At length a letter arrived from himself; the characters were -trembling, for he was scarcely able to write them. In this he spoke -little of wrongs, merely by the tone of it, implying Mary to be as -guilty as his own wife. There was no regret, nothing to excite hope. He -spoke deliberately of never again seeing her; he was resolved; he had no -desire to do so; he had long been unhappy; now the tie was severed, he -felt content. Of her pecuniary wants he had taken care, _however she -might be circumstanced_. He named a banker in whose hands a sufficiency -for her support would be placed quarterly, and then all care for her -ended. With this letter Minnie's last hope died; it was indeed a -hopeless one. Had she seen him, pale, haggard, and suffering, as he sat -up in the bed to write it, she would have felt that he was less to blame -than she deemed him. He scarcely knew what he wrote, still he felt -anxious to settle all for her comfort, in case Lord Randolph should -forsake her; for the idea was a fixed one in his mind, that though they -might not meet publicly for a while, eventually, finding him no longer -to be duped, they would fly together. - -Nothing could induce Minnie to touch a farthing of the money Miles had -allotted her; forsaken by him, he was as a stranger to her. Had she -known he still loved her--had she known all, she would have followed to -the farthest end of the earth, to find and plead to him. As it was, her -heart sickened; she had been deceiving herself--deceived by him. Her -pride arose, and, enwraping herself in it, she sat down, and forbore -even to name him. One thing she wrung from Mary in sacred promise: this -was--that neither Dorcas nor Skaife should be informed of the whole -truth. - -"Let me bear my misery alone," she said. "Tell them, for I cannot write -now, that he and I have parted: that there was incompatibility of -temper--any thing you will; but do not--pray, do not, say he has -forsaken me! Let them think it has been mutual consent, but do not blame -him; they all hate him enough already," and the heart whispered even -still, "poor Miles!" - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -It was not, however, for some time that Minnie allowed Mary to write -even this; for she still hoped at times, in her heart, that Miles would -return. But when months passed, and she ascertained, beyond a doubt, -from a visit Mary made to his artist friend, that he had quitted for -Florence, then she hoped no more, and nothing remained but to act. - -Dorcas was most uneasy at her silence, and then Mary wrote, and -afterwards she summoned courage to do so herself, though every word -written was penned in the bitterness of worse than death; for we may die -happy in hope, and the love of those dear ones around us, smoothing the -pillow as we depart in peace and faith to happy shores, beyond life's -troubled sea. Minnie's grief had nothing of this. She was on a wreck in -a dark stormy night--a wild sea foaming over her head--a dark sky, and -impenetrable darkness above and around; but nevertheless she spoke of -contentment, and a wish to be left in quiet. "We deemed it better to -part than live in estrangement of heart," she wrote, "and I am resigned. -If you love me, let the subject drop; nothing can change our fate. -Leave me in quiet awhile, I shall remain some time longer abroad." - -But this letter did not tranquillize Dorcas, to whom it was written. She -carefully abstained from speaking of its contents to any one but Mr. -Skaife, and he, like herself, was too deeply interested in Minnie, not -to be the confidant of all. Dorcas wrote most anxiously to her, and -Skaife promised, as soon as his duties would admit of it, to go to -Paris, and endeavour to reconcile them. He guessed a portion of the -truth; but, alas, nor he, nor Dorcas knew a tithe of it! - -Minnie, we have said, resolutely refused to touch her husband's -allowance. He had gone to Florence (as far he might be, in his -spirit-broken state,) contented in the thought that she was provided -for, and in following his art, now a toil undertaken to banish care--he -strove to obliterate her memory. Minnie's pride forbade her accepting -existence at the expense of Mary; when all her means had become -exhausted--the slender ones her purse and jewels afforded, her pride -arose in proportion to her poverty. It was not false pride, but the -honest, upright determination, to burthen no one. "I will leave Paris," -she said to herself, "and go where no one may hear of me." - -This could not be accomplished without some difficulty; nevertheless, at -last she succeeded, and one day, when Mary sought her in the humble room -she had been residing in, she was gone. A letter reached her faithful -friend, telling her that cares such as hers were better borne alone; -even _her_ sympathy pained her. She would go where only her own heart -should know her sorrow, and breathe it to her. She bade her not fear for -her; she was safe, and would shortly give her proof of it by letter; but -she implored her to breathe to no one that she had fled. Mary, however, -in kindness of heart, wrote immediately to Mr. Skaife; the secret was -too a heavy a one for her own conscience to support in peace. This -intelligence caused the most bitter sorrow to him and Dorcas, to whom -alone it was told; and he hastened to seek some one to take charge of -his parish duties awhile, at her earnest prayer, and his own heart's -promptings, to follow Minnie whithersoever she might be gone. - -It sometimes, but rarely happens in life, that where we only expected to -find a merely common acquaintance, we meet a warm and sincere -friend--one who, through years of sorrow, never forsakes us--one who -forgets self, to help us onward on life's weary track with our -burthens--who, when all have forsaken save himself, clings to us still, -and whose best, and only reward sought, is, when a gleam of sunshine -flits across our dreary way. To such a one, honour and blessing--gifts, -which his own good conscience will bring him, when, at the end of life's -journey, he makes up his account, and reckons with his Creator. Such a -copy of an original, was Skaife. But there was a machine working which -he could not stay or controul; it would spin its wool, and weave its -woof, before man might overcome it. - -Tremenhere was in Florence; but yet he heard of Minnie whilst she was -in Paris. So blinded was he by his passions, that even her poverty--her -refusal tacitly to touch his allowance, were snares in his eyes, to lure -him back to deception. Again, if at times his heart softened, 'twas but -for a moment--he grew cold again, and pitiless. Living too, as he lived, -steeled his heart to gentler scenes or thoughts; he avoided all society, -and, shut up in his studio, labouring to banish the bosom's emotions, -became sullen, morose, and vindictive. - -Months passed since their separation, and in the delicate, frail woman, -living in almost privation in Marseilles, toiling at her needle for her -daily bread, who might have known Minnie Dalzell? With the little money -remaining to her, she crossed to England, to prevent discovery and -pursuit; here remaining hidden a short time, she then returned on her -footsteps, and hastened to Marseilles. She knew Miles was in Italy, and -her yearning heart led her to the port, whence she might some day, -perhaps, be called upon to follow his path. Bowed and saddened she was -by sorrow, still her heart's conscious uprightness, and honest pride, -upheld her; if she suffered, no one knew it; if sometimes she ate her -bread in tears, and only _that_, for a day's nourishment, who saw her? -No mere _person_, but One who sees and reckons to us our patience and -confidence in him however he may try us, and Him, Minnie never forgot. -Even as the trembling fingers, pale and attenuated, broke the hardened -crust, the eyes, once violet in their depth and richness, now paler, -clearer, more serene in their sadness, looked up and blessed the Giver -of it in their tearful gratitude. In all this patient sorrow came an -almost overwhelming, unhoped-for joy; she held a living child on her -bosom, small, frail little creature; its tones were as a bird's, so soft -and sad, and through the little thin fingers the light shone, as you -held them up, and only then did a ruddy colour, like pale ruby, show in -them, proving they were not merely wax, an imitation of life. "I shall -not have you long to comfort me, my boy," she whispered, when the -sobered first joy gave place to reason; "but you will go to a better -place, and plead for your mother, darling, and oh! do not forget -him--your father. I would you might have seen him _here_, my child, to -know him in heaven; but I trust in spirit meetings, spirit sight will -show him to you, and we may all three rejoice, reconciled in peace and -everlasting joy, which nothing human can attain to!" - -He was christened Miles, and though the pale, fair mother grew paler -each day, and toiled more, as the embroidery, in which she excelled, -became more sought after, still the boy thrived, and as she laid him -upon her lap, like a model of rare beauty, her lip smiled in placid -thankfulness and joy, as she counted the dimples which day by day seemed -to deepen in the now rosy cheeks and fingers. Hers was not a heart to -keep its joy to itself; she wrote to Mary. True she did not give her -address, but she wrote to bid her rejoice with her; her child was born -and lived. A deep hope sustained her for some time. If Miles ever had -truly loved her, he must think of the expected tie which bound them -closer than ever. He would remember how he had spoken with almost -boyish delight of the hoped-for period, and he would seek her, and -come. Alas! he did remember it; but in bitterness of spirit, and laughed -in scorn over those boyish hopes, of which he had been the dupe. - -Mary replied, in haste and deep anxiety, to the Post-Office, as -directed; she spoke of Dorcas's trouble, Skaife's arrival and anxious -search for her, but not one word of Miles! and then her heart sunk in -utter despondency. "Not even now!" she uttered, as the big tears fell on -her boy's sleeping face; "oh, he must hate me much!" Then succeeded a -fear lest Mary should seek her, or Skaife, or Dorcas; she would fly -again. - -Among her employers was one lady who had taken a deep interest in her; -she had a daughter about Minnie's age, and married to a Maltese -merchant; she was about to become a mother herself, and, being called -upon to join her husband in Malta, her mother implored Minnie, who was -thought a young widow, to accompany her as nurse to the expected child. -The offer was a tempting one; thus she could fly, fly all, and in change -of scene, more than place, still, busy thought. A large offer was -proposed to her to wean her own child when another should claim her -care, but this she resolutely refused. "You will be too delicate to -nurse both!" exclaimed the lady. - -"I shall gain strength for all, Madame," she replied, with confidence. -"I am stronger than I seem," and she thought of all she had mentally -borne and wrestled successfully with, and mere physical labour could not -daunt her strong heart. - -She waited upon the lady, and, disdaining all deceit, at the risk of -losing possibly the situation which she much desired to obtain, told all -her story. She had truly said, when asked, that she had no husband, and -others concluded he was dead. At all events, as we have said, assuredly -on the Continent people more charitably judge a sister woman by present -good conduct, than they seek, by diving from _curiosity_ into the past, -to discover, perhaps, some deep sorrow, or more deeply repented error. -We deny that our Continental neighbours are less virtuous than -Englishwomen, _in general_; but they are less severe, more charitable, -less censorious. Minnie's candour raised her high in the opinion of -those, now doubly bound to her, from pity. All her energies were called -into play, to meet the emergency of outfit--money was required. The lady -advanced her some, still she required more. - -We are not relating a mere tale of romance, where fairy and unexpected -gifts come to help the toiling and virtuous, but a story of everyday -life, where the good and conscientious, by undeserved misfortunes, are -thrown in much trouble, degradation, poverty, and _often_ want; where -the fingers once destined to be jewelled, must learn to toil, that the -lip which had been born to command a host of servants, may eat its daily -bread. - -Minnie had been guilty of but one imprudent act, and this was the -penalty due to it, and unmurmuringly she was prepared to pay it to the -last farthing. Her hours of sleep became shortened; the earliest morning -light saw her working, while her boy slept. Oh, woman--fellow-woman! -when some pale mother places in your gemmed hand the work you have -commanded her to do for you, pause, and think that she may be in _all_ -things superior to yourselves. Pause and reflect, grow humble and -grateful, where all your gratitude is due. Turn not away in pride, do -not bid her seek some insolent menial for payment, who will grudge the -hardly-earned sum, and insult, while giving it. Pay her yourselves--pay -well, and in conscience, and above all, pay kindly; for how know you but -that, in another place, this woman may plead for, or condemn you? - -Time hastened on; the day shone fair and bright; it was in October, and -the quay was thronged with gallant vessels coming and going, and friends -were receiving in joy those who returned, and others weeping over the -departing; but none were there to press Minnie to their heart in sorrow -or fear, as, clasping her child to her bosom, she stepped on board the -steamer "Hirondelle," for Malta. Once she looked back, and scanned the -crowd, every face--it was a last hope, but it faded in the sigh which -heaved her heart, where little Miles slept in peace. She turned away, -nor looking again, went below. The anchor weighed, the steam gushed -upwards in a cloud, the paddles commenced sending the spray around, and -the port faded insensibly from view. - -"Don't cry, madame," said Minnie, whose eyes were overflowing for -another's grief. A mother had just seen her daughter for the last time. -"Don't cry, dear madame," and she knelt and clasped her hands in both -her own (her boy was sleeping in her berth.) "We shall soon be at -Malta, and then you will see your husband, who so anxiously expects -you." Here she may be pardoned if a tear fell for herself; this chord -jarred on her heart, but she checked the vain dream, and awoke to -comfort another. - -On--on they sailed with wind and tide, until night set in, and then the -former suddenly changed, and a high sea arose. Minnie had lain down -dressed beside her boy; her mistress slept in a berth above her. -Suddenly there arose a noise more than usual over-head, footsteps, and -voices calling fore and aft. She sat up and listened. Some of the ladies -slept, others were partially awakened by the noise, and murmuringly -called the attendant. Some sat up, the better to listen. Minnie was very -pale, but spoke not. At this moment a man appeared at the cabin door; he -was in a sailor's heaviest dress, for weathering rough weather. He -whispered the attendant, who grew paler; then he crept almost -noiselessly in, and commenced putting in and securing, what are called -the dead-lights. Then he stole away as he had entered; but, as he -mounted the companion ladder, he closed and fastened the door. Minnie -did not shriek, but she arose, and, though scarcely able to keep her -footing, held on to the side of the berth, and whispered her mistress, -"Madame, madame, awake and dress!" The lady started up; just at that -moment something crashed on deck, and went over the side. A simultaneous -scream burst from all in that cabin; then for an instant, which seemed -as an age in duration, there were breathless silence and watching for -the expected signal again, of disaster; but nothing was heard save -hurrying footsteps over-head, and the heavy ploughing of the steamer -through the waves, which broke with a monotonous sound against the -vessel, which seemed like some poor, breathing, overwhelmed animal, -struggling for its life. After this moment's suspense, wherein every ear -expected to be startled by some fierce cry of despair, all in that cabin -looked from one to another in terror. This lasted another minute--then -one, endowed with a sudden desire to fly the gloomy silence of that -almost dark cabin, where only one small lamp flickered to and fro in the -centre, sprang up the ladder and endeavoured to open the door; but it -resisted all her efforts. With a wild cry she shook it madly; then, -struggling in her fear, fell headlong downwards, and lay on the floor, -terrifying the inmates of that prison-house by her shrieks of wild, -hysterical agony. Some rose, some kneeled and prayed, with trembling -upraised hands. Others were too lifeless to think, but leaned stupefied -against the side of the cabin. One woman lay still--perfectly still, and -beside her were two beautiful sleeping children; her pale lips alone -breathed a prayer for mercy, as she clasped both to her bosom. Minnie -had awakened her mistress, whose personal attendant was too much alarmed -to think except of herself; and Tremenhere's deserted wife, with her boy -clasped in one arm to her heart, yet found courage with the other to -enfold the almost paralyzed lady, and breathe words of hope; and thus -the vessel toiled on with its death-expecting cargo. For nearly an hour, -it seemed as if for one plunge she took despairingly forward, she was -driven double the distance back again; assuredly she made no way in that -heavy sea. At length there was a pause, as though she had some -impossible wave to cut through; every heart stood still; then her sides -creaked and heaved; the timbers seemed like complaining spirits. She had -had both wind and tide against her; in an instant, as if by magic, she -appeared to swing round, with her head to the wind, and onward she flew, -like a soul loosened from bondage, and seeking its haven of rest. She -was returning to Marseilles. It was a race for life; but, like many an -overwrought gallant steed, her strength failed where her spirit upheld. -Onward she dashed, and one wild shriek mingled with the severing crash, -as "L'Hirondelle" broke upon the rocks, her crew was powerless to keep -her off, and went to pieces in that dark, dreary night. - -It is not our province, even though we portray a true scene, to speak of -all in that doomed steamer; it is with Minnie we have to buffet over the -waves of that dark sea, in a small boat, into which many--far too many, -had crowded. Her child was clasped in a grasp like death, (for only that -could have parted them,) to her shivering breast powerless to warm it, -while its faint cry broke in agony on her stricken heart. Still she -hoped; she knew something more than human force would be requisite to -separate her from her infant, strained as it was to her bosom. So the -shivering mother sat still, uncomplaining in her anguish, and thus they -drifted on in that laden boat. Morning broke, and the boat was keel -uppermost, riding on a calm sea; to that keel clung two living beings, -the mother and child, yet the latter scarcely lived. The tone of that -little voice was a faint murmur of expiring nature, which echoed in a -heavy sob from the mother's heart, as she clung to the keel in almost -despairing hope, and thus they drifted to and fro, a mockery of life, so -nigh death they seemed on that calm sea, until her benumbed hand, for -one grasped her child, could scarcely cling on, and insensibility was -stealing over both, slowly and gradually, so much so that it seemed as a -dream, two rough, but friendly arms, lifting her into a boat, where she -was gently laid at the bottom on sails and coats, and covered up -carefully from the spray, which dashed over her, as in playfulness. What -means of restoration they had at hand, were supplied by those rough -nurses, two fishermen on the Marseilles coast, who, quitting their toil -for that day, sailed in, as quickly as possible, to their humble -village-home, of a few poor cottages up the coast. A long, insensible -sleep was Minnie's, when she was laid in the cotter's bed. Her long, -fair hair hung in heavy, damp masses on the coverlet, and on her bosom -lay the living thing she still clasped in her straining arms, loving -almost unto death. It was nearly two long days before she awoke to -perfect consciousness, to find herself tended with care and every -kindness their poverty could afford, by the two men who had rescued her, -and who, calling in a woman from a neighbouring hut, placed the mother -and child under her care. Her first awakening was a loud cry of terror, -as in a horrid dream she saw the past, and her first thought was her -boy. Startled by her cry, the woman ceased a low monotonous song she was -singing, to lull an infant to sleep with by the fire. Minnie sprang from -the bed towards her, and in an instant memory gave her back all; for one -doubting moment she held her child at arm's length to recall the -features, then folding those arms in gentle, but strong hold around it, -she sunk tremblingly on her knees, and the fair veil of hair sweeping -the ground, made her seem a spirit from another world, in purity and -holiness, as, raising her streaming eyes upwards, her lips murmured in -deep, heartfelt gratitude--"Oh, I am not worthy of so much mercy! so -great a blessing! teach me to deserve it!" - -And her tears baptized anew her child, spared from death. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -With her memory and return to life, came a strange desire over Minnie's -heart. She learned by the inquiries of the fisherman, that almost all on -board the ill-fated Hirondelle had been lost. Only one or two of the -passengers, and a few of the crew, had been picked up. Her sorrow was -keen and heart-rending, on hearing that the lady whom she had vainly -endeavoured to save, was amongst the lost--all were reported so, except -the few we have named; and one of the men returning from Marseilles one -day, brought her a paper containing a list of those lost, or supposed to -be; and almost the first name she read there was, "Madame Tremenhere, -and child." Her first feeling was a shudder, as she thought of what -might have been. Then an idea rushed through her brain of, "What would -Miles's feelings be should he read this? Would he regret her?--still -hate her? Or, his once strong love reviving, would he remember her only -through that medium, and sorrow over her fate?" - -"Should he," she mentally said, "what heartfelt joy it would be to seek -him, and, casting myself at his feet, pray him to take me once again to -his arms and heart!" - -This thought gave rise to the earnest desire of proving him. This task -did not seem difficult or impossible. Her humble friends were not of -that class to carry the news of her existence far and wide; her name, -too, was unknown to them. More than thanks she had little to give, -reserving to herself in some hereafter, to reward them amply. Her object -was to gain Paris once again, and then ponder upon the best means of -carrying out her project; it seemed to her as a last hope. The only -articles of value she possessed were a watch and chain, which her -ill-fated mistress had given her the day before they sailed. On these, -her late friends, the fishermen, had raised her a sum of money in -Marseilles; a small sum she forced upon them, and with the remainder, -after purchasing a few absolute necessaries, the still hoping woman -left, unrecognized, for Paris. She had confided to her friends a wish to -be unknown, until she reached her relatives, and thus a passport was -obtained in the name of Deval. With her she took the paper containing -the list of passengers supposed to be lost, and thus she started for -Paris. - -Minnie had not calculated all in doing this; she overlooked, in her -haste to put a last hope of reconciliation in practice, the grief many -might feel. But it was done, and thought came afterwards. She knew that, -by sending the paper to Tremenhere's artist-friend, in Paris, it -assuredly would reach him, directed to himself; consequently, on her -arrival, her first act was to seek the box of one of those curiously -occupied persons in that large city, who sit at the corners of some -streets, and, for a trifle, write letters for the illiterate or -mysterious. Here she got her paper addressed to Tremenhere, to his -friend's care, in a strange hand, and sent it by a porter, with an order -to leave it in the _loge de concierge_, without answering any questions, -merely inquiring if they knew the address of the gentleman. The man -returned to her, and said-- - -"The person to whom it was addressed, was daily expected in Paris, and -it should be given to him." Her heart bounded with a joy, long a -stranger to it, at this information; all seemed to favour her scheme. -Then, however, for the first time she sat down to reflect, and thought -of Mary's certain grief--Dorcas--Skaife--all, perhaps; but she consoled -herself with the reflection--"It will not be for long: Miles will come -to Paris--when he receives the paper, he will go to Mary. I will watch -for him near her house, and his friend's; and when I see his fine head -bowed in sorrow, I will bid it raise itself up, rejoicing!" - -And with this idea she took a small, almost garret, within view of his -friend's residence, and through the _concierge_, and at shops obtained -some work, whereby to support life, and her dearer than own--that of -Tremenhere's child's. - -Miles had remained at Florence, in retirement and bitterness, until his -feelings outwore themselves. He wanted fuel to feed his thoughts against -Minnie. He was tormented in soul; for sometimes a till then silent -monitor awoke, and said-- - -"You were perhaps too hasty--you had no proof, but presumptive -evidence--the most deceiving of any: return to Paris." And his fate took -him by the hand, and led him thither. - -Before Minnie brought the newspaper to Paris, the journals, both there -and in England, were teeming with accounts of the loss of the -"Hirondelle," and a list given of the passengers' names. Who may depict -the heavy gloom which fell upon her family at Gatestone, when her name, -coupled with her infant's, appeared amongst those lost! Dorcas was -almost broken-hearted. If Minnie could have seen her, she would indeed -have regretted the _ruse_ of a moment, which could cause so much bitter -anguish to one she loved--she would no longer accuse her aunt of -coldness, but rather have pitied that want of energy, which made her -seem what she was not. On Juvenal and Sylvia, too, it fell heavily, but -in a different manner. On him, it awakened remorse and gloom for unjust -severity, and a consequent hatred towards those who had urged him to it. -He would not listen to the name of Burton, or Dalby, without violent -passion, followed by almost tears; and this feeling was constantly -awakened by Sylvia, who became more acrimonious in proportion as her -conscience told her she had taken a good part in the oppression of her -poor niece; and her greatest satisfaction was in torturing others. - -Dorcas and Skaife were the two who, in almost silence, bore the heaviest -burthen; they spoke of her to one another, but beyond this, they were -silent. Dorcas crept about her home in quiet grief; every little object -which had belonged to Minnie was gradually taken from public gaze, to be -treasured up in her own saddened room, and there she would sit for -hours, looking upon them, and recalling when and how Minnie employed -them. - -The old hall clock ticked no more: this was Juvenal's act--it awakened -such painful feelings whenever its tongue proclaimed the hour; so one -day, unknown to any one, he sent early for a carpenter, and the friend -of years was consigned to a lumber-room!--_a propos_, this is too often -the fate of old, tried friends, who would recall us to thought and duty -by reminding us of wasted hours! - -Mrs. Gillett had but one phrase in her sorrow to cut Juvenal to the -soul; and this was-- - -"I told you something bad would come of all your severity! Poor -darling!--only for your cruelty she might be smiling amongst us now, and -her blessed, crowing babby!" She spoke of it as if it had been a young -game-cock. "And to think," she continued, "that that pretty creatur', -long hair and all, has become food for fishes! There--never don't send -no more into this house; for, as long as I'm in it, none sha'n't be -cooked, I can tell you!" - -And the poor woman, having thus energetically delivered herself of her -opinions, would creep away, and, shutting the door of her -pleasant-looking room, sit rocking to and fro, crying, as she would -fancy she again beheld Minnie and her handsome Tremenhere there, side by -side. - -The authorities at Marseilles were written to, and all confirmed the sad -news; some few had been rescued, but nothing had been heard of Minnie, -except that the boat in which she and others had escaped from the wreck, -was found keel uppermost by a steamer. The fishermen far on the coast, -had little intercourse with the town; and then Minnie had implored -secresy at their hands, and her wishes were obeyed. Mary, too, wrote to -Skaife in broken-heartedness. Nothing was wanting to confirm it; and, -just when all else were in their sorrow, Tremenhere arrived in Paris. -While at Florence, he had heard that Lord Randolph was cruising in a -yacht in the Mediterranean. This partially urged his return to France--a -fear of meeting _them_. He felt he should not be master of himself were -such to take place; so strong on his mind was the idea of their being -together. Yet, too, sometimes a doubt arose; and, to clear up all, he -returned to France--he could not rest. His first idea was to go direct -to Mary's, and inquire about her in seeming indifference; then he -changed his intention, and went hastily to his friend's. This man was -from home when Miles arrived, so he went to his studio and awaited his -return. Miles was one of those whose busy mind ever found employment for -the fingers; he could not sit down patiently and wait, doing -nothing--the busy thoughts when the mind is in trouble, become too acute -then. Thus he looked round the studio--to read was impossible--taking a -blank sheet of pasteboard, he placed it on an easel, and commenced -sketching. He was not thinking willingly of Minnie; but somehow she was -the spirit of the man's innermost soul. Beneath his pencil grew two -figures--a Madonna and child, lightly sketched. Something passed over -his heart like a footstep in a deserted hall, and echoed. He laid down -the pencil, and brushing back his hair with a hasty hand, resumed the -pencil, but reversed the sketch, and commenced another--as he did so, a -step sounded without. He started up; it was his friend--friend to him, -and a worthy man, which made him the more severe towards Minnie, -supposing her so faithless. The cordial grasp of friendship given, his -friend said,-- - -"Oh! I've got some letters and papers for you, which have come -recently," and he hastened to seek them. Miles's heart beat high. They -most probably, in some manner, related to the overflowing thought of his -heart. He took them with trembling hands from the other, and scrutinized -them all; a cold feeling of disappointment filled his heart--not a line -in her handwriting!--then she was truly lost, and indifferent to him! -All this time the other was gazing at him with an embarrassed look, not -knowing when or how to commence--something he had to give utterance to; -this look had come over him immediately after their first salutation. -Miles tore open the Marseilles paper, and flung it down with a "pshaw." -The name caught his friend's eye, and he took it up. As he did so, -Miles, to conceal his disappointed look, hastily seated himself at the -easel, and commenced finishing his sketch. "Look," he said, "Duplin, -this is the model of the sweet villa where I have been sojourning -often, in Florence--I must return--already I grow weary in France!" In -good truth, he looked so; he was pale, care-worn, and his smile passed -like a breath on glass, leaving a dark, dim vapour behind. - -"Tremenhere," said the other at last, "have you heard aught of madame, -lately?" - -The question made his hand tremble. - -"No," he replied, continuing his sketch. "How should I? Have you?" and -he looked up wistfully. - -"Nor of _ce milord_?" asked Duplin, again interrogatively, without -replying to his demand. - -"He is in the Mediterranean," answered Miles bitterly, "cruising in a -yacht." - -"Then it _was_ the case," fell from his friend's lip, as if in -self-satisfaction, at a doubt solved. - -"What?" cried Miles, looking up hastily; "speak out, I can bear it--I -suspect all, from the reports I have heard." - -"Well, then, after you left I resolved to discover all; I deemed it -right towards you, and also a satisfaction, where madame would fain have -seemed so wronged. I found out that milord went to Italy and the -Mediterranean, and shortly afterwards madame quitted Paris for England; -but this must have been a _ruse_ to mislead, for she was recently in -Marseilles with her child." - -Tremenhere groaned aloud at the thoughts this communication awakened; -there was something so bitter in the memory of all the happiness her -supposed infamy had cost him, wife, child, home--all but a vain dream. - -"And thence," continued Duplin, anxious, by fortifying his (Miles's) -heart with contempt for her, to prepare him to receive calmly the -intelligence he had gained through the public prints, "madame with her -child, sailed the other day for the _Mediterranean_ for Malta; in fact, -where I last heard of milord's yacht." - -"True!" ejaculated Miles through his closed teeth, as he bent over his -sketch. - -"And now, _mon ami_," added the other hurriedly, "I have something more -to tell you. I do not think you need much courage to hear it; for after -all, 'tis better, far better thus." - -"What would you tell me, Duplin? speak?" and he looked up perfectly -unconscious of the truth. - -"Well then, Tremenhere, you are free; madame is dead!" - -"Dead!" exclaimed Miles, starting up pale and rigid; and, strange -contradiction of the thought which the other endeavoured to convey to -his mind, the fair, living Minnie seemed to stand before him. - -"Be a man!" said Duplin, soothingly; "think how false she was; think how -painful a tie--of the disgrace!" and he grasped his arm. - -"Where did she die?" asked Miles, passing his hand over his brow to -collect his thoughts; for he was in a stupor, not understanding really -what the other meant to convey to him. - -"She was lost; the vessel was wrecked going to Malta," answered Duplin, -who had unfolded the Marseilles paper, and, suspecting the contents sent -by some unknown hand, placed the open sheet before the stupefied -Tremenhere on the easel. Gradually the glazed eyes fell upon the page, -and the names stood out bold and clear before him, "Madame Tremenhere -(_Anglaise_) _et son enfant_," he dropped silently on the seat, and, -shading his eyes, gazed on the sheet motionless and speechless. - -"Be yourself--be a man!" said Duplin, once more touching his arm. - -"I am!" cried Tremenhere, in a hoarse but steady voice, looking up. "I -rejoice; better know her dead, than _his_!" and he rose and strode -across the room. "I do rejoice, Duplin; see, my hand even does not -tremble. Now I can bear my sorrow; now the world is one huge blank -before me. I have lost that leper spot which was tainting all my flesh; -I have no past, no present, no future--all is alike a blank. I can walk -on in the darkness, nor fear to meet her form at every step!" - -Duplin stood awed by his calmness, it seemed so terrific over those -young graves. "Who can have sent that paper?" he asked, taking the -journal in his hand. - -"An enemy; but I guess him. I defy them all now! They can wound no -more--my wound is cleansed, and healed; I defy them! the plague spot has -left me! Rejoice Duplin, rejoice!" - -When he went forth from that house, his step was exact, the brow stern -and cold, but untroubled, the mouth compressed and calm, and the pale -woman closely veiled, who was concealed in a gateway watching the exit -of him whom she had seen enter Duplin's abode, felt her hopeful heart -loosen all its chords, and wellnigh burst in its sorrow, as she failed -to read one regret on that face of stone. She knew he must have received -the paper which told him all, and now indeed she felt he had never loved -her--all was lost. She had but three things to comfort her; first, her -own upright conscience, her boy, and the morbid satisfaction of being -indeed dead to all, lone, and uncomforted, and thus she crept back to -her gloomy garret. - -Once again she saw Miles; her dress touched him in the half-lighted -street at night. He was cold, unmoved, as before. She stretched a hand -to touch him; his name was on her lips; but he passed on, and the -whispered word died away in a hysterical sob. - -Next day he quitted for England, without seeking any communication with -Mary, and Minnie remained to weep and toil. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -Four months passed away, and February, with its cold assumption of -earliest spring, found a crowd of fashionables assembled in the French -capital; and, amongst others, Lady Ripley, Lady Lysson, and Lady Dora. - -It would be impossible to convey to many minds, or easily describe, the -chilling effect which pride, and a luxuriously-indulged fashionable -existence, throw over a heart which otherwise might have been warm, -generous, and loving. Lady Dora was painfully shocked when she heard of -Minnie's death; but then she had her mother's cold reasonings to soothe -her grief. - -"Minnie had disgraced her family; her name had, since her unfortunate -marriage, been brought in question. Assuredly, though Mr. Tremenhere had -hushed slander by resolution, yet Minnie must have given some room for -it! It was very unfortunate that she had ever been known, by the -publicity he had given at the club, as his wife; and perhaps some day, -as a relative of their's--for people always _will_ inquire who's who? -Therefore they must, of course, for decency sake, put on mourning. -Perhaps it was better so to do; it would silence whisperings, as it was -known to many that the husband and wife had been separated before her -death. Something, too, was rumoured, of a duel having been fought; but -as no public scandal had been given by a divorce, an assumption of -sorrow would appear in favour of her memory, should the truth ever -become known!" - -So Lady Ripley and her daughter swept the floors of their hotel in Paris -(whither they had gone, to seek oblivion of sorrow in change of scene) -in robes of sombre hue, craped and bugled with jet, and only in a very -quiet soiree permitted themselves to be "at home" or "abroad." - -Tremenhere had been a favourite in Florence before his marriage, with -many a high dame; that event threw a partial veil over him: he grew -domestic. - -Now he came forth again in a new character. In the first state he had an -absorbing idea--his mother's fame; this was his guiding star. With -Minnie's supposed fall, this fell too; it "sought the sea," and was -engulfed. - -Tremenhere now was a thoroughly heartless, reckless man. Without hope, -present or future, he lived for the moment. At first he hesitated, in -the candour of his heart, even to wear mourning for Minnie; then a -thought--a more generous one to the dead--arose; he forgave her, and -would spare her memory from calumny, by any act of his, so glaring in -disrespect. As the pale, interesting widower, one whose fate had been so -mysterious--one ejected from his high estate by his parents' error--he -became the fashionable rage, the pet artist, the sought-after guest; and -the man _submitting_ to all, courted nothing, for nothing moved him. - -It will not be our province to betray beforehand Lady Dora's heart--let -it work its own way, and shew itself. Lady Ripley could not close her -doors against Tremenhere, without risking scandal to her relative's -memory, should any busy tongue ever proclaim she had been such to them; -besides, he was the fashion, and received every where, as more than an -artist even of fame, as a man who ranked their equal by birth, though a -cloud now obscured him. Burton had never been a favourite in society, -and not a few hoped yet to see Tremenhere restored to his home. So Lady -Ripley did the more prudent thing, received him with something -approaching to cordiality. Moreover, he was every where; not to receive -him, would be to shut fashion out of doors. No portrait was perfect -unless he painted it, no bust a model unless he chiseled it; and the man -walked among all like a soul in transmigration, seeking the one hidden -thing, which should bid it back to the heaven it had lost, and was -striving to regain. - -"Come here, you dreadful man!" exclaimed Lady Lysson, as he entered her -apartments one day in the Hotel Mirabeau, "and account for yourself. -Here is Lady Dora complaining bitterly that her portrait, as '_Diane -Chasseresse_,' will never be completed! I shame to hear so bad an -account of my protege." - -"Lady Lysson," he said, taking her cordially proffered hand, "I cannot -plead guilty; the fault is Lady Dora Vaughan's. Three days have I placed -it upon my easel, and, after impatiently awaiting her ladyship to give -me a sitting, have been compelled to remove it for some other claimant." - -"What have you to answer to this charge, Lady Dora?" asked the lively -hostess with mock gravity, appealing to the lady, who was sitting at -another table sketching when Tremenhere entered, and who had received -him as usual with a constrained air, merely bowing. - -"I reply," answered that lady, "that my mother, having been particularly -engaged, it was impossible for me to wait upon Mr. Tremenhere; and -indeed, dear Lady Lysson, you are well aware I have not complained of -the delay. It is a matter of indifference to me, the completion of that -portrait." - -"I declare you are ungracious enough to induce Mr. Tremenhere to cast -the care of it off his hands, and but that I have its perfecting at -heart, before my truant nephew's return from afar, to gladden his eyes -with, I should advise him to leave Diane _a la chasse_ for ever, and -unfinished." - -If the allusion to Lord Randolph made him wince, no eye saw it. As soon -as the discussion between the ladies commenced, he had very coolly -seated himself in a corner of the sofa; and with pencil and paper was -silently sketching Lady Lysson's spaniel, which lay before the fire. -Lady Ripley, too, had apartments in the Hotel Mirabeau--consequently, -the ladies were as one family. We have seen before, the desire of the -two families for an union between Lady Dora and Lord Randolph--a -marriage now equally sought for by the gentleman. Though Minnie's death -had affected him much, yet he knew not all the circumstances of the -case; and, in truth, he was so innocent of any wrong towards her, that -the memory soon passed away. On Tremenhere he looked as upon a sort of -madman, really being incapable to dive into the recesses of a heart so -filled with love, and its _ever-accompanying_ pang--jealousy; and he was -now daily expected in Paris to plead his own cause with Lady Dora, who -had, unpromising any thing, alone consented, at his aunt's request, to -sit for "La Diane," _nominally_ for herself. - -There was a feeling of deep repulsion in Lady Dora's heart towards Lord -Randolph. Thinking, as she did, that he had at the very least sought to -compromise her cousin--if in truth he had not done so--knowing, as she -also did, that he and Tremenhere had met in a hostile manner, she felt -any thing but easy at the inevitable meeting between them now, courted -and sought after as the latter was every where, for his exalted talent, -manners, wit, when he pleased, and a certain romance about him, which -made him a hero--and what were his feelings at the prospect of seeing -Lord Randolph? They were part of a whole of sorrow and suffering. He was -resolved to fly nothing which might still more harden his heart; he -would apply the iron to every part till he burned out and scarred the -vitality still in it. He had but one desire--total callousness--that -thus he might find peace; and before the world he had attained that -wish--but in the privacy of his own room, unseen, unheard, who might -tell the agony he endured? Something of this Lady Dora suspected; and -beneath that pride-encased heart there was a woman's thought for him. -She could not but respect him, and she dreaded him now more than -ever--and this dread made her desire ardently the return of Lord -Randolph, that she might _endeavour_ to meet the wishes of all, and, -becoming his wife, place him in barrier between Tremenhere and herself; -but her fortification would not be a very strong one where her own heart -was more than half traitor. Lord Randolph, too, knew Tremenhere was in -Paris; but, as nothing forced him to remain, he presumed the meeting -would have nothing very painful for him. He looked upon it in this -light: that in life, more than once, it has happened, that the law's -divorcing power has made wives strangers to their husbands; and society, -backed by the rules of etiquette and politeness, has brought these same -husbands into almost daily intercourse, without collision--thus he felt -it would be between Tremenhere and himself. There was something of a -jealous pang, a memory of past insinuations, which made him wish to -secure Lady Dora at once--all his love, as _he_ knew that passion, had -revived for her. Now we will resume our narrative, where we left Miles -sketching the dog. - -"Mr. Tremenhere," cried Lady Lysson, "why don't you speak, and assist me -in fighting your battles?" - -"Mine? Lady Lysson!" he exclaimed, looking up. "Pardon me; I am -compelled, though in gratitude for the intention doubtless, on your -part, to disavow them as such. It has not been to oblige me, however -pleasant the task, that Lady Dora sat for her portrait." - -"I am tired of the subject," uttered that lady, pettishly curling her -haughty lip, and at the same time etching her sketch with a hasty pen. - -"I am perfectly ashamed of the length of time I have expended in -pourtraying your beauties, Tiney," said Tremenhere; gravely shaking his -head, "when I am compelled to notice the energy with which Lady Dora -sketches her----What _is_ Lady Dora sketching?" he asked, rising slowly -from his quiet seat, and crossing towards her. As he did so, however, -pausing an instant before Lady Lysson, and dropping her favourite's -picture in her outstretched hand, with-- - -"An offering, Lady Lysson, though not by a Landseer. May I look at your -labour?" he asked, gently leaning over Lady Dora's chair. She felt his -warm breath on her bent neck, and her cheek coloured. She tried to -persuade herself it was indignation at his cool audacity, and -indifference to her haughtiness; but her heart rejected the excuse, for -Tremenhere was her equal, and now received every where as one thrown by -accident, or roguery, from his allotted sphere. Even the least liberal -could not speak of him as one raised above his real position. She felt -herself colouring, and felt also that his eyes were bent upon her; and, -hastily tearing the etching in two, cast it aside, saying-- - -"Pshaw! Mr. Tremenhere; my child's play could never interest a person -of your genius; and I am too proud to play second to any one!" - -"_That_ you never could," he said, gallantly taking up the pieces, and -rejoining them. - -"I declare, Lady Dora, I never saw you so cross in my life!" cried the -gentle-tempered, lively Lady Lysson. "What has Mr. Tremenhere done to -offend you? One would really take you for two----" She paused, suddenly -and awkwardly--"children," she added, colouring. _Both_ felt the word -she had omitted. - -"This looks like a sketch of an early scene of my boyhood," he said, not -appearing to notice the pause which the other lady had made. "A holly -field!--true, it is so: here is the quickset hedge, the old stile, and -the hall in the distance. Lady Dora, you have a faithful memory--a clear -vision--a skilful pen: may I keep this?" and he fixed his eye full upon -her. Their eyes met, and in that schooled look, speaking only of the -past in reference to herself--not a shade of bitter regret in it--who -might have read that only one thought at that moment was gnawing at his -heart--his lost Minnie? For it was on that stile he had sat full often, -watching for her; 'twas there she came the night they fled. Lady Dora -dropped her eyes, and a shudder passed over her; for she, too, saw -Minnie before her, and her heart upbraided her for more than the -weakness of the present moment, which was insensibly stealing over her. -She felt that, in all her sorrow, she had not acted the part of one, -almost a sister to that poor girl; and she asked herself, "What can this -man's heart be, to forget so soon, and by so many ways lead me to -suppose I am not an object of indifference to him? And what must I seem -to him, even to cross a glance with him, engendering thoughtful -dreaming?" - -Then vanity, the ruling queen of earth, whispered, "He loved you before -he saw her, or his half-uttered words were traitors; and, if she proved -unworthy the love he gave her _in pique_, why should he regret her -loss?" - -"You are thoughtful, Lady Dora," he said gently, taking a seat beside -her. - -"I was going to make the same remark," cried Lady Lysson, who overheard -the words, though the tone was so very low. "I declare English girls -bring English hearts every where, and are always gloomy or sentimental." - -"Do not accuse me of the latter!" exclaimed Lady Dora, starting up, and -shaking off the incubus overwhelming her; "I beg to disclaim all -acquaintance with so missy-ish a creation as mawkish sentiment." - -"You are quite right, my dear," answered the other lady; "I know nothing -more dreadful than a bread and butter miss. If a man but look at her, -she drops her eyes and blushes; she disowns any thing so dreadful as a -corn; consequently all accidental treadings on the toe, make her heart -flutter, and become so many gentle avowals of love, oddly enough -conveyed though they may be." - -"I disagree with your ladyship," said Miles, "about the oddity of the -act; 'tis wittily imagined, for, in doing so, a man stoops to conquer!" - -"Oh, dreadful!" cried Lady Lysson; "but, to continue my sketch. If you -speak to her of any one particular flower, even if it were the humble -daisy itself, she would mow a field to obtain a sufficient quantity to -convince you, you were most completely understood, and sympathized with; -and as to colours--why, you could make a chameleon of her, every hour -different in hue, if it so pleased you." - -"What, if you played 'cat's cradle' with her, Lady Lysson? you once -spoke feelingly to me on this same subject." - -"What did I say? Oh, now I remember--I spoke of my poor Lysson, and -myself, and----" - -"You advised me not to play at the game with Lady Dora--now I like -_daring_ all, Lady Dora; will you show me how you play 'cat's cradle?'" -and he took a piece of twisted silk from the table. - -"I don't know the game," she answered coldly. - -"I daresay Lady Lysson will instruct us; will you not?" and he held the -silk towards her. - -"Willingly, beneath my own eye," she replied. - -"Not beyond?" - -"No! Lady Dora might use her feline qualities upon you." - -"Oh! I should little care," he answered pointedly, "to alter slightly -the words of a talented, most unfortunate, and I believe most innocent -woman, Madame Laffarge, if Lady Dora scratch me like a cat, so she will -but love me like a dog." - -There was a dead silence of a moment--Lady Dora interrupted it by an -allusion to the first portion of his speech, not seeming to have noticed -the latter. - -"Do you believe Madame Laffarge was innocent?" - -"I believe all so, till proved otherwise. There was no proof but -presumptive evidence against her; and she was surrounded by deceit and -enemies." - -"Too often the case with many an innocent woman who has been falsely -condemned!" ejaculated Lady Lysson, partially ignorant of Tremenhere's -history. - -Lady Dora blushed painfully. The conversation had glided imperceptibly -into this channel--how stop the current? - -"Right," he said calmly; "but in some cases a demon, or guilt alone, can -collect this evidence. If we condemn, we do so innocently in the former -case; and assuredly full many a crown of martyrdom has been more lightly -won, than a woman's, thus condemned, thus punished!" - -Nothing seemed to touch him. Lady Dora had shuddered as this strange -conversation commenced; for none there better than herself knew how much -poor Minnie had suffered. She was lost in wonder at Tremenhere's -sternness of heart; and yet, as a lioness loves her mate, so her proud, -almost unwomanly nature, admired this man's, daily, more and more. - -"We forget 'cat's cradle!'" he cried, almost boyishly. "Lady Lysson, -behold my willing hands." - -And, laughingly, that lady adjusted the silk on his fingers, and, -drawing Lady Dora's trembling hand towards him, commenced the task of -teaching them. Child's play is foolish for two who should not fall in -love; for so much more is done in innocence, than the mature heart can -calmly bear unmoved. People are thrown off their guard, and then some -watchful sprite is sure to step in with his assistance. Lady Lysson -taught them, and at last even Lady Dora laughingly joined in the caprice -of a moment's childishness. Their fingers came in contact--(a thing much -better avoided, where the woman's weakening heart needs every possible -bulwark to keep out Love. He is very apt to glide into the citadel in a -gentle pressure of thrilling joy; but if not accomplished the _first_ -time, the besieged has nothing to fear; in these cases, "_ce n'est que -le premier pas qui coute_")--and while puzzling unnecessarily over her -silken entanglements, he found time to press her for another sitting for -_Diane_ soon. - -"Let it be to-morrow--shall it, Lady Dora?" he asked, as Lady Lysson -drew her attention elsewhere, to scold 'Tiney,' who was tearing the -leaves of a book dropped on the floor. - -"Well, yes; to-morrow," uttered Lady Dora gently, as he held her hands -imprisoned by the silken cord. She did not withdraw them, so he stooped, -with the quiet gentleness peculiar to himself, and touched the prisoners -with his lip. She started, but did not utter a word. - -"You are tired of our child's play," he said; "let me release your -hands. Lady Lysson, a thousand thanks for your teaching; you did well in -cautioning me against it with Lady Dora--I shall remember it!" And -rising, a glance fell on her, and this was scarcely more than one of -respect and interest: shaking Lady Lysson warmly by the hand, he bowed -merely to the other, and said--"Then to-morrow, Lady Dora, I may expect -you?" - -She bowed, and he quitted the room. - -"What an exceedingly awkward turn the conversation took!" cried Lady -Lysson as he left. "It was a most painful thing that affair about his -wife, which has ever appeared involved, to me, in some strange mystery. -How was it, my dear? I asked Randolph about it before he quitted -England, and he said Mr. Tremenhere was jealous of his own shadow; and -this was all the satisfaction I received." - -It will be seen Lady Lysson was totally ignorant of the relationship -existing between Minnie and Lady Dora. Lord Randolph had, for his own -sake, as a suitor to the latter, hushed it up as much as possible. - -"There was something strange about it!" dropped from Lady Dora, with -perfect self-possession; she was again herself. - -"There must have been some indiscretion on her part," continued the -other, even charitable as she was, "for they were separated some time -before her unhappy death. I heard,"--here she lowered her voice--"that -Randolph had flirted with her, and this excited Mr. Tremenhere's -jealousy, and that subsequently he discovered a decided intrigue -elsewhere, and shot, or dangerously wounded the lover. I admired him for -it; for, though it may be wrong, 'tis more natural than a cold-blooded -divorce and damages: it always seems to me like making a fortune of -one's own dishonour!" - -"I doubt whether Lord Randolph really were guilty of seeking the lady's -dishonour," answered Lady Dora; though she _thought_ it herself, she -would not admit any thing to another, so galling to her vanity. - -"'My lord, beware of jealousy!'" quoted Lady Lysson laughing. "Don't be -alarmed; a reformed rake makes the best husband, they say." - -"I should be sorry to try one," was the dry rejoinder. "The reformation -is too often skin deep, and they always make suspicious husbands, severe -fathers--look around at all our neighbours!" - -"But I defend Randolph from the charge of being one; he is a black -swan," said his aunt. - -"Oh, that example of a _rara avis_ is no longer orthodox!" cried the -other smiling. "We have many specimens of them, and, to my thinking, -they are over fond of seeking crumbs of comfort at the hands of the fair -sex, if we take for example those on the Serpentine, to make perfect, -and exclusively loving mates." - -"Come, I will not have a word against my Randolph, even _sous entendu_, -in epigrams. I have set my heart on his subduing yours, and giving me a -right to call you my dear niece." - -"I thank you for the cordial wish, dear Lady Lysson; we shall see--_a -propos_, I have promised Mr. Tremenhere a, sitting for _Le Diane_ -to-morrow, will you accompany me?--or mamma?" - -"Oh, I will, gladly! I delight in that man's society; and he is so very -reserved towards women, so totally devoid of love-making, except _par -badinage_--that one feels quite comfortable in cultivating the -acquaintance--I speak as relates to you young marrying girls." - -"Stop, stop Lady Lysson! you are too fascinating, too young at heart, to -exclude yourself from love's attacks yet." - -"My dear girl, I have played 'cat's cradle' once too often, ever to -attempt it again. I could not unravel the very simplest;" she looked -down and thought of "poor Lysson," as she ever termed him. Lady Dora -looked down too, and began to think _she_ had played rather too -earnestly _once_ at "cat's cradle," and would not resume it again. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -Tremenhere was in his studio alone--that is, free from living witnesses; -but what crowding memories were around him! Here he was himself; not the -man seeking oblivion of the past, in society with which he had no -fellowship of soul, but the stern, sobered being, whose peace of mind -seemed wrecked for ever, and on a rock so minute in appearance, as an -"if!" Ever before him stood this word, blistering his eyesight. - -Had he been _assured_ of Minnie's infidelity, nothing could have induced -him to meet Lord Randolph; as it was, he had a feverish desire to see -him, as though in his eyes, by some superhuman power, he could read the -whole truth, and either cast her memory for ever from him, or else sit -down with every thought of her, collected around him like household -gods, on his hearth, and live with them, cherish them, and, stilling the -beating of his heart, bid it break amidst them, like a shattered, -valueless vase, whose rich essences were poured upon the ground. - -"But she _was_ false!" he cried, pacing the floor with hasty steps. -"What fiend could ever have weaved together in one web, so much black -evidence against her? And what a face she had to cover her lie with! -Who could have doubted her--her smile, her clear, seraphic eye! Minnie, -'twas madness to love as I did; and, far more than that, to lose you -even, even _if_ you were false! Why could I not have closed my heart -against all evidence? Why not have known sooner, that _nothing_ here is -perfect! Her mad fancy passed, she _might_ have loved me again--she -_did_ love me once! Love me again!--love me again! and could I have -waited for that love's return, as we watch the healthful glow coming -back to the pale cheek we cherish? Oh no, no, no!--not _that_! To sit -and watch the silent tear, to feel the form shrink from our kindly -enfolding; and at last see repulsion become toleration--toleration, -patience--patience, friendship, and the heart pause there? Oh no, no! -better ten thousand times separation and death!" He stopped, and then -creeping silently across that large room, drew back a curtain hanging -before a niche, and in this was a statue in marble. It was -Minnie--Minnie in her desolation! The face was still, hopeless life; -every feature perfection; but disenchantment sat over all, stealing away -its life! She stood leaning against a broken pillar--fitting emblem of -her fate. The forehead was pressed against the left arm; the heavy -plaits of hair, as she had often worn them, looped down the side of her -face, hung forward, shewing all the pale chiseling of that hopeless -agony there depicted. The whole body denoted utter prostration; and the -right arm drooped powerless at her side, holding by its stem a cup -reversed! It was an inspiration of memory; and beneath, at its base, was -inscribed, "Life's Chalice." It was one of those magically wrought -creations which thrill the soul when we look upon them. Tremenhere stood -with folded arms contemplating it. - -"Night and day--night and day," he murmured, "have I passed to complete -my thought, my _dream_--for I dreamed I saw her thus; and how like it -is! What is wanting? the spark of life to make it move and speak to me. -Speak to me! No, she would turn away, either in indifference, and love -for another, or horror of me! Perhaps I have murdered her!" and the -man's voice sank to a hollow whisper--"her, and her infant! Oh, if I -have!" and the cold dew stood on his brow at the thought. "What a bitter -reckoning there will be against me when they stand before heaven to -condemn! Not only here, but hereafter! Never to find peace again, nor -rest, nor happy thought? Oh! life is indeed a burthen; and death a -terror!" He sank for some time in silent thought before her; then -brushing away the dew from his brow, and hastily drawing the curtain -before the statue, he turned away. "Poor, weak fool!" he cried -contemptuously, "I am not fit to be alone. She _was_ false--false to -them, the nurses of her childhood--false to me, her loving -husband--false to heaven! I will destroy all memory of her." He tore -back the curtain, and raised his arm to do so--but the arm fell. "No," -he said, turning away, "'tis a work of art--only that; only these have I -to spur me over the mountains of sorrow, before I meet death--art and -occupation, inactivity would be madness. And she, her cousin!" and he -laughed aloud in scorn, "thinks I love her. That having loved Minnie, I -could give even the memory of that affection so base a counterfeit! -Heartless, worldly, proud earth-worm!--only this! to place herself -beside----But I will not dream of her! If that other had held in her -veins one drop of human blood, she would have shielded, upheld, watched -over _her_, and she had not been lost. I was too rude a guardian; I -loved her with a lion's love, and the shrinking thing, in terror, sought -refuge where words were soft, and the hand gentler; but the heart--the -heart, his did not love like mine! Mine would have poured out its every -drop of life's current, to spare one hair of her fair head from -suffering.----I am growing weak--weak--womanly weak," and he moved -feverishly about the room, whispering to himself, "I must shake this -off, I have a part to play; I must avoid solitude, seek excitement; time -may do much, bring oblivion, as it darkens the mental vision. _She_ will -be here to-day--she who loves to entangle--to wanton with the insect -awhile, and then crush it with her heel. Crush me!--me!!" and he laughed -aloud. "I will bring her down, in her subdued pride, to acknowledge that -she envies even the place in hatred, which her once despised cousin -holds in my heart. I will bring her to marry another in hate, and love -me in unloved bitterness, and be false to him--_if I will_. I will -revenge Minnie, even though I cast her from me--_only I_ had a right to -condemn and blast her." A bell sounded in the outer chamber. "'Tis she!" -he cried. "Not _here yet_; there is a spirit in the place--I have evoked -it." And, hastily closing the door, he passed into a _salon_ luxuriantly -furnished. - -In a moment more, Lady Dora entered in all the pride of her glowing, -majestic beauty, set off to greater advantage by her mourning robes, -which floated in mockery of woe around her--Lady Ripley accompanied her. -How false some positions are, in what's called society! Here were three -persons, nearly allied, meeting as mere strangers, almost in coldness, -without an allusion even to the past. Lady Ripley was gracious; her -daughter strove by an unconstrained cordiality, where pride towered in -majestic condescension, to seem perfectly indifferent, though Tremenhere -smiled in his heart, as he read her well--his manner was so free from -any significance of tone or look, so calm and unembarrassed, that Lady -Dora asked herself involuntarily, "Have I dreamed the past of -yesterday?" and she felt humbled on reflecting how weary an hour she had -passed that morning, in schooling her looks and heart to meet, without -betraying herself to him. - -"You will scarcely pardon me, I fear," he said, "when I tell you, Lady -Dora, that I had totally forgotten this engagement this morning, and was -going to pass a morning at the Louvre." - -"Oh, pray, do not let us detain you, Mr. Tremenhere!" she exclaimed -haughtily. "I, too, had other engagements, but mamma wished me to come, -having promised." - -"You cannot doubt, Lady Dora," he gallantly said--but it was mere -gallantry; no hidden tone of meaning could be detected by the nicest -ear--"the great pleasure this remembrance gives me. I was blaming my -own wretched memory, and anxious to convey to you the forgotten -happiness, which was driving me for a morning's amusement among the dead -beauties in the Spanish gallery, instead of immortalizing my pencil, by -endeavouring to pourtray your living loveliness." - -She bowed, and, biting her lip, accepted this overstrained compliment at -its full value--empty as the wind; and in this mood she sat down to lend -herself to his pencil. Lady Ripley had not noticed the by-play of all -this, indeed how could she, ignorant as she was of the previous scene, -and totally incapable of comprehending the possibility of _her_ -daughter, even condescending to the slightest approach to flirtation -even with an artist, whatever his pretensions to birth might be? She was -unusually gracious this day, which removed much of the embarrassment the -others could not otherwise have failed to feel. As some little revenge -for his cool impertinence when they entered, Lady Dora suddenly -inquired-- - -"Mr. Tremenhere, how many days' journey do you reckon it from Paris to -Florence? I mean," she added, fearful that her meaning might be -misunderstood, "from Florence to Paris, supposing a person to travel as -expeditiously as possible?" - -"As many," he answered, smiling blandly in her face, and with perfect -sincerity of tone, "as it would take a person to go from Paris to -Florence." - -"Is he a fool?" she thought, "or only insensible? Thank you," she added -aloud. "I presume they would be the same, but my question remains -unanswered." - -"True," he replied, smiling; "I am very rude, but my attention was so -engrossed by this most lovely Diana. I will endeavour to answer you: -were _I_ a happy man, whom one so fair as yourself, Lady Dora, expected -impatiently, I should not choose the commonplace mode of transporting -myself; but, borrowing the wings of the wind (that is, supposing them -disengaged,) flutter to her feet." - -"Mr. Tremenhere is pleased to be facetious," answered Lady Dora, -pettishly. - -"Pardon me, I never was more serious. I am trying to convey to your mind -how great my impatience would be; but you have interrupted, without -hearing all I had to say. If fate and inclination together, had cast me -upon the waters--we will say, for example, in a yacht--why, I would -summon to my aid some fairy spell, and, like the peterel, run over the -surface of the waters, from the blue Mediterranean to the dusky Seine, -till I found myself, web-footed, and incapable of running thence, on the -polished floors of your hotel!" - -There is nothing more disagreeable than to have taken up a weapon to -wound, and suddenly to find the point in your own bosom. She felt he was -laughing at her. - -"Mamma," she cried, "did Lady Lysson show you a letter she received -to-day?" - -"My love?" asked her mother, looking up from a book she had been -perusing. Lady Dora repeated the question. - -"Yes, his lordship wrote much pleased with his cruise." - -"I trust Lord Randolph Gray is quite well?" inquired Tremenhere, with -perfect composure. "Lady Lysson mentioned, in my presence, that he was -shortly expected from Malta." - -"Quite well!" ejaculated Lady Dora, amazed at his coolness; "but you are -mistaken about his locality, Mr. Tremenhere; he was at Florence when she -last heard from him." - -"Indeed! Then," he continued, laughing, "I will sketch him as the -peterel of my idea; shall I?" - -"He will feel flattered, doubtless, at any notice from your pencil, Mr. -Tremenhere," was her cold reply. Her mother was again deep in her book. - -"I have an ornithological thought in my brain, hatching, Lady Dora; I -propose sketching all my friends, _a la plume_." - -"What will you make me?" she asked, hoping to change the style of their -previous conversation. - -"You!" and he lowered his tone, and looked fixedly at her. She could not -withdraw her gaze, he was sketching her brow--"You!--you shall be the -fabled weevil, and I, the sick man, fit to die, turning my face to you -to implore for life. Do not turn your head away, and thus bid that -sickness be to death; but, extracting my heart's disease, with your -sweet breath, fly upwards to heaven, and burn it out by the sun that we -may so live together!" - -"You must be mad!" she involuntarily cried, turning her eyes hastily to -where her mother sat. But _she_ had heard nothing; they were at some -distance from her, and he spoke so low. - -"Yes, perhaps I am; but madmen have happy dreams sometimes, we cannot -refuse them these, where their reality is so hopeless and sad. But you -have not answered me; may I place you among my ornithological specimens, -as the milkwhite weevil of my thoughts?" - -"And if not the sick man," she asked, and the voice trembled, though she -endeavoured to smile as in jesting, "what will you depict yourself?" - -"A goose!" he answered, laughing; "and I will lend your ladyship my -quills to write to Florence! Am I not a _bon enfant_?" - -This term in French, so completely in keeping with the character of the -bird he chose as his representative, provoked a laugh even from Lady -Dora, beneath which she covered, at least she fancied she covered, her -confusion. - -"How very lively you are, Dora!" said her mother approaching. "What has -occurred?" - -"A most absurd error on my part," he answered. "Only fancy, Lady Ripley: -I was to-day forgetting sex, character--all, and (the quiver of arrows -misled me) was going to transform Lady Dora into Cupid! Ye gods! who -could withstand arrows from such a bow?" - -"How could you imagine so absurd a thing, Mr. Tremenhere?" asked the not -very imaginative Lady Ripley, not certain whether to feel offended or -no. - -"I really cannot conceive! Altogether it would have been out of place; -for love, they say, flies out of the window when poverty enters at the -door. This never could be applicable to Lady Dora," and he bowed in -seeming excuse before her. So much did his heart war against her, that, -even desirous as he was to gain his point, he could not restrain his -tongue from words of bitterness; yet she felt it impossible to think he -meant them: she looked upon it as a natural sarcasm of character, which -made a gentle word doubly dangerous. - -"You are going in a huge body to see a Parisian wonder to English eyes, -to-night, I understand, Lady Ripley," he said, turning the conversation. - -"Yes, truly; I am curious to see a _Bal Masque a l'Opera_, never having -witnessed one." - -"Indeed! shall you go early?" - -"I really do not know. I was averse to going, and especially taking Lady -Dora; but Lady Lysson has made up her party, and, closely concealed by -dominoes, I presume we shall pass unnoticed." - -"You accompany us, I believe?" hazarded Lady Dora, addressing him. - -"I hope to meet you there," was the reply; "accompany, _that_ I shall -not be able to accomplish. Lady Lysson spoke of a signal by which her -party should know one another; a rose on the left breast, I think?" - -"Yes; but it seems unnecessary to me," replied Lady Ripley; "for, of -course, we shall none of us separate." - -"But in mercy to those forced to come late and rejoin the party, it is -done," he answered. - -"_A propos_, Mr. Tremenhere!" cried Lady Dora. "I have not yet chosen my -domino; until this moment I had forgotten it. Madame ---- had promised -to have two or three for my choice, completed this afternoon. We will, -if you please, leave 'Diane' for to-day," and she rose. - -"With regret, then, Lady Dora; but where so grave an occupation calls -you, I must submit;" and with a few constrained words they parted. -Parting is very awkward, where two persons have been trying their wings -together in a flight of love; one or the other is sure to lose some -feathers in endeavouring to smooth them down into sober propriety at the -last moment. Tremenhere was perfectly calm, and all a mamma like Lady -Ripley might wish to see him. Lady Dora blushed--half held out her -hand--half withdrew it. - -"Permit me to fasten your glove, Lady Dora," he said quietly; "I see it -embarrasses you." - -She held it towards him, colouring deeply. Scarcely touching the hand, -he buttoned it; and, bowing with perfect ease, he led the way to the -outer door. - - * * * * * - -"Has the workwoman sent in those dominoes?" asked Madame ----, of her -forewoman, that afternoon. - -"No." - -"Then send directly, and say they _must_ come in at once; for _cette -belle Anglaise Milady_ Dora Vaughan, is coming to select one of them, -and _Milady_ Lysson, and several others, who are going _en cachette_ to -a _bal de l'opera_, this evening." - -This message was given to the workwoman; and Minnie's pale fingers -trembled violently as she finished off the last hood, for she was the -workwoman, in her little, sad garret! - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -Need we describe a _bal de l'opera_?--we mean, in all its varied groups, -its mystery, its joyousness! Or only skim over the surface, and speak of -the mounting the carpeted stair, with the immense mirrors on the -landing, where you are startled at first by the shadow you cast upon -it--a gloomy vision pourtraying _tout en noir_! Then the almost silent -whispering groups, like muffled demons. Here, a couple _en costume_; -there, a man leaning against a pillar, looking frightfully sheepish, and -trying to smile and retort. - -'Tis an Englishman, _sans masque_, of course, (no gentleman covers his -face, unless he has a motive for so doing,) who is dreadfully intrigued -by two black dominoes, who are telling him all he has been doing the -last fortnight. He has been lured hither by an anonymous letter, asking -him to come and meet a blue domino; twice he has furtively looked at -this letter, to be certain it said blue, being positive in his own mind -that one of these two must be the writer. Shall we leave him in his -perplexity, and, standing on the stair leading down into the _salle de -danse_, where a dense crowd, in every imaginable dress, is jostled -together, endeavouring to dance, and, looking on, admire the sober, -judge-like gravity of several men--authors, artists, men of the highest -rank, semi-disguised--who are dancing the most grotesque figures without -a smile on their countenances? They look as if they had made a pact, for -an allotted time, with some mocking spirit, to make fools of themselves. -Or shall we look up in a _loge au premier_, and see a group of many, the -ladies all in black dominoes, the gentlemen in plain evening dress, -unmasked? - -Yes; we will pause here. This is Lady Lysson's box; for see!--every lady -has a rose on the left breast. How amused they all appear! Some had been -before, others never; and there is something peculiarly exciting and -novel to an English lady the first time she sees a _bal de l'opera_: she -has heard so much of and against them, it is almost as a forbidden tree, -which makes the fruit the sweeter. - -Tremenhere came in rather late, and alone. He was standing in the -_foyer_, looking around him: this large saloon was crowded to excess. -Near the clock (that place for rendezvous) he stood, well assured there -he should soon be seen by some of the party; but for some time he looked -in vain: they were all in their _loge_, too much delighted with the -scene to quit hastily. As he stood thus, some one brushed past him; -rather, they were pushed by the crowd. _He_ had not previously noticed -them, but they had been fixed, statue-like, regarding him; and the crowd -pushed them from their contemplative position against him. - -"Oh!" ejaculated a trembling voice; "I beg pardon. I----" - -He turned: it was a black domino, with the significant rose on its -breast. He instantly offered his arm, and the woman clung to it as in -terror. - -"I see," he said in a low tone, "that I have been fortunate enough to -offer my protection to one of the 'Roses of the Left,' but to whom, I am -totally ignorant. How have you lost your party? 'Tis unpleasant in so -great a crowd; you might be insulted." - -"Sir," she uttered in a low, scarcely audible, voice, and in French, -"you are mistaken--we are strangers." - -"Strangers!" he cried, stopping an instant, and gazing at the -closely-concealed face and figure. "Impossible! else you had not taken -my arm; for you must be one of Lady L----'s party by your dress." - -The girl was silent; but a sigh escaped her. - -"You are terrified," he said kindly. "Do not fear; we are safe, and soon -shall meet some of our friends. I must indeed be accused of great -forgetfulness, when I admit I have no recollection or idea who you can -be. May I not know?" - -"We are strangers," she uttered again, in a tone scarcely audible, still -in French. "I do not understand English." - -"Well, as you will," he replied gaily. "I like it thus--'tis in keeping -with the place--this mystery. Only pardon me for reminding you, for -consistency sake, that your first words were decidedly not in French; -and though you cannot _understand English_, you have been replying to -all my questions addressed to you in that tongue. However, as you prefer -the other, _changeons_," and he commenced a fluent conversation in -Gallic. She had visibly started when he pointed out to her the error of -her confused mind. For some time their conversation was merely -monosyllabic on her part. "Some silly young English girl Lady Lysson has -brought with her," thought he, "who thinks she must sustain a character, -and this very stupid attempt at intriguing me is the result. How can she -have lost her party?--scarcely prudent in Lady Lysson to leave her so -unguarded; she is evidently young. Who can she be?" - -In a few minutes more, he was fain to admit that the lady _did_ however -intrigue him, and considerably; for, by an evident effort over herself, -she overcame some cause of trepidation, and, if not easy in manner, was -sufficiently ingenuous and pleasing in her remarks to interest him much. - -"Where have I heard her voice?" he mentally said. "It is evidently -subdued and disguised, and 'tis only when an unguarded tone escapes, -that I seem to hear a remembered one; yet 'tis too imperfectly uttered -to convey memory to my ear. Certainly she has intrigued me! Were she the -veriest Frenchwoman that ever made a vow to miss no one _bal masque_, -and perfect in the amusements and mystifications of all, she could not -have more cleverly accomplished her purpose than this girl; for she has -called me by name, and I can guess no one she can be!" - -"Here is a seat," he said, after a moment's pause in their -conversation; "shall we take advantage of it, or would you prefer going -to Lady Lysson's box?" - -"Oh, not there!" she whispered shrinkingly. - -"Why not there? On my life, lady, you puzzle me much. Come, confide in -me: I am addressing some one--some fair, young, unexpected guest, who, -having heard of the projected party, has escaped from governesses, etc., -to come hither also--am I not right?" This was the only solution he -could find for the enigma, engendered by her strange fear at the -proposal he made, to go to Lady Lysson's box. - -"You are wrong," she uttered. "I have no one to restrain my wishes. I -came here to-night for a purpose, but _alone_!" - -"Alone!" and he started. "Then why this signal?" and he pointed to the -rose. - -"I cannot tell you. Is Lady Dora Vaughan here to-night?" - -"By heavens, you know them all! Who are you? Pray, tell me; confide in -my honour--I have never broken faith in my life!" - -A sigh, almost a sob, escaped from her bosom. He turned amazed. -Tremenhere was not a vain man, but the strangeness of the whole scene -made him ask himself, whether it might not be some love-sick girl's -_escapade_; but the question, for which he could find no answer, was, -"Who can she be?" Her abrupt mention of Lady Dora's name confirmed this -idea. - -"Lady Dora is here," he said, "that is, she was to be; but I came alone. -I have seen no one but yourself, my fair incognita, and now let me ask, -wherefore were you beneath the clock?" - -"Because--because, 'tis a good point for observation; and I was looking -for some one." - -"Then I have carried you away--shall we seek them?" - -"No, I am content; that is, I have changed my mind." - -"How did you know the reputation 'the clock' has as a point of -observation, as you term it; _we_ call it one of _rendezvous_--have you -been here often?" - -"Heaven forbid! 'tis my _first_ visit." - -"Indeed! then a powerful motive must have urged you to take so hazardous -a step, if in truth, as I believe, you are connected with some one of -Lady Lysson's society, and here _en cachette_." - -"I have a motive--let it rest; I am satisfied it should do so; but -having had it, I was told _sous l'horloge_ I should most probably see -every one in the saloon better than elsewhere." - -"Well, _mon domino_, you are a mystery; in truth, 'tis a scene from the -_Domino Noir_. I would I were the happy Horace; I dare not think so." - -She was perfectly silent. - -"Surely I have no fair _pensionnaire_ escaped from her convent, at my -side?" - -"No, truly--one her own mistress. Is not Lady Dora Vaughan very -handsome?" - -"Very!" and he started at the sudden transition in her speech. "Don't -you know her?" - -"Well; but I wished to hear your opinion as an artist--you must be -better enabled to judge than I can." - -"Now tell me when you saw her last? Give me at least a chance of -guessing who you are?" - -She paused an instant, then added, "Yesterday, walking with you in the -Tuileries, and with several other ladies." - -"True! _Pray_, tell me something of yourself; let me see your eyes, your -mouth, or hand," and he took the one resting on her knee. - -"Not for worlds!" she exclaimed in unmistakable terror, clasping them -together. - -"Do not be alarmed, I would not use any violence; you are with one -incapable of an ungentlemanly act, I trust." - -"I know _that_," she said emphatically, "or of one wilfully unkind or -cruel, if you allowed your heart to act freely." - -"For mercy's sake, what do you mean? I entreat you tell me who you are. -I swear to you, your secret shall be safe." A strange, unaccountable -tremor crept over him, yet without a suspicion of any thing approaching -the truth. - -"I cannot, dare not--I would I durst!" and again she sighed. - -A thought crossed his mind, and he turned and looked fixedly at her, but -not a hair was visible, or of the eye, more than a speck. "No," he said, -after the survey, "you are not tall enough; yet this dress so disguises! -Tell me, I conjure you, is your name Mary?" - -"No, on my honour; but cease guessing--you will not know me -to-night--some day you will, perhaps." - -At that moment a group of several persons came up. The ladies had roses -on their breasts. One of the gentlemen, on whom a tall figure leaned, -stood still, but unbending, before Tremenhere, who was attentively -watching every turn in his domino's figure, to guess some known -style--but all was vain, graceful in every movement, but to him, still a -mystery. - -"I declare," whispered a lady's voice, "you are the worst cavalier in -the world! We have been expecting you in our box this hour, and here you -are playing deserter." Miles started; his eye fell on Lord Randolph -Gray, on whose arm Lady Dora was leaning. He knew her figure at a -glance. - -"Lady Lysson," he said, in an under tone to the speaker, "you should not -accuse me, for here have I been taking care of one of your strayed -lambs, which has singularly intrigued me! I fail to discover my fair -friend; pray, present me to her." He had risen to Lady Lysson as she -spoke; when he turned round again, the place beside him was vacant! The -domino had glided away, like a phantom. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, -"where is she?" - -"That lady beside you when we came up? She rose, and walked hurriedly -away when I spoke to you." - -"But she is one of your party! She had a rose on her breast!" he cried -in amazement. - -"Pardon me, this is some error. All my party is safe here," (she looked -round on the two behind her, Lady Dora and Lord Randolph, who were -conversing together,) "or up in the box. Your eyes have deceived you." - -"Nay, I will not admit that; for though she persisted in speaking -French, her accent was English, though evidently disguised, and she knew -you all, and inquired about you, by name!" - -"Oh!" laughed the lady, "I dare say it was one of our attendants, who, -with the true spirit of intrigue, has borrowed our disguise to amuse -herself at your expense." - -"It was no servant," he emphatically said. And his wonder increased, the -more he thought of it. - -"Come, leave off puzzling about your incognita. I should have deemed you -_trop Francais_ to be scared by an intrigue _de bal masque_. Come, Mr. -Tremenhere," she lowered her voice, "I have a favour to ask--something -to command," she added, smiling. "I made this party to-night, knowing -that my nephew would be here, and knowing also, that the laws of these -balls forbid serious acts--I mean angry ones----In good honest truth, -you must shake hands. He declares, that whatever you may have against -him, he is as ever kindly disposed towards you, and whatever your -quarrel, of the cause of which I am innocent, let me beg of you, for my -friendship sake towards both, to shake hands, forget, and forgive." - -"Tremenhere," cried Lord Randolph, coming forward with a hand out, and -candour unmistakable on his brow, "I see my aunt is urging you; come, -give me your hand, and a grasp in friendship. On my soul you wronged -me, and from my soul I pity you!" He glanced upwards at the black band -on Miles's hat. This latter fixed his deep eyes on him, and in that -glance he read the other's inmost soul; no, guilt could never wear that -look! Lord Randolph he had thought led away by passion to commit an -unworthy act, for he knew he was no cold-blooded villain. A still, small -voice had been some time whispering to him, that look--the calm, -unblenching, feeling expression on the other's face brought a cold, grey -light of despair to his heart, like that of early winter's dawn, when, -for the first time by day, we look upon a loved face, whose spirit had -fled by torch-light. - -"I believe you!" he uttered, in a husky voice, grasping his hand. "_Let -us forget it._" There was something so broken-hearted in the tone, that -Lord Randolph felt his bosom swell--something choked him; for he was a -man, as we have seen, of feeling. - -"Better so," he said, in a low tone. "Forget it, Tremenhere--'twas -destiny!" - -Miles did not reply, but burst into a discordant laugh. - -"I have done so," he said; "you see I have! _This_," and he pointed -towards his hat, "is only the usage of society. Obligation! form! let us -_never_ speak of it!" And, wringing his hand, he turned to the ladies, -who had discreetly conversed apart; but Lady Dora's eyes never quitted -Tremenhere's face. But she did not read him as Lord Randolph did: as -their hands parted, this latter mentally said-- - -"Poor fellow! _There_ is a man who _never_ will know peace, whatever he -may seem to the world. From my soul I pity him!" - -Nothing was perceptible in Miles's manner. From that night he grew paler -perhaps, but the canker was unseen. He was gayer, wittier, more amusing -than ever; but as the door of his studio closed on the world, the man -sat down with his conviction and undying remorse. One glance at Lord -Randolph had enlightened his darkened mind. There were two feelings -which grew apace in his heart from that moment--one was, a restless -desire to be ever in the other's presence; he never gave utterance to a -word of friendship, never spoke or alluded to Minnie; but, as if it -could restore fame to her memory, his every earthly tie was Lord -Randolph; and, to the utter amazement of all, an intimacy the most -complete sprung up between them--both knew why, but neither ever noticed -it. This horror of naming his wife prevented Miles seeking Mary Burns; -he felt it would kill or madden him, to speak of her. He would crush her -memory before all eyes, by a mask the most complete; only one eye should -read his soul--Heaven's! - -The other collateral feeling which he alluded to was, hatred towards -Lady Dora, the most intense; for he felt the unkindness of her family -had left Minnie exposed to all his own ungovernable passions; and she -had been the first to place her cousin in an equivocal point of view -with Lord Randolph. But these were feelings of after hours: we must -return to the ball. - -"Thank you," said Lady Lysson, pressing his hand, to thank him for his -reconciliation with Lord Randolph. "Now give me your arm." And they -passed on. - -Persons talk of suffering; but could there be any to surpass -Tremenhere's this evening? Obliged to listen to, and join in amusement -and gaiety! Among all the masks there, there was not one more complete -in disguising, than his face; for no one could have guessed, in the -unconcerned laughter which at times crossed it, that it was as sunshine -on ice--all cold and frozen beneath. - -Lady Dora felt extremely piqued and galled at his manner. She had hoped -for a triumph for her pride--vanity, it was not--in seeing him frown in -jealous rage upon Lord Randolph; or else favour her with some of those -sarcasms which spoke of vitality, even while they wounded. But nothing -of the kind occurred. He was courteous in the extreme, witty, gay, and -most attentive and polite to herself--nothing more. - -Only one person there read his heart, and keenly felt for that man, -laughing over the tomb in his heart; for Lord Randolph had seen that -conviction had been the inspiration of a moment, born of a glance at his -own unshrinking face. Moore, in speaking of a heart, said, "Grief -brought all its music forth." So it was with Lord Randolph. The shock he -received on hearing of Minnie's death, called to vigour and beauty all -the dormant qualities of a really sterling heart; and made him capable -of feeling deeply for the man, whose hopeless woe was as an open page -before him. - -In the course of their rambles through that crowd, Lady Dora found -herself on Tremenhere's arm, whose eye was searching every where for his -mysterious domino. In spite of himself, she pre-occupied his mind; but -amidst the dozens there, he failed to see any one at all resembling her, -either in dress or that nameless grace perceptible in every undulation, -of her unrelieved disguise. - -"You are pre-occupied, Mr. Tremenhere," she said, after half a dozen -absent replies had escaped his lips. - -"Pardon me; I am boyish enough to be amused at this scene." - -"One would not think it, for I never beheld a more seeking, anxious -countenance--possibly you would prefer solitude." - -"Solitude, and here? Lady Dora." - -"Yes--Byron's." - -"Oh! 'with some sweet spirit for my minister?' Nay, if that were the -case, where find a fairer than the one who for awhile blesses me?" and -he almost pressed her arm; and, aroused by her questioning, became -Tremenhere as the world had made him. - -"I certainly am pre-occupied," he said at last, "by that black domino, -with whom you found me so very quietly tete-a-tete. The rose is -emblematical in this case--a wild mystery." - -"Oh! Lady Lysson, I make no doubt, was correct. Some one of our maids -has made an _escapade_; and, proving the rose's privilege, has intrigued -you." - -"Assuredly, she was no servant; but her sudden disappearance when you -came puzzles me. Let us talk of something else; it would be madness in -me to waste these moments on another, when I have so few accorded me in -your society. Lady Dora, tell me, does this amuse you, much?" - -"Yes, 'tis something so original to me, unconceived before, the hundreds -congregated. I ask whence do they come, whither will they go?" - -"Probably, most of them to supper at some celebrated restaurant," he -said laughing, and changing the vein of her moralizing; "and some to -regret, some to rejoice. What will your feeling be?" - -"It must be rejoicing, for the regret has been seized upon. Did you hear -that deep sigh near us?" - -He turned; they were leaning near a _loge_ door, and almost beside them -stood a domino in brown, with blue ribbons. He glanced at the figure. - -"Some _pauvre delaissee_," he said laughing; then turning towards the -girl, cried, "do not sigh, _il reviendra_." - -"_Jamais_," was the low reply, and the figure moved aside. - -"Never mind her," he continued, turning towards Lady Dora; "but tell me, -how will you rejoice, and why?" - -"I am rejoicing, am I not?--I feel much amused." - -'Twas true; the influence of the place was creeping over her cold -nature. She was not the Lady Dora of any day yet in which he had seen -her. - -"You have not told me _why_ you should be glad. You are silent--shall -_I_ tell you?" - -"Do, I wish to know; I feel like one in a dream--how shall I wake?" - -"Your dream will be unlike many--a realized one. You are happy--one you -love is near you." - -"How do you mean?" she cried starting; and almost, in her alarm, -withdrawing her arm from his. - -"Oh! you mistake me, Lady Dora; I am not so presumptuous--I allude to -Lord Randolph." - -"To him!" she exclaimed hastily and unthinkingly; "he will never make a -pulse of mine beat quicker or slower." - -"Indifference is worse than hate. I would rather hold the sentiment I -inspire you with, than his." - -"You speak in enigmas, Mr. Tremenhere." - -"I would rather be hated than looked upon with indifference. We seek to -crush a snake, but we step over a worm!" - -"A man may be neither." - -"What, then? A caged bird, to serve a woman's caprice; or a chained -monkey, to amuse her?" - -"Nay; you are looking on the species in degradation. Why not a creature -free to come or go--thought of in absence--loved in presence--going, to -return more gladly--sure of a kindly welcome?" - -He looked fixedly at her. Could this be Lady Dora? An idea crossed his -mind--she was one of two things, either luring him on to enchain, then -crush him beneath the weight of those manacles; or else the arrival of -Lord Randolph, the necessity of deciding her fate, the scene around, -their isolation from all, and freedom from restraint, had combined to -make her cast off the wearying mantle of her self-imposed pride, which -had cloaked her in a corslet of impervious steel: it was a battle -between them well _finessed_; both were on their guard. - -"I will prove, before I advance," he thought, "and woe to the day she -places herself in my hands. I will be unsparing, as she was merciless -and cold-hearted. Right!" he said aloud, in answer to her last sentence. -"I would be an eagle, free and soaring, mated with one wild and -ambitious as myself--towering and untameable. Such a one I could -choose--to such a one yield love for love, and, like the fabled bird, -consume with the ardour of my affections, and rise again from my ashes -to live again--love again!" His warmth aroused her to a sense of her -danger. - -"We are in truth playing our parts in the madness around us!" she said, -in a voice which struggled to be calm. - -"True; but we play our parts _con amore_, admit that; and the better, -that we know two things--one is, _you cannot_ love--the other, _I_ dare -not." - -"I should have thought you a man to dare all things!" - -"You give me credit for more than I deserve. There are many things I -would not encounter willingly--one is----" - -"What?" - -Despite his self-command, a cloud crossed his brow. - -"I will tell you some day," he hastily answered; "but if I met this -spectre, _even_ as spectre, I would fly it." - -"I would fly nothing; _there_ is the difference between us." - -"What if your wayward heart--for all hearts are so--fixed itself upon -some unworthy object, would you not fly them?" - -"No; were I to do so, I should never conquer; it would pursue me -ever--flight would be vain. I would live near it, seek it, familiarize -myself with it, till the inconstant heart grew tired of its bauble, then -I----" she paused. - -"Would dash it to earth, and trample on it, reckless of its fragile -nature. Believe me, vases of potter's clay are as fragile as the finest -Sevres ever produced by fire." - -"Perhaps so; but such should rest satisfied with draughts from water -spring, nor seek to hold the ruby wine which a monarch sips; only -degradation could ensue." - -She was not actually thinking of him when she said this: it was only the -overflowing of her cup of pride, which coloured her speech; but he -remembered every word, and it strengthened his determination, if -possible, to humble this spirit to the dust. - -"What is it 'Ruy Blas' says so admirably, '_un ver de terre, amoureux -d'une etoile_,' the star shines on it, though it cannot abase itself, -and sends its light to guide the poor worm of the earth to its home in a -dark sod, where it may pine and die, rejected, despised, unloved, -because it has been created only for that fate of grovelling -insignificance!" - -Neither heard the almost sob behind them; he was turned towards Lady -Dora, and in the crowd stood the "Brown Domino," who had crept back -unnoticed, to hear these last words. - -"I have been a sceptic in love," she almost whispered. - -"_Have_ been; are you not now? I should fancy so." She was perfectly -silent. - -"If you have _present_ faith, on what is it grounded?" - -"Perhaps on the dream of an hour!" she ejaculated, scarcely above her -breath. - -"Then watch its waking, and if it survive the glare of day, cherish it; -if not in all freshness, banish it--'tis a temptation, not a rock to -build upon. May I call to-morrow, and see if it be in existence? or -passed, leaving no sweet savour behind of truth and futurity of joy? -Here is Lady Lysson seeking you--may I call to-morrow?" - -"Yes, but--but, come in forgetfulness of this night. I surely am -spellbound. This is a part of some witchcraft in this giddy scene. -Remember, and forget this--and--me--other than this, were vain madness!" - -"I will only remember what I read then in your eyes; let _them_ answer -me--_not_ your lip; words are false, tears are recorded untruths, the -eyes are scholars of the soul. They shall learn all its truth, and -impart it to me in a glance. I will call to-morrow. And to-morrow," -thought he, "I shall start for Marseilles; I _must_ go there and know -all!" - -"I thought we should find you in this corridor!" exclaimed Lord -Randolph, without an idea of jealous fear. "Hollo! what is this bustle -about? Oh! only a lady has fainted. I don't wonder--'tis deucedly warm!" - -Some gentlemen were carrying a lady in a brown domino towards a private -box. She was apparently lifeless in their arms. Unheeding, the party -turned away laughing, and mounted the staircase to seek their box, and -the remainder of their friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -It would be a task of pain and sorrow to tell all the bitterness of a -woman's life, thrown friendless, delicate, and poor, in any land, but -especially a stranger one, for one who had been nurtured so gently. -Surely--surely, the wind is ever tempered to the shorn lamb! - -As the cares of life increased, so grew Minnie's energy; even when a dry -crust alone broke her fast of the long, toiling day, her spirits upheld -her. "If I have lost _him_," she mentally said, "it has been for some -wise purpose; even though my stubborn heart rebels, still I am not -comfortless; have I not my boy?--all my own!--no one to tear his love -from me--no one to prejudice him against me: so Heaven preserve him to -me, I may yet be content, if not happy!" and the young mother knelt -beside him, and prayed fervently for strength to bear all! Poor Minnie -knew herself so innocent, she could pray in hope. - -There are, unhappily, those who scoff at religion, and call it cant. -None are so cheerful and hopeful as those who place their reliance on -it, in all afflictions; for they know 'tis a flower which will never -fade, and 'tis in our sorrows we so truly discover all its worth, and -weep for those who are in ignorance of its powers. Religion is indeed -like an Arabian tree, shedding its odorous gums on those who lean -against it for support! - -Minnie found it so, and she discovered, too, that even in her -wretchedness there were others more so. Her room was a poor garret, a -_cinquieme_, for as yet she had little work, there are so many seeking -life through the same channel--she had no friends--then, too, her child -was a burthen to her efforts; she could not at all times leave him, and -little Miles was now nearly five months old. Sometimes the _concierge_ -of the house, who was better than most of that most mercenary class, -would take her child for her, while she sought work. There was ever a -fear over her, in going out, lest she should meet Tremenhere. What her -hopes were respecting him, who might say? Did she know them herself? or -were they those inseparable clingings of the heart, which, like a limpet -on a rock, adheres, inseparable from it, however rough the dashing -waves? She had hope, else life would have fled. She still resided near -Tremenhere's friend, Duplin, whither he often came, and thus, from her -high window, she could see his tall figure pass. Ever closely, doubly -veiled, and muffled up, she had watched, and met him in the dusk--she -had followed too, by day, and seen him, too frequently for her peace of -mind, accompany Lady Dora in walks and rides. True, others were there; -but he was ever by _her_ side, and she began to question how it might -terminate. Of such an event as marriage she had not dreamed, when, -allowing all to believe her death, she had become so chilled at heart -from the belief of the indifference of all, even poor sorrowing Dorcas, -that she had no courage to make a friend there in confidence. "No," she -said, in her disheartenment, "not to any of them will I betray my -existence; they deserted me living, let them believe me dead!" and a -morbid satisfaction at the thought crept over her. But when so fearful a -consequence as his marriage with another broke in upon her mind, she -became feverish, restless, and incapable of guiding herself aright. -Before, however, this terror came to add to her sufferings, she used to -toil cheerfully--her boy, lying perhaps on a pillow at her feet, crowing -and laughing in her gentle face. Then he was so like his father--the -same large brown eyes, and shading lashes, which tempered so much their -fire--it was all Miles's face, but with her own light hair, in glossy -curls, with a rich, sunny glow on the cheek; and with all the love she -lavished on him, the little voice was seldom raised in tears, only -laughter--laughter, which convulsed the bright face, as he hung, -shrieking with it, round the fair mother's neck. We have said that, even -in her wretchedness, Minnie had learned that there were others more so, -in outward seeming. In the garret adjoining her own, she frequently -heard, as the hours of the night crept on, and she was sitting up -completing some work, a quiet, heavy step plodding up and down the room, -in evident thought or pain. Often had she listened to this sad -neighbour; and his sorrows and loneliness seemed to add to her own. A -laugh beside her might have cheered; but this lonely watching wore on -her already chastened heart. She asked the _concierge_ one day if she -knew who it was. - -"A poor old Frenchman," she replied; "very poor, I think, and all -alone--but he seems proud in his necessity. And then, madame, you know I -cannot do much for any one--I am not rich; and he never gives me an -opportunity of speaking. He pays regularly; but I think, poor old man, -that his means of existence are very small." - -This decided kind-hearted Minnie. "We are never so poor," she said to -herself, "but what we can assist one another, even if only by a kind -word to lighten life's weary load. I will try and speak to this poor -man." - -Where a woman resolves upon doing a good action, she generally succeeds -in some way. There was something about her, in her voice and manner, -which at once inspired confidence and affection in the worthy; and when -this pretty, delicate creature, with her little boy in her arms, tapped -gently one evening at the next door, and asked for a light, if he had -one, of the thin tenant, who was almost bent double by age, and still -more, sorrow and poverty, the man's cold face brightened as he answered, -while the poor lips trembled with cold, and possibly hunger, "My child, -I have none; I am going--going out." - -Alas, poor creature! he was going out in the bitterer cold, thinly clad, -to endeavour to circulate the nearly frozen blood, before returning to -creep into a half-covered bed, and there strive to practise the French -proverb of "_qui dort dine_," for he was dinnerless. There was -something in the accent not strictly Gallic, though he spoke French. - -"Don't go out to-night, _mon voisin_," she said smiling; "it is wet and -cold; you are alone, so am I save for _mon enfant_. Do you like -children?" - -"Yes," and he laid his thin hand on little Miles's head; "I love them -well; I once had two of my own," and he stifled a sigh. - -"Well, then, you shall come in, and do me a neighbourly kindness; I am a -poor _ouvriere_, and must work hard to-night--come in, I am going to -make a fire; you shall nurse my boy whilst I work--will you oblige me?" - -"Willingly," he answered, "if I can serve you." - -"That you greatly can. Stay in your room till I have made mine -comfortable, and then I will call you, I am so much obliged to you, it -will help me greatly, for a child is an _embarras_ sometimes, and I like -working and talking--'tis very kind of you." - -She had a talent for making the obliged seem her creditors, and thus -placing them at perfect ease. So hurrying back to her room, Miles was -laid on his accustomed place, a pillow on the floor; lest he should fall -off, she seldom placed him on her bed. And then an Asmodeus might have -seen Minnie--the fair and gentle--the one on whom the winds of heaven -were once almost chidden, if they blew coldly--on her knees, lighting -the stove in her room, for she soon found a match; the search for one -was an excuse, and her face looked glad--that lip forgot its -sadness--she was doing angels' work--charity. In an incredibly short -space of time the room looked cheerful--the door of the stove was left -open--the wood crackled in it--the glare lighted the humble garret. She -drew the old, but clean curtain before the window--lit her lamp--placed -her second chair (she had but two) and then she summoned her shivering -guest. - -"Stay," she cried, as he seated himself, springing up herself; "I have -forgotten my _bouillotte_;" (we cannot call it kettle--it had no -resemblance to such a thing; neither can we translate the word, to give -any idea of that queer, tin sort of jug, which rattles as if it had -marbles in its head, and which is pushed into hot ashes to boil.) "I -have forgotten my _bouillotte_," cried she; "and what should I do -without a cup of tea? Do you like tea, monsieur?" - -"Yes, madame," he answered, faintly smiling; "but I have not taken any -for some time." - -"Then we will have a cup together. Are you not English?" she asked, -pausing in her arrangement of the _bouillotte_ in the stove; and as she -knelt on one knee to do so, she rested the tips of her white fingers -(even still) on the floor, to support herself, and looked up in his face -like a child. She looked like a picture thus; for the pale face was -glowing with pleasure at her good deed, and the close neat little -_grisette_ cap concealing all that fair hair, except the braids on her -forehead; she looked so innocent and pure, the old man bent his eyes -upon that upturned face, and like a father, placing a hand on her -shoulder, said in perfect English, though with a slightly foreign -accent-- - -"I have lived much among English, and been in England; but that is long -ago. I am a Swiss by birth." - -"Oh!" she burst forth in English, "I am so happy to meet some one who -speaks my own tongue, it has been a stranger to me so long a time; let -us converse always in it: the sound has been lost to me. I have been -teaching my child to speak his first word in my native tongue." - -"What is your boy's name?" he asked, deeply interested in this fair -young mother. - -She hesitated a moment. In christening him he had been named "William," -as second name, after her father, and by this she generally now called -him to strangers; his father's might lead somehow to detection, for -frequently the _concierge_ took him in her arms for a walk, when she was -too busy to leave home, and always returned with an account of the many -persons who stopped to inquire the boy's name. As William, or Guillaume -Deval, who might recognize the parents? Almost an impulse induced her to -give him Miles's name when this other inquired; but, checking herself, -she said "William." - -"Has he no father?" asked the old man, caressing the boy, who now sat on -his mother's knee; and he looked searchingly at her. But any thought of -error fled when you gazed in Minnie's pure face: sin never could look -thus. - -"We are parted," she said sadly. "Some day, perhaps, monsieur, I may -tell you all, and ask your advice; for indeed you seem as an old friend, -and father to me. I hope we shall often meet." - -And they did; and it seemed as if a blessing followed her good deed, for -work came pouring in, and she found constant employment, as we have -seen, even from the first dressmakers in Paris--thus she knew of Lady -Lysson's party to the _bal de l'opera_; and her fingers made the domino -in which Lady Dora leaned on Tremenhere and listened to his love--so -strange a thing is fate! An impulse, impossible to resist, impelled her -to visit that scene, whose gaiety harmonized so little with her -feelings. She had the two dominoes to make; and in the black one we have -seen how much she intrigued Tremenhere--the other she had left with the -woman keeping the cloaks, and her foresight served her purpose well, of -knowing all. Who may tell the agony of this woman, leaning once again on -his arm, and listening to those accents which thrilled her inmost -soul--words too of interest fell from his lips, and her bursting heart -said, "Throw off your mask, and he will fly you in horror or hate;" but -nothing could ever equal in agony that moment when, leaning against the -pillar in her second dress, she heard the greater portion of his -conversation with Lady Dora; and, worse than all, the promise of the -morrow! How could she dive into his heart, and read its sorrow, remorse, -and revenge, prompting it to the part he was playing with her cousin? -She only saw facts--heard words. She saw him friendly and kind with Lord -Randolph; and in his face, whose every look she knew full well, she read -confidence and friendship towards that man; then all the hate was her -own--it was not mere jealousy, but personal dislike, or he could not so -soon have forgotten her! No wonder then she fainted; and, when recovered -from her swoon, she declined--nay, peremptorily refused all assistance -to take her home--that toiling home, now made doubly painful; she -returned to it nearly mad. The _concierge_, who had taken charge of her -boy, was terrified at the paleness of that still face. Minnie said she -had a motive for wishing much to go; and the good-natured woman, -thinking it so natural, at once consented to keep the boy with her. - -"_Pauvre petite_," said the woman to herself, as she gave the almost -silent Minnie her key and lamp. "She has seen her monsieur, I dare say. -Ah! I always thought she was not married--but forsaken, and with her -child, too! _pauvre petite!_ I will bring up Guillaume," she said aloud. -"_Tenez!_ you can scarcely support your own weight, much less his! I'll -bring him up to you." - -And Minnie thanked her in a whisper, and crept almost lifeless up the -stairs. - -As yet she had confided nothing of her history to her old neighbour, -whom she only knew as a poor man named Georges, who had lost place and -fortune. By persuading him that he was useful to her, she had succeeded -in making him more frequently her guest, than his own solitary -companion. She feared speaking of the past; yet, so much did she love -the venerable old man, that she longed to dare confide all, and ask his -advice. Now she felt her total inability to act for herself, and -resolved to tell him not later than the following day. But there is a -destiny ever above ruling, far superior to our puny wills. Next day she -was too ill to speak, or see him; she was confined to her bed, where -the intense anguish of her mind drove madness through her frame; and the -following one she was delirious, and her shrieking voice could only -utter one name--"Tremenhere!" It was no moment for false delicacy. The -old man, whom she had befriended, stood by her in her need, and the -trembling hands wiped the cold moisture from her brow, or held the cup -of _tizane_ to her lips. Little Miles was nursed below; and though her -eye wandered, seeking something in her madness, she uttered but the one -name, sometimes in accents of prayer, sometimes in shrieking horror, for -the promised morrow was with her, even in her delirium! - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -On that morrow, which she so much dreaded, Tremenhere was away from -Paris, and hurrying onward towards Marseilles. Once arrived there, his -task was an easy one; there were tongues enough to speak to him of the -toiling little _ouvriere_, so frail, so persevering, and of the child -which came to solace her hours; even her beauty had not unstrung one -malevolent tongue against her fame--all was toil, gentleness, and worth. -As he drank down each bitter draught, his soul grew sterner--there was -not a tear in it to quench the fire of remorse. All, too, had one tale -to tell: she always said, when she had saved enough to pay her journey, -she should follow her husband, who was an artist at Florence. To fill up -the measure of all, he waited upon the lady, whose daughter, Minnie had -accompanied on board the fated "Hirondelle." He presented himself as a -relative of her husband; he durst not trust his feelings to say, "I am -the man," lest all should shrink from him in horror. He spoke of an -unhappy quarrel, their separation, and consequent ignorance of where she -was. Here he heard of her with tears from the childless mother, of the -affection her daughter bore Minnie, whom she had employed as a -workwoman at first, but won by her gentleness, piety, and goodness, had -besought her to accompany her to Malta, as nurse to her child--of -Minnie's love and devotion for her little "Miles," for thus she had -called him there--her firm refusal to wean him, for any sum, from her -breast, and her eventually consenting to go to Malta, on their promise -to send her, in six months, to Florence--the one dream of her loving -wife's heart! 'Tis wonderful Miles could command his feelings enough to -listen calmly to all this; but there is a calm far beyond that of -perfect peace--'tis that of despair. His face changed not--'twas as -though it had been chiseled in marble, by some cunning artificer, to -imitate life, for none was there--not a muscle moved--not a shade -crossed it; it was the tombstone of hope, whose ashes lay beneath. One -thing he did: he sought the room where she had resided in her -sorrow--the room where her child's first accents struck upon her ear; it -had not been let since, so he sat down alone there for hours, and his -wandering eyes looked on every spot on that dingy wall; nothing he left -unregarded where her eyes had dwelt, and he saw, as in a vision, all the -many thoughts she had left behind her to people the place. He rejoiced -no one had ever inhabited the same room since. Seeking the landlord, he -rented it for a year, and, paying in advance, carefully locked, and put -his seal on it, lest any one should desecrate it. - -"No voice in joy shall ever fill that place where she has wept so many -silent tears--there, where she loved me still, our spirits have met -again. Minnie, forgive me!" And the man knelt in that desolate abode, -and prayed fervently. "If," he said, "I should ever be tempted to forget -her sorrow, I will return hither, and fill my heart with memory, and -hatred of myself!" - -And in this mood he returned to Paris: and a week had elapsed since the -ball. It will not seem strange if, on his arrival, he shut himself up in -his studio, away from the world, for days. How commune with that?--or -those who had known her, and now smiled over her grave? - -Every moment his feelings became more vindictive towards Lady Dora: it -was the only passion surviving in his heart--all the others were -wrecked, and had gone down with the "Hirondelle." - -Perhaps it was well that Marmaduke Burton had gone, no one knew whither, -or a worse one than vindictiveness might have revived. Assuredly he -might have been driven to murder, had he once given way to his prompting -fiend. - -It will seem almost strange to many, perhaps, that with this anguish -raging in his heart, he never once thought even of suicide. Tremenhere -was a brave man--an essentially courageous one; he feared nothing in -this world. But he had a strong religious sense, implanted by his -mother: he feared the suicide's unfailing hell, when madness comes not -to plead for the act before Heaven. He was preparing himself, in the -solitude of his chamber, for a pilgrimage of suffering and repentance, -before he should meet her spirit, doomed in its other state to throw off -the garb of mercy and forgiveness _she_ would ever have worn, and -before Heaven accuse, perhaps condemn, him. He was preparing to face the -world, and veil his suffering--to toil on; and then he asked himself, -"For what?" Here his mother arose before him. - -"Yes," he said, "I have deserted, forgotten, reviled her; it shall be my -task to place her high in brightness and purity. And if, in my passage, -one lip breathes Minnie's name in shadow before me, then will I bare all -my own heavy sorrow, and, condemning myself, clear her! Now, it would -but sully a fame like hers, to drag her forth uncalled for. I must watch -my opportunity; and the day I debase _her_ enemies--her enemy, her -heartless cousin--I will elevate her where none shall dare attaint her -again!" - -He heard Lord Randolph had called; and here it was that his heart turned -towards that man. He remembered the kindly, though unadvisedly done, act -at Uplands; this man's kindness of manner; his respectfulness towards -her. Now the veil of darkness had fallen, he saw all aright; and a -love--a love almost of womanly weakness--arose in his heart towards him. -He was the first person whom he received; and when the other started at -his pale cheek, he simply answered, he had been ill; a sudden obligation -to visit the country, where illness had seized upon him. He started, -however, when Lord Randolph begged his congratulations on his -approaching marriage with Lady Dora, who had accepted him the previous -day. However, his start was not perceptible to his friend, and he spoke -all the speeches of usage as warmly as such are generally spoken; and, -taking his arm, they proceeded together to the Hotel Mirabeau. - -Lady Dora and her mother sat alone when they entered. The former, -despite her general self-possession, coloured painfully, and then became -of marble whiteness, while the pale, curling lip alone spoke her -internal battle to seem calm. - -"I bring you an invalid friend," said Lord Randolph; "Tremenhere has -been very ill." - -She looked fixedly at him; his eyes were hollow, his cheeks white; but -even these were not sufficient excuse, to that despotic heart. "He -should have kept his appointment," she mentally said, "any way." - -"Have you been at home?" asked Lady Ripley; "for Lord Randolph told us -you were not there when he called." - -A sudden thought seized Tremenhere; he would make this illness -subservient to his plans. "I was forced to leave Paris--circumstances -obliged me," he said, and for an instant his eye lighted on Lady Dora; -"and something of a slow, nervous fever has overwhelmed me ever since." - -"Egad, yes!" cried Lord Randolph; "I found him seated listlessly at his -easel, attempting to paint; and when I entered _sans ceremonie_, the -fellow mistook me for a rival artist, and hastily threw a covering over -some _chef d'oeuvre_ he was completing." - -A faint colour crossed Miles's pale cheek, and unthinkingly his eye fell -on Lady Dora, and theirs met in an instant; he read her thoughts, and -saw where it might be made available to his purpose. - -"I was painting from memory," he said--so he had been, but _not_ Lady -Dora, as she imagined. His look, his illness, all combined to make her -believe herself the cause, or rather jealousy at Lord Randolph's return; -and the exulting heart of the woman bounded with gratified pride; there -was not one thought of sincere affection in it. Still she could not -quite forgive his departure without seeking her. When a woman feels she -has stepped rather too far, and in haste, and passes a sleepless night, -collecting herself to undo the evil by apparent indifference, it is most -provoking to find all thrown away, and that uttered words which we -fancied were sunk deep into another's soul, generating loving thoughts -and hopes, had passed over the surface like a meteor across the sky, -leaving not the slightest trace of its passage. - -"May I be permitted," he said, after a pause, in rather a low tone, for -Lord Randolph was warmly discussing some political point with his -mother-in-law elect, "to offer my congratulations on your approaching -happiness? May you be so--I sincerely desire it." - -"Thank you," she answered trembling, and biting her lip at his coolness. - -"You appear to have held the happiness of more than his in your -keeping--your own I mean, in suspense; and now, the battle over, the sun -of joy bursts over all. Lord Randolph is perfectly happy, and I never -saw your ladyship looking so well!" - -"Then, taking you at your own judgment," she answered hastily, without -thinking, and acrimoniously, "you are an exception to the general -happiness, for you certainly do not look well; you should have -placed----" She paused suddenly, and coloured, remembering what her -words implied. - -"You are right, Lady Dora. I ought to have placed my happiness in your -keeping; would you have well guarded it?" - -"I do not understand you, Mr. Tremenhere; and I fear you mistake my -meaning," was the haughty reply. - -"I fear I have mistaken much; forgive me, the error will have no -mate--like myself, it will be lone--forgive me." - -There was so much sadness in his voice, that her hand trembled with the -emotion her pride even could not quell; she had accepted Lord Randolph -in pique at Tremenhere's supposed trifling with her, and now those -chains were already galling her; yet, how throw them off? how find -courage to cast herself away on him--the man she had once so much -despised? It was a fearful war within her. At this juncture Lord -Randolph came to their aid in words, but every one was significant to -their thoughts. - -"Tremenhere!" he cried, "I appeal to you," and he turned to where the -two sat, a little apart; she was knitting a purse. "Do you think a _bal -masque_, as we went the other night, a place where no man should take -his wife?" - -"That depends much on the lady," was the reply. - -"I said," answered Lady Ripley, "that in my opinion, from the -description given me by Lady Lysson (for I thank goodness I was not -there,) that scenes so totally at variance with decorum as men in female -attire, and _vice versa_, and the heterogeneous mass of persons -collected there--their freedom of speech, want of all ceremony and -obedience to the commonest rules of society, must leave an unfavourable -trace on the mind--I declare, even Dora savours of it; for ever since -she went there has been a restlessness of spirit, an unquietness of -manner, I never noticed before. I should scarcely have wondered at any -absurdity she might have committed." - -"Oh, mamma!" exclaimed that lady, in painful confusion. - -"On my life," laughed Lord Randolph, "Lady Ripley, you are epigrammatic -in your speech. Has Lady Dora been guilty of any absurdity since?" - -"You mistake me," hastily answered she, remembering the engagement -contracted within a few days; "of any serious fault I trust _my_ -daughter will never be guilty; but I mean, were she not perfect, as I -may, I believe, call her, in strict propriety of thought and action, I -should indeed dread what such influence might effect." - -"Lady Dora could never forget what is due to her rank and station," said -Tremenhere. "There may be a certain excitement in the scene, especially -to a person visiting it for the first time; but we will leave all -casualties of this kind to your unsophisticated girl, believing in such -an absurdity as love different to what the world has viewed it, and -thrown with one she fancied destined to call into being that feeling, -there is really no saying whether such a one might not be led away by -the atmosphere around her to give love for love, and speak her heart -freely where the generous mask concealed her blushes from the eye -envious to behold that record of her sincerity; but you will all -perceive, I am depicting an imaginary scene, and persons. We are all too -sage and old in fashion's ways to commit the like follies." - -"Oh, of course!" answered the unseeing mother; but every word had echoed -in Lady Dora's heart, or its facsimile; for the thing itself she did not -possess--it had long been choked by pride. - -"I believe," continued Lord Randolph, "that the masques in olden -times--at court and elsewhere--were made the medium of intrigues, state -and others; but surely nothing could be more innocent than the one the -other night!" Lord Randolph was rather primitive in his ideas as regards -a _bal masque a l'opera_, even in our days--Lady Dora did not internally -agree with him, but she said nothing. - -"Have you secured one box for the _Francais_ this evening?" asked Lady -Ripley, changing the subject. "I quite forgot it," answered Lord -Randolph; "come along, Tremenhere, we will go and look for it, and you -shall bring it back to the ladies, for I am unavoidably engaged till -dinner; of course, you will be of the party?" - -"I fear not," he answered; "I have much occupation on hand." - -"Nonsense, man! you shut yourself up with your mysterious portrait, till -you become perfectly gloomy; it must have a deep interest for you." - -"You mistake; 'tis an altar-piece which I am completing to order--a -Madonna and child." - -"Then, why cover it up so mysteriously?" - -"We artists are jealous of our unfinished works being criticised; 'tis, -however, not _that_ which would detain me to-night, but another claim." - -"Pray, set it aside, and accompany us, Mr. Tremenhere," said Lady -Ripley, graciously; Lord Randolph's evident friendship for him, stamped -him above what he was before, in her eyes--he still hesitated, when Lady -Dora looked up, as if glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, and -almost imperceptibly, 'twas so quickly done, her glance crossed his. - -"Then I will do as you _command_," he said, bowing to Lady Ripley; but -her daughter felt his eye was upon her, and the _command_, accentuated -for her ear alone. - -"We can perhaps spare you the trouble of going to the theatre, if you -are engaged," cried Lady Ripley. "Dora, we may as well drive there -ourselves." - -"I shall not leave home to-day, mamma," was the reply. - -"But you know, my dear, I _must_ call upon the Montagus at four." - -"Lady Lysson will willingly accompany you; I know she too purposes a -visit to them." - -"But your resolution is sudden, Dora; to-day you promised to go with me -at four." - -"My head aches," she answered coldly; "pray excuse me." - -"Oh! if that be the case," replied her ladyship, "I can urge no more; -you had better lie down, my dear child, and prepare yourself for the -evening's fatigue." - -"No, thank you, mamma; with your permission I shall remain here--I have -a letter to write." - -She never once looked up, but a man the least vain might have fancied, -as Tremenhere did, that "the morrow" of the _bal masque_, was presented -to his view, especially after what Lord Randolph had said about his -returning with the ticket for the theatre. Making their adieux, the -gentlemen left with the understanding that one or both should return, -after calling at the _Francais_ to secure the box. - -For a moment Tremenhere hesitated how to act. He asked himself whether -his conduct was right towards his friend--the title he gave him in his -heart decided him. "She is unworthy of him," he said; "'tis an act of -kindness to break off this marriage." - -And, consequently at four, he called with the ticket. Lady Dora had been -schooling her heart, and received him with perfect composure, much -regretting all the trouble he had taken; and she sat with an unfinished -letter before her, and the pen between her fingers, as though expecting -him to take leave. He read her as an open leaf in a book; and the want -of all candour in her disposition made him more than ever resolved to -bend her. Every day she had become more warped since he had first seen -her; even when he and Minnie had been residing at Chiswick, she could -be capable of a generous action; now, not one--she was the world's -child! - -"Is letter-writing advisable for a headache?" he asked, after the first -salutations were over. - -"Possibly not," was the cold reply; "but it is one of neglected duty, -and I was resolved to finish it to-day." - -"Then I will take my leave; a visiter is never more unfortunate than -when he cuts the thread of some pleasant narrative by pen or lip," and -he was going towards the door. "I have forgotten half my message!" he -cried, returning. "Lord Randolph desired me to say, that he had taken -upon himself the pleasant task of choosing your ladyship's bouquet for -this evening, which will arrive in due season," and he moved towards the -door. - -"If you see him, Mr. Tremenhere," she said hastily, at the same time -throwing down her pen and closing her letter-book, "pray prevent his -lordship from giving himself so much trouble; I dislike bouquets in the -hand." - -"Indeed! permit me to wonder, flowers are kindred to the beautiful--you -should not be so unnatural, as to disclaim your own." - -"I presume I am expected to bow; but I seldom--_never_ do, to -compliments; they are so vapid, made up, like these said bouquets, to -suit every occasion, every taste, and thus doled out alike to all. Could -we listen to half a dozen conversations at once, on the average they -would be nearly word for word alike, between an idle man, and a silly -woman." - -"Why silly?" he asked smiling, still standing, hat in hand, near the -door. - -"Because all must be, to listen to them," and she pushed away her chair, -and rising, dropped down amid the cushions of the ottomans. Without -another word, he crossed the room, laid his hat on the table, and, -drawing off the one glove remaining on his hand, flung the two into his -hat; and then, quietly seating himself beside her, asked with gentle -interest,-- - -"How is your headache--is it better? You look pale!" and he took her -hand. For an instant it struggled, then lay still. This was her first -false step of bad generalship. His action was so natural, considering -their relationship, though only by marriage, that what else had been -freedom passed as a right; her struggle to release it denoted a thought -of wrong, and he was not slow to take advantage of it. - -"Do not deny me even the privilege of a friend--I once possessed that, -Lady Dora." - -She made no reply. - -"You have not answered my question. Is your headache better, or gone? -You would do well to banish that, like all other hurtful things." - -"_Hurtful_ things?" she uttered in echo. "You are right." - -"About what? Do we understand one another at last?" - -"Tell me," she cried hurriedly, looking up, "whilst we are alone and -uninterrupted, where have you been, Mr. Tremenhere?" - -She looked, but could not read the anguish which crossed his brow; he -made an effort, and subdued it before her. - -"Been? shall I tell you truly?" - -"Do, and quickly. I would know all _now_ at once." - -"I fled, to prove many things--I fled, to live with a memory--I fled, to -come back a slave!" - -His tone was full of soul, for every word was truth; but she applied it -wrongly to herself. He had withdrawn his hand, and passed it over his -brow. As it fell listlessly on his knee, she laid hers upon it, and it -trembled; it was the action of a moment, and as quickly withdrawn. - -"What have you proved?" she asked, almost imploringly. - -"That we must never trust our own false hearts--they lead us on to -destruction; still less, any _living_ woman." His thoughts were with the -dead, as he deemed. - -"Do not look so pale--so afflicted: look as you did on that night." - -"_That night_, which never knew a morrow! and yet it held the promise of -one, Lady Dora." - -"Who cast that promise from his memory, as worthless?" - -"Not that, as dangerous, incapable of leading to happiness, as a -snare--any thing you will, but a promise of that joy, which another has -obtained." - -"I will not misunderstand you. There is one thing we may give in pique, -the hand, but the heart defies our power--'tis our master." - -"Is yours?" - -"Yes; I have in vain struggled with it--it daunts me." - -"Mine is a slave," he answered, "chained, but not by me; and yours will -become so too, and follow the manacled hand, and thus you will be calm -and happy." - -"I? never. Do you know--do you not see, that my position terrifies me? I -have none to counsel--be my guide, and as an error led me to the steps I -have taken, direct me how to escape its penalty." - -"You mean your marriage with Lord Randolph?" he took her hand as he -spoke, and, looking upon it, thought of the day he first held Minnie's -thus! - -"'Tis a fair hand," he said, regarding it. "Oh! pity this should break -hearts, sever ties of love--this little tiny thing, which holds so much -fearful power. Are you sure you do not love Lord Randolph?" - -"Sure? I almost hate him, and should, were he my husband." - -"Are you mad? You must have been to pledge yourself to him, such as you -are--one to be loved, worshipped, adored, if with this hand you gave -your heart." - -"Thus I would have it--and only thus!" she uttered, her pride subdued in -her feelings. He had urged her on by his manner; she had prepared -herself against his prayers, but not against his ambiguous manner; for -he looked as one fearful of speaking--of one on his guard. She fancied -he durst not, and she dared all to prove him at last. For an instant he -thought, "Shall I doom her to misery, such as she has not dreamed of, -and, marrying her, tell her why I wooed her?" but a thought, even yet -of pity, came over him; he knew the worse than death he could condemn -her to, by making her his unloved, despised wife; then, too, Minnie -stood between them, and forbade it. He felt he _never_ could place -another, even in hate, or revenge, where her head alone, though but in -memory might lie--on his heart. - -"Can you love? Do you love?" he asked, in a low whisper; and the arm -stole round her waist. "Could you for that love renounce all--give up -rank, station, home--all?" - -"Freely," she uttered; and at that moment she was sincere. "Freely--so I -break this hated tie, and----" - -"Forge another where you could love?--_do_ love; and, forgetting all -false pride, know the only true one--that of the man your soul has -elected?--the man equal to you in all things but an empty title?" - -"You have taught me to know myself," she whispered; "teach me to read -you aright; for my intellect cannot comprehend you, and I doubt, where I -would have faith." - -"Do not doubt me," he said, coldly releasing her waist, and taking her -hand; "I will counsel you well--lead you aright, and for your happiness. -Never love, Lady Dora--never love; but if they will you should marry, -make Lord Randolph a good and faithful wife, nor cast away your -affections on one scarcely worthy of them. He is my friend--if you -_must_ love, love him; but _I_ counsel all, never love, for _I_ dread -and eschew the passion!" And, dropping her hand, he rose calmly from -the ottoman, and listlessly taking up his hat and gloves, scarcely -looking at her, bowed, and quitted the room. - -When he was gone she sprang from the ottoman, and, pacing the apartment -like one bewildered by a sudden shock, ended by leaning her head on the -table, and weeping the bitterest tears she had ever shed; for they were -over her crushed pride--her abased heart, which he had probed to the -quick, and then, as a worthless toy, cast from him. It was long before -she could recall all the scene to her mind, and when she did it might -have ended in almost madness had her unfailing pride and self-love not -come hand in hand to say, "He loves, and dreads his love. Randolph is -his friend--be patient--watchful, and your reward will be, in subduing -all his feelings and resolutions." - -And thus cheered, she rose, to own to herself that for his love she -would brave any thing. She even hated Minnie's memory when she thought, -that though it had proved evanescent, as she deemed it had, he certainly -_once_ loved that girl. - -"I will bind him yet, and in iron bands," she cried, as her tall, proud -figure strode the room; "not as she did--silk could never hold so bold a -heart as his--they shall be iron, and _I_ will rivet them; there shall -be no key lest another undo them--riveted, Tremenhere--riveted!" and the -girl smiled already, in triumph over his defeat. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -Days and days passed away, and Minnie lay almost in death's grasp, and -the old man sat beside her as a father might have done, nursing the poor -sick woman; his bitterest thought was his own poverty, and her great -need of every care. The little money she had by her, was fast -disappearing, sickness brings so many unaccustomed claims into a -sufferer's room; there was a doctor, too, but here again she learned the -charity still existing, despite all march of intellect, or railroad of -worldliness; there was this one hallowed thing standing still, since the -day of the good Samaritan. Nothing could induce this man to take a fee, -and assuredly he came with more interest, and oftener, to see the sick -woman, than if gold awaited his palm at every visit. The _concierge_, -too, was all kindness; she kept poor little Miles, and thus the weary -days crept on, and nearly a fortnight passed, before Minnie returned to -a perfect recollection of the past. When she did so, her first idea was -to ask the length of time she had lain thus--two weeks! and in that -period what might not have occurred? She struggled to rise from her bed, -but her strength failed her; she had no one around in whom she might -confide, feeling her own total incapacity to act, and knowing how -necessary it was that some immediate steps should be taken, even though -in taking them, her existence would, of necessity, be betrayed. There -was but one person of whom she could think in her despair, and this was -Mary Burns. Summoning all her fortitude and strength, she in a few, -half-coherent words confided to Monsieur Georges that a mystery existed, -and imploring caution, and otherwise total silence on his part, she -besought him to seek Mary, and telling her a sick woman wished to see -her immediately, having something of importance to communicate, beg of -her to come, without delay. This he gladly promised to do; for, in his -perplexity, he knew not himself where to apply, how to act; in her -ravings she had said enough to convince him, some dreadful secret -oppressed her. Mary, who had been alone informed by the papers at first -of Minnie's supposed fate, and subsequently by Skaife, had mourned her -with the sincerity of an humble sister; for some time she had been -incapable of almost any exertion of mind or body; there was a blank -around her, a disheartenment--for well she knew the purity of the -unfortunate victim of Tremenhere's jealousy. When she received the -mysterious summons, delivered to her by Georges, not a thought of Minnie -crossed her mind; her deep, and truly mourning dress, bespoke her faith -in the report of her untimely fate, but, though much puzzled as to whom -the person could be desiring to see her, she was too sincere a Christian -to refuse the prayer of any one in trouble. Minnie had said to Monsieur -Georges, that she desired to see the person alone; consequently he -brought her to the room door, and there left her. The name Deval could -not possibly enlighten her at all, and the respectability of the house -removed any fear she might otherwise have felt, in following a stranger. -It would be impossible for any words adequately to describe her almost -supernatural terror, when entering the room alone, on the humble bed, -almost pallet, in the pale, worn ghastly face lying there, she beheld -Mrs. Tremenhere! Her first feeling was one of doubt, of her own perfect -sanity; she thought some extraordinary likeness deceived her, and -standing breathless, with clasped hands, she gazed in fear and wonder. - -"Mary," whispered Minnie, turning her eyes, now hollow and wild, upon -her--"Mary, 'tis I! come to me!" And she stretched forth her thin hands -towards her. A shriek burst from the other: it was like an awakening -from some dreadful dream. Dropping on her knees beside that bed, she -clasped the wan hands in hers, and wept tears of so much heartfelt joy, -that years of misery were washed from her memory in that stream of -heaven-sent rapture. - -In a few brief words, Minnie, raised up, and lying on her bosom, told -all, first binding her to solemn secresy about her existence, unless -released from it by herself. If Mary wept over her sufferings, her heart -became soothed as she wept, feeling that there must be a term to it now. -_She_ knew Miles even better than his poor wife could; she had known his -warm, generous, but hasty disposition, from boyhood; and even though -her heart trembled when the other related the conversation which she had -overheard at the opera, nothing could persuade her that he would so soon -forget one he had loved as he once had Minnie: and so much does the fond -heart of friendship soothe and cheer us, that Minnie too, became calm, -and impressed with the conviction of her humble friend. - -While they were still conversing, the _concierge_ rapped at the door, -carrying little Miles in her arms; and, as Mary clasped the beautiful -boy to her bosom, she felt how impossible it would be for Tremenhere to -resist so strong an appeal to his heart as this woman and child, or the -conviction of the latter's parentage, in whose young face his own every -look breathed. - -After cheering, again and again, the now calmed woman, Mary hastily -quitted, on her search for positive information. This had to be -guardedly done, but she thought it might be accomplished through the -medium of the waiting-woman of Lady Dora. Accordingly, she hurried home, -and, selecting some articles of _lingerie_, carried them to the Hotel -Mirabeau, under pretence that some one had ordered her to bring patterns -for selection, for the approval of Lady Dora Vaughan. - -It will be remembered that her person, her present position, both were -equally unknown to this lady, who alone knew her by name. Her success -was greater than she had at first ventured to hope. _Lingeres_ and -ladies'-maids soon open a conversation together, especially as Mary, -having so much at stake, threw off all her usual reserve, and became a -perfect Parisienne in manner. She came, she said, having heard Milady -Vaughan was making up a _trousseau_, in hopes some of her _lingerie_ -might be worthy of a place in it--taking care, however, to give a wrong -name and address. After the usual preliminary of presenting the -attendant with a handsome collar, to propitiate her good-will, she -learned, with a tremor at first, which ended in amazement and joy, that -Lady Dora was going very shortly to be married, but positively to Milord -Randolph Gray, who was then in Paris; and the _soubrette_, warmed by the -handsome present she had received, threw off all reserve, and spoke in -raptures--true Parisian raptures--of her lady's beauty, and the justice -it was meeting at the hands of a celebrated painter, a Monsieur -Tremenhere, who was pourtraying her as Diana, to please Milord Randolph. - -Mary could scarcely contain herself in the bounds of moderation, at -this, to her, delightful intelligence; she abridged the visit as much as -possible, promising to call again in a few days with more patterns, as -Lady Dora was then out. She flew almost to poor Minnie's abode, to whom -every moment had been as days. When Mary entered the room, her eyes were -wild and excited; one glance, however, sufficed. Minnie read so much -real joy in the other's kind face, that she fell back on her pillow -almost fainting, from her previously overwrought feelings. - -"Cheer up, madam--dear madam, I bring you joyful news!" exclaimed the -other; and she hurriedly related all she had heard. - -Minnie could not utter a word for many moments; then, as memory of those -words crossed her mind, she could but torture herself with a solution of -them, by supposing that Lady Dora's pride had stood between them. Not -all Mary could urge against it, could banish the idea; and all she could -do was to promise secresy, and employ means to discover the truth. She -left, but only to make some necessary arrangements, and then return. One -thing she resolved upon doing, and this she put into immediate -practice--namely, to write to Mr. Skaife without hinting a word of the -truth, but implored him to lose not a day in coming to Paris, asking -secresy to all on the subject of her request--a hint of Minnie she durst -not give; she only spoke of the absolute necessity there existed for his -immediate arrival. This done, she felt at ease; and returning to -Minnie's, after providing many little comforts until then unknown there, -she took up her abode beside that sick-bed, and watched with delight the -change a few hours had made in that sick woman, whose mind diseased had -defied all medicine. Our good deeds, not unfrequently even in this -world, bring home their ripe fruits! Here was the girl whom she had -taken from error to her bosom, from poverty to be almost her friend, now -in this extreme moment, soothing, consoling, and returning to her all -she had herself given her; and Mary's eye filled with honest joy as she -felt this. Could she have laid down her life she would freely have done -it, to prove all her gratitude. It was, in truth, a day when Minnie was -made to feel that our good gifts often return tenfold to us. She did not -in her peace forget him, who had watched over her in sickness and -delirium. She had explained to Mary all she knew of Monsieur Georges; -and, as the shades of evening were closing in, Minnie heard the stealthy -step plodding up and down his solitary room. He feared to intrude now, -knowing she had a friend to watch and guard her. - -"Oh!" cried she, "I have forgotten poor Monsieur Georges in all my -selfish happiness. Mary, open that door, and say I would speak with -him--will you? He has been indeed both father and friend to me!" Mary -rose hastily to obey, and re-entered, almost dragging in the poor, -solitary old man, from his own cold, comfortless chamber; for he was -poorer than ever, having spent every _sou_ he could command on the sick -woman who had befriended him. - -"Come in--pray, come in!" cried Minnie, stretching out a hand to him. -"Come, and see how much better I am to-night; and your little boy, too, -see how calmly he is sleeping beside me. You must not forget him; he has -more than once slept in your arms when mine were powerless to retain -him." - -Georges stooped over the bed, and a tear fell on her cheek, as the -shivering man pressed his lips to her forehead. - -"My child," he said, "I never can forget you or him; you seem as -something belonging to me, and yet I must lose you soon. I know you will -recover, and go among friends. I felt from the first, your being as you -were must have a cruel mystery attached to it--all will clear away for -you, you are so good, and then you will go, and I shall remain!" and the -desolate old man's voice trembled. - -"I will never forsake you!" exclaimed Minnie. "I could not; you have -been with me in too much sorrow, for me ever to forget you! The friends -of those hours we may not banish, like the ones who pass with our -laughter." - -"I cannot account for it, Monsieur Georges," said Mary; "but from the -first moment I saw you, your face seemed to me like one I had known, -though altered by time, in some far away days of childhood; and yet it -cannot be, for I am not a native of France." - -"They say," he replied, "that not two persons in the world resemble one -another; yet there are likenesses so strong, you may have seen some one -like me. The impressions of childhood, on thoughtful minds, come across -us, like dreams in after years." - -"Oh!" she answered, "it is not alone your face and figure, but something -in the tone of your voice is, and was from the first, most familiar, -though dreamy." - -She gazed earnestly, as she spoke, at the dignified, though bent figure -of the old man, as he sat beside the stove, where the light of the lamp -fell on his venerable head and silvered hair. - -"There is something," he said, "I have intended asking, when our poor -invalid should be better. I do not want to pry into, perhaps painful -family secrets, for few are exempt from these," he sighed deeply; "but -there can be no indiscretion in my inquiring, I hope, whether the name -of 'Tremenhere,' which she uttered so frequently in her ravings, is one -of family connection, or merely of acquaintanceship." - -"Tremenhere!" exclaimed Minnie, and the truth hung on her lip, yet -something of fear of betrayal withheld her from uttering it. "Do you -know the name?" she inquired, changing her original thought, and -supporting herself on her arm, she looked anxiously at him. - -"I did," he answered, "long ago." - -"Where?" asked Mary, fixing a surprised look on his face. - -"Far from hence," he replied. "Abroad, and in England." - -"For mercy's sake!" exclaimed Minnie, "tell me, my good father (for such -indeed you have been to me,) what Tremenhere did you know--the name is -so uncommon?" - -"One," he answered, "whom you cannot have known, at least I think not, -for he had no daughter--only one child--a son." - -"Do not hesitate; you may freely speak before me," cried Mary, -anxiously; "you little know, perhaps, what your words may lead to. _I am -sure_ I have seen you--heard your voice." - -"How can that be?" he asked, still doubting what it were prudent to do. -"You would have forgotten me, you must have been so young, had we ever -met. I should remember you, for I am an old man." - -"Were you ever in Yorkshire?" asked Mary, with a trembling voice. -Something stilled Minnie's tongue; she could not speak. - -"Yorkshire!" he cried in almost terror. "Do you mean at an old -manor-house?" - -"Come here," whispered Minnie, scarcely audible. She felt something -strange was surrounding her. "Come nearer--here, beside me. I am too -weak to speak loud--there," and she clasped his hand. "Father, by the -love you have shown me--to me, a poor orphan child, a deserted -wife--tell me, who are you? My name is Tremenhere, and I know the -manor-house well; it _was_ my husband's father's!" - -"Merciful heavens!" exclaimed Georges, in agitation. "Then how are you -thus? and how have we met? Tell me--is your husband the son--the only -son of the _late_ Miles Tremenhere, of the manor-house? for you speak of -the father as being no more." - -Mary sat speechless, and yet she knew not what her hopes or fears were; -she was in a stupor. - -"Miles Tremenhere, the son, is my husband," answered Minnie; "but he has -forsaken me--forsaken me!" and her tears gushed forth. - -"I will tell you," said Mary, in a whisper, drawing near and clasping -Minnie in her arms. "This poor lady has been the victim of a villain, -Marmaduke Burton, who, when old Mr. Tremenhere died, put in a claim to -the property, on the plea of the son's illegitimacy; and, having driven -him forth, was not content without destroying his young wife's fame, to -drive him to desperation." - -"Illegitimacy!" exclaimed Georges, like one in a dream. "That was false; -for _I_ married his parents--baptized him!" - -"Oh!" shrieked Minnie, starting from Mary's arms, and grasping his arm; -"your name then is not Georges--'tis d'Estrees!" - -"I will tell you all, my poor child," he said, when his overflowing -tears had subsided; and he leaned over the pillow, where lay the pale -and exhausted Minnie from over-excitement. "I was chaplain in Gibraltar -to Lord Dillon, who was governor there, and I knew, and became most -intimate with Tremenhere, who was quartered there. For family reasons he -did not wish his marriage with Helena Nunoz, with whom he had become -acquainted, known to any one, on account of the obscurity of her family, -during his father's lifetime. I married them privately: shortly -afterwards they left for England: here, in Paris, they were re-married -on account of her religion, she insisted upon it, by a catholic priest: -all was legally, correctly done. Mr. Tremenhere was too good a man to -have it otherwise. When his wife, than whom a better creature never -existed, was near her confinement, he felt desirous the child should be -baptized by me; and for that purpose I obtained permission of Lord -Dillon, who had quitted Gibraltar, to go to Yorkshire, and there the -ceremony was performed, and registered, in the parish church. - -"True," answered Mary, "but no one could discover whither Mr. d'Estrees -who officiated had gone; besides, 'twas the marriage which was disputed, -not baptism." - -"I have now," he continued sighing, "to touch upon a passage of agony in -my own life, which will account for my concealment. Shortly afterwards I -quitted Lord Dillon, sufficiently provided for, for all moderate wants; -I had a son of my own, a fine youth of fourteen. After leaving his -lordship, at Mr. Tremenhere's prayer I repaired to Yorkshire with my -son, who was to be as companion and friend to his son, then a boy of -ten; all was happiness and peace for nearly a year. There was something -in my child I could never fully understand--a disposition difficult to -govern; something not open and candid--but I hoped time might make him -otherwise, and the society of those around him. A year passed--I will -but touch upon this; it is too painful," the poor father trembled as he -spoke. "The manor-house was robbed one night; after a long, painful -investigation, you may guess my horror at the discovery, my son was -implicated in it. A sum to a considerable amount had been abstracted -from Mr. Tremenhere's old cabinet; he, in mercy to me, hushed up the -affair; my son fled, and I became a broken-hearted man. To stay was -impossible; Mr. Tremenhere felt this too, so I left, to the deep regret -of himself and his angel wife. Little more remains to be said--after -awhile, all communication ceased between us, my unhappy boy discovered -me, with him I shared the little I had, and he went to America, -promising me to reform. I have never heard from him, and I became as -Monsieur Georges what you see!" - -"Do you not remember me?" asked Mary, pale with emotion and memory. "I -was Mary Burns, the child whom you have often caressed; I knew I had -seen you in days of youth!" - -Let us pass over the remainder of this scene; Mary told him all that -which was strange to him, but what our readers already know. Minnie -could but weep in joy, in hope; for now, indeed, she had a rich present -to lay at Miles's feet--a mother's fame! - -"Think, my dear child," he said, when all was told, "that the night your -kind heart (for I read it truly) called the shivering old man to your -fire, your guardian angel led him in to bring you a blessing. And you -will be blessed; doubt it not--here with your husband's love, hereafter -with a better than even that, for our good deeds come home to roost far -more than our bad ones; there is much mercy around us, poor, weak, -mortal children, that we are." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -Skaife arrived in Paris, and, after a lengthened interview with Mary, he -quitted her abode. If he was very pale, it was the pallor of sudden, and -almost deemed impossible, joy. Minnie lived! and he was wending his way -to a now scarcely sad chamber, where Hope sat beside the still pale, but -recovering woman, reclining near a cheerful wood blaze, in a more -comfortable, though still very humble, room. This is all she would -consent to at Mary's expense; for personal resources she had none. -Skaife found himself incapable of much speech; he could but press -Minnie's hand between his own with the affection of a brother, to whom a -loved sister was suddenly restored from death. He, however, endeavoured -to persuade her to return at once to Gatestone, promising her a joyful -welcome from all, who mourned her loss severely. To this she was deaf; -nothing could induce her to quit Paris, and leave Tremenhere's vicinity. -Skaife had bound himself, by a solemn promise, not to reveal her -existence without her permission, unless he saw the absolute necessity -for so doing, to prevent the marriage of Tremenhere with Lady Dora. -After vainly endeavouring to urge her to another course, he quitted the -house to visit Miles, and, if possible, discover what his real feelings -were; for a certain pride prevented Minnie from throwing herself at his -feet, until she knew whether his heart still remembered her. - -Our readers will recollect, that she knew nothing of his visit to -Marseilles--his conviction of her innocence. She only knew the fatal -words, which, ringing in her ears, had driven her frantic--his avowed -love for Lady Dora. Tremenhere was pained and surprised by Skaife's -visit. He felt in himself so guilty towards Minnie, that one who had -known all her worth seemed as an accusing spirit. Skaife's manner, too, -after the first hasty meeting, was so embarrassed, that it added to the -suffering his presence inflicted. - -It would have been impossible for a friend to look upon Miles without -reading all his deep care, however veiled to the world in -general;--there was the clouded eye, without fire, full of soul and -expression; but the changing fire was gone--'twas one settled, calm, -uncomplaining trouble. Skaife spoke of his journey to Paris as one of -mere pleasure; of course Minnie's family was never alluded to. Miles had -been painting when the other entered, and drawing the cover, of which -Lord Randolph had spoken, over the easel, he rose to welcome him with a -start of pleasure, which, however, almost instantaneously settled into a -look of pain and embarrassment. For some time they spoke on indifferent -subjects, things most difficult to find for two so closely drawn -together in one painful one. There was a moment's pause, when Tremenhere -suddenly exclaimed-- - -"Skaife, I am surprised--much surprised, to see you here." - -"How so?" the other asked, colouring, and amazed. - -"Because, were I in your place, I should shun the atmosphere where -breathed such another as myself, like that of a pest-house." - -"Pardon me, Tremenhere, you would do as I do--feel sincere pity for a -man, whose severest punishment must be his own bitter remorse and -regret." - -Tremenhere looked silently at him a moment. - -"You have indeed said truly," he uttered at last, and turned away -towards the covered picture before him. - -"Tremenhere," said Skaife, laying a hand on his arm, "I rejoice to hear -you speak as you do; for vain as it may be, 'twill solace you all the -remaining years of your life to remember _her_--as she was. You see I -know to what you allude." - -"Remember her, Skaife! What can that do for me? Remember that, but for -the insane promptings of some demon, jealous of my happiness, I might -now have her beside me, a living, breathing creature, instead of only -this!" And he drew back the veil from his painting, and there, on the -speaking canvass, was Minnie--oh, Minnie, as though she breathed before -him! There is nothing so faithful as memory. It was an altar-piece, of -which he had before spoken--a Madonna and child. The eyes looked forth -serene and beautiful, patient, and with that predestined look which such -a face should have--a look of future sorrow, future and immortal hope. -Minnie's was all a face should be for so holy a purpose; and when -Skaife remembered all she had suffered, he felt how well Tremenhere had -chosen the subject, to call her features into life's seeming. - -"It is like her, is it not?" asked the latter, fixing his deep, earnest -gaze upon the face. "And I have tried to throw into the countenance -something of the trouble I _have_ seen there--something of what must -have been, when she was at Marseilles! Skaife, I went there a week -since, and learned all; since my return, I have passed the heavy hours -of day and night in pourtraying the look which I divined hers, in that -sad room where my child was born!" - -"Have you been there?" exclaimed the other, a joy almost beyond controul -bursting his heart; for he had come to that room in fear, of what he -might hear. - -"Yes," answered Tremenhere, looking up, surprised at his tone; "but I do -not think you quite understand me, by your tone. I have been in the -humble house of the toiling woman and mother--of the one I lured from -every luxury, to cast, with a blighted name, into _want_!--want, -Skaife--for this she has known! _Now_ do you comprehend my utter -wretchedness? Oh, believe that there can be no sorrow, no remorse like -mine! I sit here for hours searching in my memory for every tone of her -voice, every look of her sweet face! I tell _you_ this, for -self-abasement; _you_, at least shall know me as I am, though to the -world I may be a mystery--to some, a monster!" - -"From my soul I pity you, Tremenhere; but oh! I rejoice that her memory -is now so sacred in your eyes from stain." - -"Sacred and pure as an angel's, Skaife! Yet what can that avail now?" - -"I feared," uttered the other, "that--I scarcely know how to speak my -thought--that, in short, you might be--were, dazzled by Lady Dora -Vaughan!" - -"By her!" and he laughed in derision. "Have you, too, known the human -heart so ill, to suppose that, having once loved Minnie, even though -unjust, cruel, her murderer, I could ever place another, and such a one -as Lady Dora, near her? No, no; be my feelings what they may, I never -will dream even of so vain a thing as alleviating them by any union; -still less with Lady Dora, than another!" - -"I have, nevertheless, heard strange rumours." - -"Have you? well, 'tis well. I would have it thus; 'tis----" He paused. -"Let us change the subject," he said hastily; "time will prove all of -us." - -They were silent some moments. - -"Do you know what grieves me most in this my task?" He pointed to the -picture. "I cannot find in my mind a thought of what _our_ child was -like. I would I could thus complete my subject. But all is a blank!" He -pointed to the infant, of which there was but an outline; indeed, all -but the Madonna's face was this only, for he had not long commenced the -picture, which had been one ordered some time previously. - -A sudden thought struck Skaife. - -"I was visiting in a house, yesterday," he said, "and there was struck -by the unearthly beauty of a boy I saw in the arms of the _concierge_. I -asked to whom it belonged, and was told, to a poor woman residing in the -house. I make no doubt I could induce them to bring the child to you--it -is the loveliest I ever saw." - -"Thank you, Skaife," he answered sadly; "but I do not think _any_ child -could give me the faintest idea of what hers must have been; it must -have had a look of more than mortal sorrow on its young face, born in so -much woe and care. I will try and dream what it could have been; nothing -living can even pourtray it." - -Skaife said no more on the subject; but, leaving shortly afterwards, -hastened to Minnie, and with thankfulness of joy, watched the calm beam -of hope in her eye, when he told her all that had passed between them. -Skaife urged her to allow him, by degrees, to break the truth to her -sorrowing husband; but there was still on her memory, unobliterated, the -recollection of his words to her cousin, which nothing could efface, but -proof to the contrary. One thing, however, they arranged, and Monsieur -d'Estrees was the person chosen to carry out the scheme--namely, to take -little Miles, or William as he was called, to his father's studio. The -child had become so accustomed to the old man during Minnie's illness, -that he would go any where unfearingly with him. We should vainly -attempt to depict the mother's feelings, when she saw her boy next day -departing under the care of her two sincere friends, to see his father -for the first time. Thrice she called them back in mother's pride to -arrange some curl on the noble brow, or again kiss the cheek, where -perhaps his lip might be pressed. There was something hallowing in the -thought to her beautiful mind, that their child should be the medium of -communication between them, though to him unknown. Skaife had previously -written to apprise Tremenhere, that at that hour he should call; and -when he entered, and after a few moments, by way of prefacing the visit, -mentioned he had asked a friend of the mother's, who often nursed the -child in her absence, to call with him. Tremenhere coolly thanked him; -at the same time expressing his firm conviction, that it could not -answer his views or exalted ideas of what it should be. When d'Estrees -entered as Monsieur Georges, and the boy with a quiet, contemplative -air, most uncommon in one so young, looked in childish questioning at -the tall, dark, strange man, Tremenhere stood transfixed. It was not -that a look of the mother shook his heart--it was not the thought, that -of such an age would his own be, were it living. No, it was the artist's -realized dream--such a dream as inspiration might have given him. A -child born in so much sorrow could not look as others would; every -beautiful lineament was grave as of early woe, if so young a heart might -feel it; but yet this was more--it was a soul's sorrow implanted by a -mother's cares, watered by her tears, on the boy's countenance. -Tremenhere looked at him, then at the old man--a memory crossed his -imagination. - -"Surely I have seen you before," he cried, gazing earnestly at -d'Estrees. - -"I think not, monsieur," said the other; but his voice trembled, for -he, too, remembered him, and then he so ably recalled his father and -d'Estrees's best friend to his mind; "for I am an old man, seldom -leaving home." He spoke in French. - -"Strange--strange!" he replied in thought; "you seem very familiar to -me." - -"And the boy?" asked Skaife; "is he not all I promised you?" - -"He might have been _hers_," was the reply, which spoke volumes. He -approached, and the child used to many strange faces looked fearlessly -upon him, but with the strange, grave look we have before noticed. -Tremenhere opened his arms, and the little boy's were around his neck, -and the eyes, so like his own, fixed upon him. Something for the first -time passed through the father's heart; he thought of his own, and -involuntarily passed his hand over the head, where the golden curls were -springing up, thick and clustering. He turned up the little unsmiling -face, and his stern lip pressed the baby cheek. - -"Bless you, my boy!" he whispered. - -Strange, he never asked his name, or any thing about him, but gazed, and -gazed on the face in bitterness of thought. As he did so, he turned -towards the picture. The child stared a moment--the eyes distended--and -then the whole sad face lighted up with a smile of angel beauty, as he -paid the highest compliment which could be offered to Miles's art, by -stretching forth his arms towards it; and the little tongue tried to -syllable a name. The boy knew his mother! - -D'Estrees and Skaife turned pale, as a hasty glance passed between them: -they deemed it impossible so strange a recognition could pass -unsuspected: they trembled for the moment of avowal. But Miles's mind -was obscured from all thought of the truth; he only saw a childish -rapture on beholding a picture; and again kissing the boy and hastily -passing him to d'Estrees, seated himself at the easel, and beneath his -pencil placed the outline of his boy in its mother's arms. - -Tremenhere had resolved upon one thing both as a duty--a sacred one--and -secondly, if possible, to give some more healthy tone to his heart, by -the necessity for activity of mind and body. This was, to labour for the -means of proceeding to Gibraltar, to seek proof of his mother's -marriage. With his conviction of Minnie's innocence, this thought had -sprung up with renewed vigour; for this reason he remained more at home, -working at the picture for which his own unknown child was daily -sitting. For this, when completed, he expected a large sum, with which -he purposed at once proceeding to Gibraltar. Moreover, it was a labour -of love, though of deep sorrow; for Minnie lived again before him, and -the hours passed, in contemplating the face and form perfecting beneath -his hand. - -Lady Dora was lost in vain conjectures as to the cause of his -estrangement; though a momentary doubt might arise, yet her unfailing -pride came in to soothe her--"he durst not trust himself!" Thus she -thought, and with this conviction arose a determination to go to his -studio; this was not difficult of accomplishment. By a cleverly turned -hint to her mother about Lord Randolph's impatience respecting her -picture, Lady Ripley wrote, expressing a desire for its completion, as -soon as he conveniently might attend to it; and soliciting an hour when -Lady Dora might give him a sitting. This lady so arranged it, that her -mother asked from herself without naming any impatience on her part, but -Tremenhere smiled in scorn and triumph; for he saw the whole affair, as -though it had been planned beneath his eye. He wrote, regretting much -occupation had obliged him to banish himself from her ladyship's circle; -for the happy indolence which there crept over him, unfitted him for -other less pleasing occupations, but fixing an hour in which he should -be too happy to see Lady Dora. Every line of this had been guardedly -penned; and each word had a signification in that lady's eyes, -flattering to herself. Lord Randolph had seen him several times, and -always reported something about the mysteriously veiled picture; she was -convinced in her own mind, that this was some portrait of herself, and -she resolved, if practicable, to verify the fact; however, when she -arrived there with an appearance of calm dignity, accompanied by her -mother, nothing was to be seen but herself as Diana on the easel, and as -unfinished as when she had last seen it. This confirmed her impression -of some strange mystery; and Tremenhere's suffering face, which nothing -could disguise, made her heart bound high in triumphant pride--it was -suffering on her account. His manner still further strengthened this -deep error on her part,--her mother accompanied her, consequently their -words, beyond mere general ones, were few; still, when she spoke of his -absenting himself from all society, the significance with which he -whispered, "Better live with a sad memory, than a vain and dangerous -reality," lost nothing of the effect he intended it to convey. The real -truth was, he felt too worn in spirit, even for revenge sake, just then -to continue his comedy with herself--he had only courage to suffer; but -his absenting himself was as politic a thing as he could have done; and -she left the studio with a tremor in her heart, of which she had thought -herself incapable--one which not a little startled her yet rebelling -pride, and made her look every hour with deeper gloom, or nervous -excitement, on the preparations which were progressing for her marriage -with Lord Randolph, whom she almost hated, and yet had not the courage -to come to an open rupture with, lest Tremenhere should quite read her -heart. She was bent upon bringing him to her feet, and then permitting a -hope to gleam over his doubts. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -She was in this mood one day when he called, and found her in a -tete-a-tete with Lord Randolph. She was dressed _a l'Amazone_, for her -horse was awaiting its lovely mistress below. - -"I have arrived _mal a propos_," he said, after the salutations of -meeting were over. "I see your ladyship is going out." - -"Come with us," asked Lord Randolph, shaking his hand warmly. "A gallop -will chase away the clouds of study from your brow. Lady Dora, did you -ever behold so altered a face? Why, man, your studio will be the death -of you." - -"Not _that_," he replied, looking gloomily downwards; then, as suddenly -raising his head, he seemed to chase away shades and clouds, for the -face became calm and smiling. - -"Will you take me _en croupe_?" he asked, addressing Lord Randolph, in -answer to his question. "I saw but two horses below--yours and Lady -Dora's." - -"Oh, no! I will send my groom away, if you will mount his. You must -accompany us." - -"Lady Dora says nothing; the lady may have too much excellent taste to -admire a trio. In my opinion much pleasure is often lost in them, either -in music or society." - -"How so, Mr. Tremenhere?" she asked coldly. - -"Why," he answered, laughing,--"there are the soprano, the contralto, -and the mezzo; this last I have ever looked upon as an almost -indistinct, useless sort of 'lend-its-aid' to support and show off the -other two." - -"Then I'll play mezzo," cried Lord Randolph good-humouredly, but with -singular, though unconscious truth; "for I have a bad headache, and you -two shall sing, and I will listen, occasionally throwing in a note." - -"Don't let it be one of discord," cried Tremenhere, in the same tone as -before. "We must have harmony; if Lady Dora consent to this, I will -gladly take your groom's horse." - -Her eyes said more than her lips, as she replied--"We shall be most -happy of your company." - -"Might I have chosen a character, in which to have handed Lady Dora -down, by my humble skill, to posterity, I should have selected her -present one. Lady, I never saw you so perfect as in your Amazonian -costume; it suits your style far better than Diana even," and Tremenhere -bent his eyes in well-schooled admiration upon her; still the effort was -not an immense one, for, as an artist, he could not but have admired her -perfection of beauty in this dress; then, too, she was grace personified -in the management of a spirited horse, which seemed as a part of herself -in pride of beauty. - -"Why do you object to Diana?" she inquired, fixing her full gaze upon -him undauntedly, in all its fire. - -"Diana," said Lord Randolph, before the other could reply, "conveys to -my mind the idea of a lady over fond of being out at night, not a -loving bride or wife," and he laughed significantly at Lady Dora, who -turned away towards Tremenhere. - -"You have not answered my question," she said. - -"Something of Lord Randolph's thought is mine," he replied. "Diana is -cold, uncheered, uncheering; she sails onward in her dignity and -splendour, surrounded by satellites, uncaring for them all, beautiful, -but unloving." - -"What do you say to Endymion?" she asked, and her glance crossed his. - -"She loved him, and he slept!" was the calm reply. - -"That was _his_ fault; 'she could not wake his eye-lids with her kiss,'" -fell from her lips. - -"Because," answered Tremenhere, "it was too queenly, too cold; had Venus -embraced him, he would have started into waking life and love!" Her eye -fell beneath his glance. - -"The 'Mezzo' must put in a note," said Lord Randolph. - -At the word "Mezzo," a gentle, but involuntary laugh escaped from Lady -Dora. Tremenhere was grave. He despised while he played with this girl; -and, turning to the other, asked in a tone almost too serious and -feeling for the occasion, "What is your thought?" - -"I think Diana was an arrant, heartless flirt, and certainly deceitful. -She assumed to herself a character not deserved--a strictly chaste -goddess would never have come down o' night to embrace a shepherd on a -hill. I think it is very fortunate he _did_ sleep; had he awakened, he -would have had a very different opinion of the lady, and have been fully -justified in nodding significantly when her name was mentioned. I only -wonder she should have told of herself; for unless she did so--how was -this midnight visit known?" - -"Oh! she perhaps wanted the cleverness which some possess, of keeping -her own counsel," answered Tremenhere. - -"Most probably," hazarded Lady Dora, not liking to keep too painful a -silence where the subject had become so strangely epigrammatic, "some -star betrayed her mistress." - -"True!" replied Tremenhere, "as in 'Love's Witnesses,'" and he repeated -in a soft, impressive voice-- - - "Love! when we last night, embracing, - Sigh'd farewell--who saw us part? - Was it night? or sly Aurora? - Or the stars? or the moon who heard?" - - "A star shot down and told the ocean-- - Ocean told a mariner; - Then the mariner told his mistress; - She--she told it every where!" - -"'Gad, that's how Madam Diana's escapade became known, I bet my life!" -cried Lord Randolph. - -She did not reply; she was dreaming over the tone in which "Love! when -we last night, embracing," had dropped from his lips, and was lost in -that tone's significance, which sent up the harmony to her eyes, with -which her softened glance lit on Tremenhere's; and then faded into shade -beneath her trembling lashes, consumed, Phoenix-like, by its own fire. - -"Then Diana was cruel, too," continued Lord Randolph, hunting down the -huntress. "Unsparing with her darts; the wound from which, like wound of -hart, never heals!" - -"Let her rest," said Lady Dora, fixing a full look of meaning on -Tremenhere; "those skilled in venery say, there _is_ a balm for wound of -hart." - -"Yes, from the animal which has inflicted it," answered Tremenhere. - -"Let us have a canter!" cried Lady Dora, starting off down an avenue of -the _Bois de Boulogne_, where the sand deadened the sound of their -flying horses' feet. It was a lovely day, and there were groups of -equestrians. They had ridden some time, when they met three or four -gentlemen together. After bowing _en passant_, Lord Randolph suddenly -stopped-- - -"That's Gillingham!" he exclaimed; "and riding the very horse he wants -me to buy. Lady Dora, may I leave you five minutes, _a regret_, however, -on my own account, under Tremenhere's care. I will rejoin you near the -pond." - -She merely bowed. - -"Beware of the '_Mare au Diable_!'" cried Tremenhere to him, as he -cantered off. "Have you read George Sand's tale of that name?" asked he -of Lady Dora. - -"No; that is, I am not certain of having done so--what is the plot?" - -"Oh! one full of intense interest; simply told, and of simple persons. -It may not interest you." - -"I like simplicity," she replied. - -"Do you? I am glad to hear that. True feeling is _always_ simple, meek, -and confiding." - -"But the tale?" she asked, to change his tone. She wanted time to -prepare herself for a _tete-a-tete_. She began to fear her own sudden -impulses. - -"Well," he said, "the plot is told in a few words; 'tis the working out -of various feelings which is so perfect:--A man loves a girl whom he -should not love---- - -"Why?" and she stilled her heart, and looked calmly at him. - -"Because _he_ was rich, and _she_ only a poor, simple, peasant girl. -Could I _reverse_ the case, I might find tongue to speak more eloquently -on the subject; as it is, I can only tell your ladyship facts." - -"And what were these facts?" - -"They journeyed together, on horseback--_not_ as _we_ are doing, but in -more primitive style, she on a pillion behind him. _He was a young -widower_"--(these words were each distinctly articulated)--"and his boy -rode before him, on his knee: 'tis a pretty scene! Night, however, comes -on, and they lose their way, and at last find themselves beside the -_'Mare au Diable_,' noted as fatal to all approaching it; and beside -this they pass the night." - -"And?" she asked, deeply interested. - -"The place _was_ fatal; for Love was the spirit there. Probably," he -added, laughing, "as _Le Diable_ is often said to '_emporte l'amour_,' -he might have brought him to that spot. Certain it is, there he was, and -he prompted two, to know their own hearts who had never known them -before." - -"I am all impatience for the conclusion." - -"I am a bad story-teller; besides, the case is so _completely_ against -_my_ position, that I cannot fully, soulfully, enter into it; however, I -will satisfy your ladyship's impatience. Hearts _will_ speak at -last--theirs did; and he, for her sake, relinquished a rich marriage, -station, all--and married the simple girl." - -"And was happy?" - -"Blest--so the tale has it; and never looked back to the '_Mare au -Diable_' without a feeling of gratitude. Here we are at the pond, Lady -Dora. I wonder where Lord Randolph is!" - -"I cannot think love so hastily created," she said, not attending to his -other words; "'tis of slower growth." - -"_Growth!_ yes; but I tried to give you the author's idea. They, -unacknowledged, loved one another a long time, and a word opened their -eyes to the truth." - -"There are few who make sacrifices for love," she replied, "and such, -when made, are seldom appreciated." - -"Pardon me, we differ. When _truly_ made, from sincere affection, we bow -down in almost adoration of the giver--'tis so sweet to give! The heart -feels so light when it has yielded all its store; buoyant and -healthful, it only grieves at its own poverty and ungathering powers; -for it would fain, like a bee, renew the sweet store, to carry all home -to one hive." - -"How may we know such a gift would be prized?" - -"By reading in a never closed page, by the eyes writ; but some do not -love making sacrifices,--they cost dear." - -She felt, if this subject were continued in this strain, her courage -would fail her. "Not yet!" she thought; "he shall suffer for all I felt -the day he quitted me so abruptly." - -"Sacrifices are foolish things," she said aloud; "good for boys and -girls--men do not value them; they are like water poured on the ground." - -"Which brings forth flowers," he added; "but I quite agree with you, -they _are_ foolish; but then the mere human heart cannot boast of -unerring wisdom. How stupid it is," he said, changing his tone, "to be -walking round this _mare_! This is no god or _diable_ there; let us -pursue that avenue before us; we will return hither. Now," he continued, -when they were side by side in a quiet alley, "tell me _how_ one may -school the heart not to offer itself up in sacrifice?" - -"There is no such thing as an appreciated sacrifice," she said proudly, -"for a woman; to offer one, there must be a not desecrated altar--man's -heart never _could_ be such; they are all deceitful, and profaned--on -the like, I should trample as on a reptile!" - -"It might turn, and leave an unerring sting." - -"How? I do not understand you!" - -"In bruising a weed, we may trample on a flower; and our own heart never -arise to vigour or life again." As he spoke, he leaned almost over her -saddle-bow, and looked in her face. - -"I do not fear that, but we were speaking of the thing we _dare_ not -love. Such a love I would look upon, in all its phases, till my eye grew -tired, and my heart sunk to rest." - -"What constitutes that which we _dare_ not love?" - -"The thing we should sacrifice too much in loving, and, so doing, lose -our own weight in the balance, and--" - -"And," he interrupted, "be slighted by the person we _fear_ to love, not -being certain of gaining love for love, and gratitude, everlasting -gratitude, for the word which raised us from despair to generous hope!" - -Her hand trembled on the bridle-rein, his eyes were fixed upon her -downcast lid, and her lip was quivering with its effort not to speak. At -that moment a close carriage passed them, in which was an invalid, a -lady, and child. It was going very slowly--the invalid was Minnie, the -child and woman, little Miles and Mary. This latter endeavoured to veil -the vision before them by leaning across, but Minnie had seen all; his -look, air, their closely-drawn figures, and grasping Mary's hand she -became pale as death. Mary had been urging, and she had almost consented -to Skaife's telling Tremenhere that she lived! - -"Oh, I have done well to refuse!" she cried. "Mere sufferance from him -would kill me! Oh, would that I were dead!--would that he were free! -Then he might marry her! Poor Miles--poor Miles, he never will be -happy! Were I gone, her proud heart would not perhaps reject him at -last; I know her well, and how difficult his task must be; is he not -deserving all pity? He _thought_ he loved me, to awaken and know another -held his heart in bondage! He loves her well! no wonder he looks so sad -and ill: poor Miles!" and the generous heart bled more for him than for -its own breaking sorrow! - -A few moments afterwards, Lady Dora and her two attendant suitors passed -the quiet carriage in a hand-canter. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -Days passed after the events related in the last chapter, and Tremenhere -did not make his appearance in Lady Ripley's apartments, at l'Hotel -Mirabeau; to a person of Lady Dora's despotic temper, his conduct was -maddening. He never lost an opportunity of uttering words leading her to -believe his affections entangled beyond remedy; no one could look at him -without seeing that he suffered keenly from some mental cause, and -something of recent occurrence; therefore, it was not Minnie's loss--but -this she would not permit herself to think for a moment--no, 'twas -herself; consequently his manner of acting was the more inexplicable. He -never sought her, but when they met; he seemed unable to controul his -feelings, his avowal of love; but this was not all she would have. She -would have him throw himself, a slave enchained before her, beseeching -her love, to loosen his bonds, or rivet them for ever. In her impatient -rage she hated all, even Lord Randolph at last, for the very friendship -he had for Tremenhere. It was this, she thought, which, acting on an -overstrained (to her) idea of honour, prevented his admitting all, and -claiming a return. Her every thought became bitterness. Nothing is -nearer love than hate; they are two extremes a child's tiny hand might -unite. Thus, then, she fostered in absence a bitter hatred towards -Tremenhere, which melted like a waxen flower in the sun when he -approached, and became quite as impressionable, capable of any feeling -he might stamp there in its place. In her rage she looked around for -some one wherewith to wound him, and the thought after appeared in the -person of Marmaduke Burton, who returned to Paris from a long tour in -Italy and elsewhere. Coward-like, he had fled at first, then, not -finding himself pursued, he stopped, and, looking around, thought he had -deserted the field too soon. - -It was at a ball Lady Dora met him, nearly a week after the events of -the past chapter. He stood for a moment uncertain how to act. She knew -Tremenhere was there; they had just spoken, and he had passed on. In an -instant she saw her advantage--for so she deemed it; and, holding out a -hand, cordially welcomed Burton's return amongst them. Her mother, among -others, had almost dropped the acquaintance, in consequence of the -coward slur attached to his name; but so completely was Lady Dora -mistress of all around her, that her mother, though still doubting the -policy of it, remembering how decidedly Lord Randolph had cut him, was -fain to receive him politely when Lady Dora came up, leaning on his arm. - -"I will bend him now!" she thought, as she reflected upon the only one -occupying her mind. As she moved through the rooms, she met Lord -Randolph, who was seeking her. - -He started: Marmaduke looked embarrassed, and then attempted to smile; -but the other was one of those to whom wealth was as dross, compared -with honour. All the weaker parts of his character were sinking to the -bottom, and the more sterling ones rising to the surface. Possibly it -was from constant association with so noble a mind as Tremenhere's--and -Lady Lysson's, too. Be it as it may, the struggling artist was more to -him than the wealthy but dishonourable Burton. Without glancing at him, -he held out an arm to Lady Dora, saying-- - -"Will you take my arm? I have been seeking you; Lady Lysson is anxious -to speak to you." - -"Thank you," she replied with _hauteur_; "but you must see I am -otherwise engaged--I am going to dance with Mr. Burton. Allow me to -recall to your memory, an old friend." - -Lord Randolph took not the slightest notice. This cool reprehension of -her conduct, the unworthy motive of which she was thus doubly made to -feel, drove her frantic, and she turned aside with a-- - -"Come, Mr. Burton--we shall be late for this _deux temps_!" - -Lord Randolph moved another way, and looked anxiously about him. He soon -perceived the object of his search, as Tremenhere's tall figure rose -before him. - -"Come along, Tremenhere," he said, familiarly linking his arm in his--"I -want to show you somebody." - -"Any one I know?" asked the other unsuspectingly. - -"A very pretty girl," replied Lord Randolph. - -"Indeed! But where is Lady Dora?" - -"Lady Dora?--oh, there!" And he pointed her out, where she stood with -Burton. A thrill passed through Tremenhere's frame, and the other felt -it: the former felt all the delicacy and thought which had made Lord -Randolph take him thus boldly by the arm, to publish his feelings -towards him to his cousin; and also leading him, as a jockey takes his -horse up and shows him what he has to overleap, lest he should shy at -the difficulties suddenly placed before him. - -"Gray!" exclaimed he--using a term hitherto never uttered in his proud -humility--"you are a good, generous, noble fellow; I thank you!" And he -grasped his hand. - -These few words were volumes from him, and the other felt them so. As -they moved on, not another word passed on the subject, and shortly -afterwards the two met Lady Dora and Burton; and Tremenhere's -countenance was free and unclouded, as he stopped and reminded her of a -prior engagement for the following dance. Burton looked cowed and -uneasy: her rage almost broke through the bounds of politeness, for in -her heart she despised Burton, and now doubly so when her revenge had -failed, and she saw herself abased in the abasement of her _protege_. -She was almost rude in speech as she acknowledged the engagement, and -appointed where he might find her, this _valse_ concluded. - -And during these heavy hours poor Minnie sat at home in her sorrow. She -had refused to leave the house since the day she met Lady Dora and -Tremenhere; nothing could persuade her but that he loved her cousin: he -might regret _her_ sad fate, but he loved Dora. She urged Skaife to give -him the proof of his mother's fame--of his own legitimacy; but Skaife -had resolved that she alone should lay this treasure, in reconciliation, -at her husband's feet. Moreover, Skaife was a man of the world, and -though he knew Tremenhere _now_ loved only Minnie, he had justly read -her cousin and Lady Ripley; and he knew man as he too generally is, -easily led by his vanity and a woman's love, even against his better -reason and judgment. He saw Lady Dora loved Tremenhere, and felt assured -only the "poor artist" stood between her love and pride. Once master of -the manor-house he would answer for nothing, and like a wise man, -resolved to spare him the temptation, and Minnie the pain, of seeing a -fruitless effort to forget her, in an impossible marriage. - -We left Lady Dora dancing with Marmaduke Burton; she did so, but it was -spiritless. She had played a game unpleasing to herself, and the success -had not been all she hoped for. Tremenhere seemed perfectly indifferent; -and when she rejoined Lady Lysson, a freezing manner towards herself, -and complete ignorance of Marmaduke Burton's existence, were the things -which they met, as she approached, leaning on his arm. To make her still -more uncomfortable, she saw Tremenhere and Lord Randolph, as she passed -through an inner saloon, laughing and talking with several ladies in the -most unconcerned manner possible. At last the dance was proclaimed for -which she was engaged to the former. Had she been behind him and his -friend, as they stood unobserved by her in a doorway, watching her, she -would not have felt perfectly comfortable. Lord Randolph's face was -severe, but in nowise sad, as he said to the other-- - -"Tremenhere, that woman does not love me--better said, she rather -dislikes me. Look at her now. What she has done this night, has opened -my eyes to a fact some time suspected, that another motive than even -indifferent liking has induced her to accept me. She has some hidden -thought, or hidden affection in her heart, and she is struggling with -it, for whom I know not; but to me she is indifferent." - -"Perhaps you judge hastily," answered Tremenhere. "She has her oddity of -temper, doubtless, like all women. Let time, he is my greatest ally, -decide every thing; he has means of bringing hidden thought to light, of -which our puny imaginings can form no idea. I must leave you; I am -engaged this _Schottische_ to her ladyship," and, loosening his arm, he -crossed over to where she stood with Burton. "May I claim my promised -_Schottische_?" he asked, offering an arm. - -It was an immense relief for her to leave Burton. She felt many had -looked coldly upon her that night. A man is not publicly branded -slanderer and coward without the titles clinging to him, more especially -among an English set, acquainted with most of the persons implicated in -the affair. She expected, made up her mind to a few bitter words, or -implied doubts of her motives in having chosen Burton for her cavalier; -but though Tremenhere read her perfectly, he was a sealed book to her, -without an effort, or any thing to make her say, "He is playing a part." -He was perfectly unembarrassed in his manner--attentive, without being -gallant--gentle, without any thing overstrained--full of that quiet, -unostentatious wit which charms so much. She had never seen him to more -advantage; and every moment she felt his superiority over her own narrow -thoughts and mind; and she felt disgusted with the part she had been -playing. A word would have made her express all her overtaxed feelings -to him, but he gave her no opportunity; she was as an agreeable partner -and stranger to him--nothing more. The dance was over; he evinced no -desire to leave her, no particular wish to retain her near him; he was -the impersonation of a thoroughly idle, indifferent man. As they passed -near Lady Lysson, a fan gently touched his arm. - -"Amidst more youthful engagements, don't forget you are engaged to me -for a _contredanse_," she said. "When a man solicits a thing, I hold it -as a point of conscience to make him accomplish it; you have urged me to -this folly--I wish to fulfil my kismet." - -"I have _not_ forgotten it, Lady Lysson; I am counting the moments by my -stop-watch." - -Lady Dora would have given worlds to hear him speak to her in such a -tone. There was a total change in the intonation when he addressed Lady -Lysson. From one to the other it seemed to say, "I know you, and you -know me; there exists a freemasonry between us." - -And when she stood in the same quadrille with Lord Randolph as partner, -she felt it still more keenly. There was a freedom between Tremenhere -and Lady Lysson to which she never had attained, though related to -him--it was the familiarity of kindred spirits. - -She and her mother quitted early. There was a reception at the embassy -this same evening, to which they were going. Before doing so, however, -they returned home, as it was close at hand, and Lady Dora entered her -room to re-arrange her dress, nominally; but, in fact, to collect her -shattered nerves by a few moments quiet. Accordingly, dismissing her -maid, she sat alone. There was a large mirror opposite the chair where -she sat. After surveying herself some time in the distance, she rose, -and pacing the room with her proud, queenly air, stood before it, -glowing in beauty. Never mirror gave back any thing more richly -beautiful than her face; her eyes of dazzling fire--eyes to make a man -bow down in wonder before their power--and then the long heavy ringlet -of dark chestnut falling across the heaving bosom, to the waist. She -surveyed her beauty, not in petty vanity, but in wonder herself, that so -perfect a work of nature had not awed that man to love her, and confess -his love--how could he resist her? and loving her, as assuredly he -_did_. With this thought a grim doubt arose, like a breath passing over -that mirror, to shade her beauty--almost unconsciously she dropped on a -seat opposite the glass, which her eyes never quitted; and, as if -involuntarily, her hands unclasped the massive bracelets one by one, and -laid them on a table beside her. Her maid had placed a bouquet of rich -damask roses, looped round the stem with a string of gems, on the side -of her beautiful head; for she was not simple in her dress, as Minnie--a -more gorgeous style suited her best. Her fingers, though unused to tasks -like these, unfastened them, and they dropped from her hand on the -floor--all, save the rich dress of antique _moire_, lay around her; and -then the girl, unladen by gems, unadorned but by nature, dispirited, -broken-hearted, at that nature's bidding covered her face with her -hands, and wept bitterly; she _felt_ he could not love her,--to have -been so calm beneath her bitter insult in choosing his cousin's society, -she felt how much, how madly she loved him; and the proud Lady Dora -sobbed in her bitterness. "An artist's wife! the wife of a nameless, -illegitimate man! I would be any thing he might become, if he but loved -me! But he does!" she cried with sudden energy; "he must! His every word -betokened it at once; this one fatal night cannot have made him hate me! -He does, and I will prove him! Less would be madness, a longer suspense, -the working of that hollow pride which has made me what I am!" When her -maid tapped to say, "Lady Ripley was waiting!" she found Lady Dora pale, -and with the tears still on her cheek, incapable of aught but an essay -at rest on her feverish couch. Her mother was not unused of late to her -whims, though she never had carried them to so much excess. It was her -own fault. Had she trained this fair plant otherwise, it would have -reared itself in cultured beauty towards heaven; as it was rotten at the -root, it would either decay from its own want of power, or trail -worthless on the ground, only fit to be torn from its parent earth as a -weed--nothing more. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -Nothing could adequately pourtray to our readers the unhappy state of -all at Gatestone. Juvenal had sunk into a querulous old man; Sylvia's -bile had spread itself over all: she silenced any qualms of conscience -she might otherwise have felt, by keeping every one as uncomfortable as -possible. If she beheld the faintest gleam of forgetfulness passing -across the horizon, she immediately drew down the blinds of despair, and -threw every one into darkness again, and sorrow; they could not even for -a moment lose sight of their loss. If the wind whistled she gave a -shiver, and talked of storms at sea, and drowning persons; if the -railway whistle, borne on the air for miles, came faintly over -Gatestone, she put her handkerchief to a dry eye, and _snivelled_ over -the recollection thus suddenly recalled to her aching memory, of Gretna -Green and its consequences. She was an inexhaustible fund of woe; for -when Juvenal had been lured by the kind-hearted Dorcas into some other -train of thought, Sylvia would suddenly remind them that this was the -anniversary of a day in which Minnie had said, done, worn, or completed -something, and consequently she had the house in as miserable a state -as she could desire; all crept about from pantry to garret in listen -shoes, that they might not break in on the general woe; this was another -happy invention of Sylvia's, which made the large house as silent as if -death were abiding there. Dorcas was lost, indeed, when Mr. Skaife left -his curacy for Paris; for, without naming Minnie often, they consoled -one another by gentle words, and works of charity accomplished together. -Now Dorcas was fain to betake herself principally to her own room; for -her means of consoling Juvenal were hourly more severed from her grasp. -He became perfectly disconsolate, and rocked to and fro, like one -bordering on idiotcy. Of Marmaduke Burton's return he never would listen -to; he never should enter _his_ house, for his guidance had led him to -oppress Minnie, and drive her to desperation. Mrs. Gillett's woe was -beyond even the others; for she carried it even into sleep--she was -constantly dreaming some dreadful dream. Either she saw Minnie a corpse -or in bridal gear; both were bad--the first proved her spirit was -unquiet--the second, an unerring sign of death. Now, as Minnie _was_ -dead, she couldn't die again; consequently, it must be the death of some -one at Gatestone--but whose? And she would seek the sympathizing Sylvia, -and break into loud prognostications of evil. - -"Oh, my dear master! my dear master!" she would cry, wringing her hands; -"I know he's going, and then we shall all have to go, and leave the old -place; whereas, if any of you had married, and had a boy, or Miss -Minnie either, we might have remained; but her boy went along with her, -and I often see a beautiful baby in my sleep, all covered with long -hair, like Miss Minnie, sitting on a rock, wringing out the sea-water." - -Her description of Minnie was not very correct, but she didn't exactly -and literally mean what she said. Poor Gillett certainly looked older by -many years; and in proof of how much her memory was affected, she had -been seen more than once sitting on the stile in the holly field, -without her pattens. The manor-house was desolate--only servants -inhabited it; Farmer Weld plodded over his fields in gloom, for now he -lost all hope of ever seeing good Madam Tremenhere's son back again. - -Skaife had been so solemnly bound down not to betray Minnie's actual -existence, that he durst not do so; besides he felt assured that an -eventual day of brightness would shine over all, by Tremenhere's and -Minnie's reconciliation. He wisely felt that this was too serious an -act, after the fatal suspicions on his part, to be risked in its full -and perfect self-accomplishment by any interference of friends; when -both hearts should be firmly convinced of each other's worth, then they -might be safely brought together. But when he told Minnie all the bitter -grief her beloved aunt Dorcas felt, her gentle heart consented to a hope -which might be held out to alleviate her pain; and this was in the -accomplishment of a desire, she had so often expressed, that Minnie's -boy even, had been saved. - -"Oh!" she often said to Skaife, "I could with time have become -reconciled to all. If only I had held her child in my arms, it would -have recalled her to me in all her childish love and kindness, but even -this is denied me!" - -Skaife accordingly wrote to her, requesting that secresy which he knew -would be faithfully kept; and stating that through Mary Burns he had -strong hope of one day placing her Minnie's boy in her arms, as he had -reason to believe he had been saved from the wreck! - -Minnie would indeed have rejoiced had she seen her aunt's joy; next to -seeing herself once more, this was the dearest blessing she could have -received. "Minnie's boy!" and as she sat, and hoped and prayed for his -coming, the step grew lighter, the eye less dim--even Sylvia's bolts -fell more harmlessly around her; and at last this amiable one had the -cruelty to accuse her of want of feeling, and "unnatural mirth," because -she once saw the ghost of a smile pass over her lip; but not all her -indignation could make poor Dorcas hopeless; she felt Skaife would not -lightly buoy her up with hopes, to destroy them. - -Skaife had indeed a difficult task in hand; he himself feared hurrying -events between Tremenhere and Minnie. He dreaded many things; he -trembled lest he should become captivated by Lady Dora; and then her -flirtation with his cousin Burton, the motive of which Skaife plainly -perceived, alarmed him--this, through revenge, might lead to infatuation -on Miles's part, and how _then_ ever pursuade Minnie that really he only -loved herself? and all her future happiness and contentment with him, -depended on her strong conviction on this point. He might easily have -effected a meeting, a most joyful one, and reconciliation; but he felt -that it must be even more than the first confidence of love--it must be -one which had been tried in the fire, proved and purified--and how -accomplish this? Her meeting him and Lady Dora in the Bois de Boulogne, -had thrown so heavy a doubt over her heart. - -One only thing he could imagine, and this was privately to bring her to -the studio, and let her own ears hear Miles's words--something must be -done, and done quickly. - -Some days had passed, and Tremenhere made no effort to see Lady Dora in -private; true he called there; it was urged upon him by Lord Randolph -and Lady Lysson, who most nobly spoke to him on the subject, without -knowing the relationship between them, only knowing of that between -Burton and himself. - -"Lady Dora is capricious, like most beauties," she said, "my dear Mr. -Tremenhere, and, for some extraordinary reason, chooses to receive Mr. -Burton's visits contrary to my advice; it will not therefore do, for -your own dignity sake, for you to absent yourself from their circle; my -doors are open to you at all times; we are only too happy when we can -secure you within them; and I strongly advise your visiting Lady Ripley, -even more frequently than usual." He could but press the little soft -hand held out to him in gratitude to his lips. - -Lady Ripley and her daughter had, however, another motive besides -pleasure or pique in seeking Marmaduke Burton. They feared him, dreading -what he might utter about Tremenhere's wife, as a relative of theirs. -By policy, and seeming kindness towards him, they bound him to silence; -for he read their hearts, and never alluded to the unpleasant subject. -It mattered little to him _how_ he secured their support, that he had -it, and as he believed, thus galled Tremenhere, was sufficient. Lady -Dora would gladly have cut Burton after the ball where they had met; but -crooked policy costs full many a bitter pang, spared to straightforward -candour: in concealing their relationship to Tremenhere's wife--they -took from her memory that, which might have shielded it from many a -cloud. - -Lady Dora met Tremenhere. Her heart was now beyond her own controul, had -he spoken; but he was attentive, courteous--nothing more by word or -look. He had resolved now to let another open Lord Randolph's eyes, for -this had been a part of his motive lately; and he saw those eyes _were_ -extending their power of vision through his cousin, so he left all in -other hands. This maddened her. A man may not _speak_ his love for many -reasons; but he cannot but _look_ it, if he love; it is the soul which -finds tongue through the eyes. If we might govern or quite controul -this, what perfect creatures we should be, _with good intentions_. - -Skaife had obtained permission from Miles to visit his studio whenever -he pleased, even during his absence, as the latter had a well-chosen -library, in which Skaife delighted. He had asked leave so to do, for a -half-formed plan in his mind. - -One day he brought this to perfection, as far as he could foresee. -Tremenhere was going to pass some early hours in the morning at the -Louvre. At two o'clock Lady Dora had requested a sitting, and so -arranged it that Lord Randolph should accompany her to Tremenhere's, and -leave her there for awhile, as he too had an engagement. Lady Dora was -independent in all she did, and this day was resolved finally to know if -she were beloved or not by Tremenhere. Skaife knew all the latter's -appointments, and hours of them. He had made himself master of these -facts, and, in accordance with his plan, deemed it better Lady Dora -should come in almost immediately after the meeting and re-union of the -husband and wife, that no proof further need be wanting to convince her -of their mutual love; he dreaded this cold-hearted girl. - -All this was very nicely planned; but it had to be as well accomplished. -It occupied him and Mary Burns for days, in preparing poor Minnie for -her visit to Tremenhere's rooms, and when the day arrived her limbs -almost refused to support her. With much difficulty he reached her -husband's abode with her, and, leaving her in a fiacre, entered the -_loge de concierge_, and inquired whether Tremenhere was within, as a -precautionary measure. The man answered in the negative, and handed him -the key of the apartment, saying-- - -"Perhaps, monsieur would like to walk up?" - -The next thing to be done was easy of accomplishment. This man, of that -most corruptible class, was open to a little quiet bribery, "Not to -tell Monsieur Tremenhere that a lady was in his rooms, as he (Skaife) -wished to surprise him." - -"_Allez!_ monsieur," answered the man, "I see nothing." - -And Skaife and Minnie passed in. How her heart and limbs trembled when -she entered those rooms where he had so lately been! where he sat and -talked, thought of, and _perhaps_ so deeply regretted her! She stood in -the centre of that studio, and turned round and round, and her pale face -and figure, which moved so mechanically, as if afraid of a natural -undulation, made her seem like a statue. Skaife had arranged all in his -mind before bringing her, and in the space behind the bed in the alcove -he concealed her. This room adjoined the studio by one door, and by an -opposite from this latter you entered the saloon. - -Skaife's idea had been, immediately on Tremenhere's entrance to lead him -to speak of Minnie, and she, by creeping from her place of concealment, -would be enabled to listen to all--he reserving to himself the task of -keeping Miles at his easel, and thus preventing him from entering his -bedroom, without giving her sufficient time to conceal herself. All this -was admirably arranged; but in such plans there is always the -presumption that nothing untoward will occur to mar their perfect -completion. Miles entered at one o'clock, as appointed, and after -wandering through his apartment, passing close to the half lifeless -Minnie, he threw off his coat, and put on the artistic jacket of -scarlet, in which he was in the habit of painting. Minnie through the -curtains watched all this, and saw him stand in deep thought a moment, -then, passing a weary hand over a wearier brow, he entered his studio, -where Skaife stood very pale. He durst not follow him to his bedroom--it -would have looked extraordinary his doing so; and so he stood, almost -retaining his breath, expecting every moment to hear Minnie shriek forth -the other's name--but all passed quietly, and Miles came out, and sat -down to touch up Lady Dora's portrait before her arrival. The saloon, we -have said, was on the opposite side to the bedroom, and facing -Tremenhere's easel; from the saloon you passed into an antechamber, and -thence out of the apartment. Skaife had calculated upon having the -catastrophe over before Lady Dora's arrival, who would come in, and -share the surprise, with Lord Randolph, of finding the long lost wife in -her husband's fond arms. He knew that if Tremenhere could be led to -speak of her again, as he had done to him, Minnie would no longer doubt -the joy her coming would afford him, and at once rush forth. So it might -most probably have been all smooth and fair sailing; but they were -doomed to meet with some rocks yet, and one of these was the entrance, -before the hour appointed, of Lady Dora and Lord Randolph Gray! Skaife, -though a most patient man, would assuredly have sworn, but for the -colour of his cloth--as it was, he stamped, and coloured violently. - -"Trem.," said Lord Randolph, using the abbreviation by which he -frequently addressed his friend, "I've brought Lady Dora before the -hour, because I have a particular engagement, and must leave her in -your care for half an hour." - -Be it said, Lady Ripley imagined Lord Randolph was going to remain the -whole time during her sitting, else her ideas of propriety, most justly, -would have forbidden allowing her to stop alone in a painter's studio. -Lord Randolph had no thought of harm of his friend, when Lady Dora -said,-- - -"I am most anxious to get my sittings over for this Diana; so don't tell -mamma you are going to leave me there alone, or she will not allow me to -go." - -English mothers, perhaps too freely, permit their daughters to walk out -_only_ accompanied by their intended husbands! French ones say, "The -marriage may never take place; 'tis better to avoid bringing a girl's -name in question." - -Lord Randolph looked at "Diana," and at the fair original, and departed -fearless and confiding. Lady Dora trembled with annoyance. Every moment -was an hour. She was resolved to have an explanation; and how accomplish -this with Skaife present? However, there was a fate to turn all to its -will. This latter felt choking with impatience. He could not remain -there all the period of the sitting, for nothing could be done until -Lady Dora left. So he rose, and entering the bedroom, approached the -alcove, where he had placed a chair for Minnie to rest upon; in a low -whisper he told her the state of the case, and bade her be patient--all -would go well. Be it remembered that, whatever his suspicions of the -state of Lady Dora's heart, he had no proof, he knew nothing of the -scarcely ambiguous conversations which took place between them, whenever -they met. To collect his thoughts, he deemed it best to go out for a -walk; consequently he went, to Lady Dora's great joy, and, pulling the -outer door after him, _thought_ he closed it, but he did not--it -remained ajar. - -Lady Dora sat some moments listening, then her impatience began to -manifest itself by a movement of the foot. Tremenhere's calmness and -cheerful ease drove her mad. - -"Mr. Tremenhere," she said at last, "were you not surprised to see me -dancing with your----with Mr. Burton, the other evening?" - -"Who--I, Lady Dora?" he asked in extreme surprise, but most placidly; -"not in the least--why should I be?" - -"Because--because, it was strange my doing so." - -"Strange! Lady Dora--you use a wrong term, I think; there is nothing -strange in a natural action. Mr. Burton, to do him justice, is tall, -gentlemanly in appearance, can converse on general topics most agreeable -to ladies, dances very well--and what more does a lady require?" - -"True--for all this you speak freely and truthfully; but you forget the -character of the man--you forget----" - -"And pray, my dear Lady Dora, what _has_ character to do with a -schottische or a polka? Even if a man be a slanderer, a liar, (pardon me -the harsh, but truthful word,) and coward, the two first will not -prevent his paying just compliments to your beauty, nor the last make -him fail in keeping the time of a _deux temps_, though it _might_ that -of a hostile meeting, to answer for the two first." - -"You are bitter, Mr. Tremenhere." - -"Bitter! and towards him?" and he laughed. "No; pardon me, I feel too -thorough a contempt for the man to waste bitterness upon him; I reserve -that for those who may yet be saved by a little wholesome bark, or -quinine, medicinally speaking." - -"Expend it then on me. You _must_ despise, or condemn me; you cannot -approve." - -"I do not judge you, Lady Dora; I do but try to hand down to posterity -those perfect features of yours, and you sadly distort them," and he -laid down his palette. "You are grieved, vexed; has any thing annoyed -you? Can I serve you? Pray, command me!" - -Minnie had crept from behind the bed. An irresistible impulse impelled -her to do so when she found herself alone, and knew Lady Dora to be -unaccompanied by any one, with Tremenhere. And pale, almost lifeless, -she leaned against the door, and--oh! most scrupulous reader, forgive -the fault!--listened. - -"Mr. Tremenhere!" Lady Dora cried, rising hastily in reply to his -question, and standing pale, erect, but trembling; "I would ask -you,--I--I am in a position of much suffering." She clasped her hands -together as if to still her nervous pain. "I would ask you," she -uttered, "whether your memory is perfect?" - -"In all things, Lady Dora," was the calm reply. - -"Do you remember when first we met in Florence?" - -"Well--well. I was then a man, comparatively speaking, full of hope; -now----" - -"And you loved _then_. You (better said) loved me, and I treated your -half-avowed affection with scorn; that was pride!" She spoke in hurried -confusion. - -"True--most true!" he uttered. - -"You quitted, believing me a cold, heartless flirt. You met, and married -my cousin; was this love, or--pique?" - -"I cannot answer, lady, till I know why you ask." - -"Since her death" (the words fell in cold awe from her lips) "we have -met often, and on each occasion words of implied tenderness fell from -your tongue." - -Neither heard the almost groan from the sinking woman, leaning against -the half-closed door to the bedroom. - -"All these I was deaf to, and I accepted Lord Randolph as my future -husband. This, too, was pride." - -Tremenhere stood looking earnestly at her, as one of her hands nervously -played on the back of a chair; but he did not utter a word, though the -deep, speaking eye was fixed upon her. - -"Man!" she cried at last, stamping her foot with energy; "do you not see -how I suffer? Pride--woman's delicacy--all are forgotten. Tremenhere, I -love you! For this love I accepted your cousin's attention, hateful as -he was to me, to urge you to say the last words; for all but those have -been said between us. Tremenhere, for mercy's sake," she cried -impetuously, "do not stand looking on me thus; but say those words at -last!" - -"Lady Dora," he said, as a deep sigh of heartfelt joy struggled upwards, -but his tone was calm and low, and he approached and clasped her hand, -"_now_ I will answer you. When we met in Florence I could have loved -you; I thought I did, till I measured the error afterwards by the -intensity of my love for Minnie. When I brought her, a child almost, to -my artist's home, who came and upheld that child? who came, and by her -presence gave countenance to our love? Did you--did any? True, after a -while, a few tardy visits were paid! But when I, fiendlike, drove her by -my passions to become a wanderer--who sought her out to cheer and -uphold? I blamed you less even then than now; for now you have shewn me -how despotic your will can be, when it pleases you to be so! Love you!" -he cried, striding across the room and dragging back the curtain before -the statue of his wife--"love you, Lady Dora! the cold, heartless woman -of the world; with this too looked upon--the marble dream of my adored, -my murdered Minnie! Oh no, no!" he added, almost weeping. "By the long, -long nights I watched, creating this memory--by her purity, which I now -know too late--I scorn you, Lady Dora; and, unmanly as it may seem, have -trifled with your semblance of heart, your vanity in short, to open the -eyes of a worthy man, too worthy for you--Lord Randolph." - -She had stood transfixed by horror, crushed in her pride, and bending -to earth. As he spoke the last words, a heavy fall in the bedroom -resounded in their ears. She turned hastily, and in terror gazing at the -door, through which he passed in haste. Not a thought of the truth burst -upon him as he raised the closely enveloped and veiled figure, fainting -on the ground. Placing her on a couch, he hurriedly tore off the bonnet -to give her air; as he did so, the long fair hair rolled heavily to the -ground, which it swept. He uttered a cry; it was one of pain and -fear--for one hurried moment something supernatural crept through his -blood and stilled it--then drawing near the couch, as if a spirit lay -there, he gently lifted back the fallen hair, and gliding on one knee, -gazed with distended eyes on the pale, unconscious face, then, placing -his lips near hers, he held his own breath to feel if she breathed. A -gentle sigh came over his cheek--with that sigh the truth rushed almost -in maddening power over his mind. One loud cry came from his soul; and -clasping her in his arms he strained her to his breast, and wild, -hysteric sobs burst from his lips, but the eyes were burning and -tearless. - -"Minnie--Minnie!" he sobbed; "speak to me--my wife--my Minnie, speak to -me!" - -But though the blue eyes opened, and tried to comprehend all, they were -haggard and without speculation. By degrees memory returned; and the -first look of terror passing, the languid arms raised above the head on -her bosom, and grew in a circle round his neck, and strained him to her -heart. - -"Miles!" she whispered, "it would have killed me if----" she glanced -towards the door. "Let us together thank that unfailing power," she -uttered, "which has kept us from sin, and through so much sorrow, in -faith and love," and the trembling knees clung to the ground beside -where he knelt supporting her; and the eyes, pure as an angel's, looked -upwards in prayer, while his arms clasped her, and the speechless lips -were pressed on the upraised hands which pleaded for both. - -Lady Dora had stood unnoticed in the doorway, when he rushed in. No -words can convey an idea of her mingled sensations. At a glance she -guessed the truth--'twas Minnie in life. As she stood, a hand touched -her arm. - -"Lady Dora," said a grave voice, "I was there." He pointed to the -saloon. "An open door permitted me to enter, and hear all. I meant not -to listen--your words arrested me. Come, let me take you to Lady -Ripley's; _this_ is no place for you." - -She started--gazed on him--then, all her pride coming to her aid, she -cried haughtily-- - -"My lord, I need no counsellor; I can act alone!" - -And, hastily throwing on her bonnet and shawl, she quitted the studio. -Lord Randolph stood an instant, then, taking up a pencil, wrote on a -card, and placed it on the easel:-- - - "Heaven bless you both! Tremenhere, when you call me to your joy, I - shall rejoice with you, indeed! - - "RANDOLPH." - -Skaife returned, and let himself in with the key which he had taken; but -he was not alone. When he quitted the apartment, he hurried off (as men -very often do) to a woman for advice; and now he entered with Mary and -little Miles, resolved to tell all boldly. But when he arrived all had -been said, and, creeping to the bedroom door, he saw Minnie's head on -Tremenhere's beating heart, and his other arm clasped round her, as -though he still dreaded some power might separate them again. Her face -was upturned to his, whose deep, dark eyes were riveted on every look, -as she told him all. Skaife moved aside, and Mary crept in. Miles looked -up; but he could not for an instant loose his grasp, or move. Mary came -quietly on, and round the mother's neck were clasped the arms of her -child. Miles started. One glance told him all the truth. Something -thrilled through him. It was what he once expressed--"Minnie, I should -be jealous of my own child;" but the momentary gleam of that fatal -passion left, ere matured, and, folding both in one clasp, his tears -unrestrained baptized their re-union of love. - -"_You_ did this!" he cried, grasping the hands of Skaife and Mary, as he -pointed to his boy's portrait in his mother's arms. "Thank you; it was -nobly done, and oh, a lovely thought!" - -Tremenhere had married Minnie dowerless; but what a rich fortune she -laid before him in the proofs of his mother's fame! It was only by -degrees Minnie told him all she had suffered--all her vain search for -d'Estrees, until aided from on high, whence comes all for good, though -our little minds cannot always see it thus. For without these trials he -would never have overcome his jealousy--never have been truly happy. -What a room that saloon was of overflowing joy, as Tremenhere, Minnie, -Mary, Skaife, and d'Estrees, sat and talked of the past and future! Nor -must we forget the child, sleeping on its mother's knee, beneath the -loving eyes which watched him! - -Lady Dora and her mother quitted Paris hastily for Switzerland; the -former, whose wishes were law, broke off all engagement, as the latter -believed, with Lord Randolph, without assigning any cause, and insisted -upon leaving France; but the rupture was by mutual consent. Nothing -would have induced him to marry her, after the conversation he -overheard. - -Lady Lysson and himself were the first to call upon and congratulate -Tremenhere and his wife. Lord Randolph confided all to her, except, as a -feeling of honour, Lady Dora's confession; and, beneath the patronage of -Lady Lysson, the young couple became the lions of the place, which they -were shortly quitting, to solace those who still mourned Minnie, and -whom she wished to surprise so joyfully. And who may depict that -happiness? 'Twas like the throwing off of some horrid nightmare, which -had oppressed all in a long, heavy sleep. Skaife went before, to prepare -them for it. - -Dorcas, who had hoped to see the child, held once more to her heart the -living mother. Juvenal wept in childish mirth, as he clasped her in his -arms, and sued for pardon. Sylvia, even _then_, could not forbear her -old habits, but called to Minnie's mind, again and again, all she had -suffered through Miles's treachery, (as she termed it)--imploring her to -be cautious for the future, for of course it was in him, and would break -out somewhere. She never could expect to be a perfectly happy woman; -there were things she _always_ must remember, and would do well to do -so! She could _never really_ love him again, but _perhaps_ a re-union -was wiser than a separation! - -However, despite all, Minnie _did_ look happy, for Miles was beside her; -and Juvenal shook hands warmly with him, too, and Farmer Weld and buxom -Sally. - -Marmaduke Burton followed Lady Dora to Switzerland, and both, in utter -ignorance of D'Estree's revelations, from the same motive--revenge -towards Tremenhere--entered into a hasty marriage, the bell of which had -scarcely rung, when a trumpet resounded, summoning him to yield up the -manor-house to the incontestable proof of Miles's legitimacy. - -Minnie would fain, if it might have been, have spared her cousin so -severe a blow; but the honour of her husband was more to her than all. -And when the day of triumph came, and the bells rang out in praise of -"good Madam Tremenhere's son"--and the carriage, though plain and -unostentatious, drove up with him, his fair smiling wife, and child, one -loud shout rang through the air; and, turning from the many, -Tremenhere, with a warm clasp, grasped the hand of Farmer Weld, and -presented him to Minnie as the truest friend of his day of shadow. - -And Skaife, d'Estrees, all were there; the latter became the tutor -nominally of little Miles, and friend of both his doating parents. Mrs. -Gillett!--who may speak of her? How she cried, and laughed, and dreamed -all sorts of _couleur de rose_ dreams; and how she appeared for the -first time in her life with a profusion of white satin ribbons in her -cap! Mary remained in Paris, happy in the joy of others, which she had -helped to create anew; prospering, content, and more, grateful for the -peace Heaven had sent to repentance. Spring passed, Summer came, then -Autumn, then Christmas; and despite Sylvia's prognostications, "that -little Miles was a doomed child, for he looked it!"--the boy throve, and -lisped papa and mamma to a large circle of friends round the Christmas -fire at the manor-house. Among others were the faces of Lord Randolph, -Lady Lysson, Skaife, Juvenal, now rosy and himself again, Dorcas, _not_ -Sylvia, she had a toothache which did not improve her temper, and -therefore stayed at home alone; for Mrs. Gillett presided over some -luxuries of her own handiwork, for the table. All were smiling and -happy, and in the gallery of family paintings hung "Aurora chasing the -Shades of Night," in which Minnie's lovely face shone; for she had -indeed brought light to Tremenhere's heart and home. None might have -known him; he was as we have never seen him; for, in the midst of the -gaiety of those now joyous halls, he looked up, and beheld his mother's -picture smiling on the son who had loved, and suffered so much for her. -And when the ringing laughter or falling footsteps were stilled, on the -quiet ear sounded the tick-tack, tick-tack, tick-tack, of the old hall -clock, now transferred to the manor-house. - - * * * * * - -Let us end with a moral we have tried to carry out in these pages. If -curses like chickens come home to roost, assuredly our good deeds bring -nestling joys to our bosom, nor is a cup of cold water cast on the -earth. - - -THE END. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miles Tremenhere, Vol 2 of 2, by -Annette Marie Maillard - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILES TREMENHERE, VOL 2 OF 2 *** - -***** This file should be named 41276.txt or 41276.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/2/7/41276/ - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -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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